HARD FAL

by CJ Lyons

  “On my way.” She headed across the river to the Federal Building. The storm wasn’t quite as fierce here as it was to the east, but it was still bad enough that the streets were abnormally empty for a Friday night.

  She parked in the secured garage and passed through security without needing to go through the scanner, feeling a twinge of vindication. On the elevator ride up to her office she dry-swallowed another of the anti-inflammatory pills. She wasn’t sure if it was the rain or the stress or just the fact that it was a long day, but her ankle was throbbing worse than the thunder outside.

  The squad room was empty and dark except for a light on in her office. Taylor had taken over her conference table, had several laptops set up there. He’d also made use of her white boards, mimicking her style of using one board to jot down random questions and facts and the other to plot out a timeline as she addressed them.

  Watching him spin back and forth between his beloved computers to the white boards, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. He’d turned into a damn fine agent, even if the Bureau in its infinite wisdom had decided to keep him out of the field.

  He jumped when she opened the door. Looked more than a little guilty.

  “What have you got for me?” she asked, taking a seat and sitting back, giving him the floor.

  He shifted his weight, caught between the white boards and his array of computers. Finally grabbed a remote and clicked on the large screen monitor on the wall beside him.

  “First of all, your geographic profile is working.” A map of western Pennsylvania, Ohio, West Virginia, and Maryland appeared. On it winking lights appeared and disappeared again, at first filling most of the screen, then slowly diminishing until only a handful remained.

  “I used it as a framework then added filters for age, computer skills, and here’s the kicker,” he looked more than a little smug, “I added any public reference that would require a significant amount of cash—set the parameters around the amount we know Green Elephant Man withdrew.”

  “You can do that?”

  He scoffed. “Sure. Think of everything that’s out there in public records: bail proceedings, property sales, civil suits, foreclosures, tax debt…it’s a treasure trove if you know how to set up the search algorithm.”

  “You’re not searching for child porn or any arrests?”

  “Our guy is too smart for that. His porn won’t be hosted on any computer that we can touch—and he won’t have been arrested, not for anything that would flag him as a sexual offender.”

  Right, because a charge like that would come with severe limitations and monitoring of any computer activity. Their guy, Daddy, he liked his privacy too much to risk arrest.

  “Okay, I buy that. But can you really take a population of a million or more men who fit the basic profile and narrow it down accurately?” That was the thing about profiling—too vague and your net was too wide, too specific and you might miss your target all together and end up aiming at an innocent bystander.

  “It’s a starting point,” he conceded. “But at least we’ll have someplace to start digging. And, I think I found June’s mother. Maybe.”

  “How did you do that?”

  “I ran missing persons from within the highest probability area generated by your geo profile. Centered on the year we think June was born and went back from there. I didn’t find any mother-daughter abductions and only a few pregnant women—but they were all found dead, still pregnant.”

  The screen switched to photos of missing women. So many that they filled the screen and crowded over top of each other. It was the one thing that always saddened Lucy about her job: how many women simply vanished each year, most of them taken against their will to become victims. How many families left behind without any answers.

  “If she was his first,” Lucy said, “he wouldn’t have risked a mother-daughter abduction. He’d want someone he could easily control.”

  “Right. So I went back further in time, expanded the parameters. I discovered these missing girls, aged five to fifteen, eliminated the ones later found, and given June’s Nordic looks and blue eyes, eliminated others based on ethnicity and appearance. Which left these.”

  The photos on the screen dissolved to eight girls. All blonde, blue eyed. But one could have been June’s twin. Lucy stood, leaned against the table and used her cane to point. “Tell me about her.”

  “Casey Hudson. Seven years old. Got off her school bus one day, but never made it home. No signs of her since.”

  “Where?”

  “Just outside of Akron.” The screen went back to the map and highlighted the location. He paused and his voice dropped. “Five years before June was born.”

  Lucy’s stomach twisted. Bastard kept her long enough to get her pregnant and start over. With his own damn daughter. “It’s her. Can you run June’s mitochondrial DNA against Casey’s?”

  “I put in a request but it will take time—the sample is so old, it was before mitochondrial DNA was standard.”

  “His first.” She considered. “A crime of opportunity? Spontaneous?” She didn’t think so but waited to hear Taylor’s opinion.

  “You sure, boss? This guy is so methodical, I think maybe he stalked her for a long time.”

  “I agree. Probably enjoyed the anticipation of choosing, preparing. This guy—he’s different from most of our subjects. But either way, he either lived or worked not too far from where Casey was taken. Close enough that he was familiar with the traffic and routines of the neighborhood, escape routes, hiding places, dumping grounds if things went wrong. This guy, he would have every variable accounted for.”

  “Same way as he programs,” Taylor muttered. “But there’s something else.” He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “Something I found that doesn’t make sense. Unless…”

  “What is it, Taylor?”

  “Is there any way Seth Bernhart could be working with Daddy?” he blurted out. “Because I traced that first threat. The one against the judge and June. It didn’t come from an angry pedophile. I traced it back to Seth.”

