Silenced

by Allison Brennan

  Or maybe she knew someone who lived in the area, someone who was willing to help her.

  He went back to Hawthorne Street and knocked on Patricia Neel’s door. The elderly woman answered and smiled broadly, her reading glasses falling off her nose and hanging on a chain around her neck.

  Noah held up his badge. “Mrs. Neel, I’m Agent Noah Armstrong with the Federal Bureau of Investigation.” He pocketed his identification. “We spoke earlier today on the phone.”

  “Yes, about the theft.”

  “Did my agent come by and take your statement?”

  “Oh, yes, they just left. Would you like some lemonade? I made it for them, I have plenty.”

  “No, thank you. I need to follow up on your statement earlier today to my colleague, Ms. Kincaid.”

  “What a sweet young woman,” Mrs. Neel smiled broadly. “So polite.”

  “Yes, ma’am. I have a few follow-up questions.”

  “Would you like to come in? It’s really warm out here.”

  “This won’t take long.” Noah suspected if he went inside it would be difficult to leave quickly. It was no surprise that Mrs. Neel had taken an interest in her young neighbors—she wanted someone to talk to.

  “Do you know where Ivy might go to if she were in trouble and needed a place to stay?”

  “She knew she could come to me.” She frowned. “I wish she’d just asked for the money. I would have given it to her.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “She left a note. She’s not a bad person.”

  The woman was repeating herself, and Noah feared he’d get nothing useful from her. This excursion was becoming a waste of time.

  “Any other neighbors? Friends? A business she frequented? A church? School? A nearby library?”

  “She liked to walk to that little church on Thirty-first. I can’t remember the name. Very small. But she walked there nearly every Sunday morning. Sometimes she took Mina with her, or one of the other girls, but I don’t think they were proper churchgoers. You know how kids are these days.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” He handed her his card. “You have this, but I wrote my cell phone number on the back. If you see Ivy or any of the other girls, call my cell phone immediately, okay?”

  “Of course. I promised Agent Kincaid I would do the same. I hope Ivy and Mina are going to be okay. They are sweet girls.”

  Noah didn’t know if sweet was the right word for the prostitutes, but he didn’t comment. He thanked Mrs. Neel and went back to his car.

  Thirty-first was two blocks over. He drove slowly down the street, looking for a small church. He didn’t see anything, turned around and went back up the road toward Hawthorne. He did a double take and realized he’d missed it—the church wasn’t so much a church as he was used to seeing, but a small converted business partly hidden between two larger buildings. In addition, it was set back from the road and had a small sign half-obscured by an old tree.

  His Grace Church & Preschool

  Sunday service 9 A.M.

  Noah parked down the street and walked to the church. It was late afternoon, the hottest time of the day. A small, covered playground behind a security fence was empty of children.

  A door around the side led to the school; it was behind a locked gate. The front door that led into the church was unlocked. He walked in, a brass bell overhead announcing his entrance.

  The church had ten rows of mismatched pews down the middle, with aisles on either side. If people sat shoulder-to-shoulder, the room might be able to seat a hundred people.

  The altar was simple, with an empty cross, a pulpit, and a few chairs, maybe for a choir or speakers. High, narrow windows let in natural light, what little could come through with the taller buildings on three sides. A room opened to the right, set with more chairs and two tables of different heights.

  Noah didn’t notice the door behind the altar until it opened. An older man who would have looked like Santa Claus had he a beard, stepped out. He wore slacks and a button-down short-sleeved shirt that puckered at the midriff. “May I help you?”

  Noah identified himself, and said, “Are you the pastor?”

  “No, sir. I’m the custodian, Remus. Are you looking for Marti?”

  “Yes, is he around?”

  Remus’s thick eyebrows furrowed in suspicion. “You don’t know Marti.”

  “No, Remus, I’m investigating the crash that happened a few blocks away.”

  “The FBI investigates car crashes?”

  “When they involve a federal employee and a fugitive, yes.”

