Stalked

by Allison Brennan

She reset her target and turned to jog back to her station. She was tense as she scanned the crowd, trying to figure out who had eyes on her.

  She spotted Class Supervisor SSA Paula Kean standing with Agent Laughlin right behind Lucy’s station. They hadn’t been there during the first round.

  Laughlin caught her eye, then said something to Kean, who nodded, and glanced at Lucy.

  She swallowed and turned her back on them. Put on her ear and eye protection, checked her weapon, reloaded. Focus on the routine. Focus on what she knew.

  When Kosako cleared them to shoot, Lucy’s muscles froze. She couldn’t shoot if she was this rigid. Her first shot missed the target completely, hitting the dirt hill behind. She mentally ran through her inner procedures to calm herself, but she was now behind everyone else, and that made her more tense. Her neck ached the more she tried to force calm.

  What did Laughlin want from her? What was going on between him and Kate? It was obvious Kate didn’t like him, but she had refused to explain exactly what was going on. Had he threatened Lucy and Kate was trying to protect her? That would only make it worse. Kate should know that.

  Yet all this speculation was only making Lucy more worried. She couldn’t focus and was the last to finish. She knew she’d done poorly.

  Carter leaned over and asked, “What happened?” He looked at her hands. “You’re shaking.”

  She didn’t want to talk about it. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Laughlin watching her, neither smiling nor frowning. Just staring.

  “I choked,” she said.

  “If I hadn’t seen it, I wouldn’t have believed it. I didn’t think anything fazed you.” Carter sounded worried, and while she appreciated his concern, she didn’t want anyone to worry about her. He glanced to where she’d been looking and said, “Is there a problem between you and Laughlin?”

  She sighed and tried to keep the hitch out of her voice. “I don’t know.”

  Kosako finished going through the scores and shook his head. “Saturday morning, everyone will be here at the range for extra practice.”

  He looked directly at Lucy. “I’m surprised, Kincaid, I had high hopes for you after day two. It’s about consistency. And from what I’m seeing, Sanchez is better than you because she’s consistently a bad shot. When your partner is depending on you, are you going to hit or miss? When it’s not fun and games, are you going to choke?”

  Lucy’s chest felt like it would explode with shame and embarrassment. She’d let the pressure of being watched interfere with her performance.

  She stood ramrod straight and said, “I won’t choke again, sir.”

  Kosako said, “Let’s hope you find your comfort zone, because if you shoot like you did today you won’t be around for graduation.”

  She turned to gather her equipment. Usually, cleaning guns with her friends was both fun and social—but when she saw Agent Laughlin staring at her, her stomach sank, and she finished as quickly as possible.

  * * *

  Lucy focused intently on her classes that afternoon in a futile effort to block out her failure at the gun range. The deep concentration left her with a throbbing headache.

  Thirty-two. I got a damn thirty-two!

  That it wasn’t the real qualification test didn’t matter; it was that she’d failed because someone had been watching her. She hadn’t been able to focus on the target, only on why Rich Laughlin disliked her and what it had to do with Kate.

  Four weeks ago when Lucy first walked onto campus, she hadn’t seen anything to make her think that either of the Class 12–14 mentors had an issue with her. Seward was from Denver, Laughlin from Detroit. Laughlin hadn’t been particularly friendly, but he hadn’t been critical, either—not until after she walked in on him and Kate yesterday.

  But did it really matter? She’d allowed his presence to affect her performance and by doing so had jeopardized everything she’d been working so hard for. Who could she blame but herself?

  Because it was still too hot to run, Lucy asked Margo if she wanted to swim, but Margo had plans with Reva for their online course work. Lucy went to the gym and stretched, then worked on free weights, then the punching bag. She was surprised no one was around. Normally at the end of the day a dozen agents from the three classes currently in rotation would be working out, including staff.

