The Spies That Bind

by Diane Henders

  My blood pressure surged to the point where I could hear the blood swishing through my brain. “You know I can’t promise that, Brock,” I said, holding my voice as level as I could. “And I need you there at noon just in case people start arriving early.”

  “Fine.” I imagined his petulant flounce on the other end of the line. “A favour of my choice, then, within the bounds of legality and national security. Take it or leave it.”

  “I’ll take it,” I ground out between my teeth. “See you tomorrow.”

  Then I disconnected and spent the next several minutes in a concerted effort to melt every plastic part in my car with the heat of my invective.

  By the time I neared the outskirts of Calgary, I had reined in my fury at Brock enough that I was no longer in danger of biting the steering wheel. At least my outrage had made the drive go quickly, and I still hadn’t spotted a tail despite my constant vigilance.

  I was beginning to think my trip was going to be uneventful when my burner phone rang and my home number came up on the call display.

  Shit, that’s right. I’d forgotten to call Moonbeam and Karma about the weapon detection system.

  When I activated the hands-free and answered, Spider’s excited voice made my heart leap in a mixture of hope and dread.

  “Aydan, I think I found something!”

  Chapter 39

  “What?” I demanded, braking hard and pulling over to the shoulder of the highway.

  “A connection. Through Facebook, just like we were joking about last night!”

  “Who? What’s the connection?”

  “Penobscot Salinger Murphy, Buck Murphy’s brother. He knew Selena Bruner’s ex-husband-”

  “Yeah, we knew that,” I interrupted. “But they weren’t close friends, and he didn’t know any of the other exes. He didn’t even know any of the friends of the exes.”

  “No, I know, but listen. He knew friends of friends of the exes. He and some of the friends of friends belong to a male supremacy group, and in each case one of his friends from the group is friends with one of the exes. He has a connection twice removed to all of them. And get this, Aydan, he has a son who looks a lot like Daniel! Matthew Mark Murphy.”

  My heart gave a giant thump. “Is it Daniel? Or one of the other kidnapped boys?”

  “No, but there’s something weird with Scot Murphy’s Facebook posts. Up until fifteen months ago he was posting regularly, lots of pictures with Matthew camping and fishing and stuff. Then there’s a hiatus right around the time when Peter Bruner was abducted. After that Murphy’s posts pick up again, but more sporadically, and there’s a gap around the time of each boy’s abduction.”

  “So what does that mean?” I demanded.

  “Well, I was thinking maybe he was just trying to be kind to the Bruners, you know, not rubbing it in that he still had his son and they didn’t.”

  “But what about the others? If he didn’t know them…”

  “Well, he was connected through friends of friends, so he’d still have been able to see posts from them. Most people aren’t careful enough about their Facebook security settings to limit their posts only to friends. And when the boys were abducted their parents put up all kinds of pleas and offers for rewards on Facebook that got shared everywhere. Maybe Murphy just didn’t want to make them feel bad.”

  “That seems awfully sensitive and thoughtful,” I said suspiciously. “Especially for a misogynistic pig.”

  “Or maybe he figured out that the boys all looked like Matthew and he was afraid Matthew might be next,” Spider suggested.

  Fear closed an icy fist around my stomach. “Shit, we need to call the police right away! If whoever’s stalking these boys is finding them through Facebook…”

  “I don’t think it would help to call the police,” he said uncertainly. “They can’t put a security detail on every boy in the province with dark hair and grey eyes. And anyway, how are you going to say you found out? Hacking Facebook is illegal and you can’t blow your cover unless it’s an emergency.”

  “Shit!” I pounded a fist on the steering wheel. “And Stemp already told me he can’t give me any legal protection on this case. I’m sorry, Spider, I shouldn’t have involved you…”

  “It’s okay,” he interrupted. “I won’t get caught. I’m too good a hacker for that…” His voice wavered into uncertainty again. “…unless you tell the police…” His tone firmed, and I imagined his cheeks flushing and his shoulders squaring. “Matthew’s life might be at stake. You have to tell them.”

