The keeper struggled to his feet and left the room. Dana hauled herself off the floor, rotated her neck to work out a kink, and went back to her experiment.
CHAPTER 18
Friday, March 20, 9:00 a.m., Seattle, Washington
Bailey called the state’s business licensing office and asked to speak to the highest-ranking person available. After a few false starts with midlevel managers, Nolan Fredrick came on the line and asked how he could help.
She repeated her identification one more time, pacing the hotel room as she talked. “I’m working a case that involves kidnappings and a homicide. We believe the abducted scientist is being held somewhere here in Washington and being forced to do very specialized work at a new business. What I need is a list of business-related real estate that’s been sold in the last year.”
“Can you narrow that down?” He gave a soft laugh. “You don’t want car washes or fast-food restaurants, do you?”
“I do not.” She’d meant to offer more specifics, but he’d cut in too soon. “I’m looking for unoccupied buildings, rural acreages, and anything related to technology or mining.”
“That’s a more manageable list, but it may still take a day or two.”
“I don’t have that kind of time. Not only is a woman’s life at stake, but national security could be as well.” An exaggeration. Or not, depending on what the megalomaniac kidnapper had in mind. “This request comes from the director of the FBI.”
“I’ll do what I can.”
“I also need the name of the person or business who bought each property.”
“Of course.”
She made certain he had her contact information and started to hang up, then remembered it was important to say thank you. People were more likely to help if they were treated well, and she needed the information quickly. A lifelong question popped into her brain. What was the difference between pretending to be polite and actually being polite? She’d been faking and imitating her way through social situations for so long that she’d mostly become the person she pretended to be. The difference was, as a non-empath, she had another side that allowed her to use every tool at her disposal—as long as the benefit outweighed the risk.
Her next call went to Gunter Havi, a coworker at the bureau’s DC headquarters. Havi was her go-to tech-and-data guy, one of best analysts in the CIRG. She liked Havi because he didn’t care that much about rules either. Getting the job done was more important, and he was skilled at covering their tracks. His name and looks—a broad, square German face with dark coloring and soft brown eyes—suggested he was the product of a mixed marriage. But she’d never asked about his personal life, and most of their contact was by phone or email. “Havi, it’s Bailey. I need your help.”
“What’s the case? I knew you were gone, but no one is talking about your assignment.”
She summarized the crimes and her working theory. “I need to know about mining operations along the West Coast. Specifically, facilities with rare earth potential.”
“I see your thinking.” His computer keys clicked in the background. “The earth-metals market is crazy right now,” Havi said. “China’s export embargo has even Ayn Rand disciples talking about nationalizing our resources.”
Bailey hadn’t had time to pay attention to politics since she’d taken the assignment, so this was news to her. “I have to go into the local field office and check on a witness. Call me if you find any mines in Washington, Oregon, or California that have a new owner within the last year or so.”
“I’m already on it.”
“Great. If you need me to do a little hacking to get the intel, I’m game.” She wasn’t an expert, but with the right code and a little guidance, she could access non-secure data. Most of the information companies kept was non-secure. Only financial institutions and tech companies understood how grave the threat was.
“Let’s see what I can find out first.”
“Thanks, Havi.”
The mining idea was a long shot, and some operations were on federal lands. But Thurgood was an extraction expert, so she had to explore that avenue. Another possibility was that the two scientists were being held in different locations. And for all she knew, Thurgood’s participation could be voluntary. That was why she’d also asked the state business office to look at real-estate deals for abandoned buildings and rural properties. The megalomaniac may have purchased a variety of businesses to pull off his scheme. Whatever it was. Dominate the device market? Or did he or she simply want to make a fortune selling the metals other manufacturers needed? She needed to look at property transactions in other states too. The only rare earth mine she knew of was in California, not far from where the second scientist had been abducted. And Oregon was filled with remote areas where fringe groups could hide out.
Bailey pulled on a dark sweater—she refused to dress in a jacket like a man—and grabbed her satchel. Before she made it out of the motel room door, her phone rang again. Her boss. She stepped back inside and closed the door. “Bailey here.”
“It’s Lennard. Give me a quick update.”
She’d filed a report that morning, but her boss apparently hadn’t had time to read it. “The two men who kidnapped Dana Thorpe tried to kidnap or kill me last night in front of her house. They escaped by abandoning their vehicle in the lake and taking off on foot. We have a decent description of one unsub, and a local sketch artist is working on an image of him. I was just heading to the field office now.”
“Good. We need a teleconference with the special agent in charge out there. I have directives from the White House, and you both need to hear them.”
Oh hell. When politicians got involved in law enforcement, it was always trouble. They worried too much about public image and political correctness. “I’ll be in the field office in twenty minutes or so. Text me with the meeting time when it’s set.” Bailey hung up, not worrying about etiquette. Her boss hated unnecessary chitchat too. She headed out again, wondering what the hell was going on that involved the president.
