Dangerous Games

by Tess Diamond

  “I can’t believe Frank finally called in his favor,” Grace said.

  “Yup,” Maggie said, ending the p with an audible pop.

  “Well, it’s not like he could cash it in that entire year and a half you were traveling,” Grace mused.

  “I was helping build wells in Chad, Grace. You make it sound like I was on a vacation.”

  “Your charity work was incredibly noble and rewarding, I’m sure,” Grace said. “But you were running away, and we both know it.”

  Maggie sighed. She had a point. She had loved her work with the Clean Water Initiative. It had been her father’s passion project and it had felt good to continue his work. But she had joined the team in Chad to get away from her life—from her professional and personal mistakes.

  “Speaking of why you ran away, how are you and Paul working together?” Grace asked.

  Maggie sighed. “Paul plays nice—you know him. Boy Scout, through and through.”

  “Captain America,” Grace said with a smile. Paul was the head of her team and they worked closely together. When Maggie had broken off the engagement and left for Chad, she had felt slightly better that Paul would have Grace and the rest of his team to lean on.

  “To a T,” Maggie said. “He’s been professional, of course. It’s that O’Connor character who’s being a pain in the ass.”

  Grace raised a perfectly threaded eyebrow. “What O’Connor character?”

  “He’s some security expert,” Maggie said. “Military, I think. Someone sent him in to work with the senator. Supposedly he deals with ‘sensitive situations’ like this.”

  “Are you talking about someone from General Hoffman’s team?” Grace asked. Maggie perked up, interested. She needed a better understanding of the guy aside from the fact that he filled out a suit in a criminally attractive way.

  “I don’t know, I might be,” she said. “He hasn’t been really forthcoming on where he’s getting his orders.”

  “Unsurprising, if the general’s in charge. I worked with one of his guys on a serial killer case last year,” Grace said. “They have this tech whiz kid who’s almost as good as Zooey.”

  Zooey was the head of forensics on Grace’s team. She sang her praises regularly, so Maggie knew she meant business with the comparison.

  “So these guys are trustworthy?’ Maggie asked.

  “They’re the best,” Grace said. “But they’re covert military types. You know how closemouthed men like that are.”

  “He thinks he should be in charge,” Maggie said. “It’s so annoying.”

  “Well, that’s stupid,” Grace said. “But working together? Might not be a bad idea. He’ll probably have decent ideas when it comes to getting Kayla out safely.”

  “We need some inkling of where she is to even start thinking about that,” Maggie sighed.

  “No luck?” Grace asked.

  “Have you read up on it?”

  Grace nodded. “Frank sent me over the call transcripts and case file. He asked me to put together a rudimentary profile with what we have.”

  “Which isn’t much,” Maggie said.

  “I’ve worked with less,” Grace said.

  “Does it seem . . . off to you?” Maggie asked.

  “Off how?” Grace asked.

  “I keep thinking it through, but it doesn’t make a lot of sense. The kidnapper gave the senator longer than he needs to get the money together. Who does that? Someone green. But everything else this guy’s done tells us he’s not new to the game. He came prepared to play. He’s a pro. Why is he acting stupid all of a sudden?”

  “I don’t know,” Grace said, grabbing one of Maggie’s remaining fries, looking thoughtful. Maggie could practically see the cogs in her extraordinary brain clicking along as she pieced together what she knew about the unsub to create an actual personality. “He says he knows about her insulin dependence and he seems to be administering it, so he doesn’t seem to be a sadist. Kayla’s a tool; she’s not his prize. That’s very good in a lot of ways. He clearly has an ego, but he’s goal oriented, and Kayla’s just a step toward that goal. It means the risk of sexual assault or extreme abuse is fairly low—he might not even have the stomach for it.”

  “Thank God,” Maggie said.

  “He’s obviously trying to take decent care of her so he can use her to get what he really wants. Or . . . I guess he might even feel guilty. Abducting a kid, especially one who has a serious health risk, is crossing a bigger line than taking an adult.”

