Courtney wondered if this was what Claire had experienced on the night she was abducted. This mind-numbing terror, a horrifying certainty that her life was about to come to an end.
“P-Please,” Courtney begged, her voice quavering with fear. “Y-You can take anything you want. I make good money. I-I have nice things.”
He shook his head once. His eyes behind the mask were cold, lifeless.
As she soon would be.
She turned to run, thinking she could barricade herself in the bathroom and call the police with her cell phone, which she’d left on the counter after brushing her teeth.
But it was too late. Her assailant tackled her from behind and knocked her to the floor, pressing something hard against the small of her back. A white-hot blast jolted through her body. Pain shot through her system.
Her last thought before she lost consciousness was that Althea Pritchard had tried to warn her, but she hadn’t listened.
Damien received the call as he and Althea were walking back to the car after checking out their third abandoned building of the morning.
Balducci sounded grim. “I just got a call from D.C. police. Seems that our kidnapper has struck again. Courtney Reese was abducted from her apartment early this morning.”
Dread tightened in Damien’s gut. “No signs of a struggle?”
“None. Nothing was out of place. When she didn’t show up at the office at seven this morning to go over some talking points with Senator Horton, he got worried and started blowing up her cell phone. Seems that Courtney Reese is punctual to a fault, so if she doesn’t show up on time for work, people worry. When she didn’t answer her phone, Horton called the police. When they arrived at the apartment, Courtney was gone. They started knocking on doors, and it turns out that one of the neighbors thought she heard a scream coming from Courtney’s apartment around two-thirty A.M. But the woman decided she was only hearing things, so she didn’t call the police.” A wary note crept into Balducci’s voice. “Is Althea there with you?”
“Yeah.” Damien glanced over at Althea, who was watching him intently.
Balducci said quietly, “Then you’d both better come in so I can tell you the rest.”
Deep foreboding settled over Damien. “Be right there.”
He disconnected and turned to Althea. “That was Balducci. Courtney Reese is missing.”
“No,” Althea whispered, stricken.
Damien nodded shortly. “Balducci wants us back at the office. Apparently it gets worse.”
Althea took one look at Eddie, seated behind the desk in his office, and knew with a sinking sense of dread that she wasn’t going to like what she heard. Still, nothing could have prepared her for the shock that swept through her when he waved her and Damien into chairs and proceeded to tell them what the police had discovered at Courtney Reese’s apartment.
“They found a journal in her nightstand drawer.” Eddie grimaced, looking like he’d rather kayak through a tsunami than deliver the bad news pressing down on him like an anvil.
Althea waited, the dread twisting and coiling in her stomach. Beside her, Damien shifted in his chair, impatience vibrating in the air around him.
Finally Eddie said in a carefully measured voice, “In the last journal entry dated yesterday, Courtney wrote that when she first heard about Claire’s kidnapping, she thought someone had been hired to get rid of her. Because of a secret Courtney had recently told Claire.”
Althea frowned. “What kind of secret?”
“According to the journal, Courtney told Claire that she’d had an affair last year with a powerful U.S. senator.” He paused, looking grim. “Louis Pritchard.”
Althea felt like the air had been knocked from her lungs. She must have swayed, because Damien lurched forward as if to catch her from falling, and Eddie half rose out of his chair with a concerned expression.
“Are you all right?” Damien demanded gruffly.
Althea barely heard the question above the blood pounding in her ears. She stared at Eddie. “What else did the entry say?”
He lowered himself back into his chair, eyeing her warily. “Courtney wrote that she was afraid for her life. She said if anything happened to her, people should know that Louis Pritchard may have been involved.”
“That’s a lie!” Althea burst out.
Eddie frowned at her. “Althea—”
“Don’t you see what’s happening? He’s trying to frame my uncle!”
“Who?”
“Whoever took Claire. This is all part of the game!”
Eddie traded looks with Damien, who was frowning.
“How do the police even know that Courtney wrote those things?” Althea demanded.
“The handwriting matches the other journal entries,” Eddie answered. “But of course they’re having it analyzed just to make sure.”
“It doesn’t matter,” Althea said. “The handwriting will match, because he dictated to her what she should write. He forced her to write those things.”
“That’s possible,” Damien agreed.
Eddie shot him a look. The meaning was clear: Don’t encourage this line of thinking.
Damien ignored the subtle warning. “Did they tell you when the previous journal entry was?”
“We didn’t get into specifics. Anyway, what difference does it make?”
Damien shrugged. “If it’s been awhile since Courtney wrote in the journal, then you have to admit it seems suspicious that an entry suddenly appears the day before she’s abducted.”
Althea could have kissed him. Not that she hadn’t done that enough already. “Damien’s right. Everything about this journal entry has to be questioned.”
“I agree,” Eddie said evenly. “And I’m sure the police feel the same way. Which is why they’re going to question your uncle today. To get his side of the story.”
“My uncle had nothing to do with these abductions!”
