by Jen Blood
“It’s not the same thing!” Barrett shouted. “It’s not even the same goddamn universe. They needed money. So, yeah, I set that up—I managed things, and got a cut for it.” Bingo, Jack thought. Barrett wasn’t done, though. “But why in hell would I kill them?”
Jack waited a beat, while Barrett sank back into the chair across from him. “Melanie and Ariel were going to your place that morning,” he said. It wasn’t a question.
The whole ugly story came out from there. According to Barrett, there were enough men and enough demand in the camp, that he figured he could make a tidy profit if he convinced his nieces to go into business right in Glastenbury.
“Did you see them that morning?” Jack pressed.
“No,” Barrett said. His eyes widened at the doubt on Jack’s face. “I swear! They were supposed to swing by my place at 6:30, and I had a couple of buyers all ready to go.”
“Who?” Jack asked. Barrett didn’t answer. “Goddamn it, Barrett. You want me to believe you, you need to give me an alibi.”
Reluctantly, he provided the names of three men living in the camp. Jack wrote down the names, his pen clutched tight in his hand. Then, he looked up at Barrett. The man sat back in his chair, eyes closed.
“What do you think we should do here?” Jack asked quietly, once they were done. “How do you suggest we get Bear and Ren away from your brother?”
“I don’t know,” Barrett said with a sigh. “All I know is, this isn’t going to end well. Dean used to be a reasonable man, but he’s been off the last few years since June and Katie died. And now with Melanie dead and Ariel missing, he’s fucking certifiable. Those girls were the only thing he had to live for. You need to get in there and get those kids away from him before he finds out Ariel’s dead, too.”
Jack looked at him sharply. “What makes you say that?”
Barrett offered a weary smile, and lurched to his feet. “Cause I already lived this shit once,” he said. “I know how it ends.”
Jack saw Barrett out a moment later. He’d entertained the idea of holding the man in exchange for the return of Bear and Ren, but he knew that was precisely the thing that would push Dean over the edge. And as for Gordon’s theory that Barrett was the killer… Jack would keep checking, but his gut told him it was a mislead.
He watched Barrett go, and thought of the story the man had told. So, Melanie and Ariel were getting ready to sell themselves—something their grandmother had done long before them, and something their aunts had died for.
And now, Melanie was dead, and Ariel had vanished. A wave of exhaustion washed over him as he turned, and prepared to give McDonough the latest news.
Before he could say anything, however, McDonough reclaimed his office and gave Jack some news of his own.
* * *
Chapter 22
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN, he wants to call a press conference?” Jack demanded, seated in the office across from McDonough, now in his rightful place behind the desk.
“Does that really require an explanation?” McDonough asked wearily. “Dean told the negotiator he wants a press conference. Apart from having his daughter delivered to his doorstep by noon, it’s the only demand he’s come up with.”
“Where does he plan on having this press conference?” Jack’s head was spinning, but he at least made the effort to maintain focus. “If we can get him away from the others—”
McDonough shook his head. “I already thought of that, sorry. Apparently, so did he. We tossed around a few ideas before I finally came up with a compromise.”
“Which is?” Jack prompted when he volunteered no further information.
“Beside the point at the moment. My biggest concern right now is the fact that he’s about to go public with some things we sure as hell don’t want public.”
Jack didn’t say anything to that. McDonough studied him for a moment, reading his mind. “Which you’re not really that sorry about, clearly.”
“I thought staying quiet was the best move at the time,” Jack said. He thought of the days when he’d first started with the Bureau. When Lucia was still alive, and he still believed in so many things that seemed like fairytales now. “That was when I thought we were actually dealing with it in-house. But we never did, did we? I did some checking. We got rid of a couple of them, sure, but Marty Crescent, Jim Maroney, Jeff Swift… Hell, they’re doing better than ever in this goddamn organization, and I know for a fact none of them have changed their ways. And you…”
McDonough’s eyes hardened. “What about me?”
“What Gordon said last night—”
“Is a lie, and you fucking know it,” he said. “He knows Rita and I have been getting…close, and he’s handing her as many lies as he can think of so he can keep her wrapped around his finger, even while he rots in prison. Because he’s exactly that petty. And frankly, I don’t care what the two of you think: when we nailed Gordon for his sisters’ murders, we got the right man. He’s playing all of you.”
“Okay, so you weren’t getting coked up and having sex with hookers on the clock,” Jack said. “Good for you. But what about those other guys? How did they keep their jobs? Hell, two of them got promotions not long after news broke within the office.”
“They owned up to what they did, and they got help.”
“And rolled over on whoever was running the thing, is my guess,” Jack said. He tried to keep the scorn from his voice. Jesus. How gullible had he been all these years?
“They helped with the investigation, yes,” McDonough said. He paused. “They’ve done what they could to make up for what they did. They were sorry about the women Gordon killed, but they had no part in it.”
“No, they just slept with them,” Jack said.
“Save your holier-than-thou bullshit,” McDonough said. Any humanity Jack thought he’d glimpsed before vanished. “You know how the game is played. If you couldn’t deal with it, you shouldn’t have come back here.”
