70
Eugene Lytel owed him money. Paul was going to need that cash, and soon. He hadn’t intended to go to his old cabin near the Wabash River in Indiana.
He’d always hated this place. He’d inherited it from the aunt and uncle who had adopted him shortly after his fourth birthday and separated him from his brother forever. They had been a big part of destroying his only concept of family.
It had never meant as much to him, the family they had tried to create around him. Not when he’d see his identical twin six times a year at so-called family functions. They’d had no business splitting him and his twin up. He and Philip had been parts of the same whole. They never should have split them up like that. Take them away from each other like that.
It had destroyed his entire relationship with the one person who had mattered the most.
The whole idea of it sickened him.
He unlocked the cabin and carried Ava inside, first. It smelled musty, unaired, but it would do for the time being. He returned to the car and lifted Olivia into his arms.
She knew. His eldest daughter knew what he had done. He’d seen it in the eyes so like her mother’s. Paul suspected she’d watched from the backseat of the car where he’d told her and Ava to wait for him. As he’d dealt with Debbie.
Debbie always had gotten under Paul’s skin. She never had liked him. Always getting in the way between him and Rachel. Trying to separate him from the one woman who meant the world to him. Debbie had had no right to do that.
No one should separate family like that.
He hadn’t intended to kill her, though. Had she not shown up with the girls in tow while he was arguing with Rachel, she would have been fine. Rachel’s death would have been attributed to a random break-in. No one would have known he’d driven home to get the files from Lytel that he’d printed out and left behind.
Paul would have been notified in Indianapolis and would have been allowed to grieve properly.
Instead of chasing Debbie through the countryside to get his daughters back.
They were his children. And no one else’s. No matter what anyone said.
The girls were his. He would not ever be separated from a child of his again.
Rachel…he ached for her. And he grieved, because of the memory of what he had done to her. He hadn’t meant to.
She had found those files, and she had found the messages in his email, too. Messages that very clearly laid out instructions for finding out everything he could about the list of agents in question.
A list that had names on it that Rachel had recognized.
She had confronted him, demanded to know what he was doing. She’d been in the checking account. She’d see the deposits, too. Questioned where the money had come from.
Rachel had demanded to know what was happening, what he was doing.
It had just escalated from there. He could still see her blood on his hands. Debbie—Debbie and Edith were both incidental. Forgettable.
They hadn’t truly mattered. No one cared if they lived or died.
He had regrets for what he had done. They were both old, lonely women, who were better off gone than taking up space.
But Rachel…she had had so much potential. She could have found someone else. Had another child or two of her own. Built herself a new family. That was never easy, but it was doable.
He would have given her generous visitation with Ava and Olivia, too. Or…he could have taken Ava with him and left Olivia with her mother.
They could have worked something out between them that was best for everyone.
Paul tossed a blanket over his sleeping daughters and stepped back. He had things he still had to do. He was only a few hours away from St. Louis.
He had plenty of time to do it before the girls woke.
He wrote a note for Olivia and sat it where she would see it, giving her very clear instructions of how she was to care for her younger sister, and then Paul got started.
Lytel owed him money. That was going to be his first step.
There were a few places left in the States where a smart man could go to disappear. Even with two young daughters in tow.
Paul just had to find them.
71
It took them hours to dig through every possible property Paul Sturvin would be associated with. Max’s team was dropping, but no one complained.
The setback of finding Debbie Miller had stung them all. A big part of Max was hoping to have found her alive, with the girls.
Finding Debbie the way they had…the biggest part of him was certain they were not going to get to the girls in time. He knew how family annihilators operated. Each type was different.
Each type was motivated in different ways.
If they were after Paul Sturvin, and he was ninety-nine percent that they were, he suspected Paul’s motivation was financial.
He was an anomic family annihilator.
Perhaps he had returned to the house he shared with Rachel to kill them all, but Debbie interrupted. Debbie had the girls and ran.
Thwarting his plans.
Perhaps Paul had followed Debbie in order to get his daughters back to finish what he had started. Family annihilators had done so before.
John List had driven to the school to pick up his son at a soccer game after having already killed the rest of his family, back in 1971, before taking that boy home and killing him, too.
Paul most likely believed his family would be better off dead than without him to provide materially for them. It was what the evidence—even though it was circumstantial and hearsay at this point—was telling him.
Which meant that if things went even more south for Paul, there was a likelihood he’d kill his daughters before killing himself.
They needed to find the girls and get them away from Paul before that could happen.
To do that, he needed his people at the top of their game.
They needed to eat. It was almost midnight now, he and Jac had been on the case since seven thirty the previous morning.
Hopefully, wherever the Sturvin girls were, they were safe for the moment.
Sturvin had to sleep sometime.
He had to tell himself that.
He looked at Jac and Whit. “Break. Half an hour. Get some caffeine, something to eat. Take showers in the locker rooms. Whatever. We are going to keep pushing through on this. We need to find Paul.”
Jac blinked at him for a moment. “You, too. You need to eat. Is Em ok?”