  Chapter 22

  MEGAN CLEARED THE table while Dad went out to help Seth gather wood for a fire. He came back in alone, arms piled high.

  “Where’s Seth?” June asked.

  “He’s gone. So’s the car.” Dad’s voice didn’t sound worried or upset. It was his calm voice, the one that meant trouble.

  Megan glanced at the sideboard. “The keys are gone but so is your shopping list. He probably went to the store.” The words were for June’s benefit. She didn’t want her to worry.

  Dad frowned and she knew why: Seth would have no idea where the store was, so why would he leave without asking?

  She joined her dad at the fireplace. “Let me. I can build it so it won’t smoke.”

  He held his hands up in surrender and backed away as she opened the flue and arranged the kindling around one of Gram’s fire starters: dried pinecones dipped in paraffin.

  “My budding control freak,” he told June. “Not quite sure if she’s going to be a genius or a sociopath. Teenagers, the brain’s not done cooking yet.”

  Megan rolled her eyes as she lit the fire. Grownups, always thought just because they were older, they were better at everything. “Either way, you have your fire and no room filled with smoke.”

  “That was just that one time,” he protested.

  “Does she realize she sounds exactly like her mom?” June said, laughing. “You two are lucky.”

  Did she mean Megan and Dad were lucky to have Mom? Or that Mom and Dad were lucky to have Megan? She used the poker to adjust the logs. She loved this house, dreamed of living in it someday. Not with Mom and Dad—they had their house and Megan wanted it to stay just like it was. No, when she was older, after college, she wanted to come live here. By herself. Maybe someday with her husband.

  Mom and Dad over in Pittsburgh in the house Megan grew up in so she could still visit. While she lived here in Grams’ hous
e. And things could go back to almost the way they were. Close to it as she could get.

  “Dad, did you call Andrea to take care of Zeke and Boots?” The puppy and cat were Megan’s responsibility but no one had planned for them to be here all night.

  “Your mom did, before she left. They’re fine.” Dad glanced around. “June, I’m not sure which chair would be easiest for you—want me to move one of the kitchen chairs out near the fire?”

  “No thanks, I feel better standing. She,” June rubbed her belly, “gets cramped if I sit too long.”

  “Okay. Megan, want to help me change the beds for our guests?” Nick moved down the hall. Megan reluctantly followed him; she hated making beds.

  When she joined him in Grams’ bedroom, he was on his knees rummaging through the nightstand. “When you were in here earlier, did you see Grams’ gun?”

  “Which one? The shotgun or the pistol?” Growing up with a mom who carried weapons, they’d all learned how to handle them. Megan was almost as good a shot as her mom, better than her dad. Since Grams lived alone, she didn’t bother to keep her guns locked up like Mom did. Megan wasn’t sure why Mom bothered. Wasn’t like she had to worry about Megan doing something stupid.

  “The pistol. She kept it in here, but it’s gone.”

  “It was in the bottom drawer earlier. And the shotgun is under the bed.”

  He sat back on his heels, obviously worried. “The pistol isn’t here. Seth must have taken it.” He stood up turning to the window, thinking things through. Dad liked to do that, be certain about everything before he made a decision about a person.

  What was there to think about? Megan leaned down, grabbed the shotgun and handed it to her dad. “Careful, it’s loaded.”

  She turned to Grams’ closet and barely had to stretch to reach the box of shells on the shelf. After a growth spurt last month, her clothes didn’t fit anymore, but no one had noticed. Grams would have. Just like she would have remembered that Megan’s birthday was in a week and she’d be turning fourteen.

  She’d have something fun planned for them, like she always did when Megan came to visit. Most of her friends griped about being forced to visit their grandparents, but Megan loved it when she got to come up here and stay. Grams and her would work in the garden, take hikes down the mountain, go fishing at Grandpap’s secret place on the river—the place where he’d taken Mom when she was a little girl—and Grams would let Megan use Grandpap’s fishing rod.

  Megan sniffed, clutching the box of shotgun shells. Why couldn’t everything just go back to the way it was?

  She missed her Grams. So much.

  But right now, at this moment, with danger fluttering through her gut, she missed her mom even more. If Lucy was here, she’d keep them safe.

  <><><>

  “SETH SENT THE threat to the judge?” Lucy asked, not caring that she allowed her dismay bleed into her voice. “Why?” Threatening a judge was a federal offense. Seth would never risk being arrested, forced away from June’s side. But, wait. “When did that happen?”

  “Four months ago.”

  Ahh…after Seth was poisoned and learned he was dying. His attempt to get June and his baby under the protection of the US Marshals. Too bad the judge ended the trial so quickly or it might have worked.

  “Did he also post the ultrasound?” she asked. No. That wouldn’t make sense—those bullets today were real. Seth would never endanger June or the baby merely to get them protection. Besides, he’d already arranged for the best protection money could buy…just not good enough to keep Daddy at bay.

  Taylor shook his head. “No. That was Daddy. I’m sure of it.”

  “How do you know Seth sent that threat to the judge?”

  “More than that, he’s been surfing the DarkNet, hanging out with pedophiles. I thought maybe Daddy had blackmailed him into betraying June.” Taylor looked stricken. “How could he?”

