No One But You

by Maureen Smith

  “The only explanation I can come up with for any of this is that someone is trying to set me up. A political rival, maybe. Someone who knows that this kind of scandal would effectively slam the door on my future bid for the White House.”

  Althea turned from the window and crossed the living room to join him on the sofa. Her gaze was intent on his face. “I can think of another explanation.”

  By the time she’d finished sharing her theory about the journal entry with her uncle, his face was ashen, as if all the blood had drained from his head. “My God,” he breathed, staring at Althea. “You haven’t told me and Barbara anything about this case. You really do believe there’s a connection to your kidnapping.”

  Althea nodded reluctantly. “I didn’t want you and Aunt Bobbi to worry about me—any more than you already do. But there are too many things about this case that are reminiscent of what happened before. I think whoever took Courtney planted that journal entry to get my attention, not yours.” Her lips twisted bitterly. “But there’s nothing I can do about it. I’ve been removed from the case, effective immediately.”

  Louis frowned. “I never wanted you involved in this investigation in the first place. And with good reason, based on what you’ve just told me. Let the authorities handle it, baby girl.”

  She gave a brittle laugh. “I am the authorities. If I can’t do my job, then I might as well go back to medical school. Don’t even think about it,” she warned, seeing the thoughtful expression on her uncle’s face. “The point is, now I have to rely on my partner to keep me in the loop about the investigation, even though he’s probably been ordered not to. How can I help clear your name, Uncle Louie, if I don’t know what kind of ‘evidence’ the police have against you?”

  His gaze hardened, his eyes flashing with temper. “Don’t you worry about trying to clear my name. You worry about keeping yourself safe. My reputation won’t mean a damn thing to me if you’re dead.”

  Impulsively Althea leaned over and looped her arms around his neck. Her uncle hugged her back tightly.

  “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I know I’ve let you down today.” His voice, thick with emotion, rumbled against her ear. “I’ve never told you this before, but when your mother began using drugs, I blamed myself for not doing more to help her. She was my baby sister, and I should’ve been able to protect her. I thought I was being a good role model for her by going to college and law school, but it wasn’t enough. I should have been there for her, and I wasn’t. I was caught up in my own life, my own big dreams and ambitions.” He swallowed convulsively. “When your mother died after giving birth to you, I held your fragile little body in my hands, and I made a vow to you that I would always be there for you, and I would never give you any reason to question my character or integrity. I deeply regret that my behavior with Courtney Reese has caused you to do that today.”

  “So do I,” Althea admitted quietly. “I’ve always had you on a pedestal, Uncle Louie. But I guess it’s good to know that even our heroes can make mistakes and be human.”

  Louis kissed the top of her head and hugged her closer. “After I leave here, I’m going home to have a heart-to-heart with your aunt. She’s been put through a lot today, and this is probably just the beginning. After we talk, I’m meeting with my attorney and reaching out to my contacts in the police department. One way or another, we’re going to get to the bottom of this matter.”

  And just like that, her uncle was back. The fighter Althea knew and loved.

  But she knew it wouldn’t be enough to stop what had already been set in motion.

  “You’ve been avoiding my calls.” Those were the first words out of Damien’s mouth when he showed up on Althea’s doorstep that evening.

  She looked at him for a moment, then reluctantly opened the door wider and gestured him inside the apartment.

  “So much for improved security,” she grumbled as he followed her to the kitchen, where she was making herself a cup of chamomile tea. “I see you had no problem getting into the building.”

  “I didn’t think you’d let me in if I buzzed you.” Damien leaned in the doorway, his shoulder propped against the jamb as he watched her. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day. You were gone when I came looking for you after the meeting, and then I called you while I was on the road, but you didn’t answer your phone. I started worrying, so I called Anival, but he told me you were in your cubicle. Why didn’t you take any of my calls?”

  “I was busy.” But she wouldn’t meet his gaze. “I’ve got my hands full with the new cases Doherty assigned. What did you want? Was it anything important?”

