by Kylie Brant
It took her a moment to realize Raiker was joking. It was always tough telling with him. “You’ve checked on Cooper’s whereabouts?”
“Art Cooper is still in prison in Yazoo City, fulfilling his thirty year sentence for the kidnap and rape of Ellie Mulder.”
“And . . . the others?” It took all her resolve not to fidget under the shrewd look Raiker aimed her way.
“All accounted for, still inside serving their sentences.”
She wouldn’t have asked. Couldn’t have formed the words. But in the next moment he added deliberately, “Rodriguez has been bounced around some. He’s currently housed at Flor ence in Wisconsin.”
“So are we looking at the original group you rounded up in that first case?” Burke demanded. “Do any of them have the jones to reach out this way from prison?”
“They’ll have to be checked out,” Raiker replied. “Every avenue will need to be explored. We can’t afford to overlook the possibility that Ellie’s disappearance this time is somehow connected to that first kidnapping. I’ll line up the interviews for each with the prison wardens and make personal visits.”
There was a sick knot of dread settling in the pit of Macy’s stomach. With an ease born of long practice, she pushed it aside and looked at her boss. “And then we have to decide who the real target of this crime is. Ellie Mulder, or her father.”
There were only three other cars parked in the wide drive that looped in a half-circle in front of the sprawling Mulder estate. Macy wondered if that meant Steven Mulder had been successful in limiting the scope of the LEO presence, or if others had already been and gone since Raiker received the man’s call this morning. The still heavy snowfall made it impossible to tell. As it was, the trio of vehicles in the drive were already buried under several inches of wet snow that had turned the roads from the airport into thick puddles of slush. A drop in the temperature would make them treacherous.
Macy stepped out of the SUV and scanned the grounds. They’d been detained at the iron gates at the base of the drive, more than a quarter mile back until the CBI agent posted there had scrutinized their IDs and waited for permission from someone inside to admit them. That had given her plenty of time to eye the twelve-foot stone walls that surrounded the property. The discreetly placed security cameras that topped them at regular intervals. The matching stone security station in front of the gates was meant to be manned by a live operator, and looked to be equipped with full audio and video feed. Whoever had gotten in and out of the estate undetected wasn’t an amateur.
The front door of the home swung open as Raiker was getting out of the vehicle, cane in hand. From the grim-faced visage of the man in the doorway, Macy knew immediately he was another LEO. Which meant he was a CBI agent.
He waited until they’d ascended the stairs to demand their IDs again. It occurred to her that the extra precautions were a bit late. Ellie Mulder was gone.
“Special agent in charge, Cal Whitman, is waiting for you in the study with Mr. Mulder. This way.”
They were led through a marbled floor hallway that was lined with paintings and punctuated with large abstract sculptures. Macy recognized some of the artists, had no doubt the pieces were original. With Mulder’s billions, he could afford just about anything. Except the one thing his money apparently couldn’t buy.
His daughter’s safety.
“Not too shabby,” Kellen said in an undertone as he strolled along at her side, casting an appraising look at the space. “What do you figure? Ten million? Fifteen?”
“I wouldn’t know.” It was usually best to ignore Burke. But the man made it difficult. Even now she could feel his pale green eyes on her, alight, no doubt, with amusement. It always seemed to be the primary emotion she elicited from him.
The hallway seemed endless. They trailed Raiker and the CBI agent who had let them in. “Pretty easy to get lost in a place this huge,” Burke said, unzipping his navy down jacket and shoving his hands in its pockets. “How long do you think it would take them to locate us?”
“Why don’t you find out?”
He gave her a lazy grin. The prism of lights from the crystals on the overhead chandeliers shot his thick brown hair with reddish glints. She’d bet he’d been auburn haired as a youngster. She could be certain he’d been incorrigible even then.
“If you promise to lead the search and rescue party, I might consider it. I can imagine it now. Me, weak from lack of food, maybe injured. You, bending over me in concern, wiping my brow, the strap of your lacy camisole slipping down one satiny shoulder . . .”
She resisted an urge to smack him, which was the overpowering effect he had on her. “Why would I lead a search and rescue mission clad in a camisole?”
His smile turned wicked. “Why indeed?”
“Burke.”
They both jumped at the crack of Raiker’s voice. He was several feet ahead of them. They’d been speaking too quietly for him to have heard them. Hadn’t they? “Yeah, boss?”
“Shut up.”
He slid a sideways glance at Macy and winked at her, clearly undeterred. “Shutting up, boss.”
And those, she considered, as they were ushered into a large dark paneled room, were the most promising words she’d heard all day.
