Deadly Intent

by Kylie Brant

  David grimaced. “Yeah. I mean the guy’s a freak. But he has me by the . . . uh . . .” He gave them a quick look. “He threatened to send the pictures to my mom. To post them on the school’s web page. To all my Facebook friends. He said if I blocked him, he’d do it. And if I stopped responding to his messages. I don’t want pictures of my junk sent to my mom, you know?”

  “So he has nude photos of you?”

  Nodding miserably in response to Kell’s question, he said, “I was getting really freaked. Somehow he figured out where I live. That’s why I thought you were here that night. Because sometimes he’d park outside and try to get me to come out to his car. He was parked outside that night for a while, too. He’d message me sometimes, saying he was out there thinking about me while he . . .” Seeming to forget he hadn’t told them any of this the first time they’d spoken to him, David lifted his head to look at them imploringly. “You guys gotta help me. I mean, that’s a crime what he’s doing, right? I’m just a kid. He’s not supposed to be trying to get me to meet him for sex and stuff.”

  “No, he’s not.” Kell stood and reached for his cell phone. “And I think we have a way to make him stop.”

  “We’ve got Elliott’s Facebook account information, so it was just a matter of accessing it and establishing contact with the guy.”

  Raiker nodded at Dobson’s explanation. “And we can do it anywhere, from any computer. I posted a response to his last message. Let’s just hope this guy checks in with the boys he targets regularly.”

  “And that he takes the bait,” Macy murmured.

  Kell said, “Maybe we should double the odds by posting come-ons from both the boys’ sites.”

  “Too risky. He might be suspicious if he gets two positive responses in the same day.”

  Agent Travis looked at Raiker in surprise. “Uh . . . you posted the message?”

  “I have more experience with pedophiles than I’d like to recall,” Raiker said grimly. “And we have the boy’s past responses to help capture the tone. I can handle this.”

  “Won’t he think it’s odd that David has been out of contact and now is back on Facebook?” Macy asked.

  Both Kell and Travis shook their heads. “The kid has been using his friend’s cell phone to access it. He hasn’t been away.”

  “Enough chatter,” Raiker ordered, waving them away dismissively. “Get some sleep. If he takes the bait, this thing is going down tonight. Do you have things arranged with the Elliott woman?”

  “Yeah, she gave it an okay,” Kell said.

  The computer pinged. Adam’s attention reverted back to the screen. Then he looked up, gave a feral grin. “He took the bait. Now let’s give him some line before we reel him in.”

  In the end, none of them went to sleep. Kell had tried to persuade Macy to do so until he noticed the odd looks he was getting from Travis and Raiker. Then he’d shut up, fumed in silence. It wasn’t his problem that the woman didn’t have the sense that God gave a goat. If she dropped facedown on this assignment, she’d have only herself to blame.

  They passed the time playing five-card stud. Not Adam, of course. He’d been typing away in his David Elliott guise, posting numerous responses to the man online, occasionally muttering an obscenity under his breath.

  Travis was showing a surprising aptitude for the poker game. But it was Macy who was cleaning up. She had most of the contents of Kell’s wallet in the pile of cash before her and she had the tender sensibilities of a loan shark.

  “What’s that?” She eyed the piece of paper he’d scribbled on suspiciously. He pushed it over to her, and she picked it up. Unfolded it. And immediately blushed. “An IOU? I don’t extend credit, Burke.”

  “You didn’t read carefully enough.” Although from the color climbing up her throat, she’d read his meaning fine. “I didn’t offer cash.”

  She crumpled the note in her hand and deliberately turned to Travis. “Looks like it’s just between the two of us, Dan.”

  “Be gentle with me.”

  “Your game’s suspended for now.” Adam shoved back from the table and reached for his cane. His face was a mask of grim satisfaction. “We’ve got ourselves a meeting.”

  Chapter 19

  “Check the wire again. I want to be sure it’s in working order,” Adam growled.

