Ransomed Dreams

by Amy Wallace

  “Some unhappy campers called in a disturbance at the Memorial campgrounds. My zone car was the first responder.”

  “His name?”

  Lieutenant Riddick narrowed his eyes. “Officer Taylor did everything by the book.”

  “I’m sure he did. I’ll just need to talk to him. And I’ll need a list of every one of your guys who has ventured down this hill.”

  “Done.”

  “Did Officer Taylor ever see the source of the disturbance?”

  “Nope.” Riddick rested his hands on his large gun belt. “Seems to me your boys ought to take it easy barging in here and telling my officers where to go.”

  Michael stiffened.

  There’d be ten sides to this story Better to get things smoothed out from the top down. And find a credible eyewitness. “The evidence team needs to move in fast to secure a scene.” Steven pointed up to the clouds. “Especially with a storm brewing.”

  The lieutenant nodded.

  Owls hooted and a traffic cop behind them shouted for motorists to keep moving. “Where are your officers now?”

  “Stationed around the park, directing traffic.”

  Steven pointed to the other two cruisers. “Those officers?”

  Michael cleared his throat. “Probably down in the trees, trying to help.”

  Lieutenant Riddick jabbed his finger in the rookie’s face. “If your people hadn’t started barking orders and accusing us of contaminating a crime scene …”

  Steven stepped between the two men. “Lieutenant, why don’t we go talk to your officers and see how the ERT is progressing?” He’d have words with Parker later.

  They sidestepped down the hill and cleared the familiar stream.

  A few agents nodded at their arrival. Most he knew on a first-name basis. Good at their work. Quick and quiet. Not stirring things up with the locals. Michael had ruffled the wrong set of feathers this time.

  Steven left Lieutenant Riddick observing the agents milling around Olivia’s body and calling his men back to their police cars. Another cross-agency skirmish avoided.

  Steven moved through the thick trees and stopped near a dilapidated picnic table. They’d been in the right place last time. Just too late to recover Olivia. Steven pushed the rush of regret into his mental lockbox. No time to rehash his dismal failure now.

  “What can you tell me, Agent Walters?”

  The older man motioned him over to the body Agent Walters had been the first to tell him Vicks didn’t work at crime scenes. The sticky stuff only opened nasal passages further. It didn’t mask the scent of death that clung to every fiber and airway.

  “Time of death? Best guess right now, a week. I’ll let the ME have the final say though.”

  Steven stayed upwind of the body. Olivia’s blond hair hung limp around the edges of the once-red wooden table. He resisted the urge to vomit.

  “Cause of death?”

  “Strangulation.” Walters frowned. “But this little girl had been worked over long before then.”

  “Sexual assault?” That didn’t play into their scenario. Might make it a whole different ball game too. On so many levels.

  “No signs of that, Steven.”

  He let go of the breath he’d been holding. “Then what?”

  “She was pistol-whipped, malnourished, and bound for an extended period. Severe bruising.”

  Steven shook away the scenes filtering through his mind. “Guess the cloudy weather and cooler temps were on our side for DNA retrieval?”

  “Somewhat. Our perp wrapped the body to keep animals out and covered it well.” Agent Walters rubbed his bald head. “Unofficial gut response—this guys sending someone a message.”

  Steven massaged the back of his neck and stretched it side to side. “You gonna give me some clues as to who it is and the message he wants to send?”

  “I’ll do my best, Kessler. My best.”

  He squeezed the older agents shoulders. No amount of experience made cases like this easier. Not for him or for top evidence technicians like Philip Walters.

  Steven retraced his steps up the hill to where Michael sat in the passenger side of his Mustang, typing away The Alexandria officers had cleared the forest, and only two remained to deal with this side of the park’s traffic.

  He checked his cell. No message from Clint.

  Steven wondered how the ambassador had taken the news. Yelled for Steven’s head, no doubt. “If anything happens to my daughter, I will hold you personally responsible.”

  Nothing like a British ambassador’s guilt load dumped on his head. Over and over. He already had far more than enough of his own.

