Dangerous Games

by Tess Diamond

  It was a lot to live up to. A lot for someone to be. That was why Sherwood Hills had hit her so hard. It was the main reason she’d left the Bureau—the emotional toll was too great. It had taken pieces from her, pieces she wasn’t sure she’d ever get back. Pieces she wasn’t sure she could sacrifice anymore. Yet here she was, right back where she’d told herself she’d never be again.

  You can leave at any time, she told herself firmly. She pulled a pen and notebook out of her purse, flipping it open in case she needed to write something down.

  “I’m going to ask you some questions about Kayla,” she said, waiting a moment for the senator to gather his thoughts. “Is she a happy girl? Have you heard about any trouble at school? Maybe with one of her girlfriends? Or a boy?”

  “Kayla’s very happy,” Thebes said. “She has so many friends. Everyone loves her at school, at the stables, on her lacrosse team. She was voted MVP last year. We were so proud.”

  “What about boys?” Maggie asked. “Does she have a boyfriend?”

  The senator shook his head. “There’ve been boys in the past, of course. She’s a pretty girl, like her mother. But there hasn’t been anyone serious yet—at least, not that I know of. You know how teen girls are,” he said. “She probably wouldn’t want to share anything too personal with her old dad. It isn’t cool.”

  Maggie was about to ask about Kayla’s regular schedule when the door opened, and a beautiful woman with thick blond hair pulled into a French twist came into the room. A wave of Chanel No. 5 tickled Maggie’s nose as the senator got up and hurried over to his wife, whose blue eyes were glimmering with tears. “I’ve called all her friends,” she said to him, her voice rising in near panic. “Nobody’s heard from her. Oh, God, Jonathan—what if she has an attack?”

  Maggie rose from her chair. “What do you mean, an attack?”

  “Kayla’s diabetic,” the senator explained. “She’s insulin dependent.”

  “It’s usually very manageable,” Mrs. Thebes said through her tears, turning to Maggie with a forced smile. “She’s always been so good at dealing with it. She’s never let it hold her back. But this kind of stress? Even if she has her regular shots, she could go into shock. And if she doesn’t have her insulin?” Mrs. Thebes shuddered, her shoulders shaking underneath her cream blouse, unable to utter the answer as she began to weep into her husband’s shoulder.

  “Without her insulin, she could go into a coma,” the senator said softly, holding his wife tight, as if to shield her from his words. “She could die.”

  Mrs. Thebes cried harder, sagging against her husband.

  Maggie stepped back, moving to look out the window, trying to give them some privacy.

  Talking to the families was always a reminder—a reminder of what her own parents had gone through, a reminder of her sister never coming home, of those ropes tight around Maggie’s wrists. These tense personal encounters had always been the hardest part of her job: raw, agonized emotion, pouring out at her. But being a great negotiator was about separating yourself from emotion. Being the calm in the storm. The guiding light at the end of the tunnel.

  She needed to stay in control if she had any hope of helping anyone.

  There was a knock at the door, and an agent poked his head in. “Agent Edenhurst, we’re all set up in the library.”

  Frank, who had stationed himself near the door, nodded, motioning to Maggie.

  “Senator, Mrs. Thebes, we should go into the other room. To wait for a phone call.”

  “Of course,” the senator said. With Mrs. Thebes still gripping his arm as if it were her lifeline, he led her through the door and down the hall, into the library, where floor-to-ceiling oak bookcases filled with antique books and curios lined the walls. Hanging above the fireplace was an oil portrait of Mrs. Thebes in her younger years, her blue eyes enigmatic and her smile teasing as she posed in a garden of night-blooming jasmine. Kayla looked just like her mother.

  Agents buzzed around the room like bees at a hive. Laptops were set up on a folding table with techs pounding on them, ready to trace any call that came in. Field agents were tensed, waiting for the phone to ring. Until then, there was nothing they could do but wait. And when what you do best is action, waiting is agony.