  “This is a test,” Macy said quietly.

  Travis called out from the kitchen, “Loud and clear.”

  “See if you can draw him out. We don’t want him clamming up when he figures out you aren’t Elliott.” If Whitman was mourning being pulled out of his bed the first night he’d gotten to sleep in it, it didn’t show. But it was the first time she’d seen the man dressed in anything other than a suit. The jeans and Broncos sweatshirt were going to take some getting used to.

  “I have a feeling we’re going to know him,” Macy said quietly. “And we’ll have lots to talk about.” But if she did, she had no idea how he’d managed to circumvent the authorship matches with the written samples she’d collected.

  “We’re going in at the first sign of trouble,” Adam growled. He’d assured her of that no fewer than three times already, so Macy merely nodded.

  The Elliotts had vacated the house after Kell and Dan’s visit earlier that day. They were being put up in a motel nearby for the night, leaving the place to law enforcement.

  The lights were off, except for penlights held by Raiker and Whitman. The trickiest part of the evening so far had been putting on a bra before leaving the estate so there’d be somewhere to attach the microphone.

  They’d arrived at the house two hours before the meet was to take place. According to the message “David” had sent, he was going to slip out of the house at two A.M. His Facebook friend would be out front to meet him.

  Kell appeared at her side. “Ready to do this?”

  Mindful of the microphone attached under her clothes, she kept her voice nonchalant. “Yes.”

  “So.” He rocked back on his heels, his face difficult to read in the darkness. “CBI has men posted all around the area. If he takes off with you in the car, the GPS bracelet you’re wearing means you’ll never be far out of reach.”

  “I know.” This, too, had been gone over several times. “I’m ready.”

  But in the end, it turned out she wasn’t. Because after a quick look over his shoulder, he leaned in for a quick hard kiss. The heat of it zinged along nerve endings already poised and ready. But it held an edge of frustration, as well.

  “Be careful.” His voice was almost, almost normal. “I want a chance to win back that money you stole from me tonight.”

  It took a moment to regain her power of speech. Several more to calm her rollicking pulse. “Won. Not stole. Won.”

  He was close enough for her to make out the familiar quirk of his brow. “Semantics.”

  “And we’ve got a car out front.”

  Macy turned at the quiet announcement, pulling up the hood of the boy’s navy parka. She was about his height but slighter. Hopefully that difference would be difficult to make out until she was inside the car.

  “If you make an ID, say the name right away.”

  “Yes.” They’d need that clue if the matter turned violent. Her hand went to the knob. “Ready.”

  Keeping her head down and her manner furtive, she pulled open the door and slipped outside. The wind from earlier than day had died, but the temps hovered near zero. She looked up and down the street the way she’d been instructed before approaching the car.

  Her chest felt tight. She had no way of knowing where the CBI agents were stationed. Or whether they were close enough for help if she needed it. Easier not to think that way.

  She tried to match her stride to that of a teenage boy’s. More of a half lope than the careful steps she’d like to take to avoid slipping on the slick pavement.

  As she closed the distance to the car, she avoided the figure in the driver’s window by rounding the back of the vehicle. Coming up on the op
posite front door. Keeping her head down as she pulled it open. Slid inside.

  And waited.

  The voice was male. Pleased and just a little breathless. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

  When she recognized it, Macy’s blood ran cold. Reaching into her pocket, she said clearly, “But I knew you would.” And pointed her weapon. “Mark Alden.”

  “What? What are you . . . Put that away, for God’s sake!”

  The man who had been friends with Stephen Mulder since college. The man who had stood up with his baptized daughter. The one who Mulder had relied on for legal advice had betrayed him in a way that strained the imagination.

  “You were her godfather,” she said rawly. Thinking of what this would do to Ellie, one more deep slice for a girl who already had so little reason to trust, had her easing off the safety.

  “Listen, I don’t know what’s going on here.” The man’s usual genial tones were strained. “But you have the wrong impression. Ms. Reid. Macy, isn’t it? This isn’t what you think.”