  She wanted to swim. In the locker room she changed into her blue one-piece Speedo, then redressed in her shorts and gray T-shirt with her last name stenciled on the back. It was against the rules to swim without a partner, and she hoped to find someone when she got to the pool.

  She opened the door—empty.

  “Dammit.”

  “You weren’t planning on swimming alone, I hope.” Harden’s voice behind her made her jump.

  “No, sir.” She closed the door. “I’d hoped someone was already inside.”

  “You want to swim that badly?”

  She didn’t know what to say. If she said yes, he’d think she was reckless and would have gone in alone until she saw him. If she said no, he’d think she was wishy-washy or lying.

  Instead, she said, “Swimming is a stress reliever.”

  From the small twitch at the corner of his lips, he hadn’t expected the answer. Sean would call that his “tell,” a physical sign of either lying or surprise.

  “I have some time.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The humidity in the room hit Lucy like it always did, warm and thick, but she’d gotten used to it since being here.

  “I won’t be long,” she said.

  “Take your time. Want me to time you?”

  She raised an eyebrow. “I planned to relax, not compete, sir.”

  He seemed mildly disappointed but nodded and walked over to the mats and free weights in the corner, checking for wear and damage.

  Lucy removed her outer clothes and dove into the water, the temperature a few degrees warmer than she preferred. Soon her body adjusted and she swam perfectly centered in the middle row. The pool was half Olympic length at eighty-two meters, a good practice size. She’d been on the swim team in high school and college, had been good enough to try out for the Olympics, but her heart hadn’t been in it after everything that had happened when she graduated from high school. Still, water was the one constant in her life, from her time before Adam Scott and his cronies raped and nearly killed her to now. She was certified in water search and rescue and had recertified earlier this year.

  She had to find a way to ignore Agent Laughlin, but the more she thought about him the more she realized that something was up with Kate. Kate had said Bureau politics, and Lucy wanted nothing to do with jockeying for power. She just wanted her badge and a position. She’d earned it, and she couldn’t let someone else’s game stop her.

  And then there was Harden, who had forced her into the center of attention yesterday. But Harden had to be tough on them because it was his job to make sure they were all fit when they left. It wasn’t personal with him.

  As she realized the difference between what Harden did yesterday and how Laughlin made her feel today, she realized that it was personal with Laughlin. That she’d solved one problem but now faced another, bigger issue irritated her. She swam harder, focusing on the fluidity of the water, her breathing, and her strokes.

  And she realized that in the back of her mind was the murder of Rosemary Weber.

  What if she was digging into my past? What if she planned to write a book about what happened to me?

  No one Lucy cared about would have talked to the woman and so much about what had happened to Lucy was still sealed, but that didn’t mean Weber couldn’t have made Lucy’s life a living hell trying to dig up the facts. And because Lucy’s rape had been shown on the Internet, there were still digital files out there. She’d never truly be free of her past.

  That Weber had been murdered left Lucy feeling guilty, with relief that was short-lived. Rosemary Weber wasn’t the only true crime writer out there. What if she had a
partner? What if her notes were passed on to another writer?

  There was nothing Lucy could do to change what might happen, and that, coupled with the watchful eyes of Rich Laughlin, had combined to throw Lucy off her game today.

  She couldn’t let it happen again.

  Her 32 on the range was her own damn fault, not Laughlin’s or Kate’s or Rosemary Weber’s. Lucy had allowed Laughlin to get into her head. Ninety-three was her best, but she would work her ass off to get a perfect score. She’d match the soldiers in her class as if she’d been trained in the military herself. When the real test came up, she was going to ace it, because she knew she could do it. She had to.

  If she allowed stress to affect her shooting or her ability to handle physical challenges like the pull-ups, she didn’t deserve to be an agent.

  After twenty laps of regular strokes, she flipped and did ten laps of backstrokes. Her muscles burned and she realized she’d slacked off on her swimming regimen. She used to be able to do the backstroke with ease, but it used different muscles, muscles she hadn’t used in a long while. She finished her workout with two easy laps and climbed out of the pool. Her heart raced; she felt invigorated and alive.

