The Redeemer Read online

Gardy’s mouth hung open. When he glanced at Bell, his eyes seemed to say the name had to be coincidental.

  “Christina Wolf is a common name, Bell.”

  But he knew better. They both did.

  “That’s his sister’s name. And I don’t believe in coincidences.”

  As she read through the case briefing, Gardy eased himself off the table and hissed when his leg met the floor.

  “So Wolf murdered his sister, same as he murdered his wife in 2013. I hope you realize Logan Wolf isn’t some broken teddy bear you can take home and mend. He’s a lunatic, Bell.”

  “Christina Wolf,” Bell said, ignoring Gardy and reading the name aloud as if doing so would make sense of the situation. She swiped the phone over to her contacts list and phoned Harold, the BAU’s technical analyst who possessed a knack for gathering background information on suspects and victims. “Harold, it’s Bell. I need you to look up Christina Wolf’s background and tell me if she’s Logan Wolf’s sister.”

  A pause.

  “It’s her,” Harold said. “Christina Wolf, age forty. Younger sister of Logan Wolf. Divorced. Resides in Palm Beach, Florida.”

  Ending the call, Bell dropped her arm against her side. Had Logan Wolf lied to her and pulled the wool over her eyes? Or had the pressure of being on the run sent him over the edge and turned him against his last remaining family member?

  “Harold confirmed it,” Bell said, leaning against the wall. Her legs felt like rubber bands. “She’s Logan’s sister.”

  “Then it’s time I did what I should have done months ago.”

  He shrugged into his jacket and reattached his holster.

  “Oh, no you don’t,” Bell said, finding her sea legs. “You’re injured. Until the FBI clears you for field work, you’re on the sidelines.”

  “That never stopped you.”

  “The doctor hasn’t released you from the hospital yet.”

  He glared impatiently at his watch.

  “Fine. I’ll stick around until the doctor springs me, but you’re not going anywhere until I get word from Weber on my status.”

  “Too late, Gardy. The BAU booked my flight out of Dulles in four hours.”

  “What?” Gardy checked his phone and scrolled through his messages. “I didn’t receive the flight notification.”

  “That’s because Weber isn’t sending you.”

  The truth struck Gardy, and he sank onto a chair and buried his face in his hands.

  “This can’t be happening. I’m this close to catching Wolf,” Gardy said, pinching his fingers together for emphasis. “And they pull me from the case.”

  Glancing at the time, Bell felt her heartbeat quicken as a flutter of nervous energy moved through her stomach. It was always this way when the BAU called her to a new case and she needed to race against the clock. She did the math in her head—a quick stop at the apartment to grab her travel bag, which she kept packed for these situations, then she’d gas up the car and fight the DC traffic. If she hurried, she’d have time to eat a late dinner and still make her flight.

  “You’re not leaving me here, are you?”

  “Sorry, Gardy. I’ll lobby Weber on your behalf.”

  “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

  Bell twirled the key ring around her finger and threw him a sympathetic glance over her shoulder.

  “Get better, Gardy. I hope I see you in Florida.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Too many questions. Not enough time.

  During the trip home, Bell couldn’t concentrate on the road. Logan Wolf dominated her mind. She’d believed him, though she never trusted the serial killer. Now she felt used, fooled, lied to. After almost causing an accident, she pulled into a gas station and closed her eyes. Around her, the world went about its business as though nothing unusual had occurred today. For Bell, the earth split open and swallowed her.

  Her bag lay open on the passenger seat. Buried at the bottom in a hidden compartment, a burner phone hid from prying eyes. One of three Logan Wolf had given her. The fugitive often threw the prepaid phones away after one use, but since he trusted Bell, they often kept a phone for a week or more when they communicated frequently.

  Though Bell had been aware Wolf had a sister, he never mentioned her. Bell had assumed he wanted to protect his sister and shield her from the madness surrounding his life. Why would he murder Christina?

