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Deadly Intent

Page 30

by Kylie Brant


  Raiker made a disparaging sound in response. Positioning his cane closer, he heaved himself up from the delicate wingback chair he’d been sitting in.

  “Primal emotions are often at the root of all motivations.” She took pleasure turning some of his other oft-spoken words around on him. He hadn’t mentioned their conversation of this morning. She knew he wouldn’t, unless he came to the decision that she had become expendable with her decision of yesterday. In any case, it wasn’t a topic she was going to broach.

  Raiker would do as he saw fit, for his own reasons. Macy’s palms grew damp just thinking about it. She decided, as she rose to move toward the door, that she was in no particular hurry to discover if she was going to be unemployed after this job. She had more than enough things to worry about.

  Castillo’s taunts about Ian were always there, scurrying about her mind like vicious little ants. Even considering them felt like a betrayal of the man who’d raised her since her mother’s death when she was five. She knew what Ian was to her. What he’d always been. Just as she realized what Enrique Castillo was capable of.

  But there had also been some truth to the information he’d revealed about John LeCroix’s son.

  Resolutely, she shoved it from her mind as she followed Raiker out the door. Of course he’d couch the most outrageous accusation within a layer or two of fact. It was the habit of most liars.

  But realizing that had her wondering if there was an element of truth in the man’s claims about Ian. And Macy hated that, certain it was exactly the response Castillo had been seeking. Like the poison Kell had called it, the lies sought to destroy anything good that had survived him.

  She didn’t want it to taint the only family she had left.

  Belatedly, she realized Raiker was speaking again.

  “Love and sex just muddy the issue. Any issue. They lend an unpredictability to events and reactions that can be difficult to filter out when making conclusions about a case. People always see more clearly without either hazing their instincts.”

  For a moment she was taken aback, a splinter of guilt stabbing through her. Raiker was almost uncanny in his perceptions, so it wasn’t necessarily paranoia that had her wondering uneasily if he knew about her and Kell.

  In the next instant, she recovered. Although her boss defined the term close-lipped, he had no compunctions about rendering an opinion on the actions of his employees, as she’d learned just this morning. If he had a notion of how she and Kell had spent the night, or more exactly, the morning, he’d have called them on it.

  Which would have been redundant, in any case. Macy had already done an excellent job of berating herself all day.

  She just wasn’t any closer to determining what she was going to do about it.

  Chapter 15

  Vincent Dodge finished redoing her bonds so the kid’s hands would be free. He’d been overly diligent about securing her before he’d had to leave the cabin again for that paper. She was fixed tightly. In the end, he’d finally pulled out his knife to cut through them, pausing to relish the panic in the kid’s eyes.

  Her fear was mildly satisfying. But not as much as he’d hoped.

  Maybe he’d wasted his time by taking this job. Perhaps adding a kid to his resume wasn’t going to provide the spark he’d hoped for. This numbness had been spreading for a long time. What were the chances one job would change that?

  “Here.” He slapped the newspaper against her chest. “When I get ready to record, you’re going to hold it up in front of you. Then when I point at you, you’re going to turn it to read one of the stories on the front page out loud.”

  Her arms and torso were still tied to the chair, but she gestured toward her face with one of her free hands.

  “Forgot. I must have been too busy enjoying the silence.”

  He went to her and ripped off the tape he’d had covering her mouth and then back to the bag he kept beneath his cot for the instructions for the phone. He wasn’t a technophobe, but he made it a point to learn only as much as a given job required. Goddamned computers and cell phones were ruining the world. He could appreciate their usefulness and still be convinced of that.

  He took the time to read over the directions carefully, to use the diagrams to figure out how to run the video camera feature on the satellite phone. Then he replaced them in the bag, eager to have this whole thing over with.

  And start on the real highlight of this job.

  But when he picked up the phone, the kid started talking. “I don’t read very well.”

  “Don’t fuck with me. Follow the instructions or we’ll skip straight to the next step.” He paused long enough for her to get his meaning. “I’m sure you’re as eager as I am to get to that part.”