  That’s when Lucy felt Harden looking at her.

  “What?” she asked.

  “You’re good.”

  “I know,” she said, then added modestly, “I was on the swim team in college.”

  He nodded. “Could have gone to the Olympics, had you wanted.”

  “If you knew, why’d you ask?”

  “Why didn’t you?”

  She shrugged. “Not sure I would have made it. I never tried to qualify.”

  “You don’t seem like a quitter to me.”

  She didn’t like that he was trying to analyze her or her motivations.

  She grabbed her towel and dried off. “Can I speak freely, sir?”

  He nodded.

  “The pull-ups yesterday were unfair and unwarranted. Were they a test? To see how I handle stress?” Maybe that was Laughlin’s game as well—to see how she handled the pressure. But then what were he and Kate arguing about?

  Harden shrugged, looked like he was going to walk out without saying anything, then changed his mind. “You’re smart enough to get through these nineteen weeks. You’re physically fit, and I have no doubt you’ll pass the PT test with one of the top scores. But the Academy is not just about written or physical tests. Neither is this chosen career. Don’t ever forget it.”

  That was a long-winded yes.

  “Thank you, sir.”

  He smiled, the first genuine smile she’d seen from Harden since she’d been here. “If you need a partner to swim in the future, let me know. It’s obviously good for you.”

  * * *

  After her shower, she found a message on her cell phone from Tony Presidio.

  “Lucy, call me. It’s important.”

  He’d left the message nearly an hour ago, at three thirty. She quickly dressed and called him back.

  “I just got your message.”

  “Have you read the file I gave you?”

  “Most of it. Is something wrong?”

  “I need to see my notes. Something’s nagging me and I can’t remember what. I’m flying back tonight instead of tomorrow morning. I’ll be at Quantico about nine thirty. I’ll call you when I get there.”

  “Did you learn something about Rosemary Weber?”

  “All her research and notes from the Rachel McMahon investigation are gone. She’d archived them at the Columbia University library, but the file box has disappeared. They believe it was just misplaced, but I’m certain it was stolen.”

  “Why?”

  “I have no idea, but there’s something at the edge of my memory that I’m hoping my notes will jar loose.”

  “Do you think Weber’s murder has something to do with a fifteen-year-old crime, and not her research into the Cinderella Strangler?”

  “I thought she was killed because of something she had already written, not what she was researching; and with the McMahon files gone, all fingers point to that case as being important. If you can finish reading her books tonight and put together the list of people who may have a reason to kill her, send it to both Madeaux and me, but the McMahon case is the priority.”

  “I will.” She’d eat in her room and finish the material before he returned tonight.

  “For the time being, keep this between you and me. I’ll clear it with your supervisor when I get back.”

  CHAPTER TWELVE

  New York City

  Rob Banker was seventy and, aside from wrinkles around his mouth and eyes, looked surprisingly fit for being a smoker. He agreed to meet with Tony and Suzanne provided they talk outside where he could light up.

  Suzanne hated cigarette smoke. She’d smoked through high school and college, quitting only when she entered the FBI Academy. Being around cigarettes, even after ten years, always made her crave just one. But one would quickly turn into a pack and she’d be back to her old habits.

  “Rosie was a good egg,” Rob said. “If I was twenty years younger.” He took a long drag on his Marlboro.

  “This conversation is off-the-record, Banker,” Suzanne said.

  “Why?”

  “Because you’re writing articles for the damn paper and I don’t want my questions getting in print.”

  He grinned. “And I don’t want to be decked.”

  Suzanne glared at the reporter. “I’ll bring you to the Bureau and you’ll miss your deadline.”

  “Fine, off-the-record.” He exhaled, and let out the smoke in a long, angled puff.

