Robin Burcell - Face of a Killer

“We got wind of it right after we learned that McKnight mailed you the photo.”

“So the photo started it.”

“That’s what we think.”

“The photo you let me walk into my sister’s house with.”

“I did try to take it from you. And if you were smart, you’d hand it over, before you do any more damage.”

She now had a copy of it and the letter, but didn’t want him to think she was capitulating so easily. “I have to think about it. Had you mentioned everything surrounding it, I might have turned it over sooner.” He didn’t respond. “Which means that Donovan Gnoble is behind this?”

“That part we don’t know.”

“How can you not know? You knew enough to show up to my house and try to steal it out of my mailbox, for God’s sake. And if it’s so goddamned important, how is it you didn’t come back to get it? At least warn me?”

“It’s… complicated. I have a source who can trace the threat to someone on his staff, but that’s it.”

“So you don’t know if Donovan’s behind it?”

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?”

“We’re investigating.”

“And at what point were you going to tell me?”

“I wanted to, but the timing was never right.”

“What the hell were you waiting for? The moment someone started taking potshots at me with my family standing nearby? My little sister as she’s blowing out her candles? Or me when I’m walking my neighbor’s dog, and some car tries to run me over?”

“We weren’t sure if that was related. We were watching your house, and they thought it was one of the neighborhood teens.”

“I’m being watched?”

“You don’t think we’d just let you walk around without protection?”

“No. What I think is that you’d fucking tell me that someone wants me dead so I don’t stupidly put myself or anyone else in danger.”

“Damn it, Sydney.” He slammed one hand on the steering wheel. “We had to make a decision. We thought we were going to get it taken care of before anything happened. We thought-”

“You thought wrong.” She turned, stared out the side window, trying to stay composed enough to piece everything together, but some idiot pulled in behind them, his headlights out of whack. One shone slightly higher than the other, making direct contact into the passenger side mirror, blinding her. She turned away, shifted in her seat, decided she needed to keep her eye on Scotty, the better to figure out what the hell was going on. “Fine. You can have the photo and the other stuff when we get back to my place.”

“Thank you.”

“And who exactly are the we you speak of?”

“I can’t discuss it.”

“It’s my life you’re screwing with here.”

“There are a couple other agencies involved, because of some national security issues.”

“National security issues? What does that have to do with me?”

“Not you. Your father.”

“So he was Delta Force?”

“Not exactly. From what I understand, his specialty was clandestine ops. Black ops.”

“Black ops?”

“The kind of things that don’t end up in any official records. Not sanctioned by any known government officials.”

Up ahead, the Golden Gate Bridge lit the night sky, but she barely registered it. “How do you know this?” she finally asked. “How do you know any of it’s true?”

“From the background on McKnight. Apparently that’s what your father had over his head, why he was demanding money from McKnight. Your father, McKnight, and the other guys in the photo worked together, possibly for or with Gnoble. We’re still trying to piece it together. Your father wasn’t a photographer. That was his cover, up until the explosion that blew off his fingers, which we think occurred on whatever their last operation was. The one your father was allegedly blackmailing McKnight about… The reason McKnight killed himself.”

“Okay, let’s say all this is true. Then what the hell does it have to do with me?”

“McKnight sent you that photo and that letter. For some reason, he thought you should know. And for some reason, it upset someone in Gnoble’s office, because that’s when we heard about the threat to your life. Apparently whatever it was they were working on twentysomething years ago, it’s something someone feels will haunt Gnoble, and no doubt cost him the election.”

“Something to do with that big banking scandal?” When he didn’t answer, she took that as a confirmation. “But you don’t know if it is Gnoble?”

“No. It could just be someone in or connected to his office who wants to ensure his position there.” Scotty slowed as they neared the tollbooth, the line blissfully short at this hour. “But that’s one of the reasons we decided not to tell you right away. We knew you’d be meeting up with him when he came out here for that rally. We wanted to make sure you didn’t act any different around him. In case he or whoever it is on his staff was watching you. There was so much press around, and so many undercover agents, we knew you’d be safe.”

“How comforting.” Her thoughts raced, tried to fit the pieces, determine what was so important about this photo of a handful of men just standing there. Even the accompanying alleged blackmail letter didn’t make sense. And then it struck her. The missing element. “The suicide note,” she said aloud.

Scotty said nothing.

“There was something in that note that ties all this together.” When he didn’t respond, she said, “Did you get the copy that I asked about?”

“I told you, I can’t get it. I wasn’t lying about that.”

“Do you even know what it says?”

No answer.

She wanted to scream at him, but he pulled up to the tollbooth to pay for the bridge crossing. She glanced at the clock on the dash, its neon green digits showing half past nine. Her redeye to Houston took off in a little more than three hours from then, and it didn’t take a secret agent to figure out that if she were to mention her little trip to Scotty, he would find a way to stop her. The government wanted whatever this was kept under wraps, and for the good of the government, Scotty had done and would do what he was ordered.

“So, just how close am I being watched…?”

He looked over at her, no doubt trying to read something behind her question, and she figured it was time to act as though she trusted him and the government to do what was right. “What I mean is, how am I supposed to know that the person following me is a good guy or a bad guy? How many people are watching my house, tailing my car?”

“Two cars are sitting on your house, and two others are designated to you and wherever you go.”

She crossed her arms, then uncrossed them. The need for protection was clear, something she could appreciate, but right now she needed the freedom to move around, fly off to Houston without interference from Scotty and whatever government entities he was involved with. If her situation weren’t so dire, she could almost laugh. One week ago, if someone had told her she’d be skirting rules right and left, creating fake cases to investigate a crime of blackmail long past the statute of limitations, she would have told him he was nuts.

Apparently she was the one verging on the brink of insanity.

Past the bridge, Scotty turned off, took a different route to her place. She looked over at him, then started watching the side view mirror, seeing the same car with the headlight needing adjustment. “How long has that car been following us?”

“From the time we left your mother’s.”

“Tell me it’s one of yours.”

“It’s one of ours.”

Since he didn’t take evasive action, she believed him. Which meant the unusual route was probably another precautionary measure. She focused, tried to plan how she was going to get to the airport without him finding out. Last thing she needed was for him to make a couple of calls to Houston PD, get her banned from the building, or worse yet, stopped at the airport before she even got there.