Page 33 of Nica (Texas Boudreau Brotherhood #17)

T he fluorescent lights in the FBI field office hummed overhead as Gabe spread the case files across the conference table, his hands steady despite the rage burning in his chest. Forty-eight hours ago, his wife had been fighting for her life in surgery while he’d paced the hospital corridors like a caged animal.

Now Nica was stable, breathing on her own, but the hollow-point bullet that tore through her lung had been meant for her heart.

Just the thought of losing her sent him into a grief spiral, and if he allowed himself to dwell on the thought, he’d be useless—to her and to anybody else in his circle of friends.

As long as this monster was out there walking the streets, nobody was safe.

“Walk me through it again,” Mike said, settling into the chair across from him. The FBI behavioral analyst’s weathered face was grim as he studied the profile Gabe had compiled. “I know we’ve gone over it a hundred times, but let’s go for a hundred and one.”

Gabe pointed to the timeline he’d constructed on the whiteboard.

“The escalation pattern. When I started thinking about things unemotionally, looking back at when this all started, a pattern started emerging. First after the Carpenter incident, there were the anonymous complaints to the California medical board—nuisance level harassment designed to create doubt about my competence. Then the malpractice suits from patients I’d never treated, all settled because the complaints disappeared as soon as investigations started.

The media leaks about my ‘questionable’ surgical decisions. ” His jaw tightened.

“Are we talking about four years ago? When you were illegally drugged by a colleague?”

Gabe nodded. “This isn’t some random vendetta, Mike. This is systematic destruction, and it all traces back to one case.”

“Melissa Carpenter.” Mike’s voice was flat as he opened the thick folder.

“Yeah.” Gabe scrubbed a hand across his face, feeling the scratchiness of two days’ worth of stubble along his jawline. “Another surgeon had to be brought in stat, to handle my screw-up—”

“Stop. Do not blame yourself. That’s exactly what this person wants, for you to wallow in guilt. Every single step of this case has been scrutinized with a fine-tooth comb, all the way from the surgical committee at the hospital to the Medical Board of California and everybody in between.”

“This doesn’t get us closer to figuring out who hates me enough to want to kill my wife though. Because we both know his next step is to put a bullet between my eyes.”

The memory still haunted Gabe’s dreams—the distorted, yet frantic race against time, him being dragged out of the operating room while another surgeon struggled to save Melissa’s life.

He remembered the moment he was clear minded enough to understand her heart had stopped and refused to restart despite every lifesaving method employed to try and save her.

Mike studied the behavioral profile Gabe had written.

“I’ve looked at the profile you’ve written.

” A slight smile curved his lips. “If you hadn’t decided to stick with medicine, you’d have made a decent profiler.

Might even have given me a run for my money.

You’ve identified the unsub as someone with medical knowledge—enough to understand the complexity of the surgery and exploit perceived weaknesses in your decisions.

They aren’t taking into account your impaired decision making.

That’s a big red flag. I don’t agree that it’s somebody with their own specific medical knowledge.

I think it’s somebody who was determined to find something wrong, and hired others to interpret the data, to look at the records.

Someone with resources to hire professionals across multiple states.

Someone with a personal connection to the victim strong enough to justify this level of planning. ”

“But—”

Mike continued on as though Gabe hadn’t interrupted.

“We cleared her family, her coworkers, her friends. Her children are far too young to have anything to do with this.” He stood and began pacing, the confined space only allowing so much walking room.

“But my gut’s telling me there’s something we missed about the fiancé, Julian Banner.

He disappeared shortly after her funeral.

Sold his consulting firm, liquidated his assets, dropped off the radar. ”

“Standard grief response. People run from painful memories.”

“Or to plan their revenge.”

Gabe stood at the window overlooking downtown Austin.

“When the phone calls first started, I investigated Banner. Well, not me personally, but I hired a private investigator to check into him. He seemed like a viable suspect. A financial analyst, he specialized in corporate acquisitions. He’d know how to move money without leaving traces, how to structure payments through shell companies.

And he blamed me publicly at her funeral, Mike.

Said I’d murdered the only woman he’d ever love. ”

Mike flipped through the surveillance photos from the roof across from Daisy’s Diner. “Allegedly, the shooter in Shiloh Springs was a professional—I’d suspect former military, probably special forces based on the precision and positioning. That kind of talent doesn’t come cheap.”

“Banner inherited two million from his father’s insurance business six months before Melissa died. Add his consulting firm’s sale value, and he’d have enough capital to fund a long-term operation.” Gabe turned back to his friend. “I want to draw him out.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Listen to me.” Gabe’s voice carried the authority he’d developed in the past decade of making life-and-death decisions. “He’s escalated to trying to kill my wife. Next time, he might succeed, or he’ll go after other members of Nica’s family—my friends. I won’t let that happen.”

Mike stood, his expression hardening. “You’re still thinking about using yourself as bait for a man who’s demonstrated he can reach out and touch anyone, anywhere, aren’t you? A man who just put a sniper’s bullet through your wife’s chest.”

“Which is exactly why this ends now.” Gabe moved to the evidence board, pointing to where he’d outlined everything that had happened, especially in the last several months.

The phone calls. The threats to go to the press.

