Page 2

One

Jude Mackenzie stared at the scene, mentally shaking his head. He had to admit he’d never seen anything quite like it.

And he’d seen a lot.

The woman’s body lay on the floor in the kitchen. An electric knife lay near her head, and the floor was an entire pool of bloody water. The horrific scent of burning flesh seemed like a whisper in the air, along with the smell of blood. Everything appeared to be saturated, but the faucet was now off.

Everything was off.

Aidan Cypress, one of the state’s best forensic experts, gloved and in booties, balanced on his toes while he studied the floor near the body. Dr. Emil Dresden, medical examiner, did his best to avoid disturbing the grisly puzzle as he examined the charred and bloody body.

Both looked up at Jude as he entered the room and stood, nodding in acknowledgment of his arrival. Maybe they knew, or maybe they, too, were wondering why—as he was—an FBI agent had been called in for what appeared to be a ridiculously horrible and sad accident, a local situation, one for the St. Augustine police force or the Florida Department of Law Enforcement.

Thankfully, he had worked with both agencies before; since he liked and respected Dresden and Cypress, he was glad he’d be getting the particulars from them even though they were state and he was federal.

“Jude, cool to see you. Well, it would be, in better circumstances. All right. There’s something off and…” Aidan began, before pausing thoughtfully. Aidan was a member of the Seminole tribe of Florida and he had the striking strong cheekbones of his lineage and a talent for finding the smallest speck of evidence that had kept him in demand with local, state, and federal authorities.

Aidan, like Dr. Dresden, worked for the Florida Department of Law Enforcement—which again left Jude wondering why he had been called in since he was federal when it seemed the groundwork was being carried out by the state. He hoped that someone in the hierarchy hadn’t demanded the feds take the case. He hated stepping on toes and in jobs that demanded the best from everyone. It wasn’t pleasant to work when resentment was in the mix.

“Marci Warden, thirty-three, single, parents deceased, one sister in Nevada, no known significant other at the moment, receptionist at the law firm of Wharton, Dixon, and Smith.”

“Time of death approximately eight hours ago. Exsanguination,” Dr. Dresden added. He winced, shaking his head. To examine the body, he had been forced to stand in the pool of bloody water.

“This looks like a tragic and horrid accident,” Jude said.

What else? A very strange murder, if that was the case. Suicide? And why am I here?

“Was she a suspect in organized crime, in serial murder, in a major federal crime?”

“No, local police checked her record. She doesn’t even have parking tickets,” Aidan told him.

“A romance gone bad?” Jude murmured. “Fingerprints? Skin or foreign substances under her fingernails?” Jude asked. “Have you gotten that far? In this mess of water and blood with everything soaked, can you get anything? Any signs of a break-in or other areas of struggle?”

Aidan shook his head. “The only fingerprints are hers. Scanned what the techs picked up and they’re hers. Hands are clean, nothing under the nails. We do think it’s a break-in, though. Just not the usual kind.”

“You’ve lost me there. So. Someone was here?”

“Not physically,” Aidan said.

“Okay. Suicide? How did she slit her own throat with an electric knife? Not that hard, I’d imagine—but then again, I must admit I haven’t tried it,” Jude told him, grimacing.

However gruesome, the scene truly appeared to be that of a tragic accident. He wasn’t lacking in empathy; he just couldn’t figure out how they were considering the scene to be a homicide.

And who would kill themselves in such a horrific manner? Had the knife done the trick, or had she been bleeding out when the spraying water and flying cord caused a lethal electric jolt? Exsanguination, Dr. Dresden had said.

“Not physically. But if not a suicide, then someone, somehow, made her do this to herself? They would have had to come in here in some physical manner, right?” Jude asked.

“No. We’ve been asked to investigate this as a murder,” Aidan said. “By, um, your people.”

“My people—as in the Bureau? Hey, I’m always happy to work with you guys,” Jude said, “but a single incident that appears accidental or even suicidal but may have magically been murder…why bring in the feds?”

“As I said, the powers that be—local, state, and federal—are suspecting something else,” Aidan told him. “We don’t understand everything. A neighbor called it in when they saw the house behaving weirdly—”

“The house was behaving weirdly?” Jude asked.