  Clint watched Sir Walter pace his library like a caged tiger.

  “Are you absolutely sure it was my Olivia? You Americans make identification mistakes all the time.”

  Biting his tongue, Clint nodded from the cold leather chair. They’d covered this territory more than once already with a room full of expletives and finger-pointing. Clint was glad that he was the one who got stuck relaying the devastating news to the gray-haired diplomat. Steven was better off on scene. His partner was in no place to hear the pain-filled, angry words that spilled from Sir Walter’s mouth.

  “Would you like some time to speak with your family? Alone?” Clint stood to leave.

  The man’s shoulders slumped forward as he stared out into the dark night. “What difference does it make, eh? You will watch my every move and record every word. I should like to leave every one of you and this wretched place far behind.”

  But he wouldn’t. Diplomatic immunity could only carry officials so far. This time the leash would keep the ambassador and his family firmly in the United States. Until they found Olivia’s killer. And cleared Sir Walter from suspicion.

  Ten million dollars enticed all manner of despicable actions. They had to be sure he hadn’t succumbed to the money’s draw. Especially given the ambassador’s withholding important information.

  Clint walked to the library door unnoticed. Turning back to the ambassador, he lifted up a short prayer asking for the truth to be revealed, Steven and their team to be kept safe, and Victoria and her parents to be comforted.

  He turned the corner from the library to head toward the original block of offices. Most office lights were off and quiet reigned. Expecting to meet one of the Kensingtons’ detail patrolling the grounds, Clint was surprised to see the ambassador’s personal assistant walking around the main lobby entrance. She hadn’t changed from her office attire, and her long black hair was unkempt. Odd, considering it was almost ten o’clock on a Friday night.

  “Mrs. Brown, is there a problem?”

  The young woman jumped clear out of her skin. She put a hand to her throat and fingered the strand of pearls. “You startled me. Agent Rollins.” Her laugh rang hollow. “I … I decided to stay late to make sure the ambassador and his family were all right. After this evening’s news and, you know …”

  “They’re as good as can be expected.” Clint studied the woman’s pale skin. “How did you hear of Olivia’s death? To my knowledge the ambassador hasn’t spoken to anyone since I arrived.”

  She sucked in a quick breath. “The agents in the control room. I … I was taking them some requested files and I …” She covered her face as her shoulders shook.

  Clint didn’t bridge the gap between them to offer comfort. A young, attractive woman in relative darkness, alone, didn’t need a hug from him. He did shoot a quick prayer heavenward, though. “Were you close to Olivia?”

  “Yes. I mean no. I … we talked on a few occasions. She was a lovely girl.”

  He nodded.

  “I would have gone to Lady Kensington, but I can’t bear to look her in the eyes. Nor Victoria. I’ve been pacing in here, trying to work up the courage to offer my condolences and see if there is anything I can manage for them.” She searched his face. “Do you know when the body will be released so I can make funeral arrangements? That I could do for them, you know?”
<
br />   “I’m sure they’d appreciate the help.”

  Mrs. Brown glanced at the ornate grandfather clock in the lobby “I should get home. Harry will be worried.”

  Clint searched his memory That name didn’t sound familiar. And he’d scoured all the employee records every which way more than twice. “I thought your son’s name was Stewart.”

  Her face turned ashen. “Yes. Stew. Isn’t that what I said?”

  “No, ma’am. You said Harry.”

  She swallowed hard and set to pacing again.

  He waited.

  “Harry was my brother. He died only a bit ago, and I suppose facing death again so soon, I … my words slipped.”

  The words made sense, but something in his brain stood at attention. Every little detail held the possibility of a clue. And every clue mattered. Even now.

  “Your brother—remind me of his name again?”

  “Landridge. Harry Landridge.” She stood like a statue with a quivering hand over her mouth. “Harry died in Her Majesty’s service. In May.”

  “I’m sorry for your loss.” He looked around the dimly lit entryway. “Can I walk you out to your car or call someone to drive you home?”

