by Andrea Kane
Those precautions gave her an additional sense of security. But she was still edgy and alert, ready to defend herself if need be.
And after three years of Krav Maga classes, she could do that no problem.
Best Western Garden State Inn
Absecon, New Jersey
10:05 A.M.
Sloane was in the bathroom, gingerly towel-drying her hair with one hand, when Derek returned to the hotel room.
“Breakfast,” he announced, placing a box of Dunkin’ Donuts on the dresser. “Sorry it’s junk food again, but my choices were limited.”
“So’s our breakfast break,” Sloane reminded him, tossing aside her towel and emerging from the bathroom. “We’ve got to get back to work. As for the cuisine, I’m starving. I’ll eat anything, fat and carbs included. So here I am.” She gave an appreciative sniff. “Dunkin’ makes the best coffee. I can’t wait.”
“No need to.” Derek placed one steaming take-out cup into her left hand, his lips twitching as he eyed her. “Very stylish. I wish I had a camera.”
“What?” Sloane glanced down at herself, swallowed up by Derek’s black sweatpants and Colorado State sweatshirt, both of which she’d belted at the waist to keep them in place. “I’m not an ad for Vogue?”
“Uh…no. Then again, enveloped by my sweats, you’re invisible. No one could find you to take your picture.”
“Speaking of which, the Bureau should pay for my suit. It was a Tahari—one of my favorites. And it cost an arm and a leg.”
“Don’t hold your breath. Reimbursement for designer clothes isn’t in the FBI budget.”
“I remember.” Sloane took a gulp of coffee, then sat down and helped herself to a jelly donut. “Pigging out has its advantages—especially when you’re wearing clothes that are three sizes too big for you. No sucking in your gut. No struggling with zippers. Just eat as you wish. Then, when reality sets in, add a few extra miles onto your next morning’s jog, and an extra hour of strength training and target shooting on the archery course.”
“I wouldn’t worry.” Derek polished off his first donut and started on his second. “You haven’t gained an ounce since Cleveland. After last night, I can attest to that.”
A taut silence followed that declaration.
“Should we talk about what happened?” Derek finally asked.
“Not necessary.” Sloane shook her head. “It was what it was.”
“Very cryptic. Care to clarify?”
“There’s nothing to clarify. You said it yourself—we have amazing chemistry in bed. If you’re asking if I’m going to pretend it never happened, the answer’s no. It did happen. We both wanted it to. It was incredible. It lasted all night. And now it’s morning.”
Derek took a careful swallow of coffee. “Is that your way of saying it was a one-shot deal?”
“That’s my way of saying we shouldn’t overthink this. No decisions are necessary. If we force ourselves to make them, it’ll only complicate things and create all sorts of weirdness between us. We can’t afford that, not personally or professionally.”
“So the door’s not closed.”
“Not unless you want it to be.”
“Uh-uh,” Derek returned adamantly. “Not only don’t I want it closed, I don’t even want it ajar. I want it wide open. That way, we can walk through it whenever we both want to. Which I already do.”
Sloane’s eyes twinkled. “I’m that good, huh?”
“Better.”
“So are you. But don’t let it go to your head.”
“I’ll try.” Derek grinned. “Although it’s tough, given how many times you begged me to—”
“Enough,” Sloane commanded, holding up a silencing palm—although she was openly smiling, relaxed in a way she hadn’t been for ages. “If you start a game of one-upmanship, you’ll lose. I’ll be forced to show you the marks you left on my body—everywhere on my body—when you lost control. I’ll probably have bruises for a week.”
“But I get points for being gentle with your hand,” Derek reminded her. His smile faded, and his brows drew together. “I was gentle with it, wasn’t I?”
“That you were.” Sloane glanced down at the bandages.
“Are you still in a lot of pain?”
“Actually, no. My hand feels much better. I haven’t taken a Vicodin since just after midnight. I’ll be calmer once Connie’s taken a look at it, but my guess is, it’s on the mend.”
“I’m glad.”