  After her head cleared, Bell pulled onto the interstate, pushing the accelerator to make up for lost time. Traffic thinned along the Chesapeake Bay, but the late night traffic near DC would be a bear. Stars lit the sky from one horizon to the next. A strange orange glow grew out of the east. For a moment, she worried she’d fallen asleep at the gas station and lost track of time, but the dashboard clock read midnight.

  As she turned down the coast road, a smoky scent reached her nose. Something was wrong. Anxious energy fueled her. Pushing harder on the gas, she navigated the black Nissan Rogue around hairpin curves, slowing only when she entered the residential area.

  The shock of seeing her apartment complex on fire brought her to a screeching halt. Roadblocks prevented her from advancing, and a man directing traffic raised his hand at her and pointed in the opposite direction. He wanted her to turn around and leave.

  She lowered the window and flashed her FBI badge.

  “FBI. I need to get in there.”

  “Not tonight,” the man said, turning his eyes toward the two firetrucks outside her apartment complex. “Nobody gets in.”

  Craning her neck around the man, Bell spied the unmarked black SUV at the back of the parking lot. Agent Flanagan. The FBI routinely positioned an agent at Bell’s apartment complex, hoping to catch Logan Wolf. In the past, the fugitive had slipped around the FBI and entered Bell’s apartment without drawing attention.

  Bell waved to the volunteer and backed the Rogue down the road until she paralleled a flat patch of meadow. Swinging into the meadow, she locked the vehicle with the key fob and walked past the roadblock. The man warned her not to approach the fire, but he let her pass. It didn’t hurt that she allowed her jacket to fall away from the Glock-22 on her hip.

  From the back of the parking lot, she watched the flames snap along the roof of one apartment on the far right. The fire hadn’t spread, but it would if the wind picked up. Behind her, a television news crew raced their van down the road only for the roadblocks to thwart them.

  Flanagan, the hawk-nosed junior agent who trailed Bell during the Nicholas Winston serial killer case, leaned against the SUV, arms folded as though he expected her. She had questions for Flanagan. What was he doing in Blackwater, Virginia while Bell and Gardy pursued Winston? She assumed Weber had sent his pet-agent to spy on her. Bell painted on a smile as she strode up to the junior agent.

  “How’s Agent Gardy?” Flanagan asked.

  “The bullet grazed his thigh. He’s stitched up, but he’ll be in pain for the next week. Did you see how the fire started?”

  Flanagan extended his arm toward the ground-floor apartment three buildings over from hers.

  “The fire started in the kitchen. A neighbor called it in before I noticed the smoke.”

  That was the O’Connor’s apartment. The seniors were in Oregon visiting their daughter and had asked Bell to keep an eye on the place. How could the fire start in the kitchen with nobody home to cook?

  Bell started forward, and Flanagan snatched her by the arm.

  “You can’t go inside.”

  “I’ll be late for my flight. My bag is in my apartment.”

  But it was too late. The fire chief filed the neighbors out of her building where they wandered toward their cars like lost souls.

  “Well, I guess I’m flying to Florida without a change of clothes,” Bell said, placing her hands on her hips. “This should be interesting.”

  “New case, Agent Bell?”

  “Weber didn’t tell you?” She cocked an eyebrow, but Flanagan didn’t take the bait. “You seem to know my every mov
e. I’ve been meaning to ask why you drove to Blackwater.”

  “Blackwater? Oh, you mean the Winston murders.”

  “That’s right.”

  “I’m sorry, Agent Bell, but you must be mistaken.”

  “Gardy and I saw you.”

  Flanagan shook his head and turned to watch the fire.

  “I mean no offense, but I wasn’t anywhere near Blackwater during the Winston case. Now if you don’t mind, I’m heading back to the office since you’re on the way to Dulles. Safe travels, Agent Bell.”

  Flanagan drove off and abandoned her in the parking lot. Liar. She didn’t know what the junior agent was up to, but she’d keep eyes in the back of her head on future cases. The conspiracy theorist inside her believed Weber wanted dirt on Bell, a justification for firing her.

