CHAPTER TWO
1898 Words
CHAPTER TWO
Sawyer sat in his car in the parking lot, glaring through the windshield. He wasn’t trying to throttle his steering wheel; this was just a happy accident.
Emotions.
He snorted.
Men weren’t supposed to have those, were they? Anger. That was his only emotion. Or, at least, had been. But that particular sentiment had gotten him nowhere.
It had seen him walking into a federal prison, intent on taking a life.
Two lives. His included.
But Dr. Beck had shown up. He owed her. He knew that much. Now, in the light of day, he realized what he’d been planning was perhaps not the most advisable course of action. But he was still angry. Furious.
His sister was still dead, and the man who’d taken her was still alive.
Ilse had offered to talk with him. He never would do counseling. Absolutely not. But talking? Talking wasn’t so bad. Especially if he didn’t have to do most of it.
He gave another squeeze of the steering wheel, but then shoved out of the door, marching into the headquarters.
The Seattle field office was different now. As he moved under the cameras, through the metal detectors, and past ample security, he felt a tingle along his spine.
It took him a moment to place the sensation.
Fear.
Sawyer was not a fearful man. He scowled, shifting his shoulders.
“Tom?”
He froze, glancing back towards one of the officers by the door. The cop was adjusting his holster. He waved, pointing towards the conveyor belt by the x-ray machine. “Keys,” he said cheerfully.
Sawyer dipped his head, tipping the brim of his baseball cap. He grabbed the keys, and muttered, “Thanks—see ya, Jim.”
And then he continued past the checkpoint. No one stopped him. No one said a thing. And yet, the fear remained.
He had spent so much time on one side of the law that even glimpsing the other side was new territory.
He wondered if Rawley knew. Agent Rawley always seemed to be poking in Sawyer’s business.
But over the last few days, since his breakdown in that parking lot outside the federal penitentiary...
Nothing.
No internal affairs investigation. No phone calls or visits from the supervising agent. As if it hadn’t happened.
Sawyer made his way up the flights of stairs. He stalked through an office section, with multiple cubicles divided by gray screens. At the back of the large conference area, there was a second office. The door was open. He spotted Ilse already standing there. He’d seen her enter the building ahead of him but hadn’t wanted to talk at the time.
And now, he was feeling similarly reluctant. He approached the door, hesitantly, wondering if this was a trap after all.
Supervising Agent Rawley was staring through the glass at Sawyer. The man was rigid behind his standing desk. An exercise ball, a bright blue thing, sat next to a floor-to-ceiling window.
Agent Rawley was a bit of a health nut.
A tough nut to c***k. But that didn’t mean Sawyer hadn’t tried. Literally, once. He’d punch to the supervisor.
The man had tried to interfere with Sawyer’s business on more than one occasion. At the time, before he’d been suspended, Sawyer hadn’t intended to punch his supervisor. But things had piled up. To this day, he couldn’t quite remember the exact straw that had broken the camel’s back. But one memory stuck out. Rawley prying about Sawyer’s sister. Now, as he entered the supervising agent’s office, he glanced between Beck and Rawley, frowning.
“Sorry for being late,” he said.
Rawley replied, curt, his gaze icy, “Beck says you were sitting in the parking lot.”
Ilse winced. “I said I thought I spotted you in your car.”
Sawyer just shrugged. “Morning meditation.”
Supervising Agent Rawley shifted uncomfortably behind his desk. He was wearing a different suit than usual. More blue and pinstripe. Not exactly an agent suit. More like a banker’s. He was also shifting behind his standing desk from foot to foot. A nervous energy.
Sawyer felt his nerves returned.
Rawley’s hair was combed. The handsome, middle-aged man was the definition of neat and tidy.
But there was an extra effort about it today. Even across the room, as he approached cautiously, Sawyer thought he smelled aftershave.
“You going to the prom?” Sawyer said.
Ilse winced. Rawley just frowned. “I’d appreciate it if you came to our briefings on time in the future.”
Sawyer shrugged. Rawley was acting strange. Did he know? Had Dr. Beck told him what happened?
He shot a quick look towards his partner. But no, she wasn’t like that.
So he waited, nervously, hiding any glimpse of discomfort.
“Three days ago,” Rawley began, slowly, and Sawyer’s blood pressure spiked, “I received a very interesting phone call.”
Even Dr. Beck was fidgeting now.
Rawley glanced between Sawyer and Ilse. His eyes settled on Tom, narrowing suddenly. “And I’m afraid, Agent Sawyer, I’m going to have to ask you something.”
He knew. Of course he knew. Rawley often butted into Sawyer’s business. Why wouldn’t he know? Would Tom end up in prison? He certainly would be fired. He would lose his badge.
He felt like his mind was a caged alley cat, desperately trying to escape its confines with snarls and claws.
