by Debra Webb
McBride nodded and started the tedious process of twisting the lid perpendicular to the tomb. More spacers popped loose.
When they had moved it far enough, they looked inside the gaping tomb together.
Six-year-old Alyssa Byrne, a white towel beneath her, lay atop the bones of a Wellborne ancestor. Her eyes were closed, her hands bound behind her back. Silver duct tape stretched across her mouth. The word INNOCENT had been written in black marker across her forehead.
Vivian’s hand trembled as she reached inside and touched the child’s carotid artery to check for a pulse.
Her breath caught and her gaze connected with McBride’s. “She’s alive.”
CHAPTER FIVE
7:45 P.M.
Night had fully invaded the cemetery.
McBride sat on the steps leading into the Pioneer Memorial Building. He lit a Marlboro as he watched the paramedics loading the gurney into the wagon. The Byrnes climbed in with their daughter, neither prepared to let their only child out of their sight again. Probably wouldn’t until the kid was at least twenty-five.
The girl appeared a little dehydrated but there were no visible physical injuries. Her stats were good, but since she was unconscious she’d been put on a monitor to watch her blood pressure and oxygen level, then C-collared and backboarded for transport. Additional tests and close observation would give the full story.
Between the cops, the febbies, and the press, there was a regular circus going on around the cemetery entrance, complete with spotlights scattered about. Forensics techs had arrived and were going through the steps in both mausoleums as best they could with their spotlights. A second sweep would be conducted tomorrow to ensure nothing was missed. Yellow tape decorated the two known locations where the unsub had been. Holcomb and the other caretaker, Greene, were being questioned by Birmingham PD and Aldridge.
SAC Worth had arrived and taken over once the child was located. Fine by McBride. He had done what he’d come to do. He was ready to get the hell out of here. He refused to consider the significance of the tagged rat or his former superior’s name being listed there. That was the Bureau’s problem, not his.
He scanned the crowd for Grace. Located her off to the side of the media/cop cluster fuck. Judging by their body language, SAC Worth was reading her the riot act and she was taking it like a good little soldier. Worth’s movements looked strangely disconnected with the backlighting barrage of blue lights and spotlights.
Annoyance furrowed McBride’s brow, which reminded him a headache was brewing from lack of caffeine. He couldn’t figure out the deal with Grace. She had come to Key West all fired up to get him here. His first impression had been that she was tough and determined. But there was a hypersensitive spot when it came to her sexuality or men or both. An ice princess, he’d thought. Considering the facts, her sensitivity to being female was not so surprising. For the most part the Bureau was still a major boys’ club. Having that body and those lips likely hadn’t helped her in the respect department with her male peers.
Then there was Worth. He either had a thing for the lady or for some reason he felt overprotective of her. Maybe because he disliked McBride so much and didn’t want his newest agent being corrupted by him. He watched her like a hawk.
Too complicated.
McBride took another drag from his smoke. He could do without complicated. Waking up every morning and getting through the day was problematic enough.
He’d found the kid. It was time to go.
“There you are.”
McBride looked from the hot-pink boots to the smiling agent. “What’s up, Schaffer?”
“Everyone’s been a little busy.” She glanced over at where Worth was still chewing out Grace. “I just wanted to make sure someone mentioned what a good job you did here today.”
“Thanks, Schaffer.” He tried to work up the enthusiasm for a smile but it didn’t happen.
She gave him a thumbs-up and headed back into the fray.
A good job. Yeah, right. One of the actors from CSI could have figured out this one.
The idea that there was something way, way off with this whole Devoted Fan scenario tugged at him. The clues for finding the kid had been a freaking joke. He’d expected someone to jump out of the bushes any second with a camera and the punch line from some new twisted reality show.
Fake … not real. That was how it felt, even now.
But the missing child had been real. The possibility of her being sealed off from life-giving oxygen and dying had been real. If she had awakened and made sounds someone could have heard her before the tomb was sealed, that was true. But she’d been heavily sedated so the risk had definitely been valid.