  “Yeah,” Damien said gently. “I wanted to know if you were okay. I know it’s been a rough day for you.”

  She gave a dismissive shrug, vigorously stirring sugar into her tea. “Not as rough as it’s been for Courtney Reese’s family and friends. And for my aunt and uncle, whose marriage has been dissected by every talking head on CNN for the last seven hours.”

  Damien grimaced. “You shouldn’t watch the news.”

  “What do you expect me to do?” she snapped, temper sparking in her eyes. “Bury my head in the sand and pretend none of this is happening?”

  Damien said nothing. It was a rhetorical question, hurled out of anger and frustration.

  She retreated to a far corner of the kitchen and brooded over her tea.

  Seeking to defuse the tension in the air, Damien sauntered over to the refrigerator and helped himself to a bottle of water. As he twisted off the cap, he said casually, “I thought you’d want to know that I finally had a chance to speak to Patrick Farris.”

  “Oh?” Her tone was neutral, but he knew he’d caught her attention.

  “Not surprisingly, he didn’t have anything nice to say about his ex-wife. He called her a ‘greedy, vicious, backstabbing whore without a soul.’ When I asked him if he could think of anything from her past that someone might use to blackmail her, he laughed and said he’d already tried to dig up dirt on her. During the divorce proceedings he hired a private investigator to look into her past, but the guy came up with zilch. Farris thinks the P.I. was probably sleeping with Suzette, or she promised him a cut of the divorce settlement in exchange for his silence. Anyway, he’s been at his son’s house in Virginia for the last two weeks, so that’s his alibi.”

  “What about Corbin?”

  “Interestingly enough, Farris says he hasn’t seen Corbin in more than a month. He seemed genuinely surprised when I told him that his son had been spotted at the post office near his brother Kyle’s house in Virginia. Based on what Farris told me about Corbin, he sounds like a drifter. He wanders from place to place, taking odd jobs here and there, never putting down roots anywhere.”

  Not unlike your own father, Damien thought. Roderick Wade’s bout with mental illness had driven him away from his wife and children, forcing him into a nomadic existence of drifting from one city to another, sporadically checking himself into mental health clinics before the voices in his head became too many and the walls started closing in on him. The last Damien heard, his aging father was staying with a distant relative in Oregon, where he’d been for the last two years—the longest he’d ever remained in one location.

  Damien didn’t realize he’d divulged all that until Althea said very softly, “I’m sorry. That must have been very hard for you and your family.”

  Damien blinked to erase the memories of growing up in the shadow of his father’s demons, which had haunted their lives as surely as if he’d been present. “I was only four when he left. Reggie and Garrison remember him more than I do.”

  Althea gazed at him, her eyes soft with compassion.

  “Anyway,” Damien said gruffly, “I believe Farris was telling the truth. About everything. I don’t think he’s blackmailing Suzette, and I don’t think he’s lying about not knowing Corbin’s whereabouts. But that doesn’t mean I’m ruling out Corbin as a suspect. Someone pulled into that driveway last night and took off when he
made us. The neighbor I spoke to before said he hadn’t seen any cars parked at the house while Farris was in Virginia, but that doesn’t mean Corbin can’t sneak over late at night and leave early in the morning before any of the neighbors are up.”

  Althea nodded in agreement.

  Damien hesitated, then offered, “I went with Mayhew to meet with the primary detective assigned to Courtney’s case.”

  Althea stared at him, waiting.

  “They found a stack of journals in her apartment and they’re still going through them, but so far they’ve found no mention of her alleged affair with your uncle.” A flash of triumph lit Althea’s eyes before he continued, “However, they spoke to some of her colleagues, who said Courtney was a very private person. So private she might not have documented something so personal even in her own journal. Not to mention that she’s a huge fan of political thrillers and a self-confessed conspiracy theorist. Her colleagues said if she was having an affair with someone as powerful as Louis Pritchard, she would have been too afraid to write it down anywhere—unless she suddenly believed her life was in danger.”

