“I’m a little concerned about that, too,” she admitted. “But I’ve spent a lot of time with him, Sheriff. I know he wants to find those children as much as we do. And you can’t deny his credentials. I even checked them out myself. His old boss at Quantico credits him with almost being able to walk on water. There’s no one working these cases who even comes close to his experience. If we pass up his offer of help and this thing turns out tragic—” She broke off, not wanting to put into words everyone’s secret fear. “We were willing to use a psychic, for God’s sake. How can we not use a profiler?”
“Yeah, but he’s not just any profiler. He’s the uncle of one of the victims. Aside from the fact that he may have a hard time remaining objective, have you considered there may be another problem with using him?”
Abby frowned. She’d considered a lot of problems relating to Sam, not the least of which was her attraction to him. But she wasn’t about to admit that to the sheriff. “What do you mean?”
Mooney leaned forward, resting his forearms on his desk. “He could be using his expertise to try and steer the investigation in the wrong direction.”
His suggestion rumbled through Abby like an aftershock, but she couldn’t say the possibility had taken her completely by surprise. Karen Brodie was still very much a suspect, just as her estranged husband was. Yesterday Sam had indicated that he and his sister weren’t close, that he’d let her down once when she’d needed him. Was he trying to make it up to her now?
He’d misled Abby about his FBI credentials and about his relationship to Karen Brodie. Was he lying to her about his motives?
But Abby had seen the concern in his eyes, and she knew that his desire to find the missing children was as great as her own. Sam Burke, for all his secrets, was an honorable man. She had to believe that.
“It’s a risk either way,” Mooney said pensively. “If the media gets hold of this, we’re damned if we do and we’re damned if we don’t. But the idea of a man with his expertise out there on his own, finding evidence and maybe destroying it—that troubles me.”
“You really don’t trust him, do you?” Abby said, a sinking sensation in her stomach.
“Let’s just say, after the shenanigans he pulled that first day, I’ve got mixed feelings.”
Abby understood his conflict only too well. “So what do you want me to do?”
“If we bring him into the investigation, we’ll have to keep it under control. We restrict his access to information on a need-to-know basis only.” Sheriff Mooney pointed a finger in Abby’s direction. “But if he says or does one thing that raises your suspicions, you come straight to me. You got that?”
“Yes, sir.”
“And another thing. We keep his involvement under wraps, just like we did the psychic. Make sure he knows we don’t want him talking to the media. He leaks anything to the press, he’s out. For good.”
“I understand.”
“I hope you do,” Mooney said grimly. “Because if this thing goes south, you’ll have to live with the consequences same as I will. Are you willing to risk it?”
Abby nodded, but her heart was knocking against her chest painfully. Are you sure you know what you’re doing? a little voice asked her.
Yes, Abby thought. She knew what she was doing. She was playing with fire, that’s what she was doing.
“Now,” Sheriff Mooney said. “What’d you find out in Palisades?”
Abby filled him in on the pertinent details, leaving out the incident with Ray Dean Hatcher and the snakes. And Sam’s kiss. Neither event presented her in a particularly favorable light. “I’m trying to track down Marvin Hatcher, the cousin,” she said. “But it’ll be hard to get anything done over the weekend. Most government offices are closed.”
“Lean on them if you have to.”
“I’ve asked Sheriff McElroy to try and get someone to go over to the Crawford County Clerk’s office and look up Bobby Lee’s marriage license. If we can track down the woman he married, it’s possible she could shed some light on his whereabouts. The kid brother seemed to think Bobby Lee might have gone off to try and find her.”
“That’s all well and good,” Sheriff Mooney said. “But Bobby Lee Hatcher is a long shot, and you know it, Abby. As far as we know, he has no connection whatsoever to Eden, much less to those children.”
“As far as we know,” Abby agreed. But it was the unknown regarding Bobby Lee Hatcher that still nagged at her.
