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MONDAY
One
Tommy Granger awoke with a start, the remnants of a disturbing dream fading as he struggled under his twisted, sweat-soaked sheets. As it was with most nightmares—at least for him—he didn’t remember details. A vague sense that he’d been at the office, but Regan was still a marshal. They were suited up in full gear, preparing to track a fugitive, but as dreams were tricky, he was then alone in the woods at night, deep in the Shenandoah National Park, tracking a predator who was elusive and dangerous, his heart racing, pounding, an unfamiliar feeling because his training taught him to keep his fear in check.
The break of a branch behind him and he was awake, not knowing if the sound was in his head or in his yard.
He fought to untangle himself from his bedding as he sat up, rubbing his bare feet on thick carpet, grounding himself. The panic was brief, fleeting. Training and control were hard to break, even in a deep sleep.
The faint numbers of his bedside clock told him it was 4:51 a.m. His alarm was set for 5:30, but he always woke a few minutes before then, as if his body was trained to anticipate the irritating buzz. He hit the off button; he had a busy day.
He was finally prepared to share with his office his off-book investigation into the murder of Chase Warwick.
It was all about money, Tommy thought with disgust as he pushed himself out of bed. Money and greed and what corrupt men were willing to do to keep their secrets buried. The killer may have been apprehended, but Adam Hannigan’s motives had never sat well with Tommy. And then Hannigan was dead and the case closed.
He paused at his bedroom window. The air was still, but he couldn’t get the sound of a cracking branch out of his mind. It had sounded crisp, sharp. Real. But he saw nothing out front, no jogger, no passing car, still too early for Mrs. Benson down the street to be walking her friendly golden retrievers or for Richie Luna, his neighbor to the east, to leave for work—though he noted the faint light in the kitchen, signaling that Richie, like Tommy, was an early riser.
Dreams and nightmares were deceiving, which was why he was having a hard time shaking this one.
The hot water cleared the remnants of fog from his brain. He shaved, dressed, the morning ritual comforting. Downstairs, he brewed a pot of coffee and stared out at the large kitchen window into the side yard, running through his head how he was going to lay out the case to Charlie and then his boss.
KnowingwhyChase Warwick had died was only one piece of the puzzle. He knew Adam Hannigan, the man arrested for murder, was only a pawn—used or hired—but Tommy couldn’t prove who he suspected was behind everything. If Tommy could convince his boss that he was onto something—that the murder of Chase Warwick was a small piece of a bigger conspiracy—they would then be up against high-priced lawyers, big name corporations, and even their own government.
Bring it on, he thought. He was itching for a fight. Itching to get to the bottom of this conspiracy. He’d only recently realized that he couldn’t do it alone anymore. There was information he couldn’t access without a warrant.
Regan deserved to know why her son was dead. Chase deserved justice for his murder. And those responsible must pay for their crimes.
And maybe...just maybe...Regan would come back.
Don’t be a fool. She made it clear she was done with the Marshals Service, that she wasn’t going to return to duty, that she wanted to be with her friends and family. Far, far away from the pain and heartbreak she’d left behind here in Virginia.
He’d go anywhere for her, but Tommy wasn’t naive. Regan was her own woman, and while he was confident of his feelings, his greatest fear was that she didn’t love him like he loved her.
And he wouldn’t follow a woman who didn’t want to be followed.
When the coffee was done, he pulled out the carafe and poured a cup. He walked to his office, a comfortable room with built-in bookshelves and cabinets, two comfortable leather chairs facing the original brick fireplace, and his massive antique desk he had painstakingly refinished years ago. It was his favorite room in the large house, but since he started this investigation, he couldn’t relax and drink Scotch while listening to a ball game or watching the news. Not when he was so close to the truth.
Tommy packed up his laptop, notes, and the evidence he’d collected. No smoking gun, but ample circumstantial evidence. The government had opened cases with less. He needed an unbiased eye, someone who hadn’t been eating and sleeping Chase Warwick’s murder for the last month. Tommy needed to talk through his theory with his most trusted colleague, put everything on the table, then ask Charlie to help Tommy present the entire case to their boss in the DOJ.
While the US Marshals were not generally an investigative federal law enforcement agency, they did have a special operations unit that would undertake certain criminal investigations, and Tommy had to make the case thatthiscase deserved their attention. He could already hear the objections—that the FBI had jurisdiction, that they would be causing friction with their FBI colleagues if they took the case—so he needed to be clear and compelling in his presentation—including his reasons for not trusting the local FBI office. No way was he sharing his information with those jokers—not until he could identify the bad cop among them.
Someone in the FBI was rotten to the core.
Once he double-checked to make sure he didn’t leave anything important behind on his desk, he went back to the kitchen, put his briefcase down, topped off his coffee, and went upstairs to retrieve his gun. After he’d holstered his service weapon, he pulled his phone from the charger on his nightstand. Hesitated.
He’d almost called Regan a half dozen times this week while assembling the facts in preparation for his talk with Charlie, but Tommy managed to stop himself. Now...dammit, he wanted herhere.
Tommy wasn’t certain he could trust the information Regan’s ex-husband Grant Warwick had given him. Not only did Tommy dislike Grant, but in the past the man had lied to him. Regan was cool and methodical, she’d be able to assess Grant’s information without bias. It’s one of the many reasons Tommy loved her—the clear way her mind worked.
Not that he could tell her yet. He didn’t want to jeopardize their friendship by telling his former partner that he’d been half in love with her for years.
Regan knew that he was looking into Chase’s murder. She didn’t want to be part of it, but she hadn’t told him to stop. In fact, she’d told Tommy to get back in touch with her when he had something concrete. Now he’d assembled solid facts...he just didn’t know how they fit together. Would they be concrete enough for Regan?
Before he could talk himself out of it, he hit her name on his contact list. He almost hung up when he realized it was 3:00 a.m. there in Arizona, but then her voicemail picked up.
He waited for the tone, then said, “Regan, it’s Tommy. I’m close to the truth about what happened to Chase. I’m laying it all out to Charlie this morning, but I wanted to talk to you as soon as possible. I think I have a good case for the DOJ. Call me when you get this message. I—well, just call.”
Tommy ended the call before sayingI love you. He couldn’t put that weight on her right now, and definitely not over the damn phone.
