Payback, p.1
Payback, page 1
PAYBACK
A Gin Reilly FBI Thriller Book 4
C.R. Chandler
Copyright © 2025 by C.R. Chandler
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Contents
Also By C.R. Chandler
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Also By C.R. Chandler
GIN REILLY FBI THRILLER
(Mystery/Thriller)
A Hard Truth
A Dark Road
Payback
SPECIAL AGENT RICKI JAMES
(Mystery/Thriller)
One Final Breath
One Last Scream
One Life Gone
Waiting In The Dark
Running In The Night
Hiding In The Shadows
Colder Than Ice
Dead Of Winter
The Blind Spot
No Place To Hide
When Night Falls
Chasing Lies
Under the Pen Name Cat Chandler
FOOD AND WINE CLUB MYSTERIES
(Cozy Mysteries)
A Special Blend of Murder
Dinner, Drinks, and Murder
A Burger, Fries, and Murder
Champagne, Cupcakes, and Murder
Tea, Dessert, and Murder
Chapter One
Special Agent Gin Reilly stared down at the charred remains of two bodies, their skin gone and the exposed bones of their limbs contorted into unnatural angles. A single pair of handcuffs still circled what was left of their right wrists, joining them together in death. She kept her own hands inside her jacket’s pockets and her expression blank as her green-eyed gaze moved down to one of the victim’s legs.
A blackened ankle bone rested inside a metal shackle that was attached to a heavy chain. The intertwined links ran along the floor before circling the base of what was left of a post. Tethered to each other and then to the post, there wasn’t a chance in hell either of the victims could have escaped the fire that had ripped through what was once a popular dance club.
“Making sure neither of them got out was definitely the point,” she murmured as she continued to study the grisly scene. Her eyes widened slightly at the sound of a deep, rough voice coming from behind her.
“I wouldn’t disagree with you, which is why my boss gave you guys a call.”
Gin slowly nodded but didn’t turn around. She’d spotted him, and the gold shield attached to his belt, as soon as he’d moved to intercept her when she’d first entered the burned-out shell of the building. “We’re always glad to help, detective.” When he walked around and stood in front of her, she raised her gaze to meet his. “But I’m not sure what you need us to do.”
Brown eyes, with dark circles and heavy bags underneath them, stared back at her. “It’s more like what we can do for you.” Heavy-set shoulders, covered by an unbuttoned, ratty-looking overcoat, lifted into a brief shrug before he held out a beefy hand. “I’m Detective Stroberg, with the Denver PD’s homicide unit.” His voice sounded strained and his eyes watered a little as he rubbed a hand along his cheek. The shadow of a beard made a faint scratchy sound against his fingers. “My lieutenant said there would be two of you coming.”
“I’m Special Agent Reilly with the FBI’s Critical Crimes Unit.” Gin gave his hand a quick shake before returning hers to the warmth of her jacket pockets. Even in May, the air in Denver was cold at three o’clock in the morning. “My partner’s on his way.”
Stroberg’s lips pursed, then stretched into a frown and the lines running down the sides of his broad face deepened into caverns. “Okay. Do we wait for him before I give you a rundown on what we found here?”
“No. I’ll fill him in.” Gin inclined her head toward what was left of the two contorted bodies lying on the floor. “Maybe you could start with why you’ll be helping us, rather than the other way around.”
“I guess the guy who called you out here didn’t tell you much?” Stroberg made a rough noise that sounded like a grunt, which could have been interpreted as sympathy or disgust. “Figures.” He pointed at the burned remains of the wide sliding door that had once been the entrance to the club. “My forensic guy has a staging area set up outside.” He coughed several times before sending her an apologetic look. “The air is a lot better out there, and Jimmy has something you need to see.” He coughed again before firmly clamping his mouth shut, settling for jerking his head toward the open door.
She didn’t have any objections to that. The air inside the building still carried an overwhelming odor of smoke, and like the detective, she’d been fighting the urge to cough ever since she’d stepped inside. Fresh air would go a long way to clearing out her head and nose.
Without another word she strode toward the entrance, leaving the homicide detective to trail after her. Once she was clear of most of the lingering smoke, she took in a deep breath before glancing over at Stroberg, who’d stopped right next to her. He was slightly bent at the waist, making a faint sucking noise as he drew in a chestful of air.
The detective slowly blew it out, then looked at her through eyes painted red around the edges. “Sorry. I can’t stand the smell of smoke, which is why I never got into cigarettes, pot, or any of that kind of shit.” He made a quick growling noise deep in his throat. “After all these years, I still can’t stand that stench. It’s just my luck to be on call when two guys get caught in a fire.”
“Mine too,” Gin said to be agreeable, since it was more likely those two guys had been deliberately burned to death rather than simply caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. She also didn’t bother to mention that she was always on call. Especially since Stephen, her former partner, had moved into the senior agent in charge role at the Denver office, and was no longer doing field work.
