Page 4 of K-9 Justice (New Mexico Guard Dogs #6)

CHAPTER FOUR

“That’s not possible.” She hadn’t wanted to say the words out loud, but the dark temptation was there. It came from her investigative training, the same training that had helped her connect the dots between three dead women in the desert and their killer.

The idea one of her operatives could be involved with the very cartel responsible for most of the holes Dr. Piel treated made her sick to her stomach. But there was a pattern. The man who’d strangled and murdered those women and then left their bodies in the desert for her to find two years ago had done so as a warning. To encourage those who attempted to leave Sangre por Sangre to reconsider.

There’s no escaping Sangre por Sangre.

The message carved into those women’s backs hadn’t been clear from the beginning. Their killer had used an encryption that had taken too long for Ivy to solve. Not to mention decomposition, swelling and the heat had warped the carvings in their skin. That case had nearly cost Ivy her life in the process. Had Dr. Piel gotten caught in the cartel’s web? Two years was a long time. The son of a bitch responsible could’ve come at Ivy at any point during that time. Had good reason to as she and her operatives had chipped away at the killer’s layer of protection. Sangre por Sangre didn’t extend their protection services for nothing. The killer would have to have already been a member. Or given the cartel something they’d wanted.

In the end, it didn’t matter. She’d made a promise to those women. She was going to finish this. And she wasn’t going to let a drug cartel get in the way.

“As much as I hate to think someone in the cartel got that close to you, you and I both know it’s a possibility, Ivy. But something must’ve changed. Dr. Piel must’ve tried to get out. This could be the killer’s way of punishing her like he did with those other women.” Carson always seemed to be able to read her. Better than anyone else. It was the small considerations that showed how fiercely he committed to others. How intensely he loved the people in his life. His mother before she’d died, Max, her. Equally, that intensity could turn him into the worst enemy if given enough heat. “Do you have any reason to believe Dr. Piel might’ve needed the cartel for something? Does she have a relative in their ranks?”

Acid surged into her throat, and Ivy suddenly didn’t have a taste for coffee anymore. She set the mug on the counter, nerves raw. “No. Like I said, her financials and phone records don’t indicate any contact with anyone on the cartel’s roster. But we both know once you ask the cartel for help, you’re theirs forever.”

Goose bumps prickled down her arms, and in that moment, she’d never felt more naked despite her clothing. A tank top and jeans were logical in case they needed to make a quick escape, but her blazer and slacks had served her well in the past. With her uniform—brought into her security life from her time in the FBI—nothing was impossible. She could command armies, raise funding for missions, train K-9s and protect her team. But now…there was no clear path here. No agenda she could pinpoint, and that left her exposed in a way she’d avoided since she was ten years old. “In truth, I think I’d rather this be about me. At least I would have something to aim at.”

“It’s still a possibility, especially considering the attack at the apartment, but as long as we’re working blind, you’re going to have to avoid everything and everyone you know.” Carson got to work mixing whatever ingredients he’d pulled from the pantry in a metal bowl. He knew exactly where everything was in this kitchen, and the realization hurt more than she expected. He was comfortable here. In a compound owned and operated by the very people tearing their cities apart, people they’d vowed to bring to justice. Just how deep had he committed himself to their cause during his assignment? “That means Socorro hideouts and resources.”

Her gut hollowed. The comparison wasn’t lost on her right then either. How the killer they were hunting had hidden behind an impenetrable wall of cartel protection while she’d built her own layer of armor with Socorro. Without her team and resources, they wouldn’t survive. The cartel would find them here. Maybe not tonight. Maybe not tomorrow. But soon. Every single cartel safe house she and her team had raided came with security measures patched into a mainframe that fed back to an undisclosed location. There might not be many members of Sangre por Sangre left, but security would be a priority. Someone would figure out this compound wasn’t empty. “You’re asking me to trust you with my life.”

Carson’s grip on the whisk tightened, but his rhythmic mixing didn’t even falter. “You’ve done it before. Is it so hard to believe you can trust me now?”

