TABLE OF CONTENTS
Chapter 6
Grant waited until Detective Jacobson settled into the passenger seat before starting the SUV. He eased out into traffic without hurry, the quiet stretch of road giving them space to talk.
“Why don’t you call me Grant,” he said easily. “Or Marshall. I have a feeling we’re going to be working together for a while.”
Jacobson glanced over. “I appreciate that. ‘Special Agent’ gets to be a mouthful. Last time I worked with the FBI, the agent insisted on formalities. Made sure everyone knew who was in charge..”
Grant nodded. “Yeah. I did a little research before we got here. Unfortunately, you got Piper last time.”
Jacobson snorted. “That explains a lot.”
“He’s one of the ones the Bureau’s watching,” Grant said evenly. “They’re trying to clean up their image. Acting superior, not working as a team, that kind of thing gets noticed now.”
“About time,” Jacobson muttered. “I’ll admit, I wasn’t thrilled when the Chief said he’d called in the Feds. I was relieved when I saw Sara walk in.”
Grant smiled faintly. “Sara said you were a good cop. A team player.”
“All I care about is finding the bad guy and gathering enough evidence to keep him locked up,” Jacobson said. “Nothing’s more frustrating than knowing who did it and watching them walk because someone rushed the process.”
“I’m with you on that,” Grant said. “Shortcuts feel good until you’re sitting in court explaining them.”
Jacobson shook his head. “The system doesn’t make it easy.”
Grant exhaled slowly. “No matter the reason, we still have to dot our I’s and cross our T’s. Means some bad people slip through. Local law enforcement has to little resources, which makes it even harder on them.”
“And that’s why you work for the FBI,” Jacobson said. “You have better resources and can help others cross those I’s and cross those T’s.”
Grant smiled. “Probably. When I worked in the Jacksonville Police Department, the case load and lack of resources really got to me.”
Jacobson opened the file on his lap, flipping through it. “So far, all I see are differences,” he said. “Different women. Different lives.”
“Same thing I’m seeing,” Grant admitted.
Jacobson frowned. “Maybe they had the same sort of personalities. Or reputations.”
Grant considered that as the road stretched ahead of them.
They drove in silence for a moment.
“People don’t get killed because they’re unique,” Grant said finally. “They get killed because, to someone, they represent something.”
Jacobson nodded slowly. “Whatever that is, we haven’t figured it out yet.”
“No,” Grant agreed. “But we will.”
Jacobson glanced at him. “You ever miss local work?”
“Parts of it,” Grant said. “Not the repetition.”
Jacobson hesitated, then asked, “So… why the FBI?”
Grant didn’t answer immediately. “Fewer cases,” he said at last. “More time to do them right.”
Jacobson nodded. “Makes sense.”
They drove another block before Grant spoke again.
“You ever think about joining?” he asked.
Jacobson blinked. “The FBI?”
“You’ve got the background. College degree. Experience,” Grant said. “You’d do well.”
Jacobson chuckled. “Never really thought about it.”
“You should,” Grant said. “Not now. Just… someday.”
Jacobson smiled faintly. “I’ll think about it.”
Grant nodded. Some seeds didn’t need immediate attention.
Tony Franklin’s apartment was lived‑in and unpolished. Sneakers under a chair. Wrestling magazines on the coffee table. A half‑closed laptop beside an empty Gatorade bottle.
Photos of Jennifer Cortez were everywhere.
Grant noticed them immediately.
Tony Franklin himself was big, muscular, his long blond hair pulled back. He greeted them politely but uneasily.
“Mr. Franklin,” Jacobson said, “when was the last time you spoke with Jennifer?”
“Thursday morning. Breakfast.” Tony frowned. “Why?”
“Where were you Thursday night?”
“Hunting trip. Georgia. Left right after breakfast.” He hesitated. “What’s going on?”
Grant watched his posture, his hands. Concern. Confusion. Not calculation.
“I’m sorry to tell you this,” Grant said gently, “but Jennifer Cortez was murdered last Thursday night.”
Tony leaned forward slowly. “No,” he said quietly. “That’s not possible.”
Jacobson let the silence work.
“She was supposed to be at work,” Tony said finally. “Late shift. We were meeting later.” He looked up. “Has her brother been told? Maeve?”
“Yes,” Jacobson said.
Tony swallowed. “How did it happen?”
