Tactical Deception: Silent Warrior, Book 2 by J.L. Saint Page A

cell and home phones, and her mother’s cell and home phones would be tapped. He needed to get to a safe line before he called to talk to anyone. He didn’t want anything he had to say about SOO de Jerk being overheard. That would all have to happen tomorrow. He was done for the day and wanted nothing more than to hold Angie as close to him as possible. If someone from Bragg wanted to talk to him, they’d have to call him. He was out of the loop for the time being.
    They stopped for Chinese takeout and reached Angie’s house shortly after. By then, Rico had given her the full story of what happened from the moment he’d left her to go after the sniper until he saw her at the precinct. He also heard radio accounts from the other cities attacked. The snipers’ targets had him reeling. A freaking school bus full of children?
    Learning the horrible scope of the sniper attacks across the country amplified Rico’s responsibility.
    “What if I fingered the wrong suspect today, Angel? More people may die and their blood will be on my hands.”
    Angie pulled into her driveway and hit the brakes. “How can you possibly take the blame for this tragedy?”
    “My mistake has caused a day’s loss in finding the guilty party.” He rubbed his temples hard, barely seeing the quaint, red-bricked ranch house in front of him.
    “Is that the crap they fed you at the police station? Your head’s going to explode if you keep filling it with bull. No wonder you can’t think. I don’t want to hear another word until you’ve had a chance to rest.”
    He wrestled with his duffle bag and silently cursed his inability to effectively help as she juggled the Chinese food while opening the front door. The weakness in his arm was worse than it had been before chasing down the sniper. He was sure he’d reinjured the nerves he’d recently had surgery on.
    “I don’t know about you, but I need some major relax time.” She skipped the kitchen/dining area with the food and headed for the coffee table in the living room.
    He followed and set his bag on the floor. “I’m in as soon as I can hit the restroom.”
    “Down the hall on your left. You like light jazz?”
    “That works.”
    Angie turned on the stereo and the melodic sounds of a sax filled the house. Rico had no doubt the FBI and NCS had ears on the place. He hoped they went nuts trying to hear them over the music.
    Checking out the photographs on the walls, he moved down the hall. The interior had her personality stamped all over it—vibrant colors and unique art. Each photograph evoked a feeling, be it a sunset across a graveyard, a child reaching for an ice cream cone, a flower glistening with dew, a waving flag, or a collection of mischievous smiles at different ages from a pair of identical twins he had no trouble recognizing. Matt and Mitch. Angie’s godsons, which by now felt like his too. His stomach twisted again at the thought that the boys were supposed to have been at Piedmont Park today. He could still see and hear that little girl running for her murdered father and the subsequent bullet directed her way. If she would have been killed… Hell. He couldn’t go there. Not now. Not ever.
    Now that he was out of the interrogation fire, he could see a bit more of SA Gibson and de Jerk’s hard-ass positions in questioning him so intently and so long. He was the only witness to a horrific crime that involved the entire country. Apart from de Jerk’s witch-hunting grudge against the team, the men were obligated to search out the tiniest clue possible to find the perpetrators.
    Rico shuddered under the heavy responsibility that he was obligated to shoulder—just as soon as he had a few hours to regroup and rest. He quickly used the facilities and hurried back out to the living room.
    Angie looked up as she plucked open a carton. “I have a confession to make.”
    “What?”
    “I’m a pot-sticker fiend.”
    “That sounds like a warning, not a confession.”
    “You