Vanishing Act

by Linsey Lanier

  At last he began to speak in a low quiet tone. “I loved your mother with all my heart, Russell. But our marriage wasn’t always easy. There came a time when I was absorbed in business, away a good bit, and she was lonely. When Evelyn came along, I thought she’d be happier. She was for a while. She loved your sister. We both did.”

  Why was he talking about Parker’s mother? Miranda watched Parker reach for his wineglass.

  Then he got to his feet and took it across the room and stood at the credenza. “What is this leading to, Father?”

  Mr. P raised a hand. “Just let me say it. Your mother and I began to fight. On the phone, when I wasn’t at home. In the bedroom, when I was. She came to my office one time and we had an argument all the employees could overhear through the door.”

  Miranda watched Parker’s face turn to granite. Mr. P was painting a picture of his mother he’d never seen before. One he didn’t like.

  “We decided to separate for a time. I took a room at Parker Towers and began working all hours of the day and night to keep my mind off my failing marriage. I began to travel. Nashville, Chicago, New York. And then I had an extended business deal in Boston.”

  Boston. The word went straight through Miranda’s heart.

  “I was looking at a property in construction in Mission Hill when I got a cut from one of the girders. It wasn’t serious, but I went to a clinic for a tetanus shot to be sure. I met a young woman there. Her name was Rose. She worked as a clerk. She was lovely, and so very kind to me. I was touched. I couldn’t get her out of my mind.”

  Miranda tensed. She could guess what was coming next.

  “I called her and took her to dinner. I was lonely. She was, too. I saw her quite a few times during the weeks I was there.”

  From across the room Miranda could feel Parker’s chest rumble.

  Mr. P was quiet for several long moments.

  At last Parker drained his wineglass and set it on the credenza with a hard clink. “Are you telling me you had an affair with this woman, Father?”

  Slowly Mr. P turned around. He looked his son straight in the eye. “Yes, Russell. That’s what I’m telling you.”

  The temperature in the room seemed to drop twenty degrees.

  Miranda couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t believe it. She knew Mr. P had been a ladies’ man after Parker’s mother passed away, but she never thought he’d cheated on her.

  She turned to Mr. P, suddenly not knowing what to think of the man. “What happened?”

  Mr. P didn’t take his eyes off his son. “The project fell through and I returned to Atlanta. Eventually your mother and I made up. Forgive me, Russell.”

  Parker drew in a tight breath. “It’s my mother who would have to forgive you.”

  “She did.”

  “She knew?” Parker seemed angrier about that than his father’s indiscretion.

  Mr. P started across the room to Parker, then thought better of it and stopped himself. “Yes, I told her. I tried to hide if for years, but eventually it came out. We almost divorced over it, but she was carrying you at the time. Finally we put our differences aside and tried to make our marriage work. I worked less and spent more time at home. I never cheated on her again. Ever. I swear it, Russell.”

  Parker seemed unimpressed with Mr. P’s contrition.

  Miranda pressed a hand to her head. “Mr. P, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “Yes.” Mr. P turned to her as if she were the only one who would listen to him. “I never heard from Rose again. She never contacted me after I left Boston. But if she had told me she was pregnant, I would have sent her support.”

  Miranda drew in a breath to steady herself. “You think she got pregnant by you, but didn’t contact you.”

  “Yes.”

  “So you’re saying—”

  “Yes. Yes.” His voice was filled with anguish. “Your man in Boston who looks like Russell—”

  She squeezed her eyes and once again saw that well-dressed figure on the smoky hill in LA. “Could be your son.”

  “Yes.”

  Across the room, Parker let out a bark of disgust. “This is ridiculous, Father. I don’t know what possessed you to tell us these things. You’ve only added stress to a trying day with your confession.”

  He was in denial.

  Mr. P stared at his son, and Miranda thought she could cut the vitriol in the room with a knife. This must have been what it was like when Parker had had so many battles with his father as a teen.

