The FBI Profiler Series 6-Book Bundle

by Lisa Gardner

  “Glenda,” he tried again.

  “You’re welcome,” she said. And hung up the phone.

  34

  Portland, Oregon

  Back at the hotel, Quincy swiftly threw his clothes into his travel bag. Rainie was in the living room, talking to Virginia state trooper Vince Amity on the phone. Kimberly, on the other hand, stood watching him from the doorway, her shoulders hunched as if preparing for a blow. She’d had a run-in with room service while he and Rainie had been gone. Apparently, an overworked bellhop had transposed two numbers and tried to deliver someone else’s anniversary surprise to Kimberly’s room. The bellhop had hoped for a good tip. Instead, he’d encountered a screaming woman who—fortunately unknown to him—was brandishing a loaded semiautomatic.

  The hotel had explained the mixup to Quincy upon his return. He’d relayed the story to Kimberly. She’d smiled in an attempt to find humor in the situation, but Quincy could tell the incident had left her shaken, and news of Glenda’s attack had only further frayed her nerves.

  “So Special Agent Rodman is all right?” Kimberly asked for the third time. Her voice had taken on the anxious edge he remembered from two days ago. Nothing he’d offered in the last ten minutes seemed to change it.

  “Special Agent Rodman is an extremely capable woman,” Quincy said, trying a new tack as he rounded up his socks. “She took her training seriously, and when the moment came, that training paid off. She not only met the threat, but she took out Montgomery with two clean shots.”

  “She must be an excellent marksman.”

  “I believe she’s won a few medals.”

  “I’m a good shot,” Kimberly said. “I practice three times a week.”

  Quincy raised his head and met his daughter’s eyes. He said firmly, “You’re going to be fine, Kimberly. Rainie is staying here with you, and you’re a capable young woman. You’ll be safe.”

  Kimberly’s gaze fell to the floor. She was gnawing on her bottom lip; he couldn’t tell if he had reached her or not.

  “What about Special Agent Rodman’s hand?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Montgomery confessed that he sprayed the phone with Teflon to protect the plastic, then applied hydrofluoric acid, which is an extremely corrosive chemical. The acid reacted with the moisture of Glenda’s hand, burning her fingers and part of her palm. I’m not sure of the long-term prognosis.”

  “It’s her right hand. She could be permanently damaged, or scarred.”

  “She’s receiving the best medical attention you can get. I’m sure she’ll recover.”

  “But you don’t know—”

  “Kimberly!” he said sharply. “Albert was going to kill her. You know that, I know that, she knows that. Instead, she controlled her fear and pain and disabled her attacker. This is a triumph. This is a lesson in the value of hard work and proper training. Don’t give this victory away. Don’t demoralize yourself like that.”

  “I don’t want you to go,” she whispered.

  Quincy closed his eyes. The irritation drained from his body. He felt simply rotten instead. “I know,” he said softly.

  “It’s just … So you have Albert in custody. So he went after Glenda. There’s still something wrong … something else going on. If Albert looks the way you say he does, I can’t see him getting anywhere near Mom. Plus, there’s the matter of brainpower. If Albert was this clever, he wouldn’t have had problems at the Bureau in the first place. Don’t you think?”

  “He fits the description of the man in Mandy’s AA group,” Quincy said, though he knew that wasn’t really an answer.

  His daughter knew it too. She gazed at him miserably, obviously needing more than he was giving. He wished he knew what to do at times like this. He wished he knew how to make his daughter feel safe and confident and strong. And then he really did miss his ex-wife, because Bethie had always been better at these moments than him. He held a doctorate in psychology. Bethie, on the other hand, had been a mom.

  “I love you, Kimberly,” he said.