Why kidnap a child from a wealthy family, secure her in a public place with all the risks to exposure involved, then give her back with scarcely a contest? Why no ransom? If playing the game got this guy off, why not make it more challenging? Draw it out?
“Your Devoted Fan.” Didn’t add up. Except for the rat with Quinn’s name on it.
If McBride had any sense he’d forget the whole damned thing.
“You ready to make a run for it?”
He glanced up as Grace approached. Even in the mesager light that reached this far, she looked as exhausted as he felt.
“Past ready.” He tamped out his cigarette on the step and stuffed the butt into his pocket as he stood up. “You have a plan?” The circus act around the gate had barely parted to allow the ambulance passage. Birmingham PD was having a hell of a time keeping the media behind the temporary barricade. Going out that way was the express lane for making front-page news. If anyone recognized him or if one of Grace’s colleagues leaked his participation, it would be three years ago all over again.
No, thanks.
Grace pushed a smile into place that he couldn’t say looked genuine, but the opportunity to watch those lips in action made him glad she did.
“There’s a car waiting for us on Seventeenth. We’re going over the wall behind the caretaker’s cottage.”
“Over the wall?”
“This way,” she said, heading into the darkness without further explanation.
Following her wouldn’t really be a chore, but he figured if he wanted that ride out of here he’d better keep that comment to himself. So he fell into step with her without any more questions. She led the way across the dark cemetery, rarely bothering with the flashlight.
“Looks like you know your way around this place,” he said just to break the silence. He wasn’t big on conversation himself but this was a little too quiet. He was used to all the noise on the beach outside his windows.
“I came here a lot as a kid,” she said as they passed the caretaker’s cottage. “I used to lie on the graves and pretend I was dead.” She went mute as if she’d just realized that she had actually made the statement out loud.
“I guess that makes me a little strange,” she noted, her tone a degree or two chillier.
“No, Grace, that makes you a lot strange.” His lips twitched with a smile, something they didn’t do often. “But a lot of people are strange so I wouldn’t worry about it.”
McBride’s mind conjured the image of Grace as a child skipping around the bleak headstones. Certainly didn’t fit with the uptight federal agent she had grown into.
At the Seventeenth Street wall, they made their way across the lowest point in the brick wall to a waiting taxi.
“The paparazzi won’t be expecting a member of the investigating team to load into a taxi,” she explained as he opened the door.
“Brilliant strategy,” he allowed, figuring it was her idea and that she felt in need of a pat on the back.
Grace hesitated before ducking into the back seat. “Worth wanted me to tell you how much the Bureau and the Byrnes appreciate what you did.”
McBride waited until she’d gotten in and he’d scooted into the seat next to her before saying, “I’m sure Worth was ecstatic.” He understood that his presence was somethi
ng the man in charge would have preferred to avoid.
“The Tutwiler,” Grace instructed the driver.
At McBride’s look of confusion, she explained, “We’ll have you on a plane headed home tomorrow. Tonight you’re to relax and enjoy, compliments of the Byrnes and the Bureau.”
Getting on a plane tonight wasn’t exactly at the top of his list of things he couldn’t live without. But staying was somewhat out of his comfort zone. He had to wonder if the Bureau had a hidden agenda. He didn’t trust any of them, not even the pretty lady doing the babysitting.
She was way outside his comfort zone.
That knowledge didn’t stop him from going stupid. “As long as you’ll keep me company, that’ll work.”
The city lights filtering into the back seat allowed him to see that guard she wielded whenever he crossed into personal territory go into lockdown. She set him straight posthaste. “Dinner I can do.”
“You drive a hard bargain, Grace.” He let it go at that. Probably the smartest move he had made all day … with the exception of finding the kid.
