A Perfect Wife (Blake Wilder FBI Mystery Thriller Book 2)

by Elle Gray

  “And she’ll be moving forward as a very wealthy, comfortable woman.”

  I shrug. “I’d say putting up with a philandering pig entitles her to be a very wealthy, comfortable woman.”

  “You’re not wrong,” he says with a smile. “So, what brings you out here tonight? I’m assuming it’s not for the glitz and glam of all this?”

  “Sadly, no. I actually need your help.”

  “Oh, for once the great Blake Wilder is coming to ask little old me for help?” He clasps a hand to his chest with a glimmer in his eye.

  “Don’t get used to it.”

  “I thought I’d never see the day!”

  “You know what? I take back what I said. You are still a pig,” I reply, smiling despite myself.

  “Duly charged. So what is it you need?”

  I lay out the case and my own thoughts about it for him. Paxton has a keen mind. Sharply analytical. He and I also think along very similar lines most of the time, so he sees where I’m going without me having to spell everything out for him. And when I get done with my presentation, he’s already nodding.

  “And your tech analyst wasn’t able to dig anything up?” he asks.

  “Unfortunately, I’m saddled with a tech analyst who has a strong sense of morals and ethics, and a stronger fear of being fired, arrested, and thrown into prison for hacking into law enforcement databases,” I say.

  “That’s a shame. You need somebody like Brody. He’s got no morals or ethics, and he hacks into law enforcement databases for fun.”

  “He’s also got a high-priced lawyer on retainer,” I reply with a grin.

  “That too is very true.”

  Brody, like Paxton, comes from money. A lot of it. And while he doesn’t have the strong desire to serve like Paxton does, Brody joined up with him out of boredom and a lack of any other direction in life. But he’s a good guy who always tries to do the right thing. He’s just a bit more morally flexible than somebody like Rick.

  “So what is it you’re looking for exactly?” Paxton asks.

  “Patterns. Data,” I explain. “If I’m right, Cassie Cooper isn’t this guy’s first rodeo.”

  “And you think her fiancé is what… stage dressing?”

  “Collateral damage.”

  He nods. “Shouldn’t be too hard to look into all of this.”

  “Thanks, Pax. I appreciate it.”

  “Not a problem. Always happy to help,” he replies. “Give me a day or two and I’ll get back to you with what I have.”

  “Sounds good,” I say and open the car door. “You have fun out here.”

  He waves his tablet at me. “I will. I’ve got good TV to watch.”

  I roll my eyes and laugh. “See? A pig.”

  “Reformed pig, though.”

  “But still a pig,” I reply. “Hey, let’s do dinner soon. I owe you for helping get me out of New York. I really appreciate you pulling the strings you did.”

  He chuckles. “It was selfish. I wanted you back here,” he shrugs. “I also love the irony of using political maneuvering to get you away from the political maneuvering.”

  “Well, I still owe you dinner. So let’s set it up.”

  “Looking forward to it.”

  I climb out of the car and head back toward my own, feeling that swirling ball of energy in me again as things start to take shape in my mind. I can see the blurry outlines of the picture and I’m hoping Paxton comes back with what I need to bring it into focus.

  If he doesn’t, I’m not really sure where we’re going to go from here.

  Nineteen

  Criminal Data Analysis Unit; Seattle Field Office

  “Mo, anything new on the financials for either Cassie or Brad?” I ask.

  She shakes her head. “No movement at all. I went back five years and found nothing to indicate she’s been planning to run.”

  “Rick, anything on the socials?” I ask. “Any hint of abuse or any problems in their relationship?”

  “Other than really nice bikini shots from the Bahamas and a really bad taste in music, nothing much,” he says. “I’ve gone through her Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Snapchat. Nothing to indicate Brad was knocking her around. They seem like a couple that’s really into each other.”

  I turn to Astra. “Anything new with the friends, family, and co-workers? Any indication she bolted? And if so, where she might have gone?”

