by Marie Force
“You’re watching too much television.”
“Before I leave you, here’s another interesting thing I heard on the beat... Something about Nelson needing to replace Gooding and your husband being his first choice.”
Sam stared at him.
“Ah,” Darren continued with a smug grin. “I can see this is as surprising to you as it was to me. So the senator hasn’t mentioned this news to you? Word is that Gooding is sick, and it’s serious. He’s going to step down after Thanksgiving. My source tells me that even though Senator Cappuano turned down the president’s offer, he’s still Nelson’s first—and only choice.”
She felt like she’d been electrocuted. Nick had been asked to be vice president, and he’d never mentioned that to her? Forcing herself to focus on the crisis of the day, she scoffed at Darren. “The news is so slow you’re forced to make stuff up now, huh, Darren?”
“I’m not making this up. I got it directly from the guy who covers the White House for us. He said he heard it from a West Wing staffer. If you don’t believe me, ask your husband.”
“I gotta go. Have a nice Thanksgiving.”
“You too. I’m sure I’ll see you before then.”
“I’m sure you won’t.” Walking to the corner, she sent Avery a text asking him to pick her up on the next block. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Darren wasn’t following her, but didn’t see any sign of him.
Her mind whirled with the information Darren had given her. Was it true? Had Nelson talked to Nick about being his vice president? If so, why wouldn’t Nick have told her that? After all his preaching about being open with each other! She’d changed her entire way of doing business to accommodate his need to know everything. Clearly, he wasn’t playing by the same rules.
By the time Avery pulled up to the curb where she waited, she’d gone from shocked to furious. She got in the car and slammed the door.
“Jeez, take it easy on the car, will ya?”
“Sorry.”
“Everything okay?”
“Yeah, it’s great. Best day of my life.” She noticed he wore a casual black jacket with faded jeans. She’d never seen him in anything other than a three-thousand-dollar suit and was taken in once again by his striking good looks. His golden-brown hair matched his equally golden eyes.
Chiseled cheekbones and that accent made for one hell of a handsome package. But since she was married to the best-looking guy she’d ever known, golden boy Hill barely registered a second glance from her. The fact that he’d confessed to having a major crush on her was just another reason to keep her eyes to herself.
“How’s your niece?”
“The same. Out of it. Still in ICU.”
“I’ve called in some of our best cyber guys to track down the source of the video and photos.”
“Will they be able to get it taken down?”
“That’s the goal.”
“Thanks. I really appreciate this.”
“You must’ve been feeling pretty desperate to call me,” he said with a hint of humor in that dreamy Southern accent.
“Desperate is a good word for how I feel. Brooke, my niece... She’s been a handful the last few years. This school was a last resort. And now...” Sam sighed, exhausted and unable to wrap her mind around the implications of what was ahead for Brooke—and her parents.
“I know it seems overwhelming right now, but you’ll figure out what needs to be done to protect Brooke.”
“I just hope I’ll have a career left by the time I get it figured out.” Resting her head against the seat, she intended to rest her eyes for a few minutes. She came to, disoriented and unsure of where she was when she saw Avery looking over at her. “Sorry. Long night with no sleep.”
“No problem.”
“I didn’t snore, did I?”
“I’ll never tell.”
Heat infused her face, which infuriated her. What did she care if he’d heard her snore or not? “So this is the Remington School for Girls,” she said, looking for something—anything—she could say that would get his gaze off her.
“In all its stone and ivy-covered glory.”
“You got the warrant?”
He patted his chest where the warrant presumably resided in a pocket.
“Let’s get this over with.” Barely fortified by the two-hour nap, Sam steeled herself to kick some ass when her senses were fuzzy around the edges. She preferred to be at her best when she had to flip the bitch switch, but the fuzziness wouldn’t stop her from doing what needed to be done here.
She marched into the school’s main entrance like she owned the place, which was her favorite way to walk into an establishment where she had business. Inside she confronted one of her other favorite things—a receptionist, who acted like she hadn’t the first clue as to why Sam had come.
“Get your boss out here,” Sam said, flashing her badge. “Immediately.”
The heavyset older woman got up and walked into another office, closing the door behind her.
“I do so enjoy watching you work, Lieutenant.”
“I hate stupid people who pretend they don’t know what’s going on when Brooke’s big escape is all they’ve talked about since I called this morning.”
“You do make a good point.”
The woman returned with a tall, skinny, balding guy. Wearing a gray three-piece suit and gold wire-framed glasses, Gideon Young walked like he had a stick up his ass. The walk told her a lot about what she could expect from him. She flashed her badge, and Hill did the same.
“Lieutenant Holland, MPD.”
“Special Agent-in-Charge Hill, FBI.”
At the mention of the FBI, Young seemed to deflate a bit. “What does the FBI have to do with this?”
“We have nine murdered teenagers in the city and a tenth in ICU,” Hill replied. “That’s what the FBI has to do with this.”
His complexion visibly drained of all color. “Murdered? Who was murdered?”
