Deadly Intent

by Kylie Brant

  “But have they been matched with the owners?” Since none of them had an answer to her question, it remained largely rhetorical. Macy could feel her own impatience rising until Raiker finally came back on the line.

  “Hubbard’s car is still in the employee garage,” Raiker said. “It’s doubtful you’ll find anyone at his place, but wait for an officer to show up with the warrant. I’ve been assured it’ll be expedited.”

  “When can we expect . . .” The line went dead. Experience had her certain it was her boss’s usual abruptness to blame rather than phone malfunction.

  “Great.” Movements jerky with frustration, Kell exchanged his glasses for prescription sunglasses. “Looks like Hubbard is in this up to his neck. And we’ll be freezing our respective asses off waiting hours for a warrant before we can get inside his place for a look. Hope this heap has a good heater.”

  “CBI isn’t exactly the neighborhood watch.” The tail end of the car fishtailed then, and expertly Travis counter-steered out of the one-hundred-eighty-degree spin. “Whitman will get the warrant, and it won’t take all day, either. Look at it this way—we could be stuck at the estate, typing up interviews. Whitman’s making noises about sticking someone with those duties, at least until he can get a secretary out there.”

  Macy caught his eye on her in the rearview mirror and lied blandly, “I don’t type.” Although she shared Burke’s frustration with the situation, she thought she was more adept at controlling her emotions than he was.

  Of course, a ten-year-old would be better than Burke was in that area.

  The vehicle swerved again, and the agent slowed down even more. Peering out the window, she spied the patchy areas of ice glinting through the tire tracks on the road in front of them. No telling how long it was going to take them to cover the usual thirty-minute trip. At this rate, the warrant could beat them to Hubbard’s house.

  “Is that employee garage heated?”

  Travis lifted a shoulder. “Don’t know for sure, but I’d guess yes. The Mulder estate doesn’t seem to lack any of the amenities.”

  Kell seemed to know where she was heading. It was one of the few advantages to working with him. His quick wits were useful for more than coming up with smart-ass quips. “So we have to wonder if there was also surveillance in the garages and outbuildings. If it were me trying to protect my family, I’d have security there. Just another measure in place in case someone somehow bypassed the system at the gate.”

  She gave a satisfied nod. “So if he hid in the garage or car, those cameras were manipulated as well.” Because it was almost certain some of the others had been. “Otherwise someone would have noted it or the fact that Hubbard never returned to the vehicle at all.”

  Kell turned to look at her. “Which makes you wonder where the hell the bastard stashed himself from four o’clock until sometime after eleven.”

  “And how he got off the estate on foot, carrying the girl.”

  “The least the son of a bitch could have done was leave his garbage out.” The vents under the dash were blasting out heat, so Kell moved his feet farther away. Already they were sweating inside the insulated boots he wore. It was either freeze or sweat to death while they waited in the SUV. There was no middle ground. “We could at least legally go through that while we wait.”

  Despite Travis’s assurances to the contrary, they’d been sitting nearly two hours since their arrival, after it had taken them twice the usual time to cover the distance to Hubbard’s house from Mulder’s. Once the agent had badged the officers watching the house, they’d told them all they knew about the property, which had been exactly zilch. No one had been in or out of it since they’d been dispatched to the scene. The snow on the driveway was pristine. The partially filled-in boot prints up to and around the house belonged to the officers, according to them. Kell didn’t need the absence of tracks to be able to figure that Hubbard hadn’t returned here recently.

  They’d spent the intervening time door-knocking and talking to the neighbors they could find at home, largely in vain. Most claimed they hadn’t noticed anything out of the ordinary around the Hubbard house for the last few days. Macy had elicited the only useful information.

  He glanced in the backseat to note her bent over her PDA. In deference to the warmth in the vehicle, she’d pulled off the butt-ugly hat she’d been wearing to allow her dark hair to curl around her face and shoulders. He remembered vividly that it was as fine and soft as a child’s. With those startling pale blue eyes fringed with absurdly long lashes, she looked about as intimidating as a kitten. No wonder Hubbard’s neighbor across the street had opened up to her.

