Hard Press'd

by Linda Rae Blair

  “Dear, God.” No wonder the FBI wanted in. “So what does the Bureau think George is doing with all these girls? Killing them? Another Green River killer with a slightly different bent? Virgins instead of hookers? Selling them? What?”

  Agent Wilding’s posture stiffened ever so slightly as she answered. “We’re not certain, but George is not a nice man! In fact, he is one of the most cold-blooded individuals we’ve dealt with.”

  “Uh, the ME’s report said Macy had had sex recently.” Press tossed the ME’s report toward Rachel. “So she doesn’t fully fit the pattern. Plus, she has close family—her aunt, Moira, and uncle, George, who took her in when her parents died,” Press explained. “Doesn’t sound like he would try to snatch her. Would Roberts involve his own niece in whatever he’s up to?”

  Press decided to share all, for now. “Our only lead so far is a sailor she dated late last year. He has tried to blow off their relationship by saying he wasn’t interested because she was a virgin, but I know for a fact that Macy wasn’t a virgin when they met. Add the ME saying she had sex within twenty-four hours of her death—I’d be willing to wager it was with our sailor. Therefore, our sailor is a liar who thinks he can pull the wool over our eyes. The guy is arrogant, and it’s going to be his downfall—I just don’t know for what, quite yet.”

  “Yeah, I don’t know just how she fits in—but believe me, she does! And, if you’re right about the sailor, he probably does, too.” Rachel answered.

  Agent Forrester took the lead. “We have some ideas on this, but we have no proof right now.” He looked at Rachel and then away again. “Let’s just say for now that this particular leg of our investigation is still too premature to discuss.”

  Press spoke up. “Did we just run into that one exception to sharing, Agent Forrester?”

  Forrester said nothing. Rachel spoke up. “We may have. We’re not certain just yet. We’ll keep you posted on that issue as we go along—and as we can.”

  Trace was lost on that one. He’d ask Press later. “So how do we tie all this…” he said, waving toward the murder board, “to Macy Roberts’ murder?

  “Your guess is as good as ours, for now,” Rachel said. “We think she may have found out about something that made her a threat to George. If that’s true, we need to know what that something was. It could be the break in our case and yours.”

  “Ours—remember?” Press flashed another smile and his eyes locked with Rachel’s.

  “Ours,” she agreed. “Bob will be returning to DC to continue on the foreign part of the investigation. He’ll keep us posted on anything that might link to our side of the case, and we can do likewise. He’ll need in-person interaction with his embassy contacts, so he can work better there.”

  “When do you go back, Bob?” Press asked.

  “I’m on the 3:00 PM commuter flight out of Norfolk.”

  Looking at his watch, Press realized Bob was going to have to move quickly to make his flight. “Do you need a ride to the airport?”

  “No, I’ve got it taken care of. Rachel, gentlemen, I’m out of here. I’ll be talking to you soon. Good luck!” He picked up his computer case and headed out the door.

  “Well,” Rachel said, “where do you want to start?”

  “Trace, why don’t you go talk to Jennifer Wyatt again?" Show her that photo of Macy and David—see if she recognizes him from anywhere. Maybe a restaurant, a shop she went into with Macy—anything that might give us a clue. And while you’re at it, see if you can get anything more on what she was saying earlier about Macy hating George.”

  “Okay,” Trace said, as he took a copy of David’s photo from the board and headed out.

  Now it was just Rachel and Press. “Okay, why don’t you go over what you’ve got on old George?” Press asked.

  “Why don’t you tell me about Macy hating George?” Rachel countered.

  They spent the next three hours going over the information gathered in both investigations. George Roberts was a very nasty fellow. Press wondered how much Moira Roberts knew about her husband.

  “I have the distinct impression that Moira knew Macy was in danger. Whether she got that impression from Macy or George is another matter, but I do know that she was not as surprised as she should have been that Macy was dead. She knew the girl was in danger.”