“That’s none of your concern,” Sam said. “We’d like to know how Brooke Hogan was able to check herself out of here with bogus documents. We’d like to know why a minor was allowed to leave here without her parents being contacted before she was released into the custody of a sister she doesn’t have.”
Hill’s hand on her arm was the only indication Sam had that she was on the verge of losing her shit with Young. She took a deep breath and shook off Hill. “I would like some answers, Mr. Young, and I’d like them now.”
The older woman who’d been watching their exchange with big eyes suddenly broke down in tears. “It’s all my fault. She said she was Brooke’s sister and provided a notarized note from Brooke’s mother that said she was authorized to pick up her sister. I should’ve called her parents. It’s my fault. If you need to arrest anyone, arrest me.”
Oh, for fuck’s sake, Sam thought.
“There, there, Linda,” Young said, patting the other woman’s arm. “No one blames you.”
“Um, I do,” Sam said. “My sister does, and her husband does. We all blame you for letting a seventeen-year-old con artist scam you so easily.”
As Linda wailed with distress, Young glowered at Sam. “Is that really necessary?”
“Mr. Young, as you are painfully aware—because I have no doubt you’ve consulted with your legal counsel since we spoke earlier—my sister and her husband have the grounds to bring a gigantic lawsuit against your school. The lawsuit will be so huge, it may put you right out of business. In light of the tremendous liability you’re looking at in this situation, I would urge you—and your staff—to fully cooperate with our investigation.”
His shoulders sagged at Sam’s use of the word “lawsuit.” He wore a resigned expression when he said, “What do you need from us?”
“Firs
t and foremost, I’d like to know what time Brooke left here.”
Linda wiped her wet face. “It was about five thirty, I would say.”
Sam made a notation in the notebook she’d pulled from the back pocket of her jeans. “I’d also like a physical description of Brooke’s so-called older sister.”
“Linda, do you feel up to describing her to the lieutenant?” Young asked his receptionist in a gentle tone that made Sam want to smack him.
Hill nudged Sam’s elbow. “Sam, look.” He pointed to a camera in the corner above the reception area.
“Never mind, Linda.” To Young she said, “I want the video.”
“I sent it to you as directed.”
“As you can plainly see, I’m not at a computer, so get me somewhere that I can look at it. Now.”
Nodding, he picked up a phone, pressed a series of buttons and said, “Please come to the main office right away.”
“Anything like this ever happen before?” Sam asked while they waited.
“No!” Young said. “We’ve built our reputation on helping at-risk girls turn their lives around. Something like this... Well, it could ruin us.”
Linda let out another sob at that news.
Sam glared at Young, hoping he’d get the message.
“Um, Linda, why don’t you take a break in my office and get yourself together.”
“Yes, Mr. Young,” she said between sobs. “I’ll do that. I’m so sorry.”
“I know you are.”
A young man came into the office through a door in the back. Tall and muscular, he had dark, curly hair and soulful eyes. Sam’s first thought was that the students at the all-girl school must drool over him.
“This is Sebastian Ryder, our director of security,” Young said.
Sam snorted out a laugh at the guy’s soap opera name. “You’re the director of security?”
Ryder’s dreamy poet’s eyes narrowed with displeasure. “Who are you?”
She flashed her badge and took great pleasure in saying, “Lieutenant Holland, Metro PD homicide.” Using her thumb, she gestured to Hill. “My associate, FBI Special Agent-in-Charge Hill.”
Ryder looked back and forth between them before he settled his gaze on Sam. “What can we do for you?”
“Mr. Young hasn’t mentioned the fact that my seventeen-year-old niece was sprung from here last night by someone claiming to be her older sister?”
“I just got here. I don’t normally work on Saturdays.”
“So you just happened to come by on your day off?”
“Mr. Young called me and said we had a situation he needed my assistance with, but as I just arrived, I haven’t yet had a chance to speak with him about it.”
Sam found it very odd that Young had taken the time to call in his director of security but hadn’t seen fit to tell him why. “We’d like to take a look at the video surveillance of the reception area from last night. We have a warrant.”
Avery produced the warrant and held it up for their inspection.
Ryder glanced at Young, who nodded. “Sure, right this way.” Ryder gestured for them to come around the counter and follow him through the same door he’d come through. They walked down a long corridor that seemed to house offices and ended in a large room filled with screens that showed numerous views of the bucolic campus. Two other young, handsome guys were monitoring the images on what seemed like a quiet day at the school. Only a handful of students were out and about.
“Is it always so quiet around here?” Hill asked.
“No,” Ryder replied. “Most of our students have already gone home for the holiday. The big rush was yesterday after classes ended for the week.”
Which, Sam thought, could explain how Brooke was able to sneak one by an overworked and overwhelmed receptionist. Knowing Brooke, she’d given the timing of her breakout careful consideration.
“The residence halls close for the week at six o’clock tonight,” Ryder continued, “and reopen a week from tomorrow at noon. Trent, can you get me the videotape from the reception area from last night?”