“Horrendously loud music, lights flashing… Anyway, he called his headquarters right when information had come in. They called state, Dresden was called in, I was called in, and—”

“This whole thing is confusing, but it will all be straightened out as far as chain of command. Or responsibility,” Dr. Dresden said dryly. “But I need to be able to call my people in and get the body to the morgue,” he continued. “I’m willing to bet my preliminary assessment is correct—yes, what’s obvious is obvious. She would have bled to death if it hadn’t been for the electrocuting jolt that I believe stopped her heart. I don’t think I’ll find anything other than that, but we won’t know until the full autopsy is complete.”

Dresden was a good man. Jude had worked with him before, and his preliminary assessments tended to be right on, but he was always determined to know everything before ruling a death as natural, accidental—or homicide. He was a man in his late forties, lean and fit, just beginning to go gray, and on the nerdy side with steel-rimmed glasses. He had been working as an ME for over twenty years.

“All right,” Jude said. “Forgive my confusion. There’s no indication anyone was in the house with her. The method of death is an electric knife that only she handled. The cause of death is exsanguination or electrocution, both brought about by an electric knife and a faulty faucet—”

“Boy, you are old-school,” a voice murmured from the entry.

Jude turned quickly to see that a woman was there, a young brunette in a dark blue pantsuit—hands in gloves and feet in crime scene booties. Her hair was rigidly coiled as if even a single escaped strand might suggest inexperience.

“I’m old-school, and pardon me, but just who the hell are you?” he demanded.

“Special Agent Victoria Tennant,” she said, walking toward him. “Or Vicky. And yes, pardon me, but you’re missing the big picture here.”

He looked down at the corpse and the pools of blood, then back at her.

“Oh, I’m seeing a pretty big picture. There’s the corpse of a woman who died a horrific death. But the finest forensic expert I have ever worked with is telling me that there is no sign of a break-in, no unidentified fingerprints, partial or otherwise, no evidence by the body, and no marks from self-defense—no suggestion that another person did this to her,” Jude said.

“Again, you are missing a bigger picture,” she told him.

He frowned. “Again, I’ve worked this area for several years, Special Agent Victoria Tennant, and I’d like to understand why we’ve never met.”

“I was sent for this specifically because I’ve worked in both the profiling or behavioral science unit and the Geek Squad—sorry, Cybercrime—divisions,” she told him.

“We couldn’t even get in here until Vicky got things…settled,” Aidan told him.

“What?” Jude asked, frowning.

“I hacked in to take Marci Warden’s system offline because we couldn’t take a chance on the doctor or Aidan or any other member of the forensic crew winding up in the same way—”

“You’ve been in here already?” Jude interrupted.

“Yes. No. Not exactly. Look, no, I only just got here and I’m not trying to step on toes,” she said. “The patrolman called it in. Information on a few other situations just hit the desks of the higher-ups across the nation, and the patrolman was ordered to stand down because the entire house was still in motion. I was called to deal with it.”

“The house was in motion?” he repeated. “And you were called.”

“Yes,” she said, and though she was trying to appear as if she was giving him due respect, he could almost hear her inward sigh of impatience. “Sir, you must have heard about these systems. Every major tech company out there has one. Artificial intelligence that turns your lights on and off, manages security systems, music, water…you name it. Most people just use it for their televisions, phones, lights, and security but Marci had everything in her house geared up to work by voice control. She called her system Chrissie, and it appears that Chrissie went crazy—glitched.”

“All right, so we’re looking at an accident,” he said. “A computer glitch.”

“No. Yes—”

“And I’m missing the bigger picture?” he asked dryly.

“All right, I’m trying to explain. We believe there is someone out there causing these computer glitches, and we’re here—federal agents—because this is the third time that we’ve come across such a similar situation,” she told him.

“What?”

She took another deep breath as if explaining anything to him was going to be far more difficult than solving any crime.

“They all look like accidents.”

“But computers do have glitches,” he said.

