Blood List(33)

With a flick of his wrist, Paul tossed a cell phone to Gene. "Call your team and tell them you're not dead. They think we both are, so I could kill you and walk away now and the case would be closed. So as a gesture of good faith, call your brother and tell him you're alive, but keep it under ten seconds." A compact pistol appeared in Renner's hand, then disappeared. The man moved so fast it might as well have been magic.

Gene's eyebrows rose.

"And," Paul added, "even if you say 'no' to the deal, I'll let you go. Safe and sound, with no more injury than you've already got."

Gene dialed. Marty picked up with a string of expletives and threats he couldn't quite decipher. "It's me, Marty. Not him. I'm alive, he's alive, and I'll call you later. Got to go." He pressed the "end" button. The sound of his brother's voice being cut off made Gene's chest tighten. He wanted to redial, but instead he tossed the phone back to Renner.

With a quick look at the phone, Paul put it back in his pocket. "How's that? You're untied, your brother and your team know you're alive, and they can hunt me until the end of my days if something happens to you."

Gene sighed. "There's just no way I can offer you a deal. You're a serial killer, for crying out loud."

"I don't need a long-term deal, and I won't ask for immunity," Paul said flatly. "I just want help finding who's behind this, who's trying to kill me." Paul leaned forward. "I'll put myself in your custody."

Gene wanted to spit in Renner's face. He wanted revenge for Carl's arm and Jerri's concussion. Still, while Renner was an awfully big fish, whoever this other man was, he was bigger. "No immunity, no pardons, and we keep you on a very short leash," Gene began.

"No arrests, no kicking the shit out of me."

"And when it's done?" Gene asked. "What?"

"I walk away," Paul said.

"We just let you go?" Gene asked.

"That's right," Paul answered. "I walk off into the sunset a free man. Chase me down all over again if that's what it's got to be. Just give me a day to lose your team; something tells me they're going to want blood."

Gene looked the killer in the eyes as the saying there's no honor among thieves popped into his head. I'm sure the same applies to paid killers. Sometimes, it applies to the FBI.

"So you'll let me go, and if I want to deal I can, what, call you?"

"Drive away. In five minutes, when it's obvious you're free, come back and pick me up. Just you, though."

"So what do you want from me? Something in writing?"

"Nah," Paul said. He pulled out a set of car keys. "If your word's no good I'm screwed either way."

"I'll have to clear it with the Assistant Director." Gene couldn't believe he'd just said it.

Paul held out the keys. "Car's in the driveway."



* * *



January 6th, 6:27 PM PST; FBI Building, 880 Front St; San Diego, California.



"He hasn't called back." Marty's eyes were still red. His voice was hoarse from screaming.

"But we know he's alive," Jerri said, putting a tentative hand on his shoulder.

Marty jerked away from her touch like it burned him. "That's bullshit and you know it. All we know is that he was alive half an hour ago. I swear to fucking God I'll kill that motherfucker with my bare fucking hands…." He turned away from her, his hands clenching and unclenching with hopelessness and rage as he hid his tears from the rest of the team.

Jerri turned to Carl. She didn't know what to do with rejected offers of comfort. She worried about Gene as well but still rode the high that came from his call. She had always considered her relationship with her co-workers to be clinical. They were teammates, not friends or family. Carl's sheepish grin told her he didn't know how to handle Marty either. Doug stared out the window.

Today's events put something in perspective. She didn't just respect her co-workers. She loved them. They were her family, every bit as much as her real family. She couldn't love Marty the way he loved her, but she did love him.

Carl's nerdiness, Marty's brutal honesty, Gene's obsessive determination, Doug's quiet intelligence, and even Sam's stupid sense of humor were all a part of her now. Two and a half hours of knowing that Gene was dead had hurt her more than she thought possible, and his call had filled her with so much joy she couldn't imagine slipping into Marty-esque defeatism.

He'll call, Carl mouthed to her, his confidence cementing the certainty in her head.

"I know," she whispered back as she came close. "But waiting for it sure does suck."

As if on cue, Marty's phone rang. The caller ID glared "D Street Killer." He snatched it from the desktop. He didn't have a chance to hit "send."