  It’d be more satisfying, he thought, if she’d cry. Big fat tears accompanied with pleading or screams of anguish. Or maybe it’d just be annoying. He’d eaten that up when he’d first started this line of work for the Giovanni family. But in truth, it had gotten old. Which is why he’d switched from knives to guns in the first place. Over quickly and tidily with little interaction with the target.

  Maybe that had been when he’d started losing the joy from his job, too.

  “You think I’m lying, but I’m not. I was kidnapped before and held for two years. I didn’t go to school all that time. My tutor says I lost instruction during my formative years.”

  He stopped messing with the settings of the camera long enough to look at her. “I don’t give a shit about your sad story or your mother-fucking tutor. Jesus.” He walked rapidly over to her and took the paper from her, scanned it. “Here.” He stabbed at a story and held the damn thing in front of her face so she couldn’t help seeing it. “It’s about schools and No Child Left Behind.” He gave her a thin smile. “That’s called irony, kid. You reading about the state of public education in the country today. Because you’re going to be left very far behind.” He put some distance between them and zoomed in on her. “Now hold up the paper.”

  She obeyed. About time she did something she was told. She wouldn’t have lasted long around his old man. He’d have worn the Bible out beating some obedience into her.

  He hit record. Got in close to get the date like he’d been told. And when he gave her the signal, the girl turned the paper over and frowned down at it. He was about ready to turn off the camera and go give her a slap upside the head to remind her who was calling the shots, when she started reading.

  Slowly. Painfully.

  He grimaced, continued filming. School hadn’t been his thing. No interest, for one thing, and thanks to his old man, he’d missed his share. But he could still remember the embarrassment of having to stand up to read in front of his class, although he’d never been as bad as this kid, stumbling over words and switching letters around. You’d think with her family’s money, they could have gotten her a tutor who could teach her something.

  Really, he’d be doing her a favor by killing her.

  In less than a minute, he was finished. He stopped and texted the familiar number. Sent the video.

  Then put the cell phone back in his pocket and considered the kid.

  Severing the carotid arteries and the jugular vein in one practiced slice would be a quick, almost instantaneous death. He knew enough to realize there’d be no returning thrill in that. She’d put him through too much to let her off that easily.

  “You know what flaying is?” He watched her face avariciously. Her fear would feed his satisfaction, which in turn would fuel the returning joy. He needed that response from her. Demanded it.

  She shook her head.

  “It’s a particularly brutal form of corporal punishment. Should be reserved for the politicians of this country, if you ask me.” He reached in his shirt and withdrew his knife. Not the one he’d packed in his luggage, but the one he’d stolen from that store. It was a beauty, a far better sample than he’d expected to find in the mountains.

  He admired it for a moment, held it up to the
light so she could appreciate the glint of the blade. “This particular Browning is made for skinning big game. You’re not as large as an elk, so I figure it will do fine. Ever peeled an apple?”

  She was still, fighting to keep any expression from her face, he could tell. That wouldn’t last long. He wouldn’t allow it. “My granny used to do it real fast.” He mimed holding an apple in one hand. “Round and round she’d go, until she had the whole thing off, in one single peel. That’s what I’m going to do to you.”

  “That won’t help.”

  He drew back. “Won’t help you much, no. But you’ll be dead soon anyway, so who the fuck cares?” Her eyes met his. Weird, weird eyes for a kid. Eyes that saw too much.

  “It won’t help you. You can’t get feeling back that way.”

  “What the fuck do you know?” He tried to reach for his earlier anticipation, but it was slipping away. She wasn’t reacting the way he’d hoped. The way that he needed her to.

  “I know.” Her whisper was almost too low to hear. “I know what it’s like to be numb inside. And I know how to make the numbness go away.”

  Dawn hadn’t even begun to lighten the sky outside his window. Because it was better than pretending he could sleep, Kell had gotten up, showered, and dressed. He’d been surprised last night when Denise Temple had sent an updated Coplink report to his e-mail account. There was nothing else. No personal note. No statement of grief.