She nodded. “Yes, things can go wrong. A computer is a machine. That’s why people backup their work to the cloud or when you’re driving an automatic car, you must still be sober and you can’t go to sleep.”

“But people do drink and/or fall asleep,” he said.

“Yes, they do, and that will be a problem as we move into the future, and there will be more and more on the road. But it’s not…okay. Most of the time when there’s a computer glitch in these systems, someone just needs to turn the lights on manually and check the problem. Defense can be simple—good firewalls, antivirus protection. But the rise of technology has brought about a new breed of criminal, the hacker. Anyway, three incidents were brought to our offices—and yeah,” she admitted dryly, “we were alerted by a computer system. We began to believe there was a serious problem out there.” She hesitated. “There’s the standard meme—technology is wonderful—when it works. But…” She looked at him earnestly. “There are those people who can breach just about any firewall and even hack into some car computer systems. It’s possible to cause a car to crash, or at the very least take control of it. There are those who fear that major transportation fields—trains and planes—can also be hacked. Major businesses can be hacked by anyone who can manipulate code, break firewalls, understand algorithms, and get behind any technological security. Therefore, it’s more than possible to take control of a home computer system.”

“Okay, let me see if I understand this,” Jude said. “This poor woman was murdered because someone took control of her home computer. Someone made her knife jump out and attack her? Turned her water on to make sure it would soak an electric outlet and cause her to be electrocuted if the knife didn’t do the job.”

“Exactly,” she said.

Dr. Dresden cleared his throat and spoke again. “Aidan has done what forensics can. So, am I going to call my people in to retrieve the body?” he asked.

Jude, still looking at the newcomer, nodded.

“We’ll step out, they can step in. And then, Special Agent Tennant, you can explain to me more of what is going on here,” he said.

“You weren’t told you were meeting me here?” she asked him.

“I was told I’d be meeting another agent. I’d assumed—never mind. Let’s get out of the way and the doctor can bring his people in,” Jude said.

She turned around and walked out to the front lawn. He followed her. And the situation seemed even more bizarre to him.

Inside, the scene was so horrific. Yet, outside…

It was a beautiful day. The sky was a brilliant blue and their victim had kept up a charming yard with flower beds in small brick planters that enhanced the entrance and a few towering trees by the walkway. As he’d noted, a crystal blue sky with little puffs of clouds floated overhead.

She walked to the side as the peaceful vision of the day was slammed back to reality when Dr. Dresden’s people entered with their gurney to collect the corpse.

Yes, he had known he’d be meeting someone from the main offices up in DC. That hadn’t been any kind of a surprise. Since the case in Colorado, he’d been working with a new partner or team wherever he was assigned.

So, no surprise. She simply wasn’t what he had expected—starting off by telling him he was old-school and a house had killed a woman.

Young and impatient. She was professional to a fault…yet she still appeared to be more likely to walk down a runway than take on deadly cybercriminals. And he wasn’t an idiot—their cybercrime units were huge across the country, following money trails, breaking through firewalls, finding the online evidence needed to take down the biggest thieves, scammers and manipulators out there.

But a house that killed?

She was looking at him. Awaiting his questions.

“All right. I need to understand more of what is going on. And go slow. Old-school, you know,” he told her.

She nodded. “Just like most of the world,” she told him, “people are worried about AI, and in a way… Well, here, of course…” She looked toward the house. “People don’t realize how much AI they’re already using. There’s a combination of tech and AI in almost everything we do, down to simple editorial assistance in writing programs. Anyway, AI and tech can be combined in some instances, and someone determined to play havoc can do so. New cars may have computers which can work wonderfully by warning a driver when something mechanical is necessary, allowing for warnings when something is near, or when danger is imminent. There are well over a thousand internet service providers out there, some huge, some small…but a brilliant hacker can get into any of them, no matter the firewalls or virus protection.”

“I understand that computers—just like social media—can be a benefit and a detriment,” Jude told her. “What I’m still not getting is…what are you implying? My God, computers committing crimes? I understand—I think. I was at a meeting recently where we were discussing the changes in the Bureau. We were once fighting organized crime, major ‘families’ and other criminal concerns. And now we investigate drugs, try to control the cartels if not stop them, and we still have major organized crime. But the cyber division is huge and dealing with white-collar crime and big money. When someone is seen as a danger to the major players in a drug cartel, they usually meet a bullet.”

