Murder Mix-Up

A bullet smacked the tree beside her. Portia ducked and rushed to another tree for cover, whispering a prayer for protection. Where that inclination came from, she didn’t know. And now wasn’t the time to figure out why she was praying after so long.

She scanned the area and searched for the shooter. Declan had found a tree ten feet from her and huddled behind it, his gun held in a loose aim. Ready. She could appreciate a competent man she didn’t have to coddle.

The next shot hit the tree beside him.

Not good, but it gave her an approximate location for the shooter. Portia raced toward the origin, moving in an arc that would put her on his right flank. Another shot rang out in Declan’s direction and she heard him return fire.

She caught sight of their assailant then. Dark blue jacket. Ball cap. Caucasian. Forties, maybe. She couldn’t get a good enough look at his face.

“Drop the gun!”

He swung it toward her.

Portia fired, then dived. Forced to hit the ground as the shooter did the same. She heard his muffled cry of pained alarm, then footsteps cracking branches and shifting leaves. She’d hit him.

“Portia!” Declan raced toward her while the shooter got away. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Go get him!” Nothing bruised but her ego, she stood and brushed leaves from her behind while she ran after him.

An engine fired up, and what sounded like a diesel truck roared away.

“He got away.”

Like she couldn’t see that for herself? “I don’t suppose you managed to see a license plate?”

Declan shook his head. “Tan truck. Chevy.”

“Older model, diesel.”

His eyebrows lifted.

Portia shrugged one shoulder and headed for her car. “It chugged a little before the engine turned over. Could just be cold, but more likely he has a clogged fuel filter.”

Silence. “He was holding his shoulder. I think you hit him.”

She nodded. Listened to his footsteps bringing up the rear. Shame this wasn’t a leisurely hike through the park. Not that she did anything in a leisurely way, but she enjoyed recreation. So long as no one pestered her with comments or questions, she could get along quite nicely with whoever accompanied her.

And yes, she realized that at thirty-four she likely shouldn’t be quite this set in her ways. But she was who she was: the daughter of a marine gunnery sergeant and single father who not only taught her how to shoot but also taught her everything he knew about cars. Tears were unacceptable, unless they were angry tears—in which case she’d been sent to the garage to work out her frustration on the heavy bag.

She was also the youngest female senior field agent NCIS had. Declan might be a hotshot Secret Service agent, but she’d fought every day to garner the respect she’d earned along with her seniority.

She stared him down over her shoulder. “You’ll need to come in to the office and give a statement.”

“I can do that.” His footsteps sped up until he walked alongside her. “Why do you seem super calm, and not like you just got in a gunfight?”

She put her weapon away. Was it just adrenaline, or was this man the most cooperative witness ever? “The shooter got away.”

Declan shook his head. “That was fast. Like, seconds and it was over.” He blew out a breath. “Things don’t happen that quickly at the White House. We see it coming, and we respond in the applicable way. Then we do hours of paperwork while the person is processed and interviewed, then sent to jail.”

“In that case, about the only similarity between our jobs is the paperwork.” She shot him a look, and he smiled.

“Why does that not surprise me?” He paused. “Are we going to inform the sheriff of what just happened?”

“We are on his turf. But until I know that wasn’t related to my case, there’s no need. It’s my investigation.” And that guy had stuck around purely for the chance to shoot at a second person. Declan. “Not at me.”

“What was that?”

“He wasn’t shooting at me.” Portia slowed beside his rental car and said, “He wasn’t even interested in me until I called him out. That man wanted you dead.”

“You think he’s the one who shot my...your victim.”

“Could be he thought that was your brother and he killed him. He might have it in for both of you.” And why would that be? “Anyone you know who might want to hurt the two of you?”

Declan swallowed.

Portia waited.

“I’d like to hold off on story time until I know it’s necessary for me to tell you.”

She folded her arms. “It’s necessary.”

He didn’t back down. “Still. I’d like to maintain my privacy until I know it’s related to your case.”