“You’re the one who asked me back here!” Jack shouted, finally losing that tenuous peace he’d maintained so far. “Why the hell did you call me if you didn’t want me on this case? I was fine where I was.”
“You were eating yourself alive where you were,” McDonough said evenly. “And you’re a good agent, despite what’s gone on with you over the past couple of years. That’s why I called you.”
Jack had to fight to keep from rolling his eyes. “Right. So this was all done out of the goodness of your heart—and not because I’m the only agent Dean Redfield would talk to by the time he’d buried his sisters and we’d kicked him off his land.”
McDonough stared at him, seething. Jack shook his head. They could fight about this forever, but he suddenly knew where he stood. The dream he’d had of being a federal agent, of making a difference in the world, had died when his wife had. It seemed he’d just been trying to resuscitate it all this time.
Jack pushed the realization aside for the moment and refocused on the most pressing issue at hand. “I don’t want to fight anymore, all right? What’s our play? If Dean is holding a press conference in his living room, that means at the very least he’ll be distracted. You’ve got SWAT here now, right? What if we moved in?”
McDonough fixed dark eyes on his, frowning. “He’s got the woods up around his house crawling with armed men. No matter how you slice it, he’s got us.”
“So let’s cut to the chase,” Jack said. “What’s this compromise you came up with for Dean and his press conference?”
Before McDonough could answer, there was a knock on the door. It opened before McDonough could respond, and Angie Crenshaw stuck her perfectly coiffed blond head through the door. She flashed a dazzling smile at Jack before she turned her attention to McDonough.
“No way,” Jack said immediately, shaking his head. “Forget it.”
“Sorry, Jackie,” Angie said. She stepped into the room without an invitation. “Not your call.”
“She’s right,” McDonough said t
o him. “Close the door, please.” Angie did. For a second, Jack read anxiety on the reporter’s face, then it vanished.
“Dean wants a camera crew up there to record his statement at nine o’clock today,” McDonough said. Jack glanced at his watch. It was 8:40. “Ms. Crenshaw here volunteered her services in exchange for an exclusive once we’ve had an opportunity to view the footage.”
“We get final say over what airs, though,” Angie said quickly. McDonough stared at her for a second. Anyone else would have withered under his gaze, but Angie remained steadfast.
“We get final say,” McDonough corrected her. “If anything is deemed dangerous to the lives of our agents or the public, it’s off-limits.”
“But that’s it, though,” Angie said. Her blue eyes were clear, her makeup perfect, and her jeans and North Face jacket made her look like a cover model for Outside magazine. Jack knew better, having known her on the political beat in D.C. Angie was definitely not bred for the backwoods. “Unless it poses a clear threat of harm, we run the story.”
McDonough hesitated. They were over a barrel, and they all knew it. Angie waited patiently, unrelenting. Finally, McDonough nodded.
“Fine—but we view everything first, and you air things on our timeline.”
“No dice,” Angie said immediately. “I agree to that, and you guys have this thing tied up in your annex for three years. You get six hours, then we’re running it—with or without your approval.”
McDonough scowled at her. “I invited you here—”
“Because you’re stuck, and I’m the only thing you’ve been able to think of to keep this nut job from killing the two kids he’s got up there,” Angie interrupted. “I know the score. You’re not in a position to negotiate.”
She was right. From the look on McDonough’s face, the agent was all too aware of that. Finally, he nodded. “Just go,” he said.
“This is a bad idea,” Jack said. “The whole situation is too volatile—Dean is out of his mind right now.”
“I don’t care,” Angie said immediately. “I’m aware of the danger. I’ll sign something if I need to, release liability, whatever. But I’m having this meeting.”
He looked at McDonough, hoping for a little backup, but the senior agent said nothing. “Then I’m going too,” Jack said.
Angie looked surprised; McDonough did not.
“I assumed,” McDonough said. “Find out how the kids are doing. Keep Dean talking. See if you can find anything else he wants.”
“I know how to do my job,” Jack said.
Angie started to say something else, but McDonough interrupted. “Get your camera crew ready. We leave in five minutes.”
“What else—” Angie began.
“You can ask your questions on the way,” McDonough said. “Just go. Give me a minute with Jack before you leave.”
Surprisingly, Angie agreed. Jack and McDonough remained silent until the reporter had gone.
“I’m telling you, this is the wrong move,” Jack said when they were alone again.
“Maybe,” McDonough said. “But I haven’t come up with anything better.”
“Who do we have up at the cabin?” Jack asked.
“We have SWAT standing by, just in case we completely run out of options,” McDonough said. “I hope to hell that doesn’t happen, though. Forest service is still out looking for the girl, but a few staties are backing up our agents up on the ridge. If it comes to a shootout, we can outgun them.”
“Not without bloodshed on both sides,” Jack said.
“Which is why we’ll do everything in our power to avoid that.” He paused. “The other vultures are still circling,” he said, tipping his chin in the general direction of the news vans outside. “There’s an army of them out there now. As far as I can tell, no one knows what’s happening, though.”
“What about Rita?” Jack asked. “Have you seen her yet this morning?”
“Not yet,” McDonough said with a shake of his head. “My guess is, she needed a break from Gordon. She’s probably just taking a breather.”
