Stalked lk-5

by Allison Brennan

  Dillon eyed him closely. “What happened?”

  “Six months ago, I knew the second hiring panel was going to reject Lucy’s application. A friend told me confidentially that Fran Buckley still had a lot of friends who thought either she was innocent or she shouldn’t be in prison even if she was guilty. I went to Stockton and told him I wanted to overrule their decision.”

  “That’s not done,” Kate said.

  Hans smiled sadly. “Not often, but it wasn’t the first time. Stockton agreed. We sealed it, but the three panelists all knew. They were told it was confidential and no one was to be told. But now Lucy knows.”

  “Shit,” Kate said.

  “I want to know who told her.”

  “I didn’t know,” Kate said. “Dillon?”

  He didn’t say anything.

  “You knew?”

  “Not for a fact. I suspected.” He caught Hans’s eye. “Why would someone tell her?”

  “To force her to quit. Which of course she did. I simply didn’t accept it. She gave me her Quantico ID. I left it at the security desk and told them she dropped it in Tony’s office. But I don’t know if she’s going to come back.”

  “Is that why she went to New York?”

  “Lucy went with Sean. I had asked him to retrace Tony’s steps and try to figure out what he was thinking. I couldn’t ask Lucy to go officially, but she’s the only one who read Tony’s missing file. With her there, she might notice something.”

  “What missing file?” Kate asked.

  “There’s a file missing from Tony’s office that may have relevance in the Rosemary Weber homicide.”

  “Is Lucy in danger?” Dillon asked.

  “She’s well aware that she’s the only one, outside of Tony, who knows what is in the missing file.”

  Kate stared at him. “The autopsy showed Tony died of a heart attack.”

  “It did. But nonetheless, Stockton is discreetly requesting a more detailed probe. I already had the lab process his office on the q.t.”

  “Tony had heart trouble, among other things,” Kate said. “You know that, Hans. And you said he’d been drinking right before he died.”

  Hans knew all too well that Tony had problems he buried deeply. And Hans had been inclined to believe Tony was as responsible for his death as his weak heart.

  “Though Tony may have been battling depression again, and his BAC was well above the legal limit, but I don’t think he was suicidal. He was too focused on locating Peter McMahon and the missing file to want to kill himself without answers. And I found something on his computer that’s of interest.”

  Dillon leaned forward. “Why would you even think Tony might have killed himself?”

  “It wouldn’t be the first time he tried.” Hans glanced at Kate, then said, “When we worked the Rachel McMahon kidnapping, Tony took the events personally. He knew from the beginning that the parents were keeping something back, and he felt helpless.”

  “We all feel that way sometimes,” Kate said.

  “After her body was found, Tony got completely wasted. He came to my apartment and started talking about how nothing we do matters if we can’t save the innocents. We argued, and he left, disappeared for two days. When Tony left for New York the other day, he canceled all his appointments. I thought he’d gone on a bender.”

  “Did he?” Kate asked.

  “Maybe-he had been drinking-and after Lucy told me he was digging into the McMahon file again and wanting to find Peter, the victim’s brother, I thought he was obsessed. But when we learned the files were missing in New York, and the file in his office, I think he really was on to something. Then I found a letter of resignation on his computer, dated a month ago, but I learned from Chief O’Neal that he turned in something different. I found the original on his computer.”

  He reached into his pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. He slid it across the table. Dillon and Kate read it together.

  Kate said, “He was resigning?”

  “The original letter was dated two months ago, but I spoke with Chief O’Neal and she said she never received that version. This letter was written three weeks ago, and she agreed to allow him to stay until the end of the year.”

  “Why December 21?” Kate asked, “That seems arbitrary.”

  Dillon gave Hans the note back. “It’s the day Lucy will graduate.”

