by Kylie Brant
Brownley heaved a sigh and settled more deeply into the sofa cushions. “I wanted a family. He didn’t. I knew that going in, but I thought . . .” Her voice trailed away.
“That you could change his mind?”
She gave a jerky nod at Macy’s gentle question and Kell shot Travis a warning look. But the agent seemed content to let the two women talk. For now.
“Men do, you know,” Sophie said defensively. “After a while sometimes they come around to the idea. But I’m ten years younger than him, and he told me up front he didn’t want kids. After about five years, it started getting more urgent for me, and we’d fight about it.” She shrugged, a flicker of guilt skating over her face. “My fault, really. I knew how he felt going in.”
“As you said, sometimes men change their minds.”
Sophie shot Macy a grateful look. “I hoped he would. But he didn’t. And I finally felt bad about ragging him about it, when he’d been honest all along.”
“Did he ever mention his reason for not wanting a family?”
It was like watching a master fisherman, Kell decided. Macy cast the line, played the lure a bit, then slowly reeled the woman in. Nice technique when the situation called for it. And this situation did.
“No-o-o,” Sophie said slowly, her brows drawing together. “Just that he wasn’t that into kids. His father ran off and left him and his mother when he was young. They struggled. I think that made an impression on him.”
“Maybe it was the cost,” Kell interjected, his voice light. When the woman looked at him, he gave her a smile. “They aren’t cheap to raise, are they? Was his a financial decision, do you think?”
“I never got that impression.” Brownley shrugged helplessly. “Nick was careful with money, but he wasn’t cheap. I think it was like he said. He just didn’t care for kids much.”
Would a man careful with money be motivated by the chance to earn a large wad of it? Kell wondered. Especially if he didn’t especially like kids in the first place? He caught Travis’s gaze on him and knew they were on the same page. Whatever Sophie Brownley might believe about her ex, Kell remained convinced that Hubbard was involved up to his neck in the disappearance of Ellie Mulder.
“We can be fairly certain that whatever Hubbard is involved in, his ex-wife doesn’t know anything about it.”
“Assistant Director Whitman will have his LUDs in a few hours.” Travis pulled away from the curb in front of the house. The low gray clouds were spitting out a frozen substance that wasn’t really snow, yet not quite sleet. It looked, Kell decided, like someone was sprinkling soap detergent crystals out of the sky. “But yeah, I doubt we’re going to discover from his phone records that he reached out to her. What she said about their differences . . . that rang true. It also made me think that maybe his thing about kids ran a little deeper than daddy running off and leaving him. Maybe he’s got a real dislike for them. That would explain his motive.”
“Or maybe he likes them too much.”
Kell’s head swiveled at Macy’s comment. She raised her brows at him. “Well, there’s no ransom demand yet. Given Ellie’s history, we can’t ignore the possibility that Hubbard is just a garden-variety scumbag that preys on children.”
“Absolutely nothing in his background suggests it. I imagine that Mulder’s background check is extensive.” Besides, what were the chances that the girl would be snatched twice for the same reason? They had to be even more astronomical than her being kidnapped twice, at all.
Travis leaned forward to flip on the wipers. “Whitman looked through them and said the background checks were as thorough as those for classified government jobs.”
“Then it also would have discovered known associates.” Kell was thinking out loud.
“But that doesn’t exclude someone contacting Hubbard and pulling him in on the scheme,” the agent added.
“Which brings us full circle,” Macy murmured from the backseat.
Kell looked out the window pensively. The wind had kicked up, making flurries out of the soap detergent snow that still fell. “Yeah. But that circle closes solidly around Hubbard.”
Adam Raiker studied the man sitting across the scarred table from him. Art Cooper wasn’t faring well in prison. The blues hung on his frame, as if he’d lost weight since they’d been issued to him. His hair was thinner, his face haggard. But the bitterness in his voice when he spoke was all too familiar.
“What the hell do you want with me now?”
“Just have a few questions,” Adam answered mildly.