“And a bullet is obviously murder. Proving that a situation like this isn’t an accident is difficult. And yes, to most people, it might look like a technical accident—a glitch. But I told you, we’re looking into two other cases. A car accident—”

“A car accident?” Jude asked.

“New cars run on computer systems. And systems can be hacked. The car accident never should have happened. It was in Tennessee on a quiet road that led out of Nashville toward Nunnelly. The driver was just driving straight on a road that maybe sees a hundred cars in a day. Surrounded by farms and ranches and…trees. The driver suddenly picked up speed and crashed straight into a massive oak at the side of the road. The airbag didn’t go off,” she explained.

He shook his head. “That’s tragic. But wouldn’t the car company be at fault?”

“In the world of the law, yes. But…” She hesitated. “All right, look. I am a field agent, so I don’t understand everything that one of the truly brilliant technical analysts knows, but for everything that went wrong to go wrong…there had to be interference.”

“You’re telling me any hacker can—”

“No, no, not any hacker, just a really good hacker. No, a brilliant hacker. And that’s—”

“All right, you believe you know that someone hacked into a car system in Tennessee—”

“Exactly.”

“And you can prove this?”

“It’s a new world, so, as I said, things are often hard to prove, but it wasn’t just the accident. It was who it happened to.”

“And who did it happen to?”

“Judge Ian McFarlane, known to many in the area as the Hanging Judge.”

“All right, a man who might have many enemies. And I assume anyone he handed a harsh sentence to might have reason for revenge, and someone on the outside might be able to find vengeance. But this woman, this poor woman, she wasn’t a judge. She was a receptionist,” Jude said. “I hardly think anyone would kill over being told they had to wait to see someone for a few minutes. Then again…”

“Sir!” Vicky Tennant snapped, somehow making him feel very old. “She was a receptionist, yes, and that’s part of the point here. She was a receptionist for Wharton, Dixon, and Smith, one of the largest law firms in the area. That means she might have known something that made her dangerous to someone. And before today, law enforcement was baffled by another incident that took place out at sea.”

“A boat went crazy?” he asked. “Wait. A little while back, I think I saw something about a speeding boat wrecking, but I’m not sure they thought it was anything other than a drunken boater or an accident.”

“It was a yacht, a forty-two-footer called the Lucky Sun . Again, it just suddenly picked up speed and slammed straight into a jetty in Matanzas Bay. The captain, Ronald Quincy, chef, mate, and a party of three were killed. The Lucky Sun was owned by the captain, a man suspected of having found the wreck of a speedboat carrying a huge cache of fentanyl and selling it rather than reporting it.”

“And therefore, someone might have wanted to kill him for the fentanyl having killed a loved one?” he queried.

He knew about the yachting accident. He’d seen it on the news; people had talked about it at the office. But the agency hadn’t been involved and everyone had assumed it was a sad accident. Or they’d thought maybe there’s been a little too much alcohol or other mind-altering substances involved. Living near the water, they’d seen too many accidents caused by alcohol or drugs. And the captain of the Lucky Sun had been a suspected dealer, so…

She was studying him. “Exactly,” she told him.

“A house, a car, and a boat,” Jude said. “And you believe the computer systems on each were hacked, and the ‘accidents’ were caused by a hacker.”

“It didn’t come from me. It came from Assistant Director Arnold.”

Jude nodded. He knew, of course, because his field director had gotten word to send him out straight from Arnold.

But he still shook his head.

“Old-school!” he told her. “I can’t begin to understand—”

His words were cut off as a shot suddenly rang out. Instinctively, he shouted, “Down!”

Of course, Special Agent Victoria Tennant might look like a runway model, but she had made her way through Quantico—she was already down on the ground.

He stayed down himself, drew his gun, mentally tracking the trajectory of the shot and rising with his Glock out.

