by James, Ed
Zangiev squeezed Chase’s arms. “What deal?”
“He didn’t say.” Chase leaned against the guardrail, all casual now. “I’m imagining something kinda illegal, right? Money laundering?”
Zangiev stroked that ridiculous beard of his. “And what did he do to you?”
“Threatened me; you know what he’s like. Put it this way, I didn’t walk for a few days. Last I heard of it. But when I see you talking to Landon just before his son goes missing…?” As Chase talked, he realized it sounded like complete bullshit.
But Zangiev didn’t even deny it. He let go of Chase and leaned back on the guardrail. “My associate alerted me to the opportunity your foundation represents. A means to an end, yes? You were only supposed to encourage your brother to accept my proposal.”
Chase dabbed at his lip and saw blood on his fingertips. “Then I see him sitting outside Landon’s house. What am I supposed to think?” Another idea struck him. “Listen, the feds showed me a still from a surveillance feed. There was a sighting of a woman near the house. Marie took Ky, didn’t she?”
Zangiev gave him a dark look. “What?” He stared back out to sea. “That’s a very interesting theory, my friend.”
“And Edwards was outside Landon’s house. I had no choice but to tell the FBI. I’m sorry.”
Zangiev’s nostrils flared as he glanced back at the car. “You need to be very careful who you trust.”
Thirty-Nine
CARTER
07:35
There it was.
Carter grabbed his tie and clipped it to his collar.
Breakfast noises came from the kitchen. He had to steel himself against hearing Bill’s voice or his laugh. Instead, he sat on the sofa and checked his cell. No encouraging messages. Ky was still missing.
And he was so tired. Barely slept, just all the noise running around his skull. His smartwatch begged to differ, suggesting he’d slept five hours, but they were a lousy five.
Kirsty ran into the room, squealing. “Daddy!” She jumped on his knee and rode his leg like he was a horse. “Can I get ice cream?”
“It’s breakfast time, honey. If you’re a good girl, then maybe around dinner time.”
“I’ll take you out, pumpkin.” Bill stood in the doorway. Just the sound of his voice was like fingernails down a blackboard. “There’s that place downtown you liked last time?”
“Yay!”
Carter patted her on the side. “You go eat your cereal, though, huh?”
“Okay, Daddy!” Kirsty hopped off her horse and barreled through the doorway to the kitchen.
“Morning, Max.” Bill followed her.
As well as failing on the case, Carter had this to contend with. He needed to discuss it with Bill, but at the right time. Get his side of it.
But the old bastard came to the Field Office last night. What if he’d known something was up? What if he’d heard whispers from back home. Some London cop snooping around might start making waves with his cronies.
Emma stomped by, finishing up buttoning her blouse just like every morning. Never enough time, even with Bill lurking around. “Kirsty, are you ready for kindergarten?”
Bill stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Sorry, love, I was going to babysit her today. That okay?”
“I thought you were at the hospital?”
“That’s this evening.”
“Fine.” Carter winched himself up to standing and pecked Emma on the cheek. “Got to go.” He set off toward the door.
Kirsty flew around the other side and ran into his leg. “Are you not having breakfast with us, Daddy?”
“Daddy’s busy, pumpkin.” Carter picked her up, fighting against his grimace. Bill had stolen his nickname for his daughter. He kissed her forehead. “You be good today.”
“And if I can’t be good?”
“Be good at it.” Carter set Kirsty down and she ran off, squealing like she’d destroyed a bag of M&Ms. Maybe she had. He grabbed his coat from the rack and opened the door.
“Don’t I get a goodbye?”
Carter stopped, but couldn’t bring himself to look at Bill. “Bye.”
“You, uh, get a chance to speak to your insurance people?”
“I sent an email.”
“An email? That’s it?”
“If you knew how busy I was, I swear…”
“Son, I really need to clear that medical bill. My treatment—”
“How’s your house sale going?”
Bill’s turn to look away now. “Well, it’s a slow market.”
“You’re not selling it, are you?”
“Son, I want you to inherit something. Kirsty too. Trust fund for her college. It’s so expensive these days and the market’s rising all the time… If I sell now—”
“Then you can pay for your cancer treatment. Sell it. Now.”
“Max, you had to enlist to get through college.” Bill stared at him. “I should’ve paid your way. And you and Emma have been magnificent to me these last few months. I don’t want to cause you any hassle, Max, I just want Kirsty to have the best start in life without being saddled with huge debts.”
Carter focused on him. “You getting treated is the most important thing now. If you need the money, we can help, but we will need it back. You need to sell your house.”
“Right. I’ll think about it.”
“No, you’ll do it. Now. Call your realtor and get them working double time.”
Bill exhaled slowly. “Fine.”
Carter wanted to ask the cop who called about Bill, but that was a rabbit hole he could disappear down for days, and right now he needed to find Ky Bartlett. “See you later.” He opened the door and walked out into a crisp, bright morning.
Forty
KAITLYN
07:45
I open my eyes and freak the hell out. There’s a window, surrounded by light.
Where am I?
Did they catch me? Am I locked up?
