Angie allowed Aunt Eileen and Uncle Leland to hug her, and when Donovan seemed ready to step in for the same, she held out her puppy to him and said, “Isn’t she cute?”
Donovan gave the dog a tentative pat on the head. “Very.”
Sydney stifled a grin, putting her arm around her sister’s shoulder. “Let’s all go inside. It’s chilly out here.”
“Oh, Leland,” her aunt said, stopping them. “Run to the car and get that box of photos for Sydney.”
Her uncle returned to the car, and Aunt Eileen linked her arm through Sydney’s, saying, “I found the most wonderful photos of your father for you. I thought you might like to have them, maybe start a scrapbook.”
“Thank you,” she said, as they walked to the front door.
“I’m sure your mother must have some stored away. You should ask her for them.”
“Ask me for what?” her mother said, kissing Eileen’s cheek as she stepped in.
“Photos of Kevin. I think Sydney should start a scrapbook.”
Her mother smiled that vacant smile of hers. “I’ll put the kettle on for your tea, Eileen.”
Eileen followed her mother into the kitchen, then helped set the table. Uncle Leland and Donovan were discussing the election process, and Jake and Carillo raided the fridge for beer, while Angie attempted to teach her puppy sign language, saying, “Sit,” and pushing Sarge’s little rump down as she made the sign, bringing her palm upward. Eventually she put Sarge in her box, then came out to stand by Sydney in the living room. She looked back at Carillo, who was busy talking about fishing with Jake, and she whispered, “You two guys aren’t going out, are you?”
“No,” Sydney said. “He’s here for the free food.” “That’s good. Because I helped make the cake. It’s sort of lopsided. If you were going out, I’d at least want to give him one from a bakery, or something.”
“He won’t mind,” Sydney said, as the doorbell rang. Jake walked over, opened the front door. “Hey, Scotty.
Didn’t expect-”
“-me to miss Angie’s birthday. I know. Just had to drop by, since I was in town.”
Sydney glanced over at Carillo, who gave her a didn’tknow-he-was-coming shrug. Or something close to that, she supposed.
Scotty walked over to where she and Angie stood. “Happy birthday, squirt,” he said, handing her a business envelope, preprinted from the FBI.
“An official ID card?” she asked.
“Last I checked, your dad wanted you to be a ballerina.” “A doctor,” she said, rolling her eyes. “I want to be in the
FBI. Now if this were an application…?”
He laughed. “Sorry. Just a little money to buy that new pup of yours a real dog bed.”
“Thank you! How’d you know I have a new dog?” “Your mom told me.”
She smiled, reached up, gave him a hug. “I didn’t even know you were here. I thought-”
“I wanted to surprise you.”
“You did!” She ran off to show her mom what Scotty had given her, and then Carillo got into the act, saying he, too, had a gift.
The moment she was out of earshot, Sydney asked Scotty,
“What are you really doing here?”
“Can’t I come by to give Angie a gift?”
Someone had let Sarge out of her box, because the puppy came scurrying out of the kitchen, sliding on the hardwood floor. Scotty glanced past her when Donovan Gnoble, her aunt, and her mother laughed at the puppy’s antics, and it hit her why he’d suddenly shown up. Scotty, Mr. Fast Track to the Top, had always been inordinately fascinated by her family’s connection to the senator. He’d just never been able to arrange a meeting until now, apparently. And sure enough, he made a beeline to her mother, who introduced him.
If anyone could make something out of that connection, Scotty could, she thought, then chanced to glance over at Sarge, who looked ready to squat on the floor. “No!”
Sydney scooped her up, rushed her into the kitchen and out the side door. She lowered the puppy to the ground, then stood there, while Sarge waddled about, sniffing at the grass, and then the pansies.
A moment later, her mother walked out, gave an exaggerated sigh. “I think she’s too young to take care of a dog.”
“She’ll be fine, Mom.”
“But apparently you won’t? Why else would you need to run off to some prison?”
