Cold & Deadly (Cold Justice: Crossfire #1)(6)

“Thanks again.” She ditched the gauze she was holding and searched the crowd for Supervisory Special Agent Dominic Sheridan.

There. Standing beyond Van’s casket. She hopped off the step on the back of the ambulance and headed toward him. Sheridan was speaking to her boss, Ray Aldrich, and a bunch of suits while Evidence Recovery Technicians combed the area for slugs embedded in the ground or in tree trunks.

She eyed Sheridan as she skirted around the crime scene tape to the high-powered huddle. He was an attractive guy in his mid-thirties. Tall with brutally short, dark hair, and a strong jawline. It was his eyes that grabbed her. The irises were a rich indigo that saw way too much. She cringed at what she’d given away on that rooftop that morning—things she never revealed to anyone. Things she’d spent most of her life trying to hide. He’d caught her at a weak moment. She’d be better prepared in the future.

Van had always sung Sheridan’s praises, but she doubted he’d been talking about the broad shoulders, slim hips or brooding persona.

Van…

Her lungs squeezed, and the pain in her heart was a reminder he was never coming back. Van Stamos had been her idol and mentor, the person who’d inspired her to join the Bureau. More importantly, he’d been her friend. He’d had faith in her abilities and in her strength of character. He hadn’t cosseted her. He’d pushed and let her push back. Challenged her to be her very best.

Thanks to Van’s support, she had more experience and arrests to her credit than any of her graduating class in their first office assignments. He’d given her that. Given her an advantage within the Bureau because he’d believed in her. He’d always believed in her.

And today he was being buried in a furtive rush as if the world was ashamed of him. The man deserved a heroic sendoff befitting a veteran agent who’d dedicated his whole life to the FBI with unfailing loyalty. Instead he got this dismal dirge.

Kill himself?

Van would never kill himself, and she intended to prove it. He’d been there for her when she’d needed him, now she’d be there for him. She wouldn’t let him down.

Ava strode toward the higher ups, determined someone was going to listen to what she had to say even if it made her unpopular.

She was used to being unpopular.

A headache was starting to grow, gnawing at her energy reserves but if she didn’t do this now, she’d lose momentum, not to mention her nerve. She approached the group, doing her best to be inconspicuous, but these people were all high-level FBI personnel. They stopped talking as soon as she came within earshot and waited as SSA Sheridan introduced her.

“This is Agent Kanas.” His voice was soft and dark and caressed her skin like a velvet fingertip.

Get a grip, Ava.

“She spotted the shooter’s firing position and created a distraction at great risk to herself while I tried to…hmm.” Sheridan’s voice cracked. “…tried to move Calvin to safety.”

He’d braved the line of fire while others had hidden in fear.

“Good work,” said the man standing closest to her right.

“Thank you.” She looked up and her eyes widened. “Sir.” She was standing a few inches from the Director of the FBI. “I-I was just doing what I’d been trained to do, sir. I wish we’d caught the guy.” She glanced at Sheridan. If he’d let her take the elevator, they might have cornered the shooter on the roof.

Sheridan calmly held her gaze as if he could read her mind. It wasn’t a feeling she appreciated.

“He won’t get far,” the director assured her. “We have the full weight of the FBI behind this. Teams of agents are scouring the area for evidence and canvassing the neighborhood. Hopefully traffic cams can help us identify all the vehicles in the vicinity and we can get a name.”

Ava braced her hands on her waist. “Could the shooter have anything to do with Van Stamos’s death, sir?” She eyed the coffin sitting in the sunshine. Van would have been amused by his front row seat at the proceedings. One final case in his illustrious career.

The director frowned and Ray Aldrich jumped in. “Stamos’s death was deemed accidental.”

The headache pressed against Ava’s forehead, but she ignored the pain. No one believed it was “accidental.”

A third man Ava didn’t recognize mused. “Maybe the shooter saw Stamos’s obituary and figured it was a prime opportunity to take aim at the FBI, knowing other agents would be in attendance?”

“Or maybe Calvin Mortimer was targeted specifically,” said another man.

Ava clenched her hands into fists, holding back emotions that wanted to leak.

One of the men standing there, a classically handsome, chisel-jawed superior, watched her with a keen, icy blue gaze. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t place him. From the academy maybe? A heavily pregnant brunette stood beside him, resting a palm on her swollen abdomen. She was armed.

Ava wished she knew who these people were but could hardly demand they identify themselves. Technically, for the next few weeks, she was still a rookie, while these guys probably had over a hundred years’ service between them.

The director nodded. “We can’t afford to rule anything out at this stage.”

To Ava, that sounded like a brush off. She opened her mouth to share her theory about Van’s death when a sharp tug on her jacket sleeve stopped her.