Lucy - 05 - Stalked

by Allison Brennan

  And if Grams was still alive, I wouldn’t be having this conversation now.

  “Peter, please.”

  Mom didn’t know what I knew. That in the last week I’d heard the front door close in the middle of the night. That even when she thought she was being quiet her bed hit the wall. I might not have known had I not been raised to the same sounds.

  “Are you still a slut?”

  She slapped me. I got out of the car and didn’t look back.

  The first day of high school wasn’t the worst day of my life, but it was in the top ten.

  It was the end of the day, when I went to my locker to get my things, that bad went to worse. I found a note.

  I’M WATCHING YOU.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  FBI Academy

  During her first week on campus, Lucy had discovered the secluded, parklike area behind Hogan’s Alley while exploring the campus with Margo and Reva. She’d come here many times when she needed to be alone. Because of the trees and overhanging branches, the circle was ten degrees cooler in the heat of the day and, better, it afforded privacy.

  She sat heavily on a fallen log early Friday morning, after running five miles on the track trying to work out the grief of Tony’s death. The run had left her drained instead of invigorated, her emotions on overdrive.

  The sun was still low on the horizon, the air crisp and clean in the clear summer dawn. It would be a beautiful morning before the heat became unbearable. But she wouldn’t enjoy it. Too many feelings, too many questions.

  A breaking twig caught her attention, and then a voice: “Lucy, it’s me.”

  “Sean?” She jumped up, stunned. “What are you doing here?”

  “I know you were close to Tony. I asked Kate to get me in.” He walked over and hugged her. “Your friend Margo told me you’d probably be here.”

  “I needed to get away from everyone.”

  He sat down and she leaned against him. It was good to have Sean here, even if it was just for a few minutes. “Thank you,” she said. “It’s a long drive.”

  “Kate said I could stay for breakfast.” He smiled, then looked at her, worry in his eyes. “You okay?”

  Tears blurred her vision and she buried her face in Sean’s shoulder and cried for the first time since she’d heard Tony had died. Sean held her, stroked her hair, didn’t say anything. There was nothing to say, and Lucy was grateful that he had come to her. She hadn’t even thought to ask him to, but it made all the difference.

  Several minutes later she sat up. She touched his damp shoulder. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

  “Better?”

  She nodded.

  Sean kissed her lightly. “I was spoiled seeing you every day. I miss you. Talking on the phone just doesn’t cut it.”

  “I know.”

  “Are you all right?”

  “I will be. I’ve known Tony for less than a month, but I’m still stunned.”

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get to meet him.”

  “I think I’m going to miss his stories more than anything,” Lucy said. “Tony put a personal twist on all the cases he worked. Listening to him recount his process and the different paths he explored was interesting and insightful. He was dedicated. He cared.”

  “So do you. That’s why he brought you into his world.” Sean kissed her forehead. “You should have asked for today off.”

  She shook her head.

  “I didn’t think you would have, just that you should have.”

  “We should head to the cafeteria. I have class at eight.”

  “We have a few minutes.”

  Sean was the type of guy who liked to fix problems, and death wasn’t something he could fix. But having him here, at her side, gave her peace and comfort she didn’t realize she needed.

  “I spoke to Suzanne Madeaux.” Sean put his fingers under her chin and looked at her. “I don’t want you hurt.”

  “Suzanne assured me that there was nothing personal about me in her files. Just my name in connection with the Cinderella Strangler investigation.” Lucy took his hands. “You can’t always protect me.”

  “When I can, I will.”

  “Tony knew Weber as far back as the Rachel McMahon kidnapping. He went to New York to help Suzanne with the profile. He thinks Weber’s murder has to do with the McMahon case. Her manuscript notes and interviews are missing.”

  “I skimmed the book she wrote after you asked me to find Peter McMahon.”

  “I read it as well. Tony wanted me to make a list of everyone she mentioned and rank them in the order of most likely to hold a grudge. But it’s been ten years since the book came out. Why wait so long?”

