Critical Exposure

by Ann Voss Peterson

  Echo shot him a look. She clicked out of Bray’s e-mail.

  “How about his finances?”

  She shrugged a shoulder, as if his enduring skepticism didn’t bother her in the least. She clicked on the icon for Bray’s money management program. “I told you, Bray is very successful. He even helps me with my money.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she could see him crook his brow. “Really? How?”

  “When I was pregnant with Zoe, I suffered some complications my meager health insurance policy didn’t even begin to cover. That and the time I had to take off from work depleted the down payment I’d saved to buy my little house. Bray not only lent me money for the down payment, he helped me organize my healthcare debts so I can afford to pay them off a little at a time. If not for him, I would have had to declare bankruptcy, and I would have lost the house.” She let a bitter laugh escape her lips. “With the bankruptcy laws the way they are now, I never would have been able to dig myself out.”

  “He sounds like a great guy.”

  She wasn’t sure if he was being sarcastic or sincere. “He is a great guy. That’s why he never would have sabotaged a client’s business. Not for money. Not for any reason.” She opened the list of Bray’s accounts and their balances.

  Red numbers stared back at her.

  She shook her head. This couldn’t be right. It couldn’t be.

  Rand leaned close to the screen. “It looks like this place is mortgaged to the hilt. He also has taken out a personal loan and depleted any savings he might have had.”

  “I don’t believe it. He would have told me if he had money problems.” Echo’s mind swirled. “He would have told me.”

  Rand took over the computer, clicking into the accounts.

  The numbers stared at her in glaring detail. She thought she was going to be sick.

  “He wrote a couple of huge checks to a hospital.”

  She nodded. “My medical bills.” She wrapped her arms around her middle. He hadn’t reorganized her debts; he’d paid them.

  “And this check to you.”

  “My house down payment.” Tears swamped her eyes, turning the computer screen into a blur. “Why did he lie to me? Why didn’t he tell me he couldn’t afford to help?”

  “He probably knew you wouldn’t take his help if you knew the truth.”

  She thought of how hard Bray drove himself. Was that for her? So he could pay off her bills? She couldn’t believe it. She didn’t want to. “He always took care of me, when we were kids, I mean.”

  “After your father left?”

  She dashed the tears off her cheeks with the back of a hand and looked up at Rand. “Yeah. And Steven.”

  “Zoe’s father?”

  She managed a nod. “Steven didn’t want to be a dad.” It still hurt to say it. To even think it. Even though her feelings for Steven were dead, she doubted the pain of his betrayal and rejection of Zoe would ever go away.

  “You’ve got to be kidding.”

  “He didn’t want the responsibility.”

  “Sorry.” Rand’s voice sounded rough. Full of emotion she’d never heard coming from him.

  A tremble started at the base of her throat. She looked up into his dark eyes. Eyes so concerned…and so in pain. She couldn’t speak.

  The slam of car doors came from the front of the house.

  Rand straightened and started for the door.

  Echo scrambled to follow. She caught up to Rand at the entrance.

  Men in dark suits strode up the sidewalk toward them.

  “Who are they?” she whispered, even though she knew.

  Rand’s jaw hardened. “FBI.”

  Chapter Nine

  Rand watched the FBI agents circle the black Corvette and approach the house, the muscles at the back of his neck stiffening the closer they came.

  The lead agent pulled a document from the jacket of his dark suit and offered it to Rand. “We have a federal warrant to search the premises.”

  Rand took the paper. He didn’t need to look at it. He knew it would be in order. And that it would include everything in the house and car, including the laptop that he’d barely started poking through. “So you guys are getting warrants now?”

  The special agent shook his head. “Great. A comedian.”

  Rand knew he should keep his smart-ass jabs to himself. But he was so damn frustrated that the feds picked this exact second to show up, he was lucky he could conjure up a businesslike tone.

  He glanced at Echo, pushing from his mind the thoughts of her painful confession. Truth was, he was relieved the moment with Echo was cut short. The thought of some unfeeling bastard hurting her like that was too close to home. Too close to the fears skirting on the edge of his own mind. Fears of hurting her, disappointing her.

