Searching (PAVAD- FBI Romantic Suspense Book 18) Read online

  Searching

  Calle J Brookes

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Chapter 44

  Chapter 45

  Chapter 46

  Chapter 47

  Chapter 48

  Chapter 49

  Chapter 50

  Chapter 51

  Chapter 52

  Chapter 53

  Chapter 54

  Chapter 55

  Chapter 56

  Chapter 57

  Chapter 58

  Chapter 59

  Chapter 60

  Chapter 61

  Chapter 62

  Chapter 63

  Chapter 64

  Chapter 65

  Chapter 66

  Chapter 67

  Chapter 68

  Chapter 69

  Chapter 70

  Chapter 71

  Chapter 72

  Chapter 73

  Chapter 74

  Chapter 75

  Chapter 76

  Chapter 77

  Chapter 78

  Chapter 79

  Chapter 80

  Chapter 81

  Chapter 82

  Chapter 83

  Chapter 84

  Chapter 85

  Chapter 86

  Chapter 87

  Chapter 88

  Chapter 89

  Chapter 90

  Chapter 91

  Chapter 92

  Chapter 93

  Chapter 94

  Chapter 95

  Chapter 96

  Chapter 97

  Chapter 98

  Chapter 99

  Chapter 100

  Chapter 101

  Chapter 102

  Chapter 103

  Chapter 104

  Chapter 105

  Chapter 106

  Chapter 107

  Chapter 108

  Chapter 109

  Chapter 110

  Chapter 111

  Chapter 112

  Chapter 113

  Chapter 114

  Chapter 115

  Chapter 116

  Chapter 117

  Chapter 118

  Chapter 119

  Chapter 120

  Chapter 121

  Chapter 122

  Chapter 123

  Epilogue

  Also by Calle J Brookes

  SEARCHING

  Copyright © 2021 by Calle J. Brookes

  PAVAD: FBI Copyright © 2011

  05112021PAV18LP

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  For information contact:

  www.callejbrookes.com

  Book and Cover design by C.J. Brookes

  First Edition: MAY2021

  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  1

  Andy hadn’t deserved this.

  Max Jones stood over the body of a man he had worked with for more than six years, fighting the grief—and rage. The damage to Andy’s skull was something he would never be able to erase from his head.

  Andy Anderson would never smile at a stupid dad joke ever again. Andy and Max had traded dad jokes like their daughters traded cartoon playing cards.

  Rain slipped down the back of Max’s neck, soaking his neck beneath his Brynlock Blackbirds sweatshirt. He had been called out from his daughter’s first basketball game of the season for this.

  Andy’s daughter might be at the school now, too. Andy’s kids didn’t attend the same academy as Max’s daughter, but they competed in the same sports leagues. It was a small private school association with only four schools in the network. They interacted together all the time, from elementary school through high school.

  Max knew Andy’s family very well. “Do we know what happened?”

  “Not yet. We’re calling in forensics in an hour,” said Ed Dennis, the director of PAVAD—the Prevention & Analysis of Violent Acts Division of the FBI. They were in the backyard of the reasonably sized, 1960s ranch house just over the river from St. Louis. “There are…things…we need to do first.”

  Max’s attention focused on the men surrounding him. Ed Dennis, Michael Hellbrook, two of the three Lorcan brothers, and both Brockman brothers. They were PAVAD now. Legends. Each and every one of them. “Why am I here?”

  Max held his own, but these men were upper level. He was the lowest man on the ladder here, and he was well aware of that. There was a reason Max was there. It wasn’t because of his friendship with Andy Anderson.

  “I need you to be the official face of this case,” Ed said. He alone didn’t seem bothered by the icy rain. The man was five inches shorter than Max, fifty pounds lighter, and a good twenty years older. He was also one of the few men Max would trust at his own back without hesitation.

  He’d trust Ed Dennis with his own daughter. That mattered.

  When the director called, PAVAD agents responded.

  The director was wearing a damned near identical Brynlock sweatshirt, and they’d followed each other to the scene—from the school where their children waited.

  A brief moment of concern went through him—he’d had to basically leave his daughter at the school by herself. She’d been with the school officials, but someone there specifically for her had taken him a while to arrange. Worry was always in his mind where his kid was concerned.