More shots rang out; a blue van was moving down the street. He aimed at the van, as did Special Agent Tennant.

“Tires!” he shouted to her.

“Got it! The plate muddied, purposely, no readable number,” she shouted back.

She had given him heed; her shots slammed into the tires as well.

They didn’t need a computer. The van careened off the side of the road. They saw an armed man hop from the driver’s seat and take off into one of the neighboring yards.

They tore after him. The wrecked van was just three houses down. Jude motioned to her, and they tore around the house closest to the vehicle and each took a side.

They met coming around the back. Their suspect had disappeared.

“The house?” Victoria Tennant asked quietly.

“Or the fence,” Jude suggested. He inclined his head toward the rear of the yard. The fence that lined the back of the property was wooden and about seven feet high.

“Only if he’s a red kangaroo or something like that,” Vicky observed.

“No, vines—”

“I’ll take the house—you look in back,” she suggested.

He nodded. They split. Vicky headed toward the rear door of the ranch-style home; Jude took off for the rear of the property.

Vines laced the far elm by a giant banyan tree. He knew how their suspect had escaped. He grabbed hold of a vine, which wasn’t strong enough for his weight, but with it, he could maneuver his body against the tree easily enough to push himself up to catch the top of the fence and hike himself up and over.

He’d barely hit the ground before he heard Vicky’s voice quietly calling to him.

“The owners are fine, the house is empty. I’m also playing kangaroo,” she said.

“Going forward, back of the house here,” he told her.

She was fast; he had to give her that. She landed on her feet at his side in a second, indicating the home here on this side of the fence. He nodded, knowing from the incline of her head that he should take the back while she walked around to the front.

He headed toward the rear of the property as she ran around.

There was an open pool there along with a screened patio. He noted the screened door into that patio was ajar.

He slipped in quietly.

As with so many such homes, there were double-glass doors leading to a family room at the rear of the house. Down a small distance was another set of doors—the kind that usually led to the master bedroom. He heard the doorbell ring and then a woman’s muffled cry.

He eased against the glass, trying to carefully see what was happening inside.

And listen.

The man, their shooter, was there holding onto a woman. She looked to be about fifty, gray-haired, casually dressed…

As if she’d just been home relaxing for the day.

“Answer it! Answer it and get rid of them. You’re alone here, all alone. If you had a problem, you’d dial 911 immediately. But you don’t have a problem. Get rid of them now, or you get a bullet in the back of your head! Do you understand?”

“Yes, yes, yes, please!”

Jude watched as she walked to the front door. She opened it cautiously. The man stood behind her.

He couldn’t imagine what Vicky Tennant intended to say. Surely, the suspect had seen her and had to know who she was. She couldn’t pretend to be the Avon lady.

“Hi!” Vicky said cheerfully. “We’re just checking on people, making sure they’re all right. We’re afraid we have a fugitive in the area, and we’re just going door to door!”

He didn’t dare break the glass here or even try the door. He’d be seen instantly and that might well kill the man’s hostage. But there was a cup on a small table just outside the glass doors to the bedroom.

He hoped Vicky could keep talking; he just needed a few seconds.

As he’d hoped, the doors to the bedroom were open. He slid in quickly and headed to the hall, moved along it, and paused at the end with his Glock pointed at the suspect. He had a shot; he could only pray that it was clear enough.

“Well, that’s it!” Vicky was saying cheerfully. “As I said, we were just checking up on people!”

“FBI! Let her go!” Jude shouted.

He’d had the element of surprise. The man turned to stare at him. He seemed an unlikely suspect, no more than in his mid-twenties, with long unkempt hair; he looked more like a skateboarder than a desperate fugitive.

Why is he a fugitive? Why the hell did he go by the house to shoot at us? We’re in plainclothes. But under the circumstances, with the morgue vehicle still in front, it had probably been obvious we were the law enforcement looking into the incident.

Split seconds. Split seconds could mean everything.

Startled, the man had moved the gun from the back of the woman’s head. But he was going to act and act quickly.

Jude took aim, but even as he did so, the door suddenly slammed inward.

Hard. Slamming the woman and the man against the wall.

