by Kylie Brant
“It’s the height of arrogance to think we can’t all benefit from an occasional reminder—”
“Occasional.” Jonesy snorted.
Before the two came to blows, Macy inserted herself between them. “This has been a big help. We’re grateful to you both. Jonesy, I assume you want to stay in the lab.” The large mobile station was equipped with a bedroom and small bath in back, separated by a double partition from the lab itself. She’d never known the man to stray too far from it when on location.
“I’ve got my things in there. And someone told me that we could call the kitchen at any time for meals.”
“That’s right. Be sure to do so. As a matter of fact, you could head there now and grab something to eat. I can vouch for the chefs. They’re top-notch.” She included them both in a smile that felt strained at the edges. “And, Nellie, if you ask in the kitchen, I’m certain they can find a housekeeper to direct you to the room Mrs. Mulder had prepared for you this afternoon.”
Feeling a bit as though she were herding cats, she led them both toward the door. “Thank you again for all you accomplished today. We can talk about priorities for tests run tomorrow in the morning.”
“I could eat,” Jonesy said, stepping out of the room. “Is the kitchen to the left?”
“That’s right.” Gently she eased the door shut again, resisting the urge to lean against it. Instead, she turned to find the CBI assistant director agent wearing something suspiciously close to a smirk.
“Something tells me you’ve had practice at that.”
“My stepfather did a stint at a number of British embassies. I learned the skills of diplomacy at an early age, and those skills came in handy today.”
“Raiker will be back tomorrow. But it’s a good idea to start running elimination samples on the bloodstain.” Kell folded his arms across his chest, tapping his index finger against his biceps as he thought. “After that . . . what about the trap in Hubbard’s bathtub? Probably not a priority to check it for more blood. Maybe we should concentrate on having them test the fibers found in the girl’s room.”
Whitman flicked a look at Kell, and his expression settled into its familiar near scowl. “You have an annoying habit of forgetting who’s in charge of this investigation, Burke. I’ll make those decisions myself.”
Macy’s heart sank. For a moment there, the CBI assistant director had seemed almost approachable. Really, the controversies of the day were getting a bit ridiculous. She could see Kell’s response in his expression even before he opened his mouth.
“Can’t say that I care for some of the decisions you’ve made so far,” he said with a mildness that heightened her instincts. Like Raiker, the quieter Kell’s tone, the more dangerous his temper. “Like the one when you tried to remove me from the incident response.”
“You were a distraction.” Whitman’s face was reddening. “And you don’t take orders worth a damn.”
“Not from you, anyway.”
The assistant director set his balled fists on the tabletop and leaned his bulk on them. “You’d never work for me, Burke. You have no respect for the chain of command. No understanding of what’s required to be a team player. I know your type. Always the rogue, always wanting to go his own way.”
Kell’s smile was grim. He placed his hands on the table, leaning across toward the other man as if restraining himself from leaping across it. “You know nothing about me, but you’ve got one thing right. I’d never work for you.”
Dusk was slanting long shadows through the trees, and with every step, determination grew inside him.
He was going to kill the little bitch. Put a single shot right between her eyes.
No. Gut her like a rabbit and leave her body in the snow for the animals to feed off her intestines. Or slice her throat. One horizontal cut, matched with another splitting open her torso from throat to cunt. Different scenarios each time, all ending with an agonizing death.
And he wasn’t going to wait for the okay from the man who hired him either. Fuck him and his plans. What difference did a couple days make anyway? He could still collect the extra fee because no one had to know the little bitch was already dead.
It’d been a long time since the thirst to kill had been this strong. Not since he’d shot his crazy-ass father, the bullet going through the heavy Bible he held and into his heart. The daily beatings had always started with that Bible, before it was exchanged for the whip or belt. Men like that shouldn’t have kids. They should recognize what lived inside them and spare their offspring. Like he had.
