(Blood and Bone, #2) Sin and Swoon(62)

“Are you fucking kidding me?” The man loses the composure he has maintained through previous crises. Ones I would have lost mine in. The video starts playing. Rory confessing to it all fills the background as the vice president’s breath increases. “This is a situation, Spears. He’s a fully trained op.”

“Yes, sir. He’s gone black. He’s running across Queen Anne Avenue in Seattle, heading east toward the Lake union   houses.” I pause. “He’s wearing a black jacket and dark-blue jeans. I can’t get to him from here. You have to send out cars.”

“Mother of God.”

“Sir, I have everything to take him down, but I need you to send a guard to the house, the townhouse we are watching. There is already one car on-scene, but I suspect the police squad car is full of dead cops. He ran past them without even batting an eyelash. I suspect there are dead people in the house also. I will need as much backup as possible to finish this safely.”

“I will dispatch as many as I can. You get on the local radios and tell the boys in blue what’s what. They are our best chance right now to mobilize. Seattle has SWAT. I’ll take care of that.” He sighs into the phone. “Get your ass back to that townhouse and find me some goddamned answers, agent!” He hangs up the phone, and I watch as Rory becomes a small black dot and then is gone.

I want to chase him. My instincts tell me to chase him. But something whispers to me that he is setting me up. And he knows me nearly as well as Angie and Dash do.

“They’re dead, Jane. Both—dead.” Dash catches up to me, his voice wavering from the exertion of running. When I look back I wince; his nose is clearly broken. He points. “You know how, right?”

I nod and walk over, lifting my hands to his cheeks. Hot tears stream from my eyes as I line up my thumbs along his nose and press my fingers into his cheeks. “One, two—” I shove his nose before saying three to trick him into relaxing. The bones snap back into place, and blood instantly starts gushing. He grunts like he wants to scream but keeps it together for me. He lifts his shirt to catch the blood, but his eyes wander to the road. “Where is he? How the hell did this happen?”

“Gone. Not sure.” My voice cracks. “What will Angie say?” I shake my head. She is as dear to me as family.

“I believe I would die inside if I found out it was you who was responsible for so much horror.”

I nod, hating where this will take our team at work. Hating that one of ours has betrayed us. But I don’t have time to worry about it. My body reacts, as it has been taught to. Tears stream down my cheeks as I sniffle and drag my bleeding fiancé back to the townhouse. Another squad car is there already.

“Stop!” One officer has his gun out already as the other is clearing the street and calling for more backup.

“I’m Agent Spears. I’m going for my badge. I am unarmed.” I lift my badge slowly to show the trembling man. He takes it, looking it over many times before putting his gun away. I nod at his radio. “May I?”

He nods. His eyes are filled with tears for his brothers on the force.

I click the radio on. “My name is Agent Jane Spears. You will not know who I am. I work intel. That is all you need to know. Two of your own have been shot in the Queen Anne area.” I point back toward the park for the benefit of the men next to me. “The man you are chasing, the man who killed your friends here today and many others, is Irish, ex–Irish Intelligence. He’s CIA trained, American military trained, and works with the UN for the FBI and Secret Service. His name is Rory Guthrie. His file is being faxed and e-mailed to every one of the police departments in the city and outskirts. It will be limited viewing, but you will have what you need. You will be supported by my unit, and you will assist us so that we can assist you. We want you to have your retribution, but we need to be smart about it. No more loss of life. This is one of ours who has done this; we want our retribution as well, but no vigilante efforts. We need teamwork. Your chiefs are being briefed as we speak. Ror—the killer has gone toward the Lake union   area. He’s a dark-haired male in his midthirties with an olive complexion, dark-blue eyes, and an Irish accent, though he can speak without it. He was last seen wearing a dark jacket and dark-blue jeans. He is six foot two, two hundred and twenty pounds. SWAT is being called in. If you see him he should be considered armed and dangerous; he’s a Caution Victor.” I click the radio off, passing it back to the man, who is visibly shaken but is ready to do his job. “Thank you.”