by Angela Ford
Mrs. Roberts, the village sweetheart always treated Jess as the daughter she never had. Jess’s eyes filled with tears. There were kind people in this world just like her parents. She had forgotten that. In her area of work, she only saw and dealt with the bad ones who wanted to hurt, not help.
“She’s so sweet to do that for me. I feel bad for not visiting for so long,” Jess said with tears in her eyes.
“It’s okay Jessica, we both understand how difficult it must be for you,” Mr. Roberts replied then he excused himself to get the packages from the car.
Jess watched him go out then turned her focus to her parent’s closed bedroom door, her thoughts of the night they were murdered there. Her heartbeat increased and a tear ran down her cheek as she imagined the fear her parents must have felt. She heard Mr. Roberts return and hoped he hadn’t seen her tears.
“I’ve kept the house as it always was,” Mr. Roberts told her, and Jess understood what he meant. The home had been cleaned up and put back to the way it was prior to that awful night. She was indebted to the Roberts. They always protected her.
“Thank you.”
Mr. Roberts kissed her on the cheek. “Call if you need anything else,” he told her, and then left.
Jess gripped the banister with one hand; her eyes closed, and then slowly climbed the stairs. The steps curved and lead up to her dad’s den.
Once inside, she saw that nothing had been touched. It was as though he was coming back to his desk. When she was a child she would sit on the guest bed in the far corner and watch him work. She loved watching him; he was always so focused. She wasn’t sure what he did. All that her parents would ever say was that Dad was working. It was when she became a teenager that she asked more questions, but only learned that her Dad worked for the government. Jess accepted it—mostly because she was a teenager and absorbed in her own life. She wished she had been more involved in their lives—asked more, and listened more.
Why? Why were they taken from her?
Now having full disclosure of her Dad’s job and what it entailed, she understood why it wasn’t discussed. She had a great deal of respect for her father and his decision to keep that part of him distant. She wasn’t even certain if her mother knew all that his job entailed.
Her fingers flipped through the Day-Timer on his desk. Her left hand reached over to touch his reading glasses. A tear ran down her cheek. Coming back here, after all these years was more strenuous than she had imagined. Selling their family home in Washington years before had been a little easier. They’d only lived in that home for a few years. It was the summer home where family memories were made.
It was close to sunset. She noticed the house beginning to darken and went back downstairs to start a fire, then realized she hadn’t eaten a thing for over twenty-four hours. She still had one thing left to do before she ate—send a text message to Tom that she arrived safe.
Her message was delivered and read in an instant. “That man never stops working,” she said out loud, then set her phone down on the counter. She was making a cup of tea and preparing a plate of the food Mrs. Roberts sent for her, when her phone beeped with a text message.
Good to hear. Take care. I worry.
Jess read the message a few times. Maybe someone would miss her. She just wouldn’t allow it. She knew Tom respected her privacy. She also knew she had feelings for him. She just wished she had the courage to tell him.
Chapter Two
Tom paged the team to meet in the situation room at the FBI’s San Francisco headquarters. The team consisted of four specialized supervisory agents, hand-selected by Tom. They’d been together for almost two years, except Jess who’d been with Tom for three years. Tom’s team was known as the Internet Security Task Force or ISTF. They focused on internet predators that preyed on teenagers. The team was Tom’s family. His wife left years before and his teenage daughter didn’t have much desire for his company, or so he thought.
“I heard from Jess. She arrived at her destination safely. I will update you when I know more.
For now, we will to continue to work the case without Jess,” Tom informed them as he walked into the situation room. The team didn’t question him, but by their expressions, he could tell they were relieved Jess got out alive. The team had no idea where she was headed. They never asked him. He knew they respected his direction and his principles. He hadn’t lost one of the team the night before, that alone was a godsend, but it was his heart that felt most thankful. If only he could admit it out loud.
Some days were longer than others. Tom accepted that and thrived on the tension. It was his life. His career and his ambition left him divorced after his first year of marriage. He saw his daughter Amanda whenever he could, though between his job and the fact that she was now a teenager, made it almost impossible to do. He lived for his job, his ex-wife Nicole said and she was right—he was married to it. In their first year of marriage he was never home. They married in their late-twenties, when Tom was training at the FBI San Francisco office. He felt it was the right thing to do when she became pregnant, but she left him before the baby was even born. He’d been away from home working on a case and didn’t even know she was gone until he finally got home. She was happy now with a man devoted to her and not his job. Tom felt genuinely happy for her.
“Houston, we have a problem…a big problem,” Special Agent Mike Turner announced as he exhaled. He sat back in his chair and pressed his fingers against his forehead.
“What problem Mike,” Tom asked. Mike tossed the tracking update of the UNSUB (unknown subject) across the table to Tom. Tom read the report. The UNSUB had not come back on the chat lines the team had tracked him on. Tom knew all too well that the cat-mouse game was a frustrating one. Special Agent Gina Edwards reached across the table for the report and read it. “Shit! What happened to him? Did he fade into thin air again?”