“She was raped and strangled,” Jacobson said evenly.
Tony’s fists clenched, then loosened.
“Did she ever mention anyone giving her trouble?” Grant asked.
Tony shook his head. “If something bothered her, she handled it herself. That was always our biggest fight.”
“Did she mention anything unusual lately?” Grant asked. “Anything broken? Someone coming by unexpectedly?”
Tony blinked. “The voting box.”
Grant’s head tilted slightly. “The voting box?”
“Yeah. The little survey box attached to her TV,” Tony said. “She said it stopped working. She called the company about it. Someone was supposed to come check it, I think.”
Grant nodded, keeping his reaction neutral.
“Did anyone come out?” Jacobson asked.
“Not while I was there,” Tony said. “She didn’t make a big deal out of it.”
Grant filed the information away, careful not to give it weight it didn’t yet deserve, no matter that the strange sensation he got occasionally came over him.
When they stood to leave, Tony followed them to the door. “I want you to catch whoever did this,” he said hoarsely.
“We will try,” Grant said quietly.
Back in the SUV, Jacobson exhaled. “He didn’t do it.”
“No,” Grant agreed.
Jacobson stared ahead. “Hard part is figuring out why anyone would kill her.”
“There’s always a reason,” Grant said. “Even if we don’t see it yet.”
They drove on, both men unaware they’d just been handed the very mechanism the killer used , hidden in plain sight.
Chapter 7
Grant and JJ entered the conference room to find most of the team already there. Mason and Dirk were on their phones; Harvey and Sybil were working at computers. Sara and Twila had returned minutes earlier and were comparing notes.
Grant dropped his file on the table. “All right. Let’s get everyone caught up.”
Mason finished his call first. “Tony Franklin’s alibi checks out. Georgia. Multiple witnesses. He didn’t know Jennifer was dead.”
“No shock there,” JJ said. “You don’t fake that kind of reaction.”
Grant nodded. “Tony’s clear.”
Dirk leaned back in his chair. “Jennifer Cortez lived clean. No drugs, no gambling, no alcohol issues. No restraining orders. No history of trouble.”
“She kept to herself,” Harvey added. “Quiet. Predictable routines.”
Sara snorted. “Which apparently makes her perfect target material.”
Grant gave her a look. “Careful.”
“I meant statistically,” Sara shot back. “No obvious motive means we’re missing something.”
Twila nodded. “All the victims so far are different ages, different backgrounds, different lives.”
“Or,” JJ said, “what stands out is that they’re not supposed to fit together.”
Grant leaned forward. “The differences are loud. The similarities are subtle.”
Sybil crossed her arms. “Which usually means we’re asking the wrong questions.”
“Or we haven’t pissed him off enough yet,” Dirk said with a grin.
“Let’s try not to,” Mason muttered.
Grant tapped the table. “Autopsy confirms strangulation and sexual assault in all cases.. The M.E. believes that he uses a silk scarf to strangle them. He found fibers on the victim’s shirt and the lack of markings is consistent with the use of something made of silk. Burns applied afterward and then soldering iron inserted. Same pattern.”
Sara studied the photos again. “Those burns weren’t done in anger. They were careful.”
“Personal,” Twila said quietly.
JJ nodded. “Which brings us back to motive.”
“The ‘why’ will come,” Grant said. “Right now, we need the ‘how.’”
Sybil raised an eyebrow. “Meaning how he gets close.”
“These women let him in,” Grant said.
Silence followed.
“People don’t open doors for strangers anymore,” Mason said.
“Unless they think the person belongs there,” Sara said slowly.
Dirk grinned. “Cable guy. Utility worker. Repairman.”
“Someone official looking,” Twila added.
Grant nodded but didn’t elaborate.
Harvey spoke up. “Something else, all three victims were found in front of the television.”
Grant’s gaze sharpened. “Good catch.”
JJ exhaled. “That’s not coincidence.”
Sybil frowned. “Or it is, and we’re desperate.”
“No,” Grant said. “That matters.”
Mason cleared his throat. “We still checked Dr. Paul Campbell and Nurse Sheila Rogers. No immediate red flags. No travel patterns that line up. No prior complaints serious enough to point to homicide.”
“So we waste time on them anyway,” Dirk said.
JJ sighed. “Because if we don’t, that’ll be the one thing defense attorneys hang us with.”