The fact was, she and her new partner, Treynor Robard, were the only members of the homicide team who were currently present in Denver. The Bureau’s Critical Crimes Unit hadn’t existed for long, and the two new recruits for what the other CCU teams had come to call “the murder squad” weren’t scheduled to arrive until next week. So until then, she and Trey had to handle all the high-profile homicides. Trey, who is still MIA, Gin thought with more than a tinge of annoyance. She knew his apartment was only a ten-minute drive away, so where was the guy?
When the detective coughed again with enough force to have him completely doubling over, Gin stepped closer and gave him several hard smacks on the back. “Are you okay?”
“I’m good,” he wheezed. His face had lost all color, and his eyes were now red enough for him to look like he was possessed by the devil. Still panting, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a square piece of white cloth that he held up to his mouth. At least it looked a lot cleaner and less wrinkled than the pants and shirt he was wearing. “Like I said, me and smoke don’t get along.” Stroberg kept the cloth pressed against his face, using his free hand to wave toward the far corner of the building. “Jimmy is set up over there. The firefighters saved that back part of the club, so there’s a lot less stink from the smoke down there.” His voice was muffled behind the handkerchief as he gave her a resigned look. “But I can fill you in right here while we wait for that partner of yours.”
“He’ll find us. Let’s go see what Jimmy has to show me.” Gin suppressed a smile at the long, relieved sigh from Stroberg. She made sure to keep within arm’s distance as they walked together. She was under no illusion she’d be able to support the weight of the beefy detective, but she might be able to break his fall if he collapsed along the way.
A tall, emaciated-looking man with thinning hair and protruding cheekbones was talking to a dark-haired woman, waving his spidery arms in the air to emphasize whatever he was saying. His audience of one was dressed in a white hazard suit with the hood hanging down her back and was tall enough to look him right in the eye. She stood with her head cocked to the side, one hand on her hip while the other held a clipboard.
As he and Gin got closer, Stroberg muttered something about “opinionated prick” under his breath before calling out to draw the forensic tech’s attention. “Jimmy? What are you jawing at Irene about? She doesn’t have time to listen to you. She’s got a fire to investigate.”
Irene turned to face the detective, her generous mouth curved into a huge smile. “Oh, our favorite evidence guy here was pointing out to me all the signs of the fire being deliberately set, just in case I missed them.”
“It’s my job to notice things like t hat,” the tech stated indignantly. He drew himself up to his full height as his gaze darted over to Gin. “Who are you?”
“It’s Irene’s job to notice things like that. It’s your job to collect evidence, which is what we’re here to see.” Stroberg jerked his thumb at Gin. “This is Special Agent Reilly with the FBI’s Critical Crimes Unit. They sent her out here to take over the case.”
Since his bald statement that her team would be taking over the case still hadn’t been made official to her, Gin shot the detective a sideways look before turning a smile on the now-gaping Jimmy. “I understand you have something to show me?”
The lanky tech blinked several times, but his feet stayed rooted to the ground. When his mouth dropped open, no sound came out as he stared at her in horror. She couldn’t blame him. The Feds taking over one of your cases was a huge taboo among any local law enforcement.
Irene rolled her eyes at his silence before giving Gin a speculative look. “Is the FBI’s interest in the arson or the victims?”
“I’m with the homicide team,” Gin said by way of an answer, adding in a pleasant voice, “While Jimmy recovers from his shock, I’d appreciate it if you could tell me about the fire.”
The woman nodded and held out a hand. “I’m Irene Masters, by the way. I’m the fire investigator assigned to this one.” She shook Gin’s hand then lifted the clipboard, using it to point toward the building behind them. “Are you familiar with The Oasis?”
The night club was in a converted brick warehouse, set inside a light industrial area at the lower end of downtown Denver, and just under two miles north of Coor’s Field, home to the city’s Major League Baseball team. The area’s old, historic buildings were seeing new life, with a wide variety of restaurants and entertainment venues taking over the area.
The Oasis was part of that renewal, set on a street of both active and abandoned warehouses, and not too far from the railroad tracks. After the daytime workers clocked out and went home to their dinners, the club came to life, with the deserted streets offering plenty of parking, and no neighbors to complain about the noise. It was lively, very popular with Denver’s young professionals, and now a burned-out shell of its former self.
“I’ve heard of it.” Gin turned slightly to get a better look at the former warehouse, its red-brick exterior streaked with black from scorch marks and water-soaked soot. “But I’d never been inside before tonight. It looks like there isn’t much left in there.”
