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The guy—his face impassive at Carson’s remark—flashes an ID badge. “FBI. Special Agent Proctor.”
“Fucking hell,” Carson says.
I glance at the monitors. Four other FBI agents are on the main level overturning furniture. Shit. I let Carson distract me and didn’t even see them enter.
I stand. “You can’t be in here without a—”
“Warrant?” Agent Proctor interrupts. He slaps a folded paper against my chest as he passes. “We’re now heading up this investigation. Everything in this club is considered evidence.”
I scan the warrant. I’m not sure what I’m looking for, but it seems legit. Carson snatches it out of my hands and looks it over. “You can’t just come in and take over. We’ve been working this case since the beginning. Who called you in?”
Leaning over the desk, Proctor eyes the computer screen. “You know how this works, detective. The FBI has jurisdiction in any city. Let’s try to work together on this. There’s no call to start a pissing contest.” He glances up at Carson. “You have two options. Work with the FBI to bring in the perp, or use your sick days to take a vacation. Your choice.”
Arms crossed, Carson matches the agent’s stern glare. “I don’t take sick days.”
“Good,” Proctor says. “Your department is being briefed right now. You should probably check in there to get your new assignment, detective.”
Carson’s jaw ticks. As the agent pulls my chair up to the desk and starts scanning the surveillance files, Carson cocks his head toward the door. I follow him into the hallway.
“You have anything incriminating on that computer?” he asks me.
“You’re not using this to interrogate me. I told you. I have nothing to hide.” Which is true. There’s nothing on that computer or in this club that should set off red flags to the Feds. Even Julian’s stash under the floorboard shouldn’t raise too many questions. It’s all just memorabilia of the investigation into Marni—which I’m sure the FBI already knows everything about.
The club has plenty of higher-ups as members—the ACPD captain, for one—but those files aren’t located on the system. They’re safely hidden in Sadie’s car.
There’s still a thick feeling of dread coming over me, however. Hav
ing the FBI in my club isn’t good. Not at all. If they deem, they can shut it down until this investigation ends, and the only place we know for sure that the UNSUB has been is in this club. Right now, Carson is more of a comrade than these agents. That’s a fucked up thought.
“You have the addresses of those two suspect members?” Carson asks.
I nod. “It’s better to bring them here rather than go knocking on doors, though. Don’t you think?”
His face hardens. “Yeah. That was the plan before the damn turf invaders showed up. You think anyone’s going to want to come here tonight with the black coats skulking about?”
He just voiced my fear. “Looks like you’re getting your way, Carson.” At his confused expression, I say, “We’re going to my brother.”
6
Pulse
Sadie
We have been invaded.
The stench of leather and fast food and cheap coffee saturates the air of the ACPD. It’s a nauseating smell that seeps past my practicality and triggers my defenses.
The FBI blew in like a hurricane, sweeping the task force up into a funnel of federal ordinances and churning out a well-oiled, bureaucratic command post.
We should’ve known it would come to this. With the extensive news coverage on the killings, and now the abduction of a medical examiner, it was inevitable. Actually, I’m surprised it’s taken as long as it has for the Feds to intervene…or interfere, as that’s how Quinn is seeing this new directive.
Amid the functioning hub of the task force, a showdown is looming. I stealthily slip Quinn’s laptop into my bag as he marches toward the special agent dictating the operations.
“Get your lead agent here now!” Quinn shouts. This agent must’ve drawn the short straw when they were deciding who would inform Quinn of the takeover.
The agent holds his place. “I’m Special Agent Rollins. Agent Proctor will be here directly. Until then, I have all the specifics to fill you in, Detective Quinn.”
Recognition lights Quinn’s eyes right before his gaze sharpens on Agent Rollins. “Proctor sent me a fucking proxy?” He laughs mockingly. “I want to see him. Right now. Get that smug SOB here or—”
