“She is. And she’s feisty.”
No one, not even Hans Vigo, could predict Maggie’s erratic behavior. Nora sensed that Quin was in jeopardy as soon as she spotted the pictures in Maggie’s closet, but she couldn’t even hazard a guess at how long it would take before Maggie called her, if ever. Dr. Vigo said within twenty-four hours, but Nora wasn’t so sure. It depended on Maggie’s end game.
“She’s trying to wear you down,” Duke told Nora. “She doesn’t know that we’re on to her.”
Nora wasn’t so sure, but had agreed to a stakeout at Maggie’s apartment. “She didn’t go back to her apartment.”
“Because she kidnapped Quin. Hard to get her into the building. You said she’d find someplace secluded.”
“If she didn’t know we were on to her before she took Quin, she knows now.”
“Why?”
“She left the water running in Quin’s town house, for one. That’s going to attract attention, probably from her next-door neighbor. We impounded Scott’s truck. We were all over her apartment. And—I don’t think Quin will keep quiet. I laid out the case against Maggie, trying to prove it to Quin. The only thing going for us now is that Maggie and Quin have a long-standing relationship. Maybe—” She paused. What was she hoping for? “Maybe Quin understands her. Maybe she can stay alive until we can find her.”
Hooper walked in with Rachel close on his heels. Hooper announced, “The judge didn’t approve our warrant for a wiretap on David O’Dell’s phone. Said we didn’t have enough evidence that he was involved in his daughter’s alleged activities, and that the charges against Maggie O’Dell were specious.”
“What?” Duke exclaimed. “This is why I’m glad I never became a cop. The evidence is pretty damn clear. You didn’t see her apartment, Dean.”
Hooper tensed and said, “I saw the photos, and I agree that she’s our killer. But knowing it and proving it are two different things. We still have evidence to process. We have fingerprints but can’t prove they belong to Maggie O’Dell.”
“Not necessarily,” Rachel said, holding up her BlackBerry. “Donovan just emailed a preliminary report that the prints in the apartment match prints in both Edwards’s truck and Teagan’s town house.”
“But we haven’t matched them against Maggie O’Dell,” Nora said. “Once we bring her into custody, we can tie up the entire case with a pretty bow, but until then, it’s as if she doesn’t exist.”
“Agent English?” Warden Greene said over her phone.
“Yes, Warden, I’m here.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
Nora’s chest tightened. She was out of ideas. If Lorraine didn’t talk, they’d have to wait for Maggie to make the next move, and Nora didn’t want to cede control to a psychopathic killer.
“Why?”
“Ms. Wright said if you want that information, she’ll only tell you face-to-face.”
The duck stood on the table and stared at Quin. The last duck from Butcher-Payne, she thought. Securely tied to the chair, hands behind her back, each ankle tied to the base, she was dressed only in her jeans and a bra. Maggie wouldn’t give her a shirt to wear, didn’t even seem to notice that it was freezing up here—wherever “here” was. All Quin knew was they were in the mountains—the fresh pine, the redwoods, the moist, woodsy scent. But the Sierra Nevadas were a big place, they could be almost anywhere—though it had taken less than two hours to get here.
A cat jumped onto the table next to the duck, who waddled away and hopped onto the floor. Now the cat stared at Quin, before sitting and licking his paw.
It was pitch black outside, the only light in the cabin from a naked bulb in the middle of the room. The place was cluttered but neat. Books and papers stacked tightly on a solitary bookshelf; dishes washed and dried on the sideboard; knives hung neatly on a rack.
Maggie had left three hours ago, if Quin’s internal clock was working. She had no idea what Maggie had planned for her. She hadn’t spoken much after Tasering Quin in her bathroom.
Quin’s bottom lip quivered as she thought about Devon and what Maggie had done to him. What she wanted to do to Nora. It was clear that Maggie’s goal was to kill Nora, and Quin didn’t know how to save herself, let alone her sister.
Did Nora even know she was missing? Quin couldn’t believe some of the things she’d said to her sister. She wished she could take them back. What if that was the last conversation she ever had with Nora? She didn’t want to die with Nora thinking she hated her.
