A Dangerous Game

by Heather Graham

  “Kieran, I’m sorry. I think we were all hoping it was simply her time. But here’s the thing—we know Riley and Tanya were followed. The traffickers knew the two were at the soup kitchen, and they knew Sister Teresa was helping. It’s really frightening, just how they manage to see so very much.”

  “Could that mean that Mary Kathleen isn’t so far off the mark? That Riley isn’t such an innocent—that she’s a criminal herself, leading us down a very wrong path and reporting every movement made by the police and the FBI?”

  “I don’t know how she’d be getting through to members of the gang—she hasn’t had a cell phone. We don’t keep landlines in any of the safe houses. She’s been with someone all the time.” He was quiet for a minute and then said softly, “We have seen some strange things, but I don’t want to believe that she is a killer.”

  “Have you suspected her of being involved?”

  “She has been around it all.”

  Frowning, Kieran pulled the phone away from her ear and stared at it—as if she could somehow see Craig through the phone.

  If Craig had already thought of this—if Mary Kathleen had thought it—why hadn’t she?

  “You do think she’s innocent, right?”

  “I do. Mostly.”

  “It’s that she speaks Russian that makes you pause, isn’t it?”

  “It’s a total wild card. I’m an agent...we’re naturally a little suspicious of everyone. And Russian as a second language is an unusual choice for an immigrant. I mean, if you want to go into politics, or become an interpreter, or travel extensively in the Soviet Union, yes. Or if you wind up with Russian-speaking in-laws. In Riley’s case, she’s apparently spent time with a lot of Russian-speaking people.”

  “So...”

  “So these are all things we bear in mind. But, then again, Kieran, she may be exactly as she presents herself—a victim. Don’t fear. We are watching. We are weighing everything that both girls say.” He hesitated. “And...”

  “And?”

  “You will never be alone with them, so there shouldn’t be any cause for concern.”

  She smiled. Poor Craig. He didn’t want to change her. And he couldn’t blame her for finding herself in what could be a dangerous position in this case. He had to support her, had to allow her to do the work she loved—and manage not to get macho on her while protecting her all at the same time.

  “Love you,” she murmured.

  “Yep. You, too. Hold on to that police protection, you hear? Don’t go anywhere alone.”

  “They’re charming. I like Officers Chopra and Harding very much.”

  “Great. All right, I’ve got to get working. I’m checking into the man we know as Jimmy. We’ve got it narrowed down to about five people. Do you know how many teachers there are in the tristate area with the name James or Jimmy?”

  “A lot, I can only imagine.”

  “Yeah. But I think we’re getting close—we need to find and protect his family.”

  “Call me if you need me—or if you learn anything that I should know. If it gets late and I don’t hear from you, I’ll take my charming bodyguards to Finnegan’s. Almost everyone likes a good slice of shepherd’s pie.”

  “Take care. See you later.”

  She hung up, a slight curve on her lips. She really loved him so much. But he wasn’t much for using terms of endearment on a phone.

  For a minute, she drummed her fingers on the desk.

  She wasn’t sure why she didn’t want to tell Craig that she really wanted to see the baby.

  There was nothing wrong with it.

  She was omitting. That wasn’t lying. And she wasn’t going to do anything that wasn’t safe. She was going to call Craig’s boss—entirely safe!

  Why not just tell Craig?

  Because she was afraid that he would think she was getting too personally involved.

  Maybe she was—just a little bit. She couldn’t forget holding the infant girl and thinking that it would be the most horrible thing in the world if the mother had been killed, if she would never get to cuddle her sweet child, smell her sweet baby flesh, love her and watch her grow.

  It wasn’t that she wanted her own child. She really wasn’t ready for a baby herself.

  She just wanted the best for Yulia Decebel’s baby. That meant the FBI had to find Yulia.

  Still feeling guilty, she called Egan. She asked him about visiting the baby, escorted by the police officers assigned to keep watch over her.

  Egan thought it was fine. He wasn’t surprised by her call, she realized. He seemed to think it was natural that she should want to check up on the baby.

  “Of course, you must see for yourself that the baby is doing well. I’m still praying we find her mother alive,” Egan said.

  She really liked and admired Egan. He was in such a high position, but was still a man who admitted to praying, managing both authority and humanity very well.

  “Me, too,” she said. She thanked him, but before she hung up, she voiced Mary Kathleen’s concerns. Craig would have also passed on her comments, but since she happened to be talking to Egan, she found herself needing to tell him about the conversation, too.

  “Interesting,” he said. “I’ll give the marshals a call and make sure that both women are behaving. No contact outside the safe house.”

  Kieran thanked him.

  He must have gotten right on the phone again after they hung up. She was still tidying papers when the officers came in for her.

  “I’ve been told we’re paying a visit to Child Services,” Abel Harding said.

  “Checking on a babe,” June Chopra echoed, nodding sagely.

  “Do you mind?” Kieran asked.

  “Of course not! Serve and protect, ma’am, that’s what we do!” Harding told her.

  “And I, for one, would love to see this little one,” June Chopra said.