  “No. Thank you. My husband is with Stewart. No worries about me.”

  Clint shook his head and watched the young woman skitter into her office and retrieve her purse before leaving out the side entrance.

  He waited for Mrs. Brown to enter her Mini Cooper 850 and start the engine before he made his way back to the control room. He had to call Steven.

  Tonight’s impromptu meeting had left Clint’s hackles raised. He hoped his partner would be in a frame of mind to help him sort through the nagging impression that something was wrong. Maybe he’d overlooked something in an employee record like he’d missed Mrs. Brown’s having a brother who’d died in May.

  None of his searching would bring Olivia home, but it could put an end to her killer’s freedom. And allow people like Charlotte Brown and the Kensington family to grieve without an investigation hanging over their heads.

  17

  Sunday morning, a silent house greeted Steven.

  No parents dropping by to see if he wanted to go to church. No James bounding around asking for chocolate chip pancakes for breakfast. He missed his son already.

  Steven threw back his red and black comforter and dragged himself out of bed. Sun streamed through the curtains. As a child, he’d decorated his room with an ever-changing array of sports team logos. But Angela wouldn’t allow him to display any of his collectibles. She hated the Louisville Cardinals. And it seemed everything else Steven had held close to heart.

  His faith.

  Having a family.

  His parents.

  Even his alma mater.

  After a quick shower, he slipped into some cutoff jeans and an old sleeveless blue T-shirt. His stomach growled. Louder than his partner’s ever had. Time for some grub, straight out of a box of sugarcoated cereal.

  Who said you had to grow up in everything?

  The glow-in-the-dark stars all over James’s bedroom ceiling caught his attention as he passed by Steven admired his son’s neatness, the made bed with toys and books all in their proper places. So much like Steven’s mom. Neat. Organized. Efficient. His mom had been full of life and fun, though.

  Not Steven. Not after Angela left. She’d destroyed more than their wedding vows. She’d taken a big chunk of his heart too.

  Leaning on the doorframe, he looked around the quiet room. His eyes stopped on the well-worn teddy bear he and Angela had picked out when they were shopping for baby clothes, long before he’d had any idea of how his wife had been spending her free time.

  The bear now sat atop a comforter decorated with asteroids and planets. Steven was surprised the favorite bear had been left behind. James was probably too excited packing for Space Camp to think about his bedtime buddy. Steven picked up the brown-and-white animal and breathed in his son’s fresh-out-of-the-bath scent. He’d be glad when James was home again.

  Steven continued on his quest for sugary food. Tempted to slide down the banister, he behaved and took one step at a time down to the kitchen. No use twisting his ankle and getting ribbed hard for it at work Monday.

  The “family” pictures of him and James with Gracie caused his neck muscles to tighten. He could call her today. Explain what happened Friday night. At least try to make it up to her. Steven pushed that thought aside and poured a bowl full of milk and pure sugar hearts, moons, stars, and clovers. He ate it standing by the sink.

  James would have a blast at Space Camp this week, learning how to become an astronaut while Dad and Sue took a well-deserved vacation and played tourist. Steven ached to join them in Florida. To watch James play in the waves and collect shells.

  From the moment James was born, Steven had felt such joy and pride. He and Angela had done at least one thing right. But in the silent moments when work wasn’t screaming for his blood, sweat, and tears, he wondered if loving his son was enough. It hadn’t been enough just to love Angela. It wasn’t enough just to love rescuing children and making the world a safer place.

  What was enough?

  If James was growing up to be like him, what kind of footprints was Steven leaving him to follow?

  A knock on the door put an end to his contemplation. Who would be out selling things at ten o’clock Sunday morning?

  Opening the door, Steven felt a frost come over him.

  “Not at church this morning preacher boy? Interesting.” The leggy raven-haired beauty stepped into his personal space. “How about inviting me in, Steven?”

  He stepped back.

  With a wicked smile, she floated past him.

  “Angela.”