  It was the curse of the single parent.

  “He has an ex-wife,” Max said softly, looking down at the body of his friend again. Agent Andrew Mark Anderson, eight years older than Max’s own thirty-six, two inches shorter than Max’s six four, and forty pounds heavier. His hair was thinning, and graying, his glasses were six feet away, on the concrete pavers Max had helped him haul from the home repair store. Andy had been a member of the third Lorcan brother’s team of forensic accountants. “Three children, living. The oldest is about Emery’s age, the youngest is three. His daughter plays basketball; she may be at Brynlock right now.”

  Ed nodded. “I’ll handle the notification; I have to go pick up my sons after…this.”

  “This is a part of the search for the leak,” Sin Lorcan said flatly. “I knew we had someon
e on Seth’s team involved, but I didn’t suspect Anderson. Still don’t; not fully. But I can’t explain this.”

  “None of us suspected Anderson,” Mick Brockman practically growled, his anger almost touchable. The head of IA was unofficially in charge of the investigation into who was targeting PAVAD—and had been for years now. He and Sin. Very few PAVAD agents had been dialed in on what was truly going on behind the scenes. “We need to go somewhere secure—where we can talk.”

  “First, I’m going to call in Mari and her team. She’s with the kids at the school now. Only those we’re certain we can trust will work this,” the director said. His wife was the head of the forensics department. If they couldn’t trust her, there was probably no one in the division they could.

  Thunder rumbled overhead, despite the chilly rain pelting them all. Max waited for one of the other men to say something. Anything to get this case going.

  He looked down at his friend again. Every memory and image he had of Andy through the years would be forever overshadowed by this.

  There was a bullet in Andy’s head. It hadn’t gotten there by accident.

  Max was good at what he did. That he wouldn’t deny. And he worked hard to ensure that. But this...this spoke of dark secrets Max feared the answers to. The body of a friend was pretty damned proof positive of that.

  “Who called it in?” he asked. There weren’t any lights on in the houses nearby. Andy had mentioned there were vacant places in his neighborhood and had suggested Max might want to check a few out for his rental business. Max hadn’t had the time to yet.

  “We don’t know yet,” Ed said. “There was an anonymous phone call—to Sin. Gloating. Threats that they were getting closer. That a PAVAD family would hurt again tonight.”

  Max looked at Sin, the man who had the reputation of being the absolute best at ferreting out internal corruption that the bureau had ever seen. They called him The Bloodhound.

  Someone taunting Sin Lorcan like that was a damned foolish bastard. One who had opened the doors to hell tonight—and let a three-headed dog out.

  You didn’t make it to PAVAD by accident, or by being mediocre. No. PAVAD pulled only the very best.

  Whatever was going on in PAVAD—it was far bigger than him.

  Max wanted a part of it. He wanted in on bringing down the bastards who had threatened what he and the others had worked for over the last four years.

  PAVAD meant something to the people who worked there.

  None of them took threats to it lightly. Max certainly didn’t.

  Neither did the men surrounding him.

  He didn’t take the murder of a friend sitting down, either.

  He’d held Andy’s children in his own arms before, at their own brother’s funeral. He owed them answers.

  Max would get them, too.

  “We need to find this sonofabitch,” the third Lorcan brother said, coming from inside the house. There was grief for a lost teammate in his tone. “Andy has a family. He adored his kids. Was still in love with the ex-wife, too. Things just got tough after the baby died.”

  Max had always thought so, too. He’d hoped the Andersons would have been able to work out their differences; they’d broken up after the death of their fourth child from a heart defect two years ago. They’d never get the chance to work things out now.

  Damn it, Andy. What had he gotten in to? The guy had been goofy, playful, intelligent, and…dependable. A bit of a conspiracy nut, which was odd for an FBI agent, but half the time, Max thought Andy had just been goofing around.

  Like he read the conspiracies for fun. Was saying things to get a rise out of the people around him.

  “We’ll find the answers,” Ed promised.

