by Kylie Brant
He yanked open the door with barely restrained force. And this time she knew better than to try to stop him. Couldn’t have if she’d wanted to. It was all Macy could do to remember to haul in a shuddering breath. And then another. She shut the door after him. Locked it. Then checked the lock three times before turning and forcing herself to move across the floor.
Well. With effort, she reached for her scattered senses and tried to force them in some semblance of order. Heading for the bathroom, she scrubbed her face with a washcloth that felt cold against her heated skin. It gave her something to concentrate on besides that moment of suspended animation with Kell.
Carefully she spread the cloth out to dry and turned her attention to brushing her teeth. For an instant or two she’d been convinced he’d been about to kiss her. And history told her just how big a mistake that would have been.
She’d known getting involved with him, however briefly, would complicate their teaming together in future cases.
But recognizing that hadn’t stopped one night of madness after they’d shared a ride home from a colleague’s wedding. He’d suggested stopping somewhere for one more drink. She closed her eyes painfully. There had been dancing. Burke was as smooth at that as he was everything else.
As she’d found out firsthand a few hours later.
Unconsciously, she spread toothpaste on the brush a second time and began brushing again. Maybe she’d interpreted the recent interlude incorrectly. After all, earlier tonight she’d been half persuaded he’d shown up in her room for a very different reason than the one he’d had, and she’d been proved wrong about that. She was usually a far better judge of people, but Burke screwed with her normally reliable instincts.
And that had been just one in a list of very solid reasons to not see him again outside of work. Another was that he didn’t fit in her carefully constructed life. There was nothing wrong with wanting order in it. Control. Burke created chaos. Uncertainty.
She began brushing her teeth for a third time. If he’d kissed her, she would have pushed him away. An inner voice jeered as she had the thought, but she clung to it stoutly. This case was as serious as it could get, and none of them could afford diversions.
Breathing a bit easier, she carefully replaced the cap on the toothpaste and turned to return to the bedroom, flicking the light off. On. Then off. On again. Off. Crossing to the dresser, she swiftly changed into pajamas and folded her clothes, placing them in drawers. Gathering up the file, she laid it on the top of the bed, firmly pushing away the image of Kell sprawled on top of it. She switched on the bedside lamp and then moved to the overhead switch and turned it off.
There was really nothing to worry about. Burke wasn’t the type to moon over a woman who’d been quite clear about not wanting a repeat performance. There were too many other willing women eager to take her place.
The thought did nothing to lighten her mood. She moved to the bed, carefully folded down the bedcovers, and smoothed them lightly. Once. Twice. Again. It was probably nothing more than habit for him, and she’d just happened to be there. If he hadn’t returned to his senses, well, she’d never taken leave of hers. Nothing would have happened.
She fluffed the pillow. Once. Twice. Before she caught herself and went still.
Oh, God.
She replayed the last few minutes in her mind. How many times had she brushed her teeth? Turned out the lights? Her gaze fell to the covers that she’d smoothed repetitively.
Deliberately she tossed the pillow on the bed and refused to allow her mind to linger on the way it sat askew against the others, the arrangement a bit off kilter. Anxiety sometimes still brought out her strange compulsion to do things in threes.
And there was plenty to be anxious about in the last few days. The few moments with Kell were the very least of them.
A girl was still missing. Terrified. Probably waiting for a replay of the horror she’d endured only a few years earlier.
With grim resolve, she slid into bed and reached for the case file. Macy was going to go through it again. Commit as much of it as she could to memory.
And the only compulsion at work this time was the need to bring Ellie Mulder home.
Alive.
“No. I’m going to kill her now.” It was freezing on that damn mountain, the sort of deep bone-numbing cold that would take hours near the stove to dispel. There had been no reason to have this conversation outside. It wasn’t like it mattered what the girl overheard.
“You’ll follow my instructions exactly.” The voice was robotic. A distorter was used whenever they had phone contact. “The girl has to stay alive until I give the word.”