  A gazelle-like black woman emerged from a hallway off the right. “Thank you, Remus, I’ll talk to the agent.” She waited until Remus shuffled down the hall muttering to himself.

  “I apologize. I’m Marti North. Let’s sit.” She gestured to a pew in the front. Noah sat and she sat a few feet away, bending her left leg under her, and turned to face him with a bright smile that didn’t quite match her suspicious eyes.

  “Special Agent Noah Armstrong. Correct?”

  “Yes, ma’am. I’m looking for a young woman who goes by the name of Ivy.” He showed her the current picture she had of Ivy. “Do you know her?”

  Marti North didn’t look at the picture. “What did this young woman do to draw the attention of the FBI?”

  “We believe she’s in danger.”

  “A lot of young women are in danger in this town. The FBI doesn’t seem to pay them no mind. Why this girl?”

  “Do you remember a fire last week, a few blocks over, on Hawthorne?”

  “Yes, I do. I live upstairs.”

  “Ivy lived in the house with five other young women.”

  As Noah spoke, he had the distinct feeling that he wasn’t telling Reverend North anything she didn’t already know.

  Marti smiled at him, as if waiting for a question that she already knew she wouldn’t answer.

  Noah asked, “Did Ivy attend church here?”

  “I don’t keep a roster. Everyone is welcome.”

  “But you recognize her.”

  “That photo is unclear.”

  Noah was growing frustrated. He changed tactics. “Do you also run the preschool?”

  “Yes. When I left the Army I got my degree in Early Childhood Education.”

  “You served?”

  “Yes, sir. Corporal, Fort Hood. Spent a year in Iraq as a Chaplain.”

  “Air Force,” Noah said. “Captain, Raven Force.”

  “The Ravens. Elite.”

  He shrugged it off. Ninety percent of his job had been guarding aircraft and transporting international prisoners. Not very exciting. “How many students do you have?”

  “The numbers fluctuate. We average ten to twelve, but can have more. We’re licensed with the city.”

  “There was a car crash down the street earlier this morning, followed by gunfire.”

  “I heard about it after the fact. I didn’t hear any gunshots, but Remus told me about the crash. He’d taken the children to the park before it got too hot, and the crash meant they had to take the long way back.”

  “Ivy was in the car. I think she came here after the crash. Did you see her? Anyone who had been in a wreck?”

  Now Noah realized he had the pastor. Marti had been trying her best to obfuscate and not tell a lie—either because she was devout, or because she didn’t want to be caught lying to a federal agent, which was a crime.

  “A young woman did come in here,” she said momentarily, “with a cut on her arm. She didn’t say she’d been in an accident. I offered to take her to the hospital, she declined. I gave her a small first-aid kit, and she left.”

  Noah was getting tired of twenty questions. “Had you seen her before?”

  “Yes, she had been here for services in the past.”

  “Did she leave on foot or in a vehicle?”

  “She walked out.”

  Noah handed Marti his card. “You may think you’re protecting Ivy, but you’re putting her in mo
re danger. Someone is trying to kill her, and nearly killed my partner in that crash. I can help her, but only if she comes to me. Two of the girls who lived in that house are dead, and it’s my opinion that whoever killed the two girls intends to kill Ivy and the others. If he finds Ivy before I do, she will die. I’m sure you don’t want that on your conscience.” He started to walk out, then stopped and turned to face her. “If she contacts you in any way, give her my number. If you find out where she is, let me know immediately. She has a diagnosed medical condition that could make her a danger to herself or others. I want to help her, but she has to come forward. If she comes in on her own, it will help her.”

  Marti rose from the pew. She was taller than Noah, at least six foot two. “Agent Armstrong? A lying tongue hates those it hurts.”

  She tilted her chin up, making the stately woman appear even taller. “Don’t take everything you hear as Gospel. You may leave.”

  * * *

  Ivy waited until the FBI agent had left before she came downstairs.

