The younger guy smoothly reached into his jacket pocket and withdrew his wallet to flip it open. “Agent Thomas Rutherford of the HDD.” His voice was low and cultured. Confident. He was probably about Angus’s age—in his early thirties.
“You’re lost,” Angus returned evenly.
“No. We’re looking for you, Special Agent Angus Force,” Rutherford said, his blue eyes cutting through the space between them.
“I’m retired.” Not exactly true, which was probably why these guys had shown up.
The older guy cocked his head. “That’s a tactical Czech German shepherd,” he said thoughtfully.
Angus lifted an eyebrow. “Nope. He’s a mutt. Found him last week in a gulley.” Was he drunk, or did Roscoe send him an irritated canine look? Angus jerked his head at the older man. “You are?”
The guy also took out a wallet to flash an HDD badge. “Agent Kurt Fielding.” Rough with an edge of the street—no culture there.
Angus crossed his arms. “There is nothing the Homeland Defense Department could possibly want with me.” The agency was an offshoot of Homeland Security—one of the offshoots the public didn’t really know about. The name alone made it easy to divert funds. “Go away.”
Rutherford set his hands in his pockets in an obvious effort to appear harmless. “We’d like a few minutes of your time.”
“Too bad.” Angus would like another drink. They stood between him and his bottles. That was a bad place to be.
Agent Fielding had deep dark eyes with a hangdog expression. He finally looked away from Roscoe and focused on Angus. “We know you’ve been nosing around the old files of the Henry Wayne Lassiter case.”
Heat flushed down Angus’s spine. “The last person who said that name to me got a fist in the face and a broken nose.”
“We’re aware of that fact,” Rutherford said. “Special Agent in Charge Denby still has a bump on that nose.”
Yeah, well his former boss had known better. Angus shrugged.
Fielding tried again. “We just want to talk.”
“No,” Angus said softly. “I know something is up, and I’m not going to stop until I find out what.” He’d been a damn good tracker for the Behavioral Science Unit until the Lassiter case, and then he’d fucking lost everything. Maybe even his mind. “A source reached out and told me Lassiter isn’t really dead.” Yeah, he’d shot the lunatic, and blood had sprayed. But he’d been shot as well, and he’d passed out before he was able to check the body for a pulse.
Rutherford smiled, showing perfectly straight white teeth. The guy probably had them bleached. “We understand that an old file clerk contacted you, but you have to realize that we’d just forced Miles Brown into retirement, and he was trying to make trouble by calling you. He apparently succeeded. Lassiter is dead.”
Miles had been a great record keeper, and the only thing his message had said was that there was a problem with the Lassiter file and for Force to call him immediately. “Fine. Then let me talk to Miles.” The phone number had been disconnected.
Fielding winced. “Miles Brown suffered a stroke and is in St. Juliet’s on the east side of DC. He has no family, so we put him up.”
That would explain why Force couldn’t get to him. “I’d like to see his office.”
“His office was cleared out,” Fielding said. “Per procedure. Nothing out of the ordinary there.”
Right. Except that Miles had called, and there was a sense of urgency in his voice. “Yet you’re here,” Angus murmured.
Rutherford sighed. “We know you’ve been through an ordeal, but—”
“Ordeal?” Angus growled. “Are you kidding me?” He’d give anything for his gun.
Fielding held up a hand. “We’re very sorry for your loss, but this is important.”
Loss? Had the fucker really just said the word “loss” to him? Angus took two steps toward the agents, and Roscoe kept pace with him, low growls emerging from his gut. “Leave. Now.” His sister had been murdered by the last serial killer Angus would ever put away. Loss didn’t cover it. Not by a long shot.
Rutherford eyed the dog warily. “We want you to stop pursuing the issue. Lassiter is dead. Let him lie.”
Angus snorted. Roscoe kept at attention but stopped growling. “Why are you here, then? If the case was really closed, you wouldn’t bother.” The psychopath had actually worked for the HDD.
Fielding shuffled his feet, his gaze dropping to his scuffed shoes.
Angus straightened. His gut churned, and his instincts flared to life. “Say what you need to say.”
Rutherford looked toward Fielding.
Fielding sighed and glanced up again. “Let it go. We’re not going to give you a choice.”
Ah, shit. Lassiter really was alive.
Angus stood perfectly still, his mind focusing despite the booze. “Well, then. If you’re here, I guess I have leverage.” Enough to get an office and maybe a team he could put together—until the HDD figured out a way to get rid of him. He looked down at the dog. “Wanna go back to work, boy?”
Chapter 1
The swirl of red and blue lights bounced off the yellow crime tape in a back alley outside of DC. The bastard had dumped the victim near a pile of garbage.
Angus kept his face impassive as he ducked under the tape and flashed his badge to the uniformed officer blocking access. It felt good to be able to flash the badge, even though he worked better without it.
It would be the only good feeling of the night.
Agent Kurt Fields was the first one to reach him, skirting several numbered yellow evidence markers placed on the wet asphalt. The guy was pale and looked even more grizzly than before. “I heard the call go out, got the details, and figured you’d be here.” His T-shirt was wrinkled and his brown shoes scuffed.
Force nodded, acutely aware of West and Wolfe at his back. They’d both seen some rough shit in their time, but this was something new. He needed West to run the office, but when he turned his head to give an order, West was already shaking his head at him, his gaze direct. No way would he be left behind.
Angus turned back around and started to focus, speaking as much to himself as to his team. “Everything is relevant. Any sign on a piece of garbage, any scratch on the building, any glint of something shiny.”
Agent Fields shook his head, sliding to the side and putting his body between Angus and the scene. “You’re not understanding me. This is not your case.”