by Webb, Debra
For one long moment, she could only stare into those eyes that haunted her dreams when she managed to sleep. She steeled herself against those softer emotions. “Trust you? The way I did when you had me committed to that hospital and the little white room that was nothing more than a padded cell.” That old anger ignited inside her. “They kept me in that box for thirty-six hours. They kept me drugged for a week.” She shook her head. “All because my daughter was missing and I was desperate to find her. All I wanted was my daughter and somehow that was unacceptable.”
He looked away.
“That’s right,” she accused. “That’s what you did. You took me there and then you left. Don’t ask me to trust you again, Tom, because I won’t. Ever.”
“You weren’t eating or sleeping. You were killing yourself, Sarah. I had to do something before it was too late.”
She laughed. “You think you saved me?” She shook her head. “You didn’t save me, Tom. The only reason I didn’t end it all the minute I got out of that place was because I promised Carla I would be there for her. That’s it. My decision had nothing to do with you.”
He nodded. “Fair enough.”
Her words had hit the mark and done some damage. She knew this. Fine. She didn’t care. What had he come here expecting?
“Give me forty-eight hours. If I haven’t convinced you we’re on the right track by then, I’ll get out of your way.”
Forty-eight hours. Two days. “All right. You have forty-eight hours. What now?”
“Now I’m sending you home to get some sleep and I’m staying here to keep watch.”
“What happened to talking?” He wasn’t getting the forty-eight hours without an explanation. He’d said they should talk. Now was his chance.
Maybe his last chance.
“I’ll tell you everything I can for now. I swear.”
Chapter 18
Washington D.C., Special Services Division
Metropolitan Police Department
Monday, October 23, 10:50 a.m.
“Where is Tom now, Sarah?” Chief Larson asked, his voice reflecting the same concern she saw in his eyes.
Sarah looked from her boss, a man she had known and trusted for twelve years, to the stranger he had introduced as Special Agent Jerry Swinwood, and back. A deeply ingrained need to protect the man with whom she had once shared everything kicked in. “I have no idea. What’s this about?”
Tom had called a taxi to take her home shortly after two this morning. He’d urged Sarah to get some sleep before they met later today. He hadn’t said where they would meet or if he planned to get any sleep. He’d just said they would rendezvous later.
Her cell had awakened her at half past eight. She’d overslept by more than an hour. Chief Larson hadn’t sounded happy when he called wanting her in his office ASAP. A shower and two cups of coffee later she’d driven straight here. Every phone in the building seemed to be ringing as she’d rushed past cubicles and offices. Before she’d had a minute to scan the messages on her desk Larson had ushered her into this closed door meeting with Swinwood. So far, she’d answered their questions truthfully, until the last one. Technically, Tom could be anywhere so she hadn’t exactly lied.
“Detective,” Swinwood said, taking his turn, “can you tell me what you and Agent Cuddahy have been doing for the past forty-eight hours?”
Sarah didn’t like him. In all her years at Metro she’d never had trouble working with the FBI or any of the other three letter agencies. There was something about the way this agent looked at her and said Tom’s name that bugged her.
“We have eight missing children, Agent Swinwood,” Sarah pointed out. “Agent Cuddahy is assisting with interviews of the victims’ parents. I’m sure Chief Larson filled you in.”
Over the weekend, the media had dubbed the investigation the Negligent Nanny case. As Sarah had feared, the abduction of the senator’s daughter had sent the media into a frenzy. The community was afraid for their children, as they well should be. They wanted more information than given by the shocking reports meant for selling newspapers and upping Nielsen ratings. So they called. Those who weren’t afraid, wanted to help. A few were simply loons with nothing better to do than to use up valuable time and resources.
“You interviewed Lawrence Cashion again yesterday,” Agent Swinwood went on as if she’d explained nothing. “What did you and Agent Cuddahy learn from him?”
“Detective Cuddahy always files her reports promptly,” Larson interjected. “With the long hours she’s been working to find these children the paperwork is a little behind.” He looked directly at Sarah then. “I trust she’ll bring me up to speed in a timely manner.”
Larson was warning her. He was worried. Swinwood and his questions were trouble.
“I appreciate that, sir.” She shifted her attention to the fed. “We didn’t learn anything beneficial to the investigation. Mr. Cashion has no memory of the timeframe when his daughter and wife went missing. I’m confident you’ve read the report he gave the first officers on the scene after his wife and daughter went missing. He’s terrified that he killed his wife, but he has no recall of the event.”
“He told you nothing else?”
“No one wants to find these children more than I do, Agent Swinwood.” Her patience was at an end. “If Cashion had provided useful information I would be following up on that information and sharing it with the Joint Task Force. Maybe you’d feel more comfortable interviewing him personally.”
“That would be optimal, Detective, except Lawrence Cashion is dead.”
Sarah looked to Larson. “When did this happen? Why wasn’t I informed?” She and Tom hadn’t left his room until well after three the previous afternoon. He’d been emotional, but he’d seemed stable otherwise.
“He had another heart attack.” The guilt in Larson’s eyes told her the decision to hold back this information hadn’t been his own. “He didn’t make it through this one.”
