Page 9 of Facing the Enemy

It hurt not to tell Dad the truth. But my leave of absence must stay a secret. “They will be, and I expect an arrest will be made soon.HPD and the FBI have formed a task force—HPD made the request since an FBI agent was involved.”

“What if the person makes more demands?”

“Then I’ll reach out to those who are trained law enforcement.”

“Is this about Trenton’s past?”

“I don’t know.” I couldn’t tell him I was the intended victim.

He expelled a sigh of grief that seemed to come from the soles of his feet. “I believe you’re working behind the scenes to find out who’s responsible for Trenton’s death. I have no idea if it’s even legal. Be careful, little girl. We just lost one child.”

Dad knew me all too well.

4

SEPTEMBER

I dreaded facing my first day of teaching creative writing at Houston Community College’s fall session since joining the FBI nearly seven years ago. Back then, my sweet spot focused on writing short stories and teaching writing techniques to my students.

Definitely rewarding, but I’d been bored.

Now pretending to leave the FBI, the career I treasured, and returning to academia kept those I loved safe and assured the killer that I’d complied to his demands. SAC Dunkin received permission from DC to keep my status quiet, but it took convincing on the SAC’s part. A blessing if I behaved myself. I’d not received any more threats, and despite the constant searching during the weeks following Trenton’s death, I hadn’t found any evidence of his killer.

All my leads ended up in the trenches of failure.

Those I’d testified against were in prison or had alibis.

A shorter list of those who hadn’t approved of my previous dealings with persons of interest and those charged with crimes were under investigation. From the secure FBI site, I saw Gage primarily worked Trenton’s case in addition to crimes against children. Oh, how I missed him.

Trenton’s pastor also counseled him and believed my brother stood strong in his faith and convictions. Trenton’s sponsor claimed my brother had forsaken his previous life and not indicated any relapse. The sponsor had SAC Dunkin’s contact, so I stayed true to my so-called resignation. Trenton’s landlord claimed only my brother’s sponsor visited him. He’d paid his rent and kept to himself.

Trenton’s former employers where he’d worked as waitstaff at upscale restaurants offered excellent recommendations. Friends, past and present, cleared background checks. No one shared a bad report, and those people who’d once been a part of his life during his addiction days hadn’t seen or heard from him. Yet I knew there were others from those days who were nameless. My love for Trenton and the raw grief consuming me kept my efforts devoted to justice. If I were pressed hard, I’d confess to an overzealous, near-fanatical drive.

My brother had given his life for me.

Memories of Trenton haunted me and reinforced my determination. For certain until an arrest was made, I’d not find peace or any semblance of healing. I’d play by the killer’s rule book until I found the key to unlock the madness. Didn’t I believe the murderer justthoughthe walked the streets free?

God, if You can do anything for me at all, please help me find my brother’s killer.

The sorrow.

A wasted life. Like a desert that had once flourished with green, flowering plants.

The tears.

Memories.

A stolen future.

A gentle smile.

A quiet voice.

I watched students and faculty swing into the parking lot and exit their vehicles. They waved and smiled at each other. Didn’t they know? Didn’t they care? These people were strangers, not the agents I’d called friends.

I leaned my head back against the seat, longing to turn back the clock. If only I’d seen the SUV coming.

I wasn’t just empty but a semblance of a walking corpse. Weighted nausea gripped me in shades of black and red, hate and anger. Acid rose in my throat. If I died today, how would I explain my rabid thirst for vengeance? How could I pray for justice and admit the dark shadows covering my soul?