  She shakes her head. “I’ve spoken to like a hundred people, and by all accounts, they were a happy couple. They were in love and were looking forward to getting married. There was no hint of trouble,” she says, sounding disappointed.

  I frown but nod as I pace in front of the monitors in the bullpen, tapping the black marker against my lips. It’s about what I expected. But I want to play Astra’s theory out to the end, just because it’s a possibility that exists. And until we can close that out firmly, it’s a valid avenue of investigation.

  We got DNA confirmation yesterday that the body is in fact Brad Sunderland. Even though we already knew it, having the irrefutable confirmation has made the fire already burning under our backsides a little hotter. It’s turned up the pressure, and we need to deliver.

  “All right,” I say. “So we might be able to rule out the abuse angle. Mo, was Cassie having any financial problems?”

  “None that I found,” she says. “She was making good money and socking a lot of it away. Brad too. They both had a sizeable savings account.”

  “Maybe so. But greed can always lead people to do stupid things,” I say. “Rick, did Brad have a life insurance policy?”

  He bangs away on his keyboard for a moment, then looks up. “They both did. Matching hundred-thousand-dollar policies,” he tells me. “And no claims have been made on either.”

  “Can you flag those for me? If there is a claim made on either, I want to know about it right away.”

  “Aye aye, Cap’n,” he nods.

  Even though I anticipated all of this already, it’s still frustrating to turn every corner only to find a dead end. I feel like the investigation is stalling out on this end. Astra’s theory isn’t holding water and we’re running out of lifeboats. Just from the evidence we have, I can’t see any way that her theory of the crime – that Cassie killed Brad – is the right theory. Somebody, somewhere in their lives, would have known about the abuse if it ever happened. Somebody would have been able to attest to how unhappy she was. Somebody would have been able to say she was looking for a way out.

  But so far, not a single person has come forward. There hasn’t been a whisper of infidelity, abuse, or unhappiness in any way. They had what seems like the rarest commodity in the world these days－a genuinely happy, healthy, mutually respectful, loving relationship. They seemed like authentically good people. Devoted to each other, their families, friends, and to living good, meaningful lives.

  But now they are gone forever. Two bright lights in a world that’s increasingly consumed by darkness have been extinguished forever. And we need to figure out why.

  “So we’ve got nothing,” Astra says with a heavy sigh as she slumps back in her chair. “We’re still stuck on square one.”

  “Seems that way,” Mo adds. “I swear to God, white collar wasn’t this complicated. You could look at numbers, see patterns, and figure out the crime from there. This… dealing with people’s motivations and personalities. This is tough. And frustrating as hell.”

  That’s probably the longest sentence I’ve heard Mo utter in the time she’s been in the unit. It’s certainly the most animated she’s sounded. Astra and I exchange a look, an amused smile plays across her lips.

  Astra turns to Mo and arches an eyebrow at her. “So are you saying you’d rather go back to white collar?”

  “God, no,” Mo replies. “As frustrating as this all is, it’s the most excitement I’ve had since I joined the Bureau. This is exactly why I joined in the first place.”

  “Then how did you end up in white collar to begin w
ith?” I ask.

  She shrugs. “I’m good with numbers. Always have been,” she offers. “Also probably because out at the body farm in Quantico, I… I puked all over a couple of the corpses.”

  There’s a moment of uneasy silence in the bullpen, but then Rick bursts out in laughter. That seems to put a crack in the wall of solemnity, which then instantly crumbles. Soon enough, all three of us are laughing uproariously. Mo sits in her seat, her lips pursed, looking down at her desk. I know we shouldn’t be laughing, but it’s funny. It’s also a much-needed tension breaker. Finally, as the laughter rolls on, Mo cracks a smile and joins in with us.

  “Yeah, yeah,” she says. “Laugh it up.”

  Slowly, the laughter fades and everybody’s smiling. For the first time since I put this team together, we feel like an actual team, rather than a collection of disparate parts. It’s the first spark of camaraderie I’ve seen from our group. And finally making some sort of connection with everybody is a good feeling.