  Fears that seemed to grow closer the more evidence against Sloane he found.

  He focused on the warrant. So spelled out. So clear. What had him angry was letting Sloane’s laptop fall into FBI hands. A few more minutes and he might have found something. A few more minutes and he could have some real answers, instead of guesses. A few more minutes and he might have either proved Sloane’s innocence…or his guilt.

  Either way, things would be settled.

  “What does it say?” Echo asked.

  He handed her the warrant.

  She studied the document, her face pinched with a troubled frown. The paper rattled in her shaking hand.

  The agent gave her a polite smile. “It would probably be easier if you didn’t stay.”

  She shook her head. “I have to reset the alarm.”

  Rand touched her arm. He could feel her tremble even through her jacket. “You’ve been through a lot, Echo. You don’t need to see them go through your brother’s house.”

  “But I have to make sure…”

  “They’ll lock up. I’ll bring you back later to reset the alarm.” He slipped his arm around her shoulder.

  Her body fit against his just the way it should. He couldn’t ignore the protective feeling coursing through him. As if just by holding her he’d become bigger, stronger, invincible.

  God help him.

  “Come on.” He escorted her out of the house, past the agents searching the black Corvette and to his car. Opening the door, he guided her inside and climbed behind the wheel. The sooner they could get out of here, the better.

  “I can’t believe it.” Echo’s voice barely rose above a whisper.

  He started the engine and backed out of the drive. He wasn’t sure if she was talking about the FBI searching her brother’s house or what they’d found on his computer. “I’m sorry things are happening this way, Echo.”

  “He’s in debt because of me.”

  “You can’t blame yourself. He made his own choices.”

  Her gaze snapped to him. “Just because Bray is in debt, doesn’t mean he caused the lab explosion.”

  He nearly groaned. He didn’t want to have this conversation with her. Her allegiance to her brother was blind, deaf and dumb. “I’m getting the idea that no amount of evidence is going to convince you.”

  She looked down at her hands, folded in her lap. “Bray is the only person who has ever stuck by me. He’s the only one I ever felt I could trust. If I can’t trust him, I don’t know what to believe in anymore. Do you know what I mean?”

  He knew. He knew all too well. “You believe in facts. In my experience, people will let you down every time. Facts don’t.”

  “That sounds like a lonely way to live.”

  She had no idea. Truth was, neither had he…until he met Echo Sloane.

  The bleat of his cell phone cut through his thoughts.

  Echo’s gaze snapped to him, her body nearly vibrating with tension.

  He flipped the phone open and held it to his ear. “McClellan.”

  “Your court order came through.” Nick’s voice boomed in his ear.

  He shook his head, letting Echo know it wasn’t about Zoe. Turning away from
her, he walked into the living room, trying to get straight in his mind what Nick had said. “You’re talking about the court order for Vanderhoven?”

  “You’re free to get him out of there. It seems once the judge got an eyeful of Gage Darnell’s af fidavit, he wasn’t willing to take the chance the same thing was happening to Vanderhoven. A couple of troopers are on their way to assist.”

  “Thanks, Nick.”

  “Let’s wrap this up before the feds decide Beech Grove and Vanderhoven belong to them as well.”

  “Will do.” He clapped the phone shut.

  “What’s going on?” Echo asked. “Did someone find something?”

  “It wasn’t about Zoe. I’m sorry.”

  She slumped back against the seat. “So what was it?”

  “Vanderhoven. I’m going to bust him out of the nuthouse, and get him away from whatever-the-hell Morton is up to.” He hesitated, waiting for her to demand to go along the way she had last night. The way she had the time they’d tried to question Vanderhoven together. “I have to do this alone.”

  She nodded, the bob of her head abrupt. “Drop me off at the shop where I work, then. Maritime Lullaby.”

  “You’re going to work?”

  “I can’t sit home and wait. At least at the shop I can do something.”

