Notorious

by Carey Baldwin

  Jim shook his head. “You can’t beat me. This diary doesn’t prove a thing. It’s just Cindy’s word against mine—­and probably inadmissible hearsay at that.”

  “You should’ve thought of that before you took a hostage. You wanna talk about your scheme to bring Cambridge down, show us how smart you are? Drop your weapon. Let the kid go, and like I said, we can talk all day long. Maybe even deal. But no deal until you lose your gun.”

  Jim had no idea they didn’t even have Cindy’s words to use against him, that the real diary contained only love letters to her husband. Up until this very moment, it had all been speculation on their part. And while they’d take whatever semblance of a confession Jim might make, that wasn’t the goal any longer. Nothing mattered now but getting Aaron to safety. But talking Jim down was the only way to do that. Spense took a chance to break eye contact with Jim for a split second, to signal Aaron with his eyes. Hold tight, buddy. We’ve got you.

  Aaron’s trembling chin came up, and Spense thought he’d understood.

  Jim tightened his arm around Aaron’s neck, in a true choke hold, so the boy couldn’t speak or scream. “My scheme to bring down Cambridge? I’m not taking the fall for this. It was Hamlin who approached me.”

  The White House chief of staff.

  “Drop your weapon. We’ll make sure you don’t get a raw deal.” Dutch moved closer. Almost near enough to tackle Jim to the ground.

  “Hamlin promised me the directorship in exchange for getting Cambridge out of the race. I shouldn’t have to do the president’s dirty work for the honor of being handed an office I’ve already earned.”

  All those meetings with the boys from D.C. The rumors of a presidential appointment for Jim were true. He was after the directorship of the FBI. And he’d been willing to do anything to get it. Even go against the principles that had led him to the Bureau in the first place.

  “Put the gun down, and let’s talk about it. You were coerced,” Dutch said.

  Spense nodded. His arms ached from holding them high in the air. “I’m going to lower my arms now, Jim. They hurt like hell.”

  When Jim didn’t object, Spense knew they were making headway. Like Dutch had taught him, he’d appealed to Jim’s human side and given him an easy request. It was a simple way to make inroads. Get the cooperation ball rolling.

  “The directorship is rightfully yours,” Dutch said. “No tricks, just truth, here. Put down the gun. Let Aaron go. That’s his name, and I know you don’t want to hurt him.”

  “It’s too late.” Jim choked out the words, but it made no difference to Spense. He could cry like a baby, and he wouldn’t have an ounce of pity for the man.

  “Not too late. Not if you put down the gun. You’ve done a great ser­vice for your country, Jim.” Spense tried to remember what he’d learned from Dutch. Keep it personal. Call him by his name. “All the cases you’ve solved.”

  “The terrorist threats you’ve thwarted.” Dutch lowered his arms, too. Still no objection from Jim. “You’ll get yourself a great lawyer, and he’ll get you a sweet deal. Think of what concessions they’ll make to take down the president’s inner circle. You can do that, Jim. What you know about the plot to get Matt Cambridge out of the race—­that’s your leverage.”

  “Not the boy.” Spense made eye contact with Aaron, then shifted his gaze toward a large tree that could provide some cover, hoping he’d understand the signal. “Let him go, Jim.”

  The pistol wobbled in Jim’s hand.

  “Aaron’s dad is out of the picture. The boy wants to be a profiler.” Spense tried to appeal to Jim’s paternal instinct. In spite of everything, Spense knew he had one.

  “That true?” Jim asked Aaron, loosening the choke hold but keeping his pistol aimed at his head.

  Aaron looked at Spense, then nodded. “Y-­yes. I wanna go home.”

  “I know you don’t want to hurt this boy.” Dutch moved in closer, with Spense in lockstep. “The way you looked after Spense and me when Jack died, I don’t believe you ever meant any harm to come to us. And I know you don’t mean Aaron any harm now. So do the right thing, Jim—­it’s what you do best.”

