Blood Shall Run (An FBI Romance Thriller Book 15) Read online

  It wouldn’t be long until they worked their way into the cemetery. The last thing they needed was a camera crew filming this. They’d love to get Elizabeth as the headline for the nightly news.

  If that happened, Ethan would see it and lose his mind. Until he could call him, Callen had to keep this contained.

  Callen dropped a kiss to her forehead before he headed off to do his job. “Later, we’re going to discuss this. I may not sound mad, but I’m furious!”

  She was well aware.

  At that point, she wasn’t exactly happy either. She’d almost been blown to bits. Had she not pushed the detective, and herself, away from the opening of that crypt, they would have been filled with shards of marble, rock, and who knew what else.

  Yeah, she was really pissed.

  “Go, Cal,” she said, touching his cheek.

  Then he was off.

  Chris dropped to his knees, struggling to function. His heart was pounding, and he felt clammy to his own touch. That couldn’t be good.

  Elizabeth helped Tony keep the detective from bleeding any more. “He hit his head and was out about a minute. He’s going to have one hell of a concussion. Can you check him out, Doc?”

  When he didn’t answer, she glanced over at him. He was looking worse by the second. “Chris, are you okay?” she asked, not sure what was going on. No one died, and he shouldn’t be this freaked out.

  Hell!

  Callen was in better shape, and they shared a bed.

  “No,” he whispered, right before he raced to a spot not far away so he could throw up.

  Tony glanced up at her. “You need to help him. I have the detective,” Tony offered. “I’ll call in our agents and team to help Callen,” he offered, pulling out his phone to begin multitasking.

  Someone had to do it.

  Chris, who was normally cool and collected, was tossing his cookies.

  “Thanks,” she said, wiping her bloody fingers on her jeans. “Tell them I want this place cordoned off, and I want the techs to go over that crypt, or what’s left of it, with a fine tooth comb.”

  “On it, boss!”

  When she saw everything was under control, she hustled over to Chris. He was violently retching up everything in his body. This was the crash that they knew was coming. This was the point in his life where it would be the beginning of his new chapter, or the end of his journey with them.

  This was exactly what they had been bracing for all these weeks.

  “Chris,” she said, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he puked all over the place.

  “Lyzee,” he whispered, over and over again. “I’m so sorry. Oh, God, I am so sorry.”

  “For what?” she asked, wiping the beads of sweat on his brow even as her arm burned in pain.

  “For hating you. I’m so sorry I’ve hated you because of this. I almost lost you too.”

  She wasn’t shocked.

  She wasn’t surprised.

  While his words hurt, she had to keep focused. This was their first case out, and it was going to hell in a handbasket. Maybe she wasn’t cut out for this anymore. Maybe she was too old, too slow, and too arrogant to pull this off.

  Here might be her proof.

  This killer might be too good for even her to catch.

  “It’s okay, Chris. I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. We’ll figure it out. I promise. Let’s just get you calmed down, and we’ll go from there.”

  He leaned against her.

  As she sat back on the grass, he laid between her legs and against her sooty body.

  “I can’t lose you too. I can’t do this anymore. I’ve lost Cyra, and now I nearly lost the only other woman I’ve ever loved. Why am I being punished? What did I do to have to face this?”

  She kissed him on the brow as she waited for her team to get to them. Tony was watching her.

  ‘We’re losing him,’ he mouthed.

  ‘I won’t give up,’ she reassured. ‘I’ll fight.’

  They were like the Marines. No man was left behind. She wouldn’t let that happen. He was angry because she had let him down. Chris wasn’t thinking anything that she didn’t think herself.

  She’d failed him.

  She’d failed their team.

  Now she could only hold it together until her backup arrived. She’d never needed Ethan more than she did right now. Silently, she wished for him to be there.

  Plus, she wished she’d never gone back to the FBI.

  Ever.

  * * * B l a c k h a w k - W h i t e f o x * * *

  Hoover Building

  Washington DC.

  Three P.M

  He’d survived the last meeting of the day. Now all Ethan had to do was sign off on some paperwork, check in with Gabe, and catch his transport to New Orleans.

  At the buzz on his desk, he hit the intercom. “Yes, Ginny?”

  “Mr. B, Gabriel Rothschild is on line one, and he said it’s urgent.”

  “Put him through.”

  It was odd that the man was calling him. They’d set a time to meet to make sure everything was tied up in pretty bows before he headed out.

  What couldn’t wait twenty minutes?

  He picked up the phone.

  “Where are you?” Gabe asked.

  “Uh, I’m in my office, but you’d know that since you just spoke to my secretary. Where do you think I am?” Ethan inquired.

  “Ethan.”

  Then there was a silence.

  It unnerved him.

  “What’s wrong?”

  Gabe didn’t sound right—which was odd—since he’d just spent an hour with him in a meeting with the President.

  “Turn on BNN and sit down.”

  That said it all.

  Oh, he didn’t even want to know. He was pretty sure his wife had punched someone out, or she had burned a Voodoo priestess in the middle of the freaking town square. This didn’t bode well for him.