  Althea looked skeptical. “Did any of her colleagues suspect she was having an affair with my uncle?”

  Damien shook his head. “However, Senator Horton said he sensed some tension between them on numerous occasions. He wanted to ask Courtney about it, but he didn’t want her to think he was prying into her personal life. He spoke very highly of her, said she’s a consummate professional and respected by all of her peers.”

  “Of course,” Althea said bitterly. “Are they actually considering any other suspects? Or is it just my uncle they want?”

  Damien shook his head slowly. “Don’t do that.”

  “Don’t do what?” she snapped.

  “Don’t stand there and act like this is some ‘vast right-wing conspiracy’ to get your uncle.”

  “Why not? That’s what it’s starting to sound like! It won’t be long before his political rivals and detractors will start making their rounds on the news programs, demanding his resignation from office. They’ve probably already convened a secret meeting in some smoke-filled room somewhere to go over their attack strategy.”

  Damien gave her a long, measured look. “You know Balducci is right, don’t you? You’ve lost your objectivity in this case.”

  Hurt flared in her eyes. Hurt and betrayal. “So now you’re taking Balducci’s side?”

  His control snapped. “Damn it, Althea, this isn’t about taking sides! This is about doing our jobs, leaving no stone unturned. This is about trying to find two missing women! Or have you forgotten about the victims in your crusade to turn your uncle into one?”

  She set down her cup with a thud, splashing tea onto the counter. She glared furiously at him. “I spoke to my uncle this morning. He didn’t have an affair with Courtney Reese, and I believe him. I don’t care what kind of so-called evidence they come up with. My uncle is innocent, and if you can’t see what this really is, I’m not going to waste my breath trying to convince you!”

  Damien clenched his jaw, fighting to rein in his temper. After several tense moments, he blew out a deep breath. “Look, Althea, let’s not argue about this anymore. I have to go pick up India from my mom’s, and then I’m taking her out to dinner to make up for working late yesterday. Why don’t you join us?”

  “No, thanks.”

  Her flat refusal stunned him. He scowled. “So that’s how it’s going to be? You’re going to punish me for disagreeing with you? For speaking the truth?”

  Her eyes hardened. “I think it’s time for you to leave.”

  Damien just stared at her. He suddenly remembered that they were supposed to be having dinner with Garrison and Imani that night. Garrison had called Damien earlier to let him know that the invitation was still open, but considering the recent developments in the abduction case, he would understand if Althea wasn’t up for socializing. Damien had forgotten to mention it to her, and now it was too late.

  The silence stretched between them as they stood there, squaring off across the room from each other, fierce combatants who’d just spent an incredible night of passion together and had awakened in each other’s arms. Damien felt an acute sense of loss, sorrow for what could have been.

  Without another word he turned and left the apartment, slamming the door behind him.

  Literally and figuratively.

  Chapter 28

  After Damien left, Althea forced herself to return to her office and resume the task of rearranging her bookcase, although the hollow ache of regret in her heart made her want to go lie down on her bed, curl into a fetal position, and bawl her eyes out. She’d lost her temper and lashed out at Damien, perhaps unfairly. But, damn it, he’d provoked her. That dig about her turning her uncle into a victim had been cruel and uncalled for. She’d expected him to be a little more understanding. More supportive. And he’d let her down.

  It wouldn’t have worked anyway, Althea told herself. Sooner or later you would have had to choose between him and the job. Better sooner rather than later.

  The thought brought her no consolation.

  Giving herself a mental shake, she forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand, shelving the books in alphabetical order, by category. She’d already filled one row with nonfiction titles, which included self-help books as well as the medical journals she’d kept purely for sentimental reasons. She had just reached the end of the G section when suddenly she realized which book was missing.

  Her thirty-ninth edition of Gray’s Anatomy.

