Facing Evil

by Kylie Brant

  Her eyes caught the kid’s in the back seat. “I didn’t kill him. Maybe he had a heart attack or something.” The way he clutched his chest when she was tying him up, that was a possibility. “He was still alive when I left him.”

  “You stuffed him in that pipe. No one will see him to help him.”

  The drainage culvert had been brilliant, if she did say so herself. The old man’s greed had led to his own downfall. When that cop, Prescott had headed to the back of the building she’d run up to the old geezer and offered him a hundred bucks to take her and her son to the airport. Two hundred if he took the scenic route.

  A Good Samaritan the man wasn’t. He’d pocketed the two hundred and proceeded to give them a guided tour of backroads Iowa that looked like every fucking road she’d ever seen while living at Coate’s farm.

  Miles of desolate gravel. No doubt about it, today she’d been living under a lucky star.

  “You said you’d take me home now. Right away, you said, if I helped you at the motel.”

  “Tomorrow. I promise.” Vickie’s smile grew wide. “I’ve got a couple more things I need to finish up first.”

  * * * *

  It took longer than it should have to set up the op on room one forty-seven. There had been the nearby rooms to clear, agents to get in place. There were two entrances into the room counting the large sliding window, and it had been found unlocked.

  He’d almost suspected a trap, although it was just as likely that it had been unlocked to leave a potential exit. They’d been able to penetrate the crack between the curtains with a threadlike tactical lens that had given them a wide-angle view into the room.

  The lights were off. The curtains closed. Beds empty. There was a glow from the open bathroom door, but their visual didn’t allow them to see that far.

  Cam drew back, folded up the scope and tucked it inside the heavy, armored vest. He looked at the time on his phone, held up three fingers to the men behind him. Two. One.

  The window was pulled back and he’d hoisted himself up and over as the door to the room crashed in. Agents swarmed in through both entrances, covering the area, clearing the closet, under the bed.

  Cam and Tommy ran to the bathroom, weapons drawn, but the man on the floor had ceased to be a threat less than an hour ago. A quick check proved the corpse was the room’s only occupant.

  Tommy checked for a pulse. “Think Baxter saved us the trouble?”

  Holstering his weapon, Cam said, “Who else?”

  The other agent rose from his position next to the body. “Why the hell would she take the trouble to break the bastard out of jail, only to kill him hours later?”

  “Sophie thinks there was once last thing they had to do. A big score, maybe. Something important enough to keep them both together a little while longer.”

  “A very little while. What’s that?”

  Cam had bent to look at a couple garments from the floor. The shorts and shirt were pint-sized. Stained. “I’m guessing it’s Henry Adams’ change of clothes,” he said grimly. Nearby were pieces of creased gray duct tape. “It was her. Running out of the lot with the kid.” Not that there’d been much doubt. Even as he’d planned the details of the op he’d been calling the local law enforcement agencies to alert them.

  As usual, Tommy was on the same mental wavelength. “We’ll hear something. She always leaves a trail.”

  “Of bodies.” Realizing how caustic his voice sounded, he tempered it. It had been a long goddamned frustrating day. And it wasn’t over yet. “I’ve got people going over the interagency crime links. Something will pop. A home invasion, carjacking, stolen vehicle… That’s her MO, and Sophie would say that she’ll stay true to type. Whatever fits her agenda, which right now is…”

  Franks finished the sentence simultaneously. “…escape.”

  * * * *

  “It’s entirely possible she’ll leave the area now.” Sophia set a thick sandwich down in front of Cam with a bottled water and propped her hips against his desk. “She may have had enough time to get whatever it was that she needed from Vance.”

  “And she may go ahead with her plan for revenge,” he countered. He took half the sandwich and leaned back in his desk chair. It was after midnight. She’d badgered him to go home and he’d eventually done so, just so she could get some sleep. Cam was set up in his home office, running the investigation from here for the time being. He didn’t expect to get any sleep.

  “Right behind them.” The knowledge was like bile churning in his system. “All day long, just minutes behind. She’s got the devil’s own luck.”

  “I have a feeling she and the devil have a long-standing personal acquaintance.”

  She reached forward for the other half of the sandwich and took a bite. “What’s showing up on the interagency crime link?”

  “Plenty, as usual.” Cam returned his gaze to the computer screen and set down the sandwich. “In our area of interest though, only a few possibilities. Nothing has panned out yet. A stolen car report a couple miles from the motel, but the BOLO alert we put on it led to it being found an hour later. Bunch of wannabe gangbangers out for a joyride. It’s a possibility she hitched a ride out of the area, but we’ve gotten only a few calls since releasing it to the media. And none of them fit.

