Althea thought about the sterilized crime scene that had greeted Spencer and Suzette Thorndike when they returned home. De-staged, as Damien had put it. How far had James Odem gone to cover his tracks?
“Ms. Pritchard? I’m sorry, but I have to run to an oversight hearing on the Hill.”
“Of course. Thank you for taking the time to answer my questions, Ms. Reese. You’ve been very helpful. Oh, and one more thing?”
“Yes?” A note of wariness had crept into Courtney’s voice.
Althea hesitated, choosing her next words very carefully, “We’re telling all of Claire’s friends to be extra careful as they go about their daily routines. Until we’ve apprehended Claire’s kidnapper, we can’t eliminate the possibility that anyone who knew her could be in danger as well—especially if the suspect saw Claire while she was out somewhere with friends. If you don’t already have a security alarm, I strongly suggest you get one.”
There was silence on the other end. Then, “Are you trying to frighten me, Agent Pritchard?”
Althea frowned. “I just want you to be safe, Ms. Reese.”
“Thanks for your concern. Good-bye, Ms. Pritchard.” There was a loud click as she disconnected.
Althea slowly hung up, feeling strangely unsettled. Almost from the moment Courtney Reese got on the phone, Althea had sensed something odd in her voice, something akin to resentment. Hostility. But that was ridiculous. Courtney had no reason to resent Althea. She didn’t even know her. But she knew her uncle. And suddenly everything made sense. Courtney worked for a Republican senator who, if Althea remembered correctly, served on the Senate Armed Services Committee with Louis Pritchard. It was possible that the two men had butted heads over matters of national security and defense authorization requests, but that was the nature of politics. Politicians butted heads, especially when they were seated on opposite sides of the aisle. If Courtney Reese didn’t understand that, if she held a grudge against every senator who’d ever opposed her boss, then maybe she belonged in a different line of work.
Making a mental note to ask her uncle about his relationship with Senator Horton, Althea quickly dialed Damien’s cell phone, eager to tell him about her conversation with Courtney before he and Mayhew arrived at Mercy Harbor Hospital to arrest James Odem. But after four rings, her call was transferred to voice mail, and Damien’s deep baritone instructed callers to leave a brief message. She complied, thinking irritably that the man’s voice could sound sinful even on a simple voice mail prompt.
After hanging up, she dialed Suzette Thorndike’s cell. They had agreed to reach the Thorndikes on their cell phones and keep the house line free in case the kidnapper called to make a ransom demand. Althea had decided to question Suzette about her alleged affair with Corbin Farris, but she wanted to speak to her privately. She knew there was no chance of Suzette confessing to anything if her husband was around, so Althea planned to ask the woman to meet her somewhere.
But once again, her call was kicked to voice mail. She considered, then decided against leaving a message. No sense in giving Suzette too much time to get her story together. She’d try her again later.
Althea swiveled back to her computer and Googled a list of public libraries in the Mount Washington area. She mapped the location closest to the Thorndike estate, jotted down the address, then headed down to the lab to recruit one of the forensic examiners to accompany her to the library.
Suzette Thorndike stifled a scream as Josh Reed rammed her against the bathroom door, his hips pumping furiously as he thrust into her.
“Hurry,” she whispered breathlessly, tightening her legs around his hips. “We have to hurry!”
“I know,” he muttered, his voice muffled against her throat as he alternately bit and kissed her, sending shivers of erotic pleasure down her spine.
She grabbed his tight little butt and he groaned and thrust faster, pounding her so hard against the door it rattled in its frame.
But Suzette wasn’t worried about being overheard. For the first time in days, the house was empty.
Upon learning that the police had arrested a suspect in Claire’s disappearance, Spencer had taken off for the police station, along with his hysterical ex-wife Madison, who’d just flown in from Scotland and had taken a cab straight to the estate. Their cook was not scheduled to arrive until later, the butler was out with the flu, and Suzette had sent the housekeeper on several errands, accompanied by the driver. Suzette had even talked the bleary-eyed police officer on phone duty into taking a thirty-minute lunch break, assuring him it would be their little secret.