  Directing hoses at the blaze, the firefighters appeared to have the blaze under control. They might clear her apartment for entry in the next several hours, but by then she’d be in Florida. Bell’s neighbors asked her what she knew about the fire. She didn’t have answers, only the usual platitudes to have faith. Things would be all right.

  She walked back to the meadow, stepping with care through a muddy area which tried to rip her shoes off. When she passed the roadblock, the volunteer firefighter manning the checkpoint waved her down.

  “Hey, someone started creeping around your SUV while you were at the fire.”

  Bell stopped and squinted into the darkness. At the edge of the meadow, a shadow vanished behind a stand of trees.

  “Did you see his face?”

  “Too dark. I yelled, and he took off in that direction.”

  The volunteer gestured toward the trees where Bell spotted the shadow. She thanked the man and moved toward the Rogue with her gun drawn.

  From her hip, she removed a flashlight and aimed it at her vehicle. No broken windshield, no random graffiti.

  Her heart pounded in her ears as she swept the beam across the seats. Nobody hidden inside.

  She was about to click the key fob when her instincts screamed something was wrong. Bell backed away and rounded the Rogue, studying the vehicle as she flicked the light over the doors. Then she bent down. An object caught her eye on the undercarriage. Too small for her to discern at night. The little box flashed a green light and turned dark again.

  Dropping to her stomach, she swept the light over the undercarriage.

  And saw the explosive.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Bell’s breath caught in her throat. She inched backward, watching the bomb as though a cobra coiled and hissed beneath the vehicle.

  When she’d scrambled a safe distance from the Rogue, she jumped to her feet and put her hand over her heart. The man at the roadblock glared at her.

  The Rogue rested a safe distance from the firefighters, but if the bomb exploded, debris would put the volunteer at risk. Breaking into a jog, she called Harold at the BAU and told him to send the bomb squad. By the time she ended the call, she stood at the curb, the volunteer taking a step away from the roadblock, sensing danger.

  After she told him about the explosive, he contacted the fire chief. The man yelled orders over the radio.

  “Are you certain you can’t identify the man?” Bell asked.

  “It’s like I told you. It was too dark to get a good look at him, but now that you mention it, he looked under your vehicle.”

  Flanagan popped into her head.

  “A black SUV drove out of the parking lot ten minutes ago. He must have passed your roadblock.”

  “I saw the SUV. Tinted windows, government plates.”

  “That’s the one. The driver wasn’t the man beside my vehicle, was he?”

  The volunteer shook his head.

  “No. I watched the SUV drive off. If he came back, I would have noticed.”

  The bomb squad spent a long time removing the explosive from underneath Bell’s vehicle. She would miss her flight. Though the circumstances were beyond her control, Bell spent ten minutes on the phone with the angry deputy director who wanted to know why she wasn’t in Florida.

  “The next flight departs at nine o’clock. I expect you to be on it.”

  Weber hung up before she replied. The sun would be up soon, and she hadn’t slept a wink. At least she was allowed to enter her apartment and grab her travel supplies.

  The bomb squad leader, a tall man with a shaved head, glasses, and an ear piece attached to a wire, walked toward Bell as she pocketed her phone. She knew him as Cashman. The squad leader wore a dark blue uniform, making him difficult to see in the dark, and moved with purpose and efficiency as he crossed the meadow.

  “You were lucky,” Cashman said. “A radio transmitter controlled the explosive. He could have set it off at any time.”

  Bell’s eyes swept the far end of the meadow. The bomber needed to stay close to fire the explosive. He fled after the bomb squad arrived.

  “So starting the engine wouldn’t have set it off.”

  “Nope. You attract a lot of bombers, Agent Bell?”

  “I have a bad habit of pissing people off.”

  After the team cleared her Rogue, she drove to the apartment complex, nervous every time the tires hit a bump, worried another bomb lay hidden inside the vehicle. She slogged up the apartment steps, exhaustion smothering her anxiety as the sun peaked over the Atlantic. Inside, she gathered her belongings and grabbed snacks for the drive to Dulles. Her eyes swept the living room, suspicious, and stopped on the sliding glass door to the deck. From here she discerned the trench beside the ocean, the waves filling the excavation with sand. The trench where Gardy and Bell almost died.

