In Harm's Way (Heroes of Quantico Series, Book 3)

by Irene Hannon

  "Yeah, but did you notice that brownish stain behind Danielle's ear? I saw it when you were holding her against your shoulder:"

  "I caught a glimpse of it when I put her in her snowsuit. Why?"

  "It looked like hair dye to me." Kristal ran her hand through her own russet tresses. "Take it from one who knows, that stuff is insidious. It gets everywhere. And that picture on the screen must be from Christmas. Her outfit's red and green. Babies change a lot in a couple of months. Do you know anything about the mother?"

  "She doesn't talk much. But I know she moved here recently from Chicago" Marsha frowned and swirled the liquid in her soda can. "You know, when I showed her that first article in St. Louis Scene about the psychic, she did seem a little upset:"

  "According to the FBI, Megan O'Neil has a small strawberry birthmark on her right hip, the anchorman continued. "The baby has blue eyes and. . "

  "Oh my word" Marsha's mouth dropped open and she froze, the can of soda halfway to her mouth.

  "What?" Kristal tipped her head back to look at her roommate.

  "Danielle has that kind of birthmark on her hip"

  "Wow" Kristal pulled out her cell phone and handed it over. "I think you better call the FBI."

  The rock slipped from Rachel's numb fingers. Again.

  Tears sprang to her eyes, and she fought them back.

  Don't cry! Don't give up! Keep working!

  She'd been repeating that mantra for what seemed like hours, but in truth she had no idea how long she'd been nicking away at the wood around the hinge. She'd lost all sense of the passage of time.

  She was losing other things too. Her capacity to think clearly. And her ability to remain upright. There had also been a dramatic drop in her motor coordination. But at least she wasn't as cold as she had been, despite the intense shivers that continued to wrack her body. Nor did she care as much about sticking to her plan. Her motivational chant was beginning to lose its effect.

  Lowering herself to the ground, she considered staying there. It would be the easy thing to do. She could let herself drift into oblivion, end the nightmare. Why prolong this agony?

  She toyed with that idea. The prospect was tempting. She'd tried her best, hadn't she? What good would it do to get one or two more slivers of wood out of the door? She was still on the first hinge. In the end, her efforts wouldn't matter. There was no way she was going to work one hinge loose, let alone two.

  Hang in and keep movingforward.

  The voice urging her on came from somewhere deep inside. It was the same voice she'd heard through the years whenever life got rough. Through the emotional upheavals of the foster system, through the pain of multiple surgeries, through the lonely adult years without anyone to come home to, she'd listened to that voice, heeded its directive.

  And her stick-to-itiveness had paid off. In self-respect, if not always in results. Giving up would be a terrible way to end her life.

  Mustering her waning strength, Rachel groped around the dirt floor until her fingers found the sharp rock.

  She willed her uncooperative fingers to close around it.

  Lifted it.

  And went back to work.

  The first thing Nick saw when he arrived at the well was the blood.

  It was smeared on the tarp the ERT technician was pulling out of the black hole as he and Mark strode across the field toward the circle of light created by the floods that had been set up.

  He stumbled.

  Mark gripped his arm.

  Nick stopped. Fought for composure. Pulled away. "I'm okay. Let's see what they have" He moved forward, leaving Mark to follow.

  Clair Ellis, the lead ERT technician, was known for her lead foot on the gas pedal, and she'd obviously put it to good use getting from the hotel crime scene to the farm. As he and Mark stepped into the light, she examined the tarp, her short blonde hair peeking from beneath her wool cap as she pushed her glasses higher on her nose.

  Stopping beside her, Nick looked at the dark maroon smears. His only consolation was that there weren't many of them.

  "What do you have?" His strained words came out in a puff of frosty breath.

  "The purse is over there" She gestured toward a drop cloth that had been spread on the ground. "It doesn't appear as if anything is missing. Wallet's inside, with ID and money. There's more stuff in the well. We're bringing it up now"

  As she spoke, another technician pulled Rachel's coat out of the murky depths. Clair set the tarp aside to join him, holding the coat carefully in her latex-gloved hands as she examined the fabric. "No blood. And it's intact"

  Meaning a bullet or knife hadn't ripped into it. Nick read between the lines of her comment.