  “He’s still outside. I see him watching.”

  “You’re safe here. I locked the front door.”

  “The Reverend is coming. He’s going to take Sara. He’s already lied and they believe him.”

  Only one person would have told the FBI that she had been diagnosed mentally ill. Her father.

  Her entire body shook so hard she thought she’d crack right down the middle. She had to get it together or she’d never make it out of town.

  Marti came over and put her large, narrow hands on Ivy’s shoulders. “You are no longer safe here. The FBI will be back.”

  “I know.” She breathed deeply. “You’ll find Mina a home?”

  “I have an old friend in Fort Hood. We went to theology school together. She’ll love Mina like we do. I’m already getting the papers in order. As far as the rest of the world is concerned, Mina is her niece from upstate New York. No one will question it. You’ve done the best you can, Ivy. You saved Mina, protected her all this time. Now let me. Let me help.”

  Ivy nodded. “Thank you.”

  “Your identities will be here in the morning. Take Sara, do not tell me where. I am not a good liar.”

  “And I’m too good.”

  “God has forgiven you. Now forgive yourself.”

  Ivy chest heaved in silent sobs. Marti pulled her into a tight, bony hug, and Ivy had never felt so loved since the night her mother tried to save her from the monster.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Sean did not take well to being threatened.

  He considered calling his brother Duke about Paxton’s bombshell, but decided to keep it to himself for now. He didn’t want to tell Duke what he’d done. Not because he regretted it, but because he’d learned the hard way to keep his not-quite-legal activities a secret.

  It was nearly eleven years ago while at Stanford University that Sean hacked into a tenured professor’s computer and exposed him as a child pornographer. It was a brilliant plan. When the FBI got involved over the illegal hacking, he came forward, admitted what he’d done, expecting a medal for getting the pervert thrown off campus and under indictment.

  Instead, he’d been arrested.

  Duke had fixed it, but Sean had never trusted the FBI after that. Duke got him into MIT, even though Sean wanted nothing to do with any educational or government institution. But of course he went. He’d always done what Duke wanted, at least on the surface.

  Sean knew exactly what Paxton was referring to, because there was only one felony Sean had committed that had a statute of limitation of ten years. The ten years was up next March. Eight months, one week from yesterday.

  He had to put the situation on hold because right now, there were far more important things to worry about than his freedom. As soon as he solved Paxton’s blackmail problem, he’d find the answer he needed.

  He pushed the thoughts aside and got to work. Paxton had e-mailed Sean his appointment schedule from the week he said the note Lucy wrote had been stolen.

  He hated being put in the position of keeping something this important from Lucy. His stomach ached, a sure sign that he was torn. And there was no one he could talk to about it. Patrick was out of town, and Sean didn’t know how he would react if he knew Lucy had kept such an important piece of information secret. Her sister-in-law Kate would understand, and Sean trusted her more than any other fed, but Kate was still a fed and Sean would be putting her in a compromising position.

  Sean wasn’t as conflicted about keeping the information about Lucy’s acceptance into the FBI a secret. It would destroy her, and Sean wasn’t going to be party to that. If she quit because he told her, it would taint their relationship forever. Worse, she’d give up on her dream. She would say she understood, but he remembered how upset she’d been when she failed her first personal interview.

  She not only deserved this assignment, she would make an amazing cop. Better than most cops out there. Sean would much rather she work for RCK. Her instincts were sharp and she certainly had the brains for private security work, but that’s not what Lucy wanted.

  Paxton’s schedule had been full the last week of June. He had meetings with locally elected officials, lobbyists, nonprofit groups, other congressmen—more than a dozen meetings on Monday alone. How could someone work like that? Sean kept meetings to a minimum. Sitting around doing nothing, in Sean’s mind. He knew part of it was his kinetic personality—he had to be doing something, physically or mentally.