  Maggie caught sight of a head of auburn curls, and frowned. No . . . it couldn’t be . . . But it was. Jackson Dutton was the best Frank could do? On a case like this, with its potential to become so high profile? Jackson Dutton was a third-rate negotiator; way too tightly wound. They’d been in the same class at Quantico and had worked together a few times after graduating. Maggie had spent most of their training wondering when he’d snap. And in her third year of working for the Bureau, she’d been there when he’d lost his temper during a fifteen-hour standoff, yelling at the victim’s abusive boyfriend who was holding a gun to her head, which unnerved the man so much that he nearly pulled the trigger. After that, Maggie had never trusted him. She didn’t like abusive men either, of course, but negotiating couldn’t be about the negotiator’s feelings. The moment that feelings get involved, the more dangerous it becomes for the hostage.

  She knew that all too well.

  What in the world was Frank thinking by bringing Jackson in? Maggie turned to go and ask him just that, but instead she collided with a broad chest. Caught by surprise, she rocked back, almost losing her balance. A hand shot out, steadying her.

  “Easy,” said a deep voice.

  She looked up, and the warmth that surged through her when their eyes met made her catch her breath. There he was again—the man from upstairs. His eyes crinkled as he flashed her a smile.

  “You okay?” he asked, with a hint of a twang.

  Maggie nodded.

  “Seems like you and I keep running into each other,” he said. He looked over her shoulder at Frank and the senator talking together. “So you are FBI. Let me guess . . . shrink? One of those behavioral analysts who catches serial killers?”

  “Hostage negotiator,” Maggie said.

  He whistled, and she couldn’t tell if he was impressed or sarcastic. She felt unsteady, like the floor beneath her was being dragged away. She couldn’t quite read him—and it made her nervous. “That’s a big job,” he said.

  “For such a little woman?” she asked, her eyebrow arched sarcastically. She’d heard it before, countless times.

  But instead of a sneer or male posturing, there it was again: that killer, crooked smile that tilted his lips with such charm. Her stomach flipped.

  “In my experience, underestimating a woman—of any size—who works in law enforcement is a really bad idea,” he said. “They tend to be the kind of women who can ruin a man—in good ways and bad.”

  He’d surprised her—this mystery man whose name she had yet to discover—maybe hidden depths lay beneath the macho cowboy exterior. She hadn’t been surprised by a man in a long time. Something sparked in her, and her heart picked up, fluttering in her chest.

  She needed to say something, not just stand there staring at him like an idiot. She opened her mouth, but before she could reply, the library phone on the desk rang.

  Maggie’s head snapped toward the sound, her whole body stiffening. Everyone in the room froze, the chatter coming to an abrupt stop, like a record cut off midsong. Every eye focused on the phone, waiting as it rang again.

  The flash of warmth she’d felt down to her toes vanished as Maggie moved forward, just two steps, a compulsive movement she couldn’t stop. She forced herself to stop, to hold back. She needed to think, not react.

  “Okay, everyone,” Frank’s gruff voice rang out with authority, breaking the silence. “It’s showtime. Keep a lid on it. Start tracing as soon as the line’s picked up. Senator, come on over here. You’re going to answer like we talked about, okay?”

  Mrs. Thebes made a small noise in the back of her throat, sinking into a chair as the senator strode over to the desk, trying to look confident.

  “Just like we talked about,” Frank re
peated soothingly. “Calm. No attacks. Let him lead. Let him talk as much as he wants. No interruptions. Let him tell us what he wants.”

  The senator’s hands shook as he picked up the phone, his voice unsteady as he said, “Hello?”

  Silence.

  Thebes looked at Frank desperately, who made a “go on” gesture.

  “Do you . . . do you have my daughter?”

  Silence again. The senator looked desperately at Frank, and Mrs. Thebes pressed her fist against her lips, trying to stifle her sobs.

  “Please, just . . . tell me what you want. I need my baby girl back.”

  Maggie’s fingers twitched as the silence stretched through the room again. She wanted to reach out, grab the phone, and take charge. Get whoever was on the other side of the call to talk. She knew she could do it.

  She could always get them talking.

  Then, a computerized voice rang out into the room: “I know you’re not alone, Senator. I want to speak to whoever’s in charge.”

