No One But You

by Maureen Smith

  Althea grinned, making an exaggerated show of edging away from him. “Have I told you how positively terrifying you are when you go into protective papa-bear mode?”

  Damien chuckled grimly. “At the risk of sounding like a dinosaur—which you’ve managed to make me feel twice today, thank you very much—the world we live in today is a pedophile’s paradise. The Internet has given these predators access to kids like never before. I don’t have to give you the statistics. We both know that every year an alarming number of children are coerced into pornography and lured away from their homes by predators they met online. I’m not saying that social network sites like MyDomain are entirely to blame; that would be too easy. Adults have to do a better job of educating kids and monitoring their Internet activity. If we as parents don’t protect our children, who the hell will?”

  When Althea smiled softly at him, he cleared his throat, looking sheepish. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to go off on a tangent. You asked a simple question, and I jumped on my soapbox.”

  “It’s all right,” Althea said. “India is very lucky to have such a vigilant father looking out for her. And, hey, it doesn’t hurt that you’re also an FBI agent.”

  Damien grinned ruefully. “Tell that to India. She can’t decide whether my job is a blessing or a curse.”

  Althea let out a short laugh. “Give her a few more years. By the time she’s sixteen and ready to start dating, she’ll think it’s a curse.”

  Damien smiled briefly. “Back to what you were saying. You found another red flag on Claire’s MyDomain page?”

  “Maybe. Maybe not. As I was reading the comments and messages left for her, I came across one dated almost three weeks ago. What I was going to explain earlier is that on MyDomain, comments are posted for public viewing, while messages are sent privately to the owner of the page. On September 19, Claire received a message from another user by the name of COLTRANEFAN.”

  “As in, a fan of John Coltrane, the jazz musician?”

  Althea nodded. “ The message was brief and cryptic, almost deliberately so. ‘I hope you liked it.’”

  “That’s all it said? ‘I hope you liked it?’”

  “Yes, that was it. Just one line, no signature. That was the only message Claire had received from this user. I looked through her sent mail to see if she had responded, but I couldn’t find anything, and unfortunately, all sent mail is automatically deleted after fourteen days. When I tried to access COLTRANEFAN’s page, I got a message saying the profile was no longer available.”

  Damien frowned. “You think the user closed the account?”

  “Looks that way. So now I’ve got all these questions racing through my mind. Is he the mystery date Claire was expecting on Friday night? Did he remove his MyDomain page before, or after, she was abducted? And why did he remove it? To keep his identity a secret? To make sure there was nothing connecting him to a missing girl?”

  Damien’s nerve endings tightened. This could be it, he realized. This could be the break in the case they were looking for. The break they desperately needed.

  But he knew from experience that it was never that easy.

  Althea continued, “I called the company headquarters in California to obtain the account information for COLTRANEFAN. The rep I spoke to balked at first. He started feeding me the company line about their privacy policies, their sworn commitment to protecting the legal rights of their customers, told me I needed to get a subpoena, et cetera, et cetera. I told him that COLTRANEFAN was a person of interest in a federal kidnapping investigation and if he didn’t get me what I needed in twenty-four hours, I would dispatch the meanest, ugliest agents from our San Francisco field office to come and arrest his sorry ass for obstruction of justice.” She flashed a sweet, beguiling smile that belied the aggressiveness of her threat. “Guess what? He promised to have those answers for me first thing in the morning. He even said he’d provide a detailed report of the user’s account activity over the last thirty days.” Her smile turned sharp, triumphant. “It pays to be a bitch with a badge.”

  Damien let out a bark of laughter, and Althea grinned.

  Shaking his head at her, he said, “Damn, Miss Pritchard. Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

  She chuckled, exiting the MyDomain Web site.

  Damien glanced at his watch and saw that it was already eight-thirty. It had been a long day, and this was only the beginning. “It’s getting late,” he said. “Why don’t we call it a night and regroup tomorrow morning?”