The ringing of Derek’s cell phone interrupted their conversation.
He put down his coffee, snapped open the phone, and answered. “Parker.” A pause. “You have something for me?” Derek looked at Sloane and mouthed the words campus police. “Right. In the data-storage archives.” A nod. “Makes sense. You’re sure they include the surveillance footage from that section of Lake Fred? April fourteenth of last year? Perfect.” He gave Sloane a thumbs-up. “Burn me a copy, starting a week before Penelope Truman’s disappearance right up to the day she vanished.”
“Two,” Sloane ordered in a whisper, holding up two fingers. “Burn two copies.”
“I’ll need two sets of DVDs,” Derek amended. “One for the FBI and one for Ms. Burbank.” A quick glance at his watch. “I’ll pick them up the minute they’re ready. How long?” Derek’s jaw tightened. “Four or five days? That’s not going to cut it. Yes, I’m aware of how much footage we’re talking about, and that it spans a full week. I’m also aware that we’re talking about a potential homicide investigation. I’ll get the college president to approve whatever overtime, equipment, and manpower you need to get the job done ASAP.”
Another pause. “How’s this for a compromise? Copy all the footage from April fourteenth and have that set of DVDs ready for me first thing tomorrow. The rest you can feed me in batches, as they’re completed. I’ll need the whole week’s worth in three days max. Beg, borrow, and steal equipment, and work it round the clock if need be. Great. So we understand each other. I’ll swing by at nine A.M. tomorrow.”
Derek disconnected the call and turned to Sloane. “I guess we lit a fire under the right asses. They found that footage even faster than I expected.”
“Even if it’s taking them a millennium to copy it. What’s the holdup?”
“They need extra disk drives, more techs—evidently, we’re talking about producing quite a hefty DVD collection, somewhere around twenty-five disks.”
“I suppose that makes sense. Well, at least you twisted their arms enough to get us the footage from the day of the abduction by tomorrow.” Sloane sighed. “Part of this is me, and my impatience. Nothing about this case is moving fast enough for me. Or for the Trumans. I’m praying there’s something on that damned footage that will lead to the answers they so desperately need.”
“What they need is closure,” Derek qualified pointedly.
Sloane shot him a glare. “You’re about as subtle as an avalanche.”
“Just making sure we’re on the same page.”
“Then I’ll say it in plain English so you can stop worrying.” Sloane neither flinched nor looked away. “Like I told you when I took on this case, I’m as aware of the odds as you are. It’s been a year. Short of a miracle, Penny’s dead. I’m not counting on handing the Trumans a happy ending. Just a modicum of peace and an end to the horror of not knowing.”
“The knowing could be worse.”
“I doubt that. Not after the scenarios they’ve imagined all these months.”
“Maybe. But the problem with knowing is that any hope they’ve held out, however irrational, will be gone.”
“I get it, Derek. And we’ll talk about counseling when the time comes. Right now we’re getting way ahead of ourselves. First we have to solve the case. Then we’ll deal with the aftermath. So back to the video surveillance. Can you messenger my copies to me tomorrow? I want them hot off the disk drives.”
“Are you footing the bill for messenger service? Because the Bureau sure won’t.”
“I realize that. I’ll take care of the expense.”
“Then consider it done.”
“What about your copies? Will you be sending them straight down to Quantico?”
“Pretty much. First, I’ll scan each of them to see if anything obvious jumps out at me. Then I’ll overnight them down to the FBI lab. They can pick up subtleties I can’t.”
“My thoughts exactly.” Sloane caught her lower lip between her teeth as her mind organized the task into a logical sequence. “You have the manpower and the technical sophistication of the FBI backing you up. I have the personal investment and the luxury of being my own boss—which means no time accountability. So I can watch and rewatch DVDs round the clock. With all that going for us, something will turn up. It has to.”