“Exactly,” Grant said. “They stay on the list until we can cross them off cleanly.”
Sara leaned back. “Victim’s brother?”
Twila answered. “He’s devastated. Flew in as soon as he could. Peace Corps. Hasn’t lived near her in years.”
“He’s also really broken up about this,” Twila added quietly. “Sounds like it was just the two of them.”
Dirk shook his head. “He’ll probably marry the first woman he can find and start making babies. Nothing points out how short life is like losing family suddenly.”
Twila shot him a look. “That’s what you would do. Not everyone has Neanderthal tendencies.”
Dirk grinned. “Don’t knock’em until you try’em, baby.”
“I wish you two would just get a motel already,” JJ sighed. “Okay , back to catching a serial killer.”
Laughter moved through the room, tension easing for a moment.
Grant checked the clock. “That’s where we are. No clean connection yet. No clear motive. But the pattern’s tightening.”
“And the clock’s ticking,” JJ added.
Grant nodded. “Get some rest. Tomorrow we dig deeper.”
No one argued.
As they gathered their things, Grant watched the team; the banter, the friction, the way they covered each other without thinking about it.
They didn’t have answers yet.
But they were building something that could survive the ones that were coming.
Chapter 8
Grant’s eyes were getting tired as he studied the board. The photos and timelines of the murders were starting to blur together, but one detail refused to fade: the green van.
At first, it had been little more than a vague description. Dark-colored. Parked where it didn’t belong. Now, with each interview and each follow-up, it was sharpening. The make. The model. The way it was positioned. Careless enough to be noticed, but never enough to draw immediate attention.
That bothered him.
He stepped back from the board and folded his arms, studying the spacing between the attacks, the consistency of the scenes, the way the killer moved through the houses without panic or hesitation. No forced entry. No chaotic violence. No mistakes that suggested inexperience.
This wasn’t someone learning as he went.
Whoever this man was, he knew exactly how long he had. He knew how to control a victim. He knew how to leave without being seen. That kind of confidence didn’t come from instinct, it came from repetition.
Grant exhaled slowly.
“If this was his first time,” he muttered, “he wouldn’t be this clean.”
The thought settled in his gut with uncomfortable certainty. This didn’t start with Jennifer Cortez or Tampa or New Port Richey. Those were chapters in a longer story, one they hadn’t uncovered yet.
The only way to understand where he was going was to figure out where he’d been.
Grant turned back to the board, already knowing the next step. Somewhere in the past, there were crimes that looked like this. Maybe not murders. Maybe not even reported the same way. But the pattern would be there if they looked hard enough.
And when they found it, they’d finally understand who they were dealing with.
“You ever get the feeling like you’re missing something?” JJ asked, setting a cup of coffee beside him.
“All the time,” Grant said. “I keep staring at it, waiting for it to jump out at me, but so far it’s staying stubbornly put.”
It was Friday morning, and the command center was quieter than it had been all week. Grant didn’t trust quiet. In his experience, it rarely lasted.
JJ leaned back against the table. “This won’t improve your mood. The press found out about the Tampa and New Port Richey murders. Jennifer Cortez’s death is officially news now. The Chief wants a statement this afternoon and asked for an update.”
Grant sighed. “I’ve already heard from both Chiefs. They want something concrete to tell the media.”
JJ grimaced. “Which we don’t have.”
“The killer in custody would’ve been ideal,” Grant said dryly. “Unfortunately, he’s not being cooperative.”
JJ snorted. “Damn inconsiderate of him.”
“I plan on telling the team to take the weekend off,” Grant added.
JJ turned to him. “You really think that’s a good idea? We both know this guy’s escalating.”
“I know,” Grant said evenly. “But exhaustion leads to mistakes. Everyone’s been pulling fifteen‑ to eighteen‑hour days since Monday. We need fresh eyes.”
JJ nodded slowly. “I’ve solved cases by walking away and coming back. You heading to Tampa?”
Grant nodded. “Yes, I’ll be seeing both the New Port Richey Chief of Police and Tampa Chief of Police over the weekend, I’ll probably be talking shop.”
JJ glanced at the clock. “I’m relieved. My sister’s getting married tomorrow, and I was starting to think I’d miss it.”
Before Grant could reply, the phone rang. JJ answered it, listened, then smiled slightly. “Well, this might be something. A woman just walked in asking to speak with investigators handling Jennifer Cortez’s murder. Her name is Rain Gentile.”
