Without a specific location, Randi
pulled an internet map up on her phone and once she got her bearings, she
headed toward the warehouse district in Anacostia. Her better judgment told her
to call the body in and let local law enforcement handle it, but as Tweeg
always happily pointed out, she was better suited to women’s intuition than rational
judgment. As she drove down the freeway, she went over what little she knew of
the situation ahead of her. The more she replayed the events of the past
twenty-four hours, the more her instincts screamed at her that this was no job
for locals.
She wasn’t sure it was the right
job for her fellow agents.
You
should’ve called in backup, Tweeg’s snotty voice echoed in her head. She
had to admit, as much as she hated the annoying ass, he’d probably be right. A
dozen agents in full gear should be swarming the warehouse now, instead of one
agent in a smart pantsuit. Giving herself a wry grin in the rearview, she said,
“I’m guessing this is what they mean when they call a book’s heroine ‘too
stupid to live’.”
But
look at it this way. If this is a trap, I’ll fall into it and once I’m out of
the picture, Vic will be safe. On the other hand, if this is really related to
the case, I’ll be a hero and whether I look stupid won’t make a damn bit of
difference.
The eyes looking back at her told
her she wasn’t fooling anyone. She knew the real reason behind her traipsing
into unfamiliar territory with only her service weapon as backup. This whole
business had been too politically charged from the onset for her to be able to
trust anyone who worked for the government. For all she knew, her own boss had
ordered the attack on Dr. Hammond to keep the true nature of Mrs. Reynolds’
death a secret. Stranger things had happened, after all.
If
this is a trap of some kind, I’m already committed to it. Whatever happens is
on me. The thought buoyed her up. For the first time since the fiasco with
Payton, she was trusting her own judgment on a real case. Maybe she could use
this case to prove she hadn’t gained anything because of her relationship with
the director—that she really was worthy of being an agent with the TTF.
When she finally reached Pine
Street, she hit a smidgen of luck. The street seemed to be one of the shorter
ones in the area. It held five warehouses and only one of them appeared to be
unoccupied. If her luck held, the body would be inside. If not, she would have
to eat crow and call in the police to sweep the area. If her luck had really
given out, the tip had been fake and she’d be eating more than crow before the
day was out.
Pulling her sedan into a
weed-ridden parking area, she regarded the empty structure. From the looks of
it, sooner or later someone would call in the building inspectors to condemn
the place.
As she stood on the pavement
outside, the only obvious entrance was the front door, but she couldn’t be
lucky enough to find it unlocked. Instead, she had to leave the front and try
the loading docks in back. If those proved unhelpful, she’d have to call this
in.
Luck came back for her before she
walked all the way to the back. A side
door stood open along the way. She didn’t need to step inside to know the
caller had told her the truth. The smell of decomposition wafting through to
her proved it.
With a handkerchief covering her
nose and mouth, she stepped into the cavernous metal building. So help me god, if this is a dog or a deer,
I’m going to find whoever called me and shoot him in the kneecaps. The
smell of her own detergent did little to cover the growing scent as she
ventured further into the building. She barely made it deep enough inside to
see the shadowy outline of a man.
As the caller had said, the
warehouse housed a dead guy. The body lay face down in the middle of what used
to be a shipping area. When she got close enough, she could see the gaping hole
in the back of his head. A wide circle of dark, brownish-red blossomed from
where his nose should’ve been pressed against the concrete. She didn’t need to
roll him over to know she wouldn’t be making a visual identification of this
victim. No one would.
The mental image of what a bullet
could do as it exited a man’s face undid her resolve. She turned and walked
quickly from the crime scene before she contaminated it with a mess of her own
making. Whoever this guy had been, someone wanted him dead in a very bad way.