She didn’t know how to answer that. What he wanted from her. At the start of this, she wouldn’t have hesitated, but now? Her partner was right. A lot changed in two years. “You’ve been chasing this killer since you’ve gone undercover, Carson. All that time, you’ve supplied me and the Pentagon with information on cartel shipments, safe houses, lieutenants, soldiers and plans. Complete with names and photos of every soldier. Invaluable information that has brought the cartel to its knees.” She regretted putting her mug down so quickly, leaving her empty-handed and cold. “But every time I asked for intel on the man who killed those women, you haven’t been able to supply anything useful. No photos. No names. No ranking. According to your reports, he’s a ghost. At first, we thought he might be a lieutenant, but they’re all dead now. There’s the possibility he’s one of their contracted killers, but his MO hasn’t turned up anywhere else in the country, according to Alpine Valley PD.”

A knot of tension built between her shoulder blades. She watched him. For a change in his expression. For something to tell her she was wrong. “I was willing to believe your theory he’s a lowly soldier for a while, but what are the chances you wouldn’t have come into contact with him all this time? Which makes me think maybe you did find him. And there’s some reason you’re not telling me. So, yes, Carson, it’s hard for me to trust you with my life right now. Because I’m not sure I know who you are anymore.”

“And bringing you here?” Carson ceased his mixing then, turning to face her. “Risking my cover to help you escape your apartment last night? You think I would do that just to hand Socorro’s founder over to upper management on a silver platter?”

“I don’t know why you brought me here. Other than you’ve obviously been here before. You know where everything is. You knew what was stocked in the pantry, that this place would be empty.” Her lips dried the longer she scrambled to put the pieces of the past twelve hours together. “Or maybe that was all part of the plan to gain my trust. So you could feed me whatever reason you have for lying to me all this time.”

He backed out of the kitchen as though she’d physically assaulted him. His voice lost the confidence she’d always felt from him. “You saved my life, Ivy. I have one of your organs keeping me alive. You’ve known me for years. We were partners. We had each other’s backs. Do you really think I could just hand you over to the people who want you dead like that?”

“Then tell me who he is.” She couldn’t help but counter his retreat, closing the distance between them. “Give me something to go off of, something I can use to make him pay for what he’s done.”

“I don’t have what you want, Ivy. I’ve handed over every piece of intel I’ve uncovered while on assignment within Sangre por Sangre .” He wasn’t trying to escape anymore. He’d taken a stand. “What I can tell you is that there hasn’t been a single day I haven’t regretted going undercover within the cartel or leaving you to fight this battle on the outside alone. I knew what I was getting into, but I sure as hell never expected my own partner to question my loyalties.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, what to think. He was right. She’d been the one attacking Sangre por Sangre from the outside, taking the credit, making the big moves to dismantle the cartel while he’d been forced to keep to the shadows, to give up everything he’d known and cared about. Carson had never been one for glory. It wasn’t in his nature, even as a rookie agent closing his first case. And he deserved a hell of a lot better from her. “I’m sorry. I think I’ve been at this for so long now, I’m constantly on the lookout for the next threat, and without one staring me in the face, I maybe started creating one where there wasn’t any danger.”

“I know exactly what you mean.” He reached for her then—as though she hadn’t just accused him of betraying her, their cause and their country—and pulled her against his chest.

Right where she needed to be. She didn’t like being caged, but in his arms, the thud of his heart took off the edge. It was a rare occurrence for her to relax with anyone else around, a gift from the chaotic and abusive childhood she’d endured for so long. But Carson had been the first person she’d given herself permission to trust. Because he’d earned it. “I just want this to end. I want everything to go back to the way it was.”

“There’s no going back, though, is there? Not for us,” he said.

“No. I suppose you’re right.” They’d left everything they’d known as a couple behind when he’d gone undercover. Left the FBI, left their homes, left their partnership. They’d set out to create something new—to do something good in the world. And this…this was new territory for them both, a crash of two worlds that didn’t quite fit together. Ivy deadened the anxiety of not knowing what came next with a deep inhalation, pulling away. Pulling herself together. “Which means the only way out of this is through .”

“Where do you suggest we start?” he asked. “The killer we’re looking for is really good at staying under the radar.”

“Then we work backward,” she said. “We start with figuring out if Dr. Piel was involved with Sangre por Sangre .”

* * *

Alpine Valley PD had cordoned off the property, but from the look of the seal on the front door, the official search hadn’t been conducted yet.