It seemed her mother was not going to let them get past this issue. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have told you I was going to the prison. I didn’t realize it would hurt you this much.”
“Hurt me?” Her mother crossed her arms, looked away. “My God, Sydney, I can’t even understand what possessed you to do such a thing.”
Part of her wanted to shout out that her mother had another husband, a new family, but her father would be lost to her forever. She bit her tongue. Her mother had married Jake, and he’d always been there for her. For both of them. And there was Angie, full of life and love, the sister Sydney couldn’t imagine living without… “I can’t explain it, Mom. And I don’t expect you to understand it. Going to San Quentin was just something I felt I had to do.”
Angie bounced out the door, wearing her new FBI tee. “Where’s San Quentin? What did you have to do?”
“Nothing, sweetheart,” her mother said, then threw a look at Sydney that seemed to shout: See the problems you’re causing?
Angie narrowed her gaze, but before she could ask any further questions, Carillo called out from the dining room, “Hey, Angie. Come show me that shirt,” and off she went.
“Mom, please… I said I was sorry. But he was my father. His history is mine. I know absolutely nothing about what he did before he opened that pizza parlor.”
Her mother looked away, and in a strained whisper said, “Some things are best left buried.”
Sydney bent down, picked up Sarge to bring her back inside. But then her mother offered a wan smile and, surprising her, gave her a hug, then took Sarge from her arms as they walked inside. “I know I’m being silly, just wanting to protect you from bad memories,” she said, setting Sarge inside her box. “Of course you want to know about your father. And I’m sure all this talk about photos and your aunt’s scrapbooking makes you want to do something yourself.”
“Well, yes,” Sydney said, grabbing on to that idea for all it was worth. “I even have an old photo I was hoping you could look at, see who was in it. For the scrapbook.”
When her mother didn’t balk outright, Sydney walked over to her purse, still on the floor next to Sarge’s box. She glanced into the dining room, watched as Angie pirouetted about in her new shirt, while the men talked about the old Chris-Craft boat Jake was refurbishing in the garage. Figuring they’d be occupied for a few minutes on that topic alone, she slid the photo from the envelope. “I don’t suppose you know anyone from this, do you?”
Her mother had just opened up the dishwasher to put away the clean dishes, then looked over. “Of all the pictures for your album, do you really want that one?”
“Why? What is it?”
“With the exception of your father and Uncle Don, a bunch of jerks, from what I remember. They thought they were God’s gift to the military. What did they call themselves…” She slid a glass into the cupboard, but her gaze was fixed out the window, then, with a sound of disgust, said, “The Posse. That was it. You want my advice,” she said, reaching into the dishwasher for another glass, “leave that photo out.”
“But who are they?”
“They worked with your father taking photos for those recruiting posters. He loved that job… They were always flying off to some exciting locale to get the best shot of someone jumping out of a helicopter, or blowing up something to make it look real. That’s how your father lost his fingers, you know. Those idiots he worked with set real charges instead of the fake ones for the photo. Thank God he was smart enough to get out and start his own business. As for their names, I have no idea.”
“Did anyone ever me
ntion that Dad was in Delta Force?”
Her mother stilled. “What on earth are you talking about? He took photographs.” With a glance toward the dining room, she resumed putting glasses away.
“Was Dad doing some special ops thing for the army?”
“Special photographs, maybe. Why are you asking this? Where did you get that photo?”
Sydney would have preferred a direct answer, not a stalling technique. Then again, her mother was always trying to prolong a simple conversation into a bonding talk, and perhaps it was nothing more than that. “Just trying to put names to faces,” she said as the men walked in, apparently on their way to the garage to look at the boat.
Sydney’s mother seemed to pale, and it occurred to Sydney that she’d known all along about the special ops thing. “That’s why you said he wasn’t a saint?”
But before her mother could answer, Angie skipped over to take the dog from her box, then looked at the photo. “Wow! Army guys! Dad! It’s like when you were in the army.”