  “No, Spider, I’m not going to get you in trouble over this. I’ll find another way. And you’re right, they couldn’t protect Matthew even if I did tell them. We can contact Murphy ourselves and warn him if he doesn’t already know.” I put the car in gear and accelerated back onto the highway. “Email everything you’ve got to John, and tell him I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “Okay, Aydan. Good luck.”

  Exactly twenty minutes later I parked in one of the visitor parking slots at Kane’s condo building and ran for the door. The lock released as soon as I pressed his call button, and I took the stairs two at a time to the third floor.

  By the time I arrived panting at the top, Hellhound was already framed in Kane’s open doorway.

  “Hey, darlin’.” He enclosed me in a brief hug and drew me inside, closing the door behind us.

  My first look at Kane stopped me in my tracks. Thick stubble coated his jaw and his hands trembled finely. Haunted eyes sunken in deeply-shadowed sockets were the only trace of colour in his face.

  “John…?” I asked cautiously. “Didn’t you go to bed last night?”

  “Of course I did. I gave you my word,” he snapped, returning his attention to the laptop screen in front of him. “Have you seen this new data from Webb?”

  “Um, no, but he told me a bit about it.”

  I threw a ‘what-the-fuck?’ look at Hellhound and he leaned down to murmur in my ear. “He went to bed at midnight an’ told me he was takin’ his pills, but I think he lied. Soon’s he was down I crashed, too, an’ when I got up this mornin’ he was already up. Doubt if he slept more’n a coupla hours, if he slept at all. Prob’ly just lay there waitin’ ‘til I fell asleep-”

  “Do you mind?” Kane demanded. “Can you stop whispering sweet nothings to each other long enough to focus on saving my son’s life?”

  A sharp retort rose to my lips, but Hellhound shot me a warning look and replied, “Sorry, Cap.” He led me over to the table where we peered over Kane’s shoulder at the name diagram Spider had sent. “I dunno if that means what ya think it means, though,” Hellhound added as though rejoining an argument that had been in progress before I arrived.

  “Of course it does!” Kane barked. “Look!” He traced an impatient finger over the network of lines that connected Scot Murphy through friends of friends to each of the exes. “And the Facebook posts prove it!” He flipped to a view of Murphy’s Facebook feed and began to scroll.

  In the photos from two years ago, Matthew Mark Murphy displayed a wide grin for the camera, posing with a fishing rod and a jackfish nearly as big as himself, or perched on a motorized quad wearing child-sized camo fatigues. He resembled Daniel, but there was no confusing the two.

  Then came the gap when Peter Bruner had disappeared, and when the photos resumed there were no more closeups of Matthew. Instead, he appeared as a small figure in the distance, or turned away so the camera didn’t capture his face.

  “Scot Murphy was scared,” I surmised. “He realized Matthew looked like the disappearing boys and he didn’t want to display a full-face picture in case Matthew was targeted.”

  “No, Scot Murphy is the killer,” Kane growled. “Look at these children. They’re not Matthew. They’re not even the same child in all the photos. Something happened to Matthew, and Murphy has been stalking these children on Facebook, abducting them and dressing them up to look like Matthew, and then killing them and taking another. He’s
probably trying to replace his own son. Classic psychosis.”

  “I dunno, Cap,” Hellhound soothed. “I don’t see how ya figure these are all different kids. Ya can’t see enough of their faces to know.”

  “Dammit, you can see it in their body language!” Kane jabbed a finger at the screen. “Look! They’re frightened! Cringing and turning away!”

  “Or lookin’ at somethin’ on the ground,” Hellhound corrected gently. “If we had video we’d know, but ya can’t really tell for sure from a still shot. But like I said, ya gotta call Mayweather. Pass it over-”

  “No!” Kane surged to his feet, fists clenched. “Scot Murphy murdered his brother and took Daniel and all these other boys. If Mayweather starts investigating, Murphy will kill Daniel and hide every trace!”

  “How do you know Scot killed Buck?” I asked mildly, hoping to calm the wild look in his eyes.

  “Scot’s fingerprints were in Buck’s truck,” Kane said. “And we know Buck knew his attacker because they were drinking together. And Scot is the same size and build as Buck, so they likely wore the same shoe size. Scot would have known Daniel if Buck had been dating Alicia, and he would have known about Buck and Daniel’s camping trip, too. It’s got to be him!”

