“We are waiting for further instructions and are prepared to cooperate for the sake of my daughter.”
Just his luck! He finally pulls off his plan and gets a sick kid. If she died, things would get complicated. Mess him up completely. He’d have to dispose of the body, yet maintain the ruse long enough to get the ransom money. How would he do that? And Sandy—good grief, Sandy would freak. Irritated, he watched the rest of the press briefing and snapped off the television. When he turned toward the kitchen, he saw Zoe with a mouthful of jelly beans. Sugar! He strode toward her, grabbed the bag from her hands, and yelled at Sandy. “Stop feeding her all this candy!” he roared. “You’re going to make her sick!”
Peggy Tripp’s blonde hair and bright smile had helped gain her entry to many a home and office around town. A political reporter for a local news station, she specialized in gotcha journalism. She claimed as one of her recent trophies the head of a Virginia senator defeated in his last election after a misstatement in a Peggy Tripp interview.
“Peggy!” Senator Grable said, giving her a hug.
He looked relieved that the TV news conference had finished, but Kenzie, seeing the reporter’s forwardness, worried that he would drop his guard. “Senator,” she said, but the man wasn’t looking in her direction at all. Kenzie moved to intervene. “Excuse me, Ms. Tripp, the senator . . .”
“It’s all right, it’s all right,” Grable said, taking the reporter by the arm and bringing her further into the house. Clearly, he knew her. Clearly, they had a history.
Kenzie rolled her eyes. Where was Scott? She looked toward the kitchen. Nowhere in sight. She grabbed the senator’s arm. “Senator. Sir.” She waited until his eyes had turned to her. “I don’t think . . .”
“Bruce, you owe me. You said that yourself,” the reporter said sweetly, folding herself toward him, diverting his attention. “Besides, it could help.”
“I don’t suppose it could hurt.”
Oh yes, it could hurt! Kenzie screamed inside. It could ruin everything! “Senator, wait . . .” but the senator began moving toward his office, the reporter on his arm, and the best Kenzie could do was follow them in.
17
He’s not a prisoner. We can’t keep him from talking,” Scott said twenty minutes later.
She still fumed with anger. “How does he expect us to resolve this if he’s going off like a loose cannon? Bruce Grable is an idiot.”
“Kenzie, relax,” Scott replied. “It’s not the end of the world. Did you sit in on the interview? Monitor what he said?”
“Yes, and a couple of times I stopped him, but,” she hesitated. That reporter had reminded her of her mother: blonde, beautiful, and manipulative. She hated the way Peggy Tripp had taken control. Hated it. Kenzie shook her head. “It was so wrong.”
“It’s all right. It’s going to be all right.” He ran his hand over his head. “We’ve got more important things to worry about. Are you feeling all right?”
“I told you, yes!” she snapped.
“Why didn’t you wait for Crow?”
“What?”
“Why didn’t you wait for Crow before you interviewed Talmadge, like I asked you to?”
Kenzie stiffened. “If I had, I wouldn’t have been here on time.”
“I told you to wait.”
“And I said Grable shouldn’t give individual interviews! Things don’t always work out, do they, Scott? So don’t worry about it!”
Scott’s eyes narrowed. The skin above his mouth mottled, his anger ignited. “Team play beats brilliant individual play anytime,” he snapped.
Beyond him, Kenzie saw Crow watching them. “What is that supposed to mean?” she said, and turned and stalked out to the kitchen.
She felt tired. Incredibly tired. And her head hurt and she hated thinking of what she’d just said to Scott, and she hated thinking of her dog alone with her mother, and she hated thinking of Zoe with the kidnapper, and she wanted to rewind the tape and successfully keep Bruce Grable from giving Peggy Tripp a personal interview. How could she have failed at that? She pounded her fist into the side of her leg. She was an agent, for crying out loud. She had been taught to control the situation!