The man gave a snort. “You ruined my life. What makes you think I’d help you?”
“I’d say you ruined your own life. And after what you did to Ellie Mulder, you got exactly what was coming to you.” Some would claim that prison was too good for the likes of Cooper. But this represented justice in America, and Adam had spent most of his life in search of justice.
Reaching for the folder in front of him, he turned it around, flipped it open, and pushed it over to the other man. “Even so, if you give me anything useful, I might be able to help you.” He waited while the man looked at the sheets inside, until a flicker of recognition lit his eyes. The papers were copies of the complaints Cooper had filed since he’d gotten to Sussex. And the folder was thick.
“This place is a hellhole,” Cooper muttered. His gaze raised to Adam’s. “And you’re the reason I’m here. So go fuck yourself.” His chair scraped the floor as he pushed back to rise.
Leaning forward, Adam hooked his cane behind one chair leg to pull it forcibly against the back of the man’s knees, sending him off balance. “Sit down,” he ordered. “Or would you have me believe you’re really not that unhappy about having Robert Salvoy as a cell mate?”
Swallowing hard, Cooper sat, but his expression didn’t alter. “The man’s a savage. And the warden won’t do a damn thing about it. I’m in constant danger.” A whine had entered his voice.
There were some who would consider Salvoy’s alleged rapes of Cooper to be the most fitting of endings. The follow-up investigations of the complaints showed inconclusive findings. Hard to tell if Cooper was lying to get a single cell or if the man was truly being assaulted by his cell mate.
Harder yet to care.
“The warden’s a friend. If you give me useful information, I might be able to get you a different cell assignment.”
Cooper watched him distrustfully. “What sort of information?”
“About that kiddie auction you were attending, for starters. I want you to write down all the names of people you expected to be there who weren’t. Names of every single contact from that man-girl love association that you shared photos of Ellie Mulder with.” He caught the flicker in the man’s eyes. “Yeah, we know you were video-streaming some of your times with the girl to other NAMGLA pervs. We seized your computer, remember? I want to know who else you might have shared photos or videos with, in person or through the mail. I’m looking for names you didn’t include in the interviews after your arrest.”
“I included every name I could think of.”
Adam leaned forward, shooting the man a grim smile. “You’d better hope that isn’t true, Cooper. Because if you don’t come up with more names for me . . . names that actually pan out . . . you can just count on spending the next twenty-seven years as Salvoy’s bunk buddy.” He watched the man gray without a flicker of sympathy. “That’s longer than some people are married. Stick with a guy that long and it’s sort of like a marriage, isn’t it?”
Cooper looked past Adam’s shoulder to the armed guard at the door of the room. Then he wet his lips. “Yeah, maybe there were a couple pals that I swapped photos with. Old history, right? Doubt they even still have them.”
“A pedophile who culls his photo library? Yeah, right.” Adam pushed a yellow tablet over to the man and pulled a pen out of his inside suit jacket pocket to lay atop it. “Make it good, Cooper. Search your memory like your future depends on it.”
With a hand
that shook slightly, the man picked up the pen, and after a brief hesitation, began to write.
Watching him, Adam had a brief flash of déjà vu. There had been too many men just like this one. All guilty of horrific crimes. Hunting them for so many years had immersed him in a darkness that couldn’t help but cling to him, tingeing everything else in his world.
That darkness had ruined him for doing anything else.
Their footsteps rang hollowly on the nondescript beige scarred tile floor as the prison guard accompanied Adam back to the public waiting area.
“Adam.”
Turning, he saw Warden Joe Landry approaching. A genuine smile breaking out, he switched his cane to his left hand to take the man’s hand with his right. “Joe.” He returned the man’s enthusiastic handshake. “Thought you were tied up in a meeting.”
At the warden’s short nod, the guard fell back a discreet distance as they resumed walking. “Offered the suits prison food and the meeting broke up sooner than expected.” He gave a wink. “Works like a charm every time.”