“I’m not a fucking babysitter.” Emotion flared, and he stopped to identify it. Frustration. Feeling anything at all was rare enough that the experience distracted him. The wind whipped icy pellets of sleet to sting his cheeks, bringing him back to the matter at hand. “I’m not going to sit on this damn mountain playing nursemaid to a kid.”
“You have a gift for revisionist history, my friend.” Even with the distortion, the mockery in the caller’s voice was evident. “You agreed to the kidnapping for an additional fee. This is part of that sum. The second half of your very generous payment is only forthcoming if you can follow directions.”
He took the phone away from his ear and considered it for a minute. The person on the other end of the line was wrong. The money had been only part of it. There weren’t many in his line of work who would take a job with a kid involved.
But that had actually been his primary reason for taking the hit. He’d never killed a kid before. But he was convinced it was exactly what he needed to be normal again. To feel again. He’d been numb for a very long time.
Resuming the conversation, he shrugged. “Just don’t take too long. I’m about to go crazy on this damn mountain. It snows all the fucking time. And there’s no reception for the TV.
“Read a book.” The voice was unsympathetic. “I just need to be sure you’re going to be able to end things when I give the word. Are a few more days with the kid going to make you go soft toward her?”
He gave a grim smile. “Hardly. You could say I’m looking forward to it.”
“Just don’t get in a hurry. Things have to go exactly according to plan.”
He snorted. Reaching up, he broke off the enormous icicle hanging from the branch of a nearby fir. It was thick and sharp. He imagined drilling it through the caller’s eye, into the brain. He might not know his employer’s identity, but he could imagine the type easily enough. Just another corporate asshole, used to calling the shots from his cushy corner office, while feeling safely anonymous.
“Nothing goes exactly according to plan. Things come up, I adapt and move on.”
“Well, don’t try any ‘adapting’ before speaking with me first.” The voice was sharp. “We’ve come too far for any screwups now.”
The call abruptly ended. Tucking the satellite phone back inside his pocket, he blew out a breath just to watch it steam and then climbed back up the steps and into the shelter. A welcome blast of heat enveloped him at the door. Slipping out of his coat, he threw it and his gloves and hat in a pile on the floor and pulled off the boots before walking further inside. It was going to be hard to wait. Give him more time to plan, sure. He was adept with a gun, but the knife had always been his favorite. He could always get started early. Take a piece of her at a time. Make it last.
Once he’d lost the thrill of his work, he’d taken to using the gun more and more often. Quick and over then back home again. But this time had to be perfect. It might be his one chance to get that joy back. To get any feeling back.
Yeah, he could wait. And while he waited, he’d plan every second of how he’d do it.
A fraction of movement caught his eye. He looked hard at the kid, sitting on one of the camp stools at the table. She went still, looking at him with those big doe eyes.
Then she shifted again. “I can’t get comfortable.”
<
br /> Swiftly, he strode around to the back of the stool and checked the length of tape securing her other wrist to the table leg. “Jesus.” The spoon was nearly hidden up the long sleeve of her pajama top. He reached for it and threw it on the floor. “Give it up, kid. Think you’re going to saw through duct tape with a plastic spoon?” So much for freeing one of her hands so she could eat. But damned if he was going to hand-feed her. He headed for the battery-operated TV. Reception up here was a joke. But even a channel that was little more than static was better than nothing.
“Who were you talking to out there?”
Stilling, he slowly turned his head to look at her. A quick flash of fear crossed her expression. But she persisted. “You took that phone outside. Who was it?”
“No one you know.”
She didn’t look convinced, but that wasn’t his problem. He picked up the remote and started hunting through the channels for one that wasn’t totally fuzzy.
“Is someone else coming up here?”
Why in hell she’d sound scared now when she hadn’t really showed much fear since that first night, he couldn’t say. And didn’t care. “No one’s coming for you. Now shut the fuck up.”
She shut up. The kid was polite, he’d give her that. If he’d been stuck up here with a whiny brat, he’d have done her that first day, without waiting for the order.
If this thing dragged out too long, he still might.