  Ten minutes later, Kieran let Jake out in reception know that she was leaving with Officers Chopra and Harding.

  She waved to Ralph Miller at his security post by the building’s entrance, and Ralph returned her wave. “You going to be back at the office today?” he asked Kieran.

  “Maybe and maybe no, Ralph. Don’t worry.”

  “Ah, seeing your companions, I know you’ll be fine.”

  She agreed and headed toward the door.

  “Hey,” he called softly.

  She paused and turned back; it was touching the way the officers instantly followed suit.

  “Anything new?” Ralph asked her anxiously. “The poor mom of that baby...did they find anything yet?”

  Kieran shook her head. “Not that I know about.”

  “Hope you find her,” Ralph said. “I truly do.”

  She nodded. “Thanks, Ralph.”

  Kieran pushed through the front doors and headed out to go visit the abandoned baby girl that she couldn’t stop thinking about.

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  “James Bryan Baron!” Craig said. “We have to get to his family.”

  Marty had provided Craig with a list of teachers who had not shown up for work. Since the area they were looking at was fairly massive, it had been a good-sized list. And while they weren’t completely certain that their burn victim’s name was really Jimmy, there was a possibility that it was. And it was all they’d had to go on.

  James Bryan Baron was in his late thirties. He was married with children. His wife’s name was Lillian; his daughters were Mary, ten; Susan, eight; and Katie, just five years old.

  Craig stood, nearly knocking his computer from his desk.

  Mike, sitting across from him, jumped to his feet, as well.

  “Okay, you think we’ve got our guy? We have to make a call, Craig. We can’t get out there faster than the local cops can. They may already be alerted—it’s mor
e than possible that his wife reported him missing.”

  “I’m headed to Egan’s office. He has to get the captain there to make sure that this is handled as discreetly as possible. There are kids involved, an innocent woman—”

  “They’ll take care of it,” Mike said quietly. “Yes—let’s get Egan.”

  Egan was quickly on the phone to the captain of the precinct; as of now, James Bryan Baron had not been reported missing.

  They would have a plainclothes detective out to the house as quickly as possible; they would be expecting Special Agents Frasier and Dalton at the precinct, ready to take the family into protective custody.

  “The girls might be at school—they probably are at school,” Craig said. “Unless someone’s already got to them.”

  “As far as anyone knows, the man they meant to kill in that explosion is dead,” Egan reminded Craig.

  “But remember, there was a man at the hospital last night, watching. Maybe someone from the gang waiting to see who came and who went. I know that the marshals were checking up on it and didn’t discover anything. The thing is, their henchmen may appear to be nobody on the surface. And whether or not James was willing to die in order to save his family, they may still be after the wife and kids. Tying up loose ends,” Craig said.

  “Trust me—we were top-notch on this. It did appear that James Baron died. No one could have seen our cops and agents come or go,” Egan said. “But, yes, this group may want to tie up loose ends. So as we speak, the cops are heading out to the victim’s home. Everything will be done to protect them. I suggest you two—”

  “Already moving, sir. Already moving,” Craig said.

  “I’ll keep in touch, let you know how the local men are progressing,” Egan called after them.

  Down by the car, it was tacitly determined that Craig would drive. He and Mike didn’t try to talk; they had been partners too long for any need to fill the air with chatter. Craig knew Mike—they were both thinking that this group was ruthless and that there were children’s lives at stake. They were nearing the bridge—moving at a decent clip despite New York traffic—when they received the first call from Egan.

  “No one is answering at the home address,” Egan said.

  “What about the girls?” Mike asked anxiously.

  “They didn’t report to school today,” Egan said.

  “The uniforms have gone into the house?” Mike asked.

  “They’re there now—they’ve just gone in. I’ll keep you abreast.”

  Craig glanced over at Mike. The police would be in the house long before they could get there.

  Neither one of them wanted to imagine what might be found: a woman, three children, dead. Shot, left in their rooms. The little ones killed gently, maybe, pillows over their heads before bullets were sent into their brains. Maybe not. Maybe all had been stabbed, gathered together, tied and strangled...

  There was no pretty picture.

  It was just a few minutes before Egan was back with them.

  “Nothing,” Egan said. “No one was found in the house.”

  “What? And they know that the girls weren’t at school?”

  “The locals are trying every avenue. The neighbors are being questioned. Cops are going door-to-door. You’ll be there in thirty minutes or so—”

  “We’ll be there in fifteen,” Craig vowed grimly.

  * * *

  Chopra and Harding had a patrol car just down the street. Harding offered to get the car; Kieran assured him she’d walk dead center between the two officers and that she could reach it on foot just fine—no one had to drive to retrieve her, or worry about who stayed with her while the other went for the car.

  They got in, buckled up and pulled out into traffic. Chopra said with a bit of obvious excitement, “Off to see the babe.”

  “I feel like we should be singing, though, huh?” Harding asked. “‘The babe. What babe?’ I mean...didn’t you ever see Labyrinth?”

  “I did indeed. And in that, my Lord! Bowie as the goblin king...you could have taken me anytime!” Chopra said. She made a face at Kieran. “Sadly, I haven’t seen anyone at Child Services who remotely looks like David Bowie.”