And then she’d snuck Josh Reed through the back door and upstairs to the master bathroom for a long-overdue quickie.
He lifted his head now and kissed her hard, rough the way she liked it. He plunged his tongue into her mouth and she sucked it greedily, tasting cherry-flavored candy that reminded her she was being fucked by a high school boy.
But robbing the cradle had never felt so good.
The bathroom was filled with harsh animal pants and the solid, rhythmic thud of body against body. Her cell phone rang somewhere inside the bedroom, but she didn’t care. Josh gripped her bottom, spreading her cheeks wide as he slammed into her. Her heart hammered. A delicious heat spread through her loins. A moment later, she dug her manicured nails into his back as she let go with a long, violent shudder.
After three hard strokes Josh closed his eyes and stiffened against her, his cock throbbing inside her as he came forcefully. Suzette clamped a hand over his mouth to smother his loud groan—just in case the cop had returned early.
When their ragged breathing had returned to normal, Josh eased back from her, lowering her feet to the floor. Suzette smoothed her silk skirt down over her thighs as he peeled off his condom and dropped it into the toilet, then raised the lid to take a piss.
She surveyed him in the mirror as she straightened her mussed hair and checked her makeup. She’d once overheard her stepdaughter complaining to her best friend about the size of Josh’s dick. While Suzette agreed it wasn’t the biggest thing she’d ever worked with, the boy definitely knew what to do with it. In the three months they’d been sleeping together, he’d never failed to give Suzette an orgasm—something she couldn’t say about her own husband.
Josh flushed the toilet and came up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and brushing her long hair aside to kiss the nape of her neck. Suzette gave a low, throaty purr of contentment, feeling the swell of his erection against her backside. Yet another advantage to having an affair with a high school teenager. No Viagra necessary.
“Not that it isn’t tempting,” she murmured as he slowly and sensually ground his pelvis against her, “but we’re almost out of time.”
He groaned softly in protest as she stepped out of his embrace and moved to sit on the edge of the whirlpool bathtub, one of the many places they’d christened when they first started sleeping together.
As if it were yesterday, Suzette remembered the lazy summer afternoon the young, hunky jock had shown up at the mansion looking for Claire, hoping to get a terrible secret off his chest. When Suzette told him that Claire was spending the week in Cabo San Lucas with some friends—a trip she’d apparently failed to mention to her own boyfriend—Josh looked so crestfallen that Suzette took pity on him and invited him inside for lemonade and scones. She’d listened sympathetically while he poured out his heart to her, confiding his deep regret over the way he’d cheated on Claire with a popular cheerleader at school. She’d patted his hand comfortingly and reassured him that he wasn’t a horrible person, that people made mistakes and no one was perfect. She’d even subtly suggested that Claire was to blame for his infidelity. Maybe if Claire had been less self-absorbed and more attuned to his needs, Suzette noted, she would have realized how unhappy he was before it was too late.
By his third glass of lemonade, Josh was feeling a lot better about himself and the state of his troubled relationship with Claire. Suzette graciously promis
ed to keep his secret until he was ready to come clean to Claire, and he shyly mumbled his gratitude.
She was in the middle of giving his hand another reassuring squeeze when their gazes locked.
And in that moment, she knew they were going to become lovers.
Just as she and her former stepson had.
As she walked Josh to the door that afternoon, she casually mentioned that her husband was leaving for a business trip the following day, and she planned to give the household servants the day off to spend with their families, which they always appreciated.
Just as she’d anticipated, Josh showed up the next day. They fucked so many times Suzette lost count. By the time he snuck out of the house late that night, she was hooked.
They had been sneaking around ever since. Neither her husband nor stepdaughter had the slightest clue, and Suzette intended to keep it that way.