Quin didn’t hear anything but the faint sounds of night outside the cabin. Tree branches rubbing against the back wall, moved by a breeze that occasionally strengthened enough to rattle one of the two windows. The call of owls, a howl of a lone coyote. The door opened and Quin jumped. “Hi, Quin! I’m back!” Maggie announced.
She put a bag down on the counter and unpacked it.
“Where were you?” Quin asked.
“Out,” she said, then laughed. “Sending Super Special Federal Agent a message. We’ll see how long it takes her to find it.” She put a cell phone down on the counter.
“What kind of message?”
“A fun one.” She frowned. “Why all the questions?”
“I’m curious. I’m a captive audience, after all.”
She shrugged. “You’re not part of this anymore.”
“Then let me go.”
She laughed again. “Silly. I was joking. You’re the best part.”
Maggie unpacked the bag. Peanut butter. Bread. Bottled water. She proceeded to make a sandwich, then held it to Quin’s mouth. “Go on, bite,” she said.
Quin turned away. She didn’t care how hungry she was, she wanted nothing from Maggie.
“Fine,” Maggie snapped. She ate the sandwich herself and chased it down with water.
“Maggie, why did you kill all those people?”
She frowned. “Is that what she’s saying? That’s what she told you? That I killed someone?” Maggie sounded almost indignant, but there was a hint of pride in her voice.
“She told me everything.”
“I seriously doubt that.”
“You were involved in the arson, you killed Dr. Payne. You poisoned your friends.”
Maggie pouted. “I’m not talking about that, and if you want to live, you’ll shut up.”
“Nora never hurt you.”
Maggie slammed her fist on the table. The cat jumped off and ran behind the small couch. “You made me scare him,” Maggie said, obviously upset. She slapped Quin. “Nora killed my father and she deserves to die for it. You don’t know how long I’ve been planning this. Years. I came up here to go to Rose College just to be close to you, and you didn’t want me around.”
“That was because Nora might have seen you!”
“Nora doesn’t even know what I look like. I walked right by her twice this week and she didn’t notice. You could have introduced me as your friend Maggie.”
“Nora knows what you look like now,” Quin said. “She knows everything about you.”
“She doesn’t know me and she never will. Because I’ll kill her the minute she walks into my trap. I could have been special. I could have been important! But she made me a nobody.”
She wasn’t making sense, and Quin had little experience talking to killers. What was she supposed to say to this girl? This wasn’t the Maggie she knew.
“You are special,” she said quietly. “You were always special. I saw that the minute we met.” And in some ways she had—she’d been enamored of having a little sister, and thrilled to have a secret she’d kept from Nora.
“You’re just saying that.”
“I’m not. I’ve always liked you, Maggie. We are so much alike.” That’s what Quin thought before finding out Maggie was a killer.
Maggie looked at her as if she didn’t know whether to believe her or not. “I don’t believe you, not after I killed your boyfriend. Why, Quin? Why did you pick him over me?”
For a
moment, Quin thought Maggie was talking about a sexual relationship, but she quickly realized that it wasn’t about sex, it was about kinship. Maggie had wanted Quin for herself.
“I liked him, but it wasn’t you or Devon. We could have been friends forever.” Now Devon was dead and Quin felt responsible. She’d befriended Maggie, never thinking she was a killer.
“No!” Maggie shouted, and began to pace the length of the cabin. “You don’t understand! You’re just like everyone else. Don’t placate me. Don’t pretend we’re friends, because we’re not. The only reason I talked to you was because you gave me information I needed.”
“What? I never—”
“Little things. Like Nora is allergic to peanuts.” Maggie picked up the jar of peanut butter. “This might come in handy. Face it, Quin, you’ll be better off without her.”
Quin couldn’t remember ever telling Maggie about the peanuts, but maybe she had, in conversation. She’d had a lot of talks with Maggie, mostly about growing up … with Nora. Missing her mother. Not understanding why Nora never let her see Lorraine. Complaining, always criticizing Nora.
