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“You just what, Bold?” the Boss shouted, his calm broken. “You just don’t trust him to solve your pet case?”
“Boss, I should be the one on that case!” Faith shouted.
A few of the other diners glanced at her in alarm. She lowered her voice and said, “That case has gone nowhere, Boss. No disrespect to Clark, but it’s dead end after dead end after yet another victim cut up and left for us to find.”
“And how exactly have you helped, Bold? Hmm? Let’s see, you terrorized a small-time drug dealer who was utterly unconnected to the case; you’ve talked to a whole lot of people and learned a lot of things we already know; and here’s my favorite part: every lead you’ve pursued, you’ve gained from Clark’s and Desrouleaux’s files. You’ve actually followedtheir leadsand relearned information they’ve already deduced. They dismissed Greenwood weeks before you went after him. They even managed to do it without literally breaking his door down and menacing him. But that wasn’t enough for you, Bold, because you can’t handle the thought that someone else would bring the copycat in. This isn’t about the case, Bold. This isn’t about stopping the killer before he takes another victim. This is personal, Bold. This is revenge. You’ve never overcome the fact that Prince had to save you from Trammell, that you couldn’t beat him yourself, so now you want to beat his mimic so you can convince yourself that you’re an untouchable badass.”
“That’s not …” she stopped before she finished the sentence. Deep down, Faith knew that what the Boss said had a lot of truth to it. She sat glumly as the Boss finished his diatribe.
“Bold, I want Prince to take lead on this case. You are to do as he says without argument or question.”
Faith stiffened, “Boss, I—”
“I swear to God, Bold, if I hear your voice again other than to say yes sir after I instruct you to say yes sir, I will drive to New York personally and take your badge and gun.”
Faith pressed her lips together. The Boss waited for ten seconds before continuing. “Wonderful. You are to do as Special Agent Prince says without argument or question. He will take lead on this case effective immediately. When you return to Philadelphia, your first stop will be my office. You understand? You better come in smelling like day-old sweat, Bold, because if you so much as stop home to shower, I’ll take your badge and gun from you. Your K9 unit too.”
Faith stiffened again and whipped her eyes to Turk. After over a year with Turk, it was easy to forget that he wasn’t actually her pet but the property of the Bureau. But he wasn’t. Maybe in name he was, but he was her companion, the closest thing she had left to a friend. Even her connection with David wasn’t as strong as her connection with Turk. She couldn’t lose him.
“When you arrive, you and I will discuss your future with the Bureau,” the Boss continued. “Is all of this clear? You can say yes sir now.”
“Yes, sir,” Faith said quietly.
“Outstanding. I’m calling Prince right now just in case you’re deciding to lie to me again. Goodbye, Bold.”
He hung up. Faith sat where she was for several minutes, staring straight ahead. Her food remained untouched and eventually cooled. A busser approached cautiously, motioning to ask Faith if he should clear the table. She didn’t respond, and he moved on.
Turk laid his head on her lap and looked sympathetically into her eyes, but he brought no comfort to Faith considering she might soon lose him.
After a while, she managed to stand. Her phone buzzed, a text from Michael.Just talked to the Boss. I’m sorry, Faith.
She put her phone back in her pocket without responding and headed back inside the terminal. She walked for a few minutes before sitting at a bench on a platform a few removed from the scene of the two murders. She stared ahead as a train pulled to a stop and unloaded several hundred passengers while several hundred more boarded. They milled around Faith without giving her or Turk a second glance or even a first glance for that matter.
She had seen this coming. She knew it was only a matter of time. She had just managed to convince herself that somehow what she knew would happen wouldn’t actually happen.
She realized how foolish she was now. Of course, she would be caught. She couldn’t expect to interfere in an active investigation without the agents assigned to the case noticing her interference. Of course, they would learn of her involvement.
Of course, she had convinced herself that when they did catch her, she’d have a wealth of new information to share. Instead, as the Boss had brutally pointed out, she had learned nothing that they didn’t already know.
Her heart sank further as she realized they were right. The Boss, Michael, Clark, Doctor West—they were all right about her. She had never left that barn. She still sat in that chair, hands and feet bound, screaming in agony and fear and most of all humiliation as Jethro Trammell cut through her knees and ankles and wrists straight through to her soul. Trammell was dead and gone, and her physical wounds had healed, but her mind remained rooted to the moment where she realized in the most terrible way possible just how utterly helpless she was.
And now her failure was finally complete. Jethro had beaten her after all. It had just taken her a little longer to die than the others.
Let’s see how you bleed, little girl,he’d said to her.
“Very little, and then all at once,” she whispered under her breath.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Faith stared ahead at the crowd. Another train stopped, and she watched as a stressed-looking, middle-aged man with a briefcase shouldered his way past a younger man and an elderly woman, nearly knocking the woman to the ground. Not only did the man with the briefcase move on without so much as a backwards glance, but the younger man ignored the elderly woman, glaring and lifting a finger at the older man before nearly colliding with her himself.
No one cared. No one cared that no one cared. Everyone was too busy with their own lives to care that their actions affected others. Like the thousands of people who walked right by Chester McIlhenny’s dead body without even realizing he was dead or even there in the first place. Like the hundreds who fought with police so they could snap a picture of Everett Richardson’s dead body and post it on their social media pages without regard for the fact that he was a living, breathing human like they were only hours ago.
She watched people continue to jostle and push and fight their way past others, watched as they ignored the panhandlers and janitors and maintenance workers and wondered how a species so utterly dependent on social interaction could treat others so callously.
Then again, McIlhenny and Richardson were no saints. She thought of Blake Richardson’s words about his brother, that other people didn’t seem to matter much to him. There was a cruel irony in the fact that he and McIlhenny were treated in their deaths as callously as they treated others in life. The killer no doubt enjoyed knowing that.
The answer hit Faith so hard that she actually gasped. Turk instantly jumped to his feet and looked around, trying to identify what had threatened her. She reached down and scratched absently behind his ears, mind racing.
