Sign of the Maker (Boston Crime Thriller Book 4) Brian Shea (black authors fiction txt) 📖

first happened, I didn't talk to people for a very long time about it. But I've come to realize that was a very dangerous way to approach recovery. Lot of dark days. I now understand that sharing helps cast a little light. At least that's what my shrink says."

Kelly liked her honesty and willingness to risk potential ridicule or judgment from exposing the fact she'd sought counseling. He respected her bravery. He'd wished he'd taken the mandatory counseling sessions more seriously after the Baxter Green incident.

"Didn't a couple of agents get killed during the raid?" Kelly asked.

"Just one." Mills was silent for a moment, looking at the road in front of her. Neither Kelly nor Barnes spoke, respecting her unspoken request for silence.

"My partner, Trent Darby, died in the blast. We were sent in to try to clear the path, make sure that there were no IEDs before they sent in a contingent from the FBI's Hostage Rescue Team. It was supposed to be a simple clearing. At the time, the intel suggested that Belcher had the materials but hadn't formulated or created any actual bombs. The source was a family friend who had been in the house the day before and saw no completed bombs. Fearing the window of time on that was small, the powers that be decided to make the move to get in there before he could create something. We learned too late the family member had been in cahoots with Belcher and intentionally failed to mention the improvised explosive devices scattered around the exterior of his home-turned-compound. We came across one of them." Mills lowered her voice. "Ever heard of a bouncing Betty?"

"Saw it in a war movie once," Barnes said. "It's like a pop-up mine, right? You step on it and it shoots up into the air or something?"

"Yes. Trent took the brunt of it. That's how I survived. His body shielded me from taking the full force of the blast. I woke up eight days later in a hospital bed. I still have no recall of anything after the explosion. I may have lost my foot but at least I survived. Trent wasn’t so lucky. The shrapnel nearly cut him in half. It's the one thing I'm grateful for. I don't remember that part. I've seen pictures but I still can't remember it firsthand. Most of what I'm telling you has been filled in by other agents who responded on scene."

"I can't imagine. I lost a partner years back." Kelly thought of the circumstances surrounding his partner's death and the revelation and knowledge of the secret life leading him to it. He realized it didn't merit the same weight as what Mills had just described.

"Last I remember, they didn't catch Belcher? I followed the story for a little bit. Everyone did, I think."

"He's still out there. Every once in a while, there's a faint trail, a sighting, a message sent, but in the years since, Belcher managed to elude capture. But just like our bomber now, he left something behind."

"His mark?" Barnes said.

"Similar to the phoenix. It's a crudely drawn red fist with a black cross. And since our failed attempt to bring him in six years ago, he has taken the lives of three other people that we know about. To this day his whereabouts are completely unknown. He’s been near the top of the FBI's Most Wanted list since making it. I'd like to take him off it someday."

"Why didn't you take the medical?" Barnes asked.

"Because then he wins. Then, Belcher killed two cops that day in Wichita. And I couldn't let that happen. I couldn't do that to Trent. We were like family. Friends outside of the job. I knew his wife, Karla, and absolutely adored his daughter, Gretchen. She's nine now, six years without her father and no real memory of him to carry forward for the rest of her life. I couldn't take the medical because I'm bound beyond the badge."

Bound beyond the badge, Kelly thought. It was true. It happened. The calling that brought many cops to the job didn't always last. The job wore a person down. Every once in a while, the hunt became fueled by true desire that went well beyond a paycheck. It was what kept Kelly in the office long after others had left. It was what kept some cops in the game until their last breath.

Kelly had been bound by his partner Rourke's death. In many ways he still was. Pieces of a puzzle he sometimes wished he hadn't solved were now tied to Kelly like chromosomes in his DNA. The memory of the Rourke he knew clashed with the reality of what he'd learned. That division caused Kelly to question his relationship with the job, but in those moments where the shady gray of law enforcement fell away, Kelly found the work continued to call to him. With a bomber once again terrorizing his city, Kelly felt that call louder than ever before. He owned this responsibility, the way a father would a child.

"Well, I think I can speak for both of us when I say this: we're glad to have you with us." Barnes took her hand off the wheel to raise her cup of coffee in cheers. "And it's nice to have somebody keeping us in the loop too."

"Those guys aren't so bad. Langston's a bit rough around the edges. I worked with him on a case a few years back. He starts out like a grizzly waking from hibernation. He eventually comes around and you'll see he's really a teddy bear."

Kelly gave an exaggerated exhale.

"I'm not the guy's cheerleader,” she continued. “And I know he doesn't act like it, but the proof is in the pudding. I've seen him solve cases everybody else had written off. He cares. Langston's just got a crap way of showing it. I can't speak to Salinger, having never worked with him before. Seems a bit green, but eager. That can be