Page 19

Faith woke in a sour mood. The hurt she felt after watching the newscast the night before was gone, but it left behind irritation and anger.

Were they really trying to act like West was right about her? That she really was just a half-step away from being as insane as he was? And what the hell was with bringing up those past incidents? Faith was wrong to attack Jason Greenwood in his home, yes, but that South African tourist had run when Faith asked to talk to him. And he was a suspect. True, he was proven quickly to be innocent, but what was she supposed to do when a suspect ran? Just let him get away?

Apparently so. The media thought so. When the event had occurred, the FBI had thought so. Even Michael had thought so.

And as far as Greenwood went, yes, she shouldn’t have done that, but she was traumatized. She had been tortured nearly to death by Jethro Trammell, and then some asshole started killing people in exactly the same way? It wasn’t an excuse for what she did, but she had already atoned for all of that. She had gotten better.

But that didn’t matter because no one wanted to hear the heartwarming tale of how the tortured FBI agent had overcome her demons and brought the most prolific serial killer in over forty years to justice. They wanted to hear what West had said, that she was no better than any killer, just walking on the right side of sanity at the moment.

Her analytical mind reminded her that this was how it always happened. People loved seeing heroes torn down because when a hero was torn down, they could feel better about their own cowardice and their own vices.

But it pissed her off. And it pissed her off even more that West could still piss her off even when she knew he would never see the light of day again.

So it pissed her off further when she walked into the living room to see coffee and breakfast laid out for her.

“Fresh coffee from morning glory, over-easy eggs, bacon, sausage and hash browns,” Michael said. “I made the food myself.”

It looked delicious, and Faith could only thank him. With no reason to be angry, she had nothing to lash out against, no outlet for her frustration.

That pissed her off even more.

Michael sat across from her, carrying his own plate. He gave Faith a look she had seen many times over the years, and one that once more increased her frustration. He was gauging how angry she was and whether or not he should talk to her or just leave her alone.

It was horribly unfair to Michael that she wanted to take her anger out on him, but that didn’t make her any less angry. She felt like she was caught in a vicious cycle where everything made her angry, and the only way to stop being angry was to lash out against someone who didn’t deserve her anger, and since she couldn’t do that, she could only get angrier and angrier.

Turk barked and trotted to her side, looking up at her with his beautiful brown eyes. And her anger faded, not entirely, but enough that she could speak without fearing that she would scream.

God, she loved that dog.

She scratched him behind the ear and said, “Sorry boy. We both know what happened the last time I fed you breakfast sausages.”

“He’s fine,” Michael said, free to speak now that Turk had calmed Faith somewhat. “I fed him a big breakfast.”

“Please tell me you didn’t give him sausages.”

“Oh yeah. Tons of them. Couple dozen.”

She stared at him a moment, then said, “You’re lying, aren’t you?”

He shrugged. “You look like you need to yell at someone, so I thought I would volunteer. I kind of tune it out when you yell at me now, anyway.”

“Screw you!”

“Yep. Let it all out.”

She picked up one of her sausages and threw it at him. He dodged, and the link bounced off of the far wall. Turk moved faster than lightning and caught the link before it even had a chance to hit the ground. Then he turned around and gave Faith a smug look as he chewed the meat.

“That’s on you,” Michael said to Faith.

She rolled her eyes. “You’re sleeping on the balcony tonight, Turk.”

“I think I might actually go home to Ellie if it’s gonna be that bad,” Michael said. “It’s not like we’re getting anything done cloistering ourselves anyway.”

Faith’s smile faded, and Michael cursed softly. “Sorry. I ruined it, didn’t I?”

“You ruin everything,” Faith agreed. “But no, I’m just…” sick of West dominating my thoughts. She didn’t want to talk about that, so she focused on her other immediate frustration instead. “Sick of running into walls. I know this happens every case, and I know we eventually break through the wall, but God. Why is it that the answer is never what it's supposed to be? I mean, it wasn't always like this, was it? There was a time when killers acted the way we were taught in the Academy, and evidence pointed where it looked like it was pointing, wasn't there? A time when things made sense?”

“Not sure about the last question, but the first two, yeah. For sure. It feels like Jethro Trammell showed up, and all of a sudden, killers became these horror movie caricatures and evidence could only be understood when it was viewed through their own warped lenses.”

“Yeah.” She pushed around at her food, but her stomach growled, and she eventually lifted a forkful of egg into her mouth. “What lens is this guy viewing things through?”

Michael sighed. “All of the victims have been food critics, so it has to be someone connected to that industry. Another food critic, a chef, a restaurant employee, something. These victims aren’t random. In fact, they’re the most homogenous group of victims we’ve had in a while.”

“So we should look for industry connections instead of personal connections.”

“Yes. And we shouldn’t look just for people who have received bad reviews. We need to cast a wider net. Anyone who’s interacted with all three of our victims.”