  “Well, we’ll need to find them fast. Because this is spiraling,” Sin said, putting one hand on the shoulders of each of his brothers. Three identical men with fire and anger in their matching green eyes, just like the three-headed dog of hell. Max wanted to see the Lorcans tear into the man who’d done this. Wanted that with every fiber of his being now. “That damned sniper nearly killed my wife, with my children and my brothers’ children inside one hundred feet away. I’m not going to wait much longer to have some names.”

  “Neither will we,” his brothers said together in near unison. At any other time, it would have been humorous. Not tonight.

  There was nothing humorous about tonight.

  It was a sentiment they all agreed with.

  Someone had a real ax to grind against PAVAD. They were making it known.

  With one piece of collateral damage at a time. They’d had half a dozen agents targeted since Sin’s wife had been shot knocking him out of the way of a paid assassin. An inch higher and it would have struck her femoral artery. Cody Lorcan would have died with her two children watching from the babysitter’s front window. No wonder the Lorcan brothers were practically foaming at the mouth on this one.

  Max would be too, if it had been Jac hurt.

  Max looked at Sin. “I’ll do whatever it takes to catch this guy. You just tell me what to do, and I’ll do it. Even if it just means signing my name to the damned paperwork.”

  Max took another look at the dead man sprawled in front of them, a man he’d known well enough to sit with at their daughters’ sporting events and academic tournaments—a man he’d eaten lunch with at the cafeteria at PAVAD dozens of times. They’d shared a table not even two days ago, talking about their kids. About the best place to buy the girls shoes. Max hated shopping for shoes. Andy, too. But they had little girls who needed new shoes, and Andy had promised his ex-wife he’d take the girls that weekend to get them while she worked a double shift at the hospital.

  It had been so damned normal.

  He’d considered Andy Anderson a friend.

  Andy’s three little girls deserved more than this.

  Max made himself a vow—answers. He’d not stop until he could someday give those little girls answers about who and why this had happened.

  He looked at Ed. “Let’s find this sonofabitch.”

  2

  Jac had missed this. She’d missed the sight of children enjoying themselves, missed the sight of families brimming with pride and love for their children.

  Missed the normalcy of it all. Missed being a part of it. She hadn’t realized how much it mattered, until it had suddenly stopped weeks ago.

  Agent Jaclyn Jones climbed the bleachers near the free throw line and watched a gaggle of little girls that she knew as they learned the game—she actually felt like she belonged there.

  Jac waved at the assistant coach. Rachel was a friend. One of the few Jac had outside her work with the bureau. They’d met right there at Brynlock over a year ago.

  Someone else called her name, and she turned. Angie Anderson sat holding her toddler. Angie looked a little frazzled. Jac took the seat next to her and smiled at the little girl.

  She was such a homely little thing with her father’s round cheeks and overly large lips. But her eyes…she was a sweet little girl who was very friendly. “Hi, Angie, how are you?”

  “Being pulled in a million directions, and loving it,” Angie said with a tired smile. “You look gorgeous, by the way. I can’t remember the last time I looked gorgeous. Probably four kids, a nursing degree, and one divorce ago.”

  “Don’t be silly. You are definitely gorgeous right now. Far more than I am. I feel like the FBI’s leftover bin right now.” Angie was a very pretty woman, but it was the love and joy in her eyes when she looked at her daughters that made her truly beautiful. “I could never get away with wearing that color. I’d look like a clown, but on you—gorgeous.”

  They laughed together. Jac took Angie’s youngest daughter onto her own lap, while the middle girl sat with her nose buried in a book that looked to be about fairies. The middle Anderson girl was as beautiful as her mother—and not interested in sports at all. Jac had a bag of books in her hall closet, books that she’d found at a flea market in Wyoming for the litt
le girl. She’d been meaning to give them to Angie’s ex-husband to pass on.

  “I hate to ask, but…I need to call Andy. Find out where he is. Abbie is going to be asking where her dad is. He always makes her games. I…I’m a bit worried. Andy’s obsessive about not being late. He always texts me if he’s going to be late. Even now.”

  “Sure. I’ll keep these two under control.”

  Angie stepped outside to make her call. Jac kept up a running conversation as much as possible with the Andersons’ three-year-old, while the six-year-old just kept reading.