Dr. Nafessa Piel’s single-level home sat back away from the road with a dozen other cookie-cutter houses lining both sides of the street. Hardscaping had been maintained—no stone outliers on the driveway or pavers waiting to trip some kid on the sidewalk—in a simple design with sections of different rock to create movement across the flat stretch of land. From what Carson understood of the victim, extravagance had never been one of Dr. Piel’s values, mostly noted in the lack of polish on the woman’s nails and a single item of simple gold jewelry in the crime scene photos Ivy had shown him. He expected nothing but that same conviction inside.

Ivy pulled her pocketknife from her jeans and slid the blade along the sticker sealing off the home from nosy neighbors and murder groupies. She hesitated just before pushing inside, glancing back at him. In that moment he was thrust back into the partnership they’d each given up for this cause. One where she took the lead and he could do nothing but follow. Only that couldn’t be the case anymore. They had to do this together. “All of our operatives are supplied with a security system when they sign on with Socorro. The alarm will trigger the second we open the door if Alpine PD hasn’t already disabled the system. I could put a call in to my security expert, but if you insist on not using Socorro resources, I’ll have to enter the override code manually.”

The alarm could alert the neighborhood and the police to them breaking a threshold they had no business crossing during an active homicide investigation. But the punishment for giving Sangre por Sangre any kind of lead on Ivy’s location was far worse. “Then we make this quick.”

“All right. I’ve been here a few times since the installation. The panel is in the entryway, on the right wall.” Ivy tested the doorknob, and it turned easily in her hand. She pushed inside.

But there was no sound of the alarm.

Shadow stretched out in front of them, and Carson’s nerves rocketed into overdrive. Every cell in his body wanted to maneuver Ivy behind him, to protect her from any threat that came their way, but doing so would deepen the cracks in their partnership. She’d trained with the best, employed the best and worked tirelessly to become the best. That hadn’t changed.

“The police department must’ve already disabled the alarm.” She unholstered her sidearm. FBI agents and officers alike knew without a doubt house calls were the most dangerous part of the job. No telling what waited for them on the inside of a home. Or if a homeowner had set a trap to avoid containment. Her boots echoed off ugly tan tile lining a vaulted entryway, common in New Mexico houses.

Carson closed the door behind them.

The entryway dumped them into a front room furnished with leather couches, a mounted TV, a coffee table and an expansive rug to absorb the cold chill shooting down Carson’s spine. Light filtered in through the back of the house from the kitchen, currently out of sight. “You said you’ve been here before. Anything different from your last visit?”

The admission hadn’t meant much to him on the other side of the door, but he saw the relevance now. Ivy had been here several times, enough to know where the security panel was located and the basic layout of the home, past the fact her company had installed it. Which meant she and the latest victim had more than a professional relationship. They’d been friends. And not in the way a boss protected and interacted with her employees. There was a heaviness in the way she moved. As though expecting Dr. Piel to greet her with a smile and announce this had all been a misunderstanding. Why wouldn’t Ivy have told him of their personal connection from the beginning?

“No. Everything looks the same, as far as I can tell.” Ivy motioned to her right, down a length of hallway that angled into a different section of the house, as she took the left.

The place was much larger than he’d originally estimated, with multiple bedrooms and bathrooms. It was a lot for an unmarried woman who lived alone and spent most of her days patching up a team of private military contractors. He kicked at the base of the first door branching off the hallway and took aim inside. Empty. Gray carpet—new, from what he could tell—stretched out beneath a queen-size bed made up for guests. Another TV had been mounted on the wall. Nothing in the closet. No attached bathroom or signs of recent use.

Carson forced himself to move on. There was something off about this place. Why the hell had their victim bought such a large property? He searched the next bedroom, then an office and the primary bedroom. Everything in order. Everything in its place. No backups of lotion or conditioner or cleaning products. Personal photos and memorabilia were sparse and primarily in the largest bedroom. It was as though this place didn’t really serve as a home.

More like a safe house.

Tension ratcheted into Carson’s shoulders with every second he was separated from Ivy. Holstering his weapon, he retraced his steps until he located her going through drawers in the kitchen. “This place has four bedrooms.”

“I know. No bugs or surveillance, from what I can tell, though.” Ivy closed one of the drawers and moved on to another. “I would tell you this place was for friends and family that stayed frequently, but from what Nafessa has told me about her past, she didn’t have anyone close, and she didn’t like to host. She mostly kept to herself. Talked very little of her life outside of Socorro. It took months working with her before she let the smallest detail slide.”