She watched now as Josh leaned back against the marble counter and folded his arms across his lean chest. He had a swimmer’s physique—trim, lithe, and athletic. She definitely benefited from the incredible stamina he’d developed from his rigorous training regimen—120 laps twice a day, six days a week. No exceptions.
“What did you want to tell me?” Suzette prompted, glancing at her platinum diamond-encrusted Cartier wristwatch. The police officer would be returning in fifteen minutes to resume watching the phone. She needed to hurry and get Josh out of the house.
“That FBI agent was at the volunteer center this morning,” Josh said, looking none too pleased.
Suzette stared at him. “Which one? Mr. Tall, Dark, and Handsome—or the woman?”
“Both. But it was the woman who went over to talk to Heather.” He frowned. “I was watching them the whole time. I think Heather told her something.”
Suzette felt a cold dagger of fear pierce her heart. She swallowed convulsively. “How do you know that?”
Josh smirked. “I’ve known Heather since kindergarten. There’s a look she gets on her face whenever she’s telling something she thinks she shouldn’t be. She had that look when she was talking to the FBI agent this morning.”
Feeling slightly nauseated, Suzette rose from the corner of the bathtub and began pacing up and down the custom tile floor, her mind spinning.
Josh watched her in wary silence, knowing what was at stake for her. It was he who’d told her that Claire had overheard Suzette’s conversation with Corbin Farris that fateful afternoon when he called her, threatening to expose all her dirty secrets if she didn’t give him what he wanted.
Days before they broke up, Claire had told Josh all about the scandalous argument she’d “accidentally” overheard between her stepmother and former stepson, which Josh later shared with Suzette when she mentioned the receipt she’d found in her stepdaughter’s bedroom. According to Josh, Claire’s eavesdropping had been interrupted by the housekeeper, which prevented her from learning the full extent of the trouble her stepmother was in. But her curiosity had been piqued. Which would explain why she had decided to hire a private investigator to dig into Suzette’s past, to see what other skeletons she could unearth. Spiteful little bitch.
Josh said, “I wanted you to know so you could be prepared in case that FBI chick comes knocking on your door.”
Suzette nodded distractedly. “Thank you, Josh. You did the right thing. I appreciate the heads-up.”
He hesitated, his dark eyes concerned. “Is there anything I can do?”
She stopped pacing and looked at him. She marveled that this good-looking All-American teenager—this boy who had been born into wealth and privilege and who would never know the poverty and blind desperation that had characterized Suzette’s upbringing—had proven that he would do anything for her.
Even break the law.
A soft, tender smile curved her lips. She walked over to him and gently laid her palm against his smooth, clean-shaven cheek. “You’ve already done more than enough for me,” she whispered. “But if I need another favor, it’s good to know I can count on you.”
He leaned down and kissed her, and she let herself savor his taste, his youth, his innocence, all the while wondering if she’d ever known a moment of innocence in her own life.
Minutes after Josh left, sneaking out the same way he’d entered, the cop returned from his lunch break. As he resumed his vigil by the phone, Suzette eyed it just as anxiously, praying for an outcome that would have horrified the police officer.
Chapter 24
News of James Odem’s arrest hit the airwaves by noon. He was charged with one count of making a false statement and unceremoniously thrown into the slammer. It wasn’t a long stay, however. Preston Gallagher, his high-priced attorney, arrived within minutes, blustering about miscarriages of justice and the egregious violation of his client’s rights. After two hours of interrogation, Odem maintained his innocence in Claire Thorndike’s abduction. With his lawyer at his side, acting as buffer and shield, the surgeon admitted to lying about the extent of his online relationship with Claire because he was embarrassed, but he refused to elaborate on anything and he denied being at the Thorndike estate on the night she disappeared. No matter how hard Damien and Mayhew tried to rattle his cage—a task further complicated by his lawyer’s constant objections—Odem remained calm and implacable, watching Damien with a look of smug triumph.
Mr. Cool. Mr. Untouchable.