The man who rose to his feet to step toward Raiker, his hand outstretched, was immediately recognizable. Steven Mulder. He hadn’t appeared at the Rodriguez trial Macy had testified at, but there’d been plenty of news stories devoted to his family since his daughter’s first disappearance. He was prematurely gray, with a long, lean runner’s build outfitted in a tailored suit. Its cost likely exceeded two months of her salary. As the two men clapped each other on the shoulder and leaned forward to murmur a few words, her gaze went beyond them to the men still seated behind a long polished conference table. It was easy enough to guess which one was Whitman.
The SAC had a decade on Raiker, she estimated, which would place him in his early to mid-fifties. It was difficult to tell his height while he was sitting, but she’d bet under six foot. He had a shaved head and thick neck. He wore a suit, too, but his was ill-fitting, pulling across his beefy chest and shoulders. His flat brown gaze flicked over them, giving Macy the impression they’d been sized up in the space of an instant. There was nothing in his expression that gave away his thoughts about their inclusion in this case.
Mulder stepped away from Raiker and inclined his head in the direction of her and Burke. “Thank you for coming. I have tremendous respect for your boss. He’s performed a miracle once.” There was a barely discernible break in his voice. “I’m hoping he’s got another one up his sleeve.”
“Where Raiker is concerned, achieving the impossible is a daily expectation,” Burke assured him soberly. Macy remained silent. She was always leery about issuing assurances to victim’s families. Life didn’t always come complete with happy endings.
And this family had occasion to know that all too well.
Mulder turned away. “Special agent in charge Calvin Whitman,” he gestured to the man she’d pegged as CBI, “and my attorney and friend, Mark Alden. He’s also Ellie’s god-father.”
Alden was impeccably dressed, but his dark hair was slightly mussed, and his eyes were as red rimmed as Mulder’s. He gave them a nod but said nothing.
“Why doesn’t everyone sit down and I’ll catch you up.” Whitaker waited for them to take a seat at the table. As they shrugged out of their coats, he continued, “As per Mr. Mulder’s request to the governor, I brought a small team of agents and we arrived around five-thirty. My people have thoroughly searched the house and are going over the grounds. An Amber Alert was issued hours prior, when Mr. Mulder contacted the governor.” There was a flicker in the man’s flat brown eyes at this breach of protocol. It wasn’t reflected in his expression, which remained impassive. “We’ve found no trace of the child so far. I have an agent taking Mrs. Mulder’s statement. Others have rounded up the live-in help and we’re preparing to question them.”
“Steven just finished completing his statement for Agent Whitaker when you arrived.” It was the first time the lawyer had spoken. “We’ll expect a copy of it, and of all the case notes, to be shared with Mr. Raiker’s team members in an expedient manner.”
The tilt of Whitaker’s head could have meant anything. But it was telling, Macy thought, that he had made no verbal agreement.
Mulder obviously thought so, too. “Just so we’re clear on this, Agent.” He placed his palms on the table and leaned forward, his tone fierce. “Raiker’s unit is here with the blessing of the governor and our U.S. senators. They will be a full part of this team.” He gave a humorless smile. “I’ve been through this before. I know how it works. Althea and I are suspects until proven otherwise. So is everyone else in this house. I realize that effectively shuts me out of some of the details in this investigation. But the person I trust won’t be shut out. He’s here to be sure other aspects of the investigation don’t stall while you’re wasting your time on us.” When the CBI agent would have spoken, he waved aside his protest. “I’m not waiting two years to bring my little girl home this time.” He rose, and Alden got to his feet as well. “I recognize there are details to be shared that you won’t share in my presence, so Mark and I will leave now. I want to be there for Althea when they’ve finished with her.”
The room was silent as the men left, shutting the door behind them. Upon their exit, Whitaker eased his bulk back in is chair and eyed Raiker. “Your inclusion here puts us in a dilemma. You have to realize that.”
“The thing about dilemmas is they always have solutions.” Adam’s voice was no less steely. “Consider those solutions, Special Agent. You can’t afford not to utilize us.”
The other man rubbed at the folds on the back of his neck. “I want you to . . .” He paused then, seemed to choose his words more carefully. “I’m suggesting that you avoid any conflict of interest by letting my people complete the search of the premises. I’ve got a crime scene responders going over the girl’s room right now.”
“And once they’re done, we have free access to the property and copies of any and all reports as they’re formulated.” Raiker clearly knew how to play the game. “My people will be included in all briefings and task assignments.”
“The information is a two way street.” The agent looked at Macy and Kellen, making no attempt to mask his expression now that Mulder had gone. The man was plainly unhappy with their presence. “If I learn that you’ve withheld something from me, you’re off the case and I’Il have you detained for obstruction.”
Macy noted Raiker’s fingers clenching around the knob of the cane he carried. It was his only sign of temper. His voice, when it came, was silky. “Threats are the realm of the unimaginative, Special Agent. You’ve got some very powerful people lined up behind Steven Mulder. They were summoned because the investigation into the previous kidnapping of Ellie Mulder went nowhere.”