Grant straightened. “Where is she now?”
“I’m having her brought to the interview room.”
Grant grabbed his jacket. “Let’s hear what she has to say.”
The interview room was designed to put people at ease—soft lighting, comfortable chairs, framed photos of dolphins and whales on the walls. Rain Gentile sat on the couch, calm and composed, her posture relaxed but attentive.
She had dark hair that was pull back in a low bun with a few wisps of hair around her face. Her features reflected her mixed heritage, with warm brown skin and eyes that were dark but lightened to a soft, almost golden hue when the light caught them just right. She wore a flowing skirt and a loose, blousy top, the fabric moving easily when she shifted—clothing that felt more expressive than fashionable, as though it reflected who she was rather than current trends. The overall effect reminded Grant faintly of someone who lived by her own rules, unconcerned with expectations.
“Ms. Gentile,” JJ said, shaking her hand as he sat down across from her. “I’m Detective Jacobson. This is Special Agent Marshall.”
Grant positioned himself against the wall, content to observe while JJ handled the interview.
“I hope I’m not interrupting anything important,” Rain said. “I told the front desk I was willing to make an appointment.”
“You did the right thing coming in,” JJ assured her.
Rain explained that she worked for People’s Choice, a company that installed television survey equipment. Jennifer Cortez had been one of their survey participants. Rain oversaw several counties and occasionally filled in when field technicians were unavailable. That was why she’d gone to Jennifer’s house that morning to retrieve the equipment.
“When I disconnected the transmitter,” Rain continued, “I noticed the coaxial cable had been deliberately cut. It might not mean anything, but it didn’t feel right.”
JJ’s expression sharpened. “Did you bring the equipment with you?”
“Yes. It’s in my car. I handled it carefully.”
Grant watched her closely. There was something deliberate in the way she spoke, as though she weighed each word before letting it go.
“How well did you know Jennifer Cortez?” Grant asked.
Rain tilted her head so that she could look at him. Her dark eyes met his. Grant felt the tightening of his gut and lower, something he had not felt in a long time, but he ignored it. Now wasn’t the time nor was this the place.
“I’ve never met her,” Rain said. “I only have a handful of technicians that answer directly to me. My Region includes Citrus, Sumter, Hernando, Pasco and Hillsborough County, which I have managers that report to me. I fill in wherever I’m needed when we’re short of help. The only reason I’m up here is because I got a report saying that Jennifer Cortez’s transmitter wasn’t working and my field technician for this area is on vacation this week.”
“We do appreciate you coming in,” JJ said. “Why don’t I walk you out to your car and you can hand over the transmitter?”
Rain nodded as she stood up. “Please make sure I get it back when you’re finished with it. The company keeps a close eye on their inventory.”
“We’ll make sure you get a receipt for it, that way you’re covered,” JJ said. “If the company gives you any flack just have them get in touch with me.”
Rain turned towards Grant and smiled at him. “It was nice meeting you Special Agent.”
Grant inclined his head. “Thank you for coming in, Ms. Gentile. I’m sure Detective Jacobson will give you a card so that you can get in touch with us if you think of anything else.”
Rain started to follow JJ out the door but stopped in the doorway and looked back at Grant. Her eyes met his and then she gave him a mysterious little smile. “I have a feeling that we’ll be meeting again Special Agent, sooner than you think.”
Grant watched her as she walked out the door. He headed back to the conference room and decided that he was going to do his own research on Rain Gentile, because he had a feeling that she knew more than she was telling.
When Grant entered the conference room, he saw that Harvey, Dirk, Twila and Sara were already there. He sat down, saying. “JJ will be here soon. Has anyone heard from Sybil and Mason?”
Sara traded looks with Harvey then took a deep breath. “Sybil called in; she’s running late. It seems that she stopped in Headquarters, she was last seen in the Supervisory Special Agent’s office.”
Grant felt their eyes on him, waiting for his reaction. Grant was careful not to show his anger. Not that it mattered because he had emailed O’Malley only this morning. He had a suspicion that Sybil would use the opportunity to go over his head. He had hoped she wouldn’t but since she had, he would deal with her when she returned.
“Then we’ll begin without them, and they’ll just have to catch up,” Grant said, keeping his voice calm.