  “It’s surprising. Disgusting and disappointing. But it’s exactly what I think.” She had to take a mental step back. Away from the emotion that wanted to accuse and punish, and do her job. Consciously, she softened her voice. “I understand why you did it. I really do. Ten million dollars would set you up for life.”

  “Ten mill . . . No.” The man shook his head violently. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. I mentor troubled teens in my free time, that’s why I’m here. But ten million . . . I didn’t have anything to do with Ellie’s kidnapping.” Alden’s tone was incredulous. “My God, she’s my goddaughter.”

  “The notes you sent to David Elliott match the authorship on the ransom notes. Ninety-five percent validity for my program, Mark. You need to tell me why.”

  He moistened his lips. “My statement sample cleared me. Or else you would have been talking to me long before this.”

  She stared at him, her mind working furiously. The man was right. She’d run the statement taken from e-mail correspondence on Mulder’s work e-mail account without a match. It almost had to be someone with access to the Mulder home. But the statements she’d run had cleared them all.

  “You had someone else write it,” she said slowly, trying to puzzle it. The truth slammed into her then. “A learning disability, Althea said. And Lance said your wife used to write your papers in college. You’re dysgraphic, aren’t you, Mark? I’ll bet you don’t do any writing at all.”

  The man was sweating now. Heat was coming through the vents but not enough to be responsible for the perspiration breaking out on his forehead. “That’s ridiculous.”

  “Given your disability, at work you probably have a secretary to dictate your letters to. And for personal use I imagine you use dictation software.” The rhythms and patterns of a person’s oral language sample differed subtly from their written samples. Her databases relied on written communication. But because the samples she’d had from him had been dictated, they were actually products of oral communication. “See, I know how, Mark. You just need to tell me why.”

  His face crumpled. “I didn’t want to. You have to believe me. I didn’t know why he wanted the security specs or the alarm code. I thought a burglary attempt, right? And what were the chances it’d be successful against Stephen’s security?”

  She watched him stoically, feeling nothing but contempt. “Who?”

  “I don’t know!” The man wiped at his tears. “He just started sending me photos. Older photos, from a few years ago. They’d arrive in an envelope to my home. To work.”

  “Photos of you with teenage boys?” she guessed.

  He nodded miserably. “He threatened to go public with them. You don’t understand who my family is. It wasn’t just me I was protecting. My father . . .”

  “Was vice president of the United States. I remember.” But that hadn’t kept him from engaging in the sort of behavior that would devastate his family when it was made public.

  Not to mention ruining the lives of the boys he used.

  “Tell me who it is.” Her voice was hard, but she couldn’t play the sympathetic ear. Not with what Ellie Mulder had experienced still fresh in her mind. “Tell me who sent the pictures.”

  “I . . . don’t . . . know. Don’t you get that? The last batch of pictures had a trac phone with it and a phone number. I called it, and he told me what he wanted me to do. That’s how he contacted me every time. A half a dozen times in all, starting six months ago.”

  “So it was a man.”

  “I . . . probably. He used a distorter. I swear to God I didn’t know he’d go after Ellie. Not little Ellie. I’ve been in agony.”

  But he was here, she wanted to point out, suddenly sick of the whole thing. He’d been posting messages to at least two boys during Ellie’s absence. Not exactly the picture of the grieving godfather. “Where are the pictures now?”

  “Are you crazy? I destroyed them.”

  “And the phone?”

  “He told me to get rid of it.” Alden stopped, as if just recognizing how that sounded.

  She stared at him, her hand holding the weapon steady. “That’s unfortunate, Mark. Because you destroyed everything that might back up your story.”

  “Wait. I’m telling the truth.”

  “We’re done here,” Macy said clearly.

  “We can search for the phone. I threw it in a sewer in Aurora.”

  She saw the shadowy figures of agents rushing for the car.

  “You have to believe me.”