  Hans nodded. “He’s been working with Lucy on a variety of things, nothing active, but he asked her to look for Peter McMahon. Not in so many words, but Lucy ran with it, contacted Sean, and Sean and Patrick have been working on it. Now that file is missing, all of Rosemary Weber’s files on the case are missing, and someone took Lucy’s notes from her bedroom. And not only was Weber killed, but two cops are dead-Bob Stokes, the responding officer, and Tony.”

  “Did the autopsy show anything suspicious?” Dillon asked.

  “Not yet, but we’re running a full and detailed toxicology screen, and I sent his Scotch bottle and glass to the lab to be analyzed. They’re rushing the tests; I’ll have something by Monday morning, if not sooner.”

  Kate stared at him, her blue eyes wide with shock. “You think there’s a traitor at Quantico.”

  The blunt statement weighed heavily on Hans’s heart. He expected danger from the outside; danger from within tested his faith in the Bureau. Their hiring system had attempted to keep Lucy Kincaid out, yet right now she was one of the few whom Hans trusted with his life.

  “I’m thinking we need to dig deeper,” he said solemnly. “And it needs to be off-the-books.”

  He continued, “Patrick called me before I came here. He talked to Bob Stokes’s partner and learned that Stokes had been looking into the death of a retired FBI agent, Dominic Theissen, who died a week before Stokes’s heart attack.”

  “Theissen was the media officer in Newark fifteen years ago,” Kate said. “The only one authorized to speak to the press.”

  “I knew him well. He tried to rein in Weber, but once the McMahons’ lifestyle became public, there was no going back. He vetted the facts that were in her book. Apparently, they kept in touch over the years.”

  “The facts were correct?” Dillon asked.

  “Yes. But that doesn’t mean she didn’t focus on the scandal.”

  “How did Theissen die?” Kate asked.

  “Subway accident. Almost two months ago. A fight broke out at a subway station in Queens, and in the scuffle he slipped and fell on the tracks. No one was arrested, the police ruled it an accident, but Bob Stokes had asked for the security footage.”

  “Did he find anything?”

  “Not that anyone knows,” Hans said.

  “Why was a New Jersey city detective investigating a possible crime in New York? Did he have information he didn’t share with NYPD?”

  “According to Stokes’s partner, he’d received an e-mail from Theissen two days before Theissen died. That’s all we know. Though he requested the tapes, we don’t know that he viewed them. Patrick talked to his widow and received permission to borrow Stokes’s personal computer. Something in that e-mail from Theissen had Stokes concerned, but he didn’t share what it was with his partner or his wife.”

  Dillon said, “His death may not be connected at all.”

  Hans shrugged. “Maybe, but Stokes was in New York the day before he died. Just like Tony.”

  “And they both died of heart attacks?” Dillon asked.

  Hans nodded, and Kate said, “You don’t think Tony’s death was natural.”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted. He had no proof. “I have to look into it. There are too many unanswered questions, and I would rather investigate this as a suspicious death then make any assumptions.”

  Dillon said, “I can cancel my trip. If you need me, I’ll be here.”

  Hans shook his head. “I appreciate it, but your work is important, and I don’t think you staying will make a difference either way.” He looked from Dillon to Kate. “This is completely need-to-know.
I’ve briefed Rick Stockton. Other than him, and whichever agent he pulls into the investigation, you’re the only person in the Bureau who knows about this investigation.”

  “Do Lucy and Sean know?” she asked.

  “Patrick is filling them in now.” He leaned back in his chair but didn’t feel at all relaxed. “There’s another connection between the deaths. Theissen had retired from the FBI two years ago and was working as chief of security at Citi Field. That’s where Rosemary Weber was murdered.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  New York City

  Lucy and Sean left Patrick in his own room, where he’d set up Bob Stokes’s computer to find the e-mail that had sent the cop to New York two days before he died.

  “We should help Patrick,” Lucy said in the elevator.

  “It’s one computer, one operator. Are you forgetting your brother used to run the cybercrimes unit for the San Diego Police Department? He knows what he’s doing.”

