“Absolutely not. The kidnapper by-passed another potential target to get to Dickerson. The second girl was an afterthought. They had the manpower and the space in the van, and it was more expedient to take her with them than fight with her in the street.”
Powell’s mouth twisted. “That’s what I think too. I’ll put in another request with the local police to examine all available footage of the group from yesterday. They should be able to track them using the live facial recognition system they have in the city.”
“Good. See if they can find out where the van went.”
“They already found it. Dumped in the La Boca—a barrio in the south of the city. It was stolen the previous night from outside the city.”
“We need forensics on that van.”
“Being done by the locals.”
Max frowned. “It’s safe to assume they changed vehicles several times before they headed to their final destination. The city police might be able to track them for us or provide photographs of the kidnappers without their masks on.”
“I discussed this with the Comisario General. The problem is, we don’t know what they climbed into after the van.” Powell looked more alert. The guy had probably been up all night working the case. He dragged his fingers through his hair, making it stand up on end. “These guys look like professionals.”
That they did. They looked like they’d performed this sort of high visibility rendition many times. Kidnap and Ransom was endemic in certain parts of the world—a business, nothing personal, nothing political. Until it was.
“What do you think it means to abduct the US Ambassador’s daughter?” Powell asked. “What do you think they want?”
War? Max pushed to his feet. “I’m not sure. But something tells me we’re going to find out. I need to get changed before I meet the ambassador. Can you point me to a restroom?”
Powell finally seemed to defrost. “Use my office.”
He led the way, down a corridor with a series of closed doors off to the right, then to a much larger room that was sparsely furnished with a big-ass, wooden desk and a couple of wingback chairs in front of an actual fireplace. Thankfully, the fire was unlit as the temperature was already sweltering. The room had an amazing view of the park across the street. Stars hung off a large green plant, but Christmas festivities had been largely abandoned following this incident. There was a large Chinese screen in one corner of the room.
Max glanced at the Legat’s desk, which was strewn with paper files. Maybe this wasn’t the quiet posting Max had envisioned. The man scooped up folders and placed them in a filing cabinet that he locked.
“Big case?” Max asked, intrigued.
Powell nodded. “Very.” Which probably explained the Legat’s frustration and why there were ten FBI agents working in the office. “And put on hold for twenty-four hours while we get this situation under control.”
“Time sensitive?” Max asked.
Powell sighed. “I’m afraid even that much is classified.” He was keeping it need-to-know which Max appreciated.
“Not a problem, but could your case have anything to do with the ambassador’s daughter being taken?” Max probed.
“I doubt it. The investigation is so tight only a few people in the States know it even exists. Not even the ambassador knows the details. That was her choice when she was assigned to Argentina. She told me that, unless there was a good reason for her to be informed, or a danger to herself or anyone associated with the mission, then she’d rather not know, and that way she wouldn’t have to test her acting abilities at social events around the city.” Powell scratched his head. “Unfortunately, the agents we have here working the case are highly specialized and need to get back to working on Operation Soapbox as soon as possible.”
Max nodded. “Understood. Did you request extra agents to be assigned to this office to help out with the kidnap case?”
Powell slumped into his chair. “Yes. Immediately after I received word of the abduction. Let’s hope the suits at headquarters agree. The Diplomatic Security Service has a robust and experienced group of people here, and there are a couple of people from NCIS, Homeland Security, DEA, and even our resident spook who can all lend a hand if necessary.”
Max grimaced. He wasn’t a fan of spooks, probably because, despite the way his country had shafted him after he’d left the British SAS, MI6 was still constantly trying to recruit him.
Max let rip a yawn and headed behind the screen to change. He hadn’t slept on the flight, instead keeping his friends company in the cockpit. His buddies had decided to use the impromptu trip as an opportunity to head to Montevideo for some party time. If Kristen Dickerson was found quickly, then Max might be able to meet up with them and finish his Christmas vacation in style.
He wasn’t holding his breath.