Derek was just opening his mouth to reply, when his cell phone rang again. He punched it on. “Parker.” He was quiet for a while, his forehead creased in concentration. “The dates and times match up? What about today? Nothing? You’re sure?” A harsh exhale. “Okay, e-mail me your whole analysis. In the meantime, just give me the phone numbers.” He grabbed a hotel pad and pen, and scribbled something down. “Thanks, Chuck. I owe you one.”
Sloane eyed Derek as he disconnected the call and stared at the piece of hotel stationery. “Does this relate to our case?” she asked. “Or should I butt out?”
“No, you shouldn’t butt out. It’s about you.” Derek raised his head to meet her gaze. He didn’t look or sound happy. “That was the analyst I had checking out your phone records to figure out where your ‘unavailable’ calls were coming from, and who your mystery caller is. Seems the calls are being made from two separate cell phones. Both disposable. Both currently turned off. Clearly, your stalker doesn’t want to be traced.”
“Not a shock. What else?”
“The timing and the escalation of the calls. They started at dawn on Monday, along with your sense of being watched. They’ve been increasing in number ever since. Yesterday afternoon took the prize. Nineteen calls. Most of which were made while you were at Stockton.”
“This isn’t the first time I’ve been harassed. It’s happened a couple of times, usually while I was consulting on a high-profile case. Remember, the Bureau protects you by keeping your name out of the media. That doesn’t work with me. I’m a private consultant.”
“What high-profile cases are you consulting on?”
“Several. Some ongoing, some recently completed. Some involving law enforcement, some not. That’s all I can tell you. My client list is confidential.”
“Which ones have you taken on most recently—like in the past week or two?” Derek demanded. “Cases that have resulted in your name showing up in the newspapers, which makes them public record?”
Sloane inclined her head thoughtfully. “I’m helping the NYPD in their search for Cynthia Alexander, the missing John Jay student. The whole campus is crawling with media because of her disappearance. I’ve been mentioned in the papers because of that. Oh, and I was also mentioned because I spoke at a Crimes Against Women seminar at John Jay the day before Cynthia went missing. Then, of course, there’s the Truman case, cold as it is. Ronald Truman is a renowned cardiologist and author. He’s been pretty vocal about the fact that we’ve uncovered new leads on Penny’s disappearance, and about the fact that he’s hired me and elicited the full cooperation of the FBI.”
“Let’s see.” Derek counted off on his fingers. “A seminar about women and crime. Two missing persons cases—both involving women. Both unsolved. Both with lots of media attention. And both with you right in the middle of them. Not a coincidence in my book.”
Sloane paused. “Nor mine. Not when you sum it up that way. So maybe my harasser spotted my name in print. Maybe whatever he read either turned him on or pissed him off. Probably the latter. There are still lots of chauvinists out there.”
“You’re assuming this guy is just some media hound or a wack job who gets his thrills out of scaring the shit out of notable women he finds in the newspaper by following them around and barraging them with crank calls?”
“I’m not an idiot, Derek. I realize this is personal. And that this guy is probably unstable and could be gearing up to go after me physically, not just call or watch me from a distance. That’s why I wanted to nip his calls in the bud. But, as I said, I have a lot of clients. So I didn’t connect the dots the same way you did.”
“You’re still not connecting them. You’re classifying this guy as some warped outsider. Did it ever occur to you that he’s an insider—one who’s personally involved in a case you’re working on? That he’s targeted you as a threat that needs to be eliminated, either by scaring you off, or worse? Remember, you’re a lot more vulnerable to an attack than the police or the FBI.”
“Good point.” Rather than worry, a glint of hope lit Sloane’s eyes. “If we follow your theory, that opens up a whole new realm of possibilities—particularly since most of the missed calls came yesterday while I was at Richard Stockton. My anonymous caller must have spent the better part of the day focused on me and what I was doing—which was investigating Penny’s case. What if that’s the case he’s connected to? What if he’s following me because the Trumans brought me in to work with you to solve it? It would fit your theory. If this jerk’s done his homework, he knows I’m good at what I do. He also knows that Penny and I were close friends. Close enough that I might figure out something before the authorities do. His increased activity yesterday means he feels threatened—which could work in our favor.”
