THE DEFENDER (10 page)

Or she could say it and mean it and hope that special agent Russell Voight, being the exemplary investigator she knew him to be, could catch their suspect. A man who took perverse pleasure in seeing her weakened.

Russ’s gaze met hers, those dark eyes laser sharp, searching for any sign of deception.
He’ll know
. She nodded. “No investigators. I promise.”

He grinned. All manly I-have-won and she curled her fingers into a fist, ready to strike. “Don’t you dare gloat. I will hurt you.” She shook her fist at him. “I will bring you so much pain that you’ll walk out of here wondering how it happened.”

But he kept grinning and inching forward until they were toe-to-toe, bodies so close that she felt his breath on her face.
Total gummy bear.

“Thank you,” he said.

He dipped his head and kissed her. Gently. A slow slide of his lips, barely a caress, and the softness looped inside her, filled her. So warm. She strung her arms around his neck and pulled him closer, wanting full contact, all that body heat transferring into her, washing away the cold ache that came with the day’s events.

He eased his hands around her waist, down to the small of her back and held her for a second. And still, his lips were soft on hers. No hurried rush like last time, and it felt good and right and perfect. An unspoken promise that there’d be more, just not right now.

That was okay. She liked this. Liked the dual sides of Russell Voight and the surprises he brought to her.

She backed away, smoothed the lapel of his jacket. “We should stop. Last time we did this, we agreed that we need to concentrate on the case.”

He flopped his bottom lip out. “Way to kill a great moment, counselor.”

“I know. I’m just not sure which one of us I’m trying to convince.”

Chapter Ten

Russ glanced up from his paperwork and stared at Joel Kellogg, a member of one of the Chicago field office’s four evidence response teams. The Chicago ERTs consisted of ten special agents dispatched to crime scenes to gather evidence. At well over six feet, Joel was known around the office as the Geek Giant. The man loved all things geek-related and relished the order and demands of evidence collection.

“Processed that hat,” Joel said. “Got a print off the plastic tab on the back. Your guy has a record longer than my arm.”

“Heath?”

“No.”

Who the hell were they talking about? He was so sure it had been Heath. “Who, then?”

“This guy’s name is Randolph—aka Randy—Jones. Thirty-four years old, grew up in Evanston. He’s done time twice. Once for robbery. Once for aggravated kidnapping.”

Russ whistled. “Class X felony. Minimum six years.”

“He served eight for snatching up his ex-girlfriend and trying to convince her to take him back. Part of his convincing meant beating her. A neighbor heard the yelling and called the cops. Prior to that he did three years for robbery. Guy has been in and out of prison since he was nineteen.”

At the very least, this was someone who had no problem hurting women. Penny’s perfect face flashed in Russ’s mind.
Not her.
Old Randy would never get his hands on Penny. At least not as long as Russ lived and breathed.

“What’s his link to Heath?”

“No idea. There’s nothing there on Heath.”

Joel left a file on Russ’s desk. “It’s all there.”

“Thanks. What about the security video?”

He angled his chin to the folder. “Photos inside. Penny nailed it. A guy in a white shirt and blue baseball cap snuck under the garage gate when someone exited. Looks like your Randy Jones guy. No prints in the apartment. He must have picked the lock. The thing is a piece of junk.”

Russ would have to talk to her about changing it. She depended too much on the security outside the building. He flipped the file open. On top sat a rap sheet with a photo of Randy Jones. While chasing the man, Russ hadn’t gotten a look at his face. All he’d seen was the back of his head. A head covered with a ball cap that only allowed him to see muddy-brown hair underneath. The hair color looked right. He checked his physical stats. Russ’s earlier estimation that the guy had an inch or two on him was about right.

“Okay, Randy Jones, what’s your connection to Colin Heath?”

Russ checked the rest of the file, where he found notes on Jones’s history and the telltale still photos of him sneaking under the garage gate.
Got him.
Jones was a lifelong Chicago resident. Mostly Evanston—E-Town—population somewhere around eighty thousand and roughly ten miles from downtown Chicago. Also the home of Northwestern University. Colin Heath’s alma mater.

Given the prison stints, Russ didn’t imagine Jones had gone to Northwestern, but he was only a couple of years younger than Heath. The itch on the back of Russ’s neck told him that somehow, Northwestern was the link. Perhaps the two men had a mutual friend that went to the school. Or siblings. Russ jotted a note to compare their families. Could be a connection.

Undoubtedly, Jones was a bad dude and it left a sick feeling in Russ’s gut. He checked the time on his desk phone—3:50 p.m. He was scheduled to meet with Elizabeth Brooks for more questioning soon and Penny would be there. He’d fill her in on this development and encourage her to find alternate living arrangements.