Eddie gave her a long, assessing look. “I understand how difficult this must be for you, Althea,” he said quietly. “But you have to admit there’s no way for you to be objective here. He’s your uncle, the man who raised you from birth. You’d sooner cut off your left arm than suspect him of these crimes. But you have to look at it from the police’s perspective. Your uncle is a very powerful man in Washington; he could become president in the next four years. Obviously a man in his position can’t afford to have any skeletons surfacing, or he can pretty much kiss the White House good-bye. If he had an affair with Courtney Reese—”
“He didn’t,” Althea interjected.
“If he did, then he stands to lose a lot if the affair is made public. Not only politically, but personally. So he has motive for wanting to silence Courtney, as well as anyone else she may have confided in. You know as well as I do that if we were talking about anyone other than Louis Pritchard, you’d already be knocking on his door demanding answers.”
Althea knew he was right. But they weren’t talking about anyone else. They were talking about her uncle. Her uncle!
In a low, controlled voice, she said, “Do you really expect me to believe that my uncle would have these two women kidnapped and make it look like some psycho out there is reenacting a horrifying experience that his very own niece lived through?”
Eddie frowned. “I didn’t say it doesn’t sound farfetched.”
“That’s putting it mildly!”
“Come on, Althea,” he said impatiently. “You’ve been at this job long enough to know anything is possible when it comes to people’s motives for committing crimes. And the hard, cold reality is that your uncle is a powerful politician who stands to lose everything if an alleged extramarital affair is brought to light. Just ask yourself what you would do if you walked into a crime scene and found a journal in which the victim basically ID’d the perpetrator. At the very least, what Courtney Reese wrote in that journal warrants investigating.”
“Fine,” Althea snapped. “Let’s investigate it. Let’s ask some tough ques
tions. Assuming my uncle did have an affair with Courtney Reese—” She forced herself not to shudder at the very idea. “—how would he have found out that she told Claire Thorndike? ’Cause last I checked, my uncle doesn’t travel in the same social circles as seventeen-year-old girls. Did Courtney threaten to confide in Claire, and that’s why he got rid of her? Or is he tapping Courtney’s phones to monitor who she’s talking to? And how can he be sure Claire is the only person she told? Is he going to go on a kidnapping spree, getting rid of everyone Courtney may have confided in? And why kidnap Claire first? If he’s trying to conceal the affair, conventional wisdom says he’d get rid of the lover, who may or may not be in possession of the proverbial sperm-stained dress?”
“According to your own theory about this case,” Eddie countered, “the perpetrator is reenacting your abduction. That means the protégée goes first, then the mentor. Hence Claire disappeared first.”
Althea glared at him for a moment. “My uncle didn’t do this!”
Eddie looked at her, his lips thinning to a flat, grim line. “It’s clear to me, Pritchard, that you’re incapable of remaining objective in this investigation. So you leave me no choice but to remove you from the case.”
“What?” The words ricocheted through her brain. “You can’t remove me!”
“Wrong. I can, and I just did. If you recall, I had reservations about your involvement in the first place. And now, with this latest development, there’s no way you can stay on this case. It’s a clear conflict of interest.” He looked to Damien. “You know I’m right.”
Damien clenched his jaw, his eyes glittering with suppressed anger. “Don’t put me in the middle of this,” he warned in a low, quelling voice.
Althea’s heart sank. She knew what Damien’s response meant. If he disagreed with Eddie, he would have said so. But he hadn’t. And he was the only one who could possibly change their boss’s mind about removing her from the case.
“Please don’t reassign me, sir,” she said, striving to sound calm, rational. “Damien and I are making progress. If you bring on another agent at this point—”
“I don’t need to. Wade is fully capable of representing the Bureau on the task force. That’s how it was supposed to be in the first place. I let you talk me into putting you on the case because you accused me of allowing your uncle to dictate the type of investigations you handle.” His lips twisted cynically. “Guess the joke’s on both of us.”
Althea stared at him, half a dozen stinging remarks on the tip of her tongue. But she reined in her temper, remembering that this man, friend or not, could advance her career—or end it.
She drew a deep breath. “I’d really like to stay on and help—”
Eddie’s expression hardened. “You’re off the case, Pritchard. That’s all there is to it.” His words, and the cold finality in his voice, slammed through her mind like the metal doors of a jail cell clanging shut.
He jabbed a blunt-tipped finger at her. “Go talk to your squad supervisor. He’s got plenty of other cases for you to jump into. And shut the door on your way out. Wade and I have some things to discuss.”
Summarily dismissed, Althea rose from her chair without looking at Damien and left the room. The door had barely closed behind her when she heard Damien growl, “Damn it, Balducci, you could have gone a little easier on her. Think how you’d feel in her shoes.”
Althea didn’t wait around to hear Eddie’s response. As she made her way through the labyrinth of halls and down to the Criminal Investigative Division, she pretended not to notice the speculative gazes of other agents she passed. Word traveled fast through the grapevine, especially in an organization like the FBI. And she knew it was only a matter of time before the media would be all over this story, which was sensational enough to rival any political scandal in recent history. It had all the necessary ingredients—sex, lies, and possibly murder.
Althea shuddered, the knot of dread tightening in her stomach as she returned to her cubicle. Ignoring the blinking message light on her phone, she lifted the receiver and dialed her uncle’s cell phone. He answered after three rings, sounding shaken.
