Page 6 of Girl, Empty (Ella Dark #27)

Mia Ripley had never been one for introspection, and standing here in this marble corridor while she waited for Dark and Edis to finish their clandestine chat, she idly wondered what the FBI shrink would say about her returning to the job.

The truth was simple enough. Max had started kindergarten today, which meant Ripley’s days of being a full time grandmother had officially ended.

She checked her phone for any messages from son, any saying that Max had cried all morning and just wanted to be with Grandma Riprip again.

But there was no such text, as bittersweet as that was.

Just like that. Door closed, next chapter started, and suddenly Mia Ripley had seven hours a day to fill.

The elevator dinged and two suits stepped out, with their pressed trousers and identical buzzcuts. New recruits, probably. January always brought a fresh crop. They walked past her with their backs straight and chin up, just as they taught you in the first week of academy training.

‘Ma’am,’ they nodded at Ripley.

‘Boys.’

Did she miss this? Or was she so desperate to miss anything that she’d tell herself she missed this?

Retirement had been the right call at the time.

Hell, she'd been ready to burn this whole place down after what happened with Martin.

Twenty-five years of perfect instincts and she'd missed the obvious because she'd wanted something good in her life.

She'd chosen love over logic and nearly gotten herself and Dark killed for her trouble.

So she’d given it all up, but nobody had told her just how quiet retirement got.

Ripley knew it would be an abrupt change, but spending three decades with your phone ringing at ungodly hours conditioned you to a certain way of life.

She’d tried to play the part of the old retired grandma, but you couldn’t stop yourself being a cop any more than you could stop yourself being left-handed.

Ripley regarded Edis’s office door fifty feet down the hall.

Whatever the director was telling Dark, it was taking longer than a simple goodbye.

Ripley had her suspicions about what that conversation might entail, especially with Edis on his way out and the Bureau facing a complete leadership overhaul.

Which brought her to the new thought that had been gnawing at her for the past ten minutes.

Maybe a lot longer, if she was being honest, because she’d known for a while that Edis didn’t have long left on his tenure.

She’d seen five FBI directors come and go in her time, and Edis was the only one who’d reached the ten-year term limit.

Someone was going to replace him. Someone was going to sit behind that desk and make decisions that would ripple through every field office in the country.

It would probably be some political appointee who'd never worked a case but knew how to play the Washington game.

Someone who'd turn the Bureau into another government photo opportunity, as they often did.

Ripley had spent thirty years watching incompetent climbers get promoted while competent lifers got overlooked.

She'd bitten her tongue through countless meetings where she knew more than everyone in the room combined but had to smile and nod while some suit explained her own job to her.

Maybe that could change.

Was she crazy for considering it?

Probably, but she had to admit:

Director Ripley had a nice ring to it.

***

‘What’s the problem, sir?’ asked Ella.

Director Edis looked bigger than ever behind his desk, maybe because there was a notable lack of paper mountains on it for once. The man had clearly already checked out, and she didn’t blame him. She wouldn’t be too concerned with work if she knew she was being replaced any day now either.

‘This situation we’re dealing with. Austin Creed. You’re keeping well away from it, yes?’

‘Yes I am, sir.’

‘Good. And look, I’ll probably be gone by the time you get back from Indiana, so this could very well be our last meeting. There’ll be no ceremony, at least not one you’ll want to attend. So…’

Edis let the implication hang. Ella guessed he was telling her that now was the time to tell him everything she’d always wanted to, and with that illicit permission, her mind suddenly went blank. Typical.

‘Then all I can say is thank you, sir. You were the one who took a chance on me years ago, and I hope I’ve served you well.’

‘You’ve served me a lot better than I’ve served you, and I just want to tell you something.

’ Edis left his desk and moved to the door.

He looked through the frosty glass for any lingering silhouettes outside.

Happy with the privacy, he continued, ‘This is for your ears only. It doesn’t leave this office. Don’t even tell Ripley, okay?’

The hair on Ella’s arms – the ones she’d forgotten to shave this week – stood on end. When the FBI Director told you something in private, it was usually the kind of thing you took to the grave. ‘I’m listening, sir.’

‘Even though I won’t be in charge, it doesn’t mean I’m leaving you to fight this alone.

I’ve been personally overseeing this case against Creed, even though I’m not supposed to.

I’m the one who ordered police to monitor your friends, and that won’t change just because I’m leaving. You have my word.’

Ella breathed a sigh of relief. The thought had crossed her mind but she didn’t want to pile it on the director’s plate. ‘I appreciate that.’

‘And I won’t be in this office anymore, but I’ll still have my connections. Judges, law enforcements, prison directors.’

‘Excellent. Thank you.’

‘You know, your ex-partner, Ben? I remember him well.’

‘You do?’

‘Yes. He helped us catch Tobias Campbell. He was the whole catalyst to catching him, if I remember rightly.’

Ella would never forget that night for as long as she lived.

Ben being taken hostage in the trunk of car, then figuring out that Tobias had been hiding in the sewers beneath D.C.

The trail had taken Ella to an abandoned house in Maryland where she’d found Tobias in hiding, then she’d unloaded five shotgun shells into his torso.

It was the first and only time she’d taken a life, and she vowed never to do it again.

‘Yes he was.’ She tried to hide the emotion in her voice but did a terrible job.

‘I was very saddened to hear of his death. Poor guy. He had his whole life ahead of him.’