Vivian wasn’t sure dinner with McBride was a smart move. Being alone with him was like feeling her way through a maze. She never knew what would be around the next turn or when she was going to run into an impenetrable wall. And just when she thought she knew how to avoid getting caught in his traps, she found herself already in one. That unorthodox charm was getting under her skin and that was a mistake. Trusting this man in any capacity would be a major error in judgment.
The driver pulled beneath the canopy at the historic Tutwiler and Vivian paid the fare. An attendant opened the door and she emerged, glad to be away from the media frenzy at the cemetery. Alyssa Byrne was safe and that was all any good agent could ask for. Vivian should be relieved and grateful. But she couldn’t quite reach that nirvana. Too many questions were nagging at her.
As she and McBride made their way to the entrance of the grand old hotel she implemented a conscious effort to relax. The man intrigued her even as he tripped her every internal alarm. There wasn’t an agent in her graduating class who wouldn’t give her or his firstborn to have this chance to learn more about the legendary Hunter—no matter the circumstances that had brought them together.
Her thirst for wisdom was unquenchable. She wanted to reach that same kind of zenith in her career. She just didn’t want to fall the way he had. Even if her curiosity weren’t going a hundred miles per hour, making sure he was settled for the night was her job. Worth had given her strict instructions.
All she had to do was make sure McBride didn’t breach her personal boundaries and there wouldn’t be a problem.
Her mind kept wandering back to this afternoon’s events. She felt confused at best about the way the rescue had gone down. Success was the end result, but she had all those damned questions. One being, what was the significance of the word written on the child’s forehead? That and many other questions she would like very much to direct at the man next to her, but Worth had specifically instructed her to move on. He would handle the final loose ends on this case, including a call to Quantico with the information regarding Andrew Quinn’s name having come up. Her job was to entertain McBride, and when the approval was given, see that he got on the plane. For her, it was case closed.
If she could just accept that, life would be a hell of a lot easier.
Unfortunately easy had never been her style.
Inside the glorious Tutwiler lobby with its marble floors and crystal chandeliers, she approached the desk and pushed a polite smile into place for the clerk. “I’d like a room with a balcony and a nice view.” Might as well make McBride’s night in Birmingham as pleasant as possible.
Fearing that he would suddenly disappear on her, ultimately smearing her hard-earned record, she checked to see that he still waited near the French doors on the other side of the reception lobby. For a moment she allowed her gaze to linger on the man. He pretended not to care about anything, yet she had witnessed firsthand just how much he cared. Finding that little girl had meant as much to him as it had to Vivian. There was far more of the former special agent left in this guy than he wanted her to see … maybe even more than he knew.
But that didn’t change the fact that the Bureau was still suspicious of his part in this odd case.
Strong-arming her attention away from him, she surveyed the luxurious lobby. Her parents had given her a lavish going-away party in the ballroom just before she had left for college. She would never forget that night. Surrounded by her friends and only months away from hitting that eighteen mark. Her world had been perfect and full of dreams for the future.
A scant month later her life had forever changed, sending her on a whole different journey than the one she had expected to take.
The clerk’s voice snatched her out of the past. “I’m sorry,” she confessed, “I was lost in thought.”
“Your credit card, ma’am,” he repeated.
Vivian shook off the haunting memories and searched her wallet for the American Express the Bureau had issued her. When the card had been swiped, the room number and key provided, she thanked the clerk and rejoined McBride.
“Do you need some time to freshen up or would you like to go directly to dinner?”
Despite having spent the past eight or so hours with the man, when he looked at her, she was not prepared for the impact of those penetrating blue eyes. Standing here, in this setting, just the two of them, with the key to his room in her hand, was suddenly a big deal. She was tired, not at her best.
“If you’re giving me the option, I’ll go with the one that includes the drink first.”
The way he had performed this afternoon, she had almost forgotten about that bad habit. “The Pub it is then.”
