by CJ Lyons
"Don't you dare talk about my daughter—" Lucy's grip threatened to crush the small plastic phone.
"Afraid to face the truth? Now who's the coward?" He hung up.
Burroughs frowned, listened to his own cell phone then pocketed it. "He was right, Taylor couldn't get a trace on it. Why'd you push him so hard?"
Lucy deposited Alicia's phone into an evidence bag. Maybe Taylor could find something useful in it. Or better yet….
"You need to talk to your TV girl. Get her to let us monitor her phones. And put a tail on her."
"Cindy? Why?"
"If Fletcher is too smart to deal with me in person, he'll use her to get to me. Just like his mother did."
"What are you talking about? We set up the interview, not Alicia."
Lucy bent down to point to a crumpled paper medicine cup lying beneath Alicia's chair. Several pills, different sizes and shapes, had spilled out onto the floor.
"Wrong. Alicia played us, just like she spent a lifetime playing Fletcher."
"Son of a bitch. The old witch killed herself." Burroughs gave a low whistle. "Man, this family is nuts."
"You can say that again." Lucy left the medicine cup where it was and rocked back on her heels.
"What are you going to do now?"
"We'll let the ME document everything." She pushed herself back onto her feet. "The next move is up to Fletcher. But I'm betting he'll reach out to Ames, want to go public, blaming me for Alicia's death."
Burroughs' frowned.
"Can you keep Ames in line? If she learns we're using her, we're screwed."
He hesitated. She scrutinized his face, leveling her best "don't you dare disappoint me" glare on him, and he finally nodded.
"Yeah. I'll take care of everything. She won't be a problem."
"Ashley Yeager's life might depend on it."
He looked away, staring at the wretched corpse on the bed. "I know."
Chapter 33
Sunday 10:04 pm
Cindy fluffed her hair and squared her shoulders so that the first camera shot would catch her at her best three-quarters profile before panning to capture her full face. This was what she lived for, what made everything else worthwhile, time on air.
Here she was in control of millions of people, of what they thought, of what they felt. Hell, what they ate for breakfast.
Best of all, they invited her into their homes. They wanted her.
She pursed her lips, relaxed her neck muscles, waiting for the weekend anchor to finish his lead in. Thanks to the FBI, her canned footage was being run on every local station, but here at WDDE she got an additional three minutes of air time with a live intro and wrap up of the story.
After tonight she'd be famous. The story was perfect. Sexy and scary and sordid—with the federal agent gone bad angle, it was sure to be picked up for national broadcast. Probably a primetime half-hour special if the kid was found dead.
The red light on camera one glowed and Cindy began. As she spoke, using her voice and eyes to sell it, she felt heat fire her belly. She pressed her thighs together below the news desk. God, this was better than sex.
And then it was done. The cameras were back on the weekend anchor, the lights off her, techs scrambling to relieve her of the microphone and send her off set so they could prep their next shot. She picked her way over the cables taped to the floor and joined the news director in the control room.
"How was it?" she asked, knowing she had been brilliant.
"Fantastic," he gushed. "When can I get follow up? Maybe footage of the old lady locked up?"
Guardino had made her go with a fake ending instead of revealing Alicia's real fate. It was either that or the bitch would pull the plug on everything. No matter. Once the girl was found—dead or alive, but preferably dead for the ratings—Cindy would use Guardino's own heavy-handed tactics to destroy her.
When Cindy was done with her, Guardino wouldn't be able to get a job as a crossing-guard.
"Don't think that's going to happen," she said. "But I could get you more inside stuff from Burroughs, the Pittsburgh detective."
The news director frowned. "He's okay, but feds are more glamorous. Get me the lady fed, what's her name, Guardino. You do that and I'll slot you for primetime tomorrow."
"Any word from the network?"
"Let me worry about the network. You get me the story." He glanced about, made sure no one was within listening range and slid one hand around to grope her ass—his idea of seduction. "I'll see you later, after we wrap up?"
