Cold & Deadly (Cold Justice: Crossfire #1)(61)
Most people called it entrapment. Dominic Sheridan had shot Peter dead and gotten a fucking commendation.
Bernie’s fingers gripped the wheel so tight they felt welded on.
Next to Sheridan, the female cop was the most important target to destroy. Without that slut, Peter would never have been caught. Bernie had already set that plan in motion. Fernando Chavez was going to have to wait for now, be put on hold.
He lived in a log cabin in the woods though. Perhaps some gasoline and matches could be arranged. It was a hot, dry summer. The fire would grow fast and consume everything in its path. The perfect sort of vengeance—painful, terrifying.
Bernie didn’t even need to see the man die. It just needed to happen. All those responsible for setting up Peter needed to stop breathing on a permanent basis.
After ten hours of aimless driving the small, private airstrip came into view. It was almost tempting to go to Peter. To be with him again if only for a short time, but there was much to do.
Revenge was time-consuming. Soon it would all be over. Soon it would be done.
Chapter Eighteen
Ava had tried to talk to Dominic again in the hallway before going into the negotiation area for his shift, but she could tell from his countenance he wasn’t in the mood to hear anything she said. She chickened out and instead sat in the corner plugged into the ethernet cable so she could download her emails. All wi-fi and cell service had been blocked so the hostage-takers couldn’t communicate with anyone except the negotiators in this room.
Ava was beyond mortified she’d admitted that she was okay with Dominic touching her. When she thought about it, her head wanted to explode. He’d been shocked and taken aback. He was probably placing her on his list of female stalkers, the ones who mooned after him and wanted him in their beds and wouldn’t leave him alone once they got him there.
Ugh.
She wasn’t shy about asking men out on a date, but even that tiny admission to Sheridan had shattered her confidence. She was such an idiot. He was effectively her boss right now, and she was supposed to be watching his back, being that extra pair of eyes so he wasn’t caught unawares. He’d basically apologized for a sleepy, innocent touch and she’d told him, hey, that’s okay, Boss, touch me again, any way you want.
Ugh. She squeezed her eyes shut the same way she gripped the pen she was making notes with. She had to tell him about her connection to Gino, but unless she wanted to yell the sensitive information across a crowded room it was proving completely impossible.
She opened the file Mallory Rooney had sent. Apparently, Lincoln Frazer had finally persuaded the task force investigating the Mortimer shooting in Fredericksburg that the deaths of the six other FBI and former-FBI agents from the NYFO might be related. Members of the task force were double-checking the details to determine if they were truly accidental or natural. Linked or not. The agents at the BAU-4 had agreed to read Ava in on any relevant information that might be useful when figuring out who this UNSUB was. They were emailing Dominic too, but he wasn’t even opening the messages any more. He was focusing on this prison siege situation and not allowing any distractions.
Including her.
Humiliation washed over her once again. How could she have said that to him? She pushed the churning thoughts away and also blocked out Gino-the-snake’s bellicose voice making his crazy demands. A helicopter and fifty thousand dollars. Each.
Did he really believe he was getting out of here?
Mallory Rooney forwarded an email about the dead waitress. At the time of Van’s funeral, Caroline Perry had not been at the bar nor the university. No one could place her anywhere which meant they couldn’t rule her out as the shooter. She had been working at the Mule & Pitcher when Van had eaten there and the Feds found capsules of Liquid E in her bedroom of her shared apartment, suggesting she was probably responsible for drugging and nearly killing Dominic. Had she drugged Van and staged his death? ME’s tests were inconclusive, but GHB metabolized out of the body fast.
No long gun. No evidence she’d ever owned or even fired a rifle, but they were still looking for the waitress’s car.
Had she finished whatever she’d set out to do? Maybe she thought Dominic was dead in that car wreck? Had she committed suicide rather than go to prison?
ME said she’d probably drowned but hadn’t been absolutely certain. They were waiting on lab test results. And DNA results.
DEA were immovable on sharing their video footage. Boy, were they ever pissed with her for ruining their op. Lincoln Frazer’s team was doing its thing creating a profile. Alex Parker had examined Van’s cell phone data and discovered her friend and mentor had received a call from a burner the morning of his death. The call had lasted fifteen minutes.
Alex was trying to find out when and where that burner had been bought and used. Maybe they could catch the UNSUB on surveillance images somewhere.
If this was an intricate plot designed to kill a specific group of FBI agents then Ava doubted the UNSUB would be sloppy enough to be caught on camera. Planning had been too detailed, too thorough. Even figuring out the names of the agents on the squad would take work for someone outside the Bureau.
Could they have hired an investigator?
Ava looked up as some sort of scuffle broke out on the TV monitor. The sound was on very low so the headset Joe—the guy doing all the talking—was using wouldn’t pick it up or produce feedback. The hostage-takers had their phone on speaker.