Tom answered. “It happens. Jess did her best, and if she says so, this is one sick, but clever man. We have to remain focused on locating him. We’ve tracked him this far. Let’s stick to the profile and Mike’s tracker. I need him found. This predator is ready to strike soon.”
Special Agent Eric Matthews sat at the other end of the table working on the computer. When the projector screen lit up, he stood and, walked over and turned off the lights. Pictures of pretty teenage girls filled the screen.
“You’re looking at girls who once had lives, families and bright futures. Now they live on our FBI screen, their devastated families asking those never-ending questions, ‘Why did this happen to our little girl?’ and, ‘How could we have prevented it’?” Eric waved his hand at the screen.
“We’re all frustrated Eric, but we found him once, we will find him again. Our job is to remain focused,” Tom acknowledged the frustration and kept the momentum going. “Now that he knows we’re on to him, we need to open the chat lines up again,” Tom directed. He paced before his team.
“I think his anger may accelerate to retaliatory behavior. He may be motivated with revenge against Jess.” Tom’s thoughts drifted to Agent Resario. Professionally, she was his best agent. Personally, his feelings were getting the best of him. Her struggle with the UNSUB the night before, tore at his heart. He knew Jess would have been his first choice to go undercover at the private school. Jess, almost thirty, looked no more than seventeen. Her long golden hair always pulled back in a simple twist at the back of her neck, enhanced her high cheek bones and allowed her eyes of sapphire to shine vibrantly. Any man passing would take notice. Tom had for years. Now, with her life in danger, he wanted to tell her how he truly felt. He sensed she felt attracted to him—or so he hoped.
However, he needed to shake those thoughts from his mind and take his own advice to remain focused on the case.
“Gina, you will take on the role of a high school senior at the private school in Pres
ario that the girls attended.” Tom assigned the undercover position to her because her physical appearance would fit. He just hoped Jess trained Gina well enough. This would be her first assignment undercover alone without Jess at her side.
“Yes, sir,” Gina replied, and assured him that she would have no problem getting into the popular crowd and would have a report for him within a day or two.
Tom knew from her file that she had been a popular girl in high school and even at twenty-five, could easily portray a teenager. “Just do whatever it takes to find out which girls with that description have counselors, and then try to attract the predator to you.”
Tom sat down and wrote down an address on a piece of paper and handed it to Agent Eric Matthews.
“What am I looking for at this address,” Eric asked.
“That’s your new home in Presario Heights. You will be Mr. Harry Rothburn,” Tom informed him.
“I definitely do not look like Harry Rothburn. That man is a hundred years old,” Eric exclaimed.
“Harry Rothburn Jr. He never became a chip off the old block.” Tom’s grandfather belonged to the same men’s club as Harry Rothburn Sr.
“Harry Sr. is a distinguished gentleman who built his company by starting as a custom tailor in his own home. Fifty years later, he runs the largest chain of men’s suit stores in America. The last heard about Harry Jr. was that he took off to the Mediterranean with a retired Playboy Bunny. His father hasn’t heard from him in the last decade. They cut all ties, but he is a playboy who wants his trust fund. Harry Sr. belongs to the same men’s club as my grandfather. He’s doing me a favor.”
Tom told them and went back to writing notes. Tom had called his grandfather to ask Harry Sr. for the favor. He had met the man a few times and heard from his grandfather that Mr. Rothburn respected Tom for his work with the Bureau. Tom’s grandfather made the call right away and got back to Tom immediately. He told him Mr. Rothburn had no problem helping to save young girls from a predator. He gave Tom his blessing to use his name and the house in Presario Heights that had been given to his son for his twenty-fifth birthday but left empty for almost twenty years now.
“So what’s my role as Harry Jr.,” Eric asked.
“You are the proud daddy of our beloved Gina, now known as Melissa Rothburn. You have your own agenda, always jetting out of town while your spoiled teenage daughter has the run of the house. She’s in her last year of high school and then heading off to Berkley. I trust you two not to let me down and get the results we need to track down this predator, stop him and get Jess back here.” He handed Mike the file he’d made notes in.
“I take it I’m to give the profile to the local police,” Agent Mike Turner asked.
Tom nodded. “I’ll go with you. Meet me downstairs with the car in fifteen minutes.” He looked at the rest of the team. “You all know your jobs, so let’s get to it.”
Back in his office, Tom dialed a number on his untraceable cell. A voice connected at the other end and Tom gave a brief update of their progress and their next steps. The man on the other end of this conversation confirmed Jess’s safe arrival at the beach home and told Tom he would keep watching her so she remained safe. Tom ended the conversation by stating that he would connect again soon. Minutes later, Tom got into the passenger side of the black SUV parked outside headquarters.
Meanwhile, he knew the other members of the team were working on their assigned tasks.
Harry Rothburn Sr. had been generous about not only offering one of his homes, but also two cars, for their undercover use. Eric picked a Mercedes Benz SLR McLaren Roadster in black and was on his way to the house.