I catch a familiar smell. Stale sweat.
My god. I’m back home.
I lie back on my old bed, and the pillow wraps itself around my neck. Mom’s detergent was never strong enough to take the smell away. Too cheap or too mystical or too hippie or too whatever, but my clothes never smelled right. Bedsheets and pillowcases, way worse. Got me no end of abuse at school…
I flick on my bedside light and take in the room. My old crib sits by the window, a shaft of light hitting the bars.
And it all comes back to me—what I’ve done, what I’m trying to get away with. What I’ve somehow gotten away with, so far. But at least Cole’s sleeping sound.
I get out of bed and tiptoe over to his crib.
It’s empty.
No sign of Ky. What the hell?!
I tear at the door and burst out into the hallway. Ky is screaming, sounds like he’s in the kitchen.
I rush through the hall and stop in the doorway.
Mom is sitting at the table, feeding him from a bottle. “I wanted to let you sleep, but he’s not feeding.”
I let out a slow breath. My pulse rate is insane. “Here, I’ll try.” I take my son from Mom and suck in his smell. I sit down and take the bottle from Mom. “Here you go, Cole.” I love this little guy so much it hurts.
The nozzle goes in his mouth, but he turns to the side. He isn’t taking it.
“See?”
“He gets like this, Mom. Kinda grouchy. Must be a family thing.”
“You should get Duke to have a look at him.”
“Is he around?”
“Still sleeping.”
I have one play left here before we go there. “Back in a sec.”
“Where are you going?”
I stand up and cradle Ky in my arms. Cradle Cole. Jeez. “I just need some privacy.”
“You think it’s anything I haven’t seen before? You remember when we used to buy your bras together?”
“Mom.” I carry him back to my old room and kick the door shut. “Okay
, little guy, let’s see if this works.” I sit on the edge of the bed and pull up my nightshirt.
I really don’t know what I’m doing here, but I hold him across my chest, with his mouth near my left breast.
Come on, come on, come on.
And he takes to it, his little lips snapping on to my nipple. A sharp blast of pain shoots up.
And it’s not too late; he’s nuzzling and feeding from my milk. I’m still lactating.
I just sit there, my son feeding from my breast, tears flowing down my cheeks.
Forty-One
CARTER
08:10
Carter couldn’t find a space anywhere near the Bartlett house, so he had to settle for a couple hundred yards away. Overnight, Lake Washington Boulevard had turned from a road into a parking lot. TV news trucks lined the pavement on both sides, the nationals pretty much all there now. Their lights in the early morning gloom would give that hyper-real feel on air. And in Seattle, at this time of year, they needed every ounce of fake. Still, at least it wasn’t raining. Yet.
He stepped out onto the street and tried to walk through without being spotted.
“Agent Carter!” Katie Chan, the CNN’s lead reporter, jogging over the road.
Almost hit by a cyclist in full Lycra. A squeal of brakes. “Hey, asshat!”
Katie pointed the microphone at him. “Can you explain why you haven’t yet recovered Ky Bartlett?”
“No comment at this time.” Carter gave her a curt smile and walked off toward the police cordon.
“Mr. Carter!”
A shivering beat cop stood there, stomping from one foot to the other. Not even that cold, and he had the benefit of a ton of layers.
Carter took the clipboard and signed himself in. One last look at the TV crews showed they’d given up on him. So he slipped off through the gates. More organized in there, but not that much more.
Nguyen was guarding Landon and Jennifer, being interviewed by a local news reporter, talking down the lens of the camera.
Carter stomped over to them, fists clenched.
“Agent Carter?” Congressman Xander Delgado appeared out of nowhere to grab his arm. “Can I have a word?”
Guy was there to play to the TV cameras, show his face as a friend of the bereft parents.
Carter stopped, torn between interrupting the interview and cutting Delgado off.
A bulky Secret Service agent shadowed Delgado. Carter recognized him from somewhere. Lewandowski or something.
Carter sighed. “What’s up?”
“Just want to know what I can do to find Ky.”
“We’re doing all we can, sir. Thanks for your concern. I’m sure you’ve passed your best wishes on to the parents?”
“Sure.” Delgado ran a hand over his mouth. “I can call Duvall to get any state aid you guys need.”
“The local law enforcement agencies are assisting us fully in our hunt for Ky, sir. We’re genuinely doing all we can.”
Lewandowski leaned forward to whisper in Delgado’s ear.
“We gotta be somewhere.” Something seemed to change in him, and he smiled at Carter. “The offer still stands, okay?” He walked off, berating his agent for something.
Carter let his breath go slowly. Was it really a good idea to break up an interview between local TV and grieving parents?
Right on cue, Lori stepped out of the mobile command center with the haggard look of an agent who’d been covering the night shift, like she didn’t quite see him. “Max?”
Carter caught up with her. “Nguyen let Landon and Jennifer speak to the media?”
“She did.” Lori gave him a concerned look. “You haven’t slept, have you?”
“Barely. You speak to Landon?”
“Nguyen blocked me. Told me to investigate in rural Washington. Said you need to take off your tinfoil hat.”
