by Tess Diamond
“Does the kid work with her on that?” Jake asked, shifting through the file, trying to find the info. He paused at a photo of Kayla—God, she couldn’t be more than fifteen. She looked impossibly young, beaming up at the camera, her blond hair like a halo around her face. He could taste a familiar bitterness in the back of his throat. He hated cases with kids. There was so much at risk.
“I think so, yes,” the general said.
“I wouldn’t rule out the wife as the ransom target,” Jake said. “Not this early.”
“You think some juvenile delinquent kidnapped the girl?” Hoffman asked, skepticism laced through his voice.
“I think we don’t know a whole lot, and focusing on one parent over the other is a bad idea this early in the game.”
“Logic says they’re after the father. He has all the power and prestige—he’s a senator. And he’s running for reelection next year.”
Jake scanned the list of the senator’s known enemies. “I see his opponent is at the top of this list,” he said.
General Hoffman’s eyebrows drew together in a dark line. “Politics is a dirty game, son.”
“Don’t I know it,” Jake said.
After all, political optics were the whole reason he was working a cushy assignment dealing with . . . unique situations among the DC elite instead of leading a team of Rangers, like he’d been trained to do.
Fate’s tricky like that.
A string of SUVs was already parked in front of the senator’s mansion as they headed through the gates and down the driveway.
“Looks like the Feds are here,” Jake said as the general slowed to a stop behind a car with government plates. He swung out, and the two men walked up the steps.
“Frank Edenhurst will be running the show with the Feds,” the general said. “He’s a smart guy. Impress him, and he won’t get in your way.”
“Got it,” Jake nodded.
“And don’t spook the parents—the mother’s hysterical, supposedly.”
Jake raised an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t you be?” he asked.
Hoffman sighed. “There’s a reason I didn’t have kids, O’Connor. Now let’s get to work.” He reached out and rang the doorbell.
Jake straightened his suit, and the door swung open.
Time to enter the fray, Jake thought. He pasted a calm, controlled expression on his face and stepped inside the mansion.
Chapter 3
Frank’s car was black and nondescript on the outside, all luxury on the inside. Maggie settled herself in the plush leather seat, suddenly aware that she hadn’t showered or changed. Her t-shirt was sweaty, but she knew better than to ask Frank to make a stop at her place. Time was crucial.
Uncomfortable, she shifted in the seat as Frank started the car, pulling into the early morning traffic. Falls Church wasn’t large by any means, but it was close enough to DC to house the political elite in search of a quieter family life. The bumper-to-bumper commute was considered a fair price to pay for the privacy the quaint town afforded.
Frank let her have a few minutes of silence as they drove—and Maggie was grateful for it. She needed to collect herself, so she stared out the window. Falls Church was postcard charming, with beautiful colonial architecture and dozens of shops, bistros, and charities to keep the politicians’ better halves occupied. The elite private schools housed Yale and Harvard’s future students—and the country’s future politicians and CEOs. If you lived here, you were either someone with power or a member of their family. The kidnapped girl attended the Carmichael Academy, so she was definitely the child of some bigwig. That could make the case easier—or much, much harder. Powerful people had connections, but they also tended to have secrets to protect. From affairs, blackmail, and gambling debts to underhanded business deals, Maggie had seen enough lying to last her a lifetime.
“Your purse and coat are in the back seat,” Frank said.
Maggie turned to look. Sure enough, her leather satchel was sitting on top of her peacoat, the engraved brass buttons gleaming against the rich crimson wool.
“You broke into my car?”
“Just a little,” Frank said. “Gotta keep my skills sharp.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. Frank’s fondness for lock-picking and safecracking was legendary at the Bureau. “You could’ve at least brought my go-bag from the trunk,” she muttered. Wearing jogging clothes in the tension-filled environment that was a hostage negotiation was not ideal. In fact, she was pretty sure she’d had a nightmare like that before.
