by Juno Rushdan
“We can speak in the kitchen, if that’s all right.”
They walked through the tidy home, passing the living room, dining room, and Madeline sat at the small bistro-style table by the window.
Garcia handed her a bottle of water from the fridge and grabbed a can of soda for himself.
She opened the bottle and chugged some of the cool water. “I’m going to record this conversation, if you don’t mind.”
“Not at all. Go ahead.”
She took the recorder from her pocket and set it on the table. “How would you describe the layoff of the games department at ETC?”
“In a word, profitable.”
“Did you agree with Jackson Rhodes’s decision to sell off the games and dismantle your department?”
Garcia opened his Coke. “Didn’t matter if I agreed. I understood why it had to happen. Made complete sense. Allowed me to pay for this house in cash and have a comfortable retirement.”
“But it wasn’t profitable for everyone, was it? What about Lou Jenkins? Was he angry when he didn’t receive a big fat check?”
Garcia chuckled. “Lou was grateful he walked away with as much as he did. He was at the bottom of the pack and knew it. Got a new position at another company. As an animator. I see him from time to time. He’s much happier. Doing really well for himself.”
“Do you recall another employee who worked under you—Theon Lasiter?”
His eyebrows shot up. “How could I ever forget?”
“Can you tell me about him?”
“Theon was special. Gifted, I mean. Singular in his vision. It took him a while to find his niche when he first started working at ETC. None of the games he developed had really taken off. But he had an interesting background that I thought he could use as inspiration for a game.”
“Interesting in what way?”
“He grew up in a survivalist community. Real hard-core. Almost cultlike if you ask me.”
“You mean like preppers?” Madeline asked.
Garcia chuckled. “I once foolishly thought they were the same thing, too, until Theon schooled me. There are some significant differences. Preppers and survivalists both plan and prepare for that doomsday scenario. A megadisaster. But how they prepare is where they diverge. One group is focused on stockpiling and the other on developing a finely honed skill set.”
“So I take it, the preppers are the ones loading up their shelves with canned goods, water, powdered milk, that sort of thing.”
Nodding, Garcia opened his soda. “That’s about right.”
“What type of skill set does the survivalist cultivate?”
“Instead of stockpiling massive amounts like preppers, survivalists become experts at fishing, snaring, foraging, hunting. They’re the ones with the guns, make no mistake about that.”
She couldn’t help but think about the fire on Jackson’s lawn. How tree resin was the secret weapon for surviving in the wilderness. “Survivalists are focused on building up an arsenal?”
“No, no. They like to stay light on their feet.” Garcia sipped his soda. “They’ll have a couple of guns in a bug-out bag and will train to be crack shots, but they’ll have knives, too. Think of it like this, you and I have GEICO—they have body armor. Instead of building a garden, they’re creating booby traps, making homemade bombs, that sort of thing. Defense and offense are key to survivalists. Not stockpiling.”
A homemade bomb had been used to blow up the Duwamish site. Forensics confirmed tree resin had been the accelerant. The same compound used in the fire on Jackson’s front lawn.
“Where was the survivalist group based that Theon grew up in?”
“Loon Lake. On the east side of the state. Four or five hours from here.”
Madeline logged the place, updating the shared document, though it seemed too far away for the kidnapper. Seemed more likely that Emma’s abductor was within an easy drive of Jackson.
“Tell me about the game he created,” she said.
“It’s called Survivalist Zone. Apocalypse scenario. Players build a zone, establish a home, and then they have to protect it. Sometimes a player will need to attack another player’s position to claim vital resources. The game was an instant hit. But it still had a lot of untapped potential. Theon wanted to make the next version more elaborate and complicated. Jackson was still overseeing the department at the time and supported Theon when the kid wanted to create a real-life mock-up, complete with booby traps and everything. ETC had some land that they weren’t using and gave him the green light. His older sister even came out to help him make it as realistic as possible. She never even asked for any name recognition or credit.”
“Sister?” A shiver raced down her spine. “What was her name?”
“Chloe. Chloe Lasiter.”
Madeline sent a red alert to the team with the name. She wanted Dash digging into the sister as soon as possible.
“She was devoted to Theon,” Garcia said. “When the video game was sold and our department was cut, I think she was as devastated as her brother.”
“If the game was successful, why was it sold?”
“That’s the reason it was sold. Because it was successful.”
“I’m not tracking the logic,” Madeline said. “Why sell a game that’s making a solid profit?”
“Theon’s game was computer based. Had a strong cult following. Wildly popular. It’s an open world and users contribute content, making the game grow. Generated revenue and profits. Brought in millions. Double digits. But Jackson sold it to a company who already had a foothold with video game consoles. The other company could expand the game to their consoles and their dedicated app store. And make an even bigger profit.”
“How much did the intellectual property sell for?”
“Two. Point. Five. Billion.”
Madeline reeled back. “Goodness.”