  “Hey! You have a husband,” Harding reminded her.

  “I do. And I adore the man. But Bowie as the goblin king...well, he was always my secret love. So sad. I can still dream, but he’s passed on to that great gilded studio in the sky.” She paused to sigh.

  “A brilliant talent lost,” Kieran said.

  Chopra smiled and nodded and turned to Harding. “See? She appreciates the beauty of the goblin king. Anyway, there may be no goblin king, but to the best of my knowledge, Sandy Cleveland is there and will be waiting for us so that you might have a visit with the wee one, Kieran.”

  “She’s no goblin king,” Harding said. “Even I agree on that.”

  “But she is a very nice woman,” Kieran said, “and I’m sure she’s taking wonderful care of the baby.”

  Ten minutes later, they were at Child Services.

  While the city did the best it could—and many fine people worked for and with the children—it was almost impossible for Kieran not to feel her heart sink painfully low into her chest. Children were such a precious gift, and here were so many who were abandoned, who had been taken from abusive homes, who lived without the love that should have been a birthright.

  Kieran was considered an “official” visitor as she arrived with the cops; that meant that she didn’t sit in an office vestibule, away from all the action. Instead, she walked along halls with glass windows where social workers looked over children of different ages; toddlers playing with well-used toys, five-year-olds listening to a story, preteens watching a DVD. One room offered a slightly older group, busy at computers, flirting with one another, laughing, teasing...

  Some bore looks of confusion and hopelessness. Some had already been toughened by the system; their faces were hard and cold. They were nearly ready to head out into the world, aware that it was a tough place and that their defenses must be up at all times.

  Sandy Cleveland’s office was a small room that attached to a larger one that looked almost like a hospital delivery room—except that it was filled with little cribs instead of tiny newborn bassinets. Two aids were in with the babies; Kieran estimated that there were twelve little ones in the nursery.

  It appeared that those working with the children were good at their jobs; they were gentle and loving with the babies. Kieran wondered if it could begin to compensate for the love little ones should get from their parents. Naturally, she didn’t know what had brought the infants here, to be cared for by strangers—maybe their parents were just getting back on their feet. Maybe they had lost both of them in tragic accidents.

  “So sad,” Kieran murmured.

  “The hospital is worse. Trust me. In our line, a lot of the witnesses we wind up protecting can testify against crime lords because they’ve been in their clutches—and often have used all kinds of drugs. The babies born to mothers on crack or with fetal alcohol syndrome,” June Chopra said. “Thing is, most people looking to adopt want a perfect little child. There are only a brave few who’ll take on a child who may have medical problems as they get older. Family members tend to disappear when it comes to taking in a little relative who is blind or deaf or facing a situation like juvenile diabetes... Sad, yes. So sad. And yet, there are thousands of people waiting to adopt, but to adopt perfect little babes.”

  Like the little girl thrust into her own arms, Kieran thought.

  Sandy Cleveland waved to them from within the infant room. They could see her through the glass, picking up one of the little bundles.

  Baby Jane Doe, received into the system Friday last, when Alexandra Callas had passed her over to Kieran, and then been stabbed to death in the street.

  A moment later, Sandy was out w
ith them, handing the child to Kieran. “Miss Frasier, how nice to see you. June, great to see you, too. And you, too, Abel,” she added to Officer Harding.

  Kieran glanced at the officers.

  “We’ve been here before—a few times. The innocent—little ones—are often the collateral damage in the world of crime,” Harding said.

  “June and Abel helped wrest a baby from a dad trying to toss her off the balcony,” Sandy Cleveland told Kieran. “She got adopted, by the way, despite many difficulties—legal and medical hurdles. See, good things do happen here. Foster families are found, biological families are sometimes reunited. You must know that. Don’t you work with parents struggling to get back on their feet?”

  “Our office does, yes,” Kieran said. “And I’m glad—and surprised—that it worked out so well for the little one you rescued, June. Often—in our experience, anyway—it’s the parents who are most abusive who aren’t willing to give up their children. The father gave up his rights? And the mom?” Kieran asked.

  “The father couldn’t get the child over the balcony, so he went over himself,” June said. “The baby’s mother was long gone,” she added softly. “Being a cop is what I always wanted to do. But sometimes, I guess, we come across the kind of stuff that really haunts you.”

  Her words made them all fall silent for a moment, at a lack of what to say against such a truth.

  “I’m so sorry,” Kieran murmured at last.

  “Anyway,” Sandy said, “as you can see here, we have our hands full. Enjoy your time with our little Baby Doe.”

  “Thank you,” Kieran said. “What are you calling her? We do have a last name for her—just not a first.”

  Sandy glanced at June. “Well, we call her Baby Doe. She’s actually Baby Doe Seven.”

  “Oh,” Kieran said. “Well, she is Miss Decebel, from what we understand. And I know that all forms of law enforcement are still working very hard to find her mother.”

  “And I’m sure they will,” Sandy said. “We’ll just hope that they find her...” Sandy’s voice trailed. They all knew the unspoken word. Alive.