Nameless

by Debra Webb

  “Afternoon, Agent Grace.” The security guard, Charles Williams according to his nametag, set two plastic containers on the counter. “You know the drill.” The guard’s welcoming smile dimmed a little when he turned to McBride. “I’ll need to see some ID, sir, so I can check you into the visitor’s log. Please empty your pockets before moving through the scanner.”

  McBride dug out his driver’s license and passed it to the guard. He emptied his pockets, dropped his wallet, a few coins, his lighter, and an unopened condom into one of the provided containers.

  Grace shot him a look. “Always prepared, I see.”

  “Just like a Boy Scout.” He might not have any respect left for himself, but he didn’t take chances with anyone else’s life.

  He followed Grace through the archway scanner then reclaimed his belongings, along with a visitor’s badge bearing his name. Once Grace had retrieved her purse and weapon, she thanked Williams and headed for the elevator. If she dropped her purse and the contents spilled across the floor, what would he learn about the woman beneath the badge? Did she use a Datafax or PDA? Did she like sucking on an Altoid or chewing Dentyne? What flavor lip gloss did she use on those sexy lips?

  Finding out those answers was about as likely as winning the lottery.

  The elevator doors parted and Grace stepped inside and selected floor three. She lingered as close to the control panel as possible to wait out the ride. Keeping her distance, was she? Was that because she was afraid of him? Or was she afraid of herself with him? Interesting thought.

  McBride leaned against the rear wall and took advantage of the opportunity to study her ass. She didn’t have to know that his fascination with her kept him from obsessing on the idea that he was here, in a federal justice building, about to try resurrecting a past he had worked extra hard to kill.

  He shifted his gaze to what he could see of her profile as the elevator bumped into motion. “I had you pegged for a stair climber, Agent.” Judging by her toned calves and that nicely rounded behind the lady did some serious working out.

  She kept her stare steady on the display where the digital one became a two. “I took the elevator for you.”

  Touché. He moved up behind her, appreciated again that subtle feminine scent she wore, just as a ding announced their arrival on three. She braced to make a run for it the instant the doors opened. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Grace,” he murmured. She shivered. As hard as she tried to hide the reaction, he saw it, relished it—one of the few pleasures in life he still enjoyed. “I prefer saving my energy for other, more satisfying forms of physical activity.”

  The doors opened and she burst into the lobby like a racehorse charging out of its chute. Taking his time, he followed her.

  The third-floor lobby boasted another of the widely recognized FBI emblems, this one a part of the royal-blue carpet. As they passed, a secretary glanced up from her desk. Her gaze stabbed into his back until he moved out of her visual range. Nothing like being the traveling freak show.

  The corridor Grace chose was flanked by closed doors but the double doors at the far end stood open, waiting.

  The conference room.

  An invisible wall jumped up in front of him … bringing him to a jarring halt.

  Reality check.

  “Hang on, Grace.”

  She stopped, reluctantly swung her attention to him. “What now, McBride?”

  For nearly three years he hadn’t cared what anyone thought of him. Not one damned little bit. Even as he reminded himself that he still didn’t give a damn what she or anyone else in this place thought, he found himself searching for something besides the too plentiful disapproval and impatience in her eyes.

  He was a fool. But even fools had their moments.

  “They’re waiting,” she reminded, that impatience multiplying like an unchecked virus even as he watched.

  “I’m going to need coffee.” He hesitated, not sure he should trust her with this admission. The people waiting in that conference room were going to be watching him, anticipating even his most minute misstep. Consciously or unconsciously, all of them would seek confirmation that the Bureau had been right to oust him. No way was he giving them the pleasure of watching him stumble. “Lots of coffee. To do this right.”

  Her unforgiving stare told him she wasn’t going to just disregard the hard time he had given her, but the disapproval dwindled just a little. “No problem.” She took the badge he had been issued from his hand and clipped it on his shirt pocket.

  They entered the conference room together. He was braced for the expected scrutiny but armed with the knowledge that even if she had her doubts about him, she would back him up to keep him here.

  An immediate hush fell over the room and all eyes shifted first to Agent Grace and then to him.

  “Mr. McBride.” Special Agent-in-Charge Randall Worth stood and crossed the room to meet him. His elegant dress and sophisticated comportment announced who was in charge before his badge got the chance.

  Mid-fifties. Receding hairline and most likely burdened by a Napoleon complex considering his small stature. A yes-man of the highest order. McBride knew the type and wasn’t impressed.

  Worth extended his hand. “We appreciate your willingness to help us find this little girl.”

  McBride’s attention bypassed the SAC’s offered hand and zoomed straight across the room to the timeline the task force had created. “What’ve you got so far?”

  “I’ll walk you through it.” Worth indicated that McBride should precede him, with the same hand he’d failed to shake.

  A picture of six-year-old Alyssa Byrne and the time she was last seen was the first entry on the board. Four hours later the school was searched, every teacher questioned, and the parents were interviewed. Two hours after that the Bureau was contacted. Worth explained that the father, Allen Byrne, owned the two largest construction companies in the state of Alabama, and Fiona, the mother, was a stay-at-home mom and volunteer who worked with various fund-raising organizations.