  According to the lady, Paula Graves, the last time lights had been seen in the man’s house was the night before the kidnapping. She’d worked second shift and had seen one inside light on before she’d gone to bed, which had been nearly one. She’d remembered it, she said, because Nick wasn’t a night owl like she was. If he was home, his lights were always off by eleven.

  And that, Kell considered as he unzipped his coat, meant exactly nothing. Which matched what they had so far on this case.

  “So what’s a place in this neighborhood cost in Denver?” he asked conversationally.

  Travis reached over to turn down the heat. “How should I know?” His voice was irritated. “I’m not a real estate agent. Besides, I live in a condo.”

  “Fine choice,” Kell said approvingly. “Houses are just a pain in the ass, right? Lawn care, snow removal . . . who the hell needs that?”

  “People who prefer some character in their homes?” murmured Macy, without looking up.

  Ignoring her, he continued. “According to the info Dobson gave us, Hubbard lives alone.” The agent was regularly updating them as more details came to light. “What makes a single guy buy a house instead of renting an apartment? Especially if he’s planning to stage a high-profile kidnapping in the state?”

  “Maybe he wasn’t planning it that long.” Travis seemed inclined to play devil’s advocate. “He’s only worked for Mulder for eighteen months. Could be he worked the job day in and day out and thoughts started to form. Maybe harmless at first. If it could be done and how. Then he starts thinking about the money.”

  “There’s been no ransom demand.”

  This time they both ignored the voice in the backseat. “Or maybe someone approaches him. Says, hey, you can get in, why don’t you grab up the kid and I’ll cut you in for a slice?”

  “Almost has to be more than one involved,” Travis stated and Kell nodded. This operation was too big, too complex for a solitary person. The kid wasn’t snatched at a low-supervision birthday party this time. She’d been abducted from a property equipped with the most high-tech security measures he’d ever seen at a private residence. That took someone with technical knowledge. The guard might have had the expertise with cameras and live feed, but there had also been the motion detectors to contend with. Not to mention getting into the house itself. All required highly specialized knowledge. But would the same guy also have the experience on grabbing and keeping a hostage?

  Because for the life of him, despite Ellie Mulder’s background, he didn’t see this being the work of a common lowlife pedophile. They usually chose easier pickings. Kids walking home from school or unsupervised at a mall. A playground. Sure, there were instances of them being snatched from their homes, but not off properties as well-protected as this one.

  He was willing to bet they’d discover the girl wasn’t the target this time, her father was. Was it money? Revenge? He cocked his head, considering the question. They wouldn’t know the answer until—and if—a ransom demand was made.

  “If money’s the motive, there’s got to be a cash guy, too. Someone who will deal with the demand and direct the payoff or pickup. What’s the likelihood security guy has the experience with that?” He tried to remember the update on Hubbard’s background that had arrived via Dobson. “He’d worked at a prison, right? Manned their cameras and live fe
ed for fifteen years. Yeah, might have had access to some criminal talent on the job, but I doubt they had support groups on the how-tos of child abductions.”

  “Raiker looked into the inmates housed at Florence during Hubbard’s tenure there. Only three were serving time for kidnapping.”

  He didn’t need Macy’s reminder. He’d heard the boss’s terse phone report himself.

  “He’s wasting his time there,” Travis said surely. “The man worked in security, not in inmate control. He wouldn’t even have had contact with the population.”

  “Hubbard’s property was purchased for three hundred and ninety-five thousand dollars over a year ago.” Macy looked up from her PDA when he glanced back at her. “What kind of money was he making with Mulder?”

  “Almost a third of that,” Travis responded. “The man recruits the best and doesn’t mind paying them.”