  Each local channel was running the development every half hour. One had suspended regular programming to devote full coverage to the story. Over the course of their run, he thought darkly, the trio of killers had given them plenty of material. The national networks would chime in soon and then they’d have another whole set of problems when the media descended on the city, full force. It was bad enough dealing with the area networks.

  “It’s on radio, TV, social networks…” He finished the rest of the sandwich, chewing reflectively. “I get people can be busy and maybe not catch up with what’s happening for several hours. What am I missing? Could she have had another vehicle stashed somewhere? A safe house we overlooked?”

  “My guess?” Sophie put down the sandwich and came to stand behind him, her hands going to his shoulders, fingers flexing. “She got a ride. A woman and a child are nonthreatening. And the fact that it hasn’t been called in yet means she’s either still with the individual, or…”

  His mouth twisted. “A hostage or dead, is that what you’re telling me?”

  “I’m afraid so.” She rubbed and squeezed the tight muscles in his shoulders. “There’s no other answer that makes sense. You’ve got everything else covered.”

  “That’s what’s so damn frustrating.” He reached up to cover one of her hands with his. “We can isolate her options, tighten the net around her, but it’s the people in her path. How the hell do we prevent them from cracking the door of their life open, just the fraction of an inch necessary to allow her inside it?”

  She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, leaned in to hug him silently. She had no answer. Neither did he. Maybe there wasn’t one.

  Chapter 12

  His phone alarm woke him. Cam’s head jerked up at the muted sound, and he fumbled to shut it off before the noise could wake Sophie. Six AM. He pushed away from the desk and stretched, not feeling particularly refreshed after the two hours sleep he’d allotted himself. He checked the crime link again. A couple stolen car reports since he’d last looked.

  He grabbed his cell phone and stood. He needed to check with the officer on both cases, see if he could discern a possible connection. His gaze landed on Sophie, sleeping on the office couch, and he paused.

  She’d refused to go to bed without him, but he’d at least convinced her to lie down in here. Once prone, it hadn’t taken sleep long to pull her under. He stood for a moment. The sight of her never failed to soothe something inside him, and it was no different now. A strand of blond hair was covering a portion of that flawless face, but he’d dated attractive women before. It was the endless facets of her that fascinated. Captivated. A tidal wave of emotion surged. He’d walk into a gunfight without a
moment’s hesitation, but the mere thought of losing this woman undid him.

  She moved, restless, and silently he eased away. He could make the necessary calls in the kitchen. Start the coffee, grab a shower and change of clothes before waking her. The urgency of the case was building again. It was never far away. It was lodged there in his gut, constantly churning.

  Vickie Baxter was out there somewhere. The recent sighting of the boy left one victim still unaccounted for. He was going to find her.

  He just hoped he got to her before somebody else died.

  Fifteen minutes later the coffee was his reward for showering, shaving and changing in record time. He’d just poured a cup and was taking his first sip when the cell rang beside him. He answered it immediately so that the sound wouldn’t waken Sophie. “Prescott.”

  “Agent Prescott, this is DMPD officer Aaron Sonberg. We had orders to call you about certain types of crimes that come in…”

  “What do you have?”

  “A missing person’s report was just filed on a seventy-nine year old Albert Kohler by his daughter. She hasn’t been able to reach since yesterday. She went to his place, let herself in, but says his bed wasn’t slept in last night.”

  Interest sharpening, Cam asked, “Does he drive? Does she know where he was last seen?”

  The officer’s voice became uncertain. “Yeah, he drives. She says one of the neighbors told her Kohler had said he was going out to get some milk. That was around three PM yesterday, he thought. Let’s see.” There was a pause. “Here it is. Kohler drives a 2006 black Durango. Mid-sized SUV.”

  Cam flashed to the elderly man backing out of the convenience store parking lot yesterday. Alone. At least, no other people had been upright in the vehicle. So Baxter had been crouched down with the kid. Or else she’d accosted him further along the route.

  But there wasn’t a doubt in his mind that this was it. Baxter’s getaway.

  “Call Kohler’s daughter back, get her to her father’s house. Tell her not to go inside. Wait for us down the street.” He hung up, dialing Franks even as he rummaged in the drawer for something to write on.

  Franks answered, sounding as sleep-deprived as Cam was. “Meet me at this address.” He reeled it off for the man. “I’m going to call it into DMV, get a plate.”