She found the Seattle field office with little trouble and put up with the screening process without complaint. On the other side of the metal detector, she asked, “Is Garrett Thorpe here? He’s supposed to be looking at mug shots.”
“In the second-floor conference room.” The desk agent gave a we’re-done-here nod.
Bailey hurried upstairs, eager to see Garrett again. She’d wanted to hook up with him the night before—after the exhilarating chase—but there had been too many cops and agents at the house. She not only accepted but embraced her attraction to him. Even though she wasn’t a highly sexual person, she never felt any guilt or shame about her encounters.
At the door, she knocked once and stepped in. Garrett jumped up from his chair at the end of the long table and smiled. “Agent Bailey. I was just going to call you.”
“You found the guy?” She walked toward him, feeling suddenly warm, and had to pull off her sweater.
“Maybe.” Garrett gestured at the laptop on the desk. “He’s younger and thinner in this photo, but I think it might be him.”
“Excellent news.” The new lead, combined with her unexpected sexual desire, filled her with an impulsive pleasure. Bailey touched the sides of Garrett’s face and pressed her mouth against his, a deep, probing kiss that asked for much more. After a split second of shock, he responded, and their passion made her knees shake. Bailey drew back, suddenly aware the room might have video recording. She didn’t want to be reprimanded for something so trivial. He wasn’t the target of her investigation, so intimacy with him wasn’t specifically against the rules. She only followed explicit rules, and only fought for self-control when it served her best interest. What was best for her in this situation was Garrett.
She smiled seductively. “Show me the photo.”
Blinking with happy eyes, he sat down. Garrett scrolled back thr
ough three pages of images—all men between twenty-five and forty—then stopped and pointed in the upper left corner. “Him.”
Jerry Rockwell. An ugly man with a broad face, a wide nose, and brownish skin coloring. She guessed Hawaiian or Alaskan Indian. In the mug shot, he looked twenty-five, but his birth date indicated he was fifty-two. The timing was about right, though. He’d been convicted of trespassing and vandalism of a federal building in Fairbanks in 1988. He’d done six months in prison, but hadn’t been in trouble since. Unusual that he would be involved in kidnapping and murder now—unless he’d been a criminal all along and learned to be smart and careful.
“Are you sure?” she asked.
Garrett bit his lip. “Not a hundred percent. I mean, this photo is twenty-seven years old.” He looked at the photo again. “But see this dark spot on his cheek? That’s what caught my attention. I think I saw it on the kidnapper. But I was freaking out at the time, so I didn’t really process it then.”
“You did fine. It’s a possible lead. I’ll get my analyst to see if he can locate this guy.”
Garrett stood and met her eyes. “That kiss. What does it mean?”
Bailey’s cell phone beeped in her pocket. Relieved not to have to explain herself, she slid it out. A text from her boss: Conference in ten minutes.
She looked up at Garrett. “I have a meeting here in a few minutes. Did you get all the way through the mug shots?”
“I did.”
“Then it’s best if you leave now.”
“Will I see you again?” Such longing in his expression.
His attraction intensified hers. “If I can. But this investigation could go anywhere.”
“Give me your phone and I’ll key my number in.” He reached for it. “At least keep me updated about my mother. If we don’t find her soon, she could—” He stopped and pressed his lips together.
“Could what? I need to know everything.”
“My mother has epilepsy and without her medication she could have seizures.”
A critical piece of information. “Why am I just hearing about this now?”
“She’s very secretive about it. I’m the only one who knows, and she made me promise to keep it quiet. So I couldn’t tell my father. That would’ve pissed Mom off.” Garrett grabbed her hand. “Please don’t put that in your report. If word gets out, the epilepsy could ruin her career.”
Bailey loved that he was so loyal—and optimistic that his mother would survive this. “I’ll do my best to protect her secret.”
“Please call me.” He stepped backward toward the door, not breaking eye contact until he had to.
When he was gone, Bailey felt relief. And a strange loneliness. But the emotion was distracting, so she tried to turn away from it. Compartmentalizing was usually easy for her, but not this time. Well, hell. Would hooking up with him cost her more than she would gain?
She moved to the other end of the room, where a large monitor hung on the wall, slid into a chair, and pulled out a notepad to prepare for the meeting. She had a few minutes, so she checked her email. The medical examiner in San Jose had finally sent lab reports. He’d attached the full printout, but he’d also summarized the findings in his email:
Nick Bowman had alcohol in his blood (.12) but nothing else worth noting. The brown stains on his palms were caused by handling gallium, which melts when it touches the skin.
Gallium was a rare earth metal used in devices, but she’d never seen it in person and didn’t know much about its properties.
The doorknob clicked and she looked up, hoping Garrett had come back. Special Agent Thorpe stepped in. He was technically her superior, and she stood, more out of habit than respect.
He strode toward her. “Do you know what this is about?”
“No, but we’ll soon find out.”
Thorpe sat opposite her and clicked on the monitor, which stayed dark.
Bailey remembered she had a question for the field office. “Hey, what did the technicians find on the SUV that was pulled out of the water?”