Vicky stepped in as the man’s gun flew from his hand. The woman fell back on the floor screaming, and the man—minus his weapon—took off around the now open door, slamming her hard against it as he flew out, making it impossible for her to stop him.

Jude ran after the shooter. And he was faster. Vicky was on his tail, but he knew he’d get the man before he reached the road.

And he did. But even as he catapulted at their strange attacker, the man put his hand to his mouth.

Jude slammed him to the ground, face down, then rose above him and demanded, “Hands, behind your back, now.”

There was no response.

Vicky had arrived; her gun was aimed at the suspect.

Puzzled, Jude rolled him over.

The man’s eyes were open wide. Foam was forming on his lips and dripping down his cheek.

“My God!” Vicky breathed. She had her phone out and identified herself. She asked for an immediate ambulance.

Then she dropped down on her knees by the man’s side, trying to talk to him. “What did you take? What did you do? Whatever is going on, whoever these people are, they’re not worth dying for!” she told him.

He’d started to shake. More foam was forming.

But Jude could swear there were suddenly tears in his eyes.

Just what the hell is going on?

He obviously couldn’t talk; he wasn’t going to tell them anything. But beyond a doubt—knowing that he was cornered, he’d chosen to take his own life rather than talk.

Vicky glanced at Jude. “Cyanide?” she asked. “Did he take a suicide pill? Why? Why would he do this?”

“Because he’s been threatened with worse than death,” Jude said.

He was glad to see Dr. Dresden and Aidan were hurrying toward them, even as they heard the sirens coming toward the street.

Dr. Dresden was quickly down by the man, studying him, searching his eyes. “Injection in my bag…speed can matter, hydroxocobalamin. Man, I’d love to keep this one off my table!”

“Doc, when you can, I need his ID, wallet, phone…after you’ve saved his life, if possible!”

“Yeah, let me get the injection in him… I’ve got a living patient. I’d like to keep him that way.”

“Definitely!” Jude agreed. “He’s still…”

They were all quiet for a second. Then Dresden said, “We made it just in time.”

“Thank God you were close,” Jude told him quietly.

Dresden smiled, and Jude imagined that saving a life instead of investigating a death was a good moment for him.

“He’s still got a rough road ahead of him, but he’s got a hell of a chance. Doesn’t appear he’s abusing drugs or alcohol and…”

He frowned. He’d been checking the man’s pockets. He looked at Jude, shaking his head. “Nothing. No phone, no wallet, not a scrap of paper.”

“Thanks, Doc. Make sure they check his prints, dental records—”

“Of course,” Dresden said.

“I’m going back to check on the woman,” Vicky said, rising and nodding to Dr. Dresden. “She may need medical help, too.”

She walked back to the woman’s house. Jude waited for the EMTs to arrive and for Dresden to tell them what he had done and what to report to the doctors at the hospital. He was glad to see the EMT was already radioing the hospital to inform them of the situation.

As Dresden attended to the medical information needed, Jude called his SAC regarding the events. Then as the EMTs and their patient took leave, he looked to Aidan and Dr. Dresden.

“Every time I think I’ve seen it all,” he murmured.

“You realize you never will,” Aidan finished for him. “Dresden is headed in. I’m going to find out whatever I can about that van. You’ll have our reports by morning.”

“I’ll wait a few minutes for the ambulance to arrive. Call if anyone else needs medical help,” Dresden told Jude.

“Thanks.”

He nodded and headed for the house. Vicky had the woman comfortably seated on the sofa; she had gotten her a glass of water. She didn’t appear to be injured, just shaken.

“Jude, this is Mrs. Gail Meyers,” Vicky said. “She works at the supermarket, but today is her day off. Her husband has been out of town on business, but he’s on his way home to be with her now.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Jude said.