  But that good feeling is quickly tempered by the reality hanging over our heads: we have a killer on the loose. One who seemingly has also abducted a woman. If that’s true, we are on a clock to find her. And that clock is running fast.

  I look at my whiteboard, at the scrawled fragment and jumbled thoughts I scratched out on it. I don’t have nearly enough to even start to form a profile yet, but I can feel the thoughts bubbling in the back of my mind. The beginnings of important revelations are barely starting to percolate. I can feel it down deep in my bones. I just need that one piece to bring everything together.

  “All right, we need theories, folks. Because we don’t have anything else at the moment, we’ll keep open the possibility that Cassie had a lover, and together, they killed Brad Sunderland,” I announce. “Rick, I want you to go through Cassie’s socials again. Look at her friends. Her contacts. Look for even the slightest hint of flirtation. Anything that could possibly suggest, no matter how seemingly remote, that she was having an affair.”

  “On it,” Rick says.

  “Mo, here’s your trial by fire. This is about as far from white collar as you’re going to get. This is probably going to tell you whether you want to stay with us or not,” I say. “I need you and Astra to start coming up with alternative theories. I need you to examine the crime scene, as well as the autopsy photos closely. Look for anything, regardless of how seemingly small or irrelevant, that can provide us with a clue. My friend Paxton had a case once where the killer was leaving a symbol at the crime scene in innocuous places. It looked like graffiti and was treated as such… meaning it was ignored by the SPD as they investigated the case.”

  “That’s shocking,” she mutters.

  “We ignore nothing here. No matter how small or inconsequential it might seem, make a note of it,” I go on. “That means you’re going to have to look at the body closely. Are you up for it?”

  She swallows hard, but nods. “I am.”

  “Just don’t puke on me,” Astra says. “If you even feel the slightest flutter in your gut, get the hell away from me.”

  Mo’s lips twist into a smirk. “Thank God you don’t smell like a corpse,” she says. “It’s close… I mean, that perfume you’re wearing is hideous, but you don’t have the same pungent odor.”

  Astra looks at me and smiles. “Can we keep her?”

  It’s good to see Mo coming out of her shell, but I need the team to stay focused. Every second that passes is potentially one less second Cassie Cooper has to live. I feel each and every grain of sand slipping through that hourglass, and it’s killing me.

  “Alternate theories. No matter how outlandish it seems, put it down and we’ll sort through them all later,” I repeat. “This case is going to be solved because we all contribute to it. So let’s get to it.”

  The ringing of my cell phone draws my attention and I hustle back to my office and snatch it up from my desk. I hit the button to connect the call and press it to my ear.

  “SSA Wilder,” I answer.

  “Agent Wilder, I’m not sure if you remember me, but this is Detective TJ Lee with the SPD.”

  “Yeah, of course I remember you,” I say. “You’re Paxton’s friend.”

  There’s a slight pause on the line. “That may be an overly generous characterization of our relationship. We were… colleagues.”

  “Wow. Let me just go grab my parka,” I say. Men and their egos.

  I do remember Lee and know that his relationship with Paxton could be best described as contentious. But I know that a mutual respect exists between the two men, grudging though it may be. Lee says it’s because Paxton is arrogant and condescending. And yeah, he certainly can be that. But in the few interactions I’ve had with Lee, I’ve seen the same personality traits in him. So I think it’s simply a case of two men who are just too much alike to be good friends. But they work well together and I think they both know it.

  “What can I do for you, Detective?”

  “Do you know the Golden Sun restaurant over on Hillshire?”

  “Yeah, sure. I’ve ordered from there a few times. Good food. Why do you ask?”

  “Can you meet me there in thirty minutes?”

  I glance out at the bullpen and see everybody working feverishly on their assigned tasks. While I feel like I should be out there with them, there’s something in Lee’s voice that tells me something important is up.

  “Can you tell me what this is about, Detective?”

  “I’d prefer to explain everything in person, rather than over an open line.”

  The paranoia and extra precautions tell me that something is indeed up. Something big. And I have to assume that it relates to my case in some fashion. Otherwise, why would he be calling me and acting so cryptically?