  Althea nodded, tilting back her head and closing her eyes as she massaged the muscles between her neck and shoulder blade. Damien ran his gaze over the sleek curve of her throat, his mind filled with an erotic image of her, head flung back, lips parted on a soundless cry as she rode him through a mind-shattering orgasm that left them both gasping and clutching each other long afterward.

  “I didn’t get a chance to run the background check on Suzette Thorndike,” Althea murmured, her eyes still closed, oblivious to the way Damien was staring at her. “I had to put in a little face time with our squad supervisor. He gave me a tour of the building and briefed me on some cases he wants me to assist with, in addition to the kidnapping investigation.”

  “Don’t worry about it,” Damien said huskily. He cleared his throat. “Doherty’s a pretty reasonable guy, but if he gives you a hard time about working the Thorndike case, just let Balducci know. He can take care of it for you.”

  “Mmm. I don’t doubt that. But I just got here. I don’t want to make any enemies if it can be avoided.”

  Damien smiled to himself, silently congratulating her. Although Althea had been with the Bureau for only three years, she’d already learned that the key to surviving the ranks was knowing how to play the game, and knowing when to play your hand. The nature of her relationship with Eddie Balducci was public knowledge. The special agent in charge was her biggest advocate, and everyone knew it. But Althea would not exploit their friendship, using it as leverage over her peers and supervisors. She wouldn’t make the mistake of expecting or demanding preferential treatment. She would earn her stripes the right way—through hard work, talent, and tenacity.

  Damien’s appreciation for her went up a notch.

  Rising from the chair, he said with deliberate casualness, “Wanna grab a bite to eat?”

  Althea glanced up from stuffing files into her leather briefcase and met his gaze. “You mean dinner?”

  “Yeah,” he said, pushing his chair back into the corner. “You know, the meal most people eat in the evening?”

  She gave him a look. “I know what dinner is.”

  He chuckled softly. “Just making sure. You made it sound like a foreign concept. So yes or no? I know a great little Italian restaurant not far from here, in Little Italy. Best risotto and lasagna in the city—just ask Balducci. We don’t even have to talk about the case. We’re going to eat, sleep, and breathe it for however long it takes to find Claire. Tonight is about nothing more than good food and good company.”

  Althea hesitated, pulling her lush bottom lip between her teeth, indecision reflected in her dark eyes. He could see that she was tempted by the offer, tempted to say yes.

  He waited, surprised to realize just how much he wanted her to say yes. They’d spent most of the day together, and it still hadn’t been enough for him.

  That’s when he should have known he was in trouble.

  At length Althea shook her head. “ Two meals in one day? I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  Disappointment washed over him. Trying to play it off, he drawled humorously, “Are you objecting to eating two meals in one day, or eating both of those meals with me?”

  She grinned, rising from her chair. “Don’t be obtuse. You know very well what I meant. As tempting as your offer sounds, I’m going to pass on dinner, and you know why. Besides, I need to get home and finish organizing my office. My aunt unpacked everything for me, but she didn’t know how I wanted things arranged.”<
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  Damien angled his gaze toward the ceiling, affecting a wounded look. “My pride is in tatters. She’d rather organize files than have dinner with me.”

  Althea snorted out a laugh. “Oh puh-leeze! Don’t you dare give me that wounded-male-ego act, Damien Wade. We both know you aren’t exactly hurting for female companionship. I was at the club that night, remember? I saw those women throwing themselves at you, while the rest of them—myself included—couldn’t keep their eyes off you. You could walk out this door right now, snap your fingers, and have as many women as you want lined up to have dinner with you.” She bumped him playfully with her shoulder on her way out of the cubicle. “Now be the gentleman you are and walk me down to the garage.”

  “With pleasure,” Damien murmured, wondering how she would react if he looked her straight in the eye and told her that the only woman he wanted to have dinner with was her.

