Maybe they’d get sent to Alaska, or an oilrig. He could hope.
He headed out of his bedroom to grab a glass of water and some pain meds but stopped on the threshold of his darkened living room.
Ava was stretched out asleep on the couch wearing sweats and a green camisole. Ranger was curled up beside her.
“Traitor,” he muttered to the dog who gave him the side eye.
He grabbed an afghan from the back of the other couch and draped it over the two of them.
Then he went back to his oversized and empty bed and lay there awake not knowing what the hell he wanted anymore.
*
Watching Sheridan’s house from the woods wasn’t as satisfying as it usually was. The blinds were closed, and drapes drawn flush against one another. No gaps. No easy spying on Dominic Sheridan. No fantasizing about putting a bullet in his unsuspecting forehead.
There were no cars in the driveway, but he was definitely home. Not dead. Hiding.
Was he alone?
Reports hadn’t indicated any fatalities last night so the woman he’d been with was presumably alive too. Pity. Caroline’s death wouldn’t be quite so pointless if at least one of them had died. But Caroline had interfered and had known too much. Plus, she’d served her purpose.
Would they blame Caroline for the murders? It was distinctly possible. An idea took shape. It would require another night of no sleep, but sleep was elusive these days anyway. Too many ghosts begging for retribution.
A light snapped off inside Sheridan’s bedroom, leaving only the dim lights on inside the pool. The G-man had an excellent alarm system, video cameras and motion sensors on every corner.
It was too risky to attempt a break-in, and it was preferable to pounce when the prey wasn’t expecting it. Like poor pathetic Van Stamos. So earnest in his desire to fight crime.
Fucker.
Impatience started to bite. To finish this. To destroy this asshole. The desire to smash all the windows with a baseball bat and piss in the pool was appealing, but it wouldn’t win the prize of complete and utter revenge. Only three more dead bodies would do that.
The challenge was harder now.
The wind rustled the leaves on the trees, and darkness encompassed the world. A grim reaper walked through the shadows, patient and ready. Now for the real test. Now to kill the last three murderers and have complete and utter revenge. Soon. Very soon.
Chapter Fourteen
Dominic walked into his boss’s office the next morning, sat down and waited for the opening salvo.
Quentin Savage looked up from the report he was reading. “I just got off the phone with the director.”
“Yeah?” Minimal positive encouragers worked to keep the other person talking, which was more effective when the other person wasn’t a trained negotiator.
“Yeah,” Savage repeated and eyed him narrowly. “Lincoln Frazer managed to persuade him we need to look into the possible scenario that FBI agents from the NYFO have been deliberately targeted and their deaths staged to look like accidents. Now the director wants WFO to expand the task force into Tuesday’s shooting into a task force that investigates all these deaths to see if there’s a link. They are assigning bodyguards to anyone who worked on that squad during that time period, including you. Did you have anything to do with his?”
“I discussed a few things with Lincoln Frazer yesterday afternoon.”
“When you were supposed to be resting?” Savage had a reputation for no bullshit, brutal honesty. When negotiating, he was absolutely unflappable, but the rest of the time he was fiery and unpredictable. It kept everyone on their toes.
“I started to think back on how many agents who I’d worked with had died recently. I couldn’t rest until I spoke to someone who might recognize a pattern.”
“And who better than the head of BAU-4?” Savage said snidely.
BAU-4 was the behavioral analysis unit that dealt with crimes against adults.
“Can you think of anyone from the cases you worked on back then who might hate the FBI this much?” Savage asked.
The idea someone wanted him dead was unsettling. Sure, plenty of bad guys he’d put away had threatened him with violence when he’d arrested them, but they generally didn’t take it personally. They were the ones breaking the law and—as long as they weren’t narcissists—they understood they got what they deserved. “Anyone who hates the FBI that much is either still serving time or dead.”
He’d checked the most obvious, high-profile villains last night. Lincoln’s team were checking the rest while the task force got organized.
“They could have hired someone or possibly have a family member who felt wronged,” Savaged mused.
Dominic grunted. If he knew who it might be, he’d have said already.
“And here’s me thinking you were the charmer of the group,” Savage grumbled after a few moments.
“Apparently someone missed the memo.” And the killer wasn’t the only one. Dominic thought of Ava Kanas. She’d barely spoken to him since breakfast when he’d informed her they might have to attend his father’s engagement party in DC next week if this situation wasn’t resolved.
She’d asked what to wear, and he’d told her a dress, and she’d been pissed ever since. Showing up in body armor was bad form.
He didn’t think anyone would make an attempt on his life at this thing because security would be tight if POTUS was expected to attend. He and Kanas could use the trip to glean more information out of the case agents. Visit the WFO and the task force before the party. They didn’t have to stay long. A quick in and out was always the best way to attend these things, especially if his family were involved.
He snapped back to whatever Savage was saying. “They’ve had at least two opportunities to kill you, and yet they haven’t. Why?”
“Maybe I’m just lucky?” said Dominic evenly.
“Maybe they want to torture you before they kill you,” Savage suggested.