Jack didn’t like it. Based on the look on McDonough’s face, he wasn’t thrilled with the news himself.
“I’ll keep trying to reach her—we need all hands on deck right now,” McDonough said. He paused for a long moment, then looked at Jack. “What do you think the chances are that someone will find this girl alive by noon?”
The thought made Jack’s lungs burn and his stomach twist. “We need to come up with another plan,” he said. “These kids’ lives can’t come down to whether or not we find Ariel Redfield alive in time. Because honestly? It’s not going to happen. I’d bet even money on that.”
McDonough nodded slowly. “Yeah. That’s what I was afraid of. So you better hope to hell this meeting between Dean and Megyn Kelly 2.0 goes well.”
“Yeah,” Jack said dryly. “What could possibly go wrong?”
#
Jack considered trying to reach Jamie before heading to the house with Angie and her crew, but ultimately decided against it. She would be more help in the field, and he didn’t want her to decide she should tag along with them instead.
“So, do you have any words of wisdom for me before we do this thing?” Angie asked. They were in the SUV, Wade at the helm with Trevor—Angie’s cameraman—in the passenger seat. Angie and Jack sat in back, Angie’s attention fixed on her compact as she did her makeup.
“Would you listen to me if I did?” Jack asked.
“Definitely not,” Trevor shot a look over his shoulder at them. “She doesn’t listen to anyone.”
She considered for a moment, then nodded. “He’s right, actually. What can you tell me about the kids who are being held hostage? What are their names? Bear and Robin? Sounds like a D.C.-Disney crossover.”
“Ren,” Jack corrected her. “Bear and Ren. Short for Urenna. She’s Nigerian, immigrated to the U.S. a few years ago.”
Angie nodded, but continued re-applying makeup with a remarkably steady hand as they bounced along the steep incline, rain pummeling the roof of the vehicle.
“Father was a soldier, right?” she said. So whatever she was asking him was just her way of digging deeper. Angie had never been a slouch when it came to doing her homework.
“Right,” Jack agreed.
“What about the relationship between this Bear kid’s mom and Brock Campbell—that old-timey dog trainer who died a few years ago? There are some rumors—”
“Why don’t you focus on the story with Dean and his family? That really isn’t juicy enough?”
She pouted, but didn’t argue. “Okay, fine. How about we shift gears and talk about the big sex scandal and subsequent cover-up at the FBI instead.”
Wade choked on a laugh, while Trevor shifted in his seat up front. The cameraman flashed them a grin over his shoulder. He was young, probably not more than twenty-five. Jack tensed. He’d never had a good poker face, and right now he couldn’t begin to hide everything going through his mind. Angie beamed at him.
“No comment,” was all he said.
By the time they reached the Redfield house and the cabins surrounding it, Angie was in full makeup and completely in charge.
“Trev, go on ahead and check out the location,” she instructed the cameraman. “Make sure this fucking monsoon isn’t going to wash us away. Or, worse, make me look bad. Just make sure you watch your back while you’re out there.”
“I’ll take him around,” Wade said. The older man seemed as uneasy with the situation as Jack was, which strangely enough made Jack feel better about things. At least someone was giving this thing the weight it deserved.
“Thanks,” Angie said. “Just keep him out of trouble, would you? He’s still a pup.”
Trevor started to protest, but Angie held up a hand. “Don’t argue with me, puppy. Just get out there and make sure you can light me right.”
Despite himself, Jack felt a twinge of appreciation. He respected a strong work ethic, and people who w
ere good at what they did. Angie was one of the best.
“Yes, ma’am,” Trevor agreed. The young man zipped up a salmon-colored EMS rain slicker and pulled the hood over his head. If possible, it made him look younger.
Once Wade and Trevor had gone, their bodies bent into the wind and the rain, Jack turned to Angie once more. “You ready?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Angie said with a nod.
Pickups lined the dirt road in all directions, and Jack realized with a start that McDonough and the others really had no idea the number of reinforcements Dean had brought in.
If they didn’t find Ariel and bring her home safely, they could have a war on their hands.
Even if they did, how would he react if Jack tried to arrest Barrett once all was said and done?
“Looks like there’s a lot going on out there,” Angie noted. Her slicker was blue—a color particularly well suited to her—and the garment made her look smaller, more delicate than she might appear otherwise.
“It does look that way,” Jack agreed. He pulled up her hood and tightened the drawstrings until she batted his hands away.
“I can do it—you’ll mess up my hair.”
“No one can see your hair; you’ll have the hood on.”
“If I have bad hair, it shows on my face—whether my actual hair is showing or not. Shows what you know.” She paused. “You look worried.”
Jack’s attention was drawn to her hand on the door handle: her nails perfectly manicured, her fingers long and fine. He had a brief flash to that one ill-advised night they’d spent together, a couple of months before. Angie’s teeth at his earlobe; the gleam in her eye; the feel of those nails down his back.
“I am worried,” he said, pushing the memory aside. “You’re going into a charged situation—”
“Won’t be the first time,” she said with a shrug. “How about you just gird your loins, and I’ll buy you a drink when this is all over.”