It took less than three minutes to transform from beach bum to professional law enforcement officer. He clipped his creds onto his belt, wishing he could wear his service weapon. His buddies had slipped him a SIG that was inside his suitcase currently being held by security at the main door. Right now, he didn’t even know which hotel he was staying at.
He didn’t rely on his handgun for protection—his training went well beyond that, but a weapon was a nice addition to basic security when away from the embassy.
Hopefully, the head of mission would sanction his wearing of a firearm for this temporary duty assignment.
His eyes caught on the stars suspended from the large rubber plant again, and he thought of his mother who’d begged him to come home for the holidays. She lived in the countryside north of Sheffield, a region that accounted for his slight accent that had smoothed out over the years. He thrust aside thoughts of his family back in England. It was what it was. He’d learned to live with it.
Time to start interviewing the ambassador’s family and figuring out everything he could about the victim. Get the girl back in one piece and let this office go back to the important job of fighting crime.
Chapter Three
As soon as Lucy closed the door on the Commissioner of the Argentine Federal Police and his entourage, the ambassador lost her composure and swore a blue streak under her breath. Dark circles beneath her eyes underscored her worry and exhaustion.
Miranda hovered over Catherine and gently placed a reassuring hand on the diplomat’s shoulder. Phillip sat on her other side, holding his wife’s hand. Iain Bartlett, the Senior Regional Security Officer (RSO) for the Diplomatic Security Service, looked pale and stricken as he walked over and slumped heavily into the armchair the commissioner had just vacated. Iain blamed himself for the abduction. Technically, he was correct.
A massive Christmas tree stood in the corner of the room, the still-wrapped presents beneath it a poignant reminder that something had gone terribly wrong with the celebrations this year.
Phillip’s expression looked increasingly grim. “I don’t trust the police commissioner, Catherine. He’ll pull some macho bullshit and get Kristen killed.”
The ambassador swallowed noisily and raised her chin. “I don’t trust him either, but I can’t exactly call in the Navy SEALs to swoop in and take over, no matter how desperately I want to. Kristen should be here with us right now, opening gifts. She should have been safe on that street at that time with a group of friends.” A sob escaped, and she covered her mouth as if to physically stuff the sound back inside her mouth.
Iain Bartlett’s fingers clenched the end of the arms of the chair. “I should have insisted on an agent shadowing her.”
“That was our call. Kristen hates having bodyguards, and you can’t be in four places at once.” The ambassador picked up a tissue out of the box on the coffee table and wearily blew her nose. “I should have been spending Christmas Eve with my family, not sipping champagne with some Russian Oligarch who was trying to buy me and everyone else with his fancy hors d’oeuvres.”
“I could have stayed with her.” Phillip closed his eyes and shook his head. “You have an important job
to do.”
“Your job is important too. She wanted to go out with her friends.” Her voice rose in anger. “This posting shouldn’t be a prison for our children. She should have been safe.” Catherine forced the last word out between gritted teeth. “It was the middle of the day on a crowded city street.”
“We need to push the Argentines about why that wasn’t so,” Miranda agreed calmly.
Not that it made much difference now. Kristen was missing, and all the complaining and handwringing in the world wouldn’t change that salient fact.
“Should I contact the president again and repeat the request for a personal audience?” Miranda asked.
Catherine narrowed her eyes at her assistant. “Yes. Keep pushing until I can meet with him in person. I will not let him evade responsibility simply because he wants to spend the holiday with his family. I want to spend the holiday with my family too.” Catherine craned her neck to look over into the corner of the room. “Are you sure that telephone line is hooked up properly?”
Lucy glanced at the FBI agent. He’d set up at a desk in the farthest corner of the large formal suite the ambassador usually used to entertain dignitaries. Lucy had seen the guy around the embassy building but didn’t know his name. Late thirties. Bald head that was red with a recent sunburn. He was trying to be as unobtrusive as possible, but he hadn’t yet mastered the Lucy degree of invisibility. That took special training.
