Blood List(34)

"I got it," Sam piped over the COM. "Team broadcast."

"This is Sam Greene," the team heard in their ear-beads, "please identify yourself."

"Hi, team, it's me again." Gene's voice sounded nasal and tired but relaxed. "I'm bringing him in. ETA twenty minutes. I want an interrogation room set up for non-hostile debrief of Paul Renner and a conference room for the crew to meet."

The relief on Marty's face was palpable. "Gene. I—We thought you were gone."

"So did I, bro. I'll be there soon. I lost my COM bead on the dock. Carl, get me a replacement."

Carl piped in with an unsure tone to his voice. "Will do. Um, what do you mean, a non-hostile setup for debrief?"

"Exactly what it sounds like. I'll explain when I get there. See you soon. Bye."

The phone clicked off.

"Back to work!" Doug said, grinning. He clapped his hands together and stood.

Jerri winked at him, beaming a smile of her own.

"We got the son of a bitch!" Marty said.





Chapter 12





January 6th, 6:48 PM PST; Front Street FBI Building; San Diego, California.



Oh, hell, yeah! Marty thought as the car pulled into the parking garage twenty minutes later. He couldn't keep still.

His forehead creased with confusion as the car got close. There was no one in the back, but someone sat shotgun. Gene pulled into a space about eight car-lengths away and killed the engine.

Marty shared confused looks with the rest of the team as Gene got out of the driver's side and the D Street Killer stepped out of the passenger side. No handcuffs. No restraints of any kind. The car door wasn't even locked. What the fuck?

A firm look from Gene stopped him from stepping forward, but his hands clenched into fists. "What the fuck are you up to, Gene?" he said into the COM.

Carl held up an ear-bead. "He can't hear you, Marty."

Marty's chin jutted out as they limped closer. Gene leaned on Renner for support. Like they're best goddamn friends, just helping each other along.

Marty noted how little Renner moved his arms and how carefully he walked. The killer obviously had some significant pain in his chest. Gene looked worse. His nose was crooked, dark purple, and twice its normal size. Black bruises crept under each eye, and he walked like he didn't know which foot to limp with more.

Gene looked like shit, but the killer's injuries were more limiting. He made a mental note to take advantage of the damaged ribs when the opportunity arose. But if he's the one who got the beat-down, why the fuck isn't he in handcuffs?

"Paul Renner," Gene said by way of introduction, "this is Marty Palomini, Doug Goldman, Jerri Bates, and Carl Brent. Team"—the trepidation in his voice was slight but perceptible—"this is the D Street Killer." Gene wore his don't-fuck-this-up face.

Gene motioned to Doug. "Agent Goldman, please escort Mr. Renner to the debriefing area. Gently. Agent Brent." Gene mouthed Thank You as he took the replacement ear-bead and inserted it. "Get another ear-bead for Mr. Renner, then have Sam queue him up. Everyone else, come with me to the conference area." Marty helped Gene limp across the parking lot as Doug shadowed Renner.

As the group moved off toward the building, Gene stopped at the metal detector and weapons-check. "Hang on a second," he said to Doug. "Lock this tray up," he said, placing the car keys into a dark-gray screening tray, the kind found at any airport security station. Wordlessly, the guard slapped a lid and padlock on the tray, attached a two-part ticket to the lock with a zip-strip, and handed the ticket stub to Gene. Renner reached for the stub. Gene put it in his front pocket.

Well, that's a good sign, Marty thought.

After a trip through the metal detector and a thorough pat-down, the guard let Paul through. As they stepped past the security station, Marty muttered under his breath. "We've got you now, asshole." He wasn't quiet enough.

Without turning, Renner replied, "I'm here because I want to be, Agent Palomini. Your brother and I have an understanding."

Marty took a menacing step forward, and Paul turned in a defensive stance. Gene jerked up his hand. "STOP IT." He gave his brother a withering look. "This will be hard enough without the two of you at each other's throats."

"Oh, so we're not supposed to be wringing his fucking neck right now?" Marty said.

"Doug, Carl, get going. We'll meet you in the conference room." He looked at his brother.

"What?" Marty said.



* * *



January 6th, 6:57 PM PST; Conference Room 4, Front Street FBI Building; San Diego, California.



In the conference room, Jerri leaned against the wall as Marty and Gene had it out. Gene leaned on the table while Marty sneered in his face. Gene's eye was swollen half-shut, and the EMT had finished re-setting his nose only minutes ago.