The segment ends. "He did a good job," Callie says. "You too, honeylove."
"You're trying to piss him off, aren't you?"
The voice comes from behind us. We'd been so engrossed in the report that we hadn't noticed that Leona had come out from her office.
"Yeah," I say. "I am."
She gives me an admiring smile. "You're something else, Agent Barrett. If I'd been through what you have . . ." She shakes her head.
"I don't know about that, Leona. You've been through a different version of it. You've kept going."
A knock comes at the door, ending any small talk. Leona tenses up.
"Stay there," I murmur to her, pulling my gun.
I go to the door. "Yes?" I say.
"Special Agent Barrett? It's Agents Decker and McCullough, along with two SWAT-team members."
I look through the keyhole. I recognize Decker.
"Hang on," I say. I open the door, wave them inside. As per my instructions, they are dressed in civilian clothes. I note with some amusement that they're all wearing the same basic outfits: jeans and pullover shirts. Even dressed casually, they manage a vague uniformity. But none of them would be made for law enforcement at a glance.
"You've all been briefed?" I ask when everyone is in the living room. A chorus of "Yes, ma'ams."
"Good. We're laying a trap here, gentlemen. Our unsubs have killed twice. They're sharp--real sharp. They operate with precision: little hesitation, lots of willingness to act. We know their current MO from the prior victims: One of them scouts things out in the guise of being a pest exterminator, and that's what we're hoping is going to happen here. Don't underestimate our unsubs, gentlemen. If one or both pull a knife, it's not to scare or intimidate--they'll use it. We need whichever one shows up taken alive so that he can lead us to the other perpetrator." I indicate Leona Waters. "This is Ms. Waters. We're certain that he's selected her as a victim."
I see them glance at her. Assessing. One of the SWAT guys is giving her an unprofessional, sexual once-over. I am both mortified and enraged. I step in front of him and jab a finger in his chest, hard enough to leave a bruise. "I expect every one of you to operate at a high level of professionalism. You should know, I asked Ms. Waters to stay somewhere else while we run this op. She refused and has volunteered to be here." I lean into the officer and let him see just how pissed off I am. I whisper, "If this woman gets hurt because you were thinking with your dick, I'll fucking eat you alive, understand?"
To his credit, the officer's look of apology appears genuine and ungrudging. He nods.
"What's the plan, ma'am?" This from Agent Decker, bringing us back to the business at hand.
I push away my anger. "We're going to keep it simple. One on the roof. One outside the elevator. Two in here with myself and Agent Thorne. The guy on the roof will alert us to anyone coming in from the street. Elevator guy will be able to confirm whether or not that same person exits onto this floor. Those inside are here for the takedown. You have the equipment we'll need?" I ask Decker.
"Yes, ma'am. Earpieces and throat mikes. Weapons."
"Including a sniper rifle for the roof work," says one of the SWAT officers. I nod. "Good. I want to stress: It's important that you don't draw attention to yourself. We have evidence that one or both of our unsubs has been tailing me. If either of them suspects anything, they'll bolt." I look at each of them. "Any questions?"
They all say no. "Get in position then. Stay alert, but settle in for a long wait."
43
THIS, I THINK, is indicative of this job I do. It causes my life to be governed by outside influences, to race toward sudden leads. The irony isn't lost on me. I hate to be forced to do anything , yet I have chosen a profession that does just that on a regular basis. When you are hunting a killer, there is no schedule. The timetable is simple: The longer he is out there, the higher the death count climbs. You go until he's caught. So I find myself here, sitting in the apartment of a woman who displays her sexual adventures for a living, willing to wait as long as needed in the hopes that either Jack Jr. or his partner will show. I look over at Callie. She is sitting on the couch, feet up on the coffee table, watching a talk show on TV with Leona while both of them eat popcorn. This is one of the traits Callie has that I love and admire. She can live in the moment, relaxed, and yet spring into action like a whip crack. It's a talent I have never had.
I look at my watch. It's now nine-thirty. I check in with the SWAT officer on the roof, who I now know as Bob. "Anything anomalous, Bob?"
His voice crackles in my ear. "Not yet, ma'am."
I cock an ear, eavesdropping on the conversation between Callie and Leona.
"Let me ask you this, honey-love. What happens when you decide you want a man in your life again?"
"What do you mean?"
"I mean, do you change the lifestyle you're living?"
Leona ponders this. "It would depend. Lots of people meet in non-monogamous settings. The odds are against it, but it does happen. I suppose if I didn't find that, I'd have to wait until I decided to quit before I went looking. I made a promise that I'd never make a huge and sweeping change of my life for a man. Never again."
"Interesting subset of problems though, don't you think?"
"It's unique to the lifestyle I follow, that's for sure."
I tune them out. Callie has a voracious interest in what makes others tick. She always has.
This is the schedule. The way it goes. And not just here. Everyone is still working back at the office. Everyone shares the burden and the responsibility. Everyone will share the guilt if he kills again before we catch him. Bob's voice crackles in my ear, pulling me away from my boredom and musings. "Male, about six feet tall with dark hair, entering the building. Dressed in some kind of uniform. I can't make it out."
"Copy that," the guy at the elevator--Dylan--replies. I look around at Callie and Agents Decker and McCullough. They nod, letting me know they've heard. Moments pass.
"Male matching that description just exited the elevator, heading toward the apartment," Dylan reports. "I confirm uniform, say again, I confirm he is in the uniform of a pest-extermination company."
"Copy that," I say. My heart pounds, and the dragon stirs, excited.
"Stay where you are to block possible escape, Dylan."
"Copy that."
"Bob, I'll let you know if he gets past us. I may call on you to take a shot."
"Copy that. I'm cocked and locked."
I look at Leona. "It's him."
She nods. She looks excited, wired. She doesn't, I notice, look afraid. A knock comes on the door. I motion to Leona. She walks up to the door and looks through the peephole, one last double-check. Turns to me and shakes her head. She doesn't know him. I give her a nod.
"Who is it?" she asks.
"ABC Exterminators, ma'am. Sorry for the late hour, but the building owner called us out on an emergency basis. Something about rats. I need to come in and check out your place. It'll only take a few minutes."
"Um . . . okay. Hold on a moment."
She looks back at me. I motion her into her bedroom. I pull my weapon, as do Callie, Decker, and McCullough. I hold up a hand, giving a three-count on my fingers. One . . . two . . . on three, I throw the door open wide.
"FBI!" I yell. "FREEZE!"
My gun is about two feet from his face. I get a good look at his eyes and see the emptiness I'd been imagining. He drops the clipboard he was carrying and raises his hands above his head.