  “By the time the e-mail came in,” Worth summed up, “the Byrnes’ entire extended family and network of friends and business associates had been identified and prioritized for questioning. That process is ongoing.”

  “The e-mail?” McBride looked from the timeline to Worth, who snapped his fingers, and a hard copy of the e-mail was promptly provided by the nearest agent. Worth passed the document to McBride, then planted his hands on his hips and looked away as if expecting an unpleasant reaction.

  Dear FBI,

  This e-mail is to inform you that Alyssa Byrne is safe and in my custody. You have forty-one hours to find her or I will have no choice but to do the worst.

  To level the playing field I will provide clues to assist you in finding her. However, not just any agent will do. I will only give my clues to Ryan McBride.

  Reinstate him so that he may save this child. Forty-one hours … not a second more. Starting now.

  A Devoted Fan

  McBride reread the signature line, a charge of anger pulsing inside him like a ticking bomb. He pivoted to align his gaze with Grace’s. “You didn’t feel it was relevant to mention the ‘Devoted Fan’ part?”

  Grace glanced at Worth.

  Oh, hell no. Outrage tore through McBride. He got it. Three years out of the loop had made him a little slow on the uptake, but he was there now.

  Worth cleared his throat and explained, “Agent Grace wasn’t authorized to reveal certain contents of the e-mail. We didn’t want that information to leave this room.”

  “You sent your rookie agent to get a status on me,” McBride accused, his fingers clenched into fists, crushing the e-mail. “Whether or not I came back with her was never the point, was it? I’m a suspect.”

  He hadn’t been just a fool, he’d been a fucking idiot.

  “You’re wrong about that, McBride,” Worth insisted with a quick survey of the room as if gathering support. “We need you. You read the e-mail. The unsub
will only give the clues to you.”

  “I need a smoke.” McBride tossed the wadded e-mail onto the conference table and strode out of the room. He didn’t slow down until he had reached the elevator.

  “McBride! Wait!”

  The elevator doors opened and he stepped inside.

  Grace dashed in just before they closed. “You have to look at this like an agent,” she urged him. The elevator lurched into motion, making her sway.

  Like hell he did. He’d been relieved of that grade three years ago. The Bureau wouldn’t even be talking to him now if he weren’t a suspect. He wanted out of here. The only thing on his mind was getting on a plane headed south.

  More irony. His career had gone south and then he’d done the same. Had been doing it ever since. And the joke was on him.

  “It’s the logical process,” she said, trying a different angle. “You were named in the e-mail. You separated from the Bureau under less than desirable circumstances. We had to be sure. We haven’t been able to pinpoint anyone related to any of your old cases as a person of interest. That only leaves you.”

  The doors glided open and he burst out, stormed across the lobby and then out the door with the security guard calling after him—something about him signing out.

  He had the Marlboro in his mouth and lit before the door whooshed closed behind him.

  “McBride! Dammit! Think about that little girl.”

  He wheeled around and glared at Grace. “I am thinking about that little girl. You’re the one who’s not thinking. You set me up.” He had to keep moving. He was too damned mad to hold still. He walked all the way to the fence and was still steamed. But because he couldn’t go any farther, he stopped.

  “You’re right.” She joined him, stared out at the same nothing he did. “I promised to back you up knowing I’d kept this from you. I was wrong.” A pause allowed him to absorb the impact of those three words. “I know how that feels and I’m the last person who should’ve been caught doing it.”

  Yeah, right. She was too damned young to have a clue what he was feeling. “That’s a nice sentiment, Grace, but I doubt we’re talking about the same thing.”

  She stared at him a moment, her desperation building. He didn’t have to look. He could feel the tension radiating off her in waves of uncertainty and agitation. Wasn’t his problem. He wasn’t going through this again.

  They had people for finding the kid, they didn’t need him.

  “Someone I trusted a lot more than you could possibly trust me in the few hours we’ve known each other let me down.” She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, then let it go. “I made the mistake of letting him see my one weakness and he used it to send me here instead of the assignment I had earned. He set my career back at last two years. I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive him, but I’ve got a job to do. I figure showing him he made a mistake will be the best revenge. So can we please save the theatrics for after we find the kid?”

  The kid. All this bullshit and the kid was the one who was going to lose.

  There wasn’t a reason in the world he should believe Agent Vivian Grace. Not one. But she was right about the kid. And about the revenge. Getting the job done would be the best kind. He flung his cigarette to the pavement and ground it out with his shoe. “Is there anything else I haven’t been told?” He would stay, but he wouldn’t be letting his guard down again. Not to her or anyone else whose title was “agent.”

  “That’s everything.” She held up her right hand. “I swear.”

  Maybe he was an idiot for putting himself on the line like this, especially considering he knew for sure that the Bureau still had the same shitty attitude about him. But he wasn’t about to let that little girl die just because their attitude and his life sucked.

  The guard didn’t try to stop him or Grace as they reentered the building. McBride bypassed the elevator and headed for the stairs. He needed to work off some of this rage before he went back into that conference room. Otherwise, he would wipe the floor with Worth, which he was damned tempted to do anyway.