  Lucy’s stomach flipped. Crime scenes, autopsies, police reports she could handle. They were matter-of-fact and to the point. Books sensationalizing the pain and suffering of others disturbed her. She supposed that was good for a writer, that Weber had a way of getting so deep into the investigation that she could make the reader think she was right there, but Lucy had enough tragedy and pain in her real life; she didn’t need to share in the pain of others.

  But wasn’t that what she did now? Wasn’t that why she wanted to be a cop? To give peace to the survivors and obtain justice for the dead?

  “Luce?” Sean pushed her hair back and held her cheek.

  “I’m okay.”

  “No, you’re not.”

  “I will be. I was just thinking about Weber and how she approached her stories. I can handle it but the way she wrote—”

  “She sensationalized tragedy. Seemed to relish it.”

  “It was full of melodrama. Tony said it was accurate, but it’s how she told the story that made it dramatic. I should turn over the file to Suzanne.”

  “What file?”

  “Tony’s personal notes. Did you learn anything more about Peter McMahon?”

  “I haven’t found him yet, which is unusual.”

  “Because you’re so good?”

  “Exactly.” He kissed her. “Since I last talked to you, I learned that after his grandmother died he registered for school in Newark and lived with his mother for a year, then ran away. There’s a sealed juvenile record on him. I found him again in Seattle, where his father lives, and a record that he received a GED under the name Peter McMahon Gray.”

  “Social Services sent him back to his mother?” Lucy frowned.

  “What don’t I know?”

  “I read Tony’s case notes. His parents were swingers. That means—”

  “I know what a swinger is. And I read the book. Peter filed for emancipation when he was sixteen and got it. Moved back to Jersey, where he went to a community college and got his GED. He was accepted into Syracuse for the second semester, right before he turned seventeen.”

  “Driven. Determined to do something with his life.” Lucy took a deep breath. “His childhood ended when he was nine. Did he graduate college?”

  “No. Disappeared two years later. I might be able to find out more, but not quickly—unless I hack into the Syracuse files. I promised I wouldn’t.”

  “Did you check obituaries?”

  “In New York and New Jersey. No Peter McMahon, no Peter Gray, and no John Doe of his description reported deceased the year he went off the grid.”

  “Maybe he just wanted to start over,” she said quietly.

  “Or to seek revenge.”

  “Tony didn’t make any indication that he thought the McMahon boy was responsible for what happened to Rosemary Weber.”

  “You’re the psychologist, Luce. What would that kind of upbringing do to a kid?”

  Anything. But that didn’t mean he’d grown into a killer.

  But it didn’t mean he hadn’t.

  “I wish Tony were here.”

  “What about Hans? Kate said he was coming here to clear out Tony’s files and work with Suzanne.”

  “I didn’t know.”

  “It’s seven in the morning. I’m sure you’ll hear about it.” He paused, then ask
ed, “Did you ever want to change your name and start over?”

  “No.”

  “Why?”

  “Because changing my name wouldn’t have erased the memories.” She stood and said, “We’d better get to the cafeteria. I don’t want to be late for class.”

  *

  Lucy walked Sean to his car forty minutes later, after they’d eaten breakfast with her friends. “They’re a good group,” Sean said.

  “I think so.”

  “I feel better about you being here.”

  “Sean, you’re not going to go all over-protective on me, are you?”

  He wrapped his arms around her, dipped her, and gave her a deep kiss. She laughed. “Sean!”

  He put her on her feet but held her against him as he leaned on his Mustang. “I’m glad you made some friends, that this isn’t all work all the time.” He tucked loose strands of hair behind her ear. “You take everything so seriously, but you fell in with a group of people who have fun.”

  “They take it seriously, but they turn it off better than I do. In fact, they’re more like you than me. Maybe that’s why I like hanging out with them.”