  “That could be it,” Maggie said. “But this isn’t the guy’s first rodeo. I’m not sure he has much of a conscience.”

  “True,” Grace agreed. “His actions—the smoothness of the abduction, the preparation with the insulin, the disguising of his voice, the tech he must be using to bounce his phone signal—speak to experience. But then he gives you a ransom demand, with no account number. That’s . . . sloppy.”

  “Do you think he’s just worried we’re going to trace the account?” Maggie asked. It was the only logical thing she could think of.

  Grace swirled her wine in the glass, staring at the red depths. “If he’s sophisticated enough to bounce his phone signal, he should be prepared with an untraceable account.”

  Maggie sighed. She was right. “The pieces aren’t adding up—I try to put it together, but I just can’t get there. Maybe I’m just too rusty after . . .” She took another swig of water.

  “Mags, I’m kind of worried about you,” Grace said, her eyebrows drawn together in concern. “You’ve gone through a lot of changes. You left the Bureau and ended things with Paul. I respect your decision,” she added hastily. “I love you, and Paul’s a good guy, but I understand why the two of you together didn’t work. And I understand why you needed to get away and throw yourself into charity work. But now I see you throwing yourself back into negotiating, all because you owe Frank a favor. It concerns me.”

  Maggie bit her lip, hating the way it all sounded out loud. “What’s your point?”

  “It’s a lot of chaos and stress,” Grace said delicately. “And it’s a lot of avoidance. Are you seeing someone? Have you spoken to a therapist about Sherwood Hills? About any of the changes in your life? You know there’s no shame in therapy. It can be very useful to help people process trauma and grief. I know you had positive experiences with therapy after, well, after what happened to you and Erica. Maybe it’s time to think about finding someone you’re comfortable with to talk to.”

  Maggie drew back from her as if she were burned. Her grip tightened on the water glass so hard she was afraid it’d crack under the pressure. For a moment, all she could hear was her heart pounding in her ears, the screams that echoed through her nightmares. She took a deep breath, forcing herself to answer. “I’m fine, Grace,” she said shortly. “Also, no offense, but if I wanted to have a deep personal conversation, I wouldn’t do it with a card-carrying member of the FBI . . .” She trailed off, nearly dropping the glass of water as the insight struck her.

  “Holy crap,” she said. “I just realized something.”

  “What?” Grace asked.

  “The ask, the first ask the kidnapper gave, it’s not a real one. He doesn’t want money—he wants something else. The money’s just a distraction. That’s why he didn’t give us an account number. He wasn’t being sloppy—this guy is too good—he was trying to buy time so he can set up his next move. He’s working this at different angles. He’s going to contact the senator directly to get what he really wants. And I bet he’ll do it tonight.”

  She jumped up off the barstool so fast she faltered a bit, then grabbed her coat and phone, tossing some bills on the bar. “I’m out of here. Don’t worry, Grace.”

  Grace shot her a frustrated look. “I’m your friend, so I always worry. Be safe.”

  Maggie strode out of the bar. She wouldn’t make any promises. As long as you didn’t make them, you didn’t have to break them.

  Chapter 15

  She texted Frank a
s she drove back to the senator’s mansion: Gonna be a little late. Got a lead. Will let you know if it pans out.

  Her fingers tapped the steering wheel as she wove in and out of traffic, flashing her temporary pass at the man guarding the gate. She cut the headlights as she navigated the first curve of the senator’s driveway, pulling around the back instead of the front, and situated her car so she had a side view of the door and his office windows.

  Maggie settled back into the shadows, waiting.

  She’d told Grace she was fine, but that was a lie. Even as she watched the video of Kayla today, seeing Kayla squint at the camera, scared but trying not to show it, she could feel the ropes against her wrists again and sense the panic rising in her gut. Grace was right—she probably did need to go back to therapy. She’d spent her entire childhood after the kidnapping in therapy. Plus all of high school and most of college. The idea of going back was exhausting. Which was an entirely self-defeating way to think about it.