Cindy weighed her options. She'd hoped to see Burroughs again, milk him for info on the case, but he would probably be working the entire night. "Bring champagne and an offer from the network and I'll get you an exclusive from Guardino."
She spun on her three-inch heels, pausing to look at him over her shoulder, giving him her best vamp, noting with satisfaction that his gaze never left her ass. Walking away, she felt the weight of his stare, felt that everyone in the control room had stopped to look at her, like she was a supernova lighting up the dark room.
Retiring to her small office-slash-dressing room, Cindy wondered how long it would be before she got the call to come to DC or New York. No more pandering to station managers and news directors, no more talk of the town features, finally, she would be doing hard news. In the spotlight, front and center. Where she belonged.
Her door opened as she dreamed of her bright future. She looked in her makeup mirror, saw Burroughs enter, close the door behind him, leaning against it, silent.
"What do you want?" she asked, irritated that he'd backed Guardino and insisted she keep Alicia Fletcher's death a secret. "I played along."
He nodded, his gaze fixed on the reflection of her cleavage. She leaned forward, pretending to adjust her eyeliner, giving him a good look. It was as close as he was going to get unless he got her another exclusive.
"That's you, Cindy," he drawled, crossing his arms over his chest. "Always playing."
His shoulders threatened to burst free of his sports jacket and his stare turned smoldering. She inhaled, enjoying the scent of testosterone that filled the room. They could have a little fun here, she decided. There was time.
"You've never minded our little games," she reminded him, smoothing gloss over her lips, enjoying the way his gaze followed her movements. "Face it, Burroughs, you have so much more fun with me than you ever would with Guardino. Besides, after tonight, she's finished."
He gave a little shake of his head as if warning her away from danger.
Cindy ignored it, confident she had the upper hand. "She owes me. Big time. Sacrificing my journalistic integrity to help save her ass. I want the inside scoop on the investigation." She spun in her chair, now facing him. "And you're going to get it for me. An exclusive."
Her desk phone rang before he could answer. She reached for the receiver, was surprised when he strode across the room to join her.
"Cindy Ames," she answered. Burroughs stabbed the speaker button just as a man's voice came through.
"Ms. Ames, I'm James Fletcher, Jr. You lied about my mother in your story tonight. I'd like to give you a chance to correct your error."
Cindy scowled at Burroughs as he grabbed her hand, restraining her from silencing the speaker. He jerked his head at the phone, indicating that she should answer Fletcher.
"I'm—uh—I'm very sorry about your mother, Mr. Fletcher," Cindy said, steadying her voice and trying to mask her fury at Burroughs. "I had no choice. I was forced to report the story the way it aired."
"Forced by Agent Guardino?"
"Yes sir."
"I understand." There was a pause. Cindy opened her mouth, ready to jump in with an offer of an exclusive interview but Burroughs held her back. A rustling noise sounded in the background and then Fletcher's voice returned.
"Agent Guardino has a lot to answer for. If I gave you evidence against her, would you be able to promise me that it would air without her interference?"
"
I think I could convince my boss of that. If we did the interview on camera and the evidence was compelling."
"And you'll include Agent Guardino's responsibility for my mother's death?"
"Certainly. I was there, I saw what happened."
"I know. That's why I came to you. After the way Agent Guardino treated you, I thought you would agree that it is in our mutual interests to keep the FBI and police out of this."
Cindy wondered at that. How the hell had the guy seen her at the nursing home and still managed to escape? Guardino was incompetent. "How would you like to arrange our meeting?"
Another pause. "There's a playing field. In Frick Park. The one at the end of Nicholson Street. Be there in one hour."
There was a click and he was gone. The buzz of the dial tone echoed from the speaker as Cindy whirled on Burroughs. "You son of a bitch. You set me up!"
"Relax, Cindy." He was already dialing his cell phone. "You'll still get your story."
Anger seethed through her as she listened to him tell Guardino the details of her conversation with Fletcher. She used her own phone to call Felix and arrange for a van.