Jake looked over, saw the photo, his gaze narrowing. Before he said a word, Donovan Gnoble walked up, saw it. “Where’d you get that old thing?” he asked, taking it from Sydney.
Carillo gave a subtle nod toward Scotty. She looked, saw him standing there, leaning against the doorway as though nothing were amiss-if one didn’t know him. His gaze held hers, his blue eyes cold, hard. He wasn’t here for the lofty climb up the ladder after all, she realized, and she looked away, smiled at the senator. “You know, it’s the funniest thing. I just found it in some old album I had bouncing around my closet. I probably dumped it in there years ago, forgot all about it.” The room grew silent, the undercurrents palpable. “So… that was back when my dad used to take photos for those posters?”
“That’s what he did.” Donovan Gnoble stared at the picture. “Talk about your blast from the past. This thing’s so old, I barely recognize myself, especially without my goatee.”
She was in it this far, so she said, “Someone told me these guys look like they’re in Delta Force.”
He shook his head, laughed. “I think I’d know if that was the case.”
“Then who are those guys?”
“Other than your father… oh, and William, of course,” he said, pointing to McKnight. “Who knows about the other two… But if you’d like, I can take it, ask around next time I meet up with some of the guys at the VA.”
“That’s okay,” Sydney said, holding out her hand for the photo.
Donovan handed it over, almost reluctantly she thought, and then he smiled, looked at his watch. “I’ve really got to get going. I have a cocktail party back in the city I promised I’d attend.”
Sydney’s mother said, “It was so nice of you to stop by, Donovan.”
“Wouldn’t have missed it for the world.” He looked around for Angela, but she’d disappeared into the den to give Sarge another lesson on sign language, and so he shook hands with Carillo, and then Scotty. “Nice to meet both of you. If you ever need anything, just give me a call.”
And Scotty smiled broadly. “It was a real pleasure. Thanks.”
“Angie, honey,” Jake said. “Come say good-bye to Uncle Don.”
“Good-bye, Uncle Don!” she called out, not bothering to emerge for his departure. “Sit. Sarge! No!”
Donovan didn’t wait around to learn what dire emergency Sarge had created, but whatever it was, Angie resolved it by the time the cake was served. And yet no one but Angie seemed to be talking, as though the photo was some dreaded talisman that everyone knew existed, and no one could speak of. Sydney wanted to ask what the hell was up with it, but Scotty’s look quelled her to silence, and for once, she decided it might be best to follow his lead. A little after nine, Jake glanced up at the clock. “Time for bed, Angie.”
“But I need to finish training Sarge.”
“Sarge needs her rest,” he said, despite that Sarge was busy trying to get out of her box, and whining pitifully. “Say good night to our guests.”
“Dad…”
And Sydney, realizing she had a plane to catch in a couple of hours, said, “We have to get going anyway.”
“That’s right,” Carillo said, standing. “Big day tomorrow. Gotta go out and catch bad guys.”
Angie’s eyes lit up. “I am so gonna be one of you guys when I grow up.”
“You are so not,” Jake said. “Now kiss your sister and get in the bath.” Sarge gave a little yelp, and when Angie hesitated, her father crossed his arms. “Bath. I’ll get the dog.”
Angie gave Sydney a hug and a kiss. She moved to Scotty next, held out her hand and said, “Thank you for the money. I hope you can come over again.”
Scotty shook her hand. “I hope so, too. It’s always great to see you.”
And then, as she let go, she beamed a smile at Carillo. “I love my FBI shirt. I hope you can come over again, too.”
Carillo smiled back, ruffled her hair, and said, “Me too. Good night, Angie.”
Sydney gave her mother and Jake a hug, then followed the others out.
Scotty stopped at the curb, patting his pocket. “Left my keys inside. I’ll be right back.”
When he started toward the house, she grabbed his arm. “I hope you plan on explaining what you’re doing here.”