“I’ll bet.” Landry had been his senior partner in the bureau, on his first assignment to the Baltimore field office. They hadn’t been together more than two years before Adam was handpicked for special training at Quantico’s Behavioral Science unit. The older man had retired early from the FBI over a decade ago but made a point to keep in touch with friends in the agency.
They halted at the first set of heavy automated doors. Landry punched in a code, and they walked through as they swung open.
“Damn shame about that little girl. After you called I did some research to refresh my memory. I recall the Mulder case from a couple years ago now. You finding the girl gave the feds working the investigation something of a black eye.”
Adam lifted a shoulder. He’d never cared much for the politics that came with his time in the bureau, which was only one of the reasons for leaving it. “I knew the lead agent. Tom Shepherd. He seemed grateful for the break.”
Joe tugged on his earlobe. “Grateful? Maybe. But the way I hear it, after the bad press from the trial, he got banished from his DC post and sent to Bismarck. His ‘gratitude’ is probably frozen solid by now. Along with everything else.”
Frowning slightly, Adam mentally sifted through the gossip for a germ of truth. Shepherd had been a good agent when he’d known him in DC. His rise in the ranks of the agency had been impressive. But the investigation of the first kidnapping of Ellie Mulder had been plagued by bad luck. The birthday party she’d been snatched from had been held at one of those playgrounds at a fast-food restaurant during the noon rush. Witness accounts had conflicted. And Cooper had shown rare shrewdness in choosing a child in a different state from his hometown. “Bismarck, huh? Maybe I’ll give him a call.” He just might think of someone or something associated with that first investigation that wasn’t in Adam’s own case file.
Pausing before a second set of automated doors, Landry asked, “Did you get anything useful out of Cooper? And if you did, what’s it going to cost me?”
“He seems disenchanted with his cell mate.”
The man nodded. “There was physical evidence supporting his claims of sexual assaults. Just nothing that points to the perpetrator. We’ve got him under a watch, but a place like this . . .” His mouth formed a thin hard line. “As fast as we put out fires, there’s something else flaring up.”
“I’ll let you know if his information pans out. He gave up some names he’d neglected to mention during the course of his arrest, people he swapped pictures of the Mulder girl with. Hard to tell if it will lead anywhere.”
Landry’s craggy face looked dubious. “These guys trade pics like baseball cards. It’s a needle in a haystack. But you’re going to shake that haystack, aren’t you?”
The doors opened as Adam gave him a quick feral smile. “I’m going to dismantle it, straw by straw.”
“Any results on the stains found in Hubbard’s bathroom yet?”
Whitman looked irritated at Kell’s question. His brown suit was either the same he’d worn yesterday, or its twin. It looked equally rumpled, its creases matching those in his face. “This isn’t Hollywood, Burke. In real life, lab results actually take time.”
Kell looked unruffled at the man’s withering tone. “I guess we have different definitions of expedited.” The man had claimed the priority of the case would ensure faster results from the state lab just yesterday. “If you’d agreed to a mobile lab, we’d already have the results. I’ll bet your lab hasn’t even started running the tests yet.”
Ignoring him, Whitman focused on CBI Agent Travis. “So who did you interview today?”
“Hubbard’s ex-wife and three of his former coworkers at the prison. The warden. Some friends the ex said he spent time with when he lived there. All speak highly of him. Claim he’s an up-front sort.”
Giving a grunt, Whitman said, “We probably need to focus on people he associated with since his move to Denver. You’ll find the list of phone numbers and their owners in the updated case file.” He skidded a green expandable folder across to each of them. “Type up the day’s notes and send them as an attachment to the secretary. Her e-mail is at the top of the folder.”
Macy observed the crestfallen expression on the agent’s face and recalled his dislike for typing.
“What about Hubbard’s bank records? Have you gotten the warrant for them yet?”
“Everything we know is in the file, Burke.” The assistant director was as snappish as she’d seen him. “Familiarize yourself with it and we’ll talk about assignments tomorrow. Now get out of here. Not all of our people are working the case on-site. I’m coordinating input from ten CBI agents and two other law enforcement agencies. I’d like to get to bed before midnight tonight.” He stopped then, his fierce glare encompassing both her and Kell. “Did you hear from Raiker today?”