  Maggie’s stomach tightened as she looked over at Jackson Dutton, who stepped forward. Frank held out a hand, stopping him, and gestured to Maggie, his eyebrows raised in a silent question.

  Maggie hesitated. If she took the phone from the senator, that was it. There’d be no turning back. She’d be in it for the long haul, until the very end—however messy or deadly that end was. She would become the point of contact—the lone voice that could bring the kidnapper to justice and get Kayla back safe and sound.

  Was she even any better than Jackson? He’d let emotions bleed in the last time she’d worked with him, but she’d done the same thing at Sherwood Hills. She hadn’t managed to be calm or objective then—and look what had happened.

  Was she ready for this? Would she ever be?

  Could she live with the risk of failing again? But if she turned around and left now, could she live with the knowledge that she was tossing Kayla Thebes’ fate to a shaky negotiator with a temper problem?

  Frank snapped his fingers.

  Maggie glanced over at Jackson once more. Annoyance played across his face, his ego obviously bruised by Frank so blatantly favoring Maggie in front of everyone. He’d be unfocused and hurt the entire time he talked to the kidnapper. He might snap again.

  She couldn’t let that happen. She was going to have to be better. Better than him and better than the person she’d been at Sherwood Hills.

  She took a deep breath and strode over to the desk, holding out her hand for the phone.

  The senator gave it to her, and with a firm, steady grip, she raised it to her ear.

  “This is Maggie Kincaid speaking,” she said. “I’m in charge.”

  Chapter 4

  “Hello, Maggie,” said the kidnapper, the voice so digitized that it was impossible to identify anything—gender, age, or accent.

  “Can I ask who’s speaking?” she asked. Build familiarity first. It helps establish a bond.

  There was a pause. “You can call me Uncle Sam,” said the kidnapper.

  Great. A grandiose self-image. Never good when it comes to hostage negotiation. Those types are liable to end it in a spray of bullets if they don’t get their way.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Sam,” she said. “I’m wondering if Kayla is okay. I’d really like to talk to her.”

  “Kayla is indisposed at the moment,” Uncle Sam said.

  Mrs. Thebes sat straight up at that, looking worriedly at her husband.

  “What does that mean, exactly?” Maggie asked. “Is she hurt?”

  “She’s a little tied up,” Uncle Sam said, and Maggie frowned. Was that an attempt at humor? Who was this guy? What did he want?

  “Has Kayla had her insulin? You know she needs it, right? I’m sure you do, Sam. You seem to have put a lot of thought into this.” She decided that with the ego he seemed to be displaying, the flattery route would be the best way to establish trust. He might be the type to look down on her because she was a woman. It was pretty damn common, really. She’d lost track of the times that male unsubs—the FBI’s term for an unknown criminal subject—underestimating her smarts had helped her in a case.

  “You won’t be able to trace me,” Sam said. “Don’t bother trying. I know all about Kayla’s little insulin problem, rest assured. She’s being taken care of—for now. And I’m sending proof of life to the senator’s cell phone.”

  Maggie hit the mute button so the kidnapper couldn’t hear them and looked over to the senator, whose phone began to buzz in his pocket. He pulled it out, his mouth tightening to a thin line as he held it out to Maggie. Kayla looking pale and scared, her bangs plastered to her forehead with sweat, her hands cuffed, was holding that morning’s edition of the local newspaper. Mrs. Thebes rushed over, but as soon as she caught sight of her daughter, bound and clearly terrified in the photo, she sank backward, nearly falling. One of the cops rushed forward, supporting her. “Mrs. Thebes, maybe you should go lie down,” he suggested gently.

  She shook her head. “That’s my little girl!” she whispered, straightening in the cop’s hold, grim resolve settling across her pretty face.

  Maggie stared down at the photo, tapping her fingers against her collarbone, one of the stupid nervous tics she’d never been able to shake. She was running out of time; the kidnapper would expect a response soon. This person was smart, with an ego. Someone who expected her to play by his rules. She could play along—for a while. Feed his ego, let him get really comfortable with his supposed superiority before yanking the rug out from underneath him. It might work.