“Actually, that’s why I came over tonight. I just didn’t realize you, uh, weren’t going to be alone.” He glanced at Carillo.
“It was an unexpected invitation,” Carillo said. “From her sister.”
“Get to the point, Scotty.”
“Maybe I can give you a ride home? Tell you on the way?”
“Sure. Go get your keys.” Scotty returned to the house, and she faced Carillo. “I’m assuming you can find your way home from here?”
“Somehow I’ll manage.” Carillo opened up his car and took out something from the center console, a white envelope, which he handed to her. “In case I don’t see you again tonight. This is the contact information for a friend of mine who works in the Houston field office, Dr. Vincent Pettigrew.”
Sydney took the envelope, eyed it as though she had serious doubts. “I’d rather keep the number of people who know about this to a minimum.”
“This way you don’t have to rent a car. Less of a paper trail, and he’s just what you want. Like me, he doesn’t give a rat’s ass about being promoted. More importantly, unlike me, Vince is getting ready to retire any day. I told him to expect your call as soon as you touch down in Houston.”
“How much did you tell him?”
“The basics. Enough to know why you’re making the quick stop to the little town of Webster. You can trust him.”
“Okay.”
“Do me a favor, though? Make it look good in Webster, because if there’s one thing I hate, it’s sitting in front of someone from OPR, trying to explain things that, in their eyes, don’t have shit to do with what we’re supposed to be doing.”
The agents who worked OPR, Office of Professional Responsibility, were the internal affairs watchdogs of the Bureau, doing their best to make sure no one stepped out of line, and ready to quash them if they did. “I’ll make it look good. Promise. And thanks. I owe you.”
“No mush. I should’ve stated that up front.” He stood there, looked at her over the top of his car. “And don’t worry. Soon as I get home, I’m cracking open your father’s case. If you want to talk later
…”
She gave a sigh, looked back at the house, saw Scotty speaking to Jake inside. “I’ll try to call you. Let you know what’s going on.”
“Yeah, sure,” he said, then got into the car, starting it up.
She shoved the envelope into her purse. A moment later, Scotty walked out, tossing his keys in his hand. He waved as Carillo drove off.
“So what’d you want to tell me?” she asked.
“How about we talk when we get to your place?”
“How about we talk now.”
“Syd, you have to trust me on this.”
Right. She got in his car. When they were well away from her mother’s house, she said, “You’re working a case on Senator Gnoble, aren’t you?”
“I really think we should talk about it when we get to your place.”
“You showed up to my little sister’s birthday working a case? My God, Scotty. How low can you sink?”
“A lot lower than that.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I made a bad decision.” He glanced into his rearview mirror, then looked over at her. “I thought it was the right thing to do at the time, but-”
“But what?”
“… I was wrong.”
If Scotty was anything, he was meticulous. He planned out every move. Not only did he not like to make a mistake, he hated to admit it. And that had her worried. “About what?”
He said nothing, just kept eyeing the rear and side view mirrors.
“Just tell me, for God’s sake. Before I get out and walk home.” An empty threat, since they were now hurtling down the freeway.
He took a breath, both hands gripping the steering wheel. And then, in a voice so quiet she had to lean toward him to hear, he said, “We have reason to believe someone is trying to place a hit on you.”
20
Sydney stared for several seconds, certain she’d heard wrong. He looked over at her, then back to the road. “A hit? As in someone’s trying to kill me?”
“We’re taking all precautions.”
“Well, let me breathe a big sigh of relief.” Bastard. It took several seconds to cool off enough to even think clearly. Scotty’s sudden appearance at her mailbox, the way he seemed to caution her about how she came into possession of that photo, his surprise visit to her sister’s party… Her first instinct, a right hook to his chin, was not a good idea while he was driving. That could wait until after they’d parked. “How long have you known about this?”
“We got wind of it right after we learned that McKnight mailed you the photo.”
“So the photo started it.”
Face of a Killer Page 15