  Grace kept pace with him and entered the conference room at his side. He went directly to the timeline board without a word to anyone. No one dared to question him. Not even Worth.

  “There’s no indication that anyone in the family, in the network of friends or business associates, might be involved?” This, he asked—demanded—of Worth.

  “Not so far,” Worth said with a questioning look at Grace. “The Byrnes have a lot of friends and business associates. Birmingham PD is helping run the names and interviews.” He shrugged. “Could be a waste of manpower considering the e-mail and the connection to you.”

  McBride didn’t like Worth. Mainly because of the whole making-him-a-suspect thing, but partly because he still held a grudge against the “in-charge” faction. There was always the possibility that the guy wasn’t really the asshole McBride figured him for, but he wouldn’t be hanging around long enough to find out.

  He turned to Grace. “Let’s give this ‘Devoted Fan’ what he wants.”

  “We’ve set up direct access for you,” Worth explained, gesturing to one of a number of computer stations posted along the far wall. “We’re prepared for a trace, for all the good it’ll do.” He cut Grace another of those speculative glances. “I assume Agent Grace warned you that this guy knows his stuff on the World Wide Web.”

  McBride nodded. “She mentioned it.”

  Worth shrugged as if he felt this whole exercise was pointless. “When you’re ready to open up communication with the unsub, so are we.”

  McBride hesitated. “We’ll need proof.”

  Devoted Fan would no doubt want some assurance he was dealing with McBride and not someone pretending to be him.

  “A photo,” Grace suggested, then looked around the conference room. “Over there.” She indicated the first entry on the timeline, the eight-by-ten photo of Alyssa Byrne.

  McBride couldn’t remember the last time his picture had been taken. By the media three years ago or maybe when he’d gotten his Florida driver’s license. It wasn’t something he cared to do now, but he didn’t see any way around it. Grace snapped a shot of him using her cell phone camera. A couple minutes later she’d downloaded the image to an open e-mail. With her already seated at the keyboard, he dictated the brief note.

  Devoted Fan

  You have my undivided attention.

  McBride

  A single click and it was done.

  “I guess now we wait,” Worth noted aloud for the rest of the room, most of whom were still eyeing McBride suspiciously.

  Grace had no sooner pushed back her chair than the “new mail” warning sounded. As she opened the mailbox, McBride leaned closer. Had the bastard been standing by, waiting for that e-mail to arrive? How could he have been that sure that McBride would even come?

  One click and he had his answer.

  It was him.

  Welcome back, Agent McBride. Alyssa and I have been waiting.

  “Print it,” Worth ordered before McBride had even finished reading the first paragraph. “I want a hard copy.”

  Grace stabbed the command key for sending the image on the screen to the printer. McBride crouched down next to her chair to get a better view of the screen, instinct taking over with the need to know what this son of a bitch had to say.

  Here, my old friend, is your clue:

  Alyssa Byrne is interred in the dark on a hillside where hundreds of those who issue a form of assurance to the elderly can see. Her father would not know this place well since he often fails to pay proper homage. His mistake has cost much, but to pay with his daughter’s innocent life is perhaps a stiff price. I have decided to show him mercy.

  Find her, McBride. She has less than 18 hours before her fate is sealed.

  Happy hunting,

  Devoted Fan

  “Agent Talley,” Worth called out, “get Alyssa Byrne’s father in my office now.” His gaze met McBride’s as he added with a little
less enthusiasm, “The rest of you, do what McBride tells you.” With that final order, the SAC promptly exited the conference room.

  McBride felt the floor beneath his feet shake with that gauntlet hitting the ground. Worth had just dumped the entirety of this mess in his lap. Nice to see the guy was living up to McBride’s expectations. Then again, he had insisted on being in charge, hadn’t he?

  His jaw clenched, McBride focused his attention back on the monitor and reread the words on the screen. “We need maps on the locations of every cemetery in this city,” he told Grace. “Maps that include all surrounding buildings. And print me a copy of that e-mail, would ya?”

  She hit the necessary key and pushed back her chair. “Done. You can pick it up on the printer. I’ll need to access another system for those maps.”

  “Give me what you can as it becomes available. Hard copies preferably.” McBride stood and walked to the laser printer to retrieve the e-mail. There was something about the construction of the sentences in Devoted Fan’s notes that seemed familiar. He studied the phrasing. Couldn’t quite place it. But he’d read something written by this guy before.

  “Excuse me, sir.”

  McBride glanced at the agent’s badge. Harold Pratt. Tall, thin, not much older than Grace, with a mug only a mother could love. “Yeah?”

  “Your coffee.” He presented a steaming cup.

  McBride didn’t know when she’d had the time, but Grace had done just what she said, he’d give her that. “Thanks, Pratt.” He accepted the cup as he considered the agents conversing among themselves on the other side of the room. While he had this guy’s attention, he asked, “How about giving me names to go with those faces.” He gestured with his cup to the trio who were likely laying odds on whether or not he could hack the pressure Worth had just piled on.

  “The one with the purple tie is Boyd Davis,” Pratt said with a nod to the man who looked to be in his late thirties and who wore his blond hair high and tight.