Кей Хупер - Blood Ties

A very faint smile curved Bishop’s hard mouth. “I stopped wondering about that when we faced Samuel at his church. When I felt the power of his mind firsthand. We didn’t have a traitor. What we had was an enemy capable of creeping among us—psychically. Unseen. Taking note of what we said and did. And much of what we thought.

“That’s the ultimate irony, you know. That you trusted the information Samuel gave you—perfectly accurate information—without questioning where he came by it. Maybe you knew, deep down, what he’d tell you if you asked. Maybe that’s why you didn’t ask.”

“You need help, Bishop. You’re a sick man.”

“I’m sick and tired of your crusade. And so is the Director, just so you know. He’s given me a complete statement of his dealings with you. And he’s given me the discretion to use it however I please.”

His mouth twisted. “He’s a gutless wonder.”

“No, he’s an honorable man. An ethical man. I knew that. And I knew he would ultimately decide to support the SCU. A decision he undoubtedly would have come to sooner if not for your poison.”

He was silent.

“Not that I really needed most of the information Director Hughes was able to give me. I already knew most of it. He was just confirmation.”

“How could you know?”

Bishop shook his head slightly. “You’re good at a lot of things, but this? This is what I do. Investigate. I had to find a bitter enemy with very deep pockets, and unfortunately there are several. So it took time. Time and far too much of my attention. But one by one, the others were ruled out. It’s taken me months, but eventually you were the only one left.”

“The Sherlock Holmes maxim? Eliminate the impossible and whatever remains must be truth? I’m surprised at you, Bishop. That’s so terribly… old school.”

“If old school works, I use it. I use anything that works. Everything. Every tool I can get my hands on—except for one. I never make a deal with the devil.”

“If you’re implying I did—”

“I’m not implying. I’m stating. You knew what Samuel was, what he was capable of. But you believed he could get you what you wanted, and that was all you cared about. As long as the SCU was destroyed, I was destroyed, then nothing else mattered to you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” The words were almost mechanical.

“I wish I could believe you didn’t. I wish I could believe there were lines you wouldn’t cross no matter how determined you were to win. To destroy me. But I don’t believe that. You knew. You just didn’t give a shit about anyone else.”

“I’m going to ruin you, Bishop. No matter what you think you have on me, it won’t stand up in court. And by the time my attorneys are finished with you, the FBI won’t have you. Your own wife won’t have you.”

“Oh, it won’t go to court,” Bishop said, ignoring the more personal claim. “You’re right. I don’t have enough evidence against you for a court case. Not yet, at any rate, though I’m sure there’s some to be found when my people know exactly where to dig.”

He managed another laugh. “Good luck with that. And since you have no evidence to support these wild accusations, I’ll be on my way. You can talk to my attorneys if you have anything further to say to me.”

“No, what I have to say to you, I’ll say to you now.” Bishop picked up the folder lying on the table in front of him and slid it across to the other man. “I want you to take a look at what your money bought you.”

“I’m not going to—”

Flatly, Bishop said, “There are two agents waiting outside that door. You’ll take a look inside that folder, or I’ll have you arrested the instant you step outside. Believe me, I do have enough evidence to detain you. And question you formally. And make a hell of a public mess for your PR people to clean up.” He paused, watching the other man seethe, then added, “Or we can avoid all that—at least for now—and you can look inside the folder. Your choice.”

After a moment, he reached stiffly for the folder. He opened it, his expression impassive. But then he sucked in a breath, the color drained from his face, and he all but fell as he fumbled for the chair in front of him and sank into it. The manila folder dropped to the floor, leaving him clutching the single photograph it had contained.

Bishop watched him, feeling not a single twinge of compassion for what he knew very well was genuine shock, grief, and guilt. “I could have shown you all the victims of your crusade. But I decided this one was what you needed to see. Money can buy a lot of things. But what it can never buy, what nothing can ever buy, is complete control over events. Whatever you thought your money was buying, that’s what it bought.”

Elliot Brisco stared down at the stark photograph of his only surviving daughter lying in the street in a pool of her own blood. “It isn’t true. This is—lie. This is a lie. She isn’t dead. She isn’t dead?” His voice was shaking, his hands were shaking, and when he met Bishop’s gaze his eyes were wide and curiously blank.

“She’s fighting for her life. And it doesn’t look good, according to the doctors. A sniper’s bullet can do terrible things to a human body.” His voice was measured, steady. Implacable. “She was collateral damage at best, in the wrong place at the wrong time. At worst, she was a target he intended to hit for reasons of his own. Either way, you’ve lost whatever control you imagined you had over the situation.”

“He… Who are you talking about? Who did this?”

“Your pet monster. Samuel.”

“He’s dead. Samuel’s dead.”

“Let’s just say he left a…legacy behind to survive him. With orders to finish the job you gave him money to start.”

“Bastard… bastard…”

Bishop didn’t ask whether that referred to himself or the killer—killers—he was after. He merely said, “So you’re going to tell me who’s been on Samuel’s private payroll all this time, on your private payroll. Because that’s who’s doing this. That’s who’s down in Serenade conducting a war. You’re going to tell me who it is, and you’re going to tell me everything else you know or believe you know about the situation. Everything. So that maybe, just maybe, I can stop this from getting any worse than it already is.”

Serenade

The dogs had had no luck in tracking the sniper, but by four o’clock Thursday afternoon the pair of bloodhounds known in the area as the very best did manage to find Acting Deputy Bobbie Silvers.

Or what was left of her.

They found her just outside the town limits, her naked body tumbled into a shallow ditch off a side road and partially covered over with wet and rotting autumn leaves.

Miranda stood gazing down at the pale face she had carefully uncovered, only distantly aware of Sheriff Duncan’s broken curses and the utter stillness and silence of the other deputies and agents gathered around. She looked at that very young face she had barely noticed when it was alive, remembering how Bobbie had worked overtime to find information for them.

Eager. Smart. Ambitious.

Gone.

Finally, Miranda lifted her gaze and found Dean Ramsey nearby. “It’s a dump site, but we’ll get what we can. Crime-scene protocol,” she said quietly.

“Copy that.” He moved away, gathering a couple of other agents with a gesture so they could begin the work of locating, photographing, tagging, and preserving what evidence there was to be found.

“Miranda.” Tony was at her side. “I’m feeling a little exposed, even with the trees and our vests.”

“We have people covering this area,” she pointed out. “Media crawling all over the area outside our perimeter, despite our warnings. And there are no buildings near enough to provide a clear line of sight. I wasn’t trained as a sniper, but I can tell you he’d be a fool to be up in one of these trees close enough to see us. So far he hasn’t shown a sign of being a fool.”