“My tinfoil—”
“Sir.” Tyler Peterson barged between them, holding out a laptop. “You’ll both want to see this.”
Carter gave him a weary look. Then he decided it wasn’t fair on the kid. He was eager and competent—a deadly mixture—while Carter was exhausted and in need of his third coffee of the day. “Go on.”
“This is super cool.” Tyler flipped open his laptop and took three attempts to enter his password. “So I ran the video from the gas station surveillance through an image enhancement algorithm like in the movies, but it works by interpolating the—”
“Summarize, would you?”
“Basically, I found her.” Tyler twisted his screen around.
A blonde-haired woman with a steely look, but most of her face was visible even shrouded by a hood and a ball cap. Pretty but young, maybe seventeen, maybe twenty. And definitely not Marie Edwards.
“I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop here, Tyler.”
“Okay. Well, this is the super-cool part.” Tyler switched windows on the laptop. “It’s currently inadmissible in court, sir, because it’s not a natural image, but this image is good enough to run through the facial-recognition database. Her name is Kaitlyn Presswood.”
It meant nothing to Carter. He got a blank look from Lori too.
“Her address at the Washington Department of Licensing is this house.”
Carter stared at the image again. And he got it. The missing girl, the one before Rosita. She was another nanny, moved in and gave her address to the authorities as this place. So why had Landon and Jennifer been lying to them? “Thanks for this, Peterson. Excellent work.” He snatched the laptop out of his hands and walked over to Nguyen, locked in an intense conversation with Landon.
Jennifer was speaking to camera. “If you know anything about what happened to my baby, please call 911. Thank you.” She covered her mouth with a fist, tears welling in her eyes.
The TV reporter finished her own spiel to the camera, then did a slicing motion over her neck. She turned to him, smiling. “Agent Carter, can I—”
“Sorry.” With a smile, Carter separated Jennifer from the reporter and walked her away. “Do you recognize this woman?” He held the laptop screen out for her.
“No. Should I?”
“Her name is Kaitlyn Presswood.”
Jennifer stared up into the sky.
“Her address is listed as here.”
“No, no, no.”
“So you do know her?”
“I didn’t want it to be her.” Jennifer swallowed hard. “She’s Ky’s surrogate mother.”
Forty-Two
CHASE
08:13
Marie sashayed back to the car, then sped off.
Chase watched her go, rooted to the spot. Hotel Pravda, some Soviet crap. Used to be the consulate or something. Probably still legally Russian soil. “I’m not going inside.”
“You don’t have a choice here, buddy.” Edwards tugged at Chase’s sleeve. He hauled him inside the building. “You’ve played fast and loose with us for too long now. Time to pay the piper. Now, get in there and play nice, okay?” He skipped up the steps and waltzed inside the grand old building, getting the merest of nods from the two heavies working security.
Chase caught a subtle wink from Zangiev, so he followed Edwards in.
“Let’s get you upstairs.” Edwards took a tight grip on Chase’s left arm and led on. Pretty busy in the bar, no doubt a few shady deals going on even this early. “You going to be a good boy, Chase?”
“You don’t need to worry about me.”
“That so?” Edwards let his grip slacken as they climbed the stairs.
The hotel reception was off to the right, with some tourists arguing with the guy behind the desk, but he was smiling through it.
Edwards swiped a keycard on a reader on the right and opened the door. A long corridor with a few doors leading off, but he took the first one on the left. “Here we go.”
Chase followed him in and stopped dead. A high-end hotel room, but stripped of furniture—just a lone chair.
Edwards crinkled across the
sheeting covering the floor. “How about you take a seat, Chase?”
The door shut behind them. The lock caught. “No, Marcus. You’re taking that seat.”
Edwards swiveled around and gaped. “What?”
Zangiev stepped away from the door. “Is your hearing aid acting up?”
“It’s fine.” Edwards probed at his ear with his fingers. “What’s going on?”
“Sit. Down.”
Edwards perched on the chair like a sulky teenager, huffing out his cheeks. “What’s going on, Boris?”
Zangiev stepped forward to stand over Edwards. “You’ve been telling stories about me.”
“What?” Edwards looked over at Chase. “Has he been—”
“Marcus, Marcus, Marcus.” Zangiev clapped his shoulders. “Whatever you say, I don’t believe you. It’s not just our friend here. I know you’ve been talking about my business to people. That is unforgivable.”
“Boris, this is—”
“Shhh.” Zangiev put a finger to his lips, then he slid his free hand into Edwards’s jacket and pulled out a gun. He inspected it, then tossed it on the floor.
Chase knew it could solve his immediate problems. Pick it up, one shot to kill Zangiev, one in Edwards. One each for the goons by the door downstairs. Must be others in here, but he was a good shot. The odds were good.
Zangiev kicked the gun over to the window and started rolling up his sleeves. “Why did you have to let me down, Marcus?”
“This is bullshit, Boris!”
“You were supposed to take a package to Mr. Bartlett’s residence.”
“I did!”
“Documents. For his signature.”
“I tried, but—”