Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79850 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
She couldn’t fault my logic.
Given that the bungalow was a crime scene, I thought it odd that we were allowed to remain there, but as Sergeant Dix pointed out, there were three bullet holes, no breach had been made, so therefore, as long as the house was guarded by troopers, it was safe.
An hour later, Ada was asleep in her room. Gale and I were sitting at the kitchen table, with Misha asleep in his bed, which had been moved to the chair beside me. He would sleep as long as he was right next to me. Several people commented on how cute he was.
Alvarez took a seat on the other side of Gale, opened a laptop, pressed a button, and then we were all looking at Special Agent Monica Lewis.
“Hey,” I greeted her, smiling as Sergeant Dix and Chief Ramirez pulled up chairs so they too could see Lewis.
Brows furrowed, not wearing her normal attire of a crisp, polished suit but instead a Harvard sweatshirt that had seen better days, she was glaring at me.
“I’m safe,” I assured her. “Really. I won’t die in some stupid crossfire after making it out of Chicago alive.”
“I agree,” she said, and I realized I’d been holding my breath, terrified that I would have to leave a new home I’d just found. “However, to ensure your continued safety, I need this Reid Wells, who’s a person of interest in the attempt on your partner’s life, found immediately.”
I smiled at her.
“Shut up,” she grumbled at me.
“How do you already know about Gale?”
“I’m an FBI agent, Maks, not a mall cop.”
I laughed, and she glared at me, or tried to. She ended up smiling as well.
Poor Gale looked like somebody hit him, so without thinking, I took hold of his hand. I was relieved when he squeezed tight.
“Reid?” Gale barely got out, sounding broken.
“Who is Reid Wells?” Dix asked Lewis.
“He is the brother of deceased SWAT officer Dean Wells, who—”
“Who,” I rushed out, “clearly blames Deputy Chief Gale Malloy for his death.” No one needed to know that Dean and Gale had been anything more than colleagues. It didn’t do anything for the narrative, so I hoped that Lewis wouldn’t feel the need to share that piece with anyone else.
Lewis stared at me a moment and then met Dix’s gaze. “That’s correct. It took zero digging to find out that Wells bought a bolt-action rifle three days ago and headed from Los Angeles, where he’s been living, up there to Rune. He’s basically telegraphed his plan to make the person he feels is liable for his brother’s death, pay, to bring closure to the family. The issue being, of course, that the deputy chief is not in any way responsible for Dean Wells’s death. Ex-officer Wells was no longer a member of SWAT when he was killed in a drug raid with DEA agents. What’s somehow worse is that had he not been killed by the DEA, the Contreras Cartel surely would have come for him. This is textbook addiction and career suicide.”
Everyone was quiet.
“Reid is considered armed and dangerous, and until he’s apprehended, you, Maks, as well as Deputy Chief Malloy and Ms. Farley, will be removed to a safe house.”
“There are sheep that need to be taken care of,” I told her.
She glared at me. “Sheep?”
“And cats that need to be fed.”
“Cats?”
She was repeating what I was saying, and I found myself squinting at her.
Chief Ramirez said, “I will speak to Peter Kay, who has his own sheep and alpacas. I’m certain he will watch the sheep for Ms. Farley, as he’s the one who shears them yearly.”
Agent Lewis’s gaze met mine.
“The cats?”
Lewis looked back to Ramirez.
“And I will speak to Dr. Coleman and make arrangements to have the cats fed.”
“Are we good?” Lewis asked me.
“We’re in the middle of renovations,” I told her.
“That can all continue to go forward. You will simply not be there until Wells is apprehended. I see emails and text messages in your future.”
“I have an architect coming tomorrow.”
“And do you want the nice architect caught in the crossfire?”
“Of course not.”
“Then?”
“I’ll text and email.”
“Good man,” she praised me.
“How long do you imagine this will take?”
Lewis looked at Dix.
“We will have him within twenty-four hours.”
“Twenty-four hours,” she told me. “And if for some reason the state police fail to apprehend this man, which I can’t imagine they would,” she said in deference to Dix, “then other arrangements will need to be made.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Dix assured her.
“I have every faith,” she replied.
Compared to the enormous mountain of muscle that was Sergeant Dix—the man had to be six-five, six-six, with biceps like tree trunks—Special Agent Lewis should not have been the scariest person in the room. And yet somehow she was, with her indulgent smile and no-bullshit manner.
“I’m sorry this is happening to you, Deputy Chief Malloy,” she told him. “And though my first priority is Mr. Gorev, I want you to know that you have all my sympathy. The state police will keep you safe and they will find Mr. Wells.”