And she hadn’t. She’d let the blonde charm her way right into Grable’s office. And Grable had let his human side come out, just what she, Kenzie, had warned him against. If the kidnapper were truly a psychopath he would feel empowered. He’d gotten to the senator—just what he wanted to do.
She had let Peggy Tripp get to Grable, she’d let her mom take her dog, she’d let some guy clunk her on the head . . . what an idiot! Maybe Crow was right. Maybe she shouldn’t be on this case.
Outside the kitchen window, the evening light had begun to fade. Another day for Zoe. Another night away from home. Another scary, terrifying . . .
“Hey,” Scott said.
She turned around. He filled the doorway, looming over her like Judgment Day.
She folded her arms across her middle. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
“It’s all right. We’re all tense. And you drive yourself pretty hard.”
She started to protest but immediately recognized it as useless. She did drive herself hard. Very hard. She looked at Scott. “I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I felt angry with myself for letting Senator Grable talk to that reporter.”
Scott leaned against the kitchen island, his brown eyes soft, his expression calm. “You couldn’t have prevented it. I couldn’t have, either.”
She frowned.
“If she hadn’t gotten in the house, she would have called him. I’ll bet you anything she’s got his home number, his office number, his cell phone number. She was going to get that interview. I know her. She’s very aggressive. And we can advise the senator regarding what’s wise, but we can’t keep him from talking to her.”
Kenzie turned away.
“It’s not going to be perfect.”
Mentally, she filled in the part he left out: God is in control. His mantra. But she hadn’t asked for a sermon, and she didn’t want one.
Scott cleared his throat. “We need to make sure we’re working as a team. And unless you have good reason not to, when I tell you to do something a particular way, I want you to do it that way.”
She turned toward him and lifted her chin. “Ever since I got back from the hospital, Crow has been pressing me, like I’m to blame for getting hit.” She tossed her head. “I’m not going to put up with that.”
Scott stood up and stuck his hands in his pockets. “He’s got an issue . . .”
“With what? Women in the Bureau? I would have thought by now . . .”
Scott waved his hand. “No, no. It’s not about women nor is it about you, per se. It’s something else. I’ll talk to him. Now look, Kenz, we’re all tired. You were assaulted last night. I need you to be in top shape if we get something from this guy. So get some rest, OK?”
She took a deep breath. Her head pounded. Her whole body felt weak, wrung out, like a dishrag. “All right.”
He started to leave, then turned around. “Kenzie, you’re on this case for a reason, and it isn’t just linguistics. God’s doing something. Just relax. Lean into it. Let him take you where he wants you to be.”
She bristled. “Just call me, OK? If our subject shows up on the board?”
Kenzie trudged upstairs, her conversation with Scott playing over and over in her head. What did he mean, it wasn’t about her, per se? What did that mean? Why couldn’t he tell her? She fell asleep, despite all the thoughts rolling around in her head. And although she intended to remain angry with Crow, the last image in her mind was him standing in the crowd, the sun glinting off his black hair, his burnished skin glowing like hot metal.
“Kenzie.” A hand on her shoulder pulled her out of a dream. “Kenzie.”
She opened her eyes.
“Scott told me to wake you up,” Crow said gently. “We think we have something.”
She sat up quickly. A sharp
pain rewarded her. She put her hand to her head.
“Easy . . . easy,” he said. “Take your time.” His voice sounded soft, gentle.
Kenzie tried to stand up, losing her balance in midair. Crow steadied her, catching her arm, and as he did, their eyes met. He looked away quickly. “Come down when you can,” he said, suddenly letting go of her and disappearing through the door.
When she arrived downstairs, Alicia Sheerling sat at the dining room table, peering at a computer hooked up to the Internet. Scott stood beside her. Crow was present, too, off to the side, his arms folded across his chest. He didn’t look up as she entered the room.
“Here,” Alicia said, moving out of the way. “Look at this.”
The computer screen displayed a page from a message board about the show High Stakes. It read: Joie doesn’t wear much pink anymore. She’s always frowning. Why is she so unhappy? Somebody better do something—if he’s able.