  After a long moment, Mr. P drew in a breath and straightened his coat. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Russell. I’ll leave you in peace.”

  And he walked to the door and left without another word.

  Chapter Fifty-Three

  Miranda went limp on the sofa, her mind reeling.

  Mr. P cheated on Parker’s mother years ago? How could he do such a thing? Parker worshipped his mother. She’d died when he was sixteen. His most precious possession was her diamond-and-sapphire ring, which he’d given to Miranda as an engagement ring.

  It was sitting at home in their safe. She never wore it on a case. She couldn’t bear the thought of losing it. What would that ring mean to them now?

  She closed her eyes and tried to objectively envision the man she’d seen through the smoke in Los Angeles. Was that really Parker’s half-brother?

  She couldn’t even process the idea. All she knew was they had to do something.

  She looked over at her husband, who was still standing at the credenza. “Whoever he is, we have to go after this guy, Parker. We have to find him.”

  Parker remained silent.

  “If Mr. P is right, if this guy is the head of Group 141—”

  Parker glared at her. “Group 141 is a self-generating monster machine. Like roaches, the more you kill, the more they come back.”

  She blinked, stunned at his response. “Right. And the only way to stop them for good is to find the leader. The real head of the group.”

  Parker went to the coffee table and picked up the Chianti bottle.

  Miranda wasn’t sure whether he wanted to drain the rest of its contents or hurl it across the room.

  He set it back down. “What my father said tonight has nothing to do with Group 141. He has an overactive imagination, as well as an overactive libido.”

  She understood he was hurt and angry. But that didn’t change the situation.

  “Whoever he is, I think this guy in Boston is the one who’s been trying to kill us all along. We need to stop him.”

  “We don’t know that.”

  “I think we do. We need to—”

  “We need to go home.”

  She couldn’t believe her ears. “Home? We can’t just—”

  “We’re going home, Miranda,” he commanded, his look as icy as the décor. “Tonight.”

  He turned and marched into the bedroom.

  Tonight?

  Okay, she got that he didn’t want to stay another night in the same hotel as his father. She couldn’t blame him for that, but he wasn’t thinking clearly.

  She followed him into the bedroom and went to where he stood at the closet, pulling out a garment bag.

  She touched his arm. “Parker, why don’t we get some rest? We’re both exhausted. Once we’ve had some sleep we’ll be able to think of a way to go after this guy from Boston.”

  He put the bag back on the rack and turned to her with a hard gaze. “If this man in Boston is after us, if he wants a fight, let him come. But we’ll fight him on our own turf. I won’t let us be drawn into some trap again.”

  Again his words stung her. “What are you saying? Are you giving up?”

  Without answering he turned back to the garment bag and began packing his suits into it.

  She couldn’t believe it. This wasn’t like Parker at all. “Isn’t it our job to hunt down vicious criminals? Isn’t that what we just did in Ukraine?”

  “My priority now is keeping my team safe.”
He reached for their suitcases, brushed past her, and opened them on the bed.

  He hadn’t said “her” team. And he hadn’t mentioned keeping her safe. He knew what her reaction would be to that.

  She followed him to the bed. “Are you saying we shouldn’t have gone to Los Angeles?”

  He moved to the chest and began emptying drawers. “We shouldn’t have been so short-sighted. We should have called Sloan at the beginning. He could have handled it.”

  Miranda wondered how that would have turned out.

  “Parker—”

  “Miranda.” He turned to face her. “In Los Angeles we barely escaped with our lives. It was the same in Ukraine. It’s time to let Sloan go after this criminal organization.”

  He carried clothes to the bed.

  She watched the lines in Parker’s face as he frowned at the clothes he was packing. He looked tired. As if he’d aged five years after what he’d been through tonight.

  He was trying to hide it, but she could see he was crushed. He’d always tried to give her a sense of family. Now his own family was crumbling to pieces before his eyes. What would Evelyn say about this?