“You still keep a go-bag packed?” Frank asked. “You sure you don’t want to come back?”
“Don’t read anything into it,” Maggie ordered, folding her arms across her chest. Dammit, she never should have mentioned it. “It’s just a habit. So . . . why don’t we talk details?” she said, concentrating on the wood-grain dashboard instead of looking at Frank. It was so polished she could practically see her reflection in it. “What are we dealing with? What’s the time frame so far?”
“Her name is Kayla; she’s fourteen. Parents thought she was staying the night at school—about half of the kids who go there are boarders. But around midnight last night, they realized she wasn’t at school. The friend she said she was staying with in the dorms doesn’t know anything—or at least, she’s not talking.”
“Are you sure it’s a kidnapping?” Maggie asked. “Have you been contacted about a ransom? Do you have video of an abduction? Witnesses? Why isn’t this being treated as a runaway case?”
“Kayla is Kayla Thebes,” Frank said.
That made Maggie look up and concentrate on Frank for the first time.
“As in Senator Thebes?” Well, that certainly upped the stakes. The senator’s reach was long and powerful. Quite a few people wanted him to consider a presidential run in the future, and he had a chance at the nomination if he played his cards right. He was handsome, charismatic, happily married, and had served in the Senate since taking over his late father’s seat in his early thirties.
If it got out, this case was big news.
“Yep. That Thebes,” Frank said. “By all accounts, Kayla’s a good, obedient kid. Doesn’t fit the runaway profile. Add in the fact that she’s a senator’s daughter—”
“And it’d be risky to treat it as anything other than a kidnapping,” Maggie said.
Frank grinned at her. “Back to finishing my sentences, kid? Just like old times.”
Maggie shot him a look. “I’m coming to observe, Frank,” she reminded him. “It’s just a favor—not a way to get me back working for the Bureau.”
I don’t want to disappoint you again, she thought.
“Whatever you say.” He waved off her protest, turning onto a sycamore-lined street and taking a sharp right into a gated driveway. A man in a suit was standing outside it, and when Frank flashed his credentials, he spoke into his radio, and the spiked wrought-iron gate creaked open. The driveway was long and curving, the senator’s mansion coming into sight around the final turn. A luxury estate with massive marble columns standing sentry in front, it was both classical and timeless, the many gabled windows glittering in the rising sun. The expansive green lawn was pristine, bordered by neatly manicured topiary spheres lining the front walk. A few black SUVs were parked outside—the kind the local PD and FBI like to use when they don’t want to call attention to themselves. Frank pulled up behind one, and Maggie unbuckled her seat belt, getting out of the car. She tried the best she could to hide the way her legs trembled, and she clenched her fists, counting to five before turning to close the car door. Running a hand over her hair, she tried to smooth the unruly curls that had started to frizz up out of her braids.
“You look fine, kid,” Frank assured her brusquely. “Let’s go.”
Maggie took a deep breath, and they walked up the marble steps to the entrance in silence, but as soon as the ornately carved front doors of the mansion opened and they walked down the foyer into the entrance hall, she found herself in the middle of
chaos.
Police swarmed around the room, clogging the double staircase leading to the family’s living quarters upstairs. FBI suits milled about, half of them on cell phones, the other half grouped together, their heads bent and faces grim as they discussed options. Security, their sunglasses off for once, hurried in and out of the room, talking urgently into their sleeves. Maggie caught snatches of coded language through the crackles of radios. One FBI agent was sweating profusely, arguing on the phone with someone as a police officer tapped him on the shoulder, trying to get his attention.
Maggie looked over at Frank, and he nodded his permission. This was her favorite thing about him—his ability to silently understand her without a word. She wanted to see Kayla’s room without interference or influence. She needed to get a feel for the girl before she started asking the family questions and they clouded her impressions. Teen girls were notoriously secretive, but one of the best places to get a glimpse of Kayla’s inner life would be her bedroom.