“This is going to be a quick meeting, unless y’all have something to add, because the only thing we found out is that a neighbor confirmed that there was a dark colored van.” Twila told him.
“Twila came up with the idea of showing her pictures of the different vans and she pointed out a 2015 Grand Caravan,” Sara added.
“Do you know how many dark green or black 2015 Grand Caravans there are out there?” Dirk asked with a grimace. “On the other hand, if we get close to this guy it gives us an idea what to look for. Great work ladies.”
“Oh, the big bad Indian gave us a “Atta Boy”,” Twila teased. “I didn’t think macho men could recognize women’s accomplishments unless it was in the bedroom or kitchen.”
“He better be careful or they’re going to take away his Macho Man club card away from him,” Sara said with a little laugh. Dirk grinned at them, amused by their comments.
“You know ladies, Dirk could start complaining about sexual harassment if you’re not careful,” Grant pointed out as chuckles filled the room.
JJ shook his head as he walked in and found everyone either laughing or grinning. “Okay, did someone capture the killer without telling me?”
“No, just some amusing byplay between your detectives and my agent,” Grant said, grinning.
Mason and Sybil had quietly entered the room, taking seats near the door. Mason did not look too pleased and glared at Sybil.
Anything else to report?” Grant asked.
Mason glared at Sybil. “Only that your agent here seemed to think that we needed to stop at the FBI Headquarters. I don’t know how you Feds do things but around here we report to whoever is the lead on a case and he deals with the upper honchos. Having to report to too many bosses make my skin crawl.”
“I appreciate that it wasn’t your fault that you were late and to clarify matters, JJ is in charge of the Inverness case and I’m in charge of the other three cases” Grant said, still ignoring Sybil.
“Thank you for the clarification,” Mason said
“Jennifer Cortez had what she referred to as a voting box on her television. She was a participator of the “People’s Choice” survey. We just found out that her transmitter has been purposely destroyed,” JJ said. “At this time, I don’t know if that’s pertinent to the case or not, but we’ll have to look into it.”
“Before we go down that road, we need to find out if our other two victims were participators of the survey,” Grant caution. “If so, then we’ll need to find out if they had reported a problem with their transmitters.”
“Yeah, but now we have a direction to pursue,” Dirk pointed out.
The meeting moved on. Reports came in: timelines tightening, the recurring placement of the victims in front of their televisions. The pieces weren’t forming a full picture yet, but they were finally starting to align.
When Grant dismissed the team for the weekend, no one argued.
As the others filtered out, Grant spoke without raising his voice. “Sybil, stay.”
She hesitated, then sat across from him.
“I thought I made it clear I expected teamwork, not politics,” Grant said quietly.
“You did,” Sybil replied evenly.
“Then explain why you were at Headquarters today.”
“My visit was personal,” she said. “It had nothing to do with this case.”
Grant studied her for a long moment before nodding. “I’ll accept that, this time. But while you’re assigned to this case, during business hours, stay away from Headquarters and O’Malley.”
Relief flickered across her face. “Understood.”
After she left, Grant leaned back in his chair. As if the case itself wasn’t complicated enough, now he had to watch his own team.
He turned to the computer and began researching Rain Gentile. Whether she was simply a witness or something more, he intended to find out.
And this time, he trusted his instincts to guide him.
Chapter 9
In the Gulf of Mexico
“So, now that Margie and Betty have gone down below to make lunch, give us an update on
what’s going on with the Inverness murder,” Chuck said as he played with the line on his fishing
pole.
Grant was sitting on a boat about ten miles out in the Gulf of Mexico, with the Tampa Chief of
Police and the New Port Richey Chief of Police, both of whom happened to be fishing buddies of his.
“Nothing new since the update I sent both of you yesterday,” Grant said, reeling his line in a bit.
“I was talking about your impressions or ideas, not the facts,” Chuck said.
James nodded. “A little brainstorming never hurts.”
“I think we have a serial rapist who has escalated to a serial killer,” Grant said. “I believe he’s going to kill again, and we have shit for leads. Now if your people can verify that your victims
have some connection to People’s Choice then we might have a real direction to go in.”
James and Chuck nodded. “We both have them working on it. You should have an answer by
Monday afternoon or Tuesday morning,” James stated.
“I see that you have Sybil Carrington handling the press. Good choice,” Chuck said.
Grant shrugged. “She’s one of those agents that likes being in the spotlight. She knows how to
handle the press without giving out too much information.”