  Of course. He couldn’t deal with a case now. Not even if it involved the leader of Group 141.

  And it wasn’t worth fighting over. Not right now. Not after that revelation.

  Right now, all she felt was her intense love for him.

  She went to the closet and grabbed her own garment bag. “All right, Parker. We’ll go home.”

  Chapter Fifty-Four

  They caught a redeye, and four and a half hours later were back in Parker’s penthouse, in his big comfy bed, their arms wrapped around each other.

  After having had a little time to process things, Parker seemed calmer now.

  He hadn’t said much on the flight. He had pushed his father’s confession into the recesses of his mind, as people often did when they got bad news. Miranda knew it would take days before he could think rationally about it.

  He opened his eyes and gave her his suave smile. “Did I tell you what a valiant warrior you are?”

  He was coming back to her, for the moment anyway.

  She grinned back. “It’s nice to hear. You’re not so bad yourself.”

  He lifted an arm and brushed her hair away from her face. “I’m very glad you did so well in your training classes.”

  She laughed. “I’d say we’ve both advanced pretty far since then.”

  He smiled, this time soberly. “I love you, Miranda Steele.”

  “And I love you.” She scooted close and kissed him.

  Then she watched him as he closed his eyes and his breathing grew heavy.

  Time for a rest. A well deserved one.

  Once again, she thought about what Parker had said about retiring. She definitely wasn’t ready for that, but they’d figure that out later. They’d figure out what to do about his father and about the man in Boston, too. Right now, all she wanted to do was bask in his love.

  And that was exactly what she would do.

  She snuggled down under the covers and laid her head on Parker’s shoulder.

  Feeling confident that together they could face whatever might come, she closed her eyes and fell asleep.

  Chapter Fifty-Five

  After finishing his paperwork at Metropolitan Correctional Center, Simon Sloan took the redeye back to Washington, D.C., caught a few hours sleep in the sparsely furnished studio apartment he rarely used, and was at the J. Edgar Hoover building bright and early the next day.

  He went through security and headed to the third floor and the office of Special Agent Barnabas Cooley.

  He knocked.

  “Come in,” the man inside said.

  Sloan entered the office.

  It was a utilitarian space. Plain white walls. Standard issue desk, holding little besides a name plate, a pen set, and a coffee mug with the Washington Wizards logo. On the wall behind the desk was a photo of the president and the FBI seal. A bookcase on the opposite wall held Law books and volumes on Military History.

  Standing at attention, Sloan saluted the man at the desk. “Special Agent Sloan reporting as requested, sir.”

  Cooley grimaced. “Cut the formality, Sloan. Come in and sit down.”

  “Yessir.” Sloan took a seat in the stiff chair next to the desk and waited while Cooley eyeballed his laptop screen.

  Tall and broad shouldered, Cooley wore the same budget dark suit and tie as his own. Standard Feeb dress. But the shiny blond hair he wore in a short Caesar cut gave him the air of an aristocrat. He’d come from money, an upper crust family in New Hampshire.

  Despite their disparate background, Sloan and Cooley had become fast friends back in their Academy days. While Sloan usually bested Cooley in physical tasks, Cooley excelled in anything that required persuasive skills.

  At the FBI, Cooley had zoomed ahead of Sloan, climbing the ladder and landing a desk job, while Sloan preferred the hands-on experience of field work. He was no politician.

  Five years ago when a rash of child kidnapping and human trafficking cases came to their attention, Cooley and Sloan had drafted the plan for the Custodians. A clandestine operation whose aim was to hunt down and capture the leaders of the organizations behind these crimes.

  Sloan had built a team and done the footwork, but it had been Cooley who had pushed the idea through the red tape and committees, and gotten them the approval and manpower they needed for the project.

  Sloan reached into his pocket for the flash drive Wade Parker had given him and slid it across the desk to his boss.

  Cooley sat back and grinned. “Now this might help us track down some perps.”

  “But not the leader.”