  Press leaned back in his chair. “Let’s get something to eat. I’m wiped out, need fuel!” He looked at her and his stomach clutched. Oh, boy—careful, man. “I know where to get a great steak.”

  “Sounds like a winner to me,” she stretched and then stood and closed her laptop. “I’m starving!”

  They drove to Michael’s Steakhouse where they got a table in the back so they could talk and—as law enforcement people were in the habit of doing—see the entire room.

  Law enforcement was off the table for the duration of the meal. Rachel Wilding was bright, well-educated, from a good Boston family, and very well-centered. She’d been with the FBI since graduating with honors from William & Mary’s Law School. The FBI had courted her from her junior year, and she’d decided to get her degree before joining.

  She’d been in a one-year relationship with a doctor in Alexandria—it had gone sour, and she’d broken it off six months ago.

  Press couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed an evening so much. The attraction in the air was like an electric charge. No matter how hard he tried to maintain a level pulse, it shot up every time she smiled at him. Press, old man, this is what it should feel like.

  “Where do you run?” she asked.

  “Along the beach. Would you like to join me after our food settles a little?”

  “I’d love to. I usually run in the morning but with catching our flight this morning, I didn’t get to fit it in. Is there somewhere I can change?”

  “Oh, that’s no problem,” he said, smiling.

  23

  Virginia Beach

  Day 3

  9:00 PM

  Her jaw dropped when they pulled up in front of his house.

  “Wow! This is some cabana.”

  As they reached the front door, he asked, “Are you carrying?”

  “Of course,” she answered. “Why?”

  “Just don’t draw on Jones!”

  “Who or what is a Jones?” she asked cautiously, braced herself, and then stepped through the doorway just in time for Jones to take a flying leap at her.

  Press caught her before she could fly backwards. “JONES! Down!”

  “Sorry, Rachel. His obedience classes never took. I’ve enrolled him three times, but none of the instructors lasted more than half an hour.”

  “Gee, am I surprised?” she laughed as she straightened her skirt. “He’s gorgeous! Big—but gorgeous!” She maintained control and managed to ruff his big shaggy head as his catcher mitt paws landed on her shoulders. She accepted a big slurppy kiss as he looked her square in the eye. “Oh, you are a big boy, aren’t you? And beautiful, too. Oh, Press, he’s wonderful!”

  “You’re the first, other than those who live here, to think so.” Press laughed. He got the dog under control and brought Rachel’s bags in from the car. “I didn’t know which one you needed, so I brought them all in,” he said.

  He showed Rachel to a guest room where she changed into running clothes, and within minutes they were running along the shore in the moonlight. She was in excellent condition, and her FBI endurance training made her an excellent runner. She had no problem keeping up with Press or Jones.

  When they finished their run, Press got each of them a bottle of water—a bowl for Jones. Then they sat on the deck watching and listening to the surf—and Jones’s snoring.

  “I haven’t been this relaxed in months,” she said, stretching out her long legs in front of her.

  Press’s mouth had gone dry, so he took another long drink of water. “So do you have hotel reservations made?”

  “No, we left in such a hurry that I didn’t get a chance. I’ll call a cab
and find something near the office,” Rachel said.

  “You’re welcome to stay here for a few days. There’s plenty of room, lots of beach for running, a staff of people to handle laundry, cooking and such.”

  Rachel turned her head and looked at him. “No strings?”

  He groaned and grimaced. “Oh, my God! Am I that transparent? I feel like a sixteen-year-old kid. No, no strings—I promise.”

  She was grinning at him. His gut was in knots and damned if he wasn’t sweating. He hadn’t reacted like this to a woman in…ever!

  “Well, then,” she sighed dramatically as she stood up, “I might as well get a hotel room.”

  As she turned toward the door, she had a smile on those full lips that had his gut clutching.

  “What?”