  He could see his chances of being Director going up in flames by his wife’s hand.

  Shit!

  “I’m heading there tonight. I’ll clean up whatever mess she made, Gabe.”

  “Ethan, put on the fucking TV.”

  Well, that was a first.

  It must be really bad.

  If Gabe was cursing at him, he had to be pretty pissed off. He hoped his wife wasn’t going to be fired.

  That would be awkward.

  As he hit the button on his remote, the TV came to life. The reporter was standing outside a cemetery where there were lights, firetrucks, and ambulances.

  Ethan got that wary feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he tried not to jump to conclusions.

  There had to be a logical explanation.

  Right?

  There was no way his wife and brother could have gotten into this much trouble on the second day in New Orleans.

  It wasn’t possible.

  Was it?

  Ethan stopped looking at the background behind the reporter, and instead, he focused on what she was saying.

  There had to be a logical reason.

  ‘We’re here at Saint Louis Cemetery in ‘The Quarter’, and there’s been an explosion. We have previous footage of the people who were in there when the one crypt exploded, and we’re going to play it back for you. The mayor of New Orleans has told us by phone there was some sort of gas leak, and it’s contained. Right now, the FBI is on the scene. In fact….’

  He stopped hearing anything the reporter was saying. The footage was rolling. There was his brother, his white shirt covered in smoky black soot as his gold badge hung around his neck. He was desperately trying to contain the scene.

  Yet, he wasn’t alone.

  His two agents were racing into the cemetery, badges out, and Merry wasn’t far behind with her team of techs. They were all carrying kits.

  Why would they be investigating an explosion? It couldn’t be related to the case.

  Right?

  His mind was spinning a mile a m
inute.

  Where was Elizabeth?

  Why wasn’t she maintaining the scene? Callen wouldn’t be standing there, covered in soot….

  Unless…

  Shit!

  Ethan forced his focus back onto the reporter as his hands began shaking. Ethan took Gabe’s advice, and he sat.

  His legs were about to give out.

  He had beads of sweat on his brow.

  His heart was thumping.

  This might be the first time in his life that he passed out from stress.

  It was coming. Ethan couldn’t breathe.

  ‘We have confirmation that a Federal agent and one detective were injured in the blast. They are being taken out now to get checked by the hospital. Injuries are being kept quiet until the FBI and local police can determine what caused the explosion.’

  The woman touched her earpiece.

  ‘This just in. We have a name. The agent is in fact Director Elizabeth Blackhawk of the FBI. We have word and footage from another reporter from an affiliate station that she is here on vacation. We don’t have her status as of right now.’

  They began rolling footage of Elizabeth and Callen in ‘The Quarter’ buying souvenirs and window-shopping.

  Ethan couldn’t think.

  His mind had gone blank.

  Then he heard Gabe’s voice. “The jet is on standby. Go. I’ll cover everything. Make sure your wife is okay and call me later. If she needs more agents for this case, call them in.”

  He still couldn’t speak.

  Blackhawk hung up the phone.

  He raced from the office, his gear in one hand, and his cell in the other. His heart was filled with pain and dread, as he began dialing his brother.

  There was no answer.

  Then he tried Chris.

  Nothing.

  Tony.

  More of the same.

  Merry.

  Right to voicemail.

  Anyone.

  Ethan had to know if his wife was okay. He didn’t think he was going to survive this flight. It was going to be a very long three hours until he reached New Orleans and had to face the cold hard truth. She might not be all in one piece.

  He had to pray she survived.

  Because when she did, he was going to kill her.

  * * * B l a c k h a w k - W h i t e f o x * * *

  Morgue

  Of course she wasn’t going to let them take her to the hospital. With the media frenzy outside, she wanted to be in the one location where they would be safest. As the media rushed to the hospital to set up their cameras, she ordered the medics to reroute them to a safer place.

  Ironically, that was a morgue.

  For now, she needed to regroup. If their killer was getting violent toward them, he might be escalating. She knew that without a profile, she wasn’t going to be able to do her job.

  She was one step behind without Ethan guiding her. It was like walking through the dark.

  Elizabeth needed him.

  Until he could get there, it was about making sure her team was safe, they weren’t out in the open, and they were ready for the next round.

  It would be coming.

  She didn’t doubt for a second that this was a message to her.

  Only it wouldn’t stop her.

  At first, she doubted herself, but as she looked around at Chris, Tony, and even the detective on the stretcher, she knew she couldn’t give up.

  No, this wasn’t going to stop her. In fact, it pissed her off. They’d lay low, keeping the killer guessing, and then they’d hit him where it hurt—with a balls to the wall investigation.

  Someone was going to wish he never fucked with the FBI. When this was over, he’d be hanging out in the morgue—in a black bag—she could promise that.

  Shots at her…she got it.

  Shots at her team or innocents?

  Yeah, that pissed her off.

  As they triaged the detective in the morgue, Chris was still out of it. He tried to focus, but Elizabeth could see he was struggling.