  “Yeah sure,” I tell him. “I’ll see you in thirty.”

  I disconnect the call and slip my phone into my bag, grab my jacket, and head out into the bullpen.

  “I have to go out for a bit,” I tell them as casually as I can.

  “What’s up?” Astra asks, looking at me curiously.

  She knows me well enough that she can tell when something is up, just by my expression. And she always knows when I lie. Always. It’s sometimes irritating.

  “I’m not sure yet. Maybe nothing,” I say. “But maybe something. I’ll know more soon. In the meantime, try to not burn down our office while I’m gone.”

  I turn and rush out of the bullpen and head for the elevator, my mind spinning with the myriad possibilities that could be waiting for me at the Golden Sun.

  Twenty

  Golden Sun Restaurant; Downtown Seattle

  The hostess leads me to a table in the back that’s mostly hidden from view from the front, adding another layer to the mystery. Detective Lee gets to his feet and extends his hand as I approach. I take it and give him a firm shake.

  “Nice to see you again, Detective.”

  “You as well, Agent Wilder.”

  Lee is a tall man, probably around six feet. He’s fit and trim, and beneath his well-tailored suit, I’m sure he’s got a body of tightly corded muscle. He looks like a man who trains relentlessly. His face is chiseled, his jaw strong, his hair is dark and thick, and his almond shaped eyes are also dark, though a lighter shade of brown than his hair. He’s handsome and has an air of mystery about him. Kind of reminds me of that actor, Daniel Dae Kim.

  We take a seat at the table and the hostess comes back and pours us both a cup of tea. I watch for a moment as the steam curls off the top and floats up, drifting toward the red and gold Chinese lanterns hanging from the ceiling. The restaurant itself is decorated with a lot of bamboo, red, gold, and light wood. A giant golden Buddha with a wide smile on his face sits next to the front door, his hand raised in greeting to those coming in, and saying goodbye to those leaving.

  While I can appreciate the aesthetic, if I’m being honest, I’m a little uncomfortable in here. There’s simply too much red for my liking. Otherwise, it’s a nice little place
that makes some terrific food. Just the smell of what’s coming out of the kitchen has my mouth watering and my stomach growling.

  “I hope you don’t mind if I don’t eat,” Lee says. “I can’t stay long.”

  To be honest, I’m a little disappointed only because I’m suddenly ravenous. But that’s okay. Maybe I’ll order some to go for the team. We can eat while we brainstorm. In my experience, food always seems to kickstart the brain. Of course, that could simply be because I’m a foodie. Whatever.

  “No, not at all,” I reply. “But why all the cloak and dagger? That’s usually a Bureau thing. You’re kind of stepping on my toes here.”

  His face remains stony as he stares at me, my attempt to keep things light apparently falling on deaf ears. Paxton always said this guy was a bit on the humorless side. I guess he was right. But then he surprises me when a broad smile stretches across his face.

  “It’s only because it’s bad for my rep to be seen sitting with a Fed. You understand,” he says. “And this is my family’s restaurant. Less of a chance of being seen together.”

  “Can’t be seen slumming. Yeah, I get it. I had a boyfriend who thought that way once,” I reply with a grin.

  Lee smiles, but it wavers as if he can’t tell whether I’m kidding or not. I’m not. I actually had a boyfriend back in high school who wanted me to duck down in the seat when we drove by groups of his friends. Looking back at it, I still can’t believe I put up with that for a month. What was I thinking?

  “I wish our agencies would learn how to work and play well together,” he finally says. “It would make things a lot easier. And we might actually be able to do some good around this city.”

  “You’re not wrong. It’s ridiculous that we have to hide in the back of a restaurant to talk with one another,” I agree. “Although, I will thank you for suggesting we meet here. I’m going to be taking lunch back to the shop for my team.”

  He smiles and it transforms his face. It makes him look younger, not to mention a lot nicer and more approachable. He takes a sip of his tea, then looks up at me, the smile fading, and the business face coming back on.