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Chapter 18
The sting operation room at the fed’s Boston headquarters was absolutely insane. Phones were constantly ringing, people hammered on keyboards as if they were concrete under a jackhammer, tense voices shouted nonstop. The people in here hadn’t known about this operation until a few hours ago, and since then, nobody had been allowed a personal phone or even to leave the room except for an accompanied piss. The air was so filled with sweat. I could almost taste salt when taking in a deep breath.
None of this moved me in the slightest bit. I was just sitting there, almost apathetic, staring out the window, watching the day turn to darkness. For the hundredth time, the noise of the room faded as the scene of Mila leaving in a cab this morning played in front of my eyes. She was making jokes, kissed me, told me how much she loved me and couldn’t wait to see me again. Then the cab took off, turning onto a side street—and she was gone. I’d never been a man of overly strong emotions, but standing there with my eyes frozen on the street corner where the cab had disappeared, I came close to crying like a baby. The void I felt tearing into my heart at seeing her leave and knowing what would happen next was nothing I could talk myself out of, nor did I try to. I deserved the unbearable ache in my chest that felt as if someone was stabbing me with a burning hot knife over and over again.
“The judge prefers the warrant specifically for Andrei’s room; do we have a fucking room number yet?” The FBI lead of this operation, Wilson, yelled into the room. He was a tall, older guy with silver hair and a round face. His workstation was right next to a large wall filled with pictures of Andrei’s past victims and possible next victims. My chief was standing next to him, so was my lieutenant, that prick.
“We don’t even have the damn hotel name yet,” one of Wilson’s foot soldiers snapped, looking straight at me in an accusing manner.
In no way did I feel offended. As a seasoned cop, I understood the tensions these men were under all too well. The people in this room were supposed to not only prevent a possible assassination tonight but also catch Eagle in the act. Yet, everybody understood that I couldn’t just text Mila and pressure her for a hotel name. If they hadn’t checked in yet, she’d have to ask Andrei.And having her ask might tip him off and ruin everything.
“How many times do I have to tell your penguins that she has to text first?” The chief said to Wilson, loud enough for everybody in the room to hear.
I couldn’t help but smirk at the penguin remark. The FBI dress code made them all look the same. Black suits white shirt. Only the tie colors helped me distinguish the men and women.
“Still nothing?” the lieutenant asked, walking over to me. I reached to pick up my cell from the desk in front of me, but the lieutenant quickly grabbed it, pulling it out from under my grip.
Prick.
“Why don’t you check?” I said sarcastically, as he was already walking, phone in hand, back to Wilson and the chief.
“Nothing yet,” the lieutenant confirmed, sounding pissed off.
“We should have put a man on him tonight,” the same man who’d made that remark earlier said.
“That worked really well last time,” Dorfmann, a young female agent, hollered from behind me. She was the only person in this whole room who had actually introduced herself to me earlier.
I spun in my office chair away from the window and looked at her. I’d noticed her briefly when I came in. She’d been drinking coffee with her feet on the table. Young. Sassy. A lively spark in her eyes. A person right up my alley.
“So, how many times have you tried catching him before?” I asked her.
She put down her pen and looked at me. I could see how some men might find her golden hair and green eyes attractive.
“My unit? Once. But the snitch we located to give us the identity on Eagle vanished hours after our first contact. All leads went cold from there. Other units reported similar outcomes on their efforts to track him down.”
I frowned, clenching my hands around the chair’s armrest so tightly my knuckles turned white. “Well, hopefully Christmas comes early to you then. There’s a real chance at catching him tonight.”
Dorfmann nodded. “Thanks to you. Amazing work, really.”
My frown intensified. Is that what breaking the heart of the woman I loved was? Amazing work? Then why did it feel like I was the biggest jerk on the planet?
Her green eyes narrowed as she studied me. “I feel the same,” she said, picking her pen back up from the desk.
“What?” I asked, confused.
“You don’t look too happy about all of this. And I get why.”
Shit. Did everybody know I was in love with Mila? The texts between us were flirtatious at times, but nothing too damaging or even slightly suggestive of what was really going on. I made sure of it. I was about to question Dorfmann in more detail, but thankfully she spared me that.
“He wasn’t really that bad of a guy if you ask me.”
Not that bad of a guy? Huh?
I was smart enough to stay quiet, following the direction of the pen she used to point at the pictures of victims on the wall.
“His work has the same pattern over and over again,” Dorfman said, tapping the end of her pen on her desk.
“High-end parties and timing?” I asked. The rich and powerful loved comparing dick sizes. Everyone important, from gangsters to politicians, flocked to those parties. Andrei’s buffet of victims to choose from was endless, making it impossible to narrow down his target, even though we knew the assassination was taking place in Maine, Portland. But as luck had it, Andrei operated on a late-night shift, too. He always waited for his victims in crowded places. So if we could search his room and find damaging evidence before the later hours of the evening, chances were pretty high we could save someone’s life tonight.