“No trace evidence from the shooters.” Like most law enforcement, Thorpe had a flat delivery. “The vehicle had been stolen earlier from Bremerton. We canvassed the area but didn’t find any witnesses or abandoned cars.”
The thugs were craftier than she’d expected.
A phone in the middle of the table rang, and Thorpe clicked the remote. Agent Lennard’s face appeared on the screen. “Good. You’re ready. Have you seen the news this morning?”
“Not since six o’clock. Why?” Bailey sensed something big had happened, but she hadn’t been at headquarters with her unit to hear about it.
“A gang broke into a Walmart warehouse in Compton, California, looking for cell phones and tablets, and a group of bystanders joined them. When the news hit Twitter, a crowd started looting electronics from Best Buy in Florida City. The shortage has hit a choke point, and the White House wants to get it under control.”
“What steps is the president taking?” Thorpe asked.
“For one, the National Guard is preparing its troops to protect warehouses and retail stores in the big cities.” Her boss paused, as if in disbelief. “Plus Congress is drafting legislation that would nationalize rare earth mines. Possibly even the device industry.”
As Havi had predicted. “How does this affect my investigation?” Bailey asked.
Lennard’s mouth tightened. “We’re calling you off. The Critical Incident group needs you back here.”
No! How stupid. Was this Lennard’s decision? Bailey studied her boss’ face and noticed the pinched lines around her mouth. The decision had likely come from higher up, and Lennard had to support it.
Bailey still had to argue. “But we’ve identified one of the kidnappers. I just need a few more days.”
“Who’s the suspect?”
“Jerry Rockwell. He has an old conviction, but nothing since.”
“Do you know where to find him?”
“Not yet.”
“Then nothing’s changed. The bureau has bigger issues to deal with—such as the wholesale theft of cell phone shipments. A truck was hijacked yesterday, and the driver was killed.”
Criminals stole truckloads of things every day, including maple syrup. Cell phones were more personal and universal, but still, her boss was keeping something back, and it infuriated Bailey. “What is this about? Tell me the truth.”
“Once the government nationalizes the industry, or its components, our unsub loses his profit and motivation. The problem goes away.”
Damn. She was about to lose her chance for a big win. And never see Garrett again. “A woman has been kidnapped, and her family would like her back.”
“Yes, what about Dana?” Thorpe added, with a dose of disbelief.
“We’re not giving up. Agents in the field offices will pursue the individual cases. Bailey, we need your analytical prediction skills here in the CI room to help circumvent more looting—or rioting, whichever comes next.”
Bailey had no intention of dropping the broader investigation. She would find a way to solve the disappearances and still keep her job. She motioned at Thorpe to shut off the monitor.
After the screen went black, he turned to her. “Of course, we’ll continue to search for my ex-wife.”
“Good to hear.” Bailey walked out before she said something regrettable.
CHAPTER 19
Friday, March 20, 2:20 p.m., Seattle, Washington
The agents were still in his house when Garrett arrived home. Damn. They’d come back early that morning, after failing to catch the shooters the night before. The two women were drinking coffee and talking at the kitchen table, and his father was sitting in the living room, as if he’d just come in. Their presence was invasive and Garrett wanted them gone.
He sat down on the coffee table to look h
is father in the eye. “You guys need to get out of here. There isn’t going to be a ransom. They don’t want money. They want her research.”
“I think you’re probably right, but it’s not only my decision.” His father stood.
So did Garrett. “But it is mine.” He strode into the kitchen with his father following him. Garrett looked at the older woman in charge. “Agent Nelson, I need all of you to leave. My mother is out there, and you need to go help find her. The kidnappers aren’t going to call or bring her back.” The thought crushed him, and he swallowed a lump in his throat.
“We have other people assigned to the task force, and they’re looking too.” Nelson gestured for him to sit. Garrett refused, so she continued. “This is protocol for kidnappings. It’s only been a day and a half.”
Anger flooded him. “Only a day and a half? She could be anywhere! She could be dead. Get the hell out of here. Sitting at our kitchen table isn’t helping!”
The agent recoiled, then stood up. “Call me if you hear from the kidnappers.” She handed him a business card and walked out. The other agent, whose name he couldn’t remember, followed her.
His father stood in the hall and watched them go. “I should stay. I don’t want you to be alone.”
Garrett couldn’t hold back a harsh laugh. “That’s a first.” His father looked hurt, and he regretted the remark. “I’m fine here. I’ll call you if anything happens.”
“What if the shooters come back?”
“They’re not after me.”
“You don’t know that.” His father crossed his arms and shifted into taking-a-stand mode.
They were eye-to-eye in height, but his dad’s massive chest and arms intimidated him. Plus twenty-five years as a federal agent, and he was hard to argue with. Garrett took a quick breath. “I don’t want you in the house, because I need my privacy.” Bailey’s kiss came to mind, sending a rush of pleasure through his body. He wanted her here, in his bed, but that wouldn’t happen with his father around.
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