  “Dad—”

  “I don’t want to go. Maybe sometimes it seems that I do. Maybe we both mistake my sense of duty for desire. But it is duty. Montgomery has information about Grandpa that I need to know and he claims he’ll only give that information to me. It’s been forty-eight hours, Kimberly. If we don’t find Grandpa soon …” His voice trailed off. His daughter had taken law enforcement classes; he knew that she understood as well as he did how the probability of finding Abraham alive decreased with each passing hour. The UNSUB had claimed that Abraham was tucked away safely. Quincy, however, had subsequently learned a new detail. He’d called Everett after he’d gotten off the phone with Glenda. The red Audi TT convertible had been found by Virginia state police at four that morning. It had been left parked in the exact spot where Mandy had hit a telephone pole fourteen months before. Forensic technicians found traces of urine in the passenger’s seat, probably from Abraham. Extra personnel had now been brought in to scour the surrounding woods. They were also using dogs—cadaver dogs.

  “There’s a good chance that Montgomery planned this whole thing,” Quincy said now, his voice purposefully firm. “He hated me because of the Sanchez case, he plotted revenge. If that’s the case, then it’s over, Kimberly. You’re safe now. Everything will be all right.”

  “Then why won’t you let us go with you?” she protested.

  “Because I’m not one hundred percent certain, and I’m not going to risk you without being completely sure! Until we know everything, you’re safer here than there.”

  “But what about you? You’re returning to the East Coast, where some man knows all about you.”

  “I’ve also had a lot of training.”

  “Mom is gone!” Kimberly exclaimed. “Mandy is gone! Grandpa is gone! And now you’re leaving, and, and, and …”

  Quincy finally got it. His daughter wasn’t seeking reassurance for her own safety. She was terrified for him. She’d already lost most of her family and now her good old dad was once again walking out the front door into the face of danger. Christ, sometimes he was an idiot about the most basic things.

  Quincy came around the bed. He took Kimberly into his arms, and for once, his stubborn, independent daughter did not protest. “I’m not going to let anything happen to me,” he whispered against the top of her head. “I promise you that.”

  “You can’t make that promise.”

  “I am Quantico’s best of the best. I can, too.”

  “Dad—”

  “Listen to me, Kimberly.” He pulled back enough to look her in the eye, to let her see how serious he was. “I’m a good agent. I take my training seriously; I do not underestimate my opponent. This is a game, but it’s a game where the stakes are life or death. I never forget that. And because I never forget that, I’m better at this than most.”

  Her blue eyes were still watery. He could tell she was on the brink of crying, but she sniffed back her tears. “You won’t let down your guard?” she pressed. “You won’t be fooled by anything this Albert guy says?”

  “I am going to keep myself safe so I can come home to my daughter. And you are going to take good care of yourself and Rainie, so I can come home to you.”

  “We’ll look out for each other.”

  “Kimberly, thank you.”

  From the doorway, Rainie cleared her throat. Quincy looked up, and knew instantly from the expression on her face that she had bad news. He took a deep breath. Then slowly, reluctantly, he let his daughter go.

  “I have an update from Virginia,” Rainie said as Quincy and Kimberly turned to face her.

  Quincy nodded. “Go ahead.”

  “Phil de Beers and Mary Olsen are dead. The police found their bodies an hour ago in a car just down the road from Mary’s house. The car was registered in Phil’s name. We’ll need the medical examiner’s report to be sure, but the police are guessing poison. The bodies have white foam around the mouth. There’s a strong smell of almon
ds.…”

  “Cyanide,” Quincy deduced.

  She nodded grimly. “They found a box of chocolates in the car. Two are gone. The rest have that same bitter almond scent. According to the butler, Mary accepted a delivery shortly before leaving the house. He found the empty shipping box in the foyer, no return address.”

  “So someone sent Mary a box of poisoned chocolates and she took them to de Beers? But why did she eat one, too? That doesn’t make any sense.” Kimberly looked baffled.

  “For the sake of argument,” Quincy said slowly, “let’s assume Montgomery spotted de Beers conducting surveillance on Mary. Mary probably knew Montgomery through Amanda, so now Albert has two loose ends. An accomplice who can connect him with the murders and a private investigator watching the accomplice. He doesn’t have a lot of time, but he must do something.”

  “He poisons the box of chocolates,” Rainie murmured, “sends them to Mary, and makes up some story that convinces her to share them with de Beers. Not bad really. Eliminates two people without burning a lot of time or resources. You’re right, Quincy, this guy is an efficiency freak.”

  “Death by UPS,” Kimberly said. Her shoulders sagged.