“We’re interested in seeing what transpired there around five-thirty,” Sam said.
“Sure,” the man named Trent replied as he got busy on a computer. Images popped up on an oversized screen.
Sam zeroed in on the progression, which Trent fast-forwarded. “Wait. Stop. That’s her.” Brooke came into the office with a backpack on her shoulder and her dark hair up in a ponytail. She spoke with Linda and then turned as another girl walked into the office. Sam moved closer to the screen to get a better look at the second girl, but she could only see the back of her.
Brooke hugged her and then introduced the other girl to Linda. They produced the paperwork that Linda scanned as she continued to chat with Brooke. Linda handed the papers back to Brooke’s friend, and the two girls turned to leave, giving them a clear view of the second girl’s face.
“There! Freeze that frame. Can you email that image to us?”
“Yes,” Trent said. “Where’s it going?”
“Give them your address,” Sam said to Avery. “Your phone is smart, and mine isn’t.”
Avery recited his email address.
When he got to the fbi.gov portion of the address, Trent paused and glanced up to take a closer look at the agent. “Did you say FBI?”
“Yes,” Avery said without giving any more information.
“Okay, I sent it.”
Avery retrieved his phone, and when a chime indicated the email had arrived, he looked at Sam. “Where do you want to send it?”
“To my sister for an ID.”
“What’s her number?”
Sam recited it from memory. “Tell her it’s me and I need to know who that girl is.”
“Done,” Avery said a minute later.
“We’d like access to Brooke’s room,” Sam said.
“Right this way,” Young replied from behind them. His voice startled her, but she wasn’t surprised he had followed them to the security area. Young and Ryder accompanied them out of the main administration building, across a grassy quadrangle to a brick dormitory called Aldrich Hall. They went up three flights of stairs to room 301.
“Has anyone been in here?” Sam asked.
“No,” Young said. “Brooke’s roommate left before she did, so the room has been empty since Brooke left.”
It was the first lucky break she’d gotten all day, Sam thought, as Ryder used a master key to open the door. The distinctive scent of her niece’s perfume was the first thing Sam noticed, and it brought tears to her eyes. Fighting them back with everything she had, she stepped into the room and took in the photos taped to the wall. She didn’t have to be told which side of the room belonged to Brooke. No Bieber or One Direction pretty boys for her girl, Sam thought. Brooke was all about the edgy, grungy guys, most of whom Sam didn’t recognize.
Her unmade bed was covered in a dark purple comforter, and clothes were strewn about on the floor along with several purple towels. On the bed sat the stuffed bear named Norman that Brooke had slept with all her life. The sight of Norman, battered and well loved, brought more tears to Sam’s eyes.
“They aren’t allowed to keep their rooms like this,” Young said with an air of disapproval.
“I’d think that with Brooke in ICU, due in part to the negligence of your staff, her messiness would be the least of your concerns,” Sam said as she approached the desk.
Avery produced evidence bags and gloves from his coat pockets, and they worked together to bag Brooke’s laptop and iPad.
Sam sifted through the papers on Brooke’s desk, but didn’t find anything other than notes from classes. “Your program includes counseling,” Sam said to Young. “I’d like to speak to the person who was working with Brooke.”
“I’m not sure what good that would do,” Young said. “She’s bound by doctor-patient confidentiality.”
“Agent Hill?” Sam said.
“We have a warrant,” he reminded Young.
“That covers therapy?”
“It covers everything. I am nothing if not thorough.”
Sam absolutely adored the pesky agent in that moment. He was proving to be the ideal partner in this mission. “Get the therapist. Now.”
As Young scurried off to get the therapist, Avery’s phone dinged.
He glanced at it and handed it to Sam. “Your sister.”
The message said, Hoda, of course. Was there any doubt?
Hearing that, Sam placed another call to the principal of Wilson High School, who actually answered this time. “Mr. Galbraith?”
“Yes,” he said, sounding rushed and frazzled. No doubt he was aware by now that several of his students had been murdered. “Who’s speaking?”
“Lieutenant Holland, MPD.”
After a long pause, he said, “I recognize your name.”
“I need some information about a student at your school who goes by the name ‘Hoda.’ Are you familiar with her?”
He let out a sound that might’ve been a grimace or a laugh. “You could say that. She’s that one student every principal has to deal with. Always in some sort of trouble, always denying her involvement, always blaming someone else.”
Sounds a lot like Brooke, Sam thought. “What’s her last name?”
“Danziger.”
“And where can we find her?”
“Tell me you don’t think she had something to do with what happened to those kids at the Springer house.”
“I’m looking into a separate matter at the moment,” Sam said.
“Oh, okay.” He sounded relieved, and Sam wanted to tell him the relief might be a bit premature. Galbraith gave her the Danzigers’ address, which Sam recorded in her notebook.
“We’re trying to track down the owner of the WilsonSeniors account on Facebook and Twitter. Would you have any idea who runs that?”