  Sean slid the card key into their door. “And,” he continued, “you’re so tired you’re about to fall asleep standing up.”

  Lucy fell down on the bed. “True.”

  “Patrick is taking care of Stokes; we’re following Tony’s trail. If there’s any overlap, we’ll find it.”

  Sean lay on the bed next to her. He kissed her cheek and gently pulled out her hair band. “Sleep.”

  Lucy would have gladly surrendered except she couldn’t stop thinking about the possibility that Tony was murdered.

  “If someone poisoned Tony, when was it? If Stokes died after coming back from New York, they both could have been poisoned here.”

  “What drugs could cause a heart attack?”

  Lucy frowned. “Several, but they all have other symptoms. And some are virtually undetectable after they’ve passed through the system.”

  “Hans is already suspicious. He’s having the FBI lab run additional tests.” He kissed her. “You’re too tired to think straight. I promise, a good night’s sleep and we’ll both be better focused.”

  “It connects to Rosemary Weber. Somehow.” Lucy sighed and put her head down again. “But it’s not my job. Not anymore.”

  “You haven’t quit yet.”

  “I’m not quitting. I was never supposed to be there in the first place. I’m righting a wrong.”

  “No. I’m not justifying what Hans did, but he did it because he knows you’re good. He wants you as part of his team, just like everyone at RCK would be thrilled if you worked for us. You’re a valuable commodity.” He leaned over and kissed her again.

  “Thank you.”

  “For telling the truth?”

  “If I don’t go back I won’t have to worry about the driving test on Monday. And we don’t have time for you to teach me.”

  “You know how to drive. I was supposed to teach you how to drive well enough to ace the FBI track. Is it the test Monday or a practice?”

  “Defensive driving. No test, but I have to be able to complete the course.”

  “You will.”

  If she was there. “I hate driving,” she mumbled. She didn’t want to tell him, or anyone, how nervous she got when behind a wheel.

  “You’re tense.” Sean nuzzled her neck. “Patrick told me about the accident.”

  She frowned. “He shouldn’t have done that.”

  “You’re right. You should have.”

  “Am I supposed to recount everything that has ever happened to me?”

  “I’ve asked why you hate driving.”

  “It was never the right time.”

  “Accidents are traumatic. But you’ve faced far worse than a non-fatal car crash. Which means, Patrick doesn’t know everything.”

  “I was five. It left a lasting impression on me.”

  She rolled away from Sean, but he pulled her back toward him, spooning his body around hers.

  He was trying to make her comfortable, trying to make her relax and share. But it wasn’t working. He always wanted to know everything, and he usually just guessed. Most of the time he was right.

  “What do you think happened?” she snapped. “You usually know what I’m thinking.”

  He refused to take the bait. “Not this time. I only know that Patrick has no idea what happened during the crash, and that’s what I don’t understand.”

  “I barely remember the accident.”

  She’d been in the back between Patrick and Carina, who were bickering about something, but in the good-natured way they always had. They were only eleven months apart, and as Lucy grew up she’d been jealous that her older brothers and sisters were all friends and she was the mistake, the seventh child who came a decade late.

  She didn’t remember much about the accident, only flashes. Like she knew it had been raining, rare for San Diego. Her father had muttered something about drivers being stupid in the rain. Her mother had a rosary in her hands. They may have been coming home from church, or that memory might be because her dad told her later. Patrick had taken something from Carina and had given it to Lucy to hide behind her back. Their dad told them to settle down, and Lucy was giggling. She loved when her big brother included her in his jokes.

  Then suddenly everything was moving fast. Loud sounds, Carina screamed, and they were upside down.

  Lucy went to sleep, or so she thought at the time. She awakened fast, to a loud noise as their van was hit again. She looked around and no one was moving.

  She thought her family was dead.

  An involuntary moan escaped her throat.

  “Hey, Lucy?” Sean sat up, pulling her up with him and holding her close. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Don’t do that. Tell me, princess. What happened?”