Ella nearly choked up. ‘It’s very sad. I hadn’t talked to him since he left… but I miss him.’

‘Well, I’d hate to leave the Bureau with this dark cloud over our heads. I’m sure you’d agree.’

‘I’m not sure what you mean, sir. We can’t wrap this case up before you leave. We don’t know who Creed’s accomplice is.’

‘The investigators are closing in. Well, they were, until Creed’s lawyers wrapped red tape around him.’

‘I heard.’

Voices emerged on the other side of the door as people passed by, and Edis waited for them to disperse. ‘We’re confident Creed is manipulating someone on the outside, and you know the mindset of a follower, don’t you?’

‘I do, sir.’

Followers were loyal to their messiahs, providing their messiahs were accessible.

The psychological profile was consistent: individuals with disrupted attachment patterns in childhood, often victims of neglect or abuse, who developed pathological identification with aggressive figures as a survival mechanism.

‘Good. Then you’ll know what happens when their leaders are removed.’

‘Removed?’

‘Unreachable. Invisible. Dead.’

Ella voiced an analogy she’d read in an old profiling textbook. ‘When the host is dead, the parasite either dies too or finds a new vessel.’

‘Yes. And it’s been six weeks since Ben died. This accomplice has disappeared underground, because Creed is unreachable. So…’ Edis moved over to the flowers he’d brought for Ella and Ripley. ‘Do you like your gift?’

‘Love them,’ Ella said, ‘but what are you saying about-’

‘Please, Miss Dark,’ he interrupted. ‘See if you like them.’

Ella stared at him. What the hell was he talking about? They were in the middle of discussing psychological profiles and suddenly he wanted to chat about flowers?

‘They’re particularly lovely this time of year. You should really examine them closely. Florists sometimes include care instructions.’

Then she caught the undertones. Edis had been in the game too long to make small talk without purpose. Roses weren’t lovely in winter. This wasn't about roses.

‘Of course, sir.’

She moved to the liquor cabinet, inspected the roses.

There, tucked in the back, was a single sheet of paper folded up like a letter.

She plucked it out. Whatever was on this paper, Edis couldn’t say aloud. ‘Can I…?’

‘Please do.’

Ella unfolded the paper with steady hands, though her pulse hammered against her throat. The letterhead hit her first: official FBI seal, with Edis's authorization codes in the corner.

AFFIDAVIT FOR EMERGENCY INVESTIGATIVE ACCESS.

Louisiana State Penitentiary - Death Row Unit.

Pursuant to 28 U.S.C. 509 and Bureau Directive 44.B.12.

Subject: CREED, AUSTIN GARETH DAVIES (Inmate #0847291).

Classification: Death Row - Isolation Unit D.

Requesting Agent:

Authorizing Official: Director William Edis, Federal Bureau of Investigation.

This document certifies that the above-named agent requires immediate and unrestricted access to the above prisoner for purposes of ongoing federal investigation RE: Case #447-B (Interstate Serial Homicide).

This access supersedes any existing legal restrictions, attorney privileges, or administrative holds currently in place.

The words blurred. Ella read them again. Edis had signed it. Dated it for today. But left the requesting agent line blank.

All she had to do was write her name.

‘Sir, this is-’

‘Completely off the books. Unsigned by anyone except me, and I'll be gone before anyone can question it.'

‘Creed’s lawyers have him locked down. No visitors except-’

‘Except in cases of imminent threat to federal personnel. Which, given recent events, certainly applies. If you use it, you'll have one shot. One conversation with Creed before his lawyers cry foul and a judge shuts it down. Make it count.’’

Ella's hands trembled as she read the rest. Edis had just handed her the keys to Austin Creed's cell.

‘But… why me, sir? Why not give this to the investigators?’

‘Because they’re investigators. Creed doesn’t need an investigator in his cell. Remember that the when the host dies, the parasite disappears too.’

Ella took a second to process this strange turn of events, because surely there was some secondary interpretation that she was missing here.

No. Whichever way she looked at it, Edis was telling her the same thing.

Go into Austin Creed’s cell – and execute him.

‘Sir, I can’t do that. I’d be leaving the prison in handcuffs.’

Edis lowered his voice. ‘Let’s say Creed saw you, remembered you, suddenly got violent.

One bullet later and no more of your friends will die.

And believe me, nobody is going to bat an eyelid if a notorious killer dies in prison, and there isn’t a judge in the world that would convict you. Like I said, I’ve got your back.’

The prospect of looming retirement must have impaired Edis’s cognitive function, because never in a million years would she have expected something like this from the director. ‘Sir, I appreciate this, but are you sure you’re-’

‘Yes Miss Dark, I’m thinking straight. I know this seems out of left field, but I’ve always prided myself on learning from the past. About 30 years ago, back when I was with Chicago PD, there was a girl.

An informant. Her security got sloppy, and a predator we were circling found her first. We had the chance to stop him before that, but didn’t act on it.

I had a chance to bend the rules to protect her, and I didn’t, so I vowed that day that if I ever got the chance to behead the snake again, I would. ’

Ella stared at the paper on the liquor cabinet. One signature. One conversation with Austin Creed. One moment of violence to potentially end it all, because while they might not have caught the parasite, they could still kill the host.

One murder to prevent a dozen more.

She’d been gifted a death warrant.

And a part of her wanted to use it.