  Maybe it would help with the nightmares.

  Almost every night, she was twelve years old again, running back to the shed. As she tossed and turned in her rumpled sheets, her dream self ran and ran, and when she got to the door and pushed it open, she screamed, because all that’s left is blood.

  Erica’s blood.

  It splattered the walls and floor of the shed. She’d fallen to her knees, gutted by the sight, and the blood had smeared her clothes, her skin. The coppery stench was so strong she could still almost taste it in her mouth . . . it had stuck to the back of her throat for weeks after. She’d scrubbed her skin clean of the bloodstains, but even all these years later, she could still feel them, somewhere under her skin.

  Maggie leaned back against the headrest and closed her eyes, trying to block it out. But that just made it worse.

  “We have to try it,” Erica said.

  “I can’t go without you,” Maggie begged. She couldn’t. She wouldn’t. God, how could Erica ask her to do that? What if he hurt her? What if he punished her when he saw Maggie had got away?

  Erica pulled her close. “I can’t fit, Mags,” she whispered against her ear. “I’m too big. It has to be you. We can’t just sit here and wait for whatever’s going to happen to us. I know you can do this. You just wiggle through and run for help. I’ll be here when you get back.”

  “I don’t want to.” Maggie’s voice was so small as she looped her bound arms over Erica’s head for a clumsy hug. “I can’t leave you here. What if he hurts you?”

  “I’ll be fine,” Erica reassured her. “You just need to be brave, okay? For both of us.”

  “I’ll try,” Maggie said. She had to try. What choice did they have? Her big sister was right, as usual.

  Erica smiled shakily, brushing Maggie’s hair off her cheek. “We’ll do it tonight, after he brings us food, okay? After he leaves, you’ll wiggle through and you’ll run, Maggie. You run fast as you can and you don’t stop for anything and you don’t look back for anything. No matter what.”

  Maggie’s eyes welled with tears. She tried to bite them back. She had to be strong. She had to be brave. For her sister and their parents who were looking for them.

  Erica squeezed her hands tightly. “It’ll be okay, little sis. No matter what happens tonight, you and I are in this together,” she whispered.

  Maggie had tried to be brave. That day and every day since. Sometimes she fooled herself into thinking she’d succeeded. But after Sherwood Hills, she couldn’t fake it anymore—not even to herself.

  She needed help—she knew that. But knowing it and doing something about it were two different things. Who could even begin to understand what she’d been through? None of her friends, no matter how well-meaning. Most shrinks wouldn’t be equipped. She didn’t even know how to start to get help. And she wasn’t sure if she had the courage to start that journey. It was so much easier to just tamp it down, to ignore it. To let the wound fester, but never heal.

  Her thoughts were disrupted by a glimpse of movement in the distance. She snapped to attention, peering to her right, where a figure was walking out of a side door. A cloud shifted, spilling moonlight on the man’s gray hair.

  It was the senator.

  Showtime.

  Maggie watched as he got into his silver Lexus and began to make his way off the estate via the side road. A familiar feeling started to uncoil inside her: the adrenaline of the chase. Her blood began to pump and her stomach tightened in anticipation. God, she’d forgotten this—maybe a little on purpose, because she’d missed it. She’d missed the way every cell of her body and mind felt alive, complete. Missed the way it felt right, as if this was where she belonged, what she should be doing.

  As soon as the senator had turned out of sight, she sped down the main driveway after him, managing to get onto the main road just in time to see the Lexus pull out of the ivy-covered entrance and turn left.

  She followed a few cars behind, every muscle in her body singing, her heartbeat loud in her ears. Her eyes narrowed, focusing on the Lexus as everything else fell away. Until it was just her and the chase, her and the target, her and the search for answers. Real ones, this time.

  The senator drove normally—no speeding, swerving, or urgency. Responsible use of turn signals. For all she knew, he could be headed somewhere totally benign—but she found that hard to believe. He was hiding something—sneaking out in the dead of night made that much obvious.