Joie—Zoe
Able—Grable
No pink—she’s dressed like a boy.
Kenzie looked up at Alicia. “Good job.”
“What do you think?” Scott asked.
“Could be our guy.” She pointed out the word plays. “So remind me: Who is Joie in the TV show?”
“She’s the computer geek,” Alicia responded.
“OK, where’s Senator Grable?” Kenzie asked. “I’d like to know if the screen name means anything to him.”
“I’ll get him,” Crow said.
“I scanned back on the board,” Alicia said. “Jackson423 just started posting about two weeks ago.”
“What’s he been saying?”
“It’s the usual fan-page garbage. Talking about plots, torture techniques . . . honestly, it all looks normal, until this. It just didn’t read right, you know? It’s what caught my attention. Who says ‘if he is able’ on a message board? And why would he suddenly, after all this macho stuff, why would he suddenly point out Joie’s mood?”
Kenzie nodded. “You’re right, Alicia. It stands out. Scott? I’m going to respond to this guy.”
“Do whatever you think best,” he replied.
Her fingers flying over the keyboard, Kenzie created two screen names. She’d use “Big Dog” as if she were Senator Grable, and “Brandigurl” as a cover, a flirtatious, shallow female persona through which she would try to draw this guy out. Jackson423, what was the significance of that screen name?
Senator Grable entered the room. “What’s going on?”
“Do you know anyone named ‘Jackson’?” she responded, glancing at him.
“No,” Grable responded.
“The name ‘Jackson423’ doesn’t mean anything to you?” But as the name rolled off her tongue, she suddenly made a connection.
“Absolutely nothing,” the senator said.
Her heart pumped hard. She looked up. Scott had just clicked off his phone. “Excuse me for a minute. Watch the screen, will you, Alicia? I’ll be back in just a second.” She caught Scott’s eye and he followed her out to the kitchen.
“What’s up?” he asked, quietly. Crow must have sensed something because he followed right behind Scott.
“That guy I went to see today? Beau Talmadge? I just remembered something.” She pressed her fingers to her temples. “He has a dog named Jackson.”
Scott’s face tightened. “A dog.”
“A Rottweiler.”
“But you didn’t see anything there.”
Kenzie thought she saw a grimace of disapproval on Crow’s face. “Nothing raised my suspicions!” she said to Scott. “Talmadge said he’d been a college friend of Mrs. Grable’s and since moving to D.C. he’d taken her a few places, gambling venues like Charles Town. Atlantic City once. But they were just friends. Honestly, Scott, I think the guy’s gay. And he seems like . . . like an overgrown frat boy.”
“You didn’t see any evidence of a kid being in the house?”
“No, of course not.”
Scott nodded. “Still, it’s a lead.” He turned around. “Crow, get on that, will you?”
A stiff conversation followed in which Kenzie explained to Crow what she had seen, heard, and observed in her visit to Talmadge. Then he left, his dark hair and black leather jacket disappearing into the night.
It was a pain, having to drive all over to use the Internet. But his mother’s house didn’t have an Internet connection. The old lady was too cheap. She didn’t even have cable! The major networks were all she watched, that plus Wheel of Fortune. Getting Internet service now would attract too much attention, especially for the short period of time he’d be there. Plus, it made his activity too traceable. Moving around gave him advantages.
Dealing with the house once he made it to Jamaica would also be annoying. He’d just about decided to torch the place and have them send the insurance check to him. An old house like that ought to have plenty of wiring problems he could take advantage of. Of course, he had to avoid raising anyone’s suspicion.
Suspicion. He didn’t want any of that now. But he was smart. He could avoid it. That’s what made him drive around looking for places with free wireless. Not even the FBI would be able to track him down.
Grayson pulled into a parking place at the twenty-four-hour coffee shop and glanced at his watch. Nine forty-five. Three hours after he’d posted his bait on the message board. Hopefully the senator had responded.