“Yes, ma’am.” He looked away again.
Catherine grunted, unconvinced.
In fairness, the ambassador was overwrought and emotionally drained and probably not at her best from a diplomatic perspective. They’d all been up for more than thirty-six hours. The Dickersons’ son was thankfully sleeping now.
Lucy’s stomach twisted as she recalled Kevin Dickerson’s heart-broken reaction to his sister’s abduction last night. It had been emotionally wrenching enough to mist the eyes of even the most jaded embassy staff. This was not exactly the Christmas anyone had anticipated—except perhaps for the kidnappers.
Lucy’s mouth went dry. Is this my fault?
She crossed her fingers behind her back and prayed they found Kristen and Irene unharmed. The Dickerson kids were funny and kind. Not the brats you might expect as the over-indulged children of one of the United States’ top diplomats.
The ambassador inhaled audibly. “I keep imagining what these animals could be doing to my baby…” Catherine covered her mouth.
“Don’t, love. Don’t torture yourself with those thoughts. We have to concentrate on getting her back, not worry ourselves sick about the what-ifs and maybes of how she’s being treated. We will get her back. Whatever they want, we’ll find a way to get it for them. I’ve already spoken to the bank about what stocks we can liquidate. Or the DSS and Special Forces will rescue her. Our baby will be okay. She will be.” Phillip rubbed his wife’s back and kissed her hair. “Allow yourself to be a mother for a few hours rather than a diplomat. You should lie down. Get some rest.”
Catherine closed her eyes. “I don’t want to sleep. I don’t want to miss anything.”
“A drink then?” Phillip suggested.
“I’ll get you some coffee,” Lucy offered quickly.
“I was thinking something a little stronger.” Phillip smiled tiredly. He had a thick crop of ash-blond hair, and the blue of his irises was striking against his pale face. He was a world-renowned engineer who followed his wife wherever her job dictated, which wasn’t something many men would contemplate. He was both handsome and charming. The perfect spouse for a diplomat.
Lucy didn’t trust him. She didn’t trust anyone anymore.
“Coffee is fine.” Ambassador Dickerson responded with a small wave. “The stronger the better. I need my wits when I talk to these people.”
Lucy went to the coffeemaker on a side table in the suite and made five cups of expresso, exactly how the ambassador, her husband, and Miranda took it. She delivered each cup, including one for the RSO and another for the FBI agent sitting quietly in the corner.
There was a knock on the huge doors that led into the apartment, and the ambassador stood, clearly fearing whatever news was about to arrive. She gave Lucy a nod, and Lucy leapt forward to open the door, mentally rolling her eyes at herself for acting like a puppy eager to please its master.
Through the thin crack, she spied a white shirt and dark suit. She raised her gaze and met a pair of the darkest, prettiest eyes she’d ever seen on a grown man—save one.
“Supervisory Special Agent Max Hawthorne to see Ambassador Dickerson.” His smooth voice was complete with a glorious British accent that slid over her skin like a sensory overload. “I’m the FBI negotiator,” he added when she made no move to let him in.
Lucy averted her gaze and opened the door, using it as a shield between the intense heat of his gaze and her almost-forgotten role as a nobody.
“The negotiator is here,” she said so quietly she wasn’t sure the others heard her. Miranda was already striding across the thick carpet to shake the guy’s hand. Lucy closed the door after Brian Powell, the FBI Legat and all-round asshat, stepped inside the room. He didn’t spare her a glance as she took up her space against the wall.
Her eyes were drawn back to Max Hawthorne.
“Have you found her?” the ambassador demanded immediately after the introductions were finished.
The Legat answered. “Not yet, ma’am. We are currently concentrating every resource we have in the region on your daughter’s abduction but also asking for additional agents to assist with other ongoing cases that cannot be delayed.”
“Surely Kristen’s kidnapping takes priority over any other matters?” Miranda spoke firmly. Lucy’s boss was beautiful and compelling and rarely raised her voice.