Maggie headed for the double staircase and slipped upstairs into a long hall, leaving the noise and rising tension behind. Someone had to control the situation downstairs. That kind of frenzy was just going to stress the family out and make them question law enforcement’s ability to handle the situation.
This isn’t your case, she told herself firmly as she focused on the hallway in front of her. Photographs in antique frames lined the wall, many in black-and-white, depicting what looked like a very happy family. It was practically a timeline of Kayla’s life, from a blue-eyed baby with corn-silk hair asleep on a bearskin rug, to a wobbly toddler taking her first steps into her mother’s waiting arms, to a grinning kindergartener in a miniature school uniform, her plaid tie askew. There she was as a middle schooler playing lacrosse with her father, her ponytail flying behind her . . . riding horses as a teenager with her mother in muddy knee-high boots, waving at the camera.
Maggie opened a few doors before she found what had to be Kayla’s room. The walls were painted a soft blue, and her bedroom window was still half-open, the ruffled ombré curtains moving slightly in the breeze. A heart-shaped collage of photos—not nearly as polished or professional as the ones in the hallway—hung over her bed, where a huge stuffed tiger was lying between two silver tasseled pillows. Maggie stepped up to the collage, examining it closely. Typical teen stuff: selfies at various places, snapshots of Kayla and a brunette girl wearing a little too much eye makeup, Kayla with her lacrosse teammates, Kayla at summer camp, Kayla hugging the neck of a beautiful chestnut mare, a few of Kayla and boys, but most of them with her girlfriends.
Maggie moved deeper into the room, opening the mirrored closet doors dotted with little Post-it reminders like “Dinner w/ Mom on Wed” and “Stable—clean out Star’s stall/6 a.m.” She rummaged through Kayla’s clothes—a mix of designer jeans, casual tops, dresses, and school uniforms—and bent down to flip open a few shoeboxes stuffed in the back of the closet, but they contained only more photos and trinkets—the normal things you’d find in any teen girl’s room. In fact, Kayla seemed to be on the innocent side, Maggie thought cynically. There weren’t even any hidden birth control packs or condoms. No love letters or notes either—though she was sure times had changed since her own teen years. They probably did everything online or through phones these days.
She rose from her knees and walked over to Kayla’s desk, which was more a vanity than a study center. Lipsticks, blushers, and eye-shadow pots were strewn everywhere, covering the stack of notebooks and textbooks for school. There was a space for a laptop next to the mason jar full of pens and makeup brushes, but it was missing. The FBI probably already had their techs going through it for clues.
Maybe Kayla had been lured away by the kidnapper online, not knowing she was heading into a trap. Fourteen is a dangerous age for a girl—old enough to attract unwanted attention, yet young enough to be easily tricked into trusting the wrong person. Had some adult won her trust only to betray it in the worst way? What was their aim? It had to be something to do with the senator or his wealth. It was too coincidental otherwise, a senator’s daughter getting kidnapped for any other reason.
A floorboard creaked behind her. Maggie whirled, her hand going to her hip to a gun that wasn’t holstered there—and hadn’t been for years.
Some habits are hard to break.
A man was standing in the doorway—not even standing; no, he was slouching in the doorway, leaning against the doorjamb like a sheriff in an Old West saloon. His hair was jet-black and parted neatly on the side, but his green eyes simmered with a dangerous, intriguing energy. He was tall and broad shouldered—and entirely too relaxed, given the situation.
He was also possibly the most attractive man Maggie had ever seen in her life, but that certainly wasn’t going to sway her.
“Can I help you?” she asked, an edge in her voice.
“I was just about to ask you the same thing,” he said. “What are you doing up here?”
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Are you FBI?”
He shook his head. “I’m advising Senator Thebes on security.”
Was he from the private sector? Just what she needed—an overpaid Neanderthal getting in her way. Maggie bit her lip, frustration mounting inside her. Guys like this just made trouble for her. They were almost always all about going in hot instead of trying to defuse the situation as much as possible.