Now, though, he wanted to find Randy Jones and see just what the hell he knew about Colin Heath.

It took Russ and his squad mate, Ryan Davis, thirty-nine minutes to navigate traffic on Lake Shore Drive and knock on the door of Jones’s apartment. The battered four-story building had definitely seen better days. A television blared from the apartment across the hall and collided with yelling from two people. Man and a woman. Russ blew out a breath, hoping they wouldn’t have to intervene on a domestic sitch.

He knocked on Jones’s door again and waited. No peephole existed. Russ guessed his suspect would either yell through the door or crack it open. In which case he’d flash his badge and let Randy Jones know he had some explaining to do.

To his surprise, the door flew open and there stood old Randy, still wearing the shorts and white shirt Russ had seen him in earlier and his face a blistering shade of red. “You crazy people!” he hollered.

Russ badged him. “Hello, Randy. Got a minute?”

Immediately, his eyes darted left and right and then to the door across the hall, where the neighbors continued to grapple. Clearly, he’d thought the neighbors had banged on his door and the panic over his mistake quickly stormed his system.

Ryan peered over Jones’s shoulder into the apartment and whistled. “I suppose you got a good explanation for that rifle being in your residence. Considering you’re on parole.”

Nice.
Russ angled his head for a look into the small living room. Against the far wall was a blue plaid sofa. Two of the cushions were patched with white material. Strewn across the arm of the sofa was an M24 sniper rifle.

Jones made a move to slam the door and both agents threw their weight against it, forcing their way in. “No chance, pal,” Russ said. “That weapon presents a safety issue and with you being on parole, you’re in violation.”

Russ muscled Jones into the apartment and shoved him against the wall. “Hands against the wall. Let me see ’em. You got anything in your pockets that might hurt me? Needles, anything?”

“I don’t know anything,” Jones said. “The gun isn’t mine.”

“I bet. But that rifle is your ride back to prison. You want to tell us if it was used in that shooting at the courthouse the other day?”

Jones stayed silent. Something was seriously off here. This guy had been in prison for most of his adult life. He couldn’t have been the shooter. Those kinds of shooting skills took hours upon hours of practice. Hours Jones didn’t have because—hey—prisoners generally weren’t allowed to take target practice with sniper rifles.

Now they’d just have to figure out who the weapon belonged to.

* * *

A
T
THE
LAKE
HOUSE
,
Penny sat on the sofa across from Elizabeth while they waited for Russell to grace them with his presence. The man was almost two hours late. At least Penny had brought dinner for everyone, a dinner they ate without the tardy FBI agent. And when he showed up he’d better drop to his knees—
as if
—and thank her for prying the extra food away from Brent and the other marshal, who were chowing like men ending a hunger strike.

“You boys,” she hollered to the kitchen, “I’d better not even see you eyeballing the extra plate of food. I’ll know if it’s been tampered with.”

“Relax,” Brent said from his spot at the table. “He’s here anyway.”

A minute later, Russ strode through the back door, his normally neat hair falling over his forehead and his tie loosened. Very un-FBI-like. He carried a file in his hand. “Evening, everyone.”

Penny held her hands out. “What? No apology? We’ve been waiting almost two hours.”

He gave her a second of heavy eye contact, then dropped the manila folder he carried onto the coffee table. “Something came up. And I did call.”

“What something?”

He turned to Elizabeth. “Randy Jones. You know him?”

Elizabeth stuck out her bottom lip, then slid her head from side to side. “Doesn’t sound familiar.”

Digging a photo out of the folder, Russ handed it to her. “Recognize him?”

Again, Elizabeth shook her head.

Penny waggled her hand for the photo. “What’s this about?”

“This is the guy I was chasing through your neighborhood this morning. He’s also the guy who snuck in through your garage gate. You called that one.”

A sick feeling made Penny’s stomach jump. “I thought you were chasing Heath?”

“So did I. There were two of them. I cut bait on one and went after this guy.” He pointed at the photo. “Heath must have been the other one. We’re working on any connections they might have to each other.”

Penny passed the photo back to Elizabeth and she studied it a moment longer. “I’m sorry. I don’t know him.”

Russ clucked his tongue. “You sure? His hair might be different now. Longer, shorter, different color.”

She looked again and Penny rolled her eyes. “Do you plan on harassing her until she says she knows him?”

Slowly, Russ tilted his head, his facial muscles tensed. And his eyes. Slightly narrowed and glaring. The look could have melted stone.

Penny held up a hand. “I’m sorry. That was out of line. But she said she doesn’t know him.”

Russ set the photo on the coffee table in front of Elizabeth. “Think about it. For now, we’ll move on.”