  Rainie shot her a look. “Hey, Kimberly, if Montgomery is so good, why is he the one in FBI custody? He might be efficient, but we’re the ones who won the war.”

  “Tell that to Phil de Beers.”

  Rainie’s lips tightened. She turned on her heels and marched back into the living room. A second later, Quincy heard the sound of wood snapping. She had finally found his stash of #2 pencils in his computer case. From here on out, he would apparently be taking notes in pen.

  “I guess I shouldn’t have said that,” Kimberly murmured after a moment.

  “No, you shouldn’t have.”

  “I’m sorry—”

  “I’m not the one to whom you should be apologizing.” His voice came out too harsh. Kimberly instantly looked stricken. Quincy repressed a sigh. He wasn’t used to Kimberly being this sensitive. Then again, she had never lived under the threat of immediate death before.

  “Kimberly,” he said more patiently, “Rainie hired Phil de Beers. She met with the man. She gave him an important assignment, which means she trusted and liked him. She is not going to cry into her coffee right now because she knows the situation is still live and she can’t afford that luxury. But don’t think she doesn’t have feelings. And don’t lash out at her, just because you feel helpless.”

  “I’m sorry. I’m just … I don’t know myself anymore!” Kimberly’s voice rose, the full force of her anxiety now flooding to the surface. She stepped away from him, rubbing her arms compulsively and shaking her head. “I’m tense, I’m moody. One moment I feel strong and in control. I can meet this challenge, I can take this man! The next moment I’m shaking in my boots, drawing down on room service and mistrusting every noise I hear. I can’t stand this level of uncertainty. I hate doubting myself, I hate worrying about what’s going to happen next. I’m not supposed to fall apart like this, Dad. I’m supposed to be strong!”

  “Are you having panic attacks again?” Quincy asked immediately. “Do you feel as if you’re being watched?”

  She drew up short. “No …” she said slowly. “In fact, I haven’t felt that prickly sensation since we came here.”

  “Good.” Quincy started breathing again. “You are strong, Kimberly,” he said evenly. “You are doing remarkably well for everything you’ve been through.”

  “Do you feel like you’re falling apart?” she demanded. “Are you swamped by anxiety, do you jump at shadows, are you tempted to open fire on room service waiters?”

  “No, but I’ve been doing this kind of work for over fifteen years.”

  “Dad, does it frighten you?”

  “What?”

  “To feel so comfortable in the face of so much death?”

  He bent down and kissed her cheek. “Yes, Kimberly. Sometimes it frightens me to death.” He moved back to his duffel bag. “Help me pack, sweetheart. The only way out of this is to keep moving forward. So let’s keep moving, one step at a time and then one step beyond that.”

  Kimberly nodded. She uncrossed her arms. She took a deep breath and picked up one of his shirts. And she looked so determined, it made Quincy’s heart ache all over again. He lowered his head so she could not see his eyes.

  He had lied to his daughter. He didn’t think Albert Montgomery had masterminded this elaborate plan. He didn’t think it was safe to head back East. Instead, he was absolutely certain he was once again being manipulated, but he didn’t know what else he could do. Damned if he did, damned if he didn’t. Fifteen years of being the best of the best and now he was being played like a toy violin.

  There had to be another option. There was always another option.…

  “I couldn’t uncover anything interesting on Millos,” Kimberly spoke up. “He doesn’t even have that much money in the bank. Most of the searches I did just kept bringing up Miguel Sanchez. The man has spawned even more case studies than Bundy.”

  “His partnership was unusual,” Quincy said.

  “Maybe not anymore,” Kimberly murmured.

  He didn’t pretend to misunderstand her. His bag was full. He zipped it up, then finally met his daughter’s waiting gaze.

  “Maybe you could do me a favor,” he said casually. “You have a good memory. Perhaps you could make a list of everyone you knew in your childhood, friends of yours, friends of the family. You know, the people we knew when your mother and I were still married.”

  Kimberly looked at him. He hadn’t fooled her. After a moment, she nodded wordlessly.

  “Hey Kimberly,” he called softly. “Fuck ballet.”