  “That’s a lotta circumstantial evidence,” Hellhound began. “An’ they were brothers, so Scot prob’ly rode in Buck’s truck lotsa times…”

  “I know, but dammit, I feel it in my gut!” Kane appealed to us with both hands outstretched. “It’s Murphy, I know it is! And your argument doesn’t hold water, Aydan. Peter Bruner was the first to be abducted. Murphy wouldn’t have had any reason to suspect a serial killer or fear for his son’s life then.”

  “That’s true…” I agreed reluctantly.

  “We’ve got to get to Murphy before the police come to the same conclusion and start questioning him,” Kane urged. “If Mayweather doesn’t get a warrant right away and tips his hand with too many questions to Murphy…” He trailed off, his fists clenching all over again. “…or even if Mayweather does get the warrant, if Murphy isn’t hiding Daniel at his home Mayweather will never find anything. And Murphy will kill Daniel and go under the radar until the heat is off!”

  “Yeah, but if we confront Murphy, the same thing could happen,” I argued. “What can we do that the police…”

  I trailed off at the feral gleam in Kane’s eyes.

  “Cap,” Hellhound warned. “We gotta think this through. What if you’re wrong?”

  “I’m not wrong!” Kane glared at us.

  “Okay, I believe ya,” Hellhound said in pacifying tones. “So let’s think it through. You’re gonna grab Scot Murphy, an’ then what?”

  “And then I’ll make him tell me where Daniel is.” Kane’s words were simple, flat, and utterly terrifying.

  “Okay, but that’s messy an’ it’s gonna take a bit a’ time,” Hellhound argued. “An’ what’ll ya do if he won’t tell ya?”

  “He’ll tell me.”

  I shuddered involuntarily.

  “What if he can’t tell ya ‘cause he didn’t do it?” Hellhound asked quietly. “Ya gonna kill him to keep him quiet an’ hide the body? Keep on huntin’ an’ torturin’ an’ killin’ innocent guys ‘til ya find the right one? That’s startin’ to sound about as sick as a serial killer to me.”

  “I’ll know,” Kane argued. “I’ll know as soon as I talk to him. I’m a trained agent. I’ve staked my life over and over on my ability to read people. If he’s innocent, he’s perfectly safe.”

  “Yes, you’re a top agent, but you’re not at your best right now,” I objected. “You’re exhausted and overstressed and reacting to your past trauma as well as this one. You know as well as I do that now’s not the time to be jumping to conclusions. You can’t afford to be wrong about this.”

  Kane hissed out an impatient breath and strode over to the kitchen island as if unable to stand still any longer. “I’m telling you, I’m right! I know it!” He jerked out a drawer and rummaged momentarily in it, his back to us. Then his movements stilled. “But you’re right,” he said in a softer tone. His shoulders eased.

  “You’re right,” he repeated. “It’s dangerous and illegal, and it’s wrong of me to even consider involving you in it.” He turned again to face us, and I barely glimpsed the gun in his hand before he added, “I’m sorry,” and fired.

  Chapter 40

  I woke to an insistent hand patting my cheek and the sound of some truly inventive swearing.

  “Wha…?” I mumbled.

  “Wake up, darlin’.” The annoying hand patted my cheek again. “Come on, Aydan, wake up.”

  “’M ‘wake…” My eyes wouldn’t open and my tongue didn’t seem to be cooperating. But my arm hurt like hell. “Ow,” I added.

  “Sorry, darlin’.” A strong arm closed around my body and pulled me farther up on the pillows.

  Pillows?

  What the hell?

  I managed to pry one eye open to focus on Hellhound’s anxious face inches away.

  “Wake up, Aydan,” he urged. “He tranked us an’ took off. We gotta get loose an’ stop him.”

  “Uh…?” I shook my head vigorously and got my other eye open. “Oh, f’r shit-sake,” I mumbled. “Again?”

  “Yeah. Again.” Hellhound directed a scowl up at our wrists, handcuffed together over our heads and looped through the headboard of Kane’s bed.

  “Fuckin’ dumbass bastard,” Hellhound ground out. “When I find him I’m gonna kick his fuckin’ ass from here to hell an’ back.”