“It’s me, Uncle Louie. Can we meet somewhere in an hour?”
Louis Pritchard had aged in a matter of hours, it seemed.
Pronounced lines of strain bracketed his mouth and his dark, tormented eyes. His broad shoulders, normally proud and erect, sagged beneath his expensive wool overcoat. He entered his niece’s apartment and walked over to the sofa, lowering himself down as gingerly as an old man with acute arthritis.
Althea’s heart squeezed painfully.
Instead of joining him on the sofa, she sat in the adjacent armchair so she could look at him directly, for what would probably be one of the most painful conversations they’d ever had.
“The police came to my office this morning,” Louis began, sounding as shocked as he’d probably felt when the detectives arrived. “I couldn’t believe it when they told me what they were there for. I still can’t believe it.”
“Neither can I,” Althea murmured.
He looked at her imploringly. “I didn’t do anything to those girls, Althea. Before we go any further, I need you to hear that from me. I had nothing to do with those abductions. Nothing.”
Althea swallowed hard, tears crowding the back of her throat. “I know you didn’t, Uncle Louie. I never doubted your innocence.”
He nodded, looking relieved. But not unburdened.
And Althea knew why. “You had an affair with Courtney Reese,” she whispered.
His mouth tightened. Pain filled his dark eyes. “I almost did.”
“What does that mean? Almost?”
He scrubbed his hand over his face and let out a deep, shuddering breath. “I met Courtney two years ago when she first started working for Senator Horton. At the time I sensed that she was, uh, attracted to me, but I never gave it too much thought. I’m in my sixties, old enough to be her father. Anyway, I didn’t see much of her until last year, when Horton began sending her to the Armed Services Committee meetings in his absence. She began flirting with me, and I’m not proud of it, but I was flattered. She’s a lovely, intelligent young woman, and any man would be lucky to have her.
“We wound up working together on a bill, which meant we met more often and had more than a few lunches together. Courtney became bolder in her flirting. And then one day she just came right out and propositioned me.” He shook his head, staring down at his clasped hands in his lap. “I won’t pretend that I was surprised. I’d seen it coming for months. And I won’t pretend that I wasn’t tempted. In fact,” he said quietly, “after several invitations, I finally agreed to meet her at a hotel.”
Althea said nothing. Her stomach had plummeted. She felt light-headed, as if she were having an out-of-body experience.
After a long, tense moment, Louis lifted his shattered gaze to hers. “You’re disappointed in me.”
“After the way you raked Malik over the coals for cheating on me,” Althea said, with as much composure as she could summon, “you can understand why I might find your actions a bit hypocritical.”
Louis flinched, guilt and sorrow filling his eyes. “You’re right,” he said in a low, chastened voice. “You’re absolutely right.”
But Althea didn’t want to be right. Not about this. “So what happened?”
Her uncle shook his head. “I couldn’t go through with it. Despite what you may now believe, Althea, I love your aunt. With all my heart. I always have, and I always will. I realized that having an affair with Courtney Reese, or any other woman, wasn’t worth losing my marriage over. And that’s what I told Courtney.”
“How did she take it?”
Louis grimaced. “Not very well. She accused me of leading her on and not knowing what I wanted. I told her what I wanted was to keep my marriage and my family intact. Needless to say, things have been strained between us ever since.”
Althea’s mind flashed on her conversation with Court
ney yesterday. She’d sensed resentment and hostility in the other woman’s voice but had attributed it to political tensions between her uncle and Senator Horton.
“No wonder,” she murmured.
Louis didn’t hear her, lost in painful recriminations. “I deeply regret the way I handled things with Courtney. If I could go back and undo that moment when I agreed to meet her at the hotel, I would. In a heartbeat. But I can’t. I made a terrible mistake, but at least I recognized that before it was too late. Before I did something irreversible.”
Althea got up, unable to sit still any longer, and paced to the window, turning possibilities over in her mind. “Why would Courtney tell Claire Thorndike that she slept with you?” she wondered aloud, remembering the text message Claire had sent to her mentor, in which Courtney reluctantly confided having an affair with an “important married man” who was black. Was she talking about Louis Pritchard, or someone else?
“I don’t know why Courtney would have told anyone we slept together, because it’s not true,” Louis said angrily.
Althea closed her eyes, James Odem’s denial whispering through her mind like a cruel taunt: I can’t imagine why Claire would have told her best friend something like that, because it wasn’t true. We never made any plans to meet.
She hadn’t believed him, not for one moment. And she’d been right not to. He had lied about his relationship with Claire.
Was her uncle lying?
“I know how bad this looks,” he said, desperation edging his voice. “The police told me about the journal. I don’t know what Courtney could have been thinking when she wrote that. She never struck me as unstable, but she must be, to have written those things in her journal.”
Obviously Claire was more delusional than I thought.
Althea gave herself a hard mental shake, trying to dislodge the awful whisper of doubt gnawing at her conscience. Your uncle isn’t James Odem. He’s never lied to you before. He’s not lying to you now!
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