Burroughs hung up on Guardino just as she finished her conversation. "You're not going to be anywhere near that park tonight."
"It's a free country," she said, standing and grabbing her bag. "You can't stop me."
"Like hell I can't." He blocked her path, both hands coming to rest on her shoulders. His face reddened and she wasn't sure if he wanted to push her away or pull her close. "It's too dangerous."
"It's my job. Besides, you and the FBI will be there. Fletcher won't show without me. No way in hell am I missing this story."
Jimmy hung up the payphone at the Sheetz and returned to his Blazer. Ashley hadn't moved, still sat curled up in the passenger seat, looking as deflated as a parade balloon the day after Thanksgiving. Other than the single word and her new name, she hadn't spoken to him, not at all. Hadn't looked at him or made eye contact either.
But still, she had done everything he had asked her. No need to be worried. He'd followed the protocols properly, he'd done it right this time.
He slammed the door on purpose to see if she'd jump. Nothing. It was like she was in a coma—here, but not here.
All part of the process. He had to just keep drawing her in.
"Remember I told you we couldn't trust the cops?" he asked, not expecting her to answer. "Well, I think I figured out a way to get Bobby, to keep him from hurting anyone else ever again." He paused, glanced over at her, hoping she'd at least show some sign that she heard, that she was interested in what he had to say.
He hadn't gone through all this work just to end up with a zombie by his side. He honked the horn at nothing. She didn't flinch. Didn't even blink.
"Bobby has a woman helping him find girls—girls just like you. She's a wicked, evil person." Ashley didn't even shrug in her indifference, just stared straight ahead, her eyes not quite shut. "We're going to go meet her. And then we're going to kill her."
Chapter 34
Sunday 10:37 pm
Lucy groaned as soon as she heard Fletcher's choice of a meeting place. The man might be psychonuts, but he wasn't stupid.
She'd been to those playing fields with Megan's soccer team. There were two soccer fields stretched out side-by-side, wide open, no way to set up an ambush. Worse, it was surrounded by forest, trees zig-zagged with jogging trails—no way to cover them all, not in the time allotted.
So she was pretty much screwed. Unless she could come up with something brilliant on the fly. She had to assume Fletcher knew they'd be there, no way he'd trust Ames not to call them. And Fletcher knew law enforcement tactics.
Maybe it was time to drop the rules and borrow a play from the badguys' book. No such thing as fair in love and war. And since she'd be out of a job by morning, this was definitely war.
She finished making her phone calls, calling in favors and setting in motion a logistical nightmare. Then she called Burroughs back. Technically, Pittsburgh would be running the op—she wouldn't even really be there, on paper that was.
"The only parking is at the Nicholson Street entrance," she told him. "Bring Ames in that way. Make sure her cameraman and the van are stopped at least a block away, one civilian is more than enough to worry about."
"Won't Fletcher be watching the park entrance?"
"Of course. Which is why we're using it. If we take it over, he can't use that entrance or more importantly exit. We limit his options."
"He might not show."
"Trust me. He'll be there. We're playing his game, he's the Maestro, remember?"
"Did the ME find anything at the nursing home?" Burroughs continued.
"Apparently Alicia wasn't as weak and fragile as she made out. She stole both the cell phone and the meds she overdosed on from her next door neighbor."
"I'm three minutes out. What's the plan?" Burroughs asked. "You have a double for Cindy? Going to make a switch here in my car?"
Hah. A double? Only if Lucy could gain six inches and undergo some serious plastic surgery in the next ten minutes. Burroughs obviously had no idea how far off the reservation she'd strayed. She was already ducking calls from John Greally, Grimwald, and the PBP's public information officer.
Thank God, the SWAT leader wasn't in the loop or he'd know that as soon as she answered the summons from on high, she was as good as suspended, maybe even terminated.
But she'd deal with all that tomorrow. And most likely for many days to follow. Didn't matter if she got Ashley home alive.