  “She had a meeting scheduled with you the night she died,” Suzanne said. She didn’t know for certain that it was Banker, but he’d either confirm or deny.

  “She canceled on me. We were supposed to meet at nine thirty at Gilly’s, the bar where we usually meet.”

  “Any specific reason for the meeting?”

  He shrugged. “To talk. Rosemary doesn’t trust a lot of people, but she and I go way back, and she bounced ideas off me. She called Monday morning and said she wanted to talk about the book—”

  “The book she’s writing about the Cinderella Strangler,” Tony said to confirm.

  Rob grinned. “I coined the phrase.”

  Suzanne glared at him. “The victims were suffocated.”

  He shrugged, puffed on his cigarette a couple times, took his time to answer. “I said as much in every article. It’s what sticks. And it gave the story legs, helped get the word out to potential victims to watch out.”

  Suzanne wanted to argue with him, but Tony asked, “Did she tell you why she was canceling?”

  “Not really. I wish I’d asked her.” He seemed sincere.

  “What did she say?”

  “Only that she was checking out a lead on an informant.”

  “Informant? Like a criminal informant?”

  “No—she meant someone in law enforcement who was willing to talk off the record.”

  “Don’t you call those people sources?”

  “Usually, but Rosie had a sense of humor. She liked to call cops informants.”

  “So she was meeting with a cop?”

  “Not necessarily—could have been a secretary, a dispatcher, even a janitor, anyone who worked for NYPD, really. Or maybe, because the case was federal, someone in your own house.”

  Suzanne doubted that, but Tony looked like he believed it. “Anything else?” Tony asked. “Did she have any sense that she was being followed, that she could be in danger?”

  “Not that she told me. But I only talked to her a couple times a month. Her sister would probably know more.”

  They’d already asked Bridget Weber the same question. Suzanne said, “What about threatening letters?”

  “Nothing she shared with me,” he said. “I assume you’ve talked to her new assistant.”

  Suzanne nodded but didn’t give the reporter any other details. She gave Rob her card. �
�Let me know if anything comes up.”

  “I’d like to run a quote from you for the article I’m writing on the investigation.”

  “I suppose ‘no comment’ isn’t good enough.”

  “Nope.” He put out the stub of his cigarette in a can that was just for the smokers.

  “I don’t have authorization to talk to you.”

  “Can you confirm a couple things?”

  She growled, “Depends.”

  “I’ll make it easy. ‘A source at the Bureau confirmed…’”

  “Still depends.”

  “DeLucca has the case.”

  “Yes.”

  “She was robbed.”

  “Yes.”

  “But you don’t think it was a robbery. You think it was related to the book she’s writing.”

  “No comment.”

  “Come on, Suzanne; give me something.”

  “I’m not playing Clue with you.”

  Tony said, “I’ll give you something, but you need to word it the way I tell you.”

  Suzanne didn’t like Tony stepping in without consulting her, even though he did have seniority.

  “Sure,” Rob said. He took out his notepad.

  “Write: ‘A source high up in the Bureau said Weber’s killer took her jewelry and purse in an effort to mislead police as to the motive for the murder. According to an FBI profiler, the murder was personal and the victim knew her killer. The jewelry is probably at the bottom of Flushing Bay, the source said.’”

  “Okay, okay,” Rob said, writing frantically. “And is it related to the Cinderella Strangler case? A relative of one of the victims?”

  “Where the hell did you get that stupid idea?” Suzanne said, her temper exploding. Where do reporters come up with this shit?

  Tony said, “Rob, listen to me—don’t say anything else. Just that the police know it was staged to look like a robbery.”

  “Okay, off-the-record, was it someone related to this book she was writing?”

  “No,” Tony said. “It wasn’t.”

  That threw Rob for a loop. “Then who?”

  “If your story tomorrow leads to us identifying the killer,” Tony said, “I’ll make sure our media officer talks to you first.”

  Rob was skeptical but seemed to trust Tony.