Sure, throw her words back at her. Portia said, “That won’t fly for long.”

“Just until I know for sure.”

An uncooperative witness was the last thing she needed. Portia turned to her car, then said over her shoulder, “I expect you at the office, giving your statement on the shooting that just occurred, as well as your description of the truck. Soon as you get there.”

She’d get the rest of the story out of him then. As well as have her people dig into Declan Stringer’s background to find out everything there was to know.

“I’ll check into a hotel and come straight over.”

“Fair enough.” She could accept the fact he wasn’t a man to be pushed around, even if it made her life a little harder that he wasn’t...malleable. Portia was way too type A to respect a man she could manipulate. “I’ll see you there.”

She had to walk away. It was that or stare into those dark eyes some more...and probably forget she had work to get on with. Attraction was one thing—she just had to get done what she needed to in spite of it—but a relationship was a whole different animal. One she wasn’t ever going to go near again, considering the last one had been a disaster.

Her dad had never gotten over her mom leaving the way she had. One day there, the next, stuff gone. Suitcase gone. Car gone. They’d never seen her again.

Probably Portia hadn’t ever gotten over it either. She figured that was true even if she had no intention of ever discussing it with a professional. Too much work to do to see the shrink. And as excuses went, it was the best she’d ever come up with. Get up, go to work. What free time she had, Portia tested her limits rock climbing, bouldering. Strength was more than just physical, it was also mental. And she could see it in Declan Stringer.

Too bad there was intentionally no room left in her life for a relationship—even if she was looking for one. Which she was not. It was just easier that way.

Portia turned up the talk radio station loud enough for it to drown out her whirling thoughts and gripped the steering wheel as she drove. Watching for that tan truck all the way back to Seattle.

Declan was wrong. The gunfight had affected her. It was just that it took longer than a couple of minutes. She shifted in the seat. Process the fear, set it aside. Not something she was about to do in front of anyone. She wasn’t without weaknesses; she just didn’t acknowledge them. Just like her father had taught her.

It was almost six in the evening by the time she got back to the office, but everyone was there. Portia set her weapon in the top drawer of her desk and said “Who wants to go first?”

Lenny, Anna and Chris just looked at each other. No one spoke.

“One of you must have something to explain how our dead man has his picture on a marine’s ID.”

Anna winced, then motioned to the director’s office with a nod of her head. Portia glanced over and saw her boss, Director Elenor Golden, shake Declan’s hand.

* * *

Portia was mad. Declan could tell as much as he trailed after the director. Portia glanced between her boss and Declan, shooting him a look he couldn’t confuse. Yes, he’d gone straight over her head to speak with her boss. But he had a good reason.

He really wanted to know how the dead guy had been found with his brother’s ID—and why the man had been killed.

He needed to know if there was a threat to his family.

After all these years?

The idea had niggled at him for the first hour of drive time before he’d made a few phone calls. Now he wanted to know badly enough to have used his not inconsiderable pull to get on this case. Not working it. Just close enough that he could observe.

What else was he going to do with his vacation?

“Special Agent Finch.”

Portia stood, and her boss explained exactly what they’d just discussed in her office. The director had a strong presence, but the person in the room who arrested him...made him want to stutter...was Portia.

Her gaze came to him, a frown on her face.

“Run down the case.” The director stepped to the side, and turned toward her office. “And figure this out.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Portia’s voice was cold. There was no other way to describe it. She looked at him with a What did you do? face.

“Guess I’m sticking around for a while.” If it took longer than four days, he’d have to call his own director and work something out.

Portia spun on her heel and strode back to her desk. The woman was a consummate professional, but there was no way she was going to simply roll over and invite him into her fold. And judging by the looks on the other agent’s faces, the rest of them weren’t going to give him anything either.

“Okay, run down what we—” Her phone rang. She snapped up the receiver. “Finch.” She listened for a second. Her gaze darted to him and he thought he saw a gleam of something flash there, but it disappeared just as fast. “Great. We’ll be right there.” She hung up.