“No.”
Her answer only turned his expression more dour. He waved them away dismissively. “Mrs. Mulder has arranged for a cook to be on duty around the clock. If you haven’t eaten, find the kitchen.”
At Kell’s insistence, they’d hit a drive-through on the way home, which was largely responsible for the queasiness Macy was feeling now. Still, she’d make a detour to the kitchen, if only to see if there was any fresh fruit. She wasn’t going to be able to exist for long on Burke’s penchant for greasy empty calories.
Outside the door, which Whitman called out for them to close behind them, Kell paused and looked at her. “You going to your room?”
“I’m going to check out the kitchen.” Without waiting for his response, she brushed by him and headed in what she hoped was the right direction. It was only nine P.M. Plenty of time to read through the file when she got back to her room. And she wasn’t even going to pretend not to be relieved at the thought of several uninterrupted hours without Kellan Burke attached to her side.
Balancing the bowl of fruit, her purse, and the file folder Whitman had given her, Macy paused outside her room and readjusted things to free up a few fingers. Managing to turn the knob, she nudged the door open with the toe of her shoe and sidled inside. Only to drop everything in shock when she saw the figure stretched out on her bed.
“Bloody hell!” Reflex had her reaching for the weapon she wore in a shoulder harness.
Kell looked up from the file he was reading, taking in the things strewn on the floor, and then observed, “You need some help there?”
She slapped a hand to her chest and waited for her heart to resume a normal beat. Bending over, she began picking up the fruit that had scattered. “What in God’s name are you doing in here?”
Despite the lack of an invitation, he got up and padded over, stocking-footed, to crouch down to help her. “Lower your voice,” he admonished, handing her an orange. “Travis isn’t that far away.”
The fruit safely replaced in the bowl, she grabbed at the other items she’d dropped. Rising, she snatched the purse that he’d picked up for her
. “Get. Out. Of. My. Room.” The words were measured. “Now.”
Kell managed to look surprised. “But I have something to show you.”
Her smile was tight at the transparent euphemism. “I’ve seen it, thanks.”
Giving him a wide berth, she deposited the file on the dresser and set the bowl of fruit on the small table next to the Queen Anne’s wingback. Crossing to the closet, she yanked the door open with barely restrained force, slipped off her coat, and hung it up.
“A place for everything, and everything in its place,” he murmured, his tone amused.
“Exactly.” Whirling to face him, she went on caustically, “Except, that is, for you. I’m in no mood for your version of show and tell. Go find someone else to play with.” As soon as she saw the stunned expression on his face, Macy realized her mistake.
“You think I came in for a repeat of our one time together?” he said incredulously. “Don’t get me wrong, it’s not like the thought hasn’t occurred, but we’re working here.”
She could feel the heat firing up her throat, spreading across her cheeks. Even her earlobes burned. The curse of fair skin. Time to beat a fast retreat and salvage what she could of her dignity. “I think you came in to badger me some more, and I’m not in the mood. I have work to do.”
His pale green eyes were alight with amusement behind his glasses. “You did. You thought I came in to play a little naked duchess and serf. I have to admit, the thought holds some appeal. You silhouetted against a thin sheet suspended before a fireplace. Me, lugging in hot water for m’lady’s bath. And then the sheet falls. You clutch the towel to your naked breasts . . .”
“And then I kneecap you for staring.”
Kell’s mouth quirked. “You have an effective way of shattering a man’s fantasy. Although you’re the one who started it this time. C’mon.” He dropped heavily down on the bed beside the papers strewn over it. “Bring your copy of the file over here.”
She stared at him silently for a minute. There was no way in hell she was going to sit next to the man on that bed. Probably no way she was going to get any sleep in it after he left either, damn him. “What’s this all about? My copy of the file is exactly the same as yours.”