He ducked his head against the fucking wind that blew up here all the time. The gusts made it hard to walk sometimes, even with the trees as a shield. But he had to be careful anyway, because a couple times he’d heard shots. In the distance but still in the area. And once he’d thought he’d seen the flash of hunter orange nearby. The bastard was screwing up his trail.
When he found the snowshoe prints, it was hard to tell whether it was the kid in his boots and snowshoes or the hunter. The damn blowing snow obliterated a lot of the tracks.
Maybe the kid had seen a hunter, too. The thought made the ball of rage in his chest burn hotter. Maybe she’d found some stranger and been whisked off to safety. Maybe the cops were on their way already.
He wasn’t worried. With the cover of trees and the stashed snowmobile, he didn’t doubt his ability to lose them. And he wasn’t going leave the job undone. Not after he’d invested so much time and effort into it.
There was his future reputation to consider.
Halting, he slid the pack off his back. Opening it, he pulled out the night vision goggles he’d used when he’d snatched the kid. Everything about that night had gone like clockwork. He could see now that it had been too easy. Almost charmed. Something had been bound to go wrong.
But he’d never expected the little bitch to get away.
He fitted the goggles over his eyes and slid into the pack again. The snowmobile was worthless in this terrain, which was why he’d stashed it farther downhill that first night and hiked the rest of the way to the cabin, pulling the kid on the plastic he’d had rolled up and knotted around his waist.
He’d responded rashly when he’d found her gone. He could admit that now. Running out clad in only the remaining clothes he’d brought had been damn little protection against the blasted cold and snow. The fucking forest made clear vision in any direction impossible. And plunging into it for long with no winter protection would have had him freezing in under an hour.
So he’d taken the time instead to hike to where he’d hidden the sled. To cruise down that damn mountainside and look for a place to break in. He’d been about frozen through when he’d come upon that general store. A quick entry through the back, and he’d found everything he needed. And then he’d headed back to hunt.
He was still hunting. The clothes weren’t as high quality and insulated as the ones the kid had stolen, so he had to go back to the cabin occasionally and unthaw. The goggles painted everything in a weird green glow, but they afforded him vision, where she’d have none. He also had food. And water. The kid would be getting weak. Cold. Maybe the little bitch was already dead, a human Popsicle.
The thought brought a rare smile to his face.
Whichever it was, he needed to find her. And after all the trouble she’d put him through, he was hoping to find her alive. Maybe he’d skin her like a rabbit and dry the flesh to keep as a memento.
The thought cheered him. This kill was going to be the one that changed everything. All the trouble she was putting him through would just make it more satisfying.
And when it was over, he’d feel again. He was almost certain of it.
Chapter 11
“Well, I at least we’re getting somewhere. Finally.” Kell was glad for once to have the frustration in Raiker’s voice directed somewhere other than at him. He’d e-mailed his boss the results last night after the meeting with Whitman. “I didn’t argue when CBI Director Lanscom
be insisted on sending one of his own scientists because there’s no way Whitman can contest the lab results. Saves us time in the long run.”
“It will if she and Jonesy don’t kill each other along the way. When will you be in today?” Kell balanced the phone between his shoulder and chin while he finished pulling on his socks.
“Depends on whether we run into weather. I have one more stop to make and then I’ll be flying back to Denver. Should make it by dinnertime. Did Macy get off all right?”
“I assume so. I heard her moving around in her room well before dawn.” He stopped then, not wanting to give his boss the mistaken impression that he’d been lying awake thinking about Macy on the other side of the wall. Nothing could be further from the truth. After no sleep the night before, he’d gone to bed early and had awakened at his usual time, that’s all.
He straightened, looked around for his belt. Spotted it on the dresser. He had an internal alarm clock. That’s what had kept him from falling back to sleep. Not wondering about the flash of fear that had crossed Macy’s expression the evening before. The one she’d blamed on pretestimony jitters.
Which was, he thought grimly, as he threaded his belt through the loops one-handed, a bunch of shit. Whatever had put that look on her face, it hadn’t been the thought of flying to Chicago for a few hours in a courtroom.
