Page 49

They were in the vehicle heading downtown. Hope was giving him the ice queen treatment, but her red-rimmed eyes told another story.

Frazer had no doubt filled her in on the adventures last night, and Aaron wondered if she blamed herself for his middle of the night excitement or, more appropriately, blamed him for nearly taking a bullet in the head.

It was easy for him to be blasé about live ammunition as he dealt with it on a daily basis, but civilians? Getting shot at generally involved the worst day of their life.

Thankfully, the graze on the side of his scalp was difficult to see, especially since he’d pulled a black wool hat over his hair. He wore blue jeans, a black T-shirt, and a black down winter jacket he’d borrowed from JJ Hersh, leaving it unfastened in case he needed to access his weapon. Hope shouldn’t be at the courthouse long. He had an errand to run along the way, and he wanted to blend in.

After getting back last night, he’d managed a couple of hours of sleep so deep it had felt like coming out of a coma when Frazer had woken him. If exhaustion had been what he’d been seeking when he’d gone out for that run, he’d certainly found it in the end.

The good news was, it only hurt when he breathed.

His ribs hadn’t been broken, although the bruising made him look as if he’d gone a few rounds with the back end of a mule. Despite the cold marble floors of Leech’s home, the old house had gone up like a tinderbox. The smoke he’d inhaled attempting to extinguish the fire in the elegant home—to preserve evidence more than architecture—meant he hadn’t been able to stop coughing for the first hour after he’d gotten out. Each cough felt like he was being stabbed in the chest with a wooden stake.

Good times.

Griffin had also been treated for smoke inhalation, as had Fuentes, but both men were otherwise unharmed.

Aaron was furious the assailant had gotten away from him. He hadn’t even seen the guy’s face. But an Evidence Recovery Tech had dug a pristine bullet out of the side of the pool house. They just needed a weapon to match it to.

The other bullet had splattered into an unrecognizable mess upon impact with his breast plate. He was thinking of getting both framed.

His teammates had not been happy with him, and he’d been hearing from everyone in a litany of scolding texts like a bunch of worried mamas.

A car honked, jerking him out of his thoughts.

Hope glanced at him, and he had to fight the impulse to reach out to touch her fingers because a) she didn’t want him, and b) the guys were in the vehicle too. Everyone except Cowboy and Demarco, whom he’d left guarding the house today.

“Drop me here.”

“You aren’t coming with us?” Hope finally met his gaze.

Was he kidding himself that she sounded like she wanted him to be with her? Probably. She’d made her thoughts quite clear yesterday, although that had been in the bedroom, not about work.

He still hadn’t apologized for what he’d said. God. What a jackass. He would. He needed a minute to swallow his pride between coughing bouts.

He coughed again, annoyed with himself but unable to control the spasm.

Finally, he was able to speak. “I have something to do. Kincaid, text me when you’re done. I don’t know how long this will take.”

Hope opened her mouth to say something, but he didn’t want to hear it. Not right now. Once he had his own feelings under control, he’d find somewhere private they could talk without everyone else knowing their business.

And the real problem was they shouldn’t have any private business.

He jumped out and ducked his head out of the wind. Headed down a side street to the print shop where the picture of Hope had been printed before being placed in an envelope on her daughter’s headstone.

Aaron hesitated as he looked in the window. Considering everything Hope had been through this week, he’d acted like a jerk. Especially as there had never been any promises or commitment between them.

He reached for his phone then stopped. He could hardly text her or call her to admit to being an idiot or apologize when all her communications were being monitored—not without giving himself away.

He’d tell her later. When he hopefully had proof as to the identity of the vandal who’d desecrated her husband and child’s grave. Maybe that would be peace offering enough.

There was an itch in his brain that the vandal and the guy from last night at Leech’s house were one and the same. It hadn’t escaped his notice that Lewis Janelli was the right height and build for the man who’d shot at him. And he carried a 9mm. And Aaron had pissed him off yesterday. Big time.

He pushed inside the door of the premises into a wall of heat. Walked up to the counter. Flashed his creds at a young woman currently not serving a customer.

“I need to track down a printer.” He reeled off the serial number which was linked to the machine identity code that had been printed on the image. The code was a bunch of yellow dots, invisible unless you knew what you were looking for.

She looked confused. “I’m not sure…”

“It’s for an ongoing investigation. Is it possible to examine the units you have in the store?”

She looked uncertain. “I?—”

“It shouldn’t take long. If I can’t find the right machine, I’ll be out of your hair in five minutes.”

Sounded great, except he knew the printer was here.

“Okay. I suppose so. Come on back. My manager went out for coffee, I’m sure he’ll return shortly.”

She opened the door in the counter.

But he pointed to the self-serve units. He had a feeling that’s how this guy would roll. The less interaction the better.