But outwardly, his expression was a mask.
He just blinked once, staring at the supervisor.
“Do you think you can be on good behavior?” Rawley said simply.
Sawyer blinked. This wasn’t the question he’d been expecting. “I’m always on good behavior,” he replied with a straight face. He didn’t even glance in Ilse’s direction.
“I wish that were true,” Rawley said with a long sigh. He folded his hands in front of him on the desk. “The call was from Quantico. As it stands, I’m up for promotion. I don’t tell this to you to brag, but to warn.” Again he was glaring at Sawyer. “If you cost me this promotion, Tom, by one of your shenanigans, outbursts, illegal arrests, attempts at seducing one of the victims or—”
“That one never happened,” Sawyer snapped. “I never seduced a victim.”
“Implying the others did,” Rawley said with a significant tilt of his eyebrows.
Sawyer glared. He’d walked into that one.
“I’m not trying to make you miserable, Tom. I’m begging you. Don’t do anything too much like the sort of thing, er, you normally do.”
Ilse blinked. “Could you repeat that?”
But both the man ignored her. They were glaring across the desk, their eyes locked. Sawyer was a good ten years younger than Rawley. His hair less gray. His features less cut. Tom’s version of a workout was chasing a killer through an alley and tackling him in the mud.
Rawley shook his head. He reached beneath his desk, pulled out a bottle of vitamins and tossed a couple of red gummies in his mouth. He chewed nervously.
He shook his head as he said, “I’ve been working a long time for this opportunity. I have half a mind to give this case to someone else. But, as we all know, you two have the best closure rate. They’re taking a special look at the most recent cases I’ve supervised. So I’m asking you two, please,” he added, his voice pleading, “don’t do anything to make me regret assigning you both. Dr. Beck, you, I’m trusting, can keep Sawyer in line.”
Tom glanced at Ilse. She was nervously brushing her hair in front of her injured ear. She did this whenever she was uncomfortable. Ilse often wore long sleeves and turtlenecks. He noticed this as well about her. She didn’t wear makeup. Nor perfume. Occasionally, not that he was paying much attention, he detected the faint scent of lilac deodorant or detergent. Dr. Beck was not someone intent on making an impression. She preferred to stay back, watching. He liked this about her. And then, after a while, done with watching, she would start asking questions.
This part he liked a bit less.
But now, in response to Agent Rawley, Ilse said, carefully, “Sawyer is the senior agent. I’m sure he’ll do wonderfully.”
Rawley sighed. Sawyer smirked.
The supervising agent waved a hand. “I trust you’re right. Now here’s what we have; two victims so far. Both of them drugged. Witnesses in the area say they saw a man wheeling them around in wheelchairs. First, they thought the man was some sort of nurse, or helper. Both the victims were young women, but their hair was dyed, and they were dressed in clothing to make them look older.”
Sawyer stared at the description. “Just handing us a really run-of-the-mill case now, are you?”
Rawley said, “It’s a strange one. I can’t choose them. We’ll just have to do the best we can.”
“So he is drugging them to kill them?” Ilse said.
Rawley turned his attention to her. As he did, his expression seemed less tense somehow. The small vein that throbbed in his temple whenever he was looking at Tom didn’t pulse as badly.
“No, actually. One of the victims was killed by being pushed off the roof of the car park. Still in the wheelchair. She died from the fall.”
Ilse winced. “That’s horrible.”
“The other victim was killed in the same way. She was pushed off an overpass, onto an oncoming truck.”
Sawyer snapped, “Do we have any visuals of the bastard doing it?”
Rawley shook his head. “He avoids cameras. And he wears a hood. A few people noticed the hood. One witness said they greeted the man, but he didn’t reply, and looked nervous... The witness thought the man was hiding something in his pocket. That’s when he got suspicious, and called the police. But by the time they reached the crime scene, the killer was long gone, and the victim was dead.”
“Do we know what substance is being used?” Sawyer asked.
“The coroner is finishing up a toxicology report. It should be available by the end of the day. Also, both victims were killed near the town of Leavenworth. It’s only a couple of hours from here. You know where it is?”
Ilse flinched at the name of the town. Rawley didn’t seem to notice, but Sawyer shot her an askance glance.
Rawley, continued, “Like I said, do your best on this one, and don’t attract any unwanted attention. We have to do this by the book. Is that clear?”
Sawyer muttered, “Break every rule, and beat the witnesses for information. Got it.” He turned, already moving through the door. Ilse sighed behind him. Rawley didn’t even try to call after.
Though, as Sawyer pushed through the door, he did hear the supervising agent mutter to Dr. Beck, “Keep an eye on him. He’s been acting more Sawyer-like recently.”
To her credit, Ilse didn’t say anything at all. She followed after, hurrying to catch up in the hall.
- Writer