“Must be tough having her on your task force while she’s sleeping with the boss,” James said
with a shake of his head. “Nothing’s worse than office affairs.”
“I’m surprised that the SAC hasn’t put a stop to it,” Chuck said. “They’re open about it. I’ve
seen them everywhere together and there’s no doubt what’s going on. Don’t the FBI still have a
fraternization rule?”
“Yeah, but no one pays attention to it unless it’s to their benefit,” Grant drawled. “Personally, I
think O’Malley’s a fool. This could jeopardize their careers and the only way of saving it would
be if they got married and one of them moved to another section.”
“And that might be what Sybil wants,” James stated. “After all, O’Malley is moving up and
he’s sure to be the next Special Agent in Charge, after Krueger retires in the next few years.”
“It may be O’Malley that’s making the play,” Chuck pointed out. “He’s a shoo-in for the next SAC for the Tampa Headquarters, but with Sybil as his wife and all her connections, you can bet he can move up to a much higher position. That man is ambitious and wants to be director one day.”
“Then I wish that they would just do it, because then she would be out of our section a lot sooner,” Grant grumbled. “No one wants to work with her and since I’m the lead of most of my cases nowadays, it makes my life more complicated when I have her assigned to me.”
“So, when they offer you O’Malley’s position, are you going to take it?” James asked.
“I plan on being transferred before Krueger retires,” Grant admitted. ‘I’m not ready to get out of field work yet.”
“So, you just transfer before they make the offer,” Chuck said. “That way you won’t screw over future offers.”
Grant nodded. “Yeah, the FBI doesn’t like it when you turn down too many of their offers to
promote. After a while not only will there be no more offers but a career could head downwards.”
“I thought they were changing that attitude,” James said. “After all, young men like you need to be in the field.”
Grant shrugged. “You have to remember that the retirement age for FBI agents is a lot younger than most people. It’s not unusual for an agent to spend his last ten years in management. After all someone has to take over when others retire.”
“Yeah, but you have a good ten years left in the field,” Chuck pointed out.
“A lot of guys my age is ready for desk jobs, after all most of them have families and would like to spend more time with them,” Grant said.
“Chances are if I was married with children that I would take the promotion, but I’m not. Derek, who wants the position and will do a good job, is a family man. With me out of the way, I’m almost positive that they’ll offer it to him.”
“You do realize that you’ll end up at Washington Headquarters,” James told him. “They’ve been wanting you there for some time.”
“Probably, but then again, if I don’t catch this killer, I may end up in North Dakota,” Grant said with a grimace. “Let’s face it; you’re only as good as your last case.”
“I’m not looking forward to Monday,” Chuck said. “I know that the press will be hounding us, asking all sorts of stupid questions.”
James nodded. “If our forefathers had any idea how abusive the press would be with their “Freedom of the press” they would have never added that into the constitution or they would have been more exact in their wording.”
“It wasn’t about money back then,” Grant pointed out as he felt his fish line tug. “Okay, guys back off. I think I got a big one here.”
Just then Betty and Margie join the men, carrying a tray of sandwiches. They admired the huge bass Grant had reeled in, and the rest of the day was spent talking about everything but business.
Chapter 10
Key Largo, Florida
Sybil stretched out and sighed as the sunshine hit her body. Sybil loved Florida in October, the sun was warm and there was a slight cool breeze, just enough to keep it from getting hot and muggy, but not too cold. She reached down and picked up her iced tea, took a sip as she felt a shadow fall on her.
“Hey, you’re blocking my sun,” she complained without opening her eyes.
The shadow moved and she heard the lounge chair next to her creak.
“How are things going with the case?” Martin O’Malley asked as he looked over the Atlantic Ocean. They were sitting out on her patio on her beachfront property in Key Largo.
Sybil sighed. “I think I’m going to ask to be transferred to another section after this case.”
Martin nodded. “That might be wise. Sweetie, that was a real dumb move Friday.”
“I know,” Sybil groaned. “I should have waited and called but I was so sure that gung-ho Marshall would insist on working straight through the weekend.”
Martin smiled over at her. “And you just wanted to see me, which I appreciate, But the fact is that we’re walking a professional tight rope.”
