“I can see you didn’t take my advice to be careful.” Director Jill Pembrook leaned her shoulder against the back door of the ambulance, gray hair tied back in a severe bun that reflected the steel resolve inside. “What was it, two gunshot wounds, a pane of glass through your leg and a broken rib all within the span of four days?”
“Two ribs, and don’t forget my broken finger, too.” Ana pressed her palms into the gurney mattress in an attempt to sit higher when faced with her boss, but whatever the EMTs had given her to manage the pain hadn’t kicked in yet. Pain shot through her midsection, and she pressed the crown of her head against the flat pillow as hard as she could to keep from groaning aloud. The fight with Ericson had been the most brutal battle not only for her life but also Benning’s, Olivia’s and Owen’s, as well. She would’ve done anything—sustained anything—to make sure they’d made it out of this investigation alive. Because she loved them, all of them, as though they’d always been part of her life. Always been hers. She wanted to keep it that way, to wake up beside Benning every morning and fall asleep beside him every night, to respond to calls from the school when Olivia brought another dead animal to autopsy in the school’s science lab, to brush the cookie crumbs out of Owen’s bed before he went to sleep at night and compete with him on his newest game obsession. She wanted it all. The good parts and the messy parts, but she wasn’t finished saving lives, either, and she wasn’t going to let the director bench her because she hadn’t followed Pembrook’s orders to not let her emotions get in the way of doing her job. Swallowing through the tightness in her throat, she curled her uninjured hand into a fist to distract herself from the pain. “Do you have an update on JC and Evan yet?”
“Agent Cantrell sustained a mild concussion when the explosive went off but is expected to return to the field in a few days. Agent Duran, on the other hand, is currently in surgery to remove a piece of shrapnel from his side. He’ll be out for longer, but his prognosis is looking good.” Pembrook folded her arms over her pressed blazer and crisp white shirt, her expression controlled. “From what they’ve been able to tell me, they wouldn’t have made it out of that basement alive if it hadn’t been for Mr. Reeves disobeying SWAT’s orders to stay away from the scene and risking his life so he could get to you.” A hint of a smile pulled at one edge of the director’s mouth, and Pembrook relaxed her hands to her sides as she straightened. “You’re both idiots, but you obviously deserve each other. In any case, I expect you back on your feet and in the field as soon as possible, Agent Ramirez. The people we help still need you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Ana rolled her lips between her teeth and bit down to fight back her own smile as Director Pembrook headed toward a beautiful African American woman dressed in military fatigues behind the perimeter of yellow crime scene tape.
Her smile slipped. Claire Winston. It’d been seven years since Ana had been face-to-face with Samantha Perry’s best friend, but she would’ve recognized her at any age. Nausea worked through her. Ericson York had forced that poor woman to relive the nightmare of losing her closest friend so violently when he’d left one Libra charm on Benning’s property and the other inside Harold Wood’s mouth. Infierno, he’d even buried the rest of the killer’s body in Claire’s basement as some sick token of pride. But...that still didn’t answer the question of why Ericson had removed Harold Wood’s skull and hidden it separately from the body. Claire stretched her right hand to meet the director’s in a handshake, and Ana narrowed her gaze on the woman’s wrist.
A hint of a silver bracelet glimmered under the aura of patrol lights.
No charm.
Hadn’t Claire told the director over the phone she still had her charm and wore the bracelet off shift while on tour? So then why wouldn’t she be wearing it now?
“Tell me you’re okay, and I won’t have to shoot anyone else tonight.” Benning slid into her peripheral vision, Owen petting one of the canine units with another officer a few feet away.
“Help me up,” she said.
“What?” Disbelief widened his eyes at the edges.
“Claire Winston isn’t wearing her charm, Benning.” Ana kept her voice low as she scooted down the length of the gurney toward the end. She slipped from the ambulance, relying on his support to stay on her feet. “Why would she tell the director otherwise unless she didn’t want one of the charms we found during the investigation to be connected back to her?”
He searched the scene until his attention landed on Director Pembrook and the woman in fatigues near the perimeter. Turning back to her, he clamped his hand into hers and pulled her into his side. “You think she and Ericson were working together.”
“Ericson told me Harold Wood made the mistake of going after Claire.” She strengthened her hold around his hand as she studied the exchange between Pembrook and Claire Winston. “It wouldn’t be a stretch to believe Claire might’ve helped get rid of the evidence once she learned she’d become Wood’s next target. Why else would Ericson use her basement to hide the body?”
He kept his voice low. “Maybe to frame her in case he was caught.”
“Ericson saved her life. He wouldn’t have implicated her for a murder he was proud he’d committed, and he wouldn’t give her up if she’d been involved in Owen’s