Gina chose the Porsche Carrera GT in silver. She went to a store she’d been to with Tom’s teenage daughter, to work on her new look. After her transformation, she would meet Eric at “their” home. The house was a stately Mediterranean secluded by trees. It also boasted panoramic views from all angles of the home. It was a magnificent home with soaring cathedral ceilings, and the numerous windows that complimented natural light throughout the home. It entailed an elegant and traditional mixture of sophisticated gathering rooms with a formal entry.
****
“Didn’t Tom mention Harry Jr. was in the Mediterranean,” Gina asked when she arrived at the house and found Eric looking around.
“Yes. Guess he must love it. Probably why Harry Sr. had this type of house built for him. Maybe he tried to keep his son here,” Eric responded and then laughed.
“What are you laughing at?” Gina asked
“Well, don’t you look like a teenager with attitude written on her forehead?” Eric – replied with sarcasm.
“Thanks,” Gina said. She smiled, knowing she’d made the transformation to a teenage girl well.
Together, Eric as Mr. Rothburn and Gina as Melissa Rothburn would make their debut at the private school to register Melissa Rothburn as a senior. That was the easy part.
Eric slowly turned the car into a tree-covered lane that led to Thornhill’s Private School.
“Looks like a Queen Anne style,” Gina commented. The grounds and the school were an impressive sight with a highly eclectic mix that blended historic Victorian and modern architecture influences.
“And how the hell would you know that?” Eric chuckled, shaking his head at her. He parked and they walked toward the cobblestone steps through the columns that lead inside.
“I took art history at college.” She ignored his sarcasm, as always. “It’s a revival style resembling English buildings of the 18th century,” she added to further irritate him. “Notice the asymmetrical façade, the round polygonal towers, and shaped gables,” she asked him.
“It is a beautiful scene. It reminds me of a painting I saw at the art gallery downtown,” he admitted.
“You were at the art gallery? Since when do you hang out at art galleries?” Gina laughed out loud.
“I had a date who wanted to go there,” Eric admitted. “To me, this looks like a three-story building with a mixture of brick and stone and appears to have some historic look to it with a modern look inside. But the way you describe it, seems more fascinating—just in a language I don’t understand,” he said and laughed.
“That explains it, but thanks for the compliment.” Gina laughed too.
“The school is an amazing piece of history; stylish and impressive and meets the essential needs of our students in today’s society,” an elegant woman with silver hair wrapped in a neat bun, spoke up from behind them.
“Mr. Rothburn, I presume?” the silver-haired woman held out her hand to Eric as he turned.
“Yes, and this is my daughter…” Eric reached out to shake her hand and introduce Gina but the woman cut him off.
“Oh…this must be the lovely Miss Melissa.” She embraced Gina in a barely-there hug and kissed her on both cheeks. Gina stood back.
“Teenagers don’t like us in their personal space, now do they Mr. Rothburn?”
“They don’t.” Eric laughed.
“I’m sorry. Here I am blathering away and forgot my manners. I am Mrs. Jones, Thornhill’s guidance counselor. You know I went to school here myself, just a few years ago.” She winked and then directed them into her office.
“This is the woman the students have to confide in? No wonder they had private counselors,” Eric leaned into Gina and whispered as they followed Mrs. Jones. Gina was eager to become associated with the girls at this school and discover what they needed—and soon.
Back at the Thirty-First Precinct, Tom and Mike spoke briefly with Lieutenant Brock. He then gathered the officers at shift change and directed them to the conference room. Tom introduced himself and Special Agent Mike Turner, and then nodded for Mike to begin.
“Our UNSUB is male, seductive yet sexually indiscriminate. He doesn’t gradually seduce his targets
; he has sexually explicit sites and chat rooms at the click of his mouse. His MO has remained the same in regards to the characteristics of all three victims. They all attended private school in the Bay area. Their parents are wealthy and they all had private counselors in regards to normal teenage issues of peer pressure, boys, drugs and alcohol, and they all believed they had controlling parents. They thought they were venting, plus having fun. The UNSUB took advantage of all this.” Mike briefed the officers.
“Do you have any leads or suspects,” one of the Officers asked.
“We have no DNA. Not a hair or fragment of skin found. We believe he began as a sexual predator and it escalated to murder. There was no semen found on any of the victims. When he was unable to experience joy from ejaculation, he got his sexual thrill from killing his victim. With the second victim, there were signs of rape but none of a condom. The third victim only strangled. His MO changed due to his impotence. He was stopped from his fourth potential victim and now we fear his anger excitation behavior may escalate even further to anger retaliatory behavior.”
“Why so?” Lieutenant Brock questioned from the back of the room.
“One of our agents discovered a new chat line. We thought it was a long shot but she went with her gut and decided to check it out. Hours later, we received a message from her that her suspicion was right. The UNSUB targeted the girl and showed up at the house. It was dark, they struggled, but our agent got out safely. Our worry now is that our agent is at risk,” Mike told them.
“Do you believe he knows your agent?” one of the police officers asked.
Tom stepped forward.
“He wore a balaclava and she could not identify or describe him, but he called her by name. My team educates schools and the community in the Bay area on cyber safety and Internet predators. We believe some predators attend the community seminars. He may have seen her there.”