Nameless

by Debra Webb

  “The operation went sour and you got blamed,” she finished.

  He toyed with a strand of her hair. “I guess it’s possible the same thing could have happened if the operation had been executed my way, but I don’t think it would have.” He relished the soft lines of her face, hadn’t let himself enjoy a moment like this in a long, long time. “We’ll never know,” he said, finishing the story. “Kevin Braden died. There’s no bringing him back.”

  She looked at him as if she wished she could make it all better, could make it somehow go away. Now there was something he didn’t see often.

  “They took everything from you.” She shook her head at the idea. “Your career, your reputation.”

  “They did.” That he’d let Worth die today wasn’t exactly making him feel like the Bureau had made a mistake. Yet, this time he understood that he’d done the only thing he could. Even if he could have reached Worth, which he couldn’t have, and had tried to save him, Grace would have fallen. He’d made the only choice he could. Even Worth had recognized it was time to call it quits.

  “You still have a lot to offer, McBride. You should think about teaching at Quantico. A lot of agents could benefit from your expertise.”

  He tugged her mouth down to his. “That’s sweet, Grace, but I’m not interested.” He kissed her, decided maybe he was up to another round … maybe on the deck … in the dark.

  Cell phones vibrated. Hers on the counter, his on the coffee table.

  She got to hers first.

  “Grace.”

  McBride didn’t bother going for his. The message would be the same. He put the empty pizza box and cola on the counter and walked over to where she leaned against the bar that separated the kitchen from the living room.

  “Yes, sir.”

  She closed the phone. “There’s an e-mail from Fincher. We have to go in.”

  Tension snaked through him. “Do we have a victim?”

  “No victim.” Her gaze locked with his. “Yet.”

  They dressed, stealing kisses between buttoning buttons and zipping zippers.

  McBride didn’t ever remember feeling exactly like this.

  Content.

  The strangest part was, he felt it in spite of looming disaster.

  11:35 P.M.

  1000 Eighteenth Street

  The street was oddly deserted. Most of the reporters had flocked to Fincher’s and Worth’s homes, though a few still circled the morgue, hoping to learn more about Fincher’s mummified wife. Coming back here would have been a waste of time in any case, since Birmingham PD wouldn’t let the media anywhere near the building.

  Pierce and Talley had called an all-hands staff meeting.

  Inside the conference room, the first thing McBride noticed was Agent Schaffer’s bright yellow boots. When this was over, he was going to ask her about the boot fetish.

  “Before we move into the next phase of this operation,” Pierce said, “there’s a matter that needs to be cleared up.”

  McBride tried to pay attention but the man just got under his skin. Mainly because of the way he looked at Grace. McBride didn’t like it one little bit.

  “Forensics has gotten back to us on the pulley and cable line used to suspend Agent Worth inside the elevator shaft.” His gaze settled on Grace, and then he added, “The pulley was defective. That defect caused Agent Worth’s death.”

  McBride saw Grace flinch. She wasn’t going to let herself off the hook so easily.

  Time to move on. McBride asked Pierce, “What does Fincher have to say?” Might as well get to the point of why they were all here.

  “He’s not happy with you, McBride.”

  McBride didn’t take the satisfaction he heard in Pierce’s voice personally even though it was meant exactly that way.

  Pierce picked up a stack of pages and passed one to each agent in the room. “This, ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “is trouble we need to head off. The state, county, and city police are providing assistance. Our top priority at this moment is finding Fincher and getting him into custody.”

  “Or on a slab,” Schaffer added, setting off a rumble of agreement from her colleagues.

  McBride would have added his concurrence but he was focused on the e-mail.

  McBride,

  It is clear that you are no better than the others. I am completely disappointed in you. We believed in you despite the fact that no one else did and you let us down. You pretended to be a hero when you were no such thing. I tried to save you as my Deirdre wanted and you could not be saved.