Powell glanced at Miranda, clearly unimpressed. “I’m not at liberty to discuss active cases. We’re working with local police agencies to gather as much information about the kidnapping as possible, and I’m sure DSS is pursuing every avenue they have looking for any connections to known terrorist groups.”
Iain Bartlett nodded.
“Do you have any new leads?” Catherine’s tone was sharp as a wasp’s sting.
“Not yet,” Powell admitted reluctantly.
“What can you tell me about your daughter’s movements yesterday?” Max Hawthorne asked, stepping in and breaking the tension.
The ambassador switched her full attention to the negotiator. Catherine was a smart, dedicated professional who knew her way around politics in a male-dominated world. Lucy admired the woman greatly.
“Kristen had arranged to go Christmas shopping with some of her friends. They’d been planning it for weeks.”
“Did many people know about this outing in advance?” Max Hawthorne asked.
Iain Bartlett opened his mouth to answer, but Catherine raised her hand in silent command.
The ambassador gave the Fed a look. “I have no idea how many people knew about it outside of the three girls who’d arranged to meet up. Their parents and boyfriends perhaps?”
“You didn’t call them all and ask them?”
The ambassador’s eyebrows shot up. Miranda, as always, took her lead from her boss and frowned at the newcomer. Lucy swallowed an amused laugh.
Kudos to the negotiator for figuring out the ambassador’s bulldog personality after only being in the room with her for thirty seconds. Catherine had called everyone she could think of in the hours after she was notified her daughter had been taken, demanding answers and interrogating everyone—from tearful teens to sweating generals. Phillip had barely been able to keep his wife from scouring the streets and going house-to-house knocking on doors. Had the woman been anything except the US Ambassador, Lucy didn’t think anyone would have been able to stop her taking things into her own hands.
The ambassador sipped her coffee, clearly gathering her thoughts and her temper. “I spoke to the parents of all Kristen’s friends briefly, especially to offer my condolences to Irene�
�s parents and to offer any help the US can provide. The British Embassy is presumably sending people to assist them. Everyone was shaken, naturally. Irene’s family is as devastated as we are. Aside from members of their household, the remaining girl didn’t recall telling anyone about their plans except two other girlfriends from school and her boyfriend.”
“So quite a few people knew Kristen would be in downtown Buenos Aires yesterday.” The negotiator held his hands loosely in front of him.
Lucy didn’t think she’d ever seen a more beautifully put together man. Even his hands looked sexy, capable and strong. Light brown skin, hair close shaven. It was his eyes that gave him the added edge. Intelligent but with a calm humor lurking beneath the surface. And that accent…feeding every 007 fantasy she’d ever had—and she’d had a few.
Definitely someone to avoid when possible.
“Did the girls post their movements on social media?” asked Hawthorne.
“Kristen knew better than to post her whereabouts online.” Iain Bartlett sounded pissed. He took his job seriously and didn’t have much of a sense of humor even on a good day.
“I checked all the girls’ social media feeds,” Phillip assured Hawthorne, “and didn’t see anything that could be used to pinpoint their location. They go to the International school and tend to be on guard regarding potential danger in the region. Irene Lomakin, the other girl who was kidnapped, posted a picture from a Starbucks, but there was no way anyone would know where in the world she was unless they have psychic abilities. Her father works for a big petrochemical company in the city.” He paused then asked hopefully, “Is it possible Irene was the intended victim, and Kristen was caught up accidentally?”
“Did you watch the surveillance video?” Max Hawthorne asked.
The ambassador and her husband nodded before turning their gazes to the thick carpet on the floor.
“It looks as if the kidnappers targeted Kristen but scooped up Irene when she tried to intervene.” Max’s tone was calm and soothing. “I currently believe Kristen was the primary target of the abduction, but the FBI will be examining Irene’s background also. Have either of your children mentioned anyone following them recently? Anyone asking questions that seemed inappropriate or probing?”
Cold Cruel Kiss Page 3