SHE FOUND SAM at the community center a little while later, working with the volunteers. When he saw her come in, he rose and strode across the room toward her. “You talked to the sheriff?”
Abby nodded. “Yeah. You’re in. For the time being, at least. You’ll be working with me while you formulate profiles on both cases. But, Sam—” She put a hand on his arm, then immediately removed it, realizing the intimacy of the action. Remembering the even more intimate feel of his lips on hers. “You have to keep a low profile. No talking to the press.”
“Not a problem,” he said. “But I don’t think I’m the one you need to worry about.” He nodded toward the front of the community center, where a buzz had started up among the few reporters milling about. Curtis Brodie had just come in, and the group descended on him like a swarm of hungry locusts.
“Mr. Brodie, has there been any word about your daughter?”
“Mr. Brodie, are the police keeping you informed about the investigation?”
“How do you feel about the fact that the task force seems to have no real suspects?”
Undaunted by the barrage of questions, Curtis Brodie seemed in no hurry to move away from the reporters. “They have no real suspects because they’re incompetent,” he said bluntly.
“How do you think the FBI’s involvement will affect the investigation?”
“Unfortunately, their involvement is a matter of offering too little too late. They should have been brought in immediately, the moment the first little girl was taken. Sara Beth might be with us now. But Sheriff Mooney put his ego before our children’s safety, and now my daughter is paying the price. And your child might be next,” he said to the enthralled throng. He had a way of speaking that made everyone listen whether they agreed with what he was saying or not. As much as she disliked him, Abby couldn’t deny the man’s personal charisma. He was like a Svengali, she thought. Or a very slick politician.
His appearance certainly didn’t work against him. He was tall, fit, his skin tanned to a deep bronze. But even apart from his good looks, he had a presence about him, an almost obscene vitality that seemed to suck the air out of any room he entered.
Two of the reporters were women, and he had them eating out of his hand. They hung on his every word, leaving the tougher questioning to their male counterparts.
“Sheriff Mooney has put a detective in charge of my daughter’s case who has no experience in crimes of this nature,” he said scathingly. “Sergeant Cross has already made one very serious mistake. Let’s hope it wasn’t a fatal one.”
Abby started when she heard her name. She took a step toward the man, but Sam grabbed her arm, holding her back. “He wants a showdown. Don’t give him the satisfaction.”
It was sound advice, but Abby had a hard time standing silently by while Curtis Brodie maligned her reputation. She reminded herself that he was a very frightened parent and entitled to some slack. But Curtis Brodie didn’t appear to be suffering at the moment. If anything, he loved the limelight.
“A car carrying a small child, a girl, was seen in the vicinity by several witnesses at the time of my daughter’s disappearance. Sergeant Cross didn’t bother interviewing these witnesses until the next day. Everyone knows that the first twenty-four hours following an abduction is critical. Everyone, that is, except Sergeant Cross.”
Abby spun on Sam. “How did he find out about that car?”
Sam’s eyes narrowed on her. “What are you implying, Abby?”
“Nothing,” she muttered, backing down. Not willing to admit that Sher
iff Mooney had put reservations about Sam’s motives in her head. “I don’t like leaks, that’s all.”
“It’s not a leak. Curtis and Karen were both questioned about that car.”
“Not about the child in the back seat. We purposely held that back.”
“Then maybe one of the Pratt boys talked. Or Fayetta Gibbons. You can’t keep every detail a secret. Not in a high-profile case like this.”
Maybe not, but Abby knew she’d better figure out a way to keep Sam’s involvement under wraps, or her career, what was left of it when Curtis Brodie got through, was toast.
SAM STARED out the window as Abby headed north, taking them along a stretch of road that afforded an occasional glimpse of the lake. The day had turned out to be hot and dry. The thunderclouds of early morning had dissolved into a crystalline blue sky, and across the water, white, palatial houses gleamed in the early-afternoon sunlight.