  Now you will regret your actions. Allowing Worth to die was unspeakable. Taking my dear sweet Deirdre was a despicable, unpardonable betrayal. I am not a murderer and your failure has made the world believe I am. I have nothing now … because of you. No son, no wife, no honor.

  The next communication you receive from me will be your worst nightmare. And this time, there will be no clues. The rules have changed. You think you have suffered, but you have not suffered at all. Not yet. Though you are about to learn what true suffering feels like.

  Pray for death, McBride … it will be your only escape from the pain.

  Martin Fincher

  “He’s out for revenge now, McBride,” Pierce said, stating the obvious. “We’re going to need to keep you in protective custody until we nail this guy.”

  “You know he’s not going to play with anyone but me,” McBride countered. “So let’s not even go there. This started because of me, it’ll end the same way.”

  Pierce looked frustrated but he kept any additional comments on the matter to himself. “Okay, let’s get on with this then. Birmingham PD’s providing surveillance on Fincher’s home and at the morgue where his wife and her various parts are being held for an autopsy. Pratt, you and Davis go back to Fincher’s home and see what you can find. We’re looking for someone he knows or a relative—someone that he might be staying with. He has to be hanging out somewhere. Does he own any other property?

  “Talley, you and Aldridge keep things moving with local law enforcement. We don’t need any bottlenecks. Grace, you and McBride dig deeper into Fincher’s son’s death. Make sure there isn’t anyone else connected to that tragedy that he could use as a victim.” Pierce’s full attention moved to McBride then. “I want a list of anyone close to you he might try to hurt to cause you pain.

  “Schaffer,” Pierce said lastly, “stay on top of the ME’s office about reports. We need to know anything and everything as it’s available.”

  The roomful of agents jumped to action the second the final order was issued. Every last one of them wanted Fincher badly.

  Grace pushed back her chair. “Why don’t you get started on that list and I’ll get coffee. I’ve got a feeling it’s going to be a long night.”

  McBride rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah. I could use a cup.”

  No sooner had Grace walked away, than he’d forgotten the list. His mind had shifted to the timeline board. Schaffer had updated it thoroughly.

  What did this bastard have up his sleeve now? He wanted to hurt McBride. That part was clear. But how did he plan to do it? He was damned original in his scheming. That worried McBride the most. As fairly simple as most of his challenges had been, McBride was certain he could be a master at this if he wanted.

  That list Pierce suggested, and Grace had reminded him about, nudged its way into his thoughts. It would be damned short. There was his mother and father, whom he barely knew anymore. And there was Grace. Fincher had mentioned her in a couple of his e-mails. Fear coiled in McBride’s gut, constricted his chest. That was where Fincher would strike. Even the idea of it made McBride sick to his stomach.

  “Agent McBride.”

  Hearing the title attached to his name startled him. “Yeah, Schaffer. What’ve you got?”

  “Agent Pierce wanted me to give you Worth’s collection of files on the Devoted Fan investigation.”

  “Great.” He accepted the folders. “Thanks.”


  He dropped the stack onto the table and went in search of Grace. How long did it take to get coffee? Even if she’d had to make it, it should be done by now. He didn’t want her out of his sight.

  She wasn’t in the lounge. No coffee had been brewed. He checked the ladies’ room and the men’s room. Then every office on the floor.

  The unthinkable possibility that something had already gone wrong started to leach into his bones. He fought it back; refused to even consider it. They were in the FBI field office, surrounded by an iron fence with an armed guard at the gate. It took a key card to get inside and a dozen armed agents were milling about in here.

  “Have you seen Grace?” McBride asked Aldridge when he passed him in the corridor.

  “Not since I was in the conference room.”

  McBride started to run then. He barreled into Worth’s office where Pierce had taken up residence. “Have you seen Grace?”

  Pierce’s expression turned as anxious as McBride’s had to be. “No. She was with you in the conference room … what, ten minutes ago?”