  She stopped and turned back toward him. “Well, if I don’t get anything better than a room and some food, I might as well go to a hotel.”

  He stood and they were just inches apart—his throat had gone absolutely dry. “And just what more did you want? We just may have something here to accommodate you. If you aren’t too demanding, of course,” he grinned.

  Her arms went up and encircled his neck, “Oh, I intend to be extremely demanding.”

  The kiss unglued what little control he’d had left.

  24

  Virginia Beach

  Day 3

  9:00 PM

  “Where are you?” Frustration and worry had resulted in her pacing the floor for the last hour waiting for his arrival.

  “I can’t make it. I really can’t go into it right now, darling. Hopefully I can break free in a few days or so.”

  “A few days?” My God, you’re turning into a shrew. Listen to your own voice. “I’m sorry, darling. I just miss you so much. There is so much we need to discuss!”

  “I know, but now is not the time. I’m being confined to base for now. I’ll let you know as soon as I can see you. Believe me, I’m just as anxious to be with you as you are to have me there. Even now, I can feel you…” He moaned into the earpiece.

  “Don’t tease me! What do you mean ‘confined to base’? What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t go into it over the phone. I have to go now. Don’t worry, darling. I’ll see you as soon as possible.”

  The phone went dead. She stared at the cell phone in her hand as if she didn’t believe her ears.

  25

  Virginia Beach

  Day 4

  6:00 AM

  In the morning, Press managed to beat Lizzie’s wakening by just a few minutes as he ran through the house gathering up the clothes that had been left strewn between the patio door and the bedroom.

  They hadn’t made it to the bed until after a shared shower. Even then, their appetite for each other had seemed insatiable.

  He bent down and kissed that beautiful mouth. “Good morning.”

  He heard the purr in her throat and his gut twisted again. “You’d better wake up, sweetheart. We’re going to be late to work.”

  “I’m up,” she moaned, and then tried to cover her head with the sheet in which she was entwined.

  “No, you’re not—but I am,” he laughed as he climbed back into bed with her.

  Oh, Press old boy, you are in such big trouble.

  26

  VBPD Headquarters

  Day 4

  1:15 PM

  Trace stood in front of the murder board. “Miss Wyatt didn’t recognize David Olivette. She did say, however, that George Roberts had been caught making a pass at one of Macy’s sorority sisters during a party at the Roberts estate. He has a reputation as being very interested in young women, women in general, any woman other than Moira Roberts.”

  “Probably explains her need for all that plastic surgery. She’s trying to look younger than she is in hope George will see her instead of every young thing in his path,” Press offered.

  “Makes sense,” Rachel added. “Fits in with what we know of him. George is a man of no scruples. Women are just objects to George. He is a true misogynist. Being his wife cannot be an easy job. You have to wonder why she stays.”

  “Money, prestige, power—old George has a lot to offer if you’re willing to sell your soul to the devil.” Press had a bad taste in his mouth. He didn’t like Moira Roberts, but he hated to think of any woman putting up with George Roberts. “What had poor Macy gone through all those years, growing up in that household?”

  “Indeed,” Rachel added.

  “So what did Macy find out?” Press asked. “And who did she tell about it—because I’d bet my badge George found out from someone other than Macy.”

  “David?” Trace said.

  “Okay, partner. Lay it out,” Press told him.

  Trace gathered his thoughts and started pacing. “Macy somehow finds out what George is involved in. She can’t tell Jenny—too risky. Jenny would tell her parents and get the police involved. Macy wasn’t ready to take things that far. She loves her aunt.”

  “No, she tells David. She loves David—can trust him with anything.” The look on Trace’s face showed pure sarcasm. “Boy was she wrong there. She doesn’t recognize that no one is important to David except David. He’s made her think she can trust him. David tells George that she’s onto him. However, George can’t kill her—he’s in DC with a dozen or more witnesses. So he has David do the deed.”