“Alejandro wants us in the morgue.” She strode past the desks of her colleagues and didn’t even look at him. “You’re with me, Stringer.”

Declan followed her to the elevator, where Portia jabbed at the button for the basement a little harder than was probably necessary. He sighed. “Look—”

She cut him off. “Don’t. You made your play and now we have to live with it. So let me get on with this case, and then you can be on your way.”

Yep, she didn’t feel the attraction. If she did, there was no way she’d dismiss him like this. Not that he wanted warm and fuzzy between them. Declan was interested in one thing—finding out what this murder had to do with his brother. Anything that could’ve been between him and Portia, he didn’t want it clogging up getting to the bottom of this mystery anyway. The fact she felt nothing for him was a bonus.

“If there’s one thing I can’t abide, it’s liars.”

Declan bristled. “When did I—”

“You said you were going to check into your hotel. Not that you were going to come straight here. I’m surprised you didn’t get a speeding ticket for how fast you had to be driving to get here ahead of me and get in a meeting with the director. All just so you could weasel your way into my case.”

“I checked in online.”

“While you were driving?”

“Quick rest-stop break,” he said. “You didn’t need to stop?”

“It’s a two-hour drive. I’m not five years old.”

Ouch. “Look, I’m sorry—”

“No, you’re not. And don’t patronize me by pretending to be. You wanted in, so you got yourself in.” The elevator doors slid open.

“I was going to say sorry about going behind your back, but my way was faster.” He was results oriented. It was the way he was trained. After all, if he misstepped by taking too long to make a decision, it could cost the president his life.

“That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”

She knocked twice on the door. A buzzer sounded, and Portia let herself into the morgue. Alejandro looked up, saw Declan behind her. His perfect eyebrows rose. Even with some kind of goopy mess on his gloves, the man didn’t have a hair out of place. He switched the gloves out for clean ones, and Declan got his first look at the beginning of an autopsy.

“Company?”

Portia said, “He’s shadowing the case.”

Alejandro eyed Declan, then said, “Two gunshot wounds, one through and through and one in the sternum.”

She folded her arms. “We already knew that.”

Alejandro glanced at Portia.

“Sorry.”

He shook his head, all forgiven. Then said to Declan, “I can get you a mask if the smell...”

It wasn’t bad, per se. The room was ventilated. Still, the smell was interesting. Declan saw the curl in the corner of Portia’s lips.

This was why she’d jumped at the chance to bring him down here. She thought she could get him in front of a dead body and he’d lose his lunch? He nearly smiled at the realization. The NCIS agent was testing his mettle. Forcing him to walk in her shoes and deal with what she saw every day.

He probably should have been insulted by that. But meeting a woman who held her own, who expected a man to not cower but meet the challenge? There was nothing more attractive than strength like that. A woman who knew what she wanted and didn’t settle for anything less.

Declan had to push aside the rush of thought. He wanted to go over all that, to process this revelation and set it aside so he could focus, but there wasn’t even time to do that. They were waiting.

He lifted his chin instead, and turned to the medical examiner. “So the victim probably knew the shooter?”

Alejandro said, “From the velocity of impact, and the damage it did—which I’ll have to confirm after I’m done with the full autopsy—I’d say at this point that it was three feet, maximum.”

Portia said, “Only someone you know, and trust, or someone you’re doing a deal with, gets that close. Unless the shooter was fast enough to pull off two shots.” She shrugged. “But if the shots were straight on then they were facing each other.”

She backed up three feet and held her arms up in front, making a gun with her fingers and holding it in her other palm.

“So they were talking, and the shooter pulled out a gun,” Declan said. “Fast enough the man didn’t turn away to run.”

She nodded.

Alejandro said, “I’ll let you know if I learn more.”

Portia thanked the medical examiner, and they headed for the hallway.

In the elevator, Declan said, “I can’t imagine not reacting at all if someone pulled a gun on me.”