Whistling tunelessly, Kell headed toward his bedroom door. As little sleep as he’d gotten last night, it’d almost been a relief when morning had hit. He blamed his restlessness on the case details that had replayed in his head all night long.
That excuse would play a lot better if images of Macy Reid hadn’t been stuck there, too.
Scowling, he reached for the knob. He’d almost made a dumb decision last night. Very dumb. She’d made it abundantly clear months ago—in a crisp matter-of-fact tone that still rankled to remember—that the two of them weren’t going to happen again. Hell, he’d even agreed with her assessment. They were colleagues. Occasionally paired together on a case. It was just asking for trouble to muddy that up.
And the fact that it had only happened once—and wasn’t likely to recur—was undoubtedly the reason he hadn’t been able to get their encounter out of his head in the time since.
Kell stopped short, mentally slapping his forehead when that thought elicited another. He owed a phone call to the woman whose bed he’d hurriedly left when he’d received Adam’s callout the other night. By his calculations, the call was a couple days overdue.
Shit. It took a glance at his watch and some mental gymnastics to recall the time difference. Nearly nine back East. With any luck, she’d already be at work with her cell turned off. He could leave a message and hang up, having done his duty.
Quickly he dialed her number and headed out the door. After it’d rung a few times, a familiar voice picked up. The message he’d formulated in his mind died a quick death. “Celia.” Trying to inject a note of pleasure in his voice, he walked past Macy’s door. “I was afraid you’d already be at work.”
Intent on passing by, he stopped dead in front of Macy’s open door. She was on her hands and knees, scrabbling for the fruit that had mysteriously fallen to the floor again. And Agent Travis, Dan, was down there with her.
“Of course I didn’t forget.” He delivered the lie mechanically as a vicious stab of jealousy seared through him. What the hell was the agent doing in Macy’s room? “This is the first moment I’ve had free. Had to catch up on the case. How’s your mom doing?”
“I’m so sorry.” Damned if Macy’s voice didn’t sound breathless. And her cheeks were flushed. Could she call the color at will? “I’m not usually such a klutz.”
“First thing in the morning, I’m lucky to put one foot in front of the other,” Travis assured her as he handed her two apples he’d rescued.
Kell’s lip curled. Apparently gallantry wasn’t dead. Just—in the case of the agent—very very rusty. Dimly aware of a lull in the conversation with Celia, he interjected, “I’m glad to hear that.”
Macy was rising. Sir Galahad did, too. “I guess you should be grateful I didn’t offer you coffee.”
The rise in Celia’s tone yanked his attention back. “No, I’m not glad she’s in the hospital again. I’m sure gout is very painful. I meant I’m glad to hear you can be with her.”
“I’d take whatever you offered.”
Kell’s brows skated up and he threw a narrowed glance at Travis, who seemed to recognize belatedly how the words sounded. “I mean, this time of day, I’m ready to eat or drink anything. Matter of fact, I was on my way to the kitchen to grab a quick bite before starting the day. Join me?”
Macy took the bowl of battered fruit he held and handed him a green expandable file folder. And comprehension hit Kell like a ton of bricks.
She’d staged the whole thing to switch the folders back. He wanted to believe the flare of relief he felt had nothing to do with the fact that he’d bought her act. Hook, line, and sinker. “I’d like that.” Her baby blues were guileless as she gazed up at the much taller agent, who wore the sappiest grin Kell had ever seen outside his grandpa’s old hound at biscuit time.
“Hope things continue to improve,” he said rapidly, as Macy and Travis walked by him. The look she shot him would have skewered a lesser man. “I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to call again, but I’ll be thinking about you.”
That brought a giggle and a very unladylike suggestion that he hoped Celia wasn’t making in her mother’s presence. “Let’s rain check that. But I like the way you think.” He clicked the phone shut and slid it in his pocket, the conversation already forgotten. “So. You guys going down for breakfast? I could eat.”
Neither bothered to answer. “I hear the cooks here studied in Paris,” Agent Travis told Macy as they moved down the hall ahead of Kell. “Maybe I can talk them into making some crepes.”