“Brilliant move on Jackson’s part.” Garcia nodded with a look of awe twinkling in his eyes. “He did the same with the other moneymaking video games in the department. It was simply more profitable for ETC to sell. But Survivalist Zone was by far the biggest. Theon and the others walked away millionaires. Like me.”
“Then what was the problem?” Madeline asked. It sounded as if the entire department should’ve been kicking up their heels and moving on to greener pastures. “Why wasn’t Theon happy about the sale even if it meant the loss of his own department?”
“The problem was Theon didn’t care about the money. He wanted to remain affiliated with the game and future developments. But the buyer said no. They wanted to take the game in their own direction. Theon was crushed. He had poured his heart and soul into that game. Had spent so much time and energy working on it that his wife divorced him when it was in the beta stage. All he had left was that game. It was his baby. His brainchild,” he said, putting pieces of the puzzle together for Madeline. “And when what he cared about most was taken from him, he lost it. Cracked. Spiraled into a dark depression. Then I heard he killed himself. So sad. He left Chloe all his money. Fifteen million.”
She let out a low sound of surprise.
“Sounds like a lot. To most people it is, more than they’d see in a lifetime. But when you think about it, fifteen mil was only one percent of the profit Jackson and ETC made from the sale. Not that the cash mattered to survivalists like Theon and Chloe. I saw her at the funeral. She was heartbroken. She blamed ETC for his death. Blamed Jackson.”
Chloe Lasiter was behind this. Madeline knew it deep in her heart. “Can you describe what Chloe looks like?” Madeline asked, urgency propelling her.
Garcia shrugged. “She’s about thirty, maybe thirty-two by now. Fair skinned. Long chestnut brown hair. Hazel eyes like Theon. On the slim side but not petite. She was athletic and on the taller side.”
The description didn’t match any of their suspects
. But it fit the profile for the unsub and gave a strong personal motive to target Jackson that was tied directly to ETC business.
“Those two put so much into the development of that game,” Garcia said again, his eyes looking haunted. “You know ETC still has the site where they built their real-world mock-up. The company never tore it down. Probably forgot about it.”
“Where is it? I’d like to check it out for myself.” Walking around the site and seeing what Theon had created with his sister might be the best way for Madeline to get inside Chloe’s head. Understand what she was truly capable of and how far she might be willing to go for revenge.
Garcia wrote down the location for her since it was more a set of directions than an actual address.
“Going out there will shed light on what inspired the game. Reflects the darkness that was in their heads, much more than the video game would. Though that Survivalist Zone can get pretty dark with people stealing resources and killing each other. It’s a bit of a drive, about an hour outside of the city up in the mountains. But once you see the site, it’ll have you praying that you never come up against a survivalist.”
* * *
AN ELECTRIC HUM from Dash’s computer system purred in the air just beneath the clatter of his frantic typing on the keyboard. Since he’d gotten Madeline’s alert, Dash had been parked behind his desk at BAU headquarters, feverishly trying to dig up whatever he could on Chloe Lasiter, including a picture.
It was like she was a ghost. No social media presence. No property records. No utility bills.
Maybe her brother had been more active and had left a digital footprint.
Dash redirected his search to Theon Lasiter. Once again, no Facebook, no Instagram, no Snapchat. No old property records either.
But all serious gamers were on Twitch—a livestreaming platform tailored for that crowd—and Discord, which was a means for people to easily communicate while playing PC games together.
Already his fingers were darting across the keys. The screens shuddered and flickered as he typed faster.
Sure enough, Theon and Chloe had profiles on both sites. No pictures. Only avatars.
Dash glanced at his second monitor, which showed the results of the search on Theon. There was a magazine article featuring Theon as the Game Awards winner for Content Creator of the Year three years ago. Clicking on the link, he scrolled through the article that touted Theon as someone to watch over the next decade. Theon had been quoted stating he was thrilled his sister had finally moved to Seattle and they were about to close on a house they’d bought together.
That meant there was a property in one or both their names. Maybe under an LLC—limited liability company—for privacy since he had been gaining a bit of fame in the industry.
Scrolling a little further, Dash came to a picture of Theon holding the Game Award up in one hand, his arm slung over the shoulder of a young woman, with their temples pressed together. The caption listed the smiling brunette as Chloe Lasiter.
She looked so familiar, but he couldn’t place her. Was it the hair?
Dash zoomed in, two clicks, and his heart slammed against his rib cage as he stared at the picture.
“Holy hell.”
He knew exactly who that was. Without a doubt. He’d done a background check on her personally, and hadn’t found any red flags under the alias she’d used. How was that possible?
Reaching for the phone to call Madeline, he reconsidered. Before Dash called her, he needed to get Liam to help him do a deep dive and cull as much useful information on this woman as they could to find the Rhodes kid fast. Madeline was going to have a ton of questions for him, and he had better be prepared with answers.
Dialing Liam to save himself the time of running down the hall, he glanced back at the woman’s face on his screen.
At the kidnapper.
Liane Strothe.
Chapter Fourteen
Jackson answered his phone, relieved it was a call from Madeline and not another text message designed to torture him.
“Are you okay?” Madeline asked.