Within two hours of being arrested, Odem was released on bail. Outside the downtown police station, his attorney delivered a blistering statement to the reporters gathered, accusing the Baltimore Police Department and the Federal Bureau of Investigation of manufacturing a bogus case against his client in their blind desperation to apprehend a suspect in Claire’s kidnapping.
Acknowledging that the missing teenager’s abduction was “a heinous crime and a parent’s worst nightmare,” he urged the public not to rush to judgment in presuming his client guilty. He reminded the viewing audience that Dr. James Odem was an exemplary citizen with no criminal history, an esteemed neurosurgeon who had dedicated his life to the advancement of medicine.
“This is a man whose gifted hands have saved countless lives,” Gallagher declared in the theatrical voice of an orator. “He could not—would not—use those same hands to harm an innocent young girl!”
Damien was still gnashing his back teeth and seething with disgust as he pulled into the parking lot of his daughter’s middle school at three-fifteen. His frustration with the stalled investigation was mounting dangerously. Claire Thorndike had now been missing for five days, and with the exception of James Odem, they had no solid leads or suspects to sneeze at. Not even the discovery of the library computer Claire had likely used to secretly correspond with Odem was enough to keep him in custody. Odem had stolen Althea’s thunder when he readily admitted to encouraging Claire to open a separate e-mail account so they could communicate away from prying eyes. It would be hours before the Bureau’s forensic examiner finished going through the confiscated hard drive, but Damien doubted that the e-mail files would yield the incriminating evidence they needed to nail the son of a bitch.
They needed a break in the investigation soon. Like yesterday.
When his cell phone rang, he snatched it up and growled, “Wade.”
“Wade, this is Agent Brewster in Richmond. Tough break about Odem, but I’ve got some news that might cheer you up. I just left the post office where the letter was mailed from. One of the employees, who’s been off until today, positively ID’d Corbin Farris from the driver’s license photo. She said he was definitely there on Saturday morning.”
Damien straightened in the driver’s seat, his muscles tightening. “Is she sure?”
“Yep. Apparently she’s got a knack for remembering faces—all of her coworkers vouched for that. Anyway, I’m not sure how helpful this is to you. It’s not as if she remembered specifically what he mailed, and she couldn’t find his credit card in the system to trace the transaction. But it’s a start.”
“A damn good start,” Damien agreed. “Still no sighting of Farris?”
“Unfortunately not. But we’re still sitting on the house. The old man is still there, doting on his grandchildren, pushing his grandson on the swing set, and tossing the ole baseball with him.” Brewster snorted. “I sure hope to God he’s not your guy.”
Damien gave a short, grim laugh. “Can’t rule him out. Not with his priors.” He thanked Agent Brewster for following up on the lead, then hung up and called Althea.
She had gone home to meet the security alarm technician, whose only available timeslot was this afternoon. After today the company was booked solid through the end of next week. When Althea had balked at taking today’s appointment, citing her busy schedule, all it took was one look from Damien to make her change her mind.
He’d wanted to accompany her to her apartment that afternoon, not wanting her to be alone there for a single moment, but he’d promised India that he would pick her up from school, and he was already feeling guilty about having to leave her at his mother’s house overnight while he and Althea went on their stakeout.
When she answered her cell phone, he could hear female voices and laughter in the background. “Hey,” Althea said, and he foolishly wished the smile he heard in her voice was for him, and not because she’d been laughing at a joke before she picked up the phone.
“Hey, yourself. Has the security guy arrived yet?”
“Not yet. But you’ll be happy to know that I’m not alone. My friends, Keren and Kimberly, are here with me. They’ve been trying to get in touch with me all week. When I told them about my appointment this afternoon, they took off early from work and headed over here to wait with me.” She chuckled wryly. “They said if this is the only way they can spend some time with me, they’ll take what they can get.”
Damien smiled. “Good. I’m glad to hear it. Hey, listen. Brewster just called me from Richmond.”
When he had finished relaying what the agent had told him, Althea said, a note of excitement in her voice, “I bet you anything Corbin is hiding out at his father’s house in Solomon’s Island.”
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