  “So the place isn’t out of the ballpark, given his salary.” Kell checked his watch. The exchange was merely a way to pass the time. There wasn’t a damn thing they could be sure of until they got inside. He watched Hubbard’s next-door neighbor power up a snowblower and begin the torturous job of clearing the walk in front of his house, inwardly shaking his head. If that was part of the character of home owning, he’d take his town house, any day.

  “We’ve got company.” Macy’s words had his attention jerking back to the street. The squad car rolling to a stop beside them hopefully meant that their forced idleness was over. He got out of the car and waited impatiently for Travis to accept the paperwork that had taken—he checked his watch again—a little over three and a half hours to process. Lightninglike speed to get a judge to sign a warrant, but he’d never been a fan of stakeouts.

  When Travis had finished with the officer, he tucked the warrant inside his coat before circling to the back of the vehicle and popping the trunk. Macy joined them and they grabbed their evidence kits before heading for the nondescript stucco house.

  “Where do you want to enter?”

  “Less noticeable if we go in the back.”

  Snow-blowing guy already seemed more interested in them than he was in his task. Kell led the way around the attached garage, where they’d be out of sight of nosy neighbors. The most recent footprints in the deep snow were theirs. They’d taken a look through the windows and knocked on doors when they’d first arrived, with no more success than the officers had had.

  “Is there an alarm system?” Macy asked as they headed up the stone steps.

  “It doesn’t matter . . .” Travis started.

  “Give me a few minutes. I think I can circumvent.” Kell opened his kit and withdrew his picks before shoving the bag in Macy’s arms.

  “Circumvent?” Doubt dropped from her word.

  “There’s no need for that, Burke.” Travis was stamping the snow off his boots. “We’ll set the alarm off once we’re in anyway. Just kick the damn door in.”

  “That’s one solution. But it lacks finesse.” He pulled off his gloves and stuffed them in his pockets. Flexing his fingers, he squatted to peer into the state-of-the-art dead bolt. “Ah, six-pin double cylinder. An expensive one, too. Bet they told you it was pickproof, didn’t they? Idiots.” Pulling on a pair of rubber gloves from the kit, he selected the torque and rake tools and went to work.

  “You believe this?” the agent muttered to Macy.

  “Oddly . . . yes.”

  He barely heard them. He was in that familiar zone, listening for pins to release as he delicately manipulated the picks.

  “You’ll trip the alarm anyway, so what’s the use of us standing out here freezing our asses . . .” Travis’s words trailed off as Kell withdrew the tools and rose, turning the knob and pushing the door open. The agent looked at him, then at the door.

  “What was that? Under thirty seconds, right?” Kell had forgotten to look at his watch before starting. “Did anyone time me?”

  “What are you, six?” Macy jammed his kit against his chest with a bit more force than he thought necessary before stepping carefully over the threshold to the rug spread on the floor in front of the door. She glanced at the keypad mounted next to the doorjamb. The officer stationed out front could deal with the security company rep sent over to check on the silent alarm their entry would set off.

  Travis muttered, “A drill would have been faster.”

  “As it happens, I’m equally adept with a snap gun, but it doesn’t hold the same challenge.” He gestured for the agent to proceed through the door ahead of him while he tucked the picks inside his coat. Macy already had her boots off and shoe covers on her stocking feet. He followed suit, watching carefully to be sure the agent pulled on gloves and shoe covers. Raiker would have his ass if every effort wasn’t made to preserve evidence.

  He swung the door shut behind him and just stood still for a moment, absorbing impressions. They were standing in a kitchen that hadn’t been modernized for a couple decades. There was an automatic coffeemaker tucked in the corner of the counter, the pot still a quarter full. A cell phone charger was plugged in next to it, minus the cell phone. A thermal stainless steel coffee tumbler sat next to the sink, along with a small insulated lunch cooler. Kell eyed the items but didn’t move toward them. Not then. Time enough to collect evidence, and he was willing to bet the coffee tumbler would be a prime depository for Hubbard’s DNA. First though, he wanted a thorough look around.

  There was nothing else out of place in the area. “Does the security team take lunch to work?”