Sybil tilted her head as she opened her eyes to look at him. “Okay, I admit it, I wanted to see you for a few lousy minutes. I hate the fact that we can’t be together without everyone thinking that I can’t separate my professional life from my personal life. Do you know that Sara actually told Grant that I was reporting to you?”
“Sara’s a good agent and when she realized that you were in my office, she felt it was her duty to report it to Grant,” Martin answered her. “We both knew going into this relationship that we would have to take extra care, but you were careless on Friday, which isn’t like you.”
“You’re right,” Sybil sighed. “I guess I was looking for a reason to get transferred. I really didn’t think that I would be treated like a piranha when we got together. The fact is that they’re all suspicious of me and none of them wants to work with me, even when I’m nice.
“I’ve been on a dozen cases or more since we’ve been together, and I’ve done a good job on all of them. Not once did I use our relationship as a lever to get my way, nor did I go above the Team Leader’s head. It’s just not fair.”
“No, it’s not fair,” Martin agreed. “Our private life shouldn’t be anyone else’s business but the fact is that I’m your boss and since I’m not the greatest looking guy around, everyone assumes that you’re with me because I’m the boss.”
Sybil frowned. “I hope you don’t think that’s why I’m with you.”
“To be honest, yes, I think that’s the reason you’re with me, plus the fact that I stand a very good chance of being the next SAC when Krueger retires,” Martin said, with a shrug. “I’m not upset about it and I’ve always known that’s why you came onto me.
“So, why are you willing to let me use you like that?” Sybil asked, curiously.
“Because I admire you,” Martin told her. “You’re attractive, intelligent, and can be funny when you want to be. I also like that fact that your ambitious enough to make your own path if you need to.”
“And all of my connections help too, right?” Sybil asked, a bit sarcastically.
Martin raised his eyebrow. “Surely, you’re not going to get angry over that. It seems to me that we’re both getting what we want out of this relationship.”
Sybil sighed. “Okay, you’re right. I did come onto you because I knew you would most likely be the next SAC, plus your ambitious enough to eventually make it to the top and being a woman in the FBI, the chances of me making it anywhere alone is almost zilch, so the only way I could make it to the Washington headquarters upper echelon to ride your tailcoat. But things have changed since then.”
Martin smiled at her. “I know. You never expected to fall in love with me and to be honest I never expected to fall in love with you.”
Sybil smiled at him. “Do you really love me?”
Martin got up and pulled her up and into his arms. “Yes, I do.”
He kissed her gently. “Since I would like to marry you, I think it would be a good idea for you to be transferred to another section after this case. I know for sure that Wade Gifford in Public Relations would like to have you among them. Your expertise in using the computer and connections would be a great asset to him.”
Sybil nodded. “That sounds like a plan. So, is this your idea of a proposal?”
Martin shook his head. “No way. I plan to do it properly, but we’ll wait until after this case is solved and you get your transfer. I just felt that you needed to know where I saw us heading. If you don’t want that then it’s up to you to get out of this relationship before I pop the question.”
Sybil put her arms around his neck and kissed him, then murmured. “If you’re leaving it up to me to break it off, then you’re stuck with me for the next fifty years.”
Martin laughed with happiness as he held her tight. “Make that eighty years and you have a deal.”
Sybil’s next kiss changed Martin’s laughter into passion and within minutes the patio was emptied and if anyone was there to listen, they would have heard sounds of passion coming from a back room in the house.
Chapter 11
Largo
Harvey watched as Sara swung her golf club, admiring her form.
“Are you sure Sybil was reporting to the SSA?” Harvey asked as they started to walk.
Sara shrugged. “Don’t know if she was reporting to him, but I know she was there. The fact is that she shouldn’t have been there. I don’t trust her at all.”
“Just because she’s sleeping with O’Malley isn’t a reason not to trust her. She’s been on a lot of cases since they became a couple, and she’s never done anything that was reproachable or suspicious.” Harvey pointed out. “What if I get promoted and you end up in my section or if you get promoted and I end up in your section? Does that mean that suddenly, the people shouldn’t trust us?”
“Harvey, you know that’s not the same thing,” Sara protested. “Besides, that’s not the only reason I don’t trust her. She’s not a team player. Remember how she kept a lot of information that she found on the internet to herself in her last case. Then she pranced into the meeting that her Lead was having with the SAA and told them that she had figured it out. I give credit to Derek that he didn’t kill her right then and there. He handled it like a pro. Now there’s one agent I wouldn’t mind seeing promoted.”