  “Something’s wrong.” McBride pulled out his cell phone and entered her number. A ragged breath whooshed out of him. “She’s not on the floor.”

  “Maybe she went to her vehicle to get something she forgot,” Pierce offered.

  McBride hoped he was right. Five rings and her phone went to voice mail. His gaze locked with Pierce’s. “You’d better lock this place down.”

  Pierce rocketed to his feet, reached for the phone on the desk. “We’ll find her.”

  If she was even still there …

  “The next communication you receive from me will be your worst nightmare.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Wednesday, September 13, 12:30 A.M.

  McBride stood in the slot where Grace’s Explorer had been parked. Pierce loitered nearby, pacing around as if he could somehow make Grace reappear by sheer power of will.

  “Motherfucker,” McBride muttered. The lobby video cameras had captured Fincher escorting Grace from the building. The parking lot cameras had shown them getting into her Explorer and going left out of the parking lot. He’d had a handgun. Possibly Worth’s. Since no guard was on duty in the lobby after 6 P.M., Fincher had only needed to get past the guard at the gate.

  Lila Grimes, Worth’s secretary, was at the ER recovering from a knock on the head. Fincher had used her to lure Grace to the lobby with a phone call. Grimes had been forced to say she was on her way to the hospital where Worth’s wife had been admitted with chest pains—also a fabrication—and needed to drop off Worth’s files from home related to the Devoted Fan case. Grimes hadn’t wanted to take the time to come upstairs to the office.

  If Grace had taken a moment to think she would have recognized that something was wrong about the request. But she hadn’t been thinking … she was still reeling over Worth’s death … his final words to her. It probably never entered her mind that Fincher was in the building or that he would use kind, harmless Lila Grimes in such a way.

  McBride reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out the pack of Marlboros, tapped one out and stuck it in the corner of his mouth. He flicked his Zippo and inhaled long and deep.

  “I don’t see how this happened,” Pierce argued with no one in particular. “We were all in the building. A goddamned guard is manning the gate, for Christ’s sake!” He gestured to the guard shack. “How the hell did Fincher get in here?”

  McBride hated to say out loud what he knew had to be the answer. “He had to have been at her house. Rode in here with us.” The idea that the son of a bitch had most likely been in the back of the Explorer while they drove from Grace’s house to here made him want to howl with rage. “After we’d gone inside and the coast was clear, he came inside.”

  “What about the guard?” Pierce flung his hand toward the guard shack again.

  “His job is to watch the street, not the entrance to the building.”

  Pierce marched a circle around McBride as if he couldn’t figure out what to do with all the pent-up rage he no doubt felt. “He couldn’t have gotten inside without—”

  “Worth’s ID card,” McBride finished for him. “One swipe and he was in.”

  “shirt.” Pierce rubbed a hand over his face. “He’ll kill her.”

  McBride threw the cigarette butt on the ground and pulverized it with his heel. “No. He’ll make me do it.”

  Pierce’s gaze collided with his. “You’re right. He’ll make this another of those fucking challenges. Only this time there won’t be any way to win.”

  “That’s the way I figure it’ll play out.”

  Pierce went toe-to-toe with McBride. “This is your fault,” he snarled. “If something happens to her—”

  “You’ll what?” McBride growled back. “Kick yourself for making sure she got assigned to this field office?”

  Pierce blinked, backed off. “Yes.” The word was barely a hiss of breath … a regret of monumental magnitude uttered in three innocuous letters.

  McBride left him standing there and headed for the door. He had to start narrowing down places where this bastard may have taken her. Without any parameters to go on, it would be pretty goddamned pointless. But he had to do something.

  The front entrance flew open, Pratt stuck his head out. “You gotta get in here. Fincher’s sending us something. We think it’s a streaming video feed.”

  “Pierce!” McBride looked back to make sure he was coming, then he followed Pratt.