“I’ll start over there.”

She nodded again. Obviously torn between complying with law enforcement and worried she was doing the wrong thing and would get in trouble with her boss.

He checked out the large copier against the nearest wall and struck gold.

The young woman joined him. Crossing her arms.

“Hey, this is it.” He pulled out the copy of the warrant he had in his pocket that Frazer had given him earlier. “I’m going to need to seal this unit off until the crime scene techs can process it.”

A couple of customers in the queue looked their way.

“Crime scene techs? Process it?” Her eyes swung wildly around the room. “What do you mean, process it?”

“If we’re lucky, they can do it on site. Download the memory from the machine.” DNA and trace would be useless when there were probably hundreds of people using it every day.

“Oh man, I don’t know. My boss isn’t going to like that.”

“Jeanine?” That’s what her employee tag said.

“Yeah?”

“You aren’t in any trouble. None at all.” He showed her the warrant again. “This means I was always going to be allowed to search the premises and I was always going to find this printer. But you cooperating with me is a really big help, so I won’t shut you down even though I can. You have an Out-of-Order notice you can put on this until our guys get here?”

“Sure.” She chewed her lip then dashed behind the counter and came back with a big red sign. Placed it on top of the machine. “They aren’t going to have FBI or CSI on the back of their clothes, are they?” She grimaced. “It’ll scare people.”

He thought about it for a second. “I’ll ask them to wear plain clothes.”

Which suited them anyway. That way the press wouldn’t be alerted to a new development in the investigation and whoever had printed that photo and probably the poster of Hope that had been taped to that wall last night—and who had, therefore, tried to murder an FBI agent in the line of duty—wouldn’t get an early warning that their time was running out. The images should be stored inside this machine’s vast memory.

He glanced up at the surveillance camera. “Does that thing work?”

“Yes. We keep the recordings for a couple of weeks and then delete.”

“I need to check out your surveillance footage.”

“Let me text Lyle?—”

“You can do that, but in the meantime, let me get started on the video.”

Her mouth opened to argue.

“Lives are at stake, Jeanine.”

She blinked. “Oh. Sure. Come on. Follow me. But if Lyle yells at me, I might need you to defend me.” She bit her lip and a dimple appeared. Was she flirting with him?

He was surprised. She looked about twenty.

“If your boss yells at you, you probably need another job.” Not that that applied in his organization, but in his job a mistake could cost someone their life.

She sobered. “You’re right.” Then stronger. “You are completely right.” She led the way into a back room and turned on the lights. “Lyle hasn’t actually arrived yet today. He gets me to open up and arrives after he’s stuffed his face at a diner down the street.” Jeanine woke the PC then opened the surveillance app and folder. “Each twenty-four-hour period is stored automatically in a separate file. Cameras are motion activated. We’re only open seven a.m. to seven p.m., so there’s about twelve hours of footage per day.” She scratched her nose. “Guess who closes?”

“You do. Can I get permission from the onsite person in charge to send these files to the FBI analysts ASAP?” It was probably covered in the warrants, but having her permission was good too.

She gave him a grin. “As the senior member of staff, you have my permission.” Then she checked her watch. “I’ll give you a ten-minute head start before I message Lyle and tell him the FBI are here. Hey, if you find any porn on that thing,” she pointed at the computer, “it’s not mine.”

He smiled as he quickly copied the files to a secure network. Then he began fast-forwarding through them, starting on the day Leech escaped, pausing to check each face of the people who used that particular copier.

He texted Frazer that he was here and had found the machine and to send the CSI guys down in plain clothes so as not to alert the world. He also told him to get someone—AKA Alex Parker—to run the payments and see if they could come up with a credit card and a name. Of course, the guy could have paid cash.

Aaron carried on watching the footage. He could have let the techs do this, but it was personal now, and he wanted answers. He settled in to watch. Paused the footage when he heard a yell from the front of the shop. Sounded like Lyle had arrived.

He rolled his shoulders and stretched out his neck, wincing from the stab of pain in his injured chest. Not only the bruises. He thrust thoughts of a broken heart out of his mind. He’d known before it even started he wasn’t in her league. He’d pretty much resigned himself to bachelorhood over the years, and that was okay.

Hope had been a blip.

Lust getting out of hand and the great sex making him think he might be in love. Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. He had his teammates for when he got lonely, which wasn’t often. He needed to get back in the dating pool if he was this desperate for sex.

The thought left a sour taste in his mouth.

He heard Jeanine yelling back at Lyle and felt a surge of pride. He was about to go reinforce the message about how to treat staff.

The sooner he figured out where Leech was, and whoever the hell else was targeting the woman he’d stupidly gone and fallen for, the faster he could go home and forget about the whole goddamn thing.