  And Kell had understood. She was furthering the investigation in the only way she knew how, and sometime when this was over, he’d have to be sure to thank her for that. Although Assistant Director Whitman had to be accessing the same information, it had yet to show up in any report he’d seen. It hadn’t been until Raiker’s return that they had gone back to at least the semblance of partnership with the man.

  But nothing on the reports jumped out at him. If this dog trailing operation didn’t pan out this morning—and even he knew it was a long shot—they were running short on time.

  And so was Ellie Mulder.

  Swearing, he shoved away from the computer and went in search of a heavy sweater to wear in place of a suit jacket. It was all too easy to recall just how cold it had been following Redmond up to that spot in the forest. He pulled one from his suitcase but didn’t put it on yet. Wearing it inside would have him roasting in under ten minutes.

  Instead he paced. Usually the movement helped him think. But lately he’d learned he thought even better when he was able to bounce ideas off Macy. Her commonsense practicality helped ground him, even though he gave her a hard time about it.

  Cocking his head, he listened for sounds coming from her room. There weren’t any. It’d been late when she retired last night. And although he was still up, he hadn’t gone next door, hadn’t made up an excuse to see her.

  She’d requested time, and space. Although he’d failed miserably with his mother, he’d become fairly adept in adult-hood at supplying women with what they wanted while still doing exactly as he wished. He was still trying to figure out the delicate balance of granting her the time she’d asked for and making it too easy for her to elbow him aside again once this case was over.

  In the predawn hours, he made a point of not lying to himself, so he didn’t bother pretending he had any intention of letting her walk away this time.

  He was male enough to be scared to death about that.

  The knock at the door had him starting. With the sweater grasped in his hand, he crossed to it and pulled it open. Saw his boss in front of Macy’s door now. “Downstairs, five minutes.”

  Even for Raiker the message was short. He called after his retreating back, “What’s going on?” But only one event could account for the palpable tension in the man’s posture.

  “Another ransom note just arrived.”

  Raiker and Whitman were speaking to the Mulders when Macy and Kell walked into the office. Two CBI agents were already there. What little hair Dobson had was mussed in the back. Someone already had coffee in pots on the table with a sleeve of foam cups next to it. Macy made a beeline for it.

  “The message came in twenty minutes ago.” Whitman looked up as more agents entered behind them. “We’ve been monitoring the account in the duration. Dobson was on when this came in.”

  Forgetting about coffee for the moment, Macy joined the crowd around the computer screen. But expecting to see text, she was shocked to see a picture. She leaned forward for a better look. “Is that video?”

  “Very poor quality. This is as good as I can enhance it without calling in the techies.” There was an underlying thread of excitement in Dobson’s usually matter-of-fact voice.

  Poor quality was right. Macy squinted at the screen. If she’d been seated at the table, the distance would have made identification difficult. But this close it was impossible to deny. The girl on the screen was Ellie Mulder.

  “Quality’s not good enough to make out the newspaper’s date.” Whitman came up behind her. “But that can be verified. And he’s making it easier for us. See for yourself.”

  The video was less than a minute. And Macy found herself looking at the girl more closely than she listened.

  The pajamas she wore were likely the ones she’d worn the night of the abduction. Her hair hung dull and listless. It was obvious that she’d suffered in the duration. Her hands, holding the paper, had contusions around the wrists. There was bruising on her face.

  But her voice was strong and clear, if emotionless, as she read from the news story.

  At the end of the video, Dobson started it again without being asked.

  “Proof of life,” Althea Mulder whispered behind her. Macy turned to see a bright sheen of tears in the woman’s eyes. “That’s what I dreamed for. She’s alive.” Clinging to her husband for support, she repeated, “She’s alive.”

  “How does she sound to you?” Macy asked.

