Andrew Peterson - First to Kill

Harv said nothing.

“He wants a political victory for his CDT, and he’s willing to break the rules to get it. It’s a big feather in his cap if he pulls it off. It’ll guarantee funding for the next five hundred years. It’s front-page, headline-grabbing material.”

“I think it’s Occam’s razor.”

“All right, I’m listening.”

Harv lowered his voice. “Frank Ortega called your father. He’s the one pulling the strings. He wanted his grandson found at any cost. If the civil rights of a couple rat bags get violated in the process, so be it.”

Nathan heard the pain in his partner’s words and softened his tone. He stopped pacing. “Look Harv, if it was you who went missing, I’d do the same thing. You know that. Don’t condemn Ortega for wanting closure. Will he tell you the truth?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“We need to know for sure. I want that call with Director Lansing. If he doesn’t already know the score, I’ll tell him everything. All of it, from the beginning. No threats. I’ll take full responsibility.”

“Come on, Nate, that’s not fair to you, to us. There’s plenty of blame to go around. It was the FBI’s stakeout.”

“It was all there, right in front me. I should’ve put it together. I want to make this right. We need to make this right.”

“We have to protect ourselves.”

“That’s why I want the call with Lansing.”

Nathan couldn’t sleep. He stared at the ceiling, his thoughts on James Ortega. When the phone rang, he glanced at the clock. Almost midnight.

“Nathan, it’s Holly. Did I wake you?”

“No.”

“I’m five minutes away, can you meet me in the lobby?”

He hesitated, not sure he wanted company, but there was something in her voice. “Five minutes.”

“You were right. About everything.” The line went dead.

In the bathroom, he brushed his teeth, rubbed a wet washcloth over his face, and made his way out to the elevators. About to press the button, he stopped. No cell phone. He went back for it. During the elevator’s descent, he thought about Holly, what her last twelve hours must’ve been like. He shook his head as the elevator dumped him into a deserted lobby. The clerk behind the counter smiled as he walked past. Holly Simpson entered the hotel three minutes later. Her white shirt was tucked into blue jeans secured by a silver-and-turquoise Indian jewelry belt. Even exhausted, she looked beautiful.

He stood as the automatic glass doors pulled open.

“Hello, Holly.”

Her expression told all.

“Oh man.” He held his arms wide open.

She moved forward and embraced him. Tightly.

“Rough day?” Nathan felt her nod and rested his chin on her head. He needed this hug as much as she did.

“What happened to your hand?”

“The bathroom mirror lost an argument.”

“You okay?”

“Just embarrassed.”

She released him and stepped back. “Look at me, some professional.”

“Nonsense, you’re a human being with deep feelings.”

She managed a smile. “Thanks for the hug, I really needed it.”

“Me too.”

“You saved our lives at the farmhouse last night.”

“The light switch.”

“It was rigged to several claymores concealed in an empty toolbox. If Bruce had flipped it, we would’ve been killed. He’s really torn up over it, threatening to resign.”

“Don’t let him quit.”

“I won’t.” They sat down, facing each other. “There’s more. The Bridgestones killed our two techs in the surveillance van. Tortured them first, like Ortega. We found them in the farmhouse, both shot in the head. Everything was recorded. The machines were running when they grabbed them. It was horrible.… Their screams.”

“I’m sorry, Holly.

“That’s not all, Nathan. They know about you. They know you’re the one who killed their little brother at the compound. They also know who your father is.”

He just stared. How the hell could they know that? His mind raced with possibilities, all of them bad.

“We can protect you, put you in the witness security program.”

“Forget about it. I’m not hiding from those two mutts.”

“But everything’s changed. They know who you are.”

“I’ll be okay. Come on, let’s get out of here.”

Outside, she asked if he didn’t mind driving. He tucked her into the passenger seat and walked around the front of the SUV. Moving the driver’s seat all the way back, he climbed in and reached for the keys. They weren’t there.

“Sorry.” She reached into her purse. “There’s a piano bar not far from here. It’s open for another hour.”

“Sounds good. You go there often?”

“When I can’t sleep. How did you know about the garage switch?”

“I didn’t, for sure. It was just a feeling.”

“Turn right at L, then go left at the next signal. Based on what?”

“I’m not sure I can explain it.”

“Will you try?”

“It was a lot of things. Things that had been floating around in my head. Like the claymores at the compound. The trip wire on porch steps of the farmhouse. The buried cash. It’s hard to nail down.”

“There was a trip wire?”

“It was rigged to a bunch of empty beer bottles. I cut the string before you got there.”

“I saw the bottles, but I didn’t think twice about them.”

“Harv and I were trained to look for stuff like that, to be suspicious of things that seem ordinary. I’m just glad the garage door itself wasn’t rigged. That’s why I asked you and Henning to look for a wire when I started lifting it.”

“I’m just really glad you were there. To be honest, I resented your involvement. I didn’t say anything at the airport. I didn’t want to offend you.”

“Larry Gifford told me the same thing at the compound, almost word for word.”

“Larry’s a good man.”

“I like Gifford a lot,” Nathan said. “He’s the real deal.”

“We’re like a family, the FBI. We look out for each other. Sometimes I think we’re dependent on each other to the point of being restrictive, arrogant even. We don’t like asking for outside help.”

“You’re not alone.”

“How can you sound so calm about all this? The Bridgestones know who you are.”

“Like I said, all they have is my name.”

“Turn left at the next signal. You can park anywhere, the bar’s just up the street.”

Nathan pulled over to the curb and climbed out quickly, but before he made it to Holly’s side of the Explorer, she had her door open and was sliding out. He closed it for her.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“My mother’s old school.”

They walked in silence down the sidewalk. A few cars still lingered about, but for the most part, the downtown streets of Sacramento were deserted. Nathan saw the entrance to the bar just ahead. A small black awning overhung its glass door. A red neon sign in the shape of a grand piano lit the window next to the door. The opposite window had two blue neon signs shaped like cocktail glasses. He could hear muffled jazz coming from inside. It sounded good, even through the glass. He looked for black, flattened wads of gum on the sidewalk as a gauge of the bar’s patrons and found none. The glass door was clean. No handprints or smudges.

Holly hesitated, letting him open the door. Once inside, Nathan gave the place a quick scan. So did Holly. She scanned from left to right, while Nathan went right to left. Their surveillance met in the middle, and they smiled, knowing they had both been doing the same thing. A linear bar stood to their left with cocktail tables on the right. A small elevated stage on the far wall hosted the two musicians. Because the room was small and intimate enough for natural sound, the musicians weren’t using a PA system. To Nathan’s surprise, they had the place to themselves. The bartender nodded and they grabbed the first table on the right. Nathan pulled Holly’s chair for her, and she thanked him.