Except, Penny wasn’t ready to move on. She wanted to know what Randy Jones had been doing spying on her that afternoon. Worse, if they’d tracked him down that fast, he must have a record, and having a convicted felon following her didn’t offer comfort.

She stood, smacked Russ on the side of his arm. “I need a word. Elizabeth, we’ll be right back.”

He followed her into the kitchen, where Brent had made himself scarce. Probably outside watching the perimeter with the other marshal. Penny shut the kitchen door, spun and folded her arms. “Spill it, Russell.”

He wore the expression she’d seen in her apartment earlier. The sucking-his-cheeks-in one. His thinking face. “And no holding out. I agreed to your terms this afternoon. Now I expect you to be honest with me. The man in that photo broke into my home and he must have a criminal record if you found him already”

Russ leaned back on the granite countertop, folded his arms and met her gaze. “He’s in the system.”

“I’m assuming from the photo of him entering my garage, you think this was the person who flooded my bathroom. He was in my home and then he stood across the street—with Colin Heath no less—and waited for the excitement to begin. I’ve seen this in other cases. Heck, I’ve hired profilers to tell me about post-offense behavior. I should be used to it. And yet, I’m appalled. Go figure.”

Russ dropped his arms, blew out a breath. “But now it’s personal. Unfortunately, it’s not uncommon. Some unsubs taunt the media, send investigators notes, anything to inject themselves into the process. Could be what he’s doing.”

“Does he have a history of this type of behavior?”

“He’s been in prison twice. Robbery and aggravated kidnapping.” Penny opened her mouth, but he held up his hand. “Let me finish.”

She closed her mouth.

“Thank you.” He gave her a half smile. “You’re getting good at listening to me.”

“Don’t push me, Russell.”

“He’s out on parole. We tracked him down at his apartment.”

She moved to where he stood and leaned against the counter. This close she could see the dark circles marring the underside of his eyes. Exhaustion had obviously closed in. And here he was, doing his job, questioning his witness so he could close this case. Some would have gone home and crawled into their bed.

Not Russ.

Big. Trouble.
Every excuse she had for not having a man in her life—they didn’t understand her work ethic and her long hours—was slowly being dismantled by the sexy FBI agent.

She couldn’t think about that now.
Later.
“He just let you in?”

“Hell no. He thought we were the crazy couple across the hall. They were screaming at each other and he opened the door thinking it was the wife. I guess they fight a lot and she bangs on his door. What she wants a convicted felon to do, who knows?”

“A real Boy Scout, huh?”

“Not nearly, babe. Anyway, in the apartment, we found a sniper rifle.”

“Ha! Parole violation. He’s gone.”

Russ grinned at her. “We locked him up while we run ballistics on the rifle. Might be the one used in the courthouse shooting. He’s not talking, though.”

Now she was confused. The man had spent years in prison. Where’d he learn sharpshooting skills? “Is he a sniper?”

Russ scoffed, “With his record? When would he have time?”

“That’s what I thought.”

He glanced at the plate of food she’d set aside for him. He had to be starving. Unless he’d hit the drive-through. “Are you hungry? I wrestled food from Brent. And when I say ‘wrestled,’ I mean it. That man can eat.”

“You saved me dinner?”

She batted her eyes. “Yes. Despite the fact that you were late. If you’re hungry, I’ll warm it up while you start with Elizabeth.”

For a second he stood there, eyebrows slightly raised, perhaps a little stunned. Which, in truth, she wasn’t sure if she should be hurt by. Did he think so little of her that she wouldn’t save him a meal?

“You’re surprised I saved you dinner.”

“No. You’re giving that way. I’m surprised that, with what you’ve been through, you thought of it. You’d have every excuse not to have remembered and you did it anyway. You’re a helluva woman, Penny Hennings.”

Now, that was an answer she liked. Criminal how good this man was.
Criminal.
“You should drop to your knees and thank me.”

That cracked him up and it was an honest-to-goodness curl-a-girl’s-toes laugh.
I’m so crushing on him.
Penny watched him, took in the laugh lines around his eyes and imagined him thirty years from now, those same dark eyes, those same laugh lines, only deeper. He’d be one of those annoying men who’d get better-looking with age. As impossible as it seemed, because—heck—he was darned good-looking now.

When he caught her staring, he took her up on it and stared right back and—hello, Mr. Sexy FBI Agent—the heat in an otherwise air-conditioned room spiked. Had Elizabeth not been in the next room, my, oh, my, Penny would have pounced on Russ Voight with the abandon of a woman in desperate need of attention.

“Anyway,” he said, “Jones has an older brother who’s former military. Got out three years ago. We’re running it down. If he was a sniper, the rifle is probably his. And if that rifle was used in the shooting, Randy Jones won’t want to be charged with murder.”