  The ride to the airport left her wondering about the bomb and the fire. Too coincidental. The past months’ events made it obvious someone wanted her dead, and the attempts on her life had become a weekly occurrence.

  As she swerved through highway traffic, her phone rang. Her mother’s name appeared on the dash, and she accepted the call, worried her parents had more bad news. They planned to move to a retirement community in Arizona. Bell’s research suggested the owner might be unscrupulous. Several retirees claimed the owner cheated them out of their savings.

  “Were you in a fire?”

  Tammy Bell’s question took her daughter by surprise.

  “How did you find out about the fire so fast?”

  “Your father heard about it on the news. We were so worried.”

  “The fire didn’t reach my building, Mom. I’m fine.”

  At least her mother hadn’t learned about the bomb.

  “That’s so frightening. I hope nobody got hurt.”

  “Everyone made it out before the fire got out of hand, but one of my neighbors lost their belongings.”

  “Oh, that’s horrible.” Bell imagined her mother touching her heart and fanning her face, a habit she repeated whenever she encountered tragedy and loss. “Let us know if we can help. Your father and I have led a fortunate life.”

  “Yes, you tell me often. Is everything okay, Mom? It’s only seven in the morning.”

  “Everything is wonderful. We keep hoping you’ll stop by with Agent Wolf again. Your father can’t stop talking about him.”

  Bell’s stomach dropped as she remembered Logan Wolf paying a visit to her childhood home. She’d chalked the visit up to one of his mind games, but after his sister’s slaughter, the memory sent a shiver down her spine.

  “Agent Wolf is out of the country. We’re not sure when he’ll get back.”

  “A shame. Such a nice man. We were thinking of inviting him over to meet the—”

  “Actually, Agent Wolf wants to transfer to another agency. We won’t see much of him from now on.”

  Bell overheard her mother’s disappointment as she told her husband the bad news.

  “I almost forgot,” Tammy Bell said, rummaging through the closet. “You received a package yesterday afternoon. No idea why they sent it to us, and there’s no return address, but you’ll need to pick it up when
you have the time.”

  The Rogue swerved out of its lane and drew angry horns from the other drivers.

  “Don’t touch the package.”

  “What do you mean? I’m holding the box right now.”

  Before Bell could stop her, Tammy Bell tore the box open. Heart surging into her throat, Bell prayed the next sound wouldn’t be an explosion a split-second before the call cut off.

  “Mom? Put the package down and wait for me.”

  “Well, isn’t that odd? The box is empty.”

  “Empty? Why would anyone send me an empty box?”

  “Wait a second. There’s something under the paper.”

  “Are you listening to me?” Bell searched for an opening in the traffic glut. The next exit was less than a mile away. “Don’t touch anything.”

  “It’s a note. Strange. What does this mean?”

  “What does the note say?”

  “It reads, Come home, little one. Time to sleep.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  “I don’t care if Weber hasn’t cleared you for field work,” Bell said, forcing her way through the crowd blocking her gate.

  She’d sprinted from the TSA checkpoint to the gate, but the gate attendant hadn’t boarded her row yet.

  “You’re the only person I trust. I want the note and box dusted for prints, hair fibers, anything that tells me who this person is.”

  “You believe it’s the same guy who planted the explosive?” Gardy asked, raising his voice so she could hear him. He was at the office, waiting to meet with Weber.

  “And the man who tried to take our heads off last night. Yes, Gardy.”

  “But why an empty box with a vague note stuffed in the bottom? If this guy wanted to send a message, he’d plant another explosive.”

  The gate attendant welcomed Bell’s row to board. A brunette woman wearing too much makeup budged in front of Bell and clipped another passenger with the edge of her suitcase.

  “Maybe he figured the delivery company would detect the explosive.” Hearing Bell, the brunette woman swiveled her head around and edged away. “Or he’s playing games with me. Hell, I don’t know.”