Page 16 of Condor’s Vow

Chapter 7

Last night’s call with Hattie had been just what he needed after a shitty day. They had hit a dead end with the case so he’d had everyone go back to the start and begin combing through every tidbit of information they could find to link the victims in a more defined way. The fact they were first responders didn’t seem enough, and he didn’t know why, just that his gut said so and it hadn’t been wrong yet.

After some coaxing, Hattie had told him about her father and his dementia, and the decision she and her brothers had come to. He’d heard the sadness in her voice and would’ve done anything to drive over there and hold her, but he knew it was too soon for that. So, he’d stayed on the phone with her, telling her about the antics he and Reid had gotten up to growing up until she was laughing softly in his ear. The hard-on he got just from hearing her laugh was ridiculous, but with Hattie, all it took was a word or brush of her fingers, and he wanted her.

Clay knew she felt it too, but he was damned if he was going to rush this with her. It had only been one date for fuck’s sake, but he knew the first date or the ten-thousandth date, he’d feel this way about her.

“Boss, I got something!”

Clay’s head whipped around to Omega, and was on his feet in seconds as the rest of the team joined him. They were as frustrated by this lack of progress as he was and were itching for some action. “Show me.”

Omega clicked some buttons and pictures of the victims came up on the screen. “I’ve been searching through any cases where all of the vics might cross over and didn’t find one, but I did find this. Everyone except this cop here were involved in a traffic crash involving a woman and her two young kids.”

Clay heard Sandstorm curse behind him and felt the same; anything with kids was like a sucker punch.

“They went off the road during a storm when a tree fell across the car, crushing the mom and trapping the kids. The cop wasn’t on shift, but his partner was. He died last year from an undiagnosed heart condition. All the others were involved in some way, a firefighter was at the scene, so was the EMT, and Serena Burke was doing an extra shift in the emergency department that night.”

“Did anyone survive?” Clay asked, feeling the surge of adrenaline in his blood that they were finally getting somewhere.

“Yeah, the mom, Stephanie Clark survived, but both kids, Tim and Jessica, died from their injuries.”

Lyric moved closer to the screen. “Any negligence on our side?”

Clay loved how everyone had come together on this case, wanting to find the killer. Even those not involved were keeping an eye out. Dax and Cruz knew most of Station 7, and they were all on the lookout for someone targeting one of their own.

“No. The mother tried, but there was no case to answer.”

Clay crossed his arms over his chest. “What about the father?”

“They’re divorced. Malone Clark is a vet here in San Antonio.”

Clay looked up at Sandstorm and Hawk, who seemed to have garnered a pretty easy working relationship. “You go visit the dad and find out what he has to say. And Lyric and I will go and speak with Mrs. Clark.”

Omega sent them a text with the addresses and Clay and Lyric were out the door. The drive to the house was short, and Stephanie Clark lived in a nice neighborhood, but he knew that meant jack shit when it came to killers. He parked a little up the street so as not to spook her, and he and Lyric exited the car. Both wore FBI windbreakers with Kevlar underneath, neither willing to take the chance of getting shot.

The house was small, probably two bedrooms, with a well-maintained front flower bed and lawn. He knocked on the door and waited. When nobody answered, he glanced at Lyric who knocked again.

“Mrs. Clark, it’s the FBI. We would like to speak to you.”

Both men tensed when they heard a sound inside like someone falling over and pulled their weapons. Clay motioned for Lyric while he waited for a second to listen. “Go around the back.” When all he heard was silence, he brought his leg up and kicked the flimsy door open.

“Mrs. Clark, FBI.” He began to clear the rooms on the ground floor one by one before moving to the foot of the stairs and stopping when he heard a sound behind him. He spun and pointed his weapon at Lyric before dropping it and motioning upstairs. Lyric took his six, and Clay moved silently up the stairs.

His head had barely passed the second floor when a bullet pinged off the rail next to it.

Clay cursed and ducked. “Mrs. Clark, we just want to talk.”

“I don’t want to talk to you. You let my babies die.”

“I’m sorry that happened to you, but killing an FBI agent won’t bring them back.” Clay motioned that he would go high and for Lyric to go low.

“Someone needs to pay.” The anguish in her voice was palpable, but right this minute, she was a threat, and he needed her contained.

He held up three fingers then counted back. On one, he and Lyric moved as if they had been working together for years. The weeks and weeks of training were coming into play when they needed it.

He saw Stephanie Clark pointing a weapon at them a split second before she fired, the bullet hitting his vest and robbing him of breath as he and Lyric fired, taking her down. As she fell, they were on the move. He dropped to his knees, holding his hands over the wound on her belly, getting air back into his lungs from the impact of the slug on his vest, while Lyric wrapped his jacket around her hand which had been holding the gun. Clay called it in and waited for back up and EMTs.

“Let me die, please let me die.”