Shifting in the seat in the back of his Uber, he stifled a groan. “Yeah. I’m fine. No concussion. Only a couple of broken ribs.”
“Only? You’re lucky a lung wasn’t punctured in the fight.”
“Tidwell looks worse.” That was the truth.
“Are they holding you the night for observation?”
“They checked me out and an Uber is dropping me off at home as we speak.” His Uber parked in front of his house instead of in the driveway.
“The doctor checked you out,” Madeline said, “or did you take it upon yourself to simply leave?”
“Same difference.” Jackson tipped the driver from the app on his phone and got out beside his mailbox. It had been a few days since he had last checked it. The thought hadn’t even occurred to him with everything else going on. He opened the mailbox and grabbed the bundle of envelopes inside. “Did you turn up anything with Dennis?”
Walking up the drive, he sifted through the junk mail.
“Actually, I think I did,” Madeline said. “I believe this might all be centered around Theon Lasiter and his suicide.”
Jackson staggered to a halt. “Theon killed himself?” He was a bright kid, talented. A real wunderkind who had loads of potential. It was such a shame. “You know his revamped version of Survivalist Zone was an overnight success. Thanks to him, we made a large enough profit from the sale of his game that I was able to...” His stomach turned to ice. He hadn’t seen it before, but the link solidified clearly for him.
“What were you going say?”
“I was able to fund my pet project at Duwamish. Moving forward on the stealth technology wouldn’t have been possible without that sale.” The ice spread up into his chest.
“My gut was right. This is about Theon.”
This still didn’t add up. Something else was missing. “But Theon is dead. So who took Emma?”
“I believe it was his sister, Chloe. Did you ever meet her?”
Jackson stepped onto his porch. “No. I almost did once. She attended the Game Awards with him. I was supposed to go to show my support, but Emma had a fever that night. I stayed home with her.”
“Theon’s sister worked with him on Survivalist Zone,” Madeline said. “She helped him create the real-world mock-up to make the video game more intense and realistic. I’m headed out there now to take a look. I think seeing the place might give me better insight into who Chloe is and how her mind works since she helped her brother design it.”
“Why don’t you swing by here and we can go together?” Jackson suggested. He knew the lay of the land, more or less, and could show her around while making sure she didn’t get hurt.
“You should rest. Besides, I’ve already passed Madison Park. I’m about to get off the 520 and hit the 405.”
No one should go out there alone. Jackson had been to the site when construction had first started and once it had been completed. Theon had let his imagination run wild with the concept, and the end result was somewhat terrifying. Apparently, his sister had helped.
Two dark minds were better than one.
“Be careful,” Jackson said. “You could get a flat tire on the road alone leading into the site. Pretty rocky terrain from what I recall and the place itself is quite dangerous. We put a fence up around the three-acre property to keep hikers from wandering in, getting injured and filing a lawsuit. You’ll need a code to access it. Come and pick me up and I’ll give it to you.”
“There’s no sense wasting time doubling back. What’s the code?” The firm tone in Madeline’s voice made clear that she would brook no argument.
He sighed with resignation. “If Andrew never changed it, and I doubt that he’d take enough interest to bother, then it should be 75688.”
Madeline’s line
beeped. “Jackson, I’ve got another call. From Dash. Might be an update with information on Chloe. Listen, try to get some rest. Once I know something concrete, I’ll call or come by.”
“Stay safe.” He hung up.
Closing the door behind him, he dropped the mail onto the foyer table. A flyer slipped to the floor. At the top of the pile on the table was an envelope with his name spelled out in letters meticulously cut from newspapers and magazines.
Jackson ripped open the envelope and pulled out a note. The message, created with the same type of letters from periodicals, was another sucker punch to his soul.
Get rid of the FBI. No police.
Then I will tell you where to meet. Alone. Midnight.
Do it if you ever want to see your daughter again.
* * *
MADELINE DISCONNECTED THE call with Jackson and clicked over to the other line on Bluetooth. “Please tell me you found something.”
“I hit pay dirt,” Dash said. “Chloe Lasiter is Liane Strothe.”
Madeline’s heart stuttered. Oh, my God. “The nanny?” They’d had her and let her go.
“Yep. I’m sending you a picture now of Theon and Chloe together.”
Her phone buzzed. She tapped the message, bringing up the photo and zoomed in. Sure enough. Chloe had long, dark hair just as Dennis Garcia had described and didn’t wear glasses, but the eyes, the nose, everything else was the same. Liane.
Madeline shook her head, but the shock didn’t dampen. How had she not connected the dots and realized? Chloe...Liane had been right in front of her.
“She’s been with Jackson and Emma for almost two years,” Madeline said. Two years of scheming and planning, getting to know Jackson and what made him tick, to figure out the nastiest way possible to hurt him.
Jackson had told Madeline that his worst nightmare had been to lose Emma in plain sight. In front of him. Rather than easily snatching the girl at any time, Liane had strategized how to make that nightmare a reality that had left Jackson swamped with guilt.