  Cooley gestured toward his laptop. “I’ve been going over your report here. Seems our detectives have been busy again.”

  “Haven’t they? Steele’s the one who got that flash drive. You won’t believe how she did it.”

  “So I’ve read.” Sloan had detailed Steele’s rooftop caper in his report. “What they managed to pull off in Kiev is nothing short of mind blowing.”

  Reluctantly, Sloan had to nod. “I’d agree with that assessment.”

  “It will put a dent in Group 141’s operations for a while.”

  “I hope so.”

  Cooley read further in Sloan’s report. “‘The man in Boston.’ So you couldn’t manage to get any information out of Tamarkin about his boss last night?”

  Sloan let out a frustrated huff. “The man is a rock. He won’t crack under any interrogation technique. He’d rather die. His own sister couldn’t get him to talk.”

  “You’re convinced she is his sister?”

  “I am. I’m confirming it with DNA, but I’m certain. He almost broke down when she spoke to him.”

  Cooley nodded. “We owe the PIs a debt of gratitude for discovering that link. And about the man in Boston. It’s a good lead.”

  “We do. I’ll admit Parker and Steele are better than I first thought.”

  Cooley narrowed his eyes at Sloan. “But?”

  His boss knew him too well. “But they’re civilians.”

  “Well trained, experienced civilians.”

  “But still civilians. This is our business. We need to take care of it.”

  “And how do you propose we do that?”

  Sloan had been thinking about that ever since he’d left the interrogation room last night. He had a couple of ideas.

  “We can put a round-the-clock watch on Tamarkin. Maybe have someone go under cover in the prison and get close to him. He’s got to be thinking about his family back home. He thought the organization he works for was supporting them. The sister said that was a lie.”

  Cooley sat back and rubbed his chin, considering the proposal. “That’s a good idea.”

  “So you approve it?”

  His friend let out a long slow breath. There was something he wasn’t telling him. Finally Cooley shook his head. “I’m sorry, Sloan. I
can’t.”

  Sloan blinked at Cooley in shock. “What do you mean, you can’t?”

  “I was going to send out a memo later today. Our budget has been cut back.”

  Sloan felt like he’d just taken a bullet. “Cut back?”

  “We’re not totally defunded. Not yet. But our funds have been limited.”

  “Limited? Why?”

  “Some senator on the oversight committee seems to be making a fuss about us. Says we’re redundant. We haven’t made enough progress.”

  Sloan couldn’t believe his ears. “We’ve made two big arrests. What about the DHS?”

  “Homeland Security is staying out of it. It’s political bullshit, Sloan.”

  Sloan shot to his feet, his temper rising. “Political? Don’t they know we’re going after dangerous criminals here? Don’t they know kids’ lives are at stake?”

  Sloan had never seen such disgust on Cooley’s face. “I’ve done all I can. My hands are tied.”

  Sloan began to pace the floor, his mind whirring. “I have another idea. I don’t think you’ll like it.”

  “Shoot.”

  How to say it? It sounded crazy. It was a little crazy. He stopped at the bookcase and turned to face his friend. “We let Tamarkin go.”

  Cooley looked like Sloan had just kicked him in the gut. “You’re right. I don’t like it. Are you insane?”

  “Listen to me, now.” Sloan came back to his chair. “We make up some story about not having enough evidence to hold him, or activists giving us heat. Then we let him go, and we tail him.”

  His boss scowled. “And what do you hope to accomplish?”

  “If we’re lucky, Tamarkin will go straight to the guy in Boston. We’ll have a name. We can close in from there. Surely, once we get the guy in charge of Group 141, the committee will give us the funds we need to bring him down.”

  Cooley sat back and chewed on the idea. After a while, he began to shake his head. “I don’t know, Sloan. What if you lose him?”

  He had a point. Tamarkin was an experienced and ruthless criminal. Still, Sloan could tell his friend was softening to the idea. “I’m willing to take that risk.”