  “Think this is her?”

  “I saw this guy, this vehicle yesterday. Pulling out of the convenience store.” He blew out a frustrated breath. “Yeah, I think it’s her.” Finding a pad and pen, he scribbled a note, left it on the counter. “I’ll put a BOLO out on the vehicle as soon as I get the info from DMV.”

  “Meet you at the address in twenty.”

  Cam went to the garage entrance door and through it. Pulling it shut after him, he made sure the alarm was engaged again before continuing to his vehicle. Sophie would be safe inside. He’d always had a security system, but after both Vance and Sonny Baxter had both infiltrated her home, he’d upgraded his own system. It was impenetrable.

  And probably the safest place she could be right now.

  * * * *

  Although it was barely seven-thirty, Cam was already gone. The realization came with a pang. Sophia hadn’t heard him leave, but then, she’d slept more soundly than she had in days. Sheer exhaustion could come in handy that way.

  She found his note in the kitchen, next to the pot of coffee that would likely be too strong.

  Got lead. DO NOT leave house w/out calling 1st.

  Because it was ridiculous to feel a little left out, she shoved the emotion aside and poured herself some coffee. After the first taste had her grimacing, she liberally added more creamer and stirred. Taking a more cautious taste, she carried it into the bedroom to get ready. There was no way of knowing how long Cam would be chasing this lead, but she would still go to his office. There’d be reports from the crime team that had been called to the scene of Vance’s death. Details from those and any forensic results yielded minute clues that could be used to underscore what she knew about Baxter and to add new information about the woman’s current state of mind. Predict her next move.

  A profile wasn’t a crystal ball. It most closely resembled a roadmap. And the more landmarks she had in it, the more help it would be.

  This was her part of the investigative process. And Sophia was just as committed to it as the agents were to their tasks.

  She got ready in record time, and saved time on her hair by putting it up in a knot. She was just gathering her things when heard her cell ring. Picking it up on her way to the sink, she answered while dumping out most of the coffee.

  “You still at home?”

  “Since you told me not to leave without calling, where else would I be?”

  “Yeah.” His voice lightened a bit. “You don’t always follow directions, so…never know. You going in today?”

  “I’m on my way out the door, as soon as I give your coffee a decent burial. No amount of creamer could save it.”

  “You realize this just means you volunteered for coffee detail in the future.”

  Smiling, she went to transfer the items from one purse to another. “I don’t want to enable your learned helplessness, so I’ll set up a series of lessons for you on the correct coffee-making process. There will be a quiz.”

  “Something to look forward to. Listen, we’ve got a great lead on Baxter’s whereabouts and I’m assembling the team. Briefing in twenty minutes.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  He disconnected with his usual abruptness. Coffee making wasn’t the only area where his skills could use some improvement, Sophia thought wryly as she dropped her cell into the purse and zipped it. When she headed for the entrance to the garage there was a noise at the kitchen door.

  Mystified, she changed course and went to the peephole in the door. Relaxed a little when she saw the source of the sound. Disengaging the alarm, she unlocked the door, and pulled it open. Looked down at the face of the boy who’d been by days ago looking for his cat. Adam.

  “Hi there.”

  He stood there, solemnly, his lip quivering. He wore a small backpack that still looked too big for his frame.

  Sophia bent down to his level, the locked screen door between them. “Did you ever find Whiskers?”

  He shook his head. Then said, so softly she had to strain to hear, “I have to show you something.”

  The psychologist in her was torn. She worked mainly with adults, but had juveniles on her patient list, and it required no training to sense the boy’s distress. But DCI offices were at least twenty-five minutes away, in good traffic. “I’m sorry, honey. I have to go.”

  “You have to come with me.”

  “No. I can’t.” Was he being abused at home? Was he neglected? She noticed for the first time that the backpack was affixed to him with duct tape. She had to report this to DHS, but first she had to get more information.

  “What’s your last name, Adam? Do you know your address?”

  He turned around then. Slowly. Almost robotically, his arms held slightly away from her body. And then she saw for the first time what he carried in his pack.

  The back of it was clear flexible plastic allowing a view of the bundle of explosives inside. There was a small kitchen timer affixed to it with red numbers glowing. Counting backward from five fifty-three.

  “Oh my God!” She turned to run for her phone, thoughts ping-ponging in her head. Would a 911 call get someone here in time? Where was the federal agent who was watching the house? If she could just get his attention…