How would he know it was Grable and not some geeky agent? That question kept working at him. He had to deal directly with Grable. He wanted to feel the senator tug on his line, nibble at the bait. Then he wanted to get him on the hook, reel him in, and gut the old boy while he lay on the dock. It was the whole purpose of this deal . . . plus the money. He thought of the money as his 401k.
But determining the senator was responding to his posts without revealing so much inside information he himself would be identified, that was the trick.
And oh, he had plenty of inside information. Like the twenty thousand dollars the senator “earned” from connecting Gros Bros. with the U.S. Army. Or the cool forty thousand from paving the way for SynUS, or the golf trips to Scotland, the cruise in the Caribbean, the Vail vacations . . . all perks of the job, all under the table, all “paid for” by using the senator’s influence in a big way.
Then came his family: Beth, who never met a casino she didn’t like. Grable’s son from his first marriage, who collected DUIs like some kids collect baseball cards. The senator surely did throw his weight around keeping his kid out of jail. And then Jillian, the senator’s older daughter, and the little matter of her abortion.
And all the time, he, Grayson Chambers, legislative aide, stood at Grable’s side, fixing things, cleaning up things, smoothing over problems, fronting for him. Being the brains and the charm for Senator Bruce Grable. And for what? To be ignored, usurped, and abandoned? Replaced by some younger version of himself, one with long blonde hair and ovaries?
No. Never. He wouldn’t stand for it. It wasn’t fair. He deserved better.
Grayson jerked his laptop out of the car and slammed the door shut. He’d parked at the back of the building, out of line of sight of the counter. He didn’t want anybody associating him with his car, in case he needed to use this place again. He wanted to be strangely unmemorable. Which is why he had on jeans, a T-shirt, and an old cap. Nothing special in this part of the woods, no sir. Nothing special at all. He’d even glued a fake ponytail into the cap to further his disguise. Would the coffee shop have security cameras trained on the cash register? If so, he wouldn’t look anything like the preppy legislative assistant Grable saw every day.
He walked into the busy coffee shop. The young girl at the counter was a pretty brunette and normally Grayson would have come on to her. But tonight, he needed to keep a low profile. He kept his personality as flat as possible, his voice dull. “Tall Kenya,” he said.
“Room for cream?”
That annoyed him. If he’d wanted room for cream he would have asked for it. “Nah,
” he responded, taking two one-dollar bills out of his pocket. He wouldn’t tip her, no sir. No money would go in that jar.
Coffee in hand, he moved to an empty table in the far corner, where the gas fireplace in the center of the room would block her view. Then he opened up his laptop, accessed the wireless network to connect with the Internet, and went to work on High Stakes. Who’d have thought that stupid show would come in so handy?
18
Kenzie walked back into the dining room. Had she missed something with Talmadge? Would it come back to haunt her? She felt guilty. She’d been immature, not waiting for Crow at Talmadge’s. She’d been irritated with him and she failed to simply confront him directly. I’ll have to do better, she told herself. I’ve got to do better.
She had to force herself to shift her focus back to the mission at hand: Capturing Jackson423’s attention.
In the dining room, Alicia looked intently at the computer while Senator Grable paced.
“What’s going on?” Kenzie asked.
“There are five members of this board online,” Alicia responded. “Nobody’s responding to Jackson directly yet. You want to take it?”
“Please.”
Kenzie sat down as Alicia moved out of the way. “All right, let’s see here. I’m going to be Big Dog and Brandigurl.”
“And all you need is a split personality,” Alicia quipped.
“What are you going to do?” Senator Grable asked, looking over her shoulder.
Kenzie’s fingers flew. “I’m going to finish these profiles. If this is our subject he has narcissistic tendencies, and he’s going to want to talk to you directly, Senator. He might ask a question only you would know, which would be good, because it might give us a clue to his identity. So before I post a message under the Big Dog screen name, I’m going to try to draw ‘Jackson423’ out with the female persona.” Kenzie began typing.
Words of Conviction Page 14