Sign of the Maker (Boston Crime Thriller Book 4) by Brian Shea (ebook reader android .txt) 📕

Superintendent Juan Carlos Acevedo’s SUV pull to a stop on the outskirts of the yellow tape blocking access onto Tremont at West. He was flanked by his entourage of underlings, who usually circled him like flies around a horse's tail, waiting for his next command or to laugh at one of his bad jokes. But nobody was laughing today. Nobody would laugh until they caught the person or persons responsible and brought them to justice. And Kelly knew that could mean two very different things.

"Kelly, let me see you for a minute." Halstead flagged him over with a wave of his arm.

Kelly turned his back to the carnage and walked to his supervisor. "What's up, Sarge? I was just going to run back to the evidence van, see if Charles had any more placards."

"You can check on that in a minute. I want you to meet a couple of people."

Kelly cocked an eyebrow. He’d known it was coming, just not exactly when. Bombings were terrorist acts, and federal agencies typically handled those. Especially when the Bureau's headquarters at the John F. Kennedy Federal Building were only a couple blocks away on Congress Street. Agents were on the scene already. Kelly hadn't been keeping track, but the number of suited federal agents had grown exponentially since he'd first arrived. Another contingent of dark SUVs arrived, four deep.

"Captain Acevedo is handing this investigation over to the FBI and ATF. Homeland Security is assisting, but the lead will go to the Bureau." Halstead offered no indication in his tone or manner if this news bothered him.

"Figured. Just wondered why it took them so long."

"They were waiting for their bomb expert to arrive."

"I guess he's here now." Kelly walked alongside Halstead. They were heading to greet the arriving agents, who were now speaking with Acevedo and his men.

"She. Not he. Their resident bomb expert is ATF Agent Alexa Mills. Heard she's one of the best."

Kelly looked back at the café’s destroyed facade. "She'd better be."

5

Halstead moved ahead at a quick pace. Kelly slowed and turned, whistling at Barnes to get her attention. She was talking with Hutch over by an ambulance but left the conversation with the hulking firefighter and walked over to Kelly.

"Ready to meet the varsity team?" He rolled his eyes.

"Are we benched?"

"Does it matter if we are?"

"No." Her eyes were vacant. He'd seen the change come over her before. The mental distancing needed to move past the trauma. It was like flipping a switch, cruising on autopilot. Kelly knew because he had been there. "They could fire me right now on the spot and I wouldn’t stop looking."

It was as if she was in his head, speaking the same words he was thinking. That was why he felt the way he did about Kristen Barnes, although he'd never said it out loud. Neither of them had. The idea of that scared him to death. Maybe her too. Kelly would have rather faced down the barrel of a loaded gun than enter another serious relationship, until he and Barnes got together. Then, everything changed. He'd been working up the courage to say the four-letter word. Kelly wasn't scared of much. But love? That damn well terrified him. Ever since the dissolution of his first marriage, Kelly had closed off that part of himself. Barnes had found a way in.

"We best catch up." He didn’t say the words he should have. They moved at almost a jog until they reached Halstead.

Kelly stood in his blood-soaked running apparel, surrounded by the shining collar brass of his supervisors and the small horde of well-dressed federal agents taking up positions around the head of Boston PD's Criminal Investigations Services.

"Sir." He acknowledged the senior ranking officer. Kelly once had a little blowout with Acevedo's son, who also worked Homicide. The two butted heads when Kelly jumped him in the rotation when a priest was murdered in his childhood church.

Acevedo seemed genuinely devastated at the sight of the destruction around them. He was definitely more politician than cop, but Kelly could see the bombing struck home for the native Bostonian. "You two did a hell of a thing this morning. I'm proud of both of you." Acevedo, the BPD four-star commander, laid a hand on their shoulders, though he did it in a way that appeared disingenuous, like he had rehearsed this moment. Kelly chose to believe there had to be some truth behind the sentiment.

"Thanks," he and Barnes muttered simultaneously.

"With that being said," Acevedo continued, "this is now a matter of federal jurisdiction. The FBI's Counter-Terror Task Force will take over the primary role in the investigation of this bombing."

Kelly bit the inside of his lip and tasted blood. "What are we supposed to do? Sit around and be their coffee runners?"

"I don't drink coffee. More of a tea guy myself." A portly agent in a gray suit stepped forward. He wasn't the poster child for the FBI. The frayed suit was stretched thin at the seams, his face was the color of skim milk, and he had bags underneath a set of beady brown eyes. His thick mustache curled beyond his lip and into his mouth. It had at one time been a dark brown. Bits and pieces of those hairs were still left on his lip, but the rest were a yellowing gray.

He was older than the typical field agent. If Kelly had to guess, somewhere in his late forties or early fifties.

"I'm Special Agent Dan Langston,” the agent said. “This is my partner, Agent Cameron Salinger."

"Cam's fine." Salinger was tall, fit, and young. He was everything Langston wasn't.

Langston shot the junior agent a look of annoyance. "We're going to need your help on this. From what I can see, you've already got a good start. And we will appreciate anything you can do."

"What's our role going to be?" Barnes stepped in.

"You're going to help with whatever we need,” the agent said. His words annoyed Kelly.

"There are plenty of cameras in the area,” he