  She’d been desperate to do something last night, anything that would make her feel less helpless. And at least if she was at the gift shop where she worked, she wouldn’t be with him. “All right. I’ll pick you up when it’s over.”

  RAND PULLED OPEN the front door of the Beech Grove Clinic and led the troopers inside. He wasn’t sure what he’d find, but dealing with whatever emotional tricks Morton had up his sleeve would be easier than dealing with the real emotions Echo inspired.

  Of course, then there was Vanderhoven. The last time he’d talked to the lab tech, he’d acted more like a lab rat unwilling to leave his cage. Hopefully he’d be as easy to convince of the danger as the judge had been.

  Dr. Morton and Nurse Dumont met them in the entrance as if they’d been waiting. “What is going on here?” Morton demanded.

  “I have a court order to remove Wesley Vanderhoven from your facility.” Rand handed Morton the document advising him of the order.

  Morton let the paper fall. It skimmed along the shiny waxed floor. “Mr. Vanderhoven has no interest in leaving.”

  “If you’ll study that paper you just dropped, you’ll find the court is concerned that Mr. Vanderhoven isn’t capable of determining what is in his best interest right now. Not while he’s under your influence.”

  “Are you still harboring that delusion about experimentation going on here? Really, Detective. What movies have you been watching? You must learn to separate fact from fiction.”

  “The court order speaks for itself.”

  “This court order is bull.” Morton’s scalp shone red through his thin blond hair.

  “Take that up with the judge. Now please, step to the side.”

  Morton dug a roll of mints from his lab coat and opened it with shaking hands. He popped one into his mouth like he was popping Valium, then stepped toward the office door.

  Nurse Dumont gave Rand a sharp look then glanced at Morton. Surprise streaked across her harsh features. “Doctor?”

  “There’s no way to hide it anymore, nurse. If the detective wants to go to Mr. Vanderhoven’s room, take him there.”

  The nurse spun like a cadet and marched down the hall. When she reached Vanderhoven’s room, she stepped to the side, giving Rand and the state troopers free access.

  Rand stepped inside and focused on the empty bed. Great. “All right, Nurse Dumont. Where is Wesley Vanderhoven?”

  “It seems he left.”

  “Left? He just walked out?”

  “Yes. So you see, your charges that we’re holding him here are ridiculous.”

  “Unless you and Dr. Morton were stalling us at the entrance so other personnel could remove him.”

  The nurse issued him a hard, condescending glare over the wire rims of her glasses. “I assure you that’s not the case.”

  “At this moment, your assurances aren’t worth much.”

  One side of her mouth twitched in what some might call a smile. “Go ahead. Ask the rest of the staff. The patient was gone before breakfast this morning. And it isn’t the first time. Wesley Vanderhoven has left before.”

  Chapter Ten

  Rand drove down Beech Grove’s long winding drive with a weight on his shoulders that would cripple an ox. A warning look from Morton, and Nurse Dumont had developed acute amnesia about the specific dates and time that Vanderhoven had gone missing from the clinic, but that didn’t keep Rand’s imagination from taking over where she’d left off.

  Reaching the intersection with the highway, Rand pulled to the side of the road and punched the state police barracks’ number into his cell. A transfer later, and Nick’s voice came over the line. “Detective Sergeant Johnson.”

  “Vanderhoven isn’t at Beech Grove.”

  “McClellan? Something just came in. Hold on.”

  The two state troopers’ cars passed him and turned onto the highway. Finally, Nick came back on the line. “Vanderhoven just drove out the gate at Cranesbrook.”

  Cranesbrook. The pressure on Rand’s shoulders grew. Every time he’d felt the emotional amplification, Vanderhoven had been present. Every time except Zoe’s kidnapping. Unless the morning the baby was kidnapped was one of those times Vanderhoven had chosen to leave the mental hospital.

  Unless Vanderhoven had been the man in the ski mask.

  Rand pulled out onto the highway and stomped on the gas. “Where is he now?”

  “A St. Stephens patrol officer is following him. He’s heading into town.”