It was no wonder Maggie thought Nora was to blame for everything. Quin had blamed her, too.
“Please, Maggie. Stop this right now. You can leave and disappear and it’ll be over.”
“No!” She kicked Quin in the stomach so hard and suddenly that the chair fell backward. “I can’t stop this. I don’t want to stop this. It has to be finished.”
All air rushed from her lungs and Quin couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, the pain spreading from her gut so fast she thought she’d pass out. She focused on taking shallow breaths.
Maggie walked past Quin on the floor and went into the bathroom. She was talking to herself and Quin made out a few words here and there: Prison. Traitor. Hopeless.
When Nora said Maggie was crazy, Quin hadn’t believed her.
She shuddered. She sure as hell believed her now.
At the former Mather Air Force Base, where J. T. Caruso housed his small plane, Duke pulled Sean aside.
“Be careful, Sean. You just got your license in June, you don’t have a lot of solo hours logged.”
“You’re doing it again, Duke.”
He wasn’t going to apologize for caring about his family. “I’m worried. Not just about you, but about Nora.”
“You really care about her.” Sean raised an eyebrow. “I’m not going to crash, Duke, I promise.”
Sean was the only one Duke had confided in about being nervous when flying; ever since their parents’ small-plane crash. Sending Sean and Nora in the air to fly to Victorville to talk to Lorraine Wright was hard, but it had to be done.
Duke was staying behind, because Nora had asked him to.
“Okay,” Duke said.
“You’re fueled and ready, Mr. Rogan,” the attendant said to Sean.
Mr. Rogan. Duke didn’t think he’d ever heard Sean addressed as such.
“I’ll get Nora,” he said.
She was talking on her phone, making arrangements with Warden Greene for landing privileges on prison property. “We just don’t have a lot of time, Warden. This is the fastest way in and out. Please.”
When her shoulders relaxed, Duke knew she’d gotten her way.
“Thank you.” She hung up and smiled wearily at Duke. “We’ll be there between four and five this morning, and he’ll let me question her immediately. I will find out where Quin is.”
“I know you will,” he said, though he had his doubts. Sending Nora down there was a risk. If Lorraine was playing a game and didn’t know where Maggie was, then Nora was going to waste precious time and suffer emotionally. She hadn’t seen her mother in twenty years—Duke had wanted to go with her. To support her.
“Thank you, Duke,” she said. “For staying. I need you here, helping find Quin. You can do more than the FBI can.”
He read between the lines. And while he did have some abilities that weren’t sanctioned by the government, he didn’t think they would help now. But he would pull out all his resources, human and otherwise, to find Nora’s sister and the killer who’d abducted her.
“Call me, okay? As soon as you leave the prison.”
She nodded. Dark circles sagged her eyes. He leaned over and kissed her, then pulled her into a hug. She squeezed him back, clinging to him. He whispered, “Remember, Nora, you’ve overcome your past. Don’t let her drag you back down there. Be strong, and know that I’m here waiting for you.”
Duke reluctantly let go of Nora and helped her step into the Cessna. He closed the door and stepped away from the plane. Why was it so hard to let go? But he did. While Nora needed his support, she needed him to find Quin more.
He watched the plane under Sean’s command roll toward the runway, where he stopped, waiting for the okay from air traffic control. Duke realized at that moment the two people he loved the most—his brother and Nora English—were leaving in a plane eerily similar to the plane his father had been flying when he crashed in the Cascades.
Duke couldn’t protect everyone he cared about 24/7. The plane quickly picked up speed as it traveled down the runway. Then it was airborne, and disappeared into the inky black night.
Duke wasn’t surprised that J. T Caruso was in the office when he turned the key at four that morning, but he had something else to do before greeting him.
He slipped into his office and closed the door. The desk light was on, and that was all he needed. He strode across the room and sat in his executive chair and opened the bottom drawer.
His Colt was still there, its bullets boxed and waiting.