  Her gaze remained somber, but then finally, slowly, she smiled.

  Minutes later, Rainie and Quincy rode the elevator down to the lobby to hail a cab for the airport. Kimberly had tactfully agreed to stay upstairs in the room, seeming to understand that they might want a moment alone. Quincy figured there was something profound he should say to Rainie. All he could think was no sickening-sweet pet names.

  In the lobby, Rainie glanced at her watch. “Two hours,” she said, “not one.”

  “And yet I’m heading home.”

  “Intermission is over,” she agreed.

  “Rainie—”

  “I won’t let anything happen to Kimberly,” she interjected quietly. “You have my word.”

  He nodded. He had figured that Rainie also realized that Montgomery was a long shot for a lone gunman.

  Say something. Do something. Learn from your mistakes. Quincy heard himself murmur weakly, “Take care of yourself.”

  “I’m not the one walking into the lion’s den.” Rainie jerked her head toward a cab that had just appeared on the street. Quincy flagged it down, and before he was really ready, the driver was out of the car and taking his bag.

  “I’ll call you,” he said.

  “At my loft, not here. Just to be safe.”

  “Agreed.” The cab driver had the back door open. He looked at Quincy impatiently. Quincy, however, was still gazing at Rainie. His chest felt tight. He knew now what he needed to say, then realized he couldn’t utter the words. They would make the moment too final. They would reveal too much of his fear.

  Rainie seemed to understand. She leaned forward and before he could react, she kissed him quick and hard on the mouth.

  “Hey Quince. See you soon.” She walked back into the hotel. A moment later, Quincy got into the cab.

  “Airport,” he told the driver.

  Then, alone in the backseat … “Hey Rainie,” he whispered. “I love you, too.”

  At three P.M., Rainie finally heard back from Carl Mitz on her home answering machine. She listened to it from the hotel room as she called in to check messages. Kimberly sat at the table in the kitchenette, hunched over Quincy’s laptop and rereading some report on Miguel Sanchez that was making her scowl. Rainie occupied the sofa in the adjoining liv
ing room, restless since Quincy’s departure, feeling not at all like herself.

  Mitz informed her answering machine that he’d just gotten her message on his cell phone. He would be available for the next few hours if she wanted to call back. Rainie hung up, then glanced at Kimberly.

  “What would you think if I arranged a meeting with Ronald Dawson for tomorrow?” Rainie asked quietly.

  Kimberly looked up from the computer. “I think Special Agent Albert Montgomery is a putz,” she said.

  “Me, too.”

  “I think he couldn’t have reached my mother with a ten-foot pole, which means while he might be an Indian, he’s definitely not Chief.”

  “Agreed.”

  “And I think … I think if Ronald Dawson is the head honcho, well, if you invite him here, then he can’t be there in Virginia.”

  “My thoughts exactly.”

  “Set up lunch,” Kimberly said firmly. “Then call your sheriff friend and get out your gun.”

  Rainie grinned. “Girl,” she said, “I like your style.”

  Three-thirty P.M., Rainie reached Carl Mitz. Three-forty P.M., Quincy arrived at the Portland International Airport. Three forty-five P.M., Sheriff Luke Hayes received a phone call. He spoke for approximately fifteen minutes, then hung up the phone, told Cunningham he was leaving him in charge, and got into his car.

  It wasn’t perfect, but it was a plan.

  35

  Virginia

  “Here’s what you need to know, Quincy.” Glenda snapped open a manila file, stuck a pen behind her ear, then resumed pacing the eight-foot length of the narrow conference room. He watched her restless movements without commenting. It was nearly 3 P.M. Sunday afternoon, almost twenty-four hours since Montgomery’s attack, and they were still denied access to the disgruntled agent. First Montgomery claimed he needed immediate medical attention. Given the state of his kneecap and right hand, that was hard to dispute. The trip to the emergency room had been followed by surgery to repair the damage to his leg. The doctors had then said he needed time to recover from the anesthesia. The anesthesia, however, had been followed by large amounts of morphine personally requested by Montgomery. He was in a significant amount of pain, he claimed. He needed drugs, he needed medical assistance, he needed rest.