  Travis was moving through the kitchen into the adjoining room. “The cooks I interviewed say they feed the indoor help. Everyone else is on their own.”

  They stepped into a large family room, and it was immediately easy to guess the room was Hubbard’s priority. A huge-screen TV and bookcase took up most of one wall, with two leather recliners and a couple matching couches arranged around it. The kitchen had been nondescript, but there’d be something of the security guard’s personality here. This is where he’d relaxed after working all day. Entertained here, too, probably, if that was his thing.

  The CBI agent was studying the TV. “I’ve got one almost like this, except a couple years older.”

  “Yeah?” Kell picked up the remote and turned the power on. “A Sony? Samsung’s the brand to go with these days. The picture can’t be beat, even without HD.”

  “Samsung, huh? I’d heard . . .”

  “TVs? Really?”

  Kell lifted a shoulder at Macy’s pointed comment and watched while the picture formed on the screen. “Just getting a feel for the place, Duchess. Taking our time. Being careful.” She was much too proper to snort, but the sound she made came suspiciously close. He checked the channel on the screen when it came on. ESPN. And the program menu showed the DVR set for times and channels featuring pro football. So the guy had a thing for high-tech TVs and football. Didn’t exactly make Hubbard unique. But it began to paint of picture of the absent guard that had so far been largely blank.

  The other two had fanned out. Kell clicked off the TV and went toward the desk tucked in the corner with a computer sitting on it. “What’s the scope of the warrant?”

  Travis pulled out the paperwork and surveyed it for a minute before giving a low whistle. “Rooms, contents, drawers, safes, electronic devices . . . anything deemed possible to hide a body or plans of the crime.”

  “Nice.” Impressed, he booted up the computer. There was no such thing as a limitless warrant, but this one was exceedingly generous in its scope. Whether that was due to the CBI’s influence or Mulder’s wasn’t worth speculating. The computer’s welcome screen blinked at him, inviting him to enter a password. He muttered an obscenity. His magic with locks definitely didn’t extend to computers. “I don’t suppose you have some decent hacking skills?” he called to the agent, without much hope.

  “We’ll take it in.” The man was squatted in front of the fireplace, looking inside it. Kell could have told him he was wasting his time. It was outfitted w
ith a cheap gas insert, and Hubbard would have had to be a moron to consider trying to burn something in it. Given the crime the man was suspected of, stupid probably wasn’t an accurate adjective.

  He riffled through the papers on the surface of the desk. Household bills. Fantasy football picks and strategy tips. His brows rose as he skimmed that sheet. With those selections, Hubbard would need all the tips he could get.

  Macy returned from the adjoining dining room and went to the hallway closet. The phone on the desk had the message light blinking. Kell stabbed at the replay button, but there were just a handful of hang-ups.

  “Must have just recorded his message and set the phone to go straight to voice mail after a couple rings,” he mused.

  “It didn’t sound like voice mail,” Travis muttered. He was looking under the couch cushions and checking the pockets along the side.

  Kell set the phone aside to be collected later and began pulling open the drawers on the desk, pulling out a few old receipts and some fast-food menus. Hubbard’s taste seemed to run to pizza and Malaysian. There were a couple bank account passbooks, one for checking and the other for savings. The guard had a balance of eighteen hundred and change in checking and nearly ten thousand in savings. He opened the next drawer and found a notepad, flipped through it. He looked up when Macy reentered the room. “Find anything?”

  “No. Except that the man is exceptionally neat. The carpet’s been freshly vacuumed. I’m heading upstairs.”

  The CBI agent veered in her direction so Kell trailed after them up the staircase. There were three bedrooms and a bath on the second floor. Two of the bedrooms were furnished but looked unused and as generic as the kitchen. The remaining bedroom had an unmade king-sized bed. Drawers were hanging out of the dresser. He strolled over to take a look. “So much for being a neat freak. Someone was in a hurry.” The remaining contents didn’t even leave the drawers half-full.