  “Tony, patch Boone up, get Merry to get back here, and tell my agents I want a freaking update within the hour.”

  Her anthropologist did what she asked.

  Thank God for Tony.

  She was going to kiss him later or promote him to whatever job he wanted. He was coming through when they needed him, and that mattered.

  “Chris, I need you to look at my shoulder.” Elizabeth needed him to focus. She needed him to snap out of this.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I hurt my shoulder. I need you to look at it. I’m not taking my shirt off in here. Callen will lose his damn mind,” she said, pointing at the techs, detective, and people coming and going.

  “Oh, okay.”

  She headed toward the office.

  In reality, she’d be fine.

  The old injury wasn’t too bad, but she needed the man to work through this, and she knew the doctor was still in him. If she could get to that level, the part that had been driving him for so long, he’d be fine.

  Elizabeth only had to locate him.

  Chris stood there as she slipped out of her shirt. He couldn’t think. As he watched her, he wanted to weep.

  He wanted to tell her how sorry he was for being angry, but the words were trapped in his chest.

  The anger had caged them up.

  Elizabeth stood there. “How bad is it?” she asked, rolling her arm.

  Chris moved toward her.

  The second his hand touched her skin, he crumbled. “Oh, Lyzee, I’m so sorry.”

  She turned, and his normally serene eyes were filled with such pain and turmoil.

  “I’m here, Chris. I’m here.”

  He didn’t know what to say to her.

  Elizabeth pulled a candy bar out of her back pocket. It was supposed to give him some calories, since she knew he’d been skipping food for coffee and energy drinks.

  The second he saw it, all the memories came flooding back. He was sitting on steps outside a bloody crime scene.

  She was there, helping him.

  He saw every time they took a break in the morgue, having some sugar and trying to get through the horrors of their jobs. He saw them smiling, laughing, and then he saw this.

  “I’m a horrible person,” he whispered. “You could have died.”

  Elizabeth opened her arms, and he didn’t hesitate. Chris moved into her, and she held him as he sobbed.

  “Shhhhh, Christopher. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

  Yeah, like she had before Cyra was burnt alive. This time, Elizabeth prayed she wouldn’t let him down. Her heart ached that she dropped the ball with his wife.

  She lived it every day of her life.

  This was why she missed her empty life. Once you added people, it got messy. You then had to care.

  Love.

  Protect.

  Fail.

  Elizabeth wouldn’t get a second chance with Chris. If she dropped him again, she knew she’d lose him forever, but then again, maybe she deserved that.

  He was bottoming out from the grief, misery, and abuse he’d inflicted on his body the last few weeks.

  It was hitting all at once.

  Of course it was because fate was a bitch, and she liked to mess with people’s lives.

  “Chris.”

  “I can’t do this. I can’t…”

  She was aware.

  “We’ll get you back to the B&B. We’re all going back there. I need to regroup, think about this, and wait for Ethan to get here.”

  She’d seen his twenty missed calls, and she had to hope Callen was handling it. Right now, the last thing she needed was for him to go off on her. She was holding it all up, and honestly, it was getting heavy.

  Soon, she’d break too.

  Badass only got you so far.

  “I want you to sit here. I’ll get the agents to get us back to the B&B. We’ll get you all fixed up.”

  She almost wanted to laugh. This wasn’t
going to be an easy fix. Chris was in pieces.

  She was in pieces.

  They needed one hell of an intervention.

  “Let me look at your shoulder.”

  She gave him that. As he gently touched her arm, she didn’t speak. When he left a soft kiss over it, she knew it was only a matter of time.

  The baby duck nearly lost its mother.

  Chris Leonard was on a downward spiral.

  Now, she had to fix it.

  And fast.

  Chapter Eight

  When he finally got the call from his brother, Ethan was able to breathe. The rational part of him knew that Callen was crazy busy, trying to hold it all together, but he wanted to rage over not being notified immediately.

  As a boss.

  As a partner.

  As a husband.

  Instead of losing it, he stayed calm. That was bonus points for him. When he got his hands on his wife, he was going to lose his damn mind.

  Well, after he kissed her silly.

  He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. Being in love was both Heaven and Hell. Being married to a fellow Fed?

  He was asking for pain.

  “Is everyone safe?” Ethan asked as he sat on the jet, heading toward New Orleans. That was his top priority now that his wife was in one piece.

  “We’re all good. Elizabeth is a little rattled, but she’s only scratched up.”

  “How close did she come?” Ethan needed to know.

  Callen hesitated.

  “Just tell me. If you sugar coat this and I find out later, I’m going to be pissed. Get it over with while I’m alone and have time to work through it.”

  Callen wasn’t shocked his brother knew what he was worried about. He didn’t want to add fuel to an already volatile situation.

  He told him what happened.

  “She smelled gasoline. From what the techs have told me, the killer, or mad firebug as he’s now known, rigged the door to spark. That dragging metal lit the gasoline, and it went up in a blaze of glory.”