“They were probably talking,” Portia said. “One second, conversation. The next he’s got his gun up and he’s firing two shots. Caught the guy off guard, close enough to make sure he absolutely got the job done. And then he stuck around to shoot at you hours later.”

She squared her shoulders in a way that didn’t bode well. “Want to tell me now who has it in for you and your brother badly enough to go to all this trouble?”

“You’re assuming the killer is the same person who shot at us.” He paused. “We don’t know that.”

“You’d rather there were two gunmen?”

The doors slid open and Declan exited the elevator. Maybe if there were, she could find her suspect.

And he’d never have to tell her the truth about his.

THREE

Portia sat at her desk while Declan hovered at the big TV screen, staring at the open tabs of all the information they’d collected so far. What was he hiding? And why couldn’t he just tell her? Whatever it was, she figured it was wrapped up in the reason his brother had been a target.

Assuming that was what had happened.

The fact their dead guy had been using Nicholas Stringer’s ID might simply be a coincidence. Then again, considering Declan was acting this way at all, likely not. There was a reason they were seemingly targets of a murderer. And he knew what that reason was.

She let him have his silence while she answered a few emails. Distracting herself from all the questions. When she was done, she moved to stand by him. “Well?”

“I should speak with my brother first.”

Portia saw the flinch in the skin around Declan’s eyes. He’d hidden his discomfort well, and she was getting the idea he would endure a lot before he broke that professional demeanor. Yes, bringing him down to autopsy had been a test. But if the guy was going to insinuate himself into her murder investigation then he was going to have to be all in with every part. It was what he’d asked for.

“I’ll contact your brother’s Captain and get him online for a chat with you.”

Nicholas Stringer—the real one, not the man their victim had pretended to be. Declan’s brother’s Marine unit was based out of Camp Pendleton in California—not here in Washington State where the ID had indicated. Which made her wonder why that was what had come up when they entered his name into their system. This was a more elaborate identity theft than she was used to seeing.

She said, “The system says your brother is deployed right now. He’s been in J-bad for nine months.”

Declan frowned. “J-bad?”

“Jalalabad, Afghanistan. There’s a forward operating base there.” She saw the look on Declan’s face. “You didn’t know he was deployed.”

He shrugged. “We aren’t that close.”

“I don’t have any siblings, so I wouldn’t even know how that works.”

“No?”

Portia shook her head. “It was just me and my dad.”

Empathy shone in his eyes. He said, “It’s been just me and Nicholas for years, though we have some extended family. He and I should probably talk more, but once you get in the habit of not picking up the phone it’s hard to change things.” He stretched his arms up over his head, then twisted left and right. “How about you and your dad?”

“He passed away two years ago.” The words were choked.

Portia didn’t wait for Declan to offer her condolences. She needed to focus on the case anyway, the way she’d been keeping her attention on her job since her dad had passed. What was the point in expending the energy to grieve, letting all the feeling swallow her whole, if it wasn’t going to change anything?

“Agent Armstrong,” she called out to Chris as she walked back to her desk. “Get me Corporal Stringer on-screen in MTAC.” It was probably about breakfast time in Afghanistan.

Their Multiple Threat Alert Center was a twin to the one at the Quantico office of NCIS. It was basically just a fancy name for a room where they gathered intelligence and could make secure communications.

“Sure thing, boss.” The kid’s Southern drawl sounded almost sarcastic. She eyed the probationary agent, and he shot her a grin. She sighed. Did he take anything seriously?

Lenny sat at his desk, across from Chris, frowning at his colleague.

Portia wandered over. “It’s late.” She spoke to Lenny in a low tone. “If you want to take off, we can hold down the fort. Catch you up in the morning.”

She could likely use his help, but Lenny needed to be home as much as possible. Working this case late into the night might help with the time zone in Afghanistan, but it wouldn’t help Lenny make sure his mother got to bed.

Lenny gathered his things and said good-night. Anna wandered over and clicked the remote that worked the TV screen between Chris’s and Lenny’s desks. “Update?”

Portia nodded. “Please.”

“I dug into the military record for Corporal Nicholas Stringer,” Anna said.