With effort, he shifted his focus from thoughts of her to the conversation. “Oh, you’ll probably hear a few complaints from Whitman about me. He’s not a fan.”
“Hard to believe.”
“I know, right?” He went to the drawer of the bedside table and withdrew his holster and weapon. “He almost . . . almost smiled at Macy last night, though. She’s got this thing, people respond to it.”
“It never pays to underestimate Macy Reid,” Raiker agreed dryly.
“I was wondering . . .” Okay, there was no easy way to secure a shoulder harness with one hand. After he shrugged into it, Kell finally left it open until after the call ended. “How is it exactly that your cases on Castillo crossed? Because I was thinking, she must have had some sort of written communication from him and that’s what put him away. But when I asked her, she got testy so I just . . .”
“Burke.”
He winced a little, recognizing his boss’s tone. “But I guess it doesn’t matter.”
“We’d all be better served if you kept your mind on the case at hand.” Adam sounded a little testy, and this time it was directed at him. Which to be fair wasn’t unusual enough to mention. Kell decided he could always request a copy of the court transcript from Castillo’s trial to satisfy his curiosity.
“I figure Whitman will send us out to complete those interviews of Hubbard’s phone contacts. But I want to stop and get some maps first.” Briefly he filled Adam in on his thoughts about the remote areas nearby. “There’s no end of places people can hide out indefinitely without having to leave this vicinity. And Hubbard was born and raised in the state. He’d be familiar with the area.” There’d been some sporting equipment stowed in the man’s basement, Kell recalled, as he rummaged through his closet for a sports coat. Skis and ski boots and snowshoes, although none of them had looked as if they’d seen recent use.
Raiker’s voice was noncommittal. “She could be anywhere. It doesn’t hurt to take a look at the maps, but until we get a lead that pinpoints a specific location, we’re spinning our wheels. She could even be out of the state at this point.”
Kell shrugged into his jacket silently. That was true enough. She could have been moved just long enough to wait out the blizzard and then again to a more remote spot.
A familiar sense of frustration filled him. It was day five since the abduction. Three more days until the ransom deadline. “I still think she’s in the area,” he maintained stubbornly. He crossed to the chair on which he’d hung his winter coat. “There’s going to have to be at least one more contact regarding the ransom. He can’t be certain the Mulders are going to comply without establishing proof of life.”
“Which can be done digitally and transmitted from anywhere. Go ahead and cover all the bases. Just don’t ignore whatever tasks Whitman assigns you.” There was a dangerous edge to Raiker’s tone. “I already have enough to discuss with him when I get back.”
Kell grinned. “At least you won’t have to worry about him trying to steal me away from Raiker Forensics.”
“That eases my mind no end.” The call was abruptly disconnected, and Kell tucked his cell phone inside his coat pocket then set to buckling his holster.
It felt strange to be preparing for the day knowing Macy wouldn’t be at his side. The thought brought him up short. They’d worked together for a handful of days. Not long enough for the woman to be habit forming, for chrissakes. But he’d be lying if he denied there was something about her that had wormed its way into his consciousness months ago. Made thoughts of her difficult to shake.
Newly determined, he headed for the door, yanked it open. That train of thought was definitely not the way to focus on the day. Turning out of his room, he saw Travis rounding the corner ahead of him and quickened his step to catch up. He needed to come up with a creative reason for the agent in charge to take a few detours when they set out today. And if he couldn’t completely banish thoughts of Macy, he could at least relegate them to a distant part of his mind.
“That’s the last one on our list, right?” Kell surreptitiously glanced at his watch as he pulled open the vehicle’s door and ducked inside. The wind chill was a bitch. It was as if Mother Nature felt the need to make up for the lack of snowfall today with a wintery blast of icy air that hammered from all sides. If he spent much more time in this climate, he was going to have to invest in a hat, which would only give Macy ammunition since he’d given her so much grief about hers. He checked his earlobes with his gloved hands, half expecting to find icicles hanging from them.