  The run up the stairs took two lifetimes. In the conference room the whole team was gathered around the computer screen. ASAC Talley manned the keyboard.

  “It’s loading,” Davis told McBride as he moved in next to him. “Been doing that for about three minutes now.”

  Pierce claimed a spot next to McBride. “This came in an e-mail?”

  “Yeah,” Davis said. “When Talley opened it, something started downloading.”

  A box appeared with an option to open the file.

  “Open it,” Pierce ordered.

  Talley selected the open file option. The screen flickered and went black. As if coming into focus, vague images faded in and out. Then the screen cleared.

  McBride’s heart stumbled.

  Grace.

  A thud in his chest sent fear and adrenaline roaring through his veins. He leaned forward, studied what he could see. The lighting was too dim—no, not dim, a low-light recording made in a room with no light. The room appeared to be small and square. Empty except for Grace. The white blouse she wore contrasted sharply with her surroundings. No audio. She kept moving, didn’t appear to be injured. When she looked long enough in the direction of the camera the word INNOCENT was visible on her forehead.

  The need to do something detonated inside McBride.

  “Where’s that coming from?” Pierce wanted to know. “Can you track that feed?”

  “Systems is working on it,” Talley said. “If it’s encoded, they’ll have to break down the code.” Talley shrugged. “Could be jumping around from data center to data center to avoid being pinpointed. It’ll take time to locate the source.”

  “Do whatever you have to,” Pierce ordered. “Get Atlanta in on it. I want to know where this is coming from.”

  “Yes, sir,” Talley acknowledged.

  The screen flickered, went black again.

  “What the hell happened?” McBride demanded. “Did we lose the feed?”

  The screen brightened, then focused into a split view. The same one with Grace now standing in the middle of that tiny room looking helpless. Then the second view went from static to clear. A man paced another small room. He was tall, thin, with a bald head.

  “Who is that?” Pierce tapped the blurred image next to Grace.

  A rhetorical question, obviously, since no one in the room had a fucking idea.

  McBride squinted in an effort to make out the guy’s face as he came nearer the camera. The way he was looking around it was fairly clear that he did
n’t have a clue the camera was there.

  No eyebrows. Weird. Letters written across his forehead, in the same manner as with Grace and the other victims, snagged McBride’s attention, but the man moved too quickly for him to read the word.

  “Can you switch to your recorded version and run that back?” Pierce asked before McBride could.

  “Yeah.” Talley shifted screens and did a back search on the recording.

  “Right there,” McBride said.

  The image froze on the screen.

  N …A …M …E …L …E …S …S

  McBride’s gut plummeted to the floor. “Jesus Christ.”

  “That can’t be right,” Pierce argued. “No way. Nameless is dead. Grace killed him.”

  Fury coalesced with the fear. McBride pushed away from the screen, got in Pierce’s face. “She tried to tell you there were two of them.”

  Pierce shook his head in denial. “Forensics said—”

  “Fuck forensics.” McBride jabbed a finger at the screen. “The victim said there were two, goddammit! And nobody listened.”

  “She was seventeen. She was traumatized—”

  “And she was right,” McBride said grimly. “Goodman’s exposé must have brought him out from under whatever rock he’s been hiding under.”

  The silence lasted until Schaffer cleared her throat and said, “Are we going to do something about this, fellas?”

  Without breaking the stare-down, Pierce said, “Davis, Talley, find out where that’s coming from. Also, find out if Grace’s Explorer drove past any cameras in the city when it left this location. Check with every patrol unit cruising the streets. Maybe somebody saw something.”

  Doubt surfaced in Pierce’s expression and he visibly swallowed hard, his pride probably. “Pratt, I still want you to go to Fincher’s house to see what you can find. Arnold, you dig into the Nameless investigation. Call Kyle Cummings at Quantico, tell him I want him to look at the forensics evidence in that case again. If there’s any chance this accomplice is for real, I want to know it.”