“I like those, too. Especially the ones with fruit in them.” Kell may as well have been invisible for all the attention the other two paid him.
“I’m more of a fruit or cereal person in the morning,” Macy confessed.
“I saw that earlier.”
They both laughed, and Kell shoved his free hand in his pocket, disgusted. Travis was about as funny as a train wreck. Macy was sort of overdoing things. Switching the folders was one thing. If she kept this up, she’d have the guy following her around like a trained poodle by the end of the day.
Hell, for all he knew, Dan Travis was exactly the sort of guy she normally went for. No personality. No sense of humor. No threat.
Yeah. He ambled along behind them, shamelessly eavesdropping on their innocuous conversation. He’d lay odds that Macy went for the vanilla straightlaced guys. Safe and boring. Which just meant they’d both made the right decision about going their separate ways months ago. He couldn’t guarantee her safe. And he’d never been described as boring.
They were walking by the conference room where Assistant Director Whitman was framed in the doorway, his face grim. “Reid. Can you come in here?”
Macy immediately veered toward him. Travis would have kept on moving toward the kitchen but must have noticed that Kell was following Macy into the room. He paused and changed direction to trail behind him. When Kell saw everyone collected in the room, his gut took a quick vicious twist. He didn’t need Whitman’s terse explanation to guess the reason for the invitation.
“There’s been a ransom demand.”
Macy went to stand beside Stephen Mulder, who was staring blindly at the screen of his laptop. His wife sat next to him, her perfect profile ravaged by tears, one fist pressed to her lips. Swallowing hard, Mulder pushed the computer around so she could read the message.
A GUY LIKE YOU IS USED TO BUYING WHATEVER YOU WANT. IS GETTING YOUR DAUGHTER BACK WORTH $10,000,000? YOU’VE GOT FIVE DAYS TO GET THE MONEY TOGETHER AND AWAIT FURTHER ORDERS. THERE’LL BE NO EXTENSIONS. SHOULD YOU DE
CIDE NOT TO COOPERATE, SHE GOES ON SALE TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER. THE MIDEASTERN MARKET FOR WHITE PRE-TEEN FEMALES IS VERY LUCRATIVE.
“Is this your personal e-mail account?” she asked the man quietly.
“No.” A muscle clenched in his jaw. “It’s the one I use for work.”
“How do we know she’s still alive?” It was difficult to make out Althea Mulder’s words, choked as they were by sobs. “I need to talk to her. I have to hear my baby’s voice . . .” Her husband slid an arm around her shoulders then, and she collapsed to weep against his shoulder. He pressed his lips against her blond hair, seeming to struggle with his own composure.
“The message was in Mr. Mulder’s in-box this morning,” Whitman explained, looking grim. “As you can see, it’s time-stamped four thirty-seven A.M., but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. There are ways to change the time on e-mails sent, just like . . .”
“. . . There are ways to change the address it appears to be sent from,” Macy finished quietly. The sender’s name was listed in the lengthy header as [email protected]. She shot the agent a look. “I assume you already have computer techs following up on the IP address.”
“Of course. We’ll have a warrant in a matter of hours.” He switched his attention to the Mulders, and his voice went gruff with what might have been sympathy. “I know this is difficult. But hearing from the kidnapper is actually a good thing. It keeps the lines of communication open. And the time frame cited in the e-mail gives us several more days to track him.”
“What communication?” Althea Mulder’s face was splotchy when she raised it to stare tremulously at the agent. “You said you didn’t think this was his real return e-mail address. We can’t respond, we can’t ask for proof that Ellie is alive. And that’s why he chose this way, isn’t it?” Her voice went shriller, even as her husband hugged her closer and murmured in her ear. “He’s in control. We have no way of making any demands of our own.”
“That could change.” Ignoring the narrowed look Whitman threw at her, Macy went on calmly. “He leaves the message open-ended. You know he’ll be contacting you again. And it’s chancy for him to rely on one-sided communications throughout this process. At some point, he needs to be sure that you have the money ready. That you understand the directions he’ll be giving.”