Total pages in book: 18
Estimated words: 16186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 81(@200wpm)___ 65(@250wpm)___ 54(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 16186 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 81(@200wpm)___ 65(@250wpm)___ 54(@300wpm)
“I am hoping you can help me find Miss Catriona Scott.” We stand there staring at one another, neither blinking. I am impressed with her ability to show no emotion. Not a blink, inhale or flared nostril.
“And why would I help you do that?”
“She is a potential witness in a murder case, and I just want to ask her some questions.” It sounds like bullshit to my ears but it's what I’ve got.
“I don’t know where she is. She comes and goes.” Facts.
“Do you have a phone number for her?” I don’t expect her to give it to me, but it is worth a shot. She is not letting me past the door however, and that is not good for my plan.
“No. I never do until she calls.” She is too smart for that.
“It is imperative I speak with her. If you hear from her, call me immediately.” I am not holding my breath. I hand her my card, which has a chip in it. If she places it in her pocket, near her phone, it will still do the trick by downloading the listening software wirelessly.
“And what should I tell her? That you want her to contact you cause you think she killed someone?” Her sarcasm is funny and reminds me of my Angel.
“I don’t want her, Miss DeSantis. I need her. Please let me know if you hear from her,” I tell her the truth in the best way I can. “Goodnight,” I say in response before shutting the door. When I walk away from her door, my mind drifts off to the day her file came across my desk.
“Callum. You got a live one.” My boss slides a folder across the table, his jaw ticking letting me know whatever he is giving to me is causing him stress.
“What you got golden boy?” I look at douchebag Rogers, smirking when my gaze makes him blink first. He mumbles under his breath something about nepotism and walks out the room. I let it fall off me. Used to hearing shit like that my entire life. When I graduated high school at the top of my class, it was because my grandfather was the Governor. When I finished Summa Cum Laude from Yale, it was because my parents are both legacy. When I was recruited straight out of law school to the FBI it was because my father was putting his hat in to be president. I have never once been seen as someone who busted his ass. It was always due to my family name.
“You gonna open it or are you gonna dream about it?” My boss grunts. Smiling, I remove the seal and drop the file on the table. Opening it, My eyes scatter across dozens of dead bodies littered on the ground. Blood everywhere and no evidence of anything other than gunfire.
I pick up the report that was faxed over and skim. I see mentions of a known crime family and ambush. It lists the surviving family members and associates. I immediately know I am not going to speak to the family of the dead mob bosses. They are going to clam up faster than some shellfish in ice, but then I see the name, Catriona Scott, daughter of the slain lawyer of Salvatore DeSantis, and I know she is my best shot. That is where I will start.
“Do you have a game plan?” My boss asks, lighting his cigar.
“Yes, Boss.” He nods and takes a puff.
“Excellent. The bureau gives no fucks about some slain mob bosses, but, it happened on federal land and was witnessed my dozens. We have to deal with it. Not to mention, it seems to be a countrywide incident. I put the extension files in there as well.”
“Got it.”
“This will be your only assignment. Follow it where it goes.”
“You got it.” I gather everything and stand anxious to get started. Before I walk out the door he calls me once again.
“Oh and Callum, be safe. This is dangerous and these people are monsters.” No shit.
I need to head over to the crime scene, stand in the spot where it happened. Visualize the event, place the bodies in my mind in their positions, but first, for some reason, I go to the Scott’s house first. Pulling up, I see the newspapers littered on the lawn and initially, my radar rises. Immediately I wonder if she is dead in there or just shuttered in. Frozen by the events that have changed her life. I unlock the car, poised to get out and check when she comes out the front door, dressed in all black, face full of anguish and pain, but those aren’t the emotions that stop me from speaking to her. It is the rage. The blood red vengeance etched into every frown line, every stiff movement, every clearly present thought flying through her mind. So instead of saying anything to her, I watch. I lean back in my car and watch her.