“If you’re not FBI, I don’t have to answer your question,” she said coolly. “FBI has jurisdiction in this case.”
“Are you FBI?” he asked. “I don’t see a badge. You guys usually love flashing your badges.”
Maggie gritted her teeth. She could still feel the absence on her belt, the weight that should be there, her credentials that she’d worked so hard for—and walked away from.
“I guess you’ll have to find out,” she said, brushing past him in the doorway, ignoring the electric prickle that went down her spine as they touched.
“Looking forward to it,” he drawled behind her, not moving from his place in the doorway.
She shot him an irritated look over her shoulder, hating that she couldn’t resist one more look at him. He was still standing there, all loose and grinning at her as if they were in on a joke together.
Who in the world was he? She didn’t remember him, and she thought she knew all the major players in the private security sector. Senator Thebes would only hire the best—so why didn’t she recognize him?
She knew things would have changed in the years since she left the FBI, but it was odd to feel so out of place. She took a deep breath, pausing at the top of the stairs to gather herself. She needed to put her game face on. She was about to walk into a situation that had already had more than twelve hours to spiral into panic and chaos. She would need to take control. Immediately.
After a few deep breaths, Maggie put the man upstairs out of her mind and walked back downstairs, where Frank was waiting at the landing.
“Anything pop out at you?” he asked in an undertone.
“Seems like a nice girl. Sporty. Likes makeup. Closer to her mom than her dad, if the collage in her room is any indication, but that’s pretty typical, especially for an only child,” Maggie replied. “No boyfriend, unless she’s keeping him from the parents.”
“How likely is that?” Frank asked earnestly.
Maggie had to smile; sometimes she forgot Frank had never had children. Teen girls were probably as much of a mystery to him as astrophysics was to her. “Well, she’s a teenage girl, and she’s pretty. And there’s nothing like forbidden young love.”
Frank shook his head. “Kids these days.”
“You tell ’em, Grandpa,” Maggie said sarcastically. “Are you going to take me to the senator?”
“This way.” Frank led her through the entrance hall into a smaller one off the marble foyer that was richly furnished in dark blues and greens. The entire north wall of the room was a floor-to-ceiling barrister bookcase, with glass protecting what looked l
ike a comprehensive collection of legal texts. In front of the book wall was a mahogany desk and a well-worn leather chair.
When Frank closed the door behind them, the senator, a tall man with silver hair and a strong jaw, turned from the bay window, looking troubled.
“Frank,” he said, relief on his tired face. “You’re back.” His gaze flicked to Maggie, and he frowned a little as if he was confused. Maggie tugged at the hem of her shirt, shifting from foot to foot. What if he dismissed her because she looked like she’d just rolled out of bed?
“I brought someone to meet you,” Frank said. “Maggie Kincaid, this is Senator Thebes.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” the senator said, holding out his hand.
Maggie shook it. “I apologize for my appearance,” she said. “Frank caught me when I was out running, and when he filled me in on the situation, we felt it was best to get here as soon as possible.”
“Of course,” the senator said. “I’m sorry, I’m not sure what you do . . .”
“I trained Maggie, Senator,” Frank said. “She was my protégé, though I’d say the student has surpassed the master at this point. She’s graciously offered to lend a hand.”
“Thank you,” the senator said, looking at her with a tight smile. “Any help we can get . . .” He trailed off. “Kayla’s our world,” he blurted out, an edge of panic shaking his voice. “We need her back. Her mother needs her back.”
“I understand,” Maggie said. “Can you sit with me?” She gestured to the two oak-and-velvet armchairs near the fireplace.
He nodded, taking a seat. Maggie did as well and smiled at him—not too broadly, but with some warmth. Handling the relatives and friends of victims had always been harder for her than negotiating with the kidnappers. She had to stay in control for the loved ones because everything else in their lives was suddenly so wildly out of control. She was the touchstone.