  He stepped aside, watching as other items came up. With a video camera rolling, Clair slipped them into evidence bags, sealed the bags, signed them, and recorded the number on the outside of each in the evidence log.

  Nick took a mental inventory as he watched. A pair of black pumps. A screwdriver. A bolt cutter. A large, rusted padlock. Each bagged object was laid on the drop cloth, like the pieces of a puzzle.

  Except he had no idea how to put them together. Or where to find the missing pieces that would lead them to Rachel.

  "That lock sure has seen better days"

  Turning, Nick surveyed the stocky, late-fiftyish man who stood just outside the circle of light. His shaggy, gray-streaked brown hair was visible beneath a knit cap, and a few unruly locks had fallen across his forehead. He wore a bulky, well-broken-in work coat, worn jeans, and heavy-duty gloves.

  It had to be Gary Feltrop.

  Nick walked over and introduced himself. "I understand you discovered the cell phone'

  "Yep. Heard it ringing on my way back from the pasture. Strangest thing, how that sound come out of nowhere. Glad I stopped to check it our

  "So are we. You didn't see or hear anyone in this area tonight, did you?"

  "Nope. I don't use this pasture much in the winter. But I got a pump on the back forty that's givin' me fits, and this is a shortcut. Didn't see a soul, though. Just heard the phone'

  "Any idea where that lock might be from?"

  The man stepped into the light and examined the rusted piece of metal at closer range. "No. Lots of people in the area use that kind. Mostly on sheds and such. They're not real secure, so we use 'em more to keep pranksters and kids out. This one wouldn't even do that, though. It's rusted through. Looks like it's been out in the weather for a good long time"

  "Nick:" Mark spoke in his ear. "One of the K-9 units is here"

  Excusing himself, Nick turned toward Mark as the farmer melted back into the shadows. A county police officer with a dog was visible in the background. He tipped his head toward the drop cloth. "Any thoughts?"

  Mark inspected the array of items. "My guess is the tools were used to remove the rusted lock. Clair's team should be able to confirm that"

  "Our farmer friend pointed out that the lock is useless. It's rusted out. That says abandoned building to me. We could be looking for the kind of storage shed that he indicated is often secured with this type of lock. The abductor might have left Rachel inside and replaced the rusted lock with a new one" He raked his fingers through his hair and shook his head. "But I don't get the coat and shoes"

  "Maybe our subject didn't have the stomach for outright murder," Mark theorized. "Cold can be as fatal as a bullet. It kills too. Just not as fast"

  "Hey, guys, get a load of this"

  At Clair's summons, Nick and Mark joined her. She was holding a Glock, similar to the one they carried. Except ...

  Nick leaned closer to examine it. "That's not a real gun:"

  "Nope. It's a toy. Pretty authentic looking, though" Clair hefted it in her hand. "And heavy duty. It almost fooled me."

  And it would certainly have fooled someone who didn't have much experience with guns.

  Like Rachel.

  Nick closed his eyes as he came to the obvious conclusion.

  Rachel had been
abducted with a toy gun.

  If the situation wasn't so deadly, it would almost be laughable.

  But laughing was the farthest thing from his mind. Especially when the next item retrieved from the well was a tote bag containing Rachel's music. He felt as if someone had kicked him in the stomach when Clair opened the folder and a single sheet fluttered to the ground.

  It was the opening page for "Our Love Is Here to Stay."

  Dear God, could this get any more difficult?

  As Nick's BlackBerry began to vibrate, he took a long, slow breath. Don't lose it. You're notgoing to be able to help Rachel if you get emotional. Think of the music as a positive message.

  He noted that Mark was reaching for his belt too. They angled away from each other to take their calls.

  "Bradley" His greeting came out hoarse.

  "Nick, it's Matt. I talked to Debra Kraus's father. He's a piece of work. I think I can see where her mental problems come from"

  "Did he know where she is?"