  Jim’s legs trembled beneath him. “I never meant for anyone to get hurt. This whole thing is on Heather and Cindy. I told Cindy I could prove you killed Tesarak in cold blood. She told me she’d go through with the affair with Cambridge, but she had everything documented in her diary. She said her diary was safe and if anything ever happened to Dutch or to her, the truth would come out. She shouldn’t have threatened me like that, Dutch.” His voice carried an expectant plea, like he really believed that once he’d explained himself, Spense and Dutch would understand. “That’s the only reason I went looking for a hit man who could get rid of Cindy and bring in the diary. But Heather caught wind of the affair. Heather killed Cindy before the Thresher could do it right. Because Heather ruined everything, I had to send the Thresher after you. When you ran, Dutch, I was sure you had the diary.”

  “Of course, it was my fault for running. Like you say, you had to send the Thresher. And the car bomb—­you thought we all knew more than we should.”

  “And you all betrayed me. I warned Spense away, but he disobeyed my orders. I never wanted that guard, Brian, to get hurt, either. I waited until I saw Spense exit the building to set the timer. How was I supposed to know someone else would get there first?”

  Jim set the bomb himself. Tried to murder the sons of the man who’d saved his life in combat. The Thresher was a sicko, but Jim was the real monster.

  “Put down your gun. Let’s get you a lawyer. Dutch and I forgive you,” Spense said. “And a jury will understand, too.” He threw out a Hail Mary. “Unless you fuck it all up by hurting this innocent kid. Drop your weapon. Let him go.”

  “A jury? You think I care about convincing a jury or making a deal? No matter what I do now, my life with the Bureau is finished . . . and the Bureau is my life.”

  The deadweight of Jim’s words hung in the air. Spense could feel the tension vibrating off his brother. They both knew what those words meant. Now they were the ones who had no leverage because Jim did not plan to walk away from this alive. They had to get him to release Aaron now.

  “Let Aaron go. Maybe you think your life is over, but this kid’s got his still in front of him. Just like Dutch and me, he wants to be like you. He wants to serve in the FBI. How do you want to be remembered? As the man who betrayed his country, or as the man who followed his conscience and let a young boy go free? A goddamn hero! Be a hero, Jim. Let him go.”

  Tears streamed down Aaron’s face. The wind died down, and a dreadful stillness replaced the rain.

  “Don’t let one mistake negate your entire life of ser­vice. Don’t let it define you. If this is going to be the last thing you do,” Spense paused, trying to get control of his voice, “make it the right thing.”

  Jim’s arm wobbled down to his side. He shoved Aaron in the back. “Get the hell out of here.”

  Aaron ran toward Spense but stumbled and fell. Spense yanked him up. “Walk fast, but don’t run. Other side of the street. Do not look back.”

  Aaron’s breath came in spurts, and a hoarse grunt rushed out of his throat.

  “Go!” Spense said.

  One. Two . . . Aaron made it to the other side.

  “Thank you.” Spense released a shuddering breath.

  “Now put your gun on the ground. Let’s hammer this out,” Dutch said.

  Jim’s arm jerked, and the sound of gunfire shattered the stillness in the afternoon air. His body thudded to the ground. Blood poured from the gaping hole in his head, mixed with water from the rain, and drained down into the sewers.

  Chapter Twenty-­Nine

  Thursday, October 24

  7:00 A.M.

  Preston Hollow, Texas

  THERE’S SOMETHING ABOUT death that makes y
ou want to live. Really live. Caitlin pried herself away from Spense’s magnificent, bare chest to enjoy her view of his face while he slept. Unlike some ­people, who look very different when sleep strips away their defenses, Spense looked the same. Granted, his mouth didn’t usually gape, but his day face was generally as unguarded and devoid of pretense as it was at this very moment. He was a good man, and she was a lucky woman.

  A very lucky woman.

  “Spense,” she whispered, though the way she shook his shoulder negated the purpose of her gentle, low voice. “Open your eyes.”

  Awakening next to a slumbering Spense was not unlike rising early on Christmas morning, only to have to wait until later to unwrap your presents. She shook his shoulder harder. “Wake up, please. I want some more.”