He allowed her to lead, one would surmise because she was familiar with the hotel, but she knew better. He just liked watching her from behind. She would bet her favorite Miles Davis collector’s album that he used those lewd glances and remarks to keep her at a distance. He probably did that with a lot of people. Then again, she could be giving him too much credit, like Worth said.
Vivian selected a table on the farthest side of the room, in a dark corner. If McBride was half as spent as she, and she felt confident he was, they didn’t need any outside stimulation.
Not that any other stimulation was required with him around.
She dropped her purse in a chair. “I need to make a call. If the waiter shows up, order me a club sandwich, which I highly recommend, and a glass of white wine.” She didn’t pause long enough for McBride to ask any questions. Weaving through the tables headed for the restroom, she could feel his gaze on her. Looking back would only make her hesitate. No hesitating.
In the ladies’ room she stood in front of the sink and stared at her reflection. None of this was right. She had known something was wrong, off, whatever, as soon as she had read the first e-mail from Devoted Fan. Worth had played off her concerns. At the cemetery, she had told him again how she felt about the way this one had played out. It didn’t add up.
Nothing she said had convinced him to look at this logically—logically from her perspective, at any rate. In her opinion, the kidnapping hadn’t been about Alyssa Byrne or her father. The clues had been elementary. The location practically right around the corner from the field office. No ransom. No physical injuries to the child. When she had brought up all those details, Worth wouldn’t talk about it. He was too smart not to recognize the same inconsistencies she did. Schaffer, Davis, Pratt, they all saw the same things whether they said so or not.
And all of it pointed in one direction—to McBride. Vivian was certain. Oh, Worth agreed that the elements of the case pointed to McBride, but he leaned toward the theory that McBride had somehow set up the whole thing. He wanted McBride in town for the next twelve to eighteen hours to give him time to explore that avenue more thoroughly. And for Andrew Quinn, now retired, to be advised of the situation.
Vivian was the one wh
o was supposed to keep McBride entertained. In other words, set him up a second time. Worth was on a witch hunt.
“God.” She closed her eyes, shook her head at the shortsightedness of the man she generally respected. How could he not see how wrong he was? Was it possible that someone higher up was putting the pressure on for him to investigate McBride? McBride’s connection to Quantico and the ugly ending to his career would logically point in that direction.
Unquestionably, she was prepared to do whatever necessary to get to the truth. If selling McBride out several times over was necessary to get the bad guy in the end, then so be it. But this was off … way off.
“Pull it together, Grace.” She took a breath. Stared sternly at her reflection. “Get through this. Don’t overanalyze. Do the job.” She couldn’t screw up her career over a burned-out legend. Like Worth said, her instincts could be wrong. The only thing standing between her and getting the job done was her own inflexibility.
When she returned to the table, the drinks had arrived.
“Did you make your call?”
The question startled her then she remembered the excuse she had given. “Oh. Yes.” She settled into her chair and savored a healthy swallow of her wine. If she were lucky, he wouldn’t ask her any questions she couldn’t answer. After the events of the past thirty or so hours, she had to consider that maybe McBride had the right idea. If you couldn’t change it, just drink it out of your head.
He lifted the tumbler to his lips, took a long drink of his whiskey, watching her as if he suspected she was keeping something from him.
“You ordered the food?” she asked in an effort to make conversation. She hoped so. Having not eaten in hours, she surely didn’t need the wine going straight to her head, as tempting as that might be.
“Two club sandwiches, fries, and another round of drinks.”
She quelled a shiver. That he had that effect on her made her want to kick herself. Giving herself a break, she admitted that there was something about the man’s voice. Deep, sexy in a blatant, I-know-I-could-make-you-scream-my-name way. Any woman alive would react to the sensuality of it. But that was the thing. She didn’t usually react like other women. Maybe it was the mystique related to the legend that got to her. The whole “idol” thing. Every agent wanted to be able to accomplish what McBride had—before that fall anyway.