  "No. And he didn't care. According to him, she's been nothing but trouble since the day she was born. He described her as lazy, selfish, less-than-bright, unattractive, unsuccessful in her efforts to attract or keep a husband, and a failure in her attempts at motherhood. Those are just a few of the things he said. All he cared about was whether we were offering money for information"

  Disgust left a sour taste in Nick's mouth. "Not exactly fatherof-the-year material:"

  "You've got that right. After I listened to his tirade, I did a little more checking into Debra's background. Found out her mother died when she was nine. She was an only child, and her father raised her. I dug up a few police reports from back then indicating he spent an occasional night in jail for disorderly conduct. The pattern would suggest he was into picking fights. Our suspect could have been in an abusive situation as a child, although a cursory check didn't turn that up. Did you have any luck tracking her down?"

  "Not yet, but we're on it. I think ..." He stopped as Mark gestured to him. "Hang on a second, we may have some news:' He pressed the mute button.

  "The electric company has an account for a Debra Kraus in Defiance," Mark told him. "I have the address:'

  Nick released the button. "We've got an address. I'll be in touch:"

  "Steve is on his way:" Mark slid his BlackBerry back onto his belt. "He also called in backup. The bad news is, the K-9 unit lost the scent on the road:"

  "I'm not surprised:" Nick assumed the abductor had been in a car and stopped only long enough to drop the items in the well. "But I have a feeling we're close. Why would someone drive around for very long with incriminating evidence in the car?"

  "I think we're all on the same page. Steve wants to set up a TOC at the New Melle police station. He's bringing in the local chief to brief us on the area, and our people are contacting the owners of Debra Kraus's rental house to see what they know. The house is about five miles from here, halfway between Defiance and New Melle."

  "What's Steve's ETA?"

  `About twenty minutes:'

  "Let's head over to the police station:"

  As they traversed the uneven ground toward Nick's car, a frigid gust of wind whipped past. Neither spoke. Out loud, anyway.

  But Nick had a feeling he and Mark were thinking the same thing: plummeting temperatures were as deadly as a ticking bomb.

  The police chief was waiting when they arrived.

  "Joe Richter" He introduced himself and shook hands. "I put coffee on. Would you like some? Could be a long night:"

  Nick's mouth settled into a grim line. Not if he could help it.

  "Thanks. That would be good;' Mark responded when Nick remained silent.

  "What can you tell us about the house our suspect is renting?" Nick asked as the man poured Mark's coffee.

  "It's the Schroeder place. Peggy and Harold. Nice folks. Harold used to bowl on our team. Won some championships in our day too. They moved into the city a few months back. Harold has a heart problem and they wanted a hospital nearby. Just in case. You start to worry about that kind of thing when you get older, I guess:" He took a sip of his coffee. "They couldn't bring themselves to sell the place, though. Lived there for fifty years. Thought they'd try renting it out for a while:"

  "About the house, Nick prompted, reining in his impatience.

  "Oh yeah, the house. Nice little place. Frame, one story. Been in there many a time. Sits on about five acres of woods and fields. House is about three hundred feet back from the road. Cozy living room, nice kitchen with a big breakfast area. Three small bedrooms"

  "Could you draw us a floor plan and site layout?" Nick asked.

  "I'm not much of an artist, but I can try."

  As the man concentrated on his sketch, Steve arrived, followed in short order by several additional agents.

  In typical fashion, the reactive squad supervisor got right to business. "We talked to the couple who owns the house, and they confirmed that Debra Kraus is the tenant. She did tell them she had an infant daughter. Harold Schroeder has been out there once since she moved in to check a leak in the roof. He saw the child and said she seemed happy and well cared for, but he had no recollection of what she looked like"

  "That would be Harold, Joe interjected. "Never was the most observant guy."

  "Bring me up to speed:" Steve planted his fists on his hips and aimed his directive at Nick.

  As Nick filled him in, recounting what they'd learned about Debra Kraus, the discovery in the well, and Rebecca's unexplained chills, twin furrows appeared on the squad supervisor's brow.