  “I found out something about Laughlin. I’ll dig deeper if you want.”

  Lucy’s breakfast sandwich felt like a lead ball deep in the pit of her stomach. “What?”

  “He and Kate have known each other for a long time.”

  “I thought they might have had a past.” Why hadn’t Kate told her?

  “He overlapped with Kate in the D.C. field office for six months—the six months before her partner was killed and she disappeared to Mexico.”

  “The D.C. field office is one of the largest. Just because they were in the same office doesn’t mean they would have known each other.” But that would explain the animosity. Laughlin was here only for New Agent Class 12-14. It was a temporary assignment, so it may have been the first time he’d seen Kate in more than a decade. “Were they on the same squad?”

  “No—he’s always been in white-collar crimes. Kate’s always been in violent crimes, until taking the cybercrimes slot here, right?”

  Lucy nodded. “But Kate’s boyfriend back then was an SSA in the public corruption squad.” Lucy bit her lip, a sign that she was nervous or thinking.

  “Do you think it’s a coincidence?” Sean asked in a tone that told her he didn’t believe it was.

  Lucy hedged as she processed the information. “Did you see anything in Laughlin’s past about Evan Standler?”

  He shook his head. “Kate’s boyfriend?”

  “Adam Scott set up an ambush and killed him.” It was clear Sean hadn’t known. “It’s not something Kate and I talk about. She told me once, right after I moved to D.C., but never mentioned it again.”

  “Why would Laughlin have an issue with you? Or Kate?”

  “A lot of people blamed Kate for what happened, until she was able to clear her name. But by that time, it might be hard to forgive, and maybe he didn’t believe her. It’s one reason she was assigned here.” Lucy was going to have to talk to her sister-in-law; she saw no way around it. “When did Laughlin leave D.C.?”

  “Five years ago, when he transferred to Detroit. As much as I hate to ask him for a favor, maybe we should talk to Noah,” Sean said.

  Lucy kissed his hand. Sean didn’t like Special Agent Noah Armstrong, they’d butted heads more times than she could count, and she appreciated that he was willing to put that aside to get her the answers she wanted.

  “I don’t know that we have to go that far. Laughlin wants me to screw up. If I do, it’s my fault, not his.”

  “Unless he cheats. Does more than just give you the evil eye.”

  Lucy kissed him again. “Thank you.”

  “Aw, shucks, ma’am,” Sean teased.

  She rested her head on his chest and for a moment, just a moment, considered asking for the day off. Her emotions were still in turmoil. But she was already being closely observed; she didn’t want to make any more waves.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow,” she said.

  “I’m holding you to that.”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Georgetown, Washington, D.C.

  Patrick walked into Sean’s office Friday morning. “Where’s Lucy?”

  Sean glanced at him oddly. “Quantico. Is she supposed to be someplace else?”

  “I thought you’d convince her to come back with you.”

  “I didn’t ask, and she wouldn’t have taken the day off, anyway. I’m picking her up tomorrow at noon and teaching her how to drive.”

  “She knows how to drive.”

  Sean laughed and put his e-reader down. He was nearly done with Weber’s books—he’d been reading half the night and since he’d gotten back home this morning, highlighting important information to discuss with Lucy or verify. The writer certainly hadn’t made any friends with the way she portrayed cops, victims, and predators. Essentially, everyone was guilty of something.

  “Lucy has a license, but when was the last time you drove with her?”

  Patrick hesitated. “Point taken. You know why she doesn’t like to drive, right?”

  “There’s a specific reason?”

  “She’s never talked about it, but when she was five we were in a serious car accident.”

  “You were driving?”

  Patrick sat down and sipped his coffee. “Dad was. I was fifteen, Carina sixteen. It was a severe storm one Sunday—clear when we left for church, total downpour within the hour. The car in front of us slammed on its brakes. Dad’s a good driver. He maneuvered out of the way, but the car on the right slammed on their brakes and hydroplaned right into us and we rolled. We were all knocked out, a couple of broken bones, but we were okay. Three people died in the collision—a twelve-car pileup. Anyway, that’s my guess why Lucy hates to drive.”