For thirteen years he hadn’t needed a gun, and in that time he hadn’t lost a client or a case. And though Nora was a trained FBI agent with strong instincts, and she certainly hadn’t hired him, he still considered her his case. He was her consultant, and he’d promised to keep her safe.
He might need a weapon other than his brains and brawn. There was too much at stake to continue to appease his guilt.
Duke reached into the drawer, grabbed the Colt, and automatically checked the magazine and barrel. Both were empty.
He loaded a magazine with seven bullets, slammed it into the grip, chambered a round, then popped out the magazine to fit another round in and slammed it back in again, double-checking that the safety was on. It was an automatic process, something he’d done over and over until he could load and unload, clean and put together his gun in his sleep.
He cleaned this gun on the first of every month, so he knew it was in good working condition, but he hadn’t held it loaded in thirteen years.
He pulled his holster from another drawer, threaded it through his belt, and holstered his gun. He filled two more seven-round magazines and pocketed them.
He only needed one bullet, but he was a Marine. Marines were always prepared.
Duke heard voices from Mitch Bianchi office at the opposite end of the hall, but first went to talk to J.T. in his office next to Duke’s. He stood in his doorway and said, “Thanks for the plane.”
J.T. waved off his appreciation. “Sean knows what he’s doing. He’s a quick study. Someday he’ll be better than me.”
It wasn’t an arrogant comment. J.T. had been a Navy SEAL and had flown fighter jets, landing on moving aircraft carriers at sea.
“Any luck?”
“Some,” he said. “Jayne has sorted the property records and extracted those in the area Megan felt were most likely to be Maggie’s home base. If anyone knows psychos, it’s Megan.”
They were using Rogan-Caruso equipment because it was better and faster than what the FBI had locally. The Menlo Park cybercrimes unit could match them, but they had other cases and priorities and couldn’t drop everything to devote the majority of their server time to find one missing adult. Rogan-Caruso could.
“We have the best people mapping the area,” J.T said. “Then we’ll pull down satellite photos and overlay in the high-target areas.”
This was where i
t would get dicey. J.T. had high security clearance and worked extensively on top-secret projects, but he was using his clearance for nonsanctioned activities. When Duke had first asked him for help after Quin was kidnapped, J.T. said he wouldn’t ask permission, because he already knew the answer. “And,” he’d added, “I know you’ll be able to clean up any trail we leave.”
“I can’t tell you how much—”
J.T. put up his hand. “Don’t. You’d do the same.”
“I’ll see how I can help. Are they in Jayne’s office?”
J.T. shook his head. “Megan wanted to see the maps printed, so they took over Mitch’s office. Megan’s on the phone with Hans Vigo at Quantico as they narrow down the range. Since you know a lot more about the case, you’d be invaluable. I thought you were going to Victorville with Nora.”
“I need to be here to act on any information she gets from her mother. I feel like we don’t have a lot of time. When Maggie O’Dell decides to kill, she does it fast. I keep thinking about the three college students—her friends. Did she plan to kill them then, or was it a reaction to the investigation? Did one of them say something and that was it? Quin Teagan is spirited; she’s not going to sit meekly by and wait.”
“Psychopaths aren’t my area of expertise,” J.T. said. “The killers I deal with are completely sane with motivations that are never personal.”
Personal. That was what this was about. O’Dell’s personal vendetta against Nora. When she’d killed Russ Larkin for information, it had been quick. He wasn’t made to suffer. She’d had personal reasons for wanting the others to die. She’d prolonged their agony. For Nora, the most important thing in the world was family. There was only one thing Nora cared about more than her own life: her sister.
“I think Quin’s still alive,” Duke said. “She’s bait. And Nora will walk right into it. The million-dollar question is whether Lorraine Wright is part of setting the trap, or the key to springing it.”
CHAPTER
TWENTY-SIX
Nora watched as the lights of Victorville Federal Penitentiary brightened upon the plane’s descent. They’d just seen the thin line of dawn on the eastern horizon before their approach; by the time they landed it had disappeared again. But Nora knew that morning would come, just as surely as she knew that Lorraine Wright would lie to her.
Cutting Edge Page 28