  “Glad you remembered me.” She looked around the foyer and up the carpeted stairs. “Where’s my son? Surely you don’t let him watch cartoons in his room all morning.”

  “He doesn’t have a TV in his room. And he doesn’t watch cartoons.”

  Angela folded perfectly manicured hands over her toned biceps.

  His body responded. Five years, and her short leather skirt, low-cut sleeveless blouse, and suggestive pout still turned him every which way but loose. Too bad she’d shared everything else with someone else. That iced his desire. Quick.

  “What are you doing here?” Steven shut the door. “Last I heard, you’d shacked up with that cue ball prof of yours.”

  “Marcus and I married as soon as my divorce from you was final. The best day of my life.” Angela raked her eyes over his entire frame. A spark of interest still smoldered there.

  He put both hands behind his neck and clenched his jaw. Nothing like taking up right where you left off. “I’ll ask again. Why are you here?”

  She walked into the den like she owned it. “Remodeled and redecorated. Do it yourself, stud?” She picked up a picture of James from the built-in bookshelf and folded into the couch without a word. “He’s so handsome. Even has my eyes.”

  “No. He has Kessler eyes. And everything else. But why would you care, Angela? You walked out. On both of us.”

  His ex-wife smoothed her hand over stomach. “He’s my son too, like it or not.”

  “The one you abandoned.”

  Angela pinched the bridge of her nose.

  Steven must have been imagining things, because he thought he’d seen tears forming in her eyes. But this was Angela Barrett Kessler. No, not Kessler anymore. She was still the hardball attorney, though. No tears. No emotional investment, unless she’d had a few too many drinks.

  “I left you and your beloved FBI mistress, Steven. Not my son.”

  He perched on the arm of his recliner. “You don’t even know his name, do you?”

  “James. James Andrew Kessler. Named after both of our fathers.” She hadn’t lifted her eyes from the photo. “A mother doesn’t forget the child she gave birth to.”

  “Unless she’s too drunk to give a …”

  “Shut up!” Ange
la stood and stalked over to his side of the den on her four-inch stilettos. “I’m clean now, Stevie. I even have documents from a well-respected facility to prove that. Besides being all grown up, I have a law practice of my own. I want my son. I want a second chance with him.”

  Now that Steven had raised him to the point she didn’t have to get her hands dirty. No diapers to change. Old enough to send to school.

  Over his dead body would this woman ever take his son.

  His son.

  “Let me remind you, I’m married to an attorney too.” Angela returned his ice-cold stare. “With friends in the Alexandria court system ready and waiting to help me. I have a stable nine-to-five job. I’m home on the weekends. No being out all night because of surveillance.” She held James’s kindergarten picture up to him. “And last I heard, you were still playing the saintly monk. All work and no play No little Kentucky wife, barefoot, pregnant, and in the kitchen baking bread.”

  Red-hot terror impaled him. Angela’s threats were sharpened daggers pointed right at his heart. She wanted his son.

  “Your parental rights were severed years ago. You have no leg to stand on, Angela. High-priced sugar daddy or not.”

  Angela slapped him. Hard.

  He caught her arm at the wrist when she tried again and held her close to his chest. “Get out of my house, and stay out of our lives. We’ve lived well without you, and I intend to keep it that way.”

  She wrenched her arm away and took a deep breath. After smoothing her skirt, she threw her shoulders back. “We’ll see about that.”

  One hand on the door, she turned back and tossed her black hair over her shoulder. “I’ve already petitioned the courts to have my rights reinstated. And I’m filing for sole custody. If I win, you’ll never see James again.”

  Steven invaded her personal space and glared down on her. “Why don’t you go have your own children with Mr. Cue Ball? Leave me and my son out of it.”

  She bit her bottom lip.

  “Or does the mighty Angela Barrett have a chink in her perfect armor?” Steven hated baiting her like that. Hated the mean little man he’d become in her presence.

  “I never forgot my son. I needed time to get clean and …” She looked up at him with tears in her eyes. “I can’t have any more children. I want a second chance with my only child.”