Travis slid behind the wheel and slammed the door shut after him. Ponderously, he took off one glove to reach into his coat for the folded-up sheet of paper listing contacts on Hubbard’s LUDs. While he waited, Kell entertained himself by trying to blow vapor rings when he exhaled. With a little practice, he was pretty sure he could pull it off.
“Yep, that was the last one.” He slanted a glance at Kell as he started the car. “I’m almost glad Macy wasn’t here today. She didn’t need to hear Zimmerman’s profanity.”
Turned out Gary Zimmerman couldn’t be numbered among Hubbard’s friends. Hubbard had sold him a snowblower the month before that Zimmerman claimed was a piece of shit. The two men had traded a couple phone calls that had left Zimmerman irate when Hubbard refused to give him his money back. Which only went to show, Kell thought, as he reached forward to jack up the heater, that snowblowers were the root of all evil. Georgetown had a handful of snowfalls all winter, and even that was enough to make him willing to man the next satellite office Raiker started, as long as it was in the South.
“I’m sure she’s heard worse,” he said belatedly, as the agent checked his mirrors before pulling slowly away from the curb. And he didn’t necessarily appreciate the man summoning memories of Macy again. He took a chance on the coffee he’d bought before their last stop and brought it up to his mouth to sip cautiously. As expected, it was ice cold. He set it down again.
“I guess you’d know.” Something in the man’s tone alerted him. “What with the two of you working together all the time.”
Travis was as transparent as glass. “Raiker has several investigators. We aren’t paired together that often. I think it’s been nearly a year.” And over six months since the one time they’d paired in the way that continued to haunt him.
“Really?” Something about his answer seemed to lift the man’s spirits. “So you’re just coworkers. Like Dirk and me.”
“Dirk?”
“Agent Pelton. I’ve worked with him a couple times. Know him fairly well as a colleague.”
Something in the man’s dogged persistence was start
ing to wear on Kell. “Yep. Sort of like that.”
“So . . .” The man braked carefully, well ahead of the light in front of them, which was turning yellow. “Do you happen know if she’s involved with anyone?”
Kell feigned a yawn. “Who?”
“Ms. Reid. Macy.”
“Look, Travis, I’m not one of her girlfriends, okay? She isn’t likely to tell me if she is.” He’d never known a more closemouthed woman than Macy. She’d revealed far more to Whitman yesterday about her family life than she ever had to Kell. And the dearth of information he knew about her was starting to bug the hell out of him. “Although . . .”
Travis looked at him. “Although what?”
Horns sounded behind them. “The light’s green.”
The agent nosed the car through the icy intersection. “You were saying?”
“She was talking to someone on the phone yesterday when we got back from the incident response. I heard her telling someone she loved them, that’s all.” It made him feel a bit weasely to be gossiping about Macy when she wasn’t there, but he figured she’d thank him for anything he could say that would discourage the agent’s pursuit of her. He was actually doing her a favor.
“Could have been her mother,” Travis offered after a moment.
“Her mother died when she was young.” And he only knew that much because he’d overheard her mention it to a client on the last case they’d worked together.
“Or a father. Brother or sister.”
“Maybe.” Kell was sorry he’d brought it up. It was nothing to him if she had to fight off Travis’s clumsy advances before the case was over. But it was telling that he’d never considered before that she might have been talking to a relative. The possibility eased something inside him.
And he didn’t want to examine the reason for that too closely.
“So do you—”
“Sorry.” Kell dug into his coat pocket and brought out his cell phone. “It’s still on vibrate,” he lied, tugging off his gloves and pretending to answer it. “Adam,” he said with false enthusiasm. “Uh-huh. Just finished, as a matter of fact. Well, I suppose we could. I’m not sure how far away that would be but . . . really? Well, I’ll let Agent Travis know. That’s right. I’ll give you a report tonight when I see you.”