“Who lives over there?” He nodded across the lake, trying to find a topic of conversation that might lessen the tension between them. Abby had been wound up tighter than a trip wire ever since Curtis’s performance for the reporters, but Sam wasn’t convinced the assault on her competence was the only thing bothering her. She was still ticked off about that kiss last night. Annoyed with herself, maybe, because she’d responded.
It probably hadn’t been a great idea, Sam reflected, but he wasn’t sorry it had happened, because the moment his mouth had touched Abby’s, he’d felt alive again, after so many years of being dead inside.
Whatever emotions had been left after coping with Jonathan’s death had slowly been eaten away by his job. When he got home most nights, he didn’t think too much about relationships, or even one-night stands for that matter. Mostly what he felt was old and tired.
But last night, Abby had changed all that—with just a kiss.
He heard her speak, and with an effort, he pulled himself out of his reverie. He glanced at her profile as she sat behind the wheel, and he thought again what an attractive woman she was. In so many ways.
“…most of the houses on the other side of the lake are vacation homes. They’re usually only occupied in the summer months.”
“Does anyone local live over there?”
“A few. In fact, Curtis Brodie just bought a big place on the water.” She waited a beat, then said, “You realize, of course, that both Karen and Curtis are still suspects in Sara Beth’s disappearance? They have to be, especially considering the bitter nature of their separation.”
“I understand that.”
Abby lifted a hand and pushed back her hair. “What you also need to understand is that I’m going to go wherever this investigation leads me. I don’t care whose toes I step on.”
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
She nodded.
He said almost matter-of-factly, “Did you know that Curtis is having some serious financial problems?”
“What kind of problems?”
“I think he may be in trouble with the IRS.” Abby glanced at him in surprise. “Who told you that? Karen?”
“No. Someone who works for Curtis. I think it bears a closer scrutiny.”
“Yes, but even if it’s true, what would his finances have to do with his daughter’s kidnapping—” Abby stopped herself almost as soon as the words were out. She glanced at him, horrified. “Insurance?”
“I’m not accusing him of anything,” Sam said, but his stomach knotted at the very idea. He’d seen it all, even the bloody aftermath of a parent’s rage against a child, but this was his sister’s daughter. The fact that Sam had never laid eyes on her didn’t matter. All his protective instincts rose to the surface with a vengeance. God help Curtis Brodie if he’d laid one finger on that child.
“You’re okay with this?” Abby asked doubtfully. “I mean, this is your family we’re talking about.”
“Curtis Brodie isn’t part of my family. And believe me, if he had any part in Sara Beth’s disappearance, I have no problem taking him down.”
“I understand.”
Their gazes met, and Sam thought, she does understand, because she’d do the same if it were Sadie.
But her motives would be far different from his. Abby’s ten-year hunt for her niece was a labor of love. A search kept alive by devotion and family loyalty. Sam was here in large part out of guilt. He’d once let his sister down very badly. He couldn’t do the same to Sara Beth.
“You’re willing to take down Curtis Brodie,” Abby said slowly, “But what about your sister?”
“What about her?”
“Curtis has made some pretty serious accusations against her. He said she came at him once with a knife.”
Sam had heard that same allegation from Luanne Plimpton. Having Abby repeat it didn’t make it any truer, or any less disturbing. “Have you asked Karen about it?”
“She denied it,” Abby said grimly. “She said Curtis was the one who threatened her. There’s no love lost between those two, that much is obvious. But what I want to know is where Sara Beth fits into the equation.”
“I believe Karen loves her,” Sam said.
Abby nodded. “I believe that, too. But you and I both know that people do terrible things in the name of love.”
THEY WERE NEARING Fairhaven Academy. Although it was a Saturday, Abby had arranged for Lois Sheridan, the director, to assemble the teachers and support staff so that she and Sam could speak with them again. She wanted to get his impression of the people who had come into contact with both Sara Beth and Emily on a daily basis.