“Except for one small detail. Your safety.” Derek was scowling. “You just said it yourself. He’s probably not going to limit himself to telephone calls and random drop-bys to freak you out. He’s already stalking you, maybe even leaving you little warning messages—like the nail in your tire. He’s getting bolder, more aggressive.”
“And, hopefully in the process, more careless.”
“His next step will be direct contact.”
“Good. Maybe we can jump the gun and lure him out.”
“Forget it. We’re not using you as bait.”
Sloane said nothing. And that said everything.
“Sloane.” Derek’s voice held a warning note.
She blew out a breath. “Let’s save the knock-down, drag-out fight for when, and if, it’s necessary. Right now it’s not. Changing the topic, what time is our meeting with Tom McGraw? And when will my car be ready?”
“We’re meeting Tom at eleven-thirty at the diner down the road. He’s at Stockton now, picking up whatever they’ve pulled together so far. And your car should be ready by now. We can give the gas station a call to confirm, then drive down to pick it up. That’ll still give us enough time before the meeting with Tom to call Verizon and arrange for a call block on those two phone numbers.”
“Nice try,” Sloane returned drily. “But forget it. Change in plans, thanks to your astute theory. I don’t want to shut this guy down. Or, more importantly, tip him off. If we do, he might go back into hiding before we can find out who he is and what he knows. No way I’m letting that happen. Not when he might be connected to Penny’s disappearance. Her case has been cold for almost a year. This might be our best shot at solving it.”
“Maybe. But it’s not our only shot. Plus, we’re not even sure if this is the case your stalker is involved in.”
“The odds are good. The case might be old, but my involvement is new. An ex–FBI agent, a childhood friend of the victim, a personal agenda to get the guilty party—I raise quite a red flag. More like a banner.”
“Fine.” Derek was visibly pissed. “All the more reason for you to be careful. Who knows what this guy’s planning for you—and when? I repeat what I said earlier—we’re not using you as bait.”
“I can take care of myself, Derek.”
“I’m well aware of that.” He folded his arms across his chest in that military stance he reserved for times like this. “But circumstances are different now. You ca
n’t carry a gun.”
“I don’t need a gun to annihilate someone. You’ve seen me in action.”
“Yeah, I have. You’re lethal. But Krav Maga only goes so far. It can’t stop a bullet that’s fired from a distance.”
“Then I’ll have to make sure it doesn’t come to that.”
“How?”
“I’ll use my bow and arrow.” Sloane knew that particular tone of Derek’s only too well. And she wasn’t buying. “Don’t you dare snap into macho protective mode. I won’t put up with it. I have three dachshunds. If I wanted a Doberman, I’d buy one.”
“What you’ve got is a bodyguard—gratis. Which is lucky for you. Because you couldn’t afford my services if I charged you. Army Ranger, remember?”
“I remember.” Sloane bristled. “I also remember you’re a pain in the ass.”
“Yeah, well, it’s a package deal. Cope with it.”
“Not a chance. Look, Derek. We slept together last night. We’ll probably sleep together again. But that’s where it ends. Sex isn’t a relationship. You’re not back in my life, and I won’t tolerate your inserting yourself in it. So cut the knight-in-shining-armor routine. I didn’t need it then, and I neither want nor need it now.” She snatched up her purse and marched across the hotel room, where she began rummaging through the front closet. “Lend me a jacket. We’re picking up my car and meeting Tom. This subject is closed.”
CHAPTER
SIXTEEN
DATE: 3 April
TIME: 2100 hours
How fitting that my most coveted prize is turning out to be my most worthy opponent.
Artemis. My twin.
Smart and resourceful as she is beautiful, she didn’t miss a beat when she discovered the flat tire I’d arranged to keep her near me—something I never would have done if I’d known the skies were about to open up, and that no one on campus would offer her help. She’d injured herself. That was my fault. I’ll have to make it up to her.