  Chapter 10

  One of the things Althea knew she would miss about Seattle was her downtown loft with its scenic views of the city and proximity to her favorite shops and restaurants. When she learned she was being transferred to Baltimore, she’d enlisted the help of her aunt and uncle to find an apartment that shared many of the same amenities as her place in Seattle. On their first outing, they struck gold. They’d called her from the rental office, excited about the treasure they’d found on the city’s bustling West Side. Trusting their judgment, Althea signed a lease and paid the nonrefundable security deposit. The first time she stepped foot in her new bachelorette pad was the day she arrived from Seattle, and she wasn’t disappointed. The spacious two-bedroom apartment was within easy walking distance of the Inner Harbor, the Central Business District, and Lexington Market, the world’s largest open-stall food market, where she could buy fresh fruit and produce every day. Her unit featured modern appliances, hardwood floors, a fireplace, and floor-to-ceiling living room windows that offered a spectacular view of the downtown skyline. And because her uncle couldn’t persuade her to move back home, he’d insisted on a controlled-access building complete with a twenty-four-hour front desk attendant and an intercom system. It was either that, he warned, or he would hire a bodyguard for her.

  When Althea calmly pointed out to him that no respectable FBI agent would have a bodyguard, Louis Pritchard said, “We almost lost you once, baby girl. When it comes to your safety, I’m not taking any chances.”

  As Althea stepped off the elevator that evening and started down the narrow corridor to her apartment, she passed one of her neighbors, an attractive white man in his early thirties who lived two doors down. In response to her polite nod of greeting, he grinned at her, an odd, suggestive gleam in his blue eyes.

  “How’s it going?” he said cheerfully.

  “Can’t complain,” Althea replied.

  He snickered. “I’ll bet,” he muttered under his breath as he continued down the hall.

  Pausing at her door, Althea stared after him, puzzled. When he glanced over his shoulder at her, still grinning, a slow flush crawled up her neck. Inwardly she groaned, mortified to realize he must have overheard her and Damien going at it on Friday night. They hadn’t exactly been quiet, especially her. She’d moaned and screamed so many times her throat felt sore afterward. At the time she’d been too far gone to care if anyone else heard her, but now, in the face of her neighbor’s unabashed amusement, she was horrified. Now, instead of being known as the quiet, considerate neighbor who kept to herself—a reputation she’d enjoyed in Seattle—she would be known as the noisy, not-so-considerate neighbor who screamed like a banshee during wild, all-night sex marathons.

  How utterly embarrassing.

  Althea let herself into her apartment, thinking that she should have added thick walls to her list of requirements when she started hunting for a new place to live. Of course, she couldn’t have known at the time that thick walls would become a necessity for her. She’d certainly never needed them in Seattle, where her love life had been practically nonexistent. She’d dated so sporadically that sex became a rare indulgence, something she engaged in just to remember what it felt like. And none of those sexual encounters came close to what she’d experienced with Damien Wade.

  Too bad you won’t be enjoying any encore performances, she lamented, dropping her purse and keys on the foyer table and setting down her briefcase. She’d been so damn tempted to accept Damien’s dinner invitation back at the office. Tonight is about nothing more than good food and good company, he’d told her. And although she knew better, she’d actually found herself considering his offer. It’s just dinner, the voice of temptation whispered. It’s just two colleagues sharing a harmless meal.

  And then it would be just a touch, just an embrace, just a kiss, and before she knew what was happening, they would end up back at her apartment. And this time it would be more than just sex.

  It would be the beginning of a dangerous addiction.

  She could not—would not—let that happen.

  It was one thing to have a torrid one-night stand with a complete stranger. But sleeping with that same stranger, after discovering that he was actually a colleague, was just asking for trouble. She’d spent the last three years working hard to be taken seriously by her colleagues and superiors in the Bureau, many who believed her decision to quit medical school and join the FBI had been the rash, emotional reaction of a fragile young woman still suffering from posttraumatic stress. These were the same people who believed that Althea wouldn’t last more than six months at the Bureau. But she’d proven them wrong and, in the process, had gained their respect. She wasn’t about to compromise her reputation or principles by getting involved in an office relationship that could go sour at any time.

