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“It’s been a year. Why would he be after me? It’s not like it was my testimony that put him away.”
Scott pushed himself to a sitting position. Apparently they were talking about this now, after all. “You were the only eyewitness to the shootings, but—”
“But I never saw him! It wasn’t like I could identify Connors as the shooter.”
“What I was going to say,” Scott cut in, “was that I agree. You didn’t do the most damage at his trial. With or without you, he was going down.”
After Connors had been pulled over in a Taurus with a license plate matching the one HRT had called in from the scene of the shooting, the rifle on his lap had been tied to the shell casings at the scene. The physical evidence alone would have taken him down.
Add to it an incompetent public defender, Connors refusing to say a word in his own defense plus the families of the victims speaking at the sentencing, and Connors was going to jail. With or without the testimony of the one woman he’d let walk away from that massacre.
Chelsie crossed her arms over her chest, holding on to herself as if that could protect her from Connors, from what had happened that day.
And it made him wonder what had happened to her. To the strong, determined negotiator he’d brought home from Shields Tavern. He couldn’t believe she’d let Clayton Connors take so much away from her.
But confronting her about it was guaranteed to get her guard up, so instead he said, “I think if we can figure out what he’s after, it’ll help us track him down.”
“What does killing me now accomplish?”
“I don’t know, Chelsie.” Scott put his hand on her arm, and she flinched away. Trying not to let it bother him, he said, “But you’re safe here.”
She shook her head. “I’m not worried.”
When she met his eyes again, he saw the truth of her statement on her face. She trusted him and Andre to keep her safe. It was better than nothing, but he wanted more. He wanted a heck of a lot more.
“Why do you think he never said a word in his own defense at his trial?” Chelsie asked, just when Scott was trying to figure out how to broach what had happened between them.
He forced himself to put his mind back on track. It didn’t matter that the woman he’d been fantasizing about for the past year was finally back in his bed—though not in the way he wanted. He had a job to do here. And he couldn’t let himself get distracted.
“What defense could he have possibly have given? I think he was banking on people feeling sorry for him because of the PTSD, and figured the insanity plea would work,” Scott replied.
“I don’t know,” Chelsie argued. “Wouldn’t he at least want to explain where he was coming from? He could’ve drummed up some sympathy. He was a war hero, after all. And he watched his entire unit die. The defense attorney talked about his PTSD, but Connors never spoke at all.”
“I was only in the courtroom for part of the trial,” he reminded Chelsie. He’d had to testify about his role in the day’s events. He hadn’t heard the attorney talk about the post-traumatic stress disorder, although obviously Connors had it. Still, Scott had known there was more going on. “Every time I saw Connors, he was pretty glassy-eyed. Whatever he was on must’ve been strong. Maybe his lawyer didn’t want to risk putting him on the stand and have him make things worse.”
“Still—”
“We need to focus on what his motivation is now,” Scott cut in, holding back a yawn. He didn’t care why Connors hadn’t taken the stand a year ago; all he cared about was why the guy was after Chelsie now.
“Maybe he wants someone new to blame. A year ago, he blamed the military for his unhappiness. Now, he’s decided it’s my turn.”
In Scott’s opinion, it didn’t fit, but then, he wasn’t a negotiator. Or a profiler. “I’ll give Ella a call tomorrow. See if she has any ideas.”
“That’s a good idea. Why don’t we try now?”
“Chelsie.” Scott glanced at the clock next to his bed. “It’s after midnight.”
“Ella’s kind of a night owl, isn’t she? She was at the Academy anyway.”
“I’ll call her tomorrow,” Scott replied.
Chelsie didn’t seem happy, but she nodded and stood. “Okay.”
When she turned to go, Scott stopped her with, “Since we’re talking motivation here, let me ask you something.” He knew he shouldn’t, but he had to know. “Why did you give Connors the power to drive you out of negotiation?”
She spun back around, and although he knew it had been a mistake to ask, he liked the fire suddenly sparking in her eyes. He’d rather have her fighting mad than spiritless.
Before she could argue, he added, “It’s part of the gig. You can’t win them all. It’s not like you to give up so quickly.”
“You don’t know me,” she said, taking a step closer, the muscles in her lean arms outlined, her jaw tight.
“You’ll stand up to me,” Scott said. “So why not for a job you obviously loved?” Trying another tactic, he asked, “I mean, what made you pick negotiation in the first place?”
He thought she was going to say it was none of his business—or tell him where he could shove it—but instead she asked, “What made you pick the FBI? Huh?” She stepped closer, fury on her face, and he knew he’d crossed a line even before she added, “You want to talk about your motivation? You want to talk about what happened to Maggie?”
Scott got out of bed so fast that Chelsie backed up. It had been ten years since his sister’s assault, the event that had driven him into the Bureau. And Chelsie wasn’t the first person, or even the first FBI agent, to ask about it. But her throwing that at him pissed him off more than pretty much any other response she could have given.
Maybe that was the point, he thought as he got in her face and watched her eyes widen. No matter how she might want to deny it, she knew how to get inside people’s minds. She was getting in his right now, trying to use his emotional weak spot to drive him away.
“Fine,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “You want to push me away, Chelsie? Congratulations.”
He pointed at the door. “Get out.”
Chapter Five
What was wrong with her?
Chelsie walked slowly into the living room. She couldn’t believe she’d thrown Maggie’s assault in Scott’s face. Even if Maggie hadn’t been her friend, it was a horrible thing to do. Especially since Maggie’s rapist was still out there somewhere, still claiming a new victim every year.
She’d seen Scott’s expression as he’d asked her to dredge up all the memories from the day of the massacre. That determined expression that told her he’d push until he got what he wanted. The same intent look she’d seen that day back in the bar, when she’d taken his hand and let him take her to heaven.
And the idea of turning her psychoanalytic lens on herself, which she’d managed to avoid for a whole year, made her panic. So she’d done what came naturally. She’d figured out the one thing guaranteed to make him back away.
Scott was right about her. She did understand what people wanted. The flip side of that was, she was also good at figuring out what they didn’t want, which for negotiations, was sometimes just as important.
So why had she failed that day? Accepting that she hadn’t had time to make a difference was an easy excuse. Certainly there was some truth to it, but she, more than anyone, should have been able to connect with Connors. It might’ve been different if she’d known what he’d endured while serving, the loss of his unit. For a military long-timer like Connors, his unit would be his family.
And she understood that kind of loss. Her stepmom was the only mother she remembered, but that was because her dad had married her when Chelsie was three. Her birth mom had been military, just like her dad. And she’d been killed on Chelsie’s first birthday.
No matter that Chelsie didn’t remember her. No matter that she had a close bond with her stepmom and half brothers. She still felt an empty space in her life, wishing she’d had the chance to know her mom.
If she’d seen Connors’s military connection from the start, and used her own experience to forge a bond between them, he might have hesitated. Maybe even long enough for those men to run to her side, to safety.
Except that it hadn’t really been safe, had it?
“Hi, Chelsie.”
The sound of Andre’s voice was a welcome distraction from thoughts that were headed in a direction she didn’t like them to go.
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