“Hey, she claimed that she just figured it out,” Harvey said.
Sara gave him the “how dumb can you be” look. “Yeah, sure she did. She never told anyone that she was searching for a different direction than the team had decided to look. You know as well as I do that if you think something might be off and you want to check into something that’s off the beaten track; you inform your lead and get his approval. Now if we had arrogant assholes, then I could see why she did it on her own, but the fact is that most of our leads, especially Grant and Derek, are always open to ideas. Besides, that wasn’t the first time she’s done shit like that.”
“Well, maybe, but the fact is that we’re not going to have to deal with her much longer,” Harvey spoke. “If O’Malley wants that promotion, he’s going to have to transfer her.”
“Or maybe he’ll just break it off,” Sara suggested.
Harvey shook his head. “No way. The last thing the FBI is going to do is promote someone to a SAC position that has a history of messing with the underlings then discarding them like trash. Nope, they’ll end up getting married.”
“Which means she’ll probably end up getting out of the FBI,” Sara said with a bit of glee.
Harvey shrugged. “Probably, since O’Malley wants to be Director someday, it would help if he had a solid marriage with someone who understands politics. Sybil has the right connections, and she knows how to manage the press. She knows how to work on the political scene. The best thing for them is for her to leave the FBI and maybe work for the District Attorney for a while. She has her law degree.”
Sara sighed. “Yeah, and it’s usually the woman that leaves.”
Harvey was quiet as he lined up his next shot. As he watched his golf ball soar through the air, he spoke. “If we ever decide to get married, then I would be the one to leave, not you.”
Sara looked at him in surprise, then closed her mouth and lined up her shot. She didn’t respond until they started walking again.
“Why?” Sara asked.
“Because I believe in marriage and the family comes first. I’m not overly ambitious, so I don’t care about promotions or office politics,” Harvey explained. “You’re the better agent, plus I can get a job working for the DA. Sybil isn’t the only one that has kept up her license. I can even open my own office and work as a criminal lawyer if I really needed to. The fact is that you love being an FBI agent and there’s no way I would ask you to give it up.”
Sara was amazed and touched. “You’re one special dude; did you know that? I’m lucky that I have you in my life.”
Harvey grinned at her. “Yeah? Maybe after this game we can go back to my apartment, and you can show me how lucky you are.”
Sara laughs. “You’re on. But if I win, I will be on top.”
In Rain Gentile’s Tampa home
Rain Gentile held the transmitter in her hands and let the impressions wash over her.
They came all at once—rage, hunger, satisfaction—so sharp they made her shudder. She closed her eyes, steadying her breath, grounding herself before the weight of it could pull her under. The emotions clung to the object, embedded deep, as if it had absorbed every moment it had witnessed.
She lowered the transmitter carefully onto the table, her fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary.
She needed to tell Grant Marshall what she knew.
That realization had followed her home, pacing her thoughts as insistent as the sensations still echoing through her body. But knowing that she should speak and knowing how two very different things were. Law enforcement liked facts, timelines, evidence, clean answers. What Rain had were impressions and instincts, things that didn’t fit neatly into reports.
She exhaled slowly.
Detective Jacobson had been easy to read. Friendly, observant, practical. A man grounded in logic, unlikely to accept anything that couldn’t be proven. Grant Marshall, on the other hand, had been harder, too controlled, too layered. She hadn’t been able to read him the way she read most people.
That unsettled her.
What unsettled her more was the physical jolt she’d felt when their eyes had met. The awareness had been instant, unexpected, and disturbingly mutual. Rain had never experienced anything like it before, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to explore what it meant.
Some connections opened doors best left closed.
Rain stepped away from the table and moved toward the window, needing distance from the transmitter and the memories it carried. Whatever this case was becoming, she was already part of it, whether she liked it or not.
Elsewhere
He sat alone in the darkness, staring at the photographs on the wall.
Each image pulled him back into the moment, the power, the control, the release. The satisfaction lingered, but it never lasted. It never did. What followed was always the same: the gnawing need to feel it again, to replace what had faded.
The urge was growing stronger.
He turned to his computer and began to search, methodical and patient. Choosing mattered. The wrong one would leave him hollow, unsatisfied. The right one would quiet the noise, even if only for a while.
He needed someone who would make the image disappear.
Someone who would make him whole again.
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