“And you were the superstar there. Yeah, I got that.” Curiously, the squaring off seemed to have eased something in the other man. “I knew your rep when you were with the bureau.” His gaze lingered on Raiker then, as if taking in the eye patch and scars on his throat and hands. “Got another earful about your outfit from my director. As long as we understand each other, I think we ought to get along well enough.”
His gaze traveled between her and Burke. “Which of you is the forensic linguist?”
“That’d be me.”
His gaze settled on Macy then. “We don’t have a ransom note. At least nothing’s been found yet. But if the offender is going to reach out, I’d expect it to be within twenty-four hours. Give him time to see the girl safely situated and then turn his attention to the next matter.”
“I have a few contacts in the penal department.” Macy was certain Adam’s words were a gross understatement. The man seemed to have to have contacts everywhere. “Everyone scooped up in that last case where Ellie was rescued is accounted for in their respective prisons.”
“And there’s no one else out there that maybe slipped by you guys?” The gibe was nearly hidden in Whitaker’s words. “How can you be sure you got everyone affiliated with that case?”
Raiker lifted a shoulder. “You can never be positive. That’s why I’m arranging another round of interviews with each suspect in that case. I’ve got phone calls in to each warden to set it up.”
“Video?”
“In person.”
The special agent nodded. “That’ll save us some serious time and manpower.”
“When will we have access to the scene? And the rest of the house?”
Macy caught the barely discernible note of frustration in Kellan’s voice. She seconded it. As private forensics consultants, it was rare that they were ever called in on a fresh crime scene. This was one of the quickest callouts she’d ever been part of, and they were effectively being shut away from the scene for several more hours, if not days.
“When the crime scene unit is finished. It’ll be evening at the earliest. Until then, you’re free to sit in on the interviews of the employees. That’s probably going to take us most of the day.”
“How many people are we talking about?”
Whitaker glanced down at a sheet of paper in front of him. But before he could answer, Adam said, “Mulder employs nearly forty full- and part-time employees in the winter months. That would include the daughter’s teacher and various instructors: piano, dance, whatnot.”
“How many live on the grounds?”
“None live in the house,” the special agent said, “but the teacher has a small apartment over one of the garages. A mechanic, two stable hands, and a couple groundskeepers have places above various other outbuildings. Everyone else lives off-site.” He consulted the notes again. “Eight security officers, six maids, four drivers, three cooks, one personal assistant—a sort of secretary to Mrs. Mulder—a hairdresser, masseuse . . . it’s like a damn village around here.”
“And how many of those people were here yesterday?” Kellan asked.
“Thirty-eight were on the grounds at some point.” He lifted a shoulder. “A few never made it in because of the weather. Others left early. All have been notified that they’re wanted in for questioning. About half have arrived so far.”
“You would have looked at the tapes first,” Macy noted. She wondered if the agent had been getting to that or if he wouldn’t have brought it up if she hadn’t asked. “They’ve got live video feed, right? That means a security station somewhere with someone manning the cameras. Something had to have shown up on them.”
“Nothing that we’ve found yet. But we’ve only been here a couple hours. I’ve got some of the best techies in the agency going over those cameras. Whatever is there, we’ll find it.”
“How many of the security officers have arrived?”
“Six. And we’ve made contact with the other two. They’re on their way.”
Macy understood where Raiker was going with his question. She’d be willing to bet that Mulder had spared no expense on security for the estate. “What are the security specs?”
“Well, you saw the twelve foot walls around the perimeter,” Whitaker said dryly. “Cameras are mounted every thirty feet. Motion detectors on the grounds. The guard station is manned twenty-four-seven. The gates don’t open without key-card ID and thumbprint identification.”
Raiker’s voice was sharp. “But the guard out front has override powers.”
“No. Only security inside can override. But we’ve found no record that they did so yesterday. We’re looking deeper.”
Exchanging a glance with Burke, Macy said, “Let’s get to those interviews then. Starting with Mulder’s security team.” There didn’t appear to be any way to get on to the estate without security knowing about it.
Which meant one of the members of the team might well have assisted with Ellie’s kidnapping.
About the Author
Kylie Brant is the bestselling author
of nearly thirty contemporary romantic suspense novels, including Waking Nightmare, Waking Evil, and Waking the Dead. She’s a two-time Rita nominee and a Romantic Times Career Achievement award winner. One of her books is listed by Romantic Times Magazine as an all-time favorite.
Kylie lives in the Midwest with her husband and a very spoiled Polish Lowland sheepdog. Visit her website at www.kyliebrant.com or contact her at kylie@kylie brant.com.