“Never, never, never…” the woman was muttering. “This neighborhood… I’ve lived here for thirty years. It’s a good neighborhood. We watch out for one another. And then…then right before, there was something on the news… They weren’t using her name, but they showed the house and, of course, I know the house and… Oh, it’s all so horrible. I don’t understand, they were saying her house went crazy. I didn’t even know that a house could go crazy but…”

“Right now,” Jude said quietly, “the important thing is this, are you all right? When the door opened—”

“I took the chance and fell!” she exclaimed. “His hold on me eased… I think he knocked his head against the wall, and it made him dizzy and… He was going to kill me! He didn’t care if he died. He just wasn’t going to be caught. He swore that he’d kill me! Why? Why… I’m so scared, so scared, so scared!”

“He’s on his way to the hospital—” Vicky began.

“He did hurt his head?” the woman asked.

“He’s in bad shape, but…that’s not his main problem. He took something. He was terrified of being caught,” Jude told her. “We don’t know if he’ll make it or not.”

“He didn’t look good,” Vicky said.

“Is it terrible? I hope… I can’t hope he dies. I’m too, um, religious for that, except that, God forgive me, in my heart of hearts… But, of course, you’re trying to save him?” she asked.

“We need to find out why he was shooting at us, why he attacked you, and why he would be so desperate that he would try to kill himself rather than allow himself to be arrested,” Jude explained. “But he can’t hurt you.”

“So,” Mrs. Meyers looked confused, “he broke in here because he’d been shooting at you? Why was he shooting at you?”

“That’s what we don’t know,” Jude explained. “But you don’t need to be so afraid. No one who bribed him, threatened him, or hired him by whatever method to attack us will ever know that he fell at your house. And frankly, they’d have no reason to hurt you. Still, we can see to it a patrol car keeps an eye on you, or—”

“We’re going away!” Mrs. Meyers said. “My husband and I… We’ll leave as soon as he gets home, and we’ll go visit my son in New York.”

“That sounds fine. We’ll just need a bit of paperwork first,” Vicky explained. She tried to smile and speak lightly. “There’s always paperwork, you know that. Simple. Just your statement!”

“Of course, of course, thank you! Thank you! You saved my life! I guess… I take it that you are cops?”

“FBI,” Vicky said.

“Whatever,” she told them. “Thank you!”

“We’re just happy you’re okay,” Vicky assured her. “So…local police are on the way, and they’ll speak with you and…”

“And we’ll have to go in to do our paperwork,” Jude said wearily. He glanced at Vicky. It was late, but there was no helping it.

“Don’t leave me, don’t leave me!”

“I won’t. Not until someone arrives,” Vicky promised.

Jude nodded.

They waited for the local police to arrive; when they did, they left the house at last. Vicky paused to stare at Marci Warden’s house.

“What?” he asked.

She shook her head. “Working on the why. But I’ll bring you up to speed on everything else as soon as we get through the paperwork here at the local headquarters. We’ve been assigned dedicated space in the city for the next few days—or however long the duration of our case. The Jacksonville office isn’t far, but we’ll be needing to move quickly—”

“The investigation of the shots fired and our suspect will be at the precinct here,” Jude said. “No problem. As far as this incident went, we need to debrief at the local station. I know the captain there and he knows… Well, he knows what is going on here, though he turned it over quickly. But our strange suspect shot at us on a neighborhood street, and he’s heading to a neighborhood hospital and… Damn, it’s getting late.”

“We both have cars here,” she told him. “I’ll meet you there.”

He nodded. “Debriefing will be fine but then tonight, no matter how late, I need every file and everything you know about these cases and any possible connections… I was sent out so quickly I wasn’t aware of everything that had happened before I got here today and—”

“Because we didn’t connect the previous cases to this house until today, and today…it all happened so quickly !” Vicky explained, interrupting him. “But, um, you’re okay with this, right? Working with me.”

“I do what I’m asked and give my best as a sworn agent,” he said.

She lowered her head, looked up at him, and shrugged.

“Well, as you might be able to comprehend, this case is complicated. I’m understanding the logic of the powers that be,” she told him.

“Oh?”

“Well, I believe I’m the brains of the operation. And you’re the brawn,” she told him sweetly.

And he was surprised.

Because it had been one hell of a day. One he was still trying to grasp in its entirety, and the hour was late, indeed.

But even so…

She had managed to make him laugh.