  Not that your reputation or principles can give you multiple orgasms or keep your bed warm at night.

  Sighing deeply, Althea peeled off her cashmere jacket, hung it up in the hall closet, and crossed the living room to build a fire. The temperature had plummeted, bringing a chill to the air.

  And somewhere out there, a seventeen-year-old girl was being held captive by an unknown predator.

  Althea shuddered, rubbing her arms against a chill that came from deep within.

  She wandered over to the windows and gazed out at the bright, twinkling lights of downtown Baltimore, cloaked in night.

  All day long she’d held herself together, maintaining a detached, professional facade as she went about the business of investigating Claire Thorndike’s abduction. She knew that the slightest chink in her armor, any hint of weakness or instability, would signal to Damien, and their boss, that she wasn’t ready for a case like this. So she’d remained outwardly cool and composed, showing little sign of emotion, conducting herself as if this was just another case to her. But now that she was alone, in the privacy of her own home, the mask slid away, apprehension pressed down on her like an anvil, and her mind surrendered to her deepest, darkest fears and suspicions.

  She knew what it was like to be alone, confused, terrified. To wonder if you had seen your family and friends for the very last time. She knew what it was like to sob hysterically and plead for your life, desperately hoping to get through to the madman who held your fate in his hands. And she knew what it was like to cling to a shred of hope that help was on the way, even as the long, dark days turned into weeks.

  The more Althea delved into the investigation, the more convinced she became that her abduction and Claire Thorndike’s disappearance were somehow connected. The similarities between the two cases were too uncanny to be ignored. For starters, she and Claire shared similar backgrounds. Although Louis Pritchard was no real estate tycoon, over the years he’d reached a level of success in his political career that enabled him to afford the best of everything for his family. When he became county executive while Althea was in middle school, they’d moved into a large stone house in an exclusive gated community. The house, Althea mused, sat alone at the top of a hill.

  Just like the Thorndike estate.

&n
bsp; She, like Claire, was an only child. And she, too, had been an overachiever, excelling academically and serving as president of various student organizations. She’d wanted to become a doctor and had entered college as a premed major, just as Claire would have done next year.

  And last but certainly not least, they’d both been cheated on by their boyfriends.

  Althea frowned. She knew that the details of her personal life had been splashed across the pages of countless newspapers during the course of her kidnapping investigation. Hungry reporters had camped out at the university she attended to interview her friends, classmates, professors, anyone remotely acquainted with her. When her boyfriend Malik Toomer became a suspect, the media speculated that he may have killed Althea when she confronted him about his infidelity.

  Whoever abducted Claire must have followed Althea’s kidnapping case very closely. But the only way the perpetrator could have known that Josh Reed cheated on Claire was if he knew one or both of them personally.

  Althea turned from the window and crossed the living room, mentally rifling through the list of people connected to the missing teenager. She grabbed a notepad and a pen from the table in the foyer and began making a list, her mind working faster than she could write. Friends, classmates, teachers, school administrators, doctor, dentist, household staff, parents’ friends and business associates.

  She paused, tapping the pen against the notepad as she pondered another theory. The psychopath who kidnapped Althea eight years ago had singled her out solely because of her relationship with her professor and mentor, Imani Wade. Imani had been his primary target; Althea was the unwitting pawn he’d used to punish Imani and lure her into his sinister web of revenge and murder. If Claire’s abductor was following the same pattern, then it was highly possible that his next target was someone close to Claire, someone she considered a mentor. One of her teachers, maybe. Or an old riding instructor, or a former supervisor. On her MyDomain page, she’d mentioned a summer job at a nonprofit animal-rescue shelter in Baltimore. She’d described it as “a lot of hard work, but fun and incredibly meaningful.”