"Just bring her to the parking lot and we'll go over everything," she told Burroughs.
There was a very uncharacteristic hesitation from Burroughs. "You're not planning to let Cindy meet him herself?"
"Not if she doesn't want to."
"Of course she wants to. She's a freaking reporter, she'd sell her soul for a story this hot. That's besides the point—"
"Legally I can't stop her. If she wants to walk onto that playing field, she's allowed. It's still a free country."
His disappointment vibrated through the airwaves. "You played me, Guardino. I never expected that, not from you."
He hung up before she could attempt to defend herself. But of course, there was no defense. She was about to allow a civilian to put her life on the line all in the hopes that she could save one girl.
Lucy twirled her wedding ring. It slid loose on her finger as if she'd lost weight in the past two days. She'd lost something, that was sure as hell for sure.
It was worth it. It had to be.
Jimmy watched Lucy through his binoculars. He'd taken the precaution of stealing the vehicle GPS tracking codes before he left the Federal Building. All the better to know your opponent's movements. And Lucy had been a busy girl.
Not for long.
He'd read enough field reports to know she'd have her people deployed around the possible escape routes, spread too thin to see him in the last place they'd look.
Black Blazer with a full complement of antennas, tinted windows and pilfered FBI plates—he was a ghost in their midst, parked a dozen spots away from Lucy, half hidden by the shadow of the SWAT team's van, and no one was the wiser.
He reached across Ashley and opened the glove compartment. He handed her a snub-nosed revolver. "You ever shoot a gun before?"
She hefted the gun, said nothing as she raised it and aimed out the window at a trashcan.
"It's real easy. Just point it like you are now and pull the trigger. But be careful. There's a bullet ready to go already." He eased the revolver away from her. "Do you think you can do it? Shoot someone?"
Her face was hidden in shadows but her breathing became faster, raspy. "Vixen can."
"Bobby is too dangerous for you to go after," he continued, not letting her know how much it creeped him out to hear her talk about herself in the third person like that. Like she wasn't even there. "I know you'd like to, after everything he did to you. Don't worry, I'll take care
of him. What I need you to do is to distract him for me. See that woman there?"
The TV reporter, Cindy Ames, was climbing out of a car, assisted by Burroughs, the Pittsburgh detective. They seemed to be arguing about something.
"You see her? The lady in the red suit?" Jimmy asked even though Ashley was looking right at Cindy. "I need you to follow her into that field, aim the gun and fire at her. It doesn't matter if you hit her or not, I just need a diversion so I can get to the real target. Can you do that?"
There was a long moment of silence before she nodded.
"Say it."
"Yes. I can do it."
"Then you need to run back here to the car as fast as you can. They'll be chasing you, so you have to run fast. If they catch you, they'll send you back to your parents, to your old life. To a life where Bobby can get to you anytime he wants. You don't want that to happen, do you?"
She wrapped her arms around her chest as if warding off evil spirits. "No."
"All right then." He handed her the revolver. "Be careful."
She nodded and slid from the car, hiding in the shadows before vanishing into the trees. Jimmy pursed his lips, hoping it was worth the chance of losing her. But as always, Alicia was right—Ashley had to prove herself. If she passed this test, then he'd know she was truly his, worthy of his love.
As soon as he took care of Lucy, he'd have the rest of their lives to devote to her.
Lucy had done the best she could. The Pittsburgh SWAT guys had the streets surrounding the woods covered, Ames was playing along—although disappointed she couldn't take her cameraman into the field of fire with her—Burroughs was still steaming, but since he wasn't in her chain of command, he was as protected as possible.
All she could do now was wait for Fletcher to make the next move. She couldn't sit still, so she'd set up her command post on the hood of her Blazer in the now deserted parking lot. A map of the field spread out before her, marking where all her men were, radio communications up and running, night vision binoculars tracking Ames' progress as she tripped her way across the field—idiot had insisted on wearing heels.