  Funny. Rand hadn’t heard anything on his radio. “Does St. Stephens PD dispatch have their repeater off?” Without the repeater sending out the signals to all police radios, the communication between dispatch and the pursuing patrol car went only two ways.

  “We’re keeping this to ourselves right now. No need to have the FBI swoop in and take Vanderhoven away until we can find out what he knows about Beech Grove and, of course, Cranesbrook.”

  Rand smiled. State or local, police took the brotherhood—and sisterhood—of blue seriously. The FBI might want to keep the local law from knowing what was going on in their investigation, but that didn’t mean state and local police were going to step aside willingly. Not when two of their own had died.

  Rand wasn’t the only one who wanted justice for Richard and Maxie. “I’m heading downtown.”

  “Wait, McClellan. Hold on. I have another call from St. Stephens.”

  Rand held his breath.

  Time ticked by so slowly, he was tempted to take off before Nick’s voice came back over the phone. “Vanderhoven’s driving a blue Passat that belongs to one of the nurses at Beech Grove. He has just parked on Waverly Street and is entering one of the shops.”

  “Waverly Street?” Rand took a left off the highway and onto the road leading into the heart of St. Stephens.

  “You know it?”

  “Yeah. What shop?”

  “A place called Maritime Lullaby.”

  Rand’s gut seized. “Gotta go, Nick. Hear anything else, you let me know.”

  He clapped the phone shut and focused on driving. Vanderhoven hadn’t picked that shop for its unique knick-knacks, that much was certain. Somehow, he had found out Echo was there. And if his theories about Vanderhoven’s absences from Beech Grove were correct…

  It didn’t take long to wind through the narrow streets lined with quaint shops and city parks that looked like they’d emerged straight from a long ago past. He spotted the white-and-pastels sign of Maritime Lullaby from a block away. And in front was parked a blue Passat.

  He swung to the curb, stopped behind the car and jumped out. Down the block he spotted the St. Stephens cruiser. Motioning to the cop at the wheel, he crossed the red cobblesto
ne sidewalk, raced up the shop’s wooden stairs and pushed through the door.

  The jingle of the shop bell rose over the pulse of blood in his ears. He stepped inside.

  A large display of hand-painted wooden ducks and lighthouse lamps dominated the shop’s main room. Smaller shelves bearing maritime-themed toys and children’s bedroom decor filled the room nearly to bursting.

  He could see no sign of life, let alone a skinny blond scarecrow. Or Echo. “Vanderhoven?”

  Shoes scuffed the wood floor behind a rack of woven blankets bearing seafaring scenes.

  “Come out where I can see you.”

  “What do you want, McClellan?”

  “We have to talk.”

  “You wanted me to leave Beech Grove? Well, I left.”

  “I don’t have a problem with that.” Rand peered toward the back of the shop. Was Echo safely in the back room with her price stickers? Or was she among the shelves of stuffed neon-orange crabs next to those blankets that still hid Vanderhoven? “I want to talk about Morton, about what he’s doing.”

  “We’ve already covered that.”

  “I was hoping that you’d have a little more to say now that you’re not under his control.”

  Vanderhoven stepped out from behind the blankets. His face looked more gaunt than the day Rand had first talked to him at Beech Grove, his neck and shoulders skinny as a skeleton. “I was never under Morton’s control.”

  The pressure pinched Rand’s neck. He stepped closer, slowly rounding the lighthouses. Vanderhoven was playing some kind of game, that was clear. But what it was, Rand couldn’t yet say.

  Right now, in addition to convincing the lab tech to talk, he wanted to see Vanderhoven’s hands. Make sure he didn’t have a weapon. Make sure he wasn’t a danger to himself or anyone else. “Why did you leave Beech Grove? The last time we talked, you were perfectly content there.”

  “It’s not for the reasons you think.”

  “You know about it, don’t you? The emotional amplification? You’ve felt it.”

  The side of Vanderhoven’s lips quirked up in a smirk. “No, but you have.”

  The door to the back of the shop swung open. “Rand? What’s going on?”