  "Our first priority needs to be Rachel Sutton. If she's still alive and out in this cold without a coat, her time is running out. The temperature is continuing to hover at about fifteen degrees, but the wind chill is fierce. And according to the forecast, the temperature's going to dive after midnight. If Ms. Kraus has the O'Neil baby, and if she abducted Ms. Sutton, we need to know. Now"

  "Do we have a search warrant?" The question came from Mark.

  "No" Steve squinted at him. "Guess you were in the HRT so long you forgot how the real world works. The search warrant is in process. But it's not going to happen as fast as we need it to."

  "If we can confirm that Debra Kraus has the O'Neil baby, we don't need a search warrant, Nick pointed out.

  "And how do you suggest we do that?" Steve folded his arms across his chest. "It's ten o'clock on a Sunday night. My guess is they're both in bed. If Ms. Sutton's life wasn't in imminent danger, we'd sit this out and confront the woman when she leaves the house with the baby in the morning to go to work. Since that's not an option, we need an cps plan to ..'

  He stopped mid-sentence and reached for his BlackBerry. "Preston"

  The conversation was mostly one-sided.

  "Get a full statement. But that's all I need for now." He slipped the device back on his belt.

  "We have a new development, gentlemen. The daycare worker at the center where Ms. Kraus leaves her baby called a few minutes ago. She heard the newscast tonight and confirmed that the Kraus baby has the distinguishing birthmark Megan O'Neil's parents told us about. She also babysat the child today from two o'clock until almost eight. And she noticed a stain by the baby's ear that could have been hair dye"

  A surge of adrenaline shot through Nick. "Everything fits"

  "Agreed. We now have both probable cause and exigent circumstances. Let me have some input"

  "Considering the toy gun, I doubt she's armed, Mark offered.

  "Maybe not. But from everything I've heard, we're not dealing with a rational person. I want vests on everybody if we go in"

  "What about danger to the baby?" Mark asked.

  "From what the daycare worker said, Ms. Kraus appears to be a caring mother who dotes on the child. The infant is healthy and happy. I doubt she'd hurt the baby, but we do need to factor in that possibility."

  "The safest plan would be to create a diversion that gets her outside for the arrest" Nick folded his arms across
his chest.

  "We could always try the fake utility serviceman or pizza guy ploy," Mark suggested.

  "It's late. She could just ignore the bell. Or we could arouse suspicion, Nick countered.

  "How about a fire?" The police chief, who had been watch ing the exchange from the background, moved forward and indicated a square on the diagram he'd drawn. "There's a small, makeshift woodshed not far from the garage. I doubt she'd want to call the fire department and draw attention to herself. She'd probably try to put it out"

  "You maybe right, but that could be dangerous:" Steve frowned and folded his arms across his chest.

  "I can have our fire crew stand by in case it gets out of control; Joe offered. "And our fire chief knows everything there is to know about fires. He could get that baby started in a flash. Pardon the pun"

  "I still don't like it, but I have to agree there's a good chance it will get her outside and away from the baby:' Steve looked at Nick. "You want to call the parents? We need them standing by for a visual ID"

  "I'll set it up"

  "Okay. Let's talk tactics"

  Fifteen minutes later, suited up in ballistic vests and the black fatigues they'd worn earlier for the SWAT team call-out, Mark took the wheel while Nick placed the call to Rebecca.

  She answered on the first ring.

  "Rebecca, it's Nick. We have some good news. Thanks to a tip after the news program, we're pretty certain that a woman named Debra Kraus has Megan. We're en route to her place now, and we'd like you and Colin close by."

  He heard her gasp, then her voice grew muffled as she turned away from the phone to inform Colin. "Tell us where you want us, she said to Nick, her voice quavering.

  "An agent is on the way to pick you up. Another one will stay with Bridget. Can you be ready in ten minutes?"

  "We're ready now. Nick ... what about Rachel?"

  "No news. I'm hoping Debra Kraus is the key to that too"

  "Do you think she'll admit to the abduction? And tell you where Rachel is?"

  "I hope so. Are you still cold?"

  "Yes. And sleepy. Which is odd, considering how keyed up I am"