“What could he say? Wade’s recent track record was against him. He’d been forced out of BAU on a temp because he was viewed as unstable. Meanwhile your performance was exemplary, and your tests were near the top percentile in every other category. Wade had concluded that your polygraph results showed no deception, only a lack of clarity on certain points due to past trauma. In addition, you had an established history of excellence in a large, well-respected police department.” She shrugged. “The Director put you through.”
“And Wade is treating me like I belong outside the investigation because that’s what he actually thinks.” Resentment settled over her. “That I have no business being in the FBI.”
“I never meant to tell you any of this, but now that you’re his partner, I thought you should know.”
“How can I work with Wade when I can’t trust him?”
“Because it’s your only option,” Shawna said. “It’s your decision, but if you choose to be his partner, at least now you’ll know where you stand.”
She processed Shawna’s words, fully aware that she would stand exactly where she always had. Alone.
The price of admission to the most important investigation of her life was partnering with an agent who had tried to bork her appointment to the Bureau. She didn’t bother to say it wasn’t fair. They both knew it.
She met Shawna’s steady gaze. “If my choice is to stand by and watch or get in the ring, I’ll fight. Every time.”
Chapter 7
Steel Cage Central Fight Club
Washington, DC
After a careful assessment of the injury, the fighter known as Odin raised the needle to pierce the edge of the ragged tear above his left eye. White-hot pain rose up to challenge him, cow him, defeat him. He beat it back, pulling the surgical thread through the swollen flesh.
“Damn,” Sorrentino said from behind him. “You don’t feel nothing, do you?”
Eyes on the cracked mirror, Odin pushed the needle through the other side of the wound, watching the skin tent before the tip broke through. “I feel everything.” He tugged, pulling the edges together. “But I’m in charge. I decide whether or not to react.” He plunged the sharp steel in again. “I master myself.”
Sorrentino guffawed. “Like you mastered The Raider tonight.”
Odin allowed a satisfied smile to curve his lips. Andrew “The Raider” Bennett had been the fool who had stepped into the cage with him. Now Bennett would discover the joys of a ruptured spleen.
That was the way of blood sport. Those in the crowd vented their pent-up fury in vicarious combat as the gladiators vied for glory. But Odin had a secret that gave him an edge. He was different from the others. Different from all of humanity. He had taken the genetic advantages he’d been blessed with and pushed himself harder than the rest. The combination of physical and mental superiority set him apart. The sight of flying sweat, the taste of blood in his mouth, the musky scent of fear—all of it intoxicated him.
“I had good money riding on you,” Sorrentino said. “I always bet on Odin.”
He ignored the flattery. Sorrentino had landed somewhere on the evolutionary scale between a cockroach and a toad, but he had an instinct for business. He knew enough to bet on a winner.
Odin finished the last suture and began to tie it off.
Sorrentino moved in closer, bushy black unibrow scrunching as he watched. “Nice straight stitches. Where’d you learn that?”
He cut his eyes to Sorrentino, resting his cold gaze on the man until he took a nervous step back. Satisfied he’d ended that line of discussion, he returned to his task.
“You available Friday night?” Sorrentino asked, switching to a safer topic.
He snipped the ends close to the skin and straightened before flicking a glance at the row of flat-screen televisions mounted in the upper corner of the wall. “I’ve got business Friday night. I’ll text you when I’m free for another fight.”
Sorrentino, apparently understanding he’d been dismissed, shuffled out of the locker room.
Odin’s gaze returned to the monitors. Ignoring the ESPN and NASCAR feeds, he focused on the screen airing local news. He rammed his scissors into the med kit and spit a thin stream of blood on the cement floor. Local news. He’d damn well make national headlines if the media knew about the connection between the homeless girl in the alley and the FBI agent in the viral video. Nina had been on every channel. Everyone’s hero. What if they found out their new darling had been responsible for that girl’s death?
He recalled the video of her fight with that lummox who had attacked her in the park. He’d watched it a thousand times. She was still small, like he remembered, but she’d obviously been training. She had honed her skills and now wore a gun and a badge.
Nina Guerrera. Warrior girl.
He’d never known about the name change. When he tried to look up Nina Esperanza, the trail ended on her seventeenth birthday. He assumed the name change had been part of a sealed juvie court hearing, one of the few kinds of records he couldn’t access. She’d slipped by him all this time. She owed him eleven years’ worth of retribution.
This time, she would pay her debt in full before he finished with her.
Chapter 8
Behavioral Analysis Unit, Aquia Commerce Center
Aquia, Virginia
Nina hated secrets. This particular one felt like a sore festering beneath the surface, tainting every interaction she had with Wade, destined to explode in a toxic spray and shower its poison over both of them at some unknown point in the future.
No matter what Wade had done, or the reasons behind it, every personal consideration took a back seat to hunting the unsub—the FBI term for unknown subject—which is how she found herself following Wade into the BAU meeting room the next morning as if she had no idea why he’d knifed her between the shoulder blades two years ago.
She took stock of the people seated around the conference table. At its head sat Gerard Buxton, a man she knew by reputation.
“Agent Guerrera.” Wade gestured in the direction of her gaze. “This is Supervisory Special Agent Buxton, unit chief for BAU Three.”
Buxton acknowledged her with a nod. “I brought together a few key people for the first briefing on this case.” He turned to his right where a pale woman with auburn hair spiraling into a cascade of curls halfway down her back sat upright, her sea-green eyes alight with curiosity.
“Kelly Breck,” she said. “On loan from Cyber, where I landed after a stint in Video Forensics.” The hint of a southern drawl softened the technical terms.
Nina chose not to question the inclusion of a cybercrime specialist at a BAU briefing. Buxton had a reputation for using unconventional approaches to investigations, and for getting results.
The man with a blond crew cut seated next to Breck looked like he was on recon from the Marine Corps base a few miles down the road. Black-rimmed glasses offered an incongruous touch to his chiseled features.
“Jake Kent,” he said. “BAU Three.”
Nina and Wade took chairs opposite the other two agents.
“Let’s get started with victimology,” Buxton said without preamble.
All eyes turned to Wade, who opened a leather-bound notebook. Everyone else had some sort of electronic device open on the table. No one seemed to be surprised by Wade’s antiquated style of note taking.