“Tanya was caught with a wider net,” Faith pointed out.

“Yes, but she really was poisoning them. Not to the point of murder, but she was giving them drugs. That supports my point.”

She smiled slightly. “I don’t think it does, but I still like the idea of a wider net. We’ve been focused narrowly on people who had a reason to hurt them. We should focus instead on who had the opportunity to hurt them.”

“Exactly.”

“Okay.”

She took another bite of her eggs. She was feeling a little better now that they had a direction. The media circus surrounding West still bothered her, but at least she had something to do other than fixate on him.

Her phone rang from the bedroom. “That’s probably David. Hang on a second.”

She headed back to the room and picked up the phone. Her smile faded when she saw the Boss’s number instead of David.

Special Agent-in-Charge Grant Monroe was affectionately called the Boss by his subordinates because of his militant, no-nonsense demeanor and his refusal to brook any attitude or insubordination from his agents. Only a very few, notably Michael, could goof off around him and get away with it.

Faith was not one of those few, and while the Boss had made it clear that he respected and even admired Faith, she had endured his wrath more than once in the past when she had stepped outside of protocol in her efforts to solve a case.

Such as when she had broken into Jacob Greenwood’s home and when Turk had accosted the South African suspect in the Twin Cities Terminal.

She steeled herself for the conversation and answered the phone. “Yes, sir?”

“Bold, we’re in the shit right now. The media decided to drag you into the West circus, and now upper management wants you held accountable for the shit you did back when you were off the rails.”

Faith sighed. “Yes, sir, I was expecting that.”

“Long story short, you’re going to be put on desk duty when Turk retires next month.”

Faith’s eyes widened. “Desk duty? For how long?”

The Boss sighed. That wasn’t a good sign, nor was the tiredness in his voice when he spoke again. “I don’t know. There’s been a lot of talk. The term ‘permanently reassigned’ has been batted around.”

“Permanently? Boss, that’s bullshit!”

“Yes, it is. And I have threatened a lot of people to get them to let you have the next four weeks. I will continue to go to bat for you, but… at the moment, it doesn’t look good.”

All of the anger Faith had fought through bubbled to the surface again. “Why are you telling me this? Why am I hearing this now when there’s nothing we can do about it?”

“Because there is something we can do about it. Word’s gotten out that you’re the one assigned to the poisoner case.”

“It has? How?”

“Some kids leaked video of you at the most recent one at the café in Midtown. The media’s running with it, and a lot of dipshits are waiting for you to do something crazy or stupid so they can play out the narrative that you’re broken and a liability. This is your chance to show them they’re wrong. Solve this case quickly, preferably before anyone else dies. Bring this asshole to justice, and we’ll stage a very public press conference where you can talk about how you bravely caught the killer before he could kill anyone else.”

“Boss, you know I hate press conferences.”

“Tough shit. It’s that or file paperwork for the rest of your career.” In a softer voice, he said, “We need good press, Bold. We’ve been sweeping you under the rug for a long time, but we can’t get away with that anymore. It’s time to remind people why you’re the best damned agent this Bureau has ever seen. All right?”

Faith could have spent the rest of the day listing the reasons why this wasn’t all right, but it would have been a waste of time. The Boss had his mind made up, and when he had his mind made up, he was unshakable.

And, much as Faith hated to admit it, he was right.

“All right, sir. I’ll do my best.”

“Fuck your best. You’ll succeed. You have to.”

He hung up before Faith could reply. She sighed and pressed her hands to her temples until both fingers and temples hurt.

A soft knock at the door told her Michael was in the room. She quickly pulled her hands away from her head and turned to him.

He gave her a sympathetic smile, then said, “I have a lead.”

She took a breath to steady herself. “Good. Who?”

“Alex Ferris. He’s a sommelier for Paul Revere Vineyards near Bucktown.”

“Bucktown? That’s a long drive.”

“A bit over an hour, yeah. But it should be worth it. Mr. Ferris’s job for Paul Revere is to travel to restaurants and offer wine pairings with meals to advertise their products. Within the past month, he’s been at restaurants serving Eleanor Crestwood and Harold Grimes. And Lila Vance visited the vineyard for one of her Instagram stories.”

Faith shook her head. “There’s no way he’s poisoning them weeks in advance.”

“No, there isn’t. But , all three victims ordered cases of wine from Paul Revere which arrived within two days of their death in all three cases.”

Faith lifted her eyebrow. "Ah. Well, that's interesting."

“My thoughts exactly. I put your coffee in a thermos already. If we hurry, we can beat the worst of the traffic out of the city.”

The three of them left her apartment without further fuss. Faith tried to put her conversation with the Boss out of her mind, but she couldn’t quite push it away. This lead could very well determine her future with the Bureau.

And it could be the difference between West failing or ultimately succeeding in his quest to break her spirit.