“There’s not much still standing in the front part of the club,” Irene agreed before her mouth settled into a grim line. “I’ve been here a couple of times. It had a kickass bar that ran the entire length of the place, and a decent sized dance floor so you didn’t feel packed onto it like a sardine in a can.” She gave a light shrug. “Except for Friday and Saturday nights. But that’s all gone now, which tends to happen when something is doused with an accelerant then set on fire.” She drew in a long breath before meeting Gin’s gaze head-on. “I’ll need to spend more time in there, and I’m no medical examiner, but as a preliminary guess, I’d say that accelerant dousing included two of the bodies. The ones chained to what used to be a post going all the way up to the second floor.”
Stroberg’s eyes narrowed into a squint. “I didn’t see any second floor.”
“It was wood and likely went up in flames before the post burned down. What was left of it fell to the ground, mostly over to the left side of the dance floor. Close to where a large group of tables used to be.” Irene shook her head. “They’re gone, too.”
Gin’s slowly studied the fire investigator’s face. “You said two of the bodies.” She shifted her stance enough to look directly at Stroberg. “Are there more than two bodies?”
Stroberg’s mouth turned down at the corners. “Yeah. The firefighters found two women in a utility closet at the end of a hallway behind the bar. They weren’t chained together so I’m thinking they were probably collateral damage.”
“Collateral damage,” Gin repeated slowly. “Okay. Was the door to the closet locked?”
The detective frowned. “Nope. I asked the fire guys and was told that they didn’t need to kick it in. They just turned the handle, opened it, and saw the two women sitting up against a shelf in the corner.”
“I took a quick look, Agent Reilly,” Irene volunteered. “Like the detective said, that utility closet is at the end of a hallway, and the women weren’t badly burned, so I’m guessing they died from smoke inhalation while trapped in that small room. There wasn’t much space in there. It was more like a walk-in closet with no vents or windows.”
“I’m sure you’re right, but we’ll see if the medical examiner agrees. In the meantime, I’d like to take a look for myself.” From the corner of her eye, Gin saw Stroberg wince. Having witnessed the detective’s problem with smoke, she shifted toward Irene. “Would you mind pointing it out to me after I’ve looked at whatever Jimmy found?” When the fire inspector nodded, Gin glanced at Stroberg. “And if you wouldn’t mind waiting here so we can compare notes? I’ll also check with my boss to verify who will be taking the lead on the case.”
Jimmy’s body gave a shake that was weirdly similar to what a dog would do when waking up from a nap. “What I’ve got is a big deal. It’s proof that those two vics were definitely the reason for the fire. Someone killed them first and then set the fire to cover it all up.”
“Why don’t you let us be the detectives and you be the evidence guy and show Agent Reilly what you’ve got. Preferably without all the extra crap,” Stroberg’s voice snapped like a whip cracking in the air.
“Fine,” Jimmy sniffed. “It’s over here.” He used one heel to spin halfway around and then marched to a nearby squad car. Opening the back door, he took out a large paper bag, his bony fingers gripping the top as he gestured for Gin to move closer. Once she’d complied, he reached into the bag and pulled out a rectangular piece of metal about the size of a car’s license plate, encased in a clear plastic evidence bag. He used two fingers to hold it up close to his chest. “What do you think of this?”
Gin went still as she studied the sign. Letters were etched into the metal and then painted white to make them stand out.
ALL MUST PAY
A rock dropped to the pit of her stomach. She’d seen those words before. Once in a bulletin alert circulated inside the Bureau, and then again on the national news.
Two other murder victims, several states away from each other and from Colorado, had been found with that same message. The press had done its usual thing for several weeks, flashing large headlines warning about a roaming murderer who set his victims on fire. But she hadn’t heard or read anything for a while about any other victims with a similar cause of death. And with nothing new to report, the hype had disappeared. At least there had been nothing new until tonight.
Now there were two additional burned bodies that could be added to the list. Four more counting the two women found in the closet. It certainly answered the question why her team had been called out on this case. The murders crossed state lines, and once news got out about the metal sign, the press was going to have a field day.
“Well? What do you think?”
She slowly lifted her eyes until she was staring into Jimmy’s excited gaze. “I think it looks a lot less burned than everything else inside the club. Where did you find it?”
“Under one of the bodies.” The forensic tech straightened his arms and practically thrust the sign up against her nose. “Are you saying that an FBI agent doesn’t know what this means? The killer who burns his victims up is in Denver.”
Gin didn’t take a step back but stood her ground and stared at the man over the charred rim of the sign long enough to make him nervously shift his weight from side to side. “I’m saying that you need to get that out of my face, and then Fire Investigator Masters and I are going to do a walk-through of the scene.” She waited, her unblinking stare meeting his nervous one.
A streak of red danced across the spindly tech’s cheeks as he jumped backwards. “Sorry.” But as soon as he was at a safe distance, the attitude came roaring back, and Jimmy stuck his chin out. “But you’re FBI, so you should have heard about this sign. And that fire-setting killer. It’s important. It proves he’s loose in Denver.”