  With the help of a massive adrenaline surge, the tranquilizer receded to a fuzzy sensation in the back of my brain and a foul taste in my mouth. I bolted up as far as I could without ripping my arm out of its socket.

  “Fuck! He’s gone to torture Scot Murphy! We have to stop him!”

  “Is there an echo in here?” Hellhound inquired wryly. “If ya got any ideas, darlin’, now’d be a good time. The only other person with a key to this condo is Dad Kane in Winnipeg, so we’re either gonna hafta bust outta here on our own or call the cops. He left us the phone.”

  My vision cleared enough to squint at a small object on the low chest of drawers. “He left us the handcuff key, too. Out of reach. So he wants us to call 911 and get them to break in and unlock us…”

  “…but then we’ll hafta explain why we were locked together in the first place,” Hellhound finished with disgust. “He’s buyin’ time. Stallin’ us. He knows we won’t rat him out to the cops. If we call ‘em, we’re gonna hafta tell ‘em we were gettin’ kinky an’ were too fuckin’ dumb to keep the key in reach. An’ that’ll be a low-priority call so they’ll take their time gettin’ to us…”

  “…and then there will be paperwork and more time wasted before we can follow him.” I grabbed the centre post of the headboard and jerked fruitlessly at it. “Goddammit!”

  “Already tried that, darlin’. It’s solid. An’ he took away everythin’ we coulda used to shim the cuffs open.” He jerked his chin toward the bureau where my waist pouch lay out of reach as well.

  I gave the post one more jerk from pure temper. “Dammit! Don’t you know anybody who can pick the door lock and get us out?” Inspiration struck. “Weasel! He’s a car thief! He has to know how to pick locks!”

  “He does, darlin’, but car locks are different than house locks, and anyway, nobody’s gonna pick this one,” Hellhound said ruefully. “Kane replaced it with a high-security one. Even Weasel couldn’t pick it.”

  “What about the management company or the cleaning staff?”

  Hellhound was already shaking his head. “Nah, no such luck. If they need to get in an’ Kane ain’t around I gotta come down here with my key.”

  “Shit! We’ve got to get to that handcuff key!” I squirmed up toward the headboard so I could scramble to my knees. “Your arms are longer than mine. If we shuffle the bed across the floor, I can push my arm between the slats to give you more reach…” I grabbed the headboard and jerked
, driving my weight backward.

  The bed moved a fraction of an inch, and I swore. “Goddammit, why do you big guys always have such fucking heavy beds?”

  Hellhound chuckled. “Why d’ya think? Nothin’ worse’n havin’ the bed let go when you’re in the middle a’ gettin’ busy.” He lurched up to his knees beside me as I tried again.

  “Hang on, darlin’, let’s not let the phone get outta reach.” He grabbed the cordless handset and placed it safely between us before gripping the headboard on his side. “Okay, let’s show this bed some action. Ready? An’ push… push… push…”

  In short order we had shuffled the bed across the hardwood floor. Under Hellhound’s greater weight and strength, his corner had taken the lead and wedged itself firmly against the bureau, and my side refused to get any closer despite my best efforts.

  “Stop, darlin’, we’re stuck,” Hellhound said as I jerked at the bed again, swearing with all the breath I had left.

  Panting and sweating, I slumped against the headboard and stared at the mocking glint of the handcuff key beyond the foot of the bed.

  “Fuck.” I blew out a breath and tried to stop panting. “Okay, I’ll push my arm through the headboard. See if you can reach.”

  I crammed my arm through the slats, gritting my teeth. Elbow and wrist contorted to allow Hellhound as much chain as possible, I panted, “Go.”

  On his knees and bent at the waist, he stretched his arms wide, his fingertips straining toward the foot of the bed. The chain tightened and I let out a hiss of pain.

  He jerked back toward me, slackening the pull. “Sorry, darlin’. Ya okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said through my teeth. “Try again.”

  “No.” He gently eased my arm back through the slats. “I wasn’t anywhere close, an’ I ain’t gonna hurt ya. Time to call the cops.”

  “Wait,” I panted as he reached for the phone. “I have another idea.”