  “Traumatized,” Stephen Mulder surprised her by saying grimly. He and his wife wore thick luxurious robes over their pajamas with matching slippers. They were the only ones in the room who hadn’t bothered to change clothes before rushing downstairs at the news. “When we got her back the first time, it was like she’d forgotten everything she’d learned in school. Her reading was stumbling and broken like we’re hearing here. The tutor we hired has done wonders. She’s reading on grade level again. But now . . .” He pressed his lips tightly together for a moment. “It’s like listening to her two years ago.”

  “She’s scared.” Althea stared at the screen with swimming eyes, one fist pressed to her lips. “It doesn’t show, but she’s so frightened, I can tell. Oh, my baby. My poor baby.” She turned to her husband, whose arms opened automatically for her.

  “I’ve got verification,” Pelton called from the laptop he was manning at the conference table. For his audience’s benefit, he zoomed in on the screen. “It’s this morning’s issue of USA Today. And that story she’s reading from is below the fold, front page.”

  “This is good news, people,” Whitman said. Macy wondered if he’d gone to bed at all. He was clad in the same clothes he’d worn the previous evening. “We can expect the video to be quickly followed by . . .”

  “We’ve got another message,” Dobson called out laconically.

  This time Macy hung back as Whitman and Raiker peered at the computer. With a stab of a finger, Dobson had the e-mail printing out.

  “Arrogant son of a bitch,” Whitman muttered. Straightening, he made a gesture to Dobson, who passed out the copies he’d just run.

  AS YOU CAN SEE YOUR DAUGHTER IS ALIVE FOR NOW. IF YOU’RE SMART SHE CAN BE BACK HOME WITH YOU SOON. BE AT THE BANK TOMORROW READY TO MOVE THE MONEY AT THREE A.M. I’M SURE YOU CAN ARRANGE IT. YOU’LL BE CONTACTED AGAIN.

  REMEMBER HER FUTURE IS IN YOUR HANDS.

  “How do we know he’ll really let her go?” Althea’s voice was barely audible. Pulling away from her husband, she said more firmly, “How can we be sure that he intends to release her tomorrow?”

&n
bsp; “He hasn’t given us a reason to believe he won’t.” Raiker looked down at the paper in his hand again. “He recognized that you’d require proof she was alive. This message was primarily to deliver that. By sending it the day before the ransom is due, he’s trying to guarantee your cooperation, while still not leaving you any way to discuss or negotiate it.”

  Assistant Director Whitman looked over at Dobson, who was still hunched over the computer. “How fast will you be able to get the owner of the IP address?”

  “It’s different from the one used before, but it’ll be a lot quicker than last time, since we placed that patch on Mr. Mulder’s e-mail account.”

  Macy noted the answer didn’t seem to pacify the man. “The sooner we have an owner, the sooner I can get a warrant. Although it’s likely he just cruised a different part of town and found another unsecured network.” His smile was grim. “At least we know the sender is in the vicinity.”

  Adam went to stand next to Stephen. “We’ll take this as good news,” he said bluntly. “There was no reason to send proof of life with the first note, because you’d be questioning at this point if Ellie were still alive. Too risky for him to wait until tomorrow, because without it you might balk at the final payoff or not work as hard at liquidation. He had two reasons for contacting you today. To deliver the proof and to remind you of what you stand to lose if you don’t cooperate.”

  “I’d say he was successful on both points.” He clutched the paper in his hand as if it were a lifeline. “He was hedging his bets, but we would have paid anyway.” Macy found herself looking away from the raw emotion on his face. “How could we not?”

  “Agent Whitman and I have been making plans for the payoff.” Adam eased his hips on the corner of the conference table. On another person it would have been a casual pose. She knew him well enough to recognize that he did it to alleviate the pressure on his leg. “The timing of the transfer will be tricky, but with CBI’s help we can arrange it with the bank. Whitman will have a team equipped and ready to follow the money if it’s to be a physical drop. If it’s electronic, I have a system in place to try to track the money, possibly even divert it if we find your daughter at the last minute.”

 

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