  Normally, Sean would forward the list to RCK West and have their support staff do the grunt work, but he didn’t trust anyone else with this job, and he didn’t want to explain it to his brother. This kind of work, though simple, needed to be thorough. At least it kept his mind going, and he ran multiple searches simultaneously.

  He put the out-of-town visitors at the bottom of his list. It wasn’t that they couldn’t be guilty, but the chances were minimal. He wrote a quick program to run basic background checks on those people, as well as Paxton’s staff, and forced it to work on another server, to keep his at peak performance. When it was done, the program would e-mail him a report.

  There was a national law enforcement group, a national victims’ rights group, multiple congressmen and staff, and several lobbyists representing a variety of clients.

  If he were going to steal something, he would prefer to be alone in the room. He made a list of all meetings where there were only one or two other people. That eliminated half the meetings. Two people would work—either a conspiracy, or one of them stepped out.

  Paxton wouldn’t have been in the room.

  What made Paxton think that someone hadn’t accessed his office after hours? Capitol security was extensive, and Sean bet the first thing Paxton had done was look at the security feeds outside his office for any intruders. But there were no security cameras in the individual legislative offices. So he’d deduced that someone who had access to his inner office had taken the note. Paxton had dismissed his staff as viable suspects, and Sean supposed a man as wily as Paxton would be able to assess his employees accurately.

  Then there was his pet PI, Sergio Russo.

  Sean knew very little about the PI. How had Paxton found him? Was he from DC or the New York district that Paxton represented?

  Running a background on Russo would be a little more difficult. A good PI would have alerts when certain databases were accessed. Sean would have to go into each database through a back door. It wasn’t legal, but at this point, if Russo was not who he appeared to be, Sean didn’t want him knowing that he was digging.

  Paxton said that the note and locket had been kept in a box in his bottom right-hand drawer. Close to him, where he could look at it anytime he wanted, but hidden from public view.

  There had to be something more than the theft of the locket and note. There was no evidence at all that Paxton had killed Roger Morton. Someone else confessed, the gun had been recovered, no one was even looking at Paxton as a coconspirator, let a
lone the man who pulled the trigger.

  Why not call their bluff?

  Because Paxton’s lying to you.

  He wasn’t lying about killing Roger Morton—why would he confess that to Sean when someone else was in prison for the crime? But he was lying about something else.

  Mick Mallory had pleaded guilty to avoid the death penalty and gave a detailed rundown on every predator he’d killed.

  What’s one more in the big picture?

  But if Paxton killed Morton, Mallory knew. Which meant Mallory might know why the locket was so important to Paxton.

  Why would someone take the fall for Paxton’s crimes?

  Someone like Mick Mallory, the bastard, was so broken he’d take the truth to his grave. But there were others. Lucy’s former boss, Fran Buckley, had made a plea agreement. Did she know about Paxton’s involvement? Sean couldn’t see how she didn’t. She took his money, he had headlined a fundraiser for her, they had been friends.

  Except … that didn’t fit the rest of the scenario. It didn’t fit why two call girls were dead, a congressional mistress, or a social worker and her husband who were helping them. There was a big gaping hole of information, and in that missing information was motive.

  His phone vibrated. It was a text message from Lucy.

  I’m finally home. Clean bill of health.

  Sean wanted to see Lucy, but he needed to talk to Paxton again. Fill in some of these blanks.

  He called to arrange a meeting, and Paxton tried to postpone until tomorrow. Sean wouldn’t let him, and Paxton agreed to meet him at nine, at Paxton’s residence in Alexandria.

  He never wanted Lucy to know what had happened in Massachusetts. He would destroy Paxton if it got out.

  Sean might take the senator down anyway, just for threatening him.

  He responded to Lucy’s message.

  Up for a visitor? I have chocolate ice cream for you.

  He had enough time to check on Lucy and get to Alexandria early. He planned to do a little investigation on the senator himself.

  He grabbed his laptop and bag of tools, locked up, and tossed everything in his trunk.

  * * *

  Noah watched His Grace Church for thirty minutes.