Portia held her hand up. “The driver’s license ID for the marine based in Washington, or the real one for Declan’s brother out of California?”

“Both.”

“Okay,” Portia said.

“As for the real Nicholas, there isn’t much but standard stuff. I found some interesting things on the Washington one I punted to Squire.”

Declan took a step closer to them. “Squire?”

Portia glanced at him. “Our forensic technician.”

Anna continued, “Squire has the bullet, the shell casings and the deceased’s clothes, so it might take a while, but I’m having him look into a lease. Someone is renting an apartment in Tacoma under the name Nicholas Stringer. I think our dead guy had his ID for a few weeks, at least. Long enough to make a life here.”

Portia nodded. “Social media?”

Anna said, “I had the same thought. I ran his photo in an online search and got a hit that indicates this is bigger than one fabricated ID. A single social media profile with the deceased’s picture and the name Nicholas Stringer. A couple of video shares was all he posted.”

Portia felt her eyebrows rise. “It’s a dummy account?”

“Set up two months ago. Before that, no digital footprint.”

“Some presence is less suspicious than no presence at all.”

Declan said, “What does that mean?”

Portia pointed to the profile Anna had put on-screen. “Someone who wants to stay hidden can stay off the internet, right? Just don’t sign up for those accounts and you’re anonymous. But it’s so uncommon these days that it’s actually kind of suspicious.”

“Because most people have social media accounts now.”

Portia nodded. “So they create a dummy profile. Just enough activity it gets a search result, but doesn’t give anything personal away. He wanted to be seen online using Nicholas Stringer’s ID.”

“How about you?” Declan lifted his chin. “Are you on these sites?”

“Most cops have a fake profile.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.”

This time it was Portia who lifted her chin. “Then I guess we’re even.”

Anna cleared her throat. “Uh...okay. So I’m going back to my desk now.”

Portia glanced at the agent and caught her smiling as she walked away. Declan opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off when Chris called down from the top of the stairs at the far end of the room.

“Stringer. Your brother will be on the line in T-minus two minutes.”

Declan headed for the stairs. Portia followed, and at the bottom step he turned to her. “Are you planning to listen in on my call?”

“I’ll give you privacy if you need it, but I also have questions for your brother that are pertinent to this investigation.”

He looked at her like he didn’t know if he believed her. Whether he did or not, she was about to get an answer to her question. One way or another she would find out what Declan was hiding.

“It’s routine,” she assured him. “And while your brother is at least safe from a murderer over in Afghanistan, I need to know whether you’ll continue to be in danger here.”

Declan shook his head and climbed the stairs. “He’s safe in the line of fire, and I’m the one in danger?”

“We can protect you.”

“It’s usually me standing between the gun and the president, doing the protecting.”

“With a team of people, all currently occupied with that job. So you let us do this for you.”

He stood with his hand on the door handle of the secure room. “And if I don’t need you to do that for me? What if I can protect myself perfectly well?”

“Never hurts to have help.”

He went inside. Portia winced, realizing she actually agreed with him. She would go it alone and take care of herself every single time. Maybe she and Declan Stringer were more alike than she’d thought.

* * *

They were nothing alike. The thought stuck with him while he donned the headphones and sat at a desk in their secure room. The video chat loaded on-screen.

Declan didn’t make a move without the backup of other Secret Service agents. Yes, he believed he could protect himself alone. But only because his instinct was to return to his team and that safety net.

Could he really do that?

If he brought danger back to the White House, he’d be putting lives in jeopardy. As a Secret Service agent, he couldn’t do that. If he was going to maintain operational security on duty this needed to be cleared up before he went back to DC.

The screen flickered and Nicholas’s face was there. Not happy. “What’s up?”

“Hey, Nick.” Declan’s throat closed. He cleared it. “Good to see you. It’s been a long time.” The awkwardness was compounded by the fact Portia was listening to everything.

“There a reason why I hit my bunk for half an hour and then got woken up to exchange small talk with you?”