She had a bad feeling this meeting was about to take a turn for the worse. “Am I still on this case or what? Because if I am, I need to know—”
“You are not, Detective,” Swinwood announced.
Larson dragged a hand over his face.
“What’s going on here, Chief?” She had been on this case since the beginning.
“Sarah—”
“If you know where Agent Cuddahy is,” Swinwood advised, cutting off Larson, “I suggest you tell me now. This situation—”
“Agent Swinwood,” Larson stood, his face darkening with his own mounting anger. Like Sarah, he’d had enough, “I’d like a few minutes with my detective. Alone.”
“You understand—” Swinwood began.
“I understand perfectly,” Larson confirmed.
Silence thickened in the room until the door had closed behind the agent. “What the hell is going on?” Sarah’s throat had gone so dry she couldn’t swallow. If she’d been smart she would have had a pill with that second cup of coffee this morning. Too late now. Her pulse was racing. The pounding in her chest was escalating. “Why is this man demanding to know where Tom is?”
Maybe she should have told him, but that would have given away the one lead they had acquired from Cashion. She simply wasn’t willing to take the risk until she had a better grasp of the situation. Tom had warned her not to tell anyone. Wasn’t the goal of all parties involved to find those children? As much as she wanted to believe that her instincts warned that something was way off. None of this made sense. Bottom line, whether they were still a couple or not, her gut instinct was to protect Tom.
“I don’t know whether or not you’re aware of Tom’s location and I don’t have a clue what he’s told you, but he’s in serious trouble, Sarah. Very serious trouble.” Her boss heaved a big breath.
“Tom?” He was the one who always did everything by the book. He never broke the rules. “Are you kidding me?”
Larson shook his head, his expression grim. “Last week an OPR investigat
ion into Tom’s activities over the past month was initiated.”
There had to be a mistake. Tom was the epitome of an ethical man and agent. The Office of Professional Responsibility couldn’t be investigating him. The idea was absurd.
“There has to be some mistake.”
“A woman died, Sarah. A Dr. Kira Gerard. This Swinwood character believes Tom is somehow responsible for her death.”
Panic slithered along Sarah’s spine. “That’s impossible and you know it.”
Larson turned up his hands. “The Tom I used to know was above reproach. Is he still that same man?” Before Sarah could answer, Larson added, “Tragedy changes people, Sarah. You know that better than anyone. He lost his little girl and then he lost you. Maybe he lost a lot more that we don’t know about.”
For a moment she was at a loss for words. For five long years people had looked at her that way. Poor Sarah, she lost her daughter, you know. Sad Sarah, she’ll never be the same. Never be whole. This was Tom they were talking about. The rock. He had weathered the storm and come through it standing tall and strong and still reaching his hand out to her. Was she missing something? Had he fallen apart inside where no one could see? Wouldn’t she notice the change? She knew every part of him by heart. Had she been so successful in closing him out and blocking the memories that she failed to recognize that level of change?
No way.
Indignation plowed through Sarah, clearing away the uncertainty. “We both lost… more than anyone knows. As awful as that reality is, Tom is still the same good man he was before. I can vouch for him.”
Another troubled sigh escaped Larson. “That makes what I have to do all the more difficult.”
Sarah braced and wished to hell a truckload of emotion weren’t parked on her chest. “What’re you talking about?”
“Swinwood didn’t start with me, Sarah. Word came down the chain of command from the Chief of Police’s office. Senator Adams is not happy and he’s fanning the flames. He started making calls yesterday. I spoke to a friend at the local field office and he says whatever is going on with Tom has gone from an internal FBI investigation to a full-fledged witch-hunt. That same unpleasantness has spilled over to you. I was ordered to take you off this case.”
A combination of ire and fear churned inside her. “I’ve been the lead detective representing Metro in this investigation from the beginning. I know the children, the parents, and everyone else involved better than anyone.” How could she help these children if she was off the case?
“There’s nothing I can do.” Larson schooled the sympathy from his face, but not before she got a good look. He knew this was wrong. “Turn over everything you have to Sergeant Riggs. We have to do this right, Sarah. Chief Timmons will have my head if I don’t see that this gets done.”
Larson was three years away from retirement. As angry as Sarah was she didn’t want to cause him any grief for a decision that was not his own.
“All right.” She stood. “If I’m off the case I guess I’ll take some of that leave time I have accumulated.”
“As much as I need you around here, that’s a good idea. You haven’t taken a vacation in—”
“Eighteen months,” she said before he could. And that hadn’t exactly been a vacation. “Anything else I need to know or do before I go?”
“Stay away from Tom,” Larson advised. “I understand he’s still your husband, but I don’t want you dragged into whatever is going on with him.”
“Easy enough,” she lied. She stood, prepared to go. The sooner she turned her files over to Riggs, the sooner she could get out of here and demand some answers from Tom.
“Be careful, Sarah,” Larson cautioned. “I know you too well to believe you’ll take a vacation with those kids missing. Whatever you do, just make sure it’s not something we’ll both regret.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
Sarah went straight to her desk. She had nothing else to say to Swinwood. If he wanted to ask more questions he could ask Larson. She was officially on vacation.