  Someone blared a horn, and Maggie swore, swerving into the right lane to avoid an SUV. For a second, she lost sight of her quarry. She gunned the accelerator, shooting ahead of the SUV that had almost swiped her, her eyes searching the traffic ahead of her. There he was. With a sigh of relief, she settled back in the bucket seat.

  After a few miles of stop-and-go traffic through the residential part of Falls Church, Maggie almost relaxed.

  The key word here is almost. You never relax, not truly. Because that’s always when the target acts.

  The Lexus, which had been meandering down Washington Boulevard, veered suddenly across two lanes, speeding onto the highway on ramp.

  Maggie changed lanes fast, once, twice, nearly clipping a sedan in the process as she sped onto the on ramp by the skin of her knuckles. As she merged into traffic, she thought for a moment she’d lost him. That he’d realized he was being followed. But there—four cars ahead, she could see the silver Lexus zooming into the fast lane.

  “Gotcha.” Maggie smiled. “Let’s see where you’re going, Senator.”

  As they made their way East toward DC, she tried to calm her quickened breathing. She had to stay sharp—every minute that ticked by gave the unsub more time to plan, to plot, and to destroy.

  Chapter 16

  Thirty minutes later, Maggie had tailed the senator into the city. He’d parked outside one of the lower-end hotels and walked down the block to that rarity, one of the few remaining pay phones. Pacing back and forth in front of it, he checked his watch every few seconds.

  Maggie parked six cars away, reaching into the back seat, where a silver briefcase was resting on the floor. She’d asked Matt, the tech who’d brought her car from the park that morning, to pick up a few things at headquarters while he was at it. You never know when you might need a directional mic to listen in on a conversation. She liked to be prepared, and luckily, Matt had followed through.

  This one was the newest model. Maggie slipped the bud headphone into her ear and aimed the small, disc-shaped mic toward the senator just as the pay phone began to ring.

  The late-night traffic zipping around her wasn’t helping her home in on the call. She fiddled with the dials, raising the mic’s volume a little.

  The sound crackled through her ear, making her wince at the static, but then it cleared. There we go.

  “Are you there?” The senator sounded nervous.

  “I see you got my instructions,” said Uncle Sam—the same digitized voice they’d heard that morning. Maggie’s heart began to pound in her chest as she
tried to discern the senator’s expression from a distance. Was he scared? Angry? Why hadn’t he gone to her or O’Connor when Uncle Sam contacted him to set up this meeting?

  “We need to talk about this—” Thebes started.

  “There’s nothing to talk about,” Uncle Sam interrupted. “Either you get it for me or your daughter dies.”

  Maggie frowned, pointing the mic a little higher. Get it? What was it? She knew this wasn’t about money—but that still left a myriad of government secrets and knowledge the Senator was privy to.

  “I can’t just waltz into the Capitol and take it!” The senator ran his hand through his hair. Even this far away, Maggie could see his cheeks turning a mottled shade of red. Her triumph, a slow and steady burn, was tamped by what it meant to be right in this instance. The senator was keeping things from her—and this was about much more than money.

  “You’re a senator—they won’t look twice at you,” Uncle Sam said. “Stop making excuses. Either you get it, or your pretty little Kayla will go into diabetic shock and die. Maybe I’ll dump her body in the swamp. You’ll never find her. Your wife won’t even have a grave to visit. That’d be a pity, wouldn’t it be, Senator?”

  “Please,” Thebes said, his voice cracking. “What you’re asking me to do . . . it’s illegal. I’d be arrested. Everything would be ruined. I can give you as much money as you want—”

  Maggie’s mind raced, her grip on the mic tightening. This was definitely not about money. Then what? What in the Capitol was worth enough to Uncle Sam that he’d kidnap someone? And what the hell was so important to the senator that he was standing firm when a kidnapper had his daughter? When his kid’s life was on the line, he was concerned about legalities? Maggie felt a flare of anger light in her chest, sparking into a wildfire within seconds. What the hell was this guy’s problem? His priorities were all screwed up.