  “No.” The doors were opened. Alden was pulled from the car, leaving Macy alone for the moment. “I really don’t.”

  “But if he is telling the truth”—Kell threw a look at her when she made a rude noise—“that means there’s someone else out there. Someone who got away with ten million dollars.”

  “Well, not the entire ten million, as it turns out.” Adam rubbed the back of his neck. “Paulie managed to divert some of the money. He’s been trailing the ransom payment, and every time the money bounced to another account, he managed to snag a piece of it.” He held up a hand to stem their questions. “I’m not even going to attempt to remember his explanation of how he did it. But the kidnapper got away with just over three point five million, instead of the full ten.”

  “What will happen to Alden?”

  Her boss cast her a considering look. “Mulder has political capital to squander, too. But probably not as much as Alden’s family. I imagine he’s going to make bond in a couple days.”

  “And then hire the best defense lawyer in the nation . . . spend years putting off a trial . . .” Kell’s voice was dour. “If that guy doesn’t end up in prison for life, there is no justice in the world. Even if he’s telling the truth . . .”

  “There’s no way to be certain he is,” she put in.

  “He’s an accomplice to kidnapping and attempted murder. Macy’s matching the authorship of the ransom notes to the communication with the boys will put him away.” Kell slouched farther in the conference room chair.

  “There’s still the accounts the money was wired to.” Agent Travis had been silent up to that point. “We’ve got good electronics guys in the agency. We can put them on it. If we can get the owner of the account, we have the kidnapper.”

  Adam’s enigmatic smile told Macy exactly what he was thinking. There was unlikely to be any more gifted than Paulie Samuels when it came to forensic accounting. “Maybe.”

  Kell looked at him. “What do you mean, maybe? You don’t think we’re ever going to know for sure?”

  His boss pushed the chair away from the table and hoisted himself to a standing position. “I mean cases aren’t always wrapped up in nice neat little bows. You take justice where you can find it. It’s better than not getting it at all.” He grabbed his cane and headed for the door. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to go tell Stephen Mulder that one of his closest friends, the man he trusted with both his business and his family,
was instrumental in the kidnapping and near murder of his daughter.”

  Macy watched him go, already feeling for the man about to take one more hit. He’d gotten his daughter back in one day. And lost one of his best friends in the next. Thinking of the secret Lance Spencer kept, she couldn’t help thinking that Stephen Mulder could use some new friends.

  “I think I’ll go to bed.” As she got up, Travis rose, too.

  “I’ll walk up with you.” Her heart sank as she heard the man’s words. “I have something I want to talk to you about.” Noting the intent determination on his face, she had a feeling she knew exactly what that conversation would entail.

  There was a moment, just a moment, when Kell shoved back his chair to follow them out that she thought he’d save her from the upcoming scene. Or at least trail along, making it impossible for the two of them to have a private conversation.

  But instead he passed them in the hallway. “’Night, kids. Don’t stay up too late.”

  Oddly deflated, she stared at his back as he sauntered away. There was no way, none at all, of predicting that man’s actions.

  “I was wondering about your plans after this case.” Her attention bouncing back to Travis, she smiled weakly. He was a nice man. And she very much didn’t want to be having this discussion. “I have relatives on the East Coast,” he said earnestly. “And I’ve been meaning to make a point to get out there and see them.”

  Feeling like she’d gone ten rounds with a verbal jouster, Macy let herself into the room and snapped on the light. “That was just mean.”

  But she was talking to herself. The room was empty. There was no Kell stretched out on her bed or bending over her desk to snoop through her work. No quick-witted barbs about Agent Travis’s interest. No double entendres to make her blush and stammer.

  Which was fine. Absolutely fine. She pushed away from the door and went to the nightstand. It was past time for a pain pill. She popped one in her mouth and went to the bathroom for a glass of water to wash it down with. The man was due some sleep, and after extricating herself, as gently as possible, from Dan Travis’s pronounced affections, she was more than ready to fall into bed herself.