  “What is David’s link to George? Why would he tell George about Macy’s suspicions?” Rachel asks. “How does David fit in with the missing girls?”

  “And what did Macy know?” Trace added.

  “David was involved somehow. Maybe he’s George’s partner in crime.” Press added the issues to the whiteboard. “I’d bet that whatever she found out, the proof is in that house.”

  “Yeah, but we can’t get a warrant without cause,” Trace added.

  “And we don’t dare get a warrant without giving away our investigation,” Rachel piped in.

  “We’re going to have to find something that will get us back into that house,” Press said, more to himself than to the group.

  They heard a disturbance coming from the main office area and left the conference room to check it out. Each was wearing a shoulder harness complete with a loaded weapon in case it was needed. Hands on open shoulder harnesses, they approached the doorway to the Lieutenant’s private office and heard George Roberts for the first time.

  “I don’t want your damned excuses, Lieutenant. You have no right to come into my home and ransack it like thugs. My God, man! They went through her closet and drawers—her underwear! How do you justify such actions? The poor girl is dead and they ogle her undergarments?”

  “Mr. Roberts, the detectives were looking for information that she may have hidden. No disrespect was intended. The warrant was properly executed and they had every right to look everywhere covered under that warrant,” Lieutenant Wallace threw back at the red-faced man.

  “I don’t give a damn what that warrant said. And why did the police think they should paw through our belongings anyway? We are the victims here, Lieutenant!”

  “No, sir, you are not!” Wallace watched the man’s face redden so much he thought George Roberts was going to explode. “Macy was the victim, Mr. Roberts! And we are going to find out who murdered her, with or without your cooperation. If your wife had not denied access to Macy’s room, no warrant would have been necessary.”

  Through gritted teeth, George Roberts spewed, “I’m going to bring such pressure to bear on you and this department that you’re going to think a building landed on you. I work with some very influential people, Lieutenant. You will be hearing more from me, I assure you!” A seething George Roberts stormed out of the office nearly knocking Trace off his feet as he shoved past him.

  “Well, our Mr. Roberts is very wound up. Wonder why he’s so worried about us looking at Macy’s things,” Press grinned.

  “There’s something in that house!” Rachel grinned back at him.

  Press looked at
his Lieutenant. “Sir, why did you authorize that warrant? We hadn’t even had a chance to request one and it was already in our hands.” He noticed the man’s glance briefly land on Rachel.

  “Press, you needed it—you got it! What the hell do I have to do to make people happy around here?” he yelled. “Next thing you know I’ll have the Mayor in here raising hell about ‘good upstanding citizens being harassed’. Well, don’t just stand there—go find out what they’re hiding before we get told not to bother him. I don’t like being threatened in my own office,” the Lieutenant said as he slammed his office door in their faces.

  Rachel and Press just stood there staring at one another.

  27

  Virginia Beach

  Day 4

  10:00 PM

  As Rachel and Press arrived at his house that evening, Press’s phone rang.

  “Oh! Hi, Dad.” Press motioned to Rachel that she should go ahead in and get settled in while he took the call. As she moved toward the kitchen, he turned back to the call. “What’s up?”

  “Preston, what the hell is going on back there? I got a very angry call from George Roberts this afternoon—something about the police department using high-handed measures and searching his recently-murdered daughter’s belongings. VBPD getting a warrant under false pretenses, etc. The man was practically raving—practically, hell—he was raving!”

  “I just bet he was, Dad. George Roberts’ niece, Macy, was murdered, and we weren’t permitted to search the girl’s belongings. We needed to know who she had met the night she was killed.”

  “Dear God, that beautiful young girl that used to spend so much time with Stephanie’s crowd?”

  “Yes, Dad.”

  “So George is putting on pressure to keep you from finding…what?”

  Press sometimes wondered if his dad ever thought about where Press got his skill as a detective. “I can’t go into that, Dad, but, between you and me…we’re not the only ones looking at George. The Feds are looking into him, too.”