  Althea frowned, a whisper of unease sifting through her. Why would anyone break into her apartment and steal a copy of a medical book? What was the significance?

  The kidnapper knows all about your past. He knows you were in medical school. Claire Thorndike wants to become a doctor. That’s one of the things you have in common.

  James Odem is a surgeon, Althea thought. He works at a hospital that receives generous monetary donations from Spencer Thorndike, the father of the missing girl. So Odem already had a connection to Claire. But she contacted him first. She was doing research for her music appreciation class and came across Odem’s MyDomain page. That was indisputable.

  Althea frowned, tapping her finger against the book she held in her hand. She felt that same frustration she always did on a hard case, that teasing niggle at the back of her mind that she was missing something. Something significant enough to break the case wide open.

  What was it?

  Think, Althea. Have you forgotten that you recognized James Odem when you saw him at the police station? Try to remember where you’ve seen him before!

  Quickly setting aside the book she’d been holding, Althea crossed to her desk and sat down. She pulled up Mercy Harbor’s Web site and went to the page for the neurosurgery department, wondering why she hadn’t thought of this before. She clicked through the staff photographs until she came to James Odem’s. As she stared at his handsome, unsmiling image, she felt that same whisper of recognition.

  So she hadn’t imagined it.

  She perused his biography, noting the impressive list of credentials and published research papers. When she’d finished reading, she began sorting through her memory bank, concentrating on the last eight years. She’d spent five years at Stanford, first as an undergraduate and then as a med student. After dropping out of the program, she’d joined the FBI and accepted an assignment in Seattle for the next three years.

  Althea stared at the computer screen, willing Odem’s photo to trigger a memory.

  And then suddenly it happened.

  Of course! He’d been a guest lecturer at Stanford during her junior year. He was invited to the university to discuss groundbreaking advances in neurology. One of Althea’s professors had passed out a flyer at the end of class one afternoon, encouraging students to attend the lecture. Althea had barely glanced at the flyer before stuffing it into her bookbag and rushing off to another class. She’d wanted to hear t
he neurosurgeon speak that evening, but by the time she remembered and made it across campus, the lecture was over, and the auditorium was quickly emptying. She’d lingered in the back for a few minutes, trying to get a glimpse of Odem through the crowd of students and professors waiting to speak to him, but after awhile she’d given up and left. She never gave it another thought.

  And even now, it seemed like a long shot. Just because James Odem had lectured at the same university Althea attended didn’t mean he was the kidnapper. What did he do? Look across a crowded auditorium, see her, and become obsessed for the next six years?

  Highly unlikely.

  But then again, there was nothing likely about this case.

  A case you’ve been removed from, a voice reminded her.

  Althea scowled.

  Before leaving Mercy Harbor’s Web site, she clicked around some more and came across photos of various events sponsored by the hospital. Black-tie galas, donor drives, community health forums.

  When she stumbled upon a group photo taken at a fund-raiser last year, her hand stilled. She stared at the computer, surprised to find her therapist, Zachary Parminter, posing with the hospital’s president and CEO, a board member, the chief of psychiatry. And Spencer Thorndike.

  Althea frowned, trying to remember if Dr. Parminter had ever mentioned any connection to Mercy Harbor Hospital. If he had, she’d forgotten. But that was odd. He knew she was from Maryland, and not once had he ever mentioned visiting the state. At the very least, wouldn’t his association with Mercy Harbor Hospital have come up when she told him she was being transferred to Baltimore?

  And when she spoke to him on Monday, wouldn’t he have mentioned meeting Spencer Thorndike before?

  He hadn’t said a word.

  Althea’s muscles tensed, a chill of foreboding slithering down her spine.

  Was it possible?

  No. It couldn’t be.

  Dr. Parminter couldn’t have kidnapped Claire Thorndike and Courtney Reese. He had treated Althea for three years, helping her work through her demons. She had confided in him, shared some of her deepest, darkest fears with him. She trusted him implicitly. He wouldn’t betray her like this.