  Sean hadn’t known, and he realized that even though he knew all the important things about his girlfriend, he didn’t know everything. He wanted her to tell him about the accident, because even though Patrick’s explanation made sense, it didn’t sound like Lucy. She’d always faced her fears head-on—why not this one?

  “Working on anything interesting?” Patrick asked. “It’s already blistering hot out there.”

  “Reading Rosemary Weber’s books. The woman was a bitch. She pulled no punches. I have a list of three dozen people who might want her dead, just because of what she wrote. Lucy put it together last night, before Tony’s heart attack.”

  Patrick said with fake shock, “I didn’t know you were working for the FBI.”

  Sean gave him a dead-pan expression. “Ha, ha.”

  “Then why are you doing this?”

  “Because Tony Presidio asked Lucy to make this list and she’s grieving right now. I’m just doing what she would have done.”

  Sean went back to the book. He highlighted a name he’d seen multiple times.

  Detective Bob Stokes.

  Patrick said, “Aren’t you supposed to be preparing for an assignment?”

  “I have a week before Duke sends me to God knows where.”

  “Madison.”

  “Right. Wisconsin.” Sean smiled. “At least the weather will be tolerable.”

  “Believe me, I’d take it if I could.”

  “You could.”

  Patrick snorted. “As much as I hate stroking your inflated ego, no way could I crack their on-site security.”

  “The goal is for me not to crack it. Then Duke did his job right. Did I tell you Duke’s working on getting us a Homeland Security contract? Last time I flew commercial I sent him a memo—as a joke—about a half-dozen ways I could waltz into secured areas.”

  “You don’t sound interested.”

  “I’m not. I avoid government contracts.” Sean left those to Duke and his other partners. Unfortunately, if they had an airport security contract, it would be up to Sean and Lucy’s brother Jack, since they were both pilots and had in-depth knowledge of both private and commercial f
acilities. He regretted sending the memo to Duke and hoped Homeland Security ignored it.

  Sean glanced at his watch. “Want to do me a favor?”

  “No.”

  “Please?”

  “You must want it bad.”

  “It’s either take notes on Weber’s books or find out about this cop she acknowledged in her first book. He’s the only cop she didn’t slam.”

  “He must have talked to her.”

  “That’s what I thought. He might know a lot more.”

  Patrick didn’t move. Sean looked up. “What?”

  “The FBI is investigating her murder.”

  “So?”

  “Turn it over to them.”

  “I will.”

  “When?”

  “When I have something.”

  Patrick still didn’t move.

  Sean sighed. “What now?”

  “Why are you doing this?”

  “I’m bored.”

  Patrick glanced at his watch and leaned back in the chair.

  “You learned that trick from me.”

  “Is it working?”

  Sean put the e-reader down again. “Lucy’s name was in Weber’s files. I want to know what she has on Lucy and my cousin Kirsten. The only way I’m going to legally see those files is if Suzanne shows them to me. The only way she’ll show them is if I give her something useful. She and NYPD are running down leads as to who killed Weber, and there’s no doubt she’ll find the guy, but I don’t want all her files being part of the evidence.”

  “It already is.”

  “For now.”

  “I hope you know what you’re doing, Rogan.”

  “I always do.”

  “What’s the cop’s name?”

  “Bob Stokes, Newark. He was the responding officer, and according to Weber, he’d pegged the parents as liars from the beginning, but his superiors didn’t believe him, until the FBI came in and cracked open the case.”

  “And what do you think he’s going to do for you?”

  “He talked to her. He probably knows what was taken from the files at the library archives. If I can deliver him to Suzanne, I’m one step closer to answers.”

  “Maybe you should just ask her.”

  “I will. When I get this.”