But he’d been so silent for the last several minutes that Abby wondered if she’d been wrong to voice her doubts about his sister. Her suspicions were nothing concrete. Nothing but a nagging intuition that something wasn’t right in the Brodie household.
But family was family. Abby understood that, too. Sam had a right to be protective of his sister, so long as his loyalty didn’t interfere with the investigation. So long as he meant what he said—that he was willing to follow the investigation no matter where it led them.
He could be using his expertise to try and steer the investigation in the wrong direction.
She shoved her doubts aside. “So how did you become a profiler?”
Sam had been gazing out the window, but he turned to face her now, his gray eyes deeply intense. “I was working out of the field office in Denver, and we had a serial killer who was preying on elderly women. He was as meticulous in his arrangement of the bodies and the cleanup of the crime scenes as he was vicious in his killings. Those of us working the case had never seen anything like it. We contacted Quantico and requested assistance from the Behavioral Science Unit. Back then profiling was still considered something akin to palm reading by a lot of people in the Bureau. Those guys didn’t get a lot of respect, and the special agent in charge of the Denver office had reservations about bringing one in. But the profiler nailed the UNSUB cold.”
“And you were impressed.”
“Yeah. I was. I’d worked with him pretty closely on the case, picked his brain all I could, and before he went back to Quantico I told him I was interested in profiling. He gave me a recommendation, and within six months, I’d moved back east.”
“Any regrets?”
“Sure. Everyone has regrets.” Abby wanted to ask him what those regrets were. Why he’d been compelled to resign after so many years. She remembered what his boss had said about him when Abby had called him. Sam Burke? One of the best profilers I’ve ever seen. Damned uncanny at times.
Abby found herself shivering. “I’ve always been interested in profiling.”
“You don’t want to be a profiler, Abby. Trust me.”
“Why not? The work has to be rewarding.” She tried to hide the stab of disappointment inflicted by Sam’s casual dismissal of her dream.
“It is. But it’s also grueling. You work in cramped quarters six stories underground. That alone can be stressful, but the work load is almost impossible. Twelve profilers
handling hundreds, sometimes thousands of the most depressing and disturbing cases you can imagine. Burnout is not uncommon.”
“I think what you’re trying to tell me is that you don’t think I could cut it,” she said with a frown.
“Maybe,” he conceded. “But not in the way you think. You’re talented enough. You’ve got great instincts. But Eden isn’t like the rest of the world. In a lot of ways, it’s like stepping into a time warp. Oh, you have your computers and cell phones and twenty-first-century technology, but it’s not like the outside world. Here, even the crime scenes are pristine. No blood. No bodies—”
“You think a child abduction is clean?” Abby asked in disgust.
“All I’m saying is that until you’ve seen firsthand what a truly sick mind can do, you have no concept of what it’s like to work day in and day out on cases so gruesome your mind has a hard time comprehending such brutality. You can’t believe what human beings can do to one another. And after you’ve spent fourteen or fifteen hours a day with such horror, you get to go home and dream about it.”
“Is that why you quit?”
“No.” He turned to stare out the window. “I quit because I didn’t dream about it anymore.”
Chapter Ten
Tall, thin, and impeccably groomed, Lois Sheridan seemed to personify the attributes one would associate with the director of a private school that catered mainly to the children of the upper crust. There had been exceptions over the years, of course, like Emily and Sadie. Neither child came from an affluent background, and as Abby studied the woman surreptitiously, she couldn’t help wondering if Lois Sheridan had perhaps been galled by the fact that, due to unforeseen openings in her enrollment in those years, she’d been forced to accept children who would have normally been turned away from Fairhaven, albeit discreetly.
She was an imposing woman, Abby had to admit, with her ramrod posture and imperious, almost despotic, comportment. The students at Fairhaven were probably terrified of her. Looking down her nose, she gave Abby’s own posture a reproving glance that made Abby immediately sit up straight, back her shoulders, and press her knees together like a propositioned virgin.
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