  “He didn’t.” She was glad he didn’t ask her to explain how she could be so certain. But after seeing Seth with June, knowing that he would literally die for her…there was no way she’d believe Seth would betray June. “How did you find all this?”

  He shuffled his feet, suddenly looking twenty years younger. “When I got back here, I realized Seth’s rental was parked downstairs. Along with their stuff. I figured I should check to see if anything was bugged—maybe that was how Daddy traced them up here.” He jerked his chin up. “Did you bring me their phones? I really want to analyze them.”

  “No. They’re still in the dead box in the trunk of your car.”

  “You didn’t bring my car back?”

  “Driving down a mountain, pouring rain, in a hurry, and Nick’s Explorer was more convenient. Don’t worry, nothing is going to happen to your car.” Then she realized what he was doing. Deflecting her. “Taylor, you searched their car without permission or a court order? And whose computers are these?”

  “I kind of had implicit permission to look for signs of a tracker—and you can put tracking software on a laptop as easily as you can a phone.”

  “Taylor,” she caught herself using the same tone she used with the puppy at home. Blew out her breath and sank back into the chair. “Show me what you found.”

  “None of it is admissible.”

  “Just show me.”

  He changed the monitor so it mirrored the laptop’s screen. “Seth had two laptops with him. One obviously for work and everyday stuff. That one I left alone once I was sure it wasn’t bugged—attorney/client privilege and all that.”

  “And the other?”

  “The other is a totally different story. Almost nothing on it except his own Tor access and a VPN—virtual private network. It makes just about anything you do on a computer untraceable. Unless you know what you’re looking for. Like me.”

  “So you found the threat to the judge.”

  “Yeah. He thought he’d deleted it, but nothing’s ever truly deleted from a hard drive unless you overwrite it with scrubber software. And even then, you might find traces.”

  “And he was visiting porn sites?”

  “Yeah. No downloads, no images on the computer. And he couldn’t get into a lot of the hardcore sites—they make you go through a validation process before they’ll give you access. But he definitely found a couple of guys. He’s been building a database of their details, like profile names they use, locations they mention, stuff like that.”

  “Were these guys maybe working with Daddy? Or threatening June? Seth said they’ve been getting death threats ever since they began the civil suits.”

  “It’ll take me some time to correlate things. Not like these guys use their real names—although I think Seth might have been able to trace a few of them back to the real world. Hints they left about jobs and where they lived. Give me more time with it.”

  “Not until we get his permission and a warrant.”

  “But if these guys are working with Daddy, they might be here, in Pittsburgh. Waiting for the chance to get at June. Just like motorcycle guy.”

  “Who’s now dead. What’s up with the idea that he’s a serial killer?”

  “Well, maybe not serial killer. Probably more like hit man. Burroughs said they found some IDs that belonged to other men and when they ran their names, they’re all homicide victims.”

  “Here? In Pittsburgh?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “Maybe we should head over there and find out.” She pushed back onto her feet, ignoring the wave of complaints generated by her ankle. “Grab your gear.”

  He gathered his laptop and shoved it into a messenger bag. The monitor screen switched back to the geographic search program, combing through thousands of potential suspects.

  Even if they found Daddy’s home base, it wouldn’t be anywhere near Pittsburgh. They needed to find the man. Here. Now. It was the only chance to save June. And that little girl, Missy Barstow, his latest victim.

  If she was still alive.

  Chapter 23
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br />   “WALDEN AND OSHIRO—that deputy marshal who baked the brownies you liked—they’re on their way,” Dad said, awkwardly double-checking that the shotgun was loaded. Then he took the shotgun and shells and left.

  Okay, so maybe Mom hadn’t abandoned them. Megan still wished she was here. She followed her dad back out to the living room. He set the shotgun between the front door and the bay window.

  “Figured you wouldn’t want this in your bedroom,” he said to June when he caught her watching him. Never mind that they hadn’t even bothered to change the sheets on the bed. Did he really think June was that dumb?

  She wasn’t. “Someone tried to kill my husband and kidnap me a few hours ago, Mr. Callahan. Not sure why you think the presence of a weapon would disturb me.”

  Megan smiled. It wasn’t often that anyone called her dad’s bluffs. He looked sheepish.

  June crossed over to the coatrack beside the front door and grabbed her purse. “I have a pistol, if you think it will help.”

  “You brought a gun into our home?” Dad asked. He always was so sensitive about guns. If he just relaxed and learned to be comfortable around them…never going to happen. Because her father didn’t see a gun, he saw a person. Make that people. On either side of the trigger. Guess when you worked with veterans, helping them through their PTSD, talking about all that death and destruction, it made you see things differently.

  June didn’t seem taken aback at all. That’s why Megan liked her so much; she wasn’t that old, yet she seemed so clear on what she needed to do that she didn’t care what anyone else thought. “With Seth being on the road so much these past few months, I asked Oshiro to get one for me. He taught me—and of course, got a carry permit pushed through as well.”

  Pistol-packing mommy to be. The image of June shooting filled Megan’s vision. Now that was kick-ass.