She might be off the Task Force and the case, but they couldn’t stop her from doing all within her power to find those children on her own.
2569 Edge Cove Road
St. Michaels, Maryland, 4:05 p.m.
“For the third time, no one followed me.”
Tom sensed a new kind of tension in Sarah. Considering what he was asking her to do the reaction was understandable. “Where’d you park your car?”
“Two streets over.” Her attention lingered across the street, on Meltzer’s house. “Have you been here all day?”
Worry worked its way through Tom now. Something was wrong. “I’m not leaving until he does.”
“I figured that would be your answer.” She shifted the tote bag from her shoulder and passed it to him. “I brought sandwiches and drinks. Chips, peanuts, cookies.”
Still not looking at him, she moved back to the large window at the front of the great room. Her hands were braced on her hips. Oh yeah. She had something more than the case on her mind.
“Thanks.” He’d eaten the last pack of snack crackers he could find in his SUV hours ago. Once he’d gotten the key to the house, he’d scoured the pantry and popped some ramen noodles into the microwave. The place was fully furnished with a partially stocked pantry. He’d called the leasing agent first thing this morning. She’d brought the key to him before noon.
He was here for the duration.
As long as Sarah hadn’t already given him up.
He should have told her the truth already. The trouble was the truth was complicated. The last thing he’d wanted to do was to involve her. How had she ended up on this case? This kind of pressure couldn’t be doing her any favors.
“I take it you leased the house since I didn’t see any indication of breaking and entering.” She turned to face him now, her face clean of emotion.
“I did.”
She nodded. “You used an alias, I assume.”
“Of course.”
Her attention settled on the sofa table he’d covered with electronic equipment. “This is why you’re not glued to the window with a pair of binoculars?”
They’d spent the better part of last night monitoring the house across the street from the front seat of his SUV or the porch with binoculars.
“I’m listening as well as watching.” He indicated the monitor. “If the garage door opens or a vehicle pulls into or out of the driveway, I’ll know it. I pick up the occasional snippet of conversation and a television somewhere in the house on a news channel.”
Ten or so seconds elapsed with her studying the equipment. “How far were you planning to go with this before you told me the truth?”
She had at least part of the story it seemed. “I was going to tell you.”
“At what point? When you were arrested? When my career was placed in jeopardy because you couldn’t trust me with the whole story?”
“That’s not the way it is.”
“Then explain to me how it is, Tom, because the agent waiting for me at my office had some pretty damning things to say about you.”
Tom’s heart rate kicked up. “Swinwood?” Bastard. “Did you tell him about Meltzer?”
“Yes. Agent Swinwood. He wanted to know what Cashion said, I told him he couldn’t remember what happened to his wife and child. That’s all I told him.”
Tom dared to take a deep breath. “What about Larson?”
“I told him the same thing.” She walked closer, searched his eyes. “That was right before he took me off the case.”
“Oh hell, Sarah. I didn’t mean for this to happen.” Damn. He set the bag of food down and hoped he could find the right words to explain. “I told you I’d been watching Avalon. I couldn’t pinpoint the connection at first, but then I found a weak link in the chain. A way to get inside information, at least I hoped I’d be able to.”
“Dr. Gerard.”
Tom shouldn’t be surprised that Sarah had
been briefed, yet somehow he was. “I watched Gerard for a month. I dug until I found what I needed and then I used it to pressure her into meeting with me.”
The disappointment in Sarah’s eyes hurt him far more than the idea of losing his job. When had he become that man? The one who would do anything to get the results he wanted?
“Did she agree to help?”
“She agreed to talk to me. We had several conversations before she was ready to share what she originally denied knowing. I was to follow her to the location of her choosing. She was terrified of being caught talking to me.” Images and sounds from that night flickered through his mind. “Only she didn’t make it. They claimed she was driving too fast and missed the curve, but I was behind her and she wasn’t driving too fast. She never hit the brakes or tried to avoid going into the ravine.”
“What do you think happened?”
“I think she was drugged when she drove off the road.”
“Was someone else in the car with her?”
“She was alone. She started weaving a little. I thought she was trying to use her phone.” God he was so tired. But he couldn’t stop. Not until this was done. “Then she drove over the edge. I can only assume she ingested the drug before she got in the car to drive to our rendezvous location.”
“There was no autopsy?”
“Oh, yeah, there was an autopsy. According to the autopsy report the tox screen was clean. The Avalon administrator claimed she made a phone call to him saying I was following her and that she feared for her safety. Two weeks later I was put on administrative leave pending the OPR investigation.”
“If she was drugged and the tox screen was falsified, then you’ve made yourself a powerful enemy. Not just anyone could make that happen.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Cashion is dead.”
“How?”
“Another heart attack. Late last night.”
“And Meltzer didn’t come home until almost midnight.” Tom moved to the window and stared across the street at the house where Meltzer was holed up. He was the one. Tom felt it deep in his gut. When he’d pushed Gerard, she wouldn’t say. Then, that last time they’d talked, something in her voice had told him she’d changed her mind about telling him what she knew, but she hadn’t gotten the chance.