  Or it might not. Maggie took a deep breath. Instead, she could throw him totally off-kilter, putting him on the defensive immediately, scrambling, so he’d make a mistake.

  Otherwise, he might not make any mistakes. This guy had thought things through. He’d kidnapped a high-risk target with a high-risk illness. While Kayla’s diabetes could definitely work in his favor by motivating her parents to give him whatever he wanted, it also was a huge gamble to kidnap a girl who might go into a coma or die if you didn’t get her the right dosage at the right time.

  Maggie had made up her mind: It was time to change the game.

  She hit the mute button on the phone, turning the sound back on.

  “I just got the photo, Sam,” she said. “Thank you for sending it.”

  “You’re wel—” he started.

  “There’s just one problem,” Maggie interrupted. “That photo isn’t going to work for me. It could easily be Photoshopped, and we really don’t have time for the FBI techs to analyze it, do we? We both want this over in a timely manner, I’m sure. So I’m going to need you to send me something else, just so we’re all comfortable and sure Kayla’s there with you. I want you to send me a video file of Kayla reading the first page of Crime and Punishment.”

  “You aren’t in control here, Maggie,” said the kidnapper. “I have the girl. I’ve given you proof. Now it’s time for you to give me something. I know how you people work.”

  Maggie ignored the fact that everyone in the room—agents, cops, the Thebeses, Frank—was staring at her, waiting for her to cave. “Your proof isn’t good enough, Sam,” she said. “Send me the video. Until you do, this conversation’s over.”

  Before the kidnapper could protest or bargain, she hung up the phone.

  “What in the hell are you doing?!” The senator loomed above her, filling her space with his fury. Maggie stood her ground, because retreating wasn’t an option with a man like him. His eyes glowering, he turned to Frank. “Edenhurst, you said she was good at her job. She’s supposed to keep the psycho calm, not antagonize him!”

  “Senator, please,” Frank said, grabbing his arm and pulling him away from Maggie. She breathed a little easier as soon as he was out of her space. “Maggie knows how to handle unsubs. You need to trust her judgment.”

  “This is insanity!” Jackson Dutton jumped in. Of course he did. Maggie glared at him, forcing herself to take a deep breath before she did something rash
. “She’s making bad decisions already. What if the guy decides to just slit the kid’s throat?”

  Mrs. Thebes whimpered, grabbing the arm of her chair tightly, her perfectly manicured nails digging into the expensive wood.

  “Dutton, shut up!” Maggie snapped. “I needed to shake things up. This person, whoever it is, has thought this out. He’s prepared. He’s miles ahead of us. He’s prepared for this for who knows how long. We needed time to catch up—now we have it. I got it for us. You two—” she pointed at a couple of agents standing near the cherrywood bar at the far side of the library “—search the house for anything that might be missing.”

  “Dutton!” She snapped her fingers at Jackson. He wasn’t the greatest negotiator, but she knew he was good with families. “Question the family and staff again, find out if anything unusual has happened recently. Amy—” she singled out one of the few female agents in the room “—go with Dutton.”

  Next she turned to the short, stocky man standing next to Jackson. “Matt, I need you to go to Reed Park.” She handed him her keys. “My car is parked in the north lot. Drive it to Kayla’s school. I’ll take one of the FBI SUV’s. I’m going to have a little talk with her friends.”

  “What if he calls back while you’re gone?” asked a tech.

  “Then you forward the call to my cell phone and record everything,” Maggie said.

  For a long moment, everyone in the room hesitated, all eyes zeroed in on Frank, waiting. Maggie found herself looking at him as well, almost in supplication. She needed him to have her back. She was right about this—she was sure of it. She could barely breathe as she waited—what was she going to do if he didn’t support her call?

  Frank gave her a long look, and then suddenly clapped his hands. “You heard her—so get to it!” he barked to the agents. “Kincaid is lead on this. You do what she says—right away.”

  A flurry of activity rippled through the room as the agents ran to do Maggie’s bidding. She watched them hurry through the door, out of the library, Jackson scowling as he left.