“She’s staying with the Brockmans. I asked Malachi to pick her up after basketball practice. He was getting his nephew anyway.”
Jac gave a tired smile. “Bet that thrilled her to be with Simon.”
Max’s daughter was deep in the midst of her first crush, on a much older “man” of about thirteen. Simon Brockman was kind enough to tolerate it whenever their paths crossed.
“No doubt. I called her a few hours ago. She’s ok; it’s you I’m worried about now.” He put his hands on her shoulders. Just to touch. She looked so fragile now. “Go. Take a break. This…this will still be here in thirty minutes.”
She drooped into his arms the instant Whit stepped out of the conference room. He doubted she was even aware she was doing it.
Max just pulled her close. He needed to touch her. Even though he fully meant to keep it platonic. For now.
“Two steps forward, fifty back.”
He didn’t say anything. Just tightened his hold on her. Her head rested against his chest and he could breathe her in. “But we’ll eventually get there. We’ll find them.”
“Will we? When?” He felt her sigh against his chest. His hand slipped up and cupped the back of her head, beneath the now drooping French braid she’d woven it into that morning. She felt so fragile, whenever he got his hands on her.
“When we’re meant to.”
“I wish it was that easy.” Her arms slipped around his waist. Max wondered for a brief moment if she even realized she was holding hi
m just as tightly as he was holding her.
Max would have said more, but someone opened the door and stepped into the conference room. Max stepped back from Jac immediately.
There was a light of amusement in the director’s brown eyes. Amusement, and understanding. Then the amusement faded and concern slipped in. Determination.
Max fought the urge to tense. Like it or not, the director’s presence—especially this late—never brought good.
72
Miranda had made Tag take her out to dinner in a small town along their route. Miranda wished she had a day or two to poke around. Maybe a week.
She had taken in all of it she could while Tag drove her around like a good chauffeur. He’d asked her if she’d never seen a small town before. Two stoplights, there were two stoplights.
She’d laughed and told him about exactly where she’d come from. And that small towns fascinated her. “I’m eventually going to write a book about all the towns I’ve visited in this job. I’ll come back here, eventually. On my downtime. I’ll probably drag Jac along with me.”
“Boyfriend?”
“Bestie. Jac stands for Jaclyn. We were in a Rowland Bowles movie together last year when I dragged her to my hometown. It was fun. She’s a bit on the serious, reserved side. It’s my job to get her out there a bit more.”
“I suspect you can make just about anything you do fun.”
He reminded her of Clint, her former boyfriend. Same serious wall of hurt around him. And that core of honor that ran so deep.
She thought about that as they drove toward home, even though it was now close to midnight.
The call came just as they were an hour and a half away from St. Louis. Miranda put Max on speaker. “Hey, hot boss number three. I’m on the road with Agent Walker Taggart. Speak to me.”
“Where exactly are you? Or rather, how close are you to Daviess County, Indiana?” Poor man sounded beyond exhausted.
“Let me check. What’s shaking? How’s Jac holding up?”
“She’s doing ok. She and Dani are taking a break now—everyone is getting ready to go over Sturvin’s family’s social media accounts. I told them to eat first. They’re finalizing the autopsy on the aunt first thing in the morning.”
“We’re two hours out from Washington, Indiana. That’s the Daviess county seat. We’ll have to double back, though.”
“Good. Turn around. You need to go to the Department of Child Services first thing in the morning. Wake them up early. I need you back here by noon.”
That was not something she’d expected. “What am I going on here?”
“Paul Sturvin’s identical twin brother’s son is in the custody of Daviess County. We need to find out his history—and why his aunt and uncle didn’t take custody of him after his great-aunt died from cancer and why they didn’t take him in six years ago as an infant. I want you to get the file. Persist, if you have to. We need to find out what we can about Sturvin’s family. See if we can find where he might go. Or to who.”
“Gotcha. I’ll let you know what I find.”
“I’m sending you a list of questions as well as two additional addresses we need someone to put eyes on. Sturvin could be there. Be careful out there.”
“You, too. And keep an eye on our little buddy for me. I know this one is hurting her.”
“Always. I’ll take care of her.”
After he disconnected Miranda just shook her head. “I know you will, Max. But does she?”
“Excuse me?” Taggart asked. “You realize he hung up, right?”
“It’s complicated. He’s a good friend. In love with Jac. But the two of them are taking the long way around to figuring that out. She…Paul Sturvin’s wife was a friend of hers. Jac knows his daughters. And she’s terrified for them. I just hope we find them soon. Because I think Jac’s struggling more than she’ll ever let on.”
And that had Miranda worried to her very toes.
There was only so much someone could take, after all.
73
Eugene Lytel was good on his word, but the man was an arrogant asshole. High on a power trip.
Paul studied him, there in the Walmart parking lot at nearly two a.m. Lytel hadn’t wanted to meet with him, but Paul had persisted. Had threatened to call Max Jones himself and tell him all about the contacts Paul had made within PAVAD. That had been all that had managed to get Lytel there. Paul wasn’t stupid after all. “Are they looking for me?”