The records and letter sent to Nica, wanting to cause a rift between him and his wife.

The break-in at the clinic with Melissa’s name scrawled across the wall.

His wife being shot. Each action showed an escalation from threats to actual violence.

“He wants me to suffer before he kills me. He wants me to lose everything I care about, just like he lost Melissa. But his need for psychological torture is also his weakness.”

“Explain.”

Gabe picked up a red marker and began connecting dots on the timeline.

“Every attack has been designed to isolate me, to destroy my reputation and relationships systematically. He wants me broken and alone when he finally makes his move. But if I appear to be exactly that—if I seem to have lost everything and everyone—he’ll have to surface to savor his victory. ”

Mike studied the pattern, his analytical mind engaging with the problem. “You’re thinking of staging your own downfall.”

“Complete professional destruction. Make it look like the weight of the attacks has finally broken me. Public breakdown, maybe a dramatic resignation from the hospital, apparent abandonment by family and friends.” Gabe’s eyes were cold as winter steel. “He’ll want a front-row seat for my collapse.”

“And then?”

“Then we’ll be waiting for him to make his final move. His coup de grace .”

Mike was quiet for a long moment, studying the evidence spread across the table as well as the outline on the white board. “It’s risky. If we’re wrong about his psychology, if he’s moved beyond the need for personal satisfaction…”

“He hasn’t.” Gabe’s certainty was absolute.

“The shot that hit Nica came from 800 yards away. Who’s to say the sniper isn’t waiting to make another attempt?

Any competent sniper could take another shot through her hospital room window and finish the job.

But I think Banner has called him off. I’ve thought about this endlessly since Nica was shot.

Banner wants to watch me fall apart. Wants to gloat at having gotten exactly what he wants—me humiliated and desolate, alone and heartbroken, to feel the way he feels.

He wants Nica dead, because as long as she’s alive, I have a chance and happiness, and I think he can’t allow that to happen. ”

“The Boudreau family won’t like this plan.”

A ghost of a smile crossed Gabe’s face. “Actually, they’ve already volunteered to help. A few of Nica’s brothers are former military, her father is ex-Army Special Forces. They know how to play their parts, and they want this monster as badly as I do.”

Mike nodded slowly, a soft sigh passing his lips.

“We need to make it look real. Hospital administration, media contacts both in Shiloh Springs as well as major outlets in Houston and probably Dallas-Fort Worth. Would probably be a good idea to have a hit piece run in the paper in Stanford. I bet Banner would eat that up. Local law enforcement will have to believe you’ve cracked under the pressure. ”

“Doing this in Shiloh Springs won’t be a problem, with Nica’s brother being the sheriff. I’m thinking Antonio Boudreau can help with the FBI office here in Austin; he’s got connections through Derrick Williamson. Can you arrange for anybody else you think necessary?”

“The Bureau has resources.” Mike closed the case file. “But Gabe, if this goes sideways—if we can’t pull him back from the edge—”

“Then at least Nica will be safe.” Gabe’s voice was steady, but Mike could see the fear he was trying to hide. “I nearly lost her once by keeping secrets from her. I won’t lose her again to some twisted revenge fantasy.”

The two men stood in silence, the weight of the decision settling between them. Outside, Austin traffic hummed with normal life, people going about their daily routines without knowing that somewhere in the shadows, a predator was planning his next move.

“When do we start?” Mike asked finally.

Gabe looked at his watch. It was nearly midnight—he wanted to get back to Shiloh Springs, to the hospital where Nica was recovering under armed guard.

“Not tomorrow. I want to make sure we’ve got time to get everything in place.

Double check and make sure Nica is protected.

Twenty-four-hour guards at her door. Tomorrow, we will talk to the sheriff’s department in Shiloh Springs, get Rafe and the deputies caught up on what we’re planning.

Also, we’ll coordinate with the FBI office in Austin.

I know people here, ones who’ll step up.

People I trust—Antonio, he’s Nica’s brother.

Derrick Williamson, he’s in charge. He’s also married to the woman who owns the diner.

You can coordinate with them. I will stake my life that they are clean, not on Banner’s payroll. ”

“So, we’re talking roughly thirty-six hours to get everything in place, and then we’ll make our move. It’s not a lot of time.”

“I’m not waiting any longer than that, Mike.

We don’t know that Banner won’t take another run at Nica.

She’s a sitting duck in the hospital, unable to defend herself.

I won’t let him destroy the one good thing in my life.

No, we draw him out, end this once and for all.

I’ll have my public breakdown at the morning staff meeting.

By evening, I want Banner to believe he’s won, gotten everything he’s ever wanted. ”

“And if you’re wrong about him being behind this?”

Gabe’s smile was sharp as a scalpel. “Then we’ll use my public breakdown to draw out whoever it is, because they won’t be able to hide in the shadows and gloat.

They’ll want me to know they’ve won. But Mike—” He met his friend’s eyes straight on.

“I’m not wrong. A man doesn’t spend years systematically destroying someone’s life without having a very personal reason.

Banner loved Melissa Carpenter, and he’s going to pay for thinking that gives him the right to destroy my life. My happiness.”

Gabe was tired of being the prey in a twisted game of hunter and hunted. Time to turn the tables and go from prey to predator.

Let the hunt begin.