  He popped one eye open. “More coming right up. He checked beneath the sheets and grinned. Yep. Up and ready.”

  She swatted his arm. “I meant that I can’t wait to get the day started, you know, as a ­couple.”

  “That’s exactly what I’m talking about,” he said, and pulled her down for a hard kiss.

  Then something vibrated between them—­his phone. She threw her hands up in surrender. But in truth, she didn’t mind. He’d kissed her breathless, and she needed air before going back in.

  “I cannot wait to get you to Tahiti.” But as he looked at his cell, his grin turned to a groan. “I’ve got a secure message.”

  She brushed her hair from her eyes, and tried to wipe what she assumed to be a love-­struck smile off her face. “Well, are you going to tell me what it says? Or is it above my security clearance?”

  He shook his head, and the faintest lines appeared around his eyes. “It’s actually for all of us.”

  She made a show of looking around, then peeked under the covers, as if wondering who else might be in the room, but she knew, of course, the message must be for Dutch, too.

  Spense barked a laugh, like he currently had his hand on Ellen DeGeneres’s naked ass instead of plain ole Caity’s—­she loved a man who got her humor. And she loved a man who grabbed her ass in the morning. “We’ve been cordially invited to appear at the field office at oh eight hundred sharp.”

  He yanked her back on top of him. “That gives me just enough time to take care of a little personal business first.”

  AT OH EIGHT hundred sharp, Anthony Logsdon lumbered into the Dallas field-­office conference room. Spense scrambled to his feet to greet the director of the FBI.

  “As you were.” Director Logsdon motioned for them to take their seats around the glass-­topped table. “I should be rising to my feet for you three.”

  Caity blushed prettily. Spense tried to assume a humble posture, but the director had a point. They’d done good work, and he was proud of it. The upward tilt of Dutch’s chin told Spense he felt the same.

  They all sat down, and a hush fell over the room. Spense hadn’t exactly expected the director to fly down and meet with them in person, but he wasn’t that surprised, either. After all, they’d busted open a can of conspiratorial worms that couldn’t be buried. Not to mention the Dallas field office wasn’t going to run itself. Until a new SAC could be installed, someone would need to oversee its operations. The director of the FBI was one logical choice.

  “Dr. Cassidy, it’s a pleasure to meet you in person. I can honestly say that after your contributions over the past months, the Bureau is going to be seeking your ser­vices for a long time to come. In fact, you and Agent Spenser are currently topping the FBI’s most wanted list.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Caity’s cheeks pinked again. “I’m honored to serve in any way I can.”

  “Good. Because . . .”

  “Sir, respectfully,” Spense cleared his throat. Not that he planned to make a habit of interrupting the director, but he felt a case request coming on. That FBI’s most wanted remark would undoubtedly come with a price tag. “We’ll be requesting time off before our next case. We’ve worked three back to back—­I know this one was off the books, but—­”

  The director held up his hand. “I agree. It’s not wise to put you two right back out there. And around here, there’s always going to be another case. You should set boundaries, but . . .” His eyes swept back and forth between Caity and Spense. “I’ll let you make your own decision once you know the details. Meanwhile . . .” He turned to Dutch “This place can’t run itself.”

  “I’d be honored to serve under you, sir. I’ll help any way I can.”

  “Glad to hear it.” The director flashed a wry smile. “Because I do need your help. While I’m well aware of your recent loss, I also know you love the Bureau. And frankly, if I’d lost my Nancy, I wouldn’t want to be alone in the house, mourning. I’d want to be right here, doing good where I could, surrounded by my second family . . . the men and women of the FBI. I’d want to make Nancy proud.”

  Dutch nodded—­vigorously. “Understood. And sir, if you’re asking me if I want to come back to work, the answer—­”

  “Hear me out.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Normally, I’d stay and run things for however long it took to find the next SAC. But my wife is ill. I don’t want to be away from her any longer than necessary, so I’m announcing my retirement within the month. Jim was the frontrunner to take over my spot, but thank heavens we have a backup. My point is, I can’t take over Dallas. Nancy comes first.”