  “My family thinks I’m scared of driving because I was in the car accident. I don’t remember anything about it, really, just the noise. And everyone was fine, though Carina had a broken rib, I think. Or maybe it was Patrick.” She glanced away. “Maybe there was more to it, but I really don’t remember. That shouldn’t stop me from driving. It’s silly.”

  “Early childhood trauma impacts us far greater than anything else,” Sean said.

  “Now you sound like a shrink.”

  “We’ll get you through it, okay? Let me help you.”

  Sean needed to help people. Especially her. He wanted to be the one to fix everyone’s problem, and that was endearing and noble, even when he was frustrating.

  “I don’t remember anything.”

  “Look me in the eye and say that.”

  “Stop.”

  “Why don’t you trust me?”

  “You know I trust you.” She trusted Sean more than anyone, but that didn’t mean she could just talk about this.

  Sean didn’t say anything. But he didn’t move, either. He was waiting.

  Lucy closed her eyes. Sean wasn’t going to budge. He wanted to know. She considered making something up, but he would know. She wished she was a better liar.

  “I don’t know how to put it in words,” she finally said.

  “Patrick said you didn’t want to get your license when you were sixteen.”

  “But I did.”

  “Of course you did; you’ve never let fear hold you back.”

  “And it’s not now. I’ll get through this, Sean.”

  “What happened?”

  “I thought everyone was dead, okay?” Tears clouded her vision. “Damn you, I don’t want to cry.”

  He kissed her lightly. “When I found my plane upside down in the field last May, I thought you and Noah were still in it.”

  Maybe he did know. “It’s not logical,” she said. “I was a little kid. But every time I drive, I get tense. Just a flash of memory, me wedged between Carina and Patrick, the blood, the rain hitting our car, and they weren’t moving. No one was moving. It seemed like hours that I was there, crying, staring at my dad, who was so big and strong, but blood covered his head.

  “It wasn’t hours, of course. I learned later
less than five minutes passed before someone, an off-duty policeman, came over to our van. Everyone woke up after that, but those minutes were forever to me.”

  Lucy was grateful that Sean didn’t probe her for more details or offer his sympathy. His even breathing, his chin on her head, was all she wanted-or needed. Comfort.

  “Every time I drive, especially on the freeway, I get a flash of my family. When I interned with the Sheriff’s department, I never went to traffic fatalities. I found excuses not to go. Not consciously, but I see it now.”

  “And when you and Detective Reid were run off the road last month, you were thinking about it.”

  She nodded.

  “I knew you were keeping something from me that day.”

  She looked up at him. “Thank you for not pushing.”

  “I knew you’d tell me eventually.” He kissed her, and her muscles began to relax.

  “I promised you a romantic night,” Lucy said. “And all we’ve talked about was work.”

  “And you.” He kissed her again. “Lay down. On your stomach. You’re still tense.”

  Lucy complied and Sean pressed his fingers and thumb on her sore shoulder muscles.

  “Umm,” she said.

  “You’re really tense. Take off your shirt.”

  “This sounds like a ploy to get me into bed with you.”

  “How well you know me.” He kissed the back of her neck.

  Lucy smiled and took off her shirt. Sean rummaged through her overnight bag and found her favorite lotion. He poured some into his hands and rubbed them together, then straddled her without putting any weight on her. Slowly, he spread the lotion over her back, kneading her muscles from her neck to her hips.

  “You’re going to smell like roses,” Lucy mumbled.

  “I’ll be reminded of you.”

  Sean’s strong, talented hands smoothed out her stress. He didn’t rush. With each passing minute, Lucy’s mind slowed down, pushing aside the case, her grief, her childhood trauma. The world disappeared and all that was left was her and Sean.

  Sean reached around and unbuttoned Lucy’s jeans and pulled them down her well-formed legs. He rubbed more lotion between his hands and took the massage from her lower back to her thighs and down to her calves.