“Of course they are, you dumbass. You killed your wife and dragged the damned CCU right into the middle of your personal business. You were told to just watch Colonel Jones’s daughters. That was it. What in the hell happened? You were told to do a damned job. Get us the information we wanted. Then you’d get paid and could move on.”
“Rachel found out what I was doing. And she’s good friends with Jaclyn Jones and some of the other mothers at Brynlock.”
That was what story Paul was going to stick to. He wasn’t telling anyone that he’d lost control. That the instant his wife had questioned him, he’d broken.
Struck out at her.
He’d never hit Rachel before. He’d grabbed her a few times. Shook her once. Scared her far more than he wanted to think about.
But he’d always apologized after.
The last thing he had ever wanted to do was hurt her. She…might have disappointed him through the years, but he had no doubt he had done the same to her. He was larger, stronger, more forceful, more powerful. That had come with responsibility to her. Responsibility he hadn’t lived up to.
Relationships were reciprocal, after all. And he had loved her.
For six years, he had loved that woman. Had wanted to provide for her. Her and the girls.
From the moment he had met Rachel, he had known she was meant to be his.
All that would have made their lives more perfect through the years had been if they had had a son. And if Rachel hadn’t threatened him, hadn’t yelled she was going to call Jaclyn that very night and report that Paul was spying on her.
That would have destroyed everything.
He took the money Eugene Lytel held out. Paul counted it quickly. “Where’s the other half?”
“Delivery fee. You screwed up. Didn’t follow through. Now, I have to get my ass back to St. Louis before my team is needed to search for you. Take it and go—before I bust you myself. I am sure I can find an excuse for why I’m out here. Hell, my mom doesn’t live too far from here. Maybe I just stumbled right into you. Wouldn’t that make me the hero?”
Paul looked at the son-of-a-bitch’s eyes. That was exactly what the man was wanting to do. He had no doubt Lytel had pocketed his money.
His fists balled.
Eugene Lytel was evil through and through.
74
Miranda led the way, holding the little boy in her arms as he slept. This was not what she had ever expected to happen. But she had not been about to leave the kid sitting in that…place. It had taken her three extra hours just to track a six-year-old boy down.
He hadn’t even been in Indiana.
Someone had hacked the social services database somehow and listed the boy in a completely different state than where he actually was. When she got a chance, she was going to talk to her contacts at the Missouri division of child services. He had been far too young to be housed with teenagers. Teenagers with histories of violent behaviors. What had happened to him definitely shouldn’t have.
She didn’t have a clue how that could have happened.
Miranda had just been very lucky the state he was in was Missouri. If he hadn’t been, he wouldn’t be snuggled in her arms right now.
She had a valid license as a foster parent in the state of Missouri. She knew enough people high up the food chain. And she’d be speaking with the legal department at PAVAD about her taking the boy into protective custody as soon as she possibly could.
She had rather just taken him, without truly asking permission.
Fortu
nately, Ed Dennis had told her to do what she had to. That man hadn’t liked the photos she’d sent him of the group home, anyway.
Miranda had absolute faith that the director would fix this.
That she’d sent him those photos after she’d carried off Bentley Sullivan—well, Miranda would deal with the fallout from that later.
Paul Sturvin could have walked right in with a weapon and taken the boy with very little stopping him. If he’d wanted him. And from the visitor’s log at the last group home the boy had been in, Paul Sturvin might have just wanted that very thing.
He’d visited his nephew on a weekly basis.
In her experience, sometimes, it was better to ask for forgiveness than permission. When it was the right thing to do.
“You just walk in and shake up the world all the time? Just do what you want, full speed, damn the torpedoes?” Tag asked.
He’d been relegated to carrying Bentley’s single duffel bag of belongings. The little guy had latched on to Miranda and wasn’t about to let her go. She’d pulled him from the back seat and he’d immediately drifted right back to sleep.
Stealing her heart while he did it. She shifted him, slightly, to relieve pressure on the cast. He never stirred. It was only two p.m.; yet he slept like he hadn’t rested in weeks.
Maybe he hadn’t.
“When necessary.” She shot the man next to her a significant look. “And admit it—you weren’t about to leave him there, either.”
“No. I wasn’t. But I don’t have the director of PAVAD to back me up, though. That was a little nifty.”
“Ed does come in handy,” a female voice said from a nearby office.
Miranda stopped walking, as the head of forensics stepped out of her office. Marianna smiled tiredly. “Hello, Miranda. Shayna was looking for someone from your team. Who is this?”
“Meet Bentley Sullivan. Paul Sturvin’s nephew. He was being housed in a group home here in St. Louis with thirteen on up. Paperwork had him listed as being sixteen. His social worker had been told he didn’t belong there. Yet they left him there for weeks. Said they didn’t have another bed. Well, I have a few spares in my condo. So…here he is. The director and Dr. Jones said to take him into custody.” So maybe that wasn’t exactly how it had happened, but it was close enough.
Searching (PAVAD- FBI Romantic Suspense Book 18) Page 23