  “You must have backups for Jim, too, though, since you were planning to move him into the director’s spot.” Dutch sounded confused. But Spense saw exactly where this was headed and grinned proudly.

  “We do.” Logsdon leveled his gaze at Dutch. “We’ve been set on your taking over Jim’s spot since before the tragedy with your wife. And frankly, I still believe you’re the right man for the job. You might not be the most popular guy in the office, but you’re the most respected. You’ve earned it, son. So while I’ll understand if you decline, the position of Special Agent in Charge of Dallas is yours—­if you want it.”

  Dutch’s shoulders drew back, and his eyes gleamed in the morning light. “I want it, sir. Thank you.”

  Spense’s chest swelled with pride. Under the table, Caity touched his hand. Finally, something good for Dutch.

  “Congratulations.” Caity sent Spense’s brother one of her big, sweet smiles. At first, Spense had been jealous of the attention she’d paid Dutch, but now he was glad they got on so well. He and Dutch had a ways to go to build a real relationship, but they were brothers, and Dutch was going to be a part of his life—­of their life—­from here on out.

  A phone, sitting in the center of the table rang. They all jumped. The director stood to answer, as if he knew who’d be on the line. His face turned grave. “Yes, sir. They’re right here.”

  He pulled his shoulders into a military stance. “I have the commander in chief on the line.”

  Even in life-­and-­death situations Spense had nerves of steel, but right now, knowing that the president of the United States was on the phone gave him a bit of a quiver in the old gut.

  “You’re on speaker, Mr. President. I’m here with Agents Spenser and Langhorne, and Dr. Cassidy’s present, too.”

  “Pleasure to speak with you all.” The president’s Vermont accent, which had been imitated by every impersonator in the country, rang over the speakers.

  “Likewise,” Dutch said.

  Spense couldn’t help smiling at the dueling accents—­Dutch’s Texas drawl and the president’s Yankee twang.

  A round of “my pleasures,” came and went. There was a brief, awkward pause—­after all, the three of them had recently implicated the White House chief of staff in a conspiracy to interfere with a national election.

  Then the president got down to it. “I want you to know, Agent Langhorne, how deeply sorry I am for the loss of your wife. And how truly grateful I am to you and to Agent Spenser and to Dr.
Cassidy for exposing the snake in my lair.” Another beat passed. “I’m not going to ask for your discretion—­if that’s what you’re expecting.”

  In fact it had been. But Spense was relieved to learn he’d been wrong. He didn’t want to believe the president had knowledge of the conspiracy.

  “I’m going to ask you, instead, to make damn sure that every member of the FBI understands that as commander in chief, I will never ask you to engage in illegal activity. And if I were to do so, I would hope you’d expose the truth and chase me from the Oval Office with a broom. But the fact is I did not condone, nor did I have knowledge of this reprehensible scheme. I’ve already appointed a special prosecutor to look into the matter, and everyone involved, including my chief of staff, is going to be dealt the full measure of the law.”

  Silent nods of approval went around the table, then the president continued, “When this breaks, I may look guilty to the man on the street, and I might even lose my bid for reelection. But I will not cover up this scandal. The country deserves the truth, and the country shall have it.”

  “Thank you, Mr. President.” Spense didn’t really have another response, and maybe he was being naïve, but he believed the man.

  “Now that I’ve gotten that out of the way, I do have a favor to ask.”

  If discretion wasn’t it, Spense had no idea what it might be.

  “Agent Spenser, and Dr. Cassidy, your reputation precedes you. And I’m afraid I’ve had some terrible news. My dear friend’s, Senator Chaucer’s, daughter has gone missing in Colorado. Local law enforcement, the Colorado Bureau of Investigation, and Denver area FBI are all involved, but . . .” Spense could hear the slightest vibration in the president’s voice. “I want the best men possible on the case. I’d consider it a personal favor if Cassidy and Spenser would join the team. I hear you’re due a vacation, but I’m not above using whatever influence I have to persuade you.”

  Spense caught Caity’s eye. Ten minutes ago he couldn’t have imagined a scenario that would make him accept another case.