Vail awoke with a gasp. She’d seen the face of the Dead Eyes killer. And it was hers. She dragged a clammy hand across her eyes, as if wiping them would make the image disappear. What did it mean? She didn’t have much time to ponder it—and even if she did, what good would it do? It was just a dream, something that no doubt stemmed from her frustration with being unable to get a handle on the case. Still, it hovered like a storm cloud, following her throughout the day.
She got out of bed and showered, then drove to work. The call from the unit secretary came through at 8:03 A.M., two minutes after she had sat down at her desk: “Mr. Gifford wants to see you in his office ASAP.”
Vail dropped her leather satchel on the chair and headed into Gifford’s office.
The meeting was short and to the point: the Office of Professional Responsibility had reviewed her report on the Virginia Commonwealth Savings Bank incident and concluded she needed to complete a refresher course at the Bureau’s training facility, Hogan’s Alley. The mock-up town had been created to hone an agent’s real-world skills: because when you were in Hogan’s “town,” in the bank, in the drugstore or movie theater, motel or photo lab, anything could happen. You never knew who or what was part of the exercise ... you had to play it as it came, and as you saw fit. As Gifford had explained it, after the episode in the bank, the bureaucrats felt she needed “some work” on her tactical skills.
“It’s a small price to pay,” Gifford had told her, “and a light sentence.”
The vivid image of this morning’s nightmare crept into her thoughts. She pushed it aside and forced herself to focus on Gifford’s comment. He seemed to be waiting for her to respond. “In the middle of Dead Eyes? Can’t it wait?”
“You’re one member of a task force, Agent Vail. You’re not even one of the investigators. You’re just support.”
“Gee, thanks.”
“Report to the Academy immediately. Your contact is Agent Paul Ortega.”
That was an hour ago, and she was now standing outside the Hogan Bank and Trust, gun drawn—blanks in the chamber—but her pulse jumping just the same.
“We’ve got three armed Caucasian males inside,” the voice crackled over her radio.
She peered around the brick wall into the front window, then lifted the radio from her belt and depressed the talk button. “Suspects visible.”
“Two units on their way. Hold your position. ETA one minute, then we’re going in.”
Her heart continued to pound. Adrenaline was in her veins, speeding her pulse, dilating her pupils. Brain as sharp as a pinpoint.
She tightened the grip on her gun and she flashed on Alvin cradling the hostage in his arms, his eyes bouncing back and forth, his feet shuffling—
And her cell rang.
Anything goes in the town of Hogan’s Alley. Anything. But a phone call in the middle of a bank robbery? It could happen. It
Low roar of a car engine in the distance . . . she would have to storm the bank in a matter of seconds.
Shit. Pulled the BlackBerry from her belt, looked at the display. Blocked number. Of course. They were not going to make it easy. Hit the button, glanced down the street for the approaching vehicles. “Vail.”
“Karen, get your fucking ass over here. Jonathan forgot his school book and wants you to pick it up—”
“Deacon?”
“Jonathan says the teacher needs the book today. Come get it.”
Her eyes swept the street. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Training exercise or not, she didn’t want to blow this, especially since the report would be going straight to OPR.
Back to Deacon: “Why can’t you bring it over?”
“’Cause I can’t. I’m busy.”
“Only gonna be here another hour—”
She hit the End button as the first vehicle pulled up to the curb. Two agents poured out and made eye contact with her. The second unmarked car then screeched to a stop, followed by the voice over the radio: “All units, Charlie Delta Echo.
Vail grabbed the door handle, swung her body around, and stormed the bank.
THE CAR KEYS were in Deacon’s hand as he stared at Vail through the screen. “Didn’t think you were gonna make it. I’m out the door.”
“Just give me the damn book, Deacon.” Vail had handled the bank situation just fine, but the exercise left her jittery, the residual adrenaline still sloshing around her bloodstream. She was in no mood for Deacon’s bullshit.
He snarled, then walked back toward the living room. She entered and stood in the entryway, tapping her foot. Being in the house gave her the willies. She had the overwhelming urge to take the butt of her gun and crack him good across the noggin. Just for old times’ sake. And for what he’d been doing to Jonathan. Most of all, for what he’d done to her yesterday.
“So,” Deacon called from the kitchen, “did you enjoy our last rendezvous, Karen?”
She squeezed her left arm against her body and felt her Glock, shoved into its holster. Deacon suddenly appeared around the bend with Jonathan’s book in hand.
He was wearing a shit-eating grin as he danced into the living room. Did a spin in front of Vail. “Here ya go, darlin’.” Held the book in front of him.
As she reached for it, he pulled it away and hid it behind his back.
Rage.
“Deacon, I’m not in the mood. Give me the damn book.”
Her face was inches from his. She leaned forward, he leaned back. “You shoulda pulled the trigger yesterday, Karen. Because I’m still around, and as long as I’m still around I’m gonna make your life miserable. Then there’s Jonathan, and I’m already making his life miserable—”
Her blood pressure had risen beyond safe limits and if she didn’t let off some steam or get the hell out of there fast, she was going to do something she would regret. She clenched her jaw, then spun around. Book or not, she was leaving. Jonathan would have to understand.