There were pieces of this puzzle that were starting to line up, but Carson didn’t want to bring those into her awareness. Pieces he couldn’t prove. Yet. “That’s the first time you called Dr. Piel by her first name. Why didn’t you tell me you two were closer than her as a contracted employee with Socorro?”

“Because there’s honestly not that much to tell. She lived alone. Kept to herself. Whatever was between us was…new, in a way. Just within the past few months.” Ivy abandoned her search of the kitchen. “It started as greeting each other in the halls, to sitting at the dining table during lunch.”

“Who instigated conversation?” he asked.

“I don’t remember.” A healthy dose of suspicion tainted her voice, and right then, it felt as though the years hadn’t torn them apart.

This was what they were good at. This was what they did best. Working off each other, testing theories, testing statements. He’d missed that. More than he thought he had.

Carson memorized the decor and personal touches, which didn’t take long. Everything seemed to have a sense of order. Everything in its place. Or at least that was what the victim had wanted them to believe. That someone lived here. That this place was nothing more than a cookie-cutter home that served as a refuge to a private security physician. He moved into the living room, picking out more details. The lack of wear or imprints on the couch. The dust settling over the bookshelves. Adults played victim to their habits. A favorite spot on the couch while watching TV, a stack of books on an end table, even a preferred burner on the stove. But from what he could tell from this place, Dr. Piel didn’t have any. “Did she ever ask about you personally?”

“Of course. That’s what people do when they’re becoming friends.” Confusion deepened the lines etched between Ivy’s eyebrows, but it didn’t last long. She was never one to let an emotion—any kind of emotion—linger longer than necessary. She’d never seen a reason to. “If you’re worried I gave away your undercover identity, you can relax. Nobody in my office but my counterterrorism agent Granger Morais knows that information. He figured it out a few weeks ago, and he isn’t the type to spread the news.”

“And what did Dr. Piel tell you about herself in return?” Every relationship in existence—biological, romantic, created—was transactional. Give and take. There were rules to follow and expectations to meet.

“She came to New Mexico from Columbia University when I offered her the contract. General surgery. Before that, her background was in emergency medicine at an array of different hospitals.” Ivy folded her arms over her chest as she settled back against the kitchen counter. “She was an only child to a single mom. Her mom passed away when she was a teenager. Drug overdose. She put herself through school and went to medical school on scholarships.”

“Did you speak with her references before you offered her the contract with Socorro?” He pulled the couch cushions up, one by one. No crumbs. No loose change. Nothing to suggest this couch had been here more than a few days. Hell, he could still smell the plastic covering it had most likely been delivered in.

“Of course I did. She came highly recommended from each of her supervisors, especially at Columbia.” The defensiveness he’d come to expect played around her eyes and straightened her shoulders.

“Who reached out first?” he asked. “When you were looking for a physician, was she the one to make the initial contact?”

“Yes. I put the word out I was looking for a physician through my contacts in the Pentagon. She was one of the first who submitted her CV, and I made an on-site visit to Columbia.” Ivy rounded into the dining room, just within his peripheral vision. “What are you doing?”

“Has this couch always been here?” There was a fire burning beneath his skin now, feeding into a theory he couldn’t ignore anymore. “The times you visited, was this the same couch that was here?”

“What?” A realization seemed to spark in her eyes. “No. I…I spilled wine on the cushion last time I was here. She must’ve replaced the couch.”

“Why not just have the cushion cleaned or replace that single piece?” Instinct drove him to throw each cushion out of the way. “Why replace the whole couch?”

“What the hell does a couch have to do with anything?” There was a bite in her words that hadn’t been there before. A raw nerve he’d touched. “The woman’s body is decomposing in the refrigerator of Alpine Valley’s only emergency clinic with strangulation marks around her neck and knife wounds in her back, and you want to focus on the fact she bought a new couch?”

“Yes, because I don’t think Dr. Piel bought it. It smells too new.” He shoved the couch free from its position in the living room. And found exactly what he was looking for. “And I don’t think she pays the mortgage on this place or actually lives here.”

“What are you saying?” She couldn’t seem to keep herself away, coming closer. “Is that…?”

“Blood.” Carson fought to keep his breathing steady as he studied the brownish-red spread that hadn’t come clean from the tile’s grout. He couldn’t help but lock his gaze on hers. “It’s likely Dr. Piel was killed right here.”