Eventually, the park would heal, but it would take more than a cleaning crew. It would take time. Something Erin understood all too well.
Once she turned onto the jogging path, she picked up her pace. Usually, she shared the trail with other joggers and walkers. At this time of the morning, however, she was alone with the silence. And her thoughts.
She knew she should let the whole question of the ice-cream vendor, with his repertoire of tricks, go. No one she knew would understand why she had to pursue this after so many years, why she had to find the man who’d ruined her sister’s life and scarred the rest of her family. Especially since everyone familiar with Claire’s case believed the man who’d kidnapped her was serving time in a California prison.
Her mother would have called Erin obsessed. But Elizabeth Baker had had her own obsessions, and she’d found her solace in vodka and cigarettes. Marta would accuse Erin of trying to relieve guilt she hadn’t earned, but Marta hadn’t been in the park the day Claire disappeared. Only Erin had been there. And so she couldn’t let it go, couldn’t pretend she hadn’t seen the Magic Man today.
She had to find her own comfort, her own redemption.
As long as there was a possibility the man she’d seen had had something to do with Claire’s kidnapping, Erin had to look into it. She’d find out who he was and what he’d been doing in the park yesterday, and in Miami, nineteen years ago. And if she found out he was the one who’d taken her sister, Erin would make him pay and make sure he never hurt another child, or family, again.
On Monday, she’d cancel classes and go into her D.C. office in one of the Company’s many anonymous buildings. There, she had access to a computer network unavailable to her at Georgetown. She would research Kauffman and Beckwith and access the old case files on Claire’s abduction. And she’d find the man with the magic hands.
She’d be skating on thin ice using the Company’s resources for a personal investigation. If anyone noticed, she’d be reprimanded at the very least, or asked to resign. She could live with either, if it meant putting the nightmare of her sister’s kidnapping behind her.
Suddenly, she sensed something.
A sudden chill in the air that set the fine hairs at the back of her neck on end. Then she heard it.
Footfalls. Quick and steady behind her.
She kept going, her mind instantly clear. Focused. Her muscles tight and braced for attack. Her breathing deep and steady. Listening. Another minute. Two. With no sense of the gap closing behind her.
Another runner?
Of course. She was being paranoid. She was seldom alone on this path. She’d let the early hour spook her. Stopping abruptly, she spun around, ready to challenge whoever trailed her. Just as a tall shadow darted into the woods, the bushes trembling in his wake.
Another chill swept through her.
Watching her. Not another jogger, but someone following her. Not necessarily dangerous, though. It could be anyone. A homeless person, finding shelter in the woods. A mugger thinking he’d found an easy mark. Or something, someone more.
She waited, reminding herself she was far from defenseless. She’d faced down dangerous adversaries before, and not just in the demo ring at Langley. She could handle herself. Yet she kept seeing hands, fluid, competent hands that could kill as easily as they pulled a coin from a child’s ear.
Nothing.
No more sound. No movement. He was still there, though, just out of sight, hidden by the dense undergrowth. She could feel his eyes on her, heavy and menacing, and for the first time in her life, she understood the sensation of skin crawling. She considered calling out, confronting him. Taking the offensive.
At least he’d no longer be behind her.
“Are you afraid to face me?” She put all the bravado she could muster into her voice, all the arrogance she’d learned from five years around men with elevated testosterone levels. “Is that why you hide in the bushes?”
No reply.
Except a wave of amusement that drifted on the air.
She was hallucinating. If someone was still there, he was probably more frightened of her than she was of him. And she certainly couldn’t feel something like amusement across the yards of space separating them.
Don’t be a fool.
With clarity, the thought struck her. And she knew she was not imagining any of it. If she’d been in Baghdad or Cairo, she wouldn’t question her instincts. She’d sense the danger, accept it, and deal with it. Here, in the suburbs of D.C., however, she was second-guessing herself.
It could get her killed.
So she shut down her hesitation and listened to the gut feeling that told her to get out of here, back to the park. And home. With no weapons and no clear idea whom she was up against, she’d be an idiot to hang around.
The only question remaining, was how?
She’d just passed the two-mile marker. An easy run, except he was between her and the trailhead. The other direction would be worse. Six miles, with the water to her right and the woods to her left. She’d run herself into a dead end.
That left her only one option. To go back the way she’d come.
With her back to the water, she retraced her steps while scanning the brush for any hint of movement. Each footfall brought her closer to where she’d seen the shadow leave the path, until she was within a couple of yards from the spot. Six feet. An easy distance for an attack. She steeled herself, knowing it would be a fight for her life.
None came.
Then she was past it, her eyes still scanning the bushes for another yard as she edged farther and farther away. Two yards. Three.
She turned and started for where the trail returned to the park, suppressing the urge to give in to the fear rippling through her and run full out. In case he followed her, she needed to conserve her strength. After a minute or two with no further sound or movement, she slowed down more. At the one-mile marker, she began to breathe easier.
Then she sensed it again. Closer this time. Heavier.
She broke into a run, heading for the park. Though she knew it was a mistake, letting the fear take over. Crippling her. Voiding her years of training. Making her weak. But as she rounded the last curve, the bright playground equipment visible in the dim light, she picked up even more speed. Though no sound came from behind her. No sense of danger. Until . . .
She stopped cold. Terror gripped her insides as a dark figure stepped out in front of her. Tall, broad shoulders, powerful, and moving purposefully toward her.
XI
ISAAC COULD HAVE killed her.
It would have been so easy, so sweet. She’d been mere feet away, standing there, her courage leaking from her like blood from an oozing wound. She’d tried to hold it in, tried to stop the flow, but her efforts failed. In the end, fear had drained her, made her weak.
Oh, she would have fought. And from what he’d discovered about her in the last few hours, it would have been an interesting encounter.
The information he’d given to Neville about her had been easy enough to uncover. He’d gotten her name from one of the cops at the park, and from there it had been a piece of cake to discover her address, occupation, and her sister, Claire. After leaving Neville, however, Isaac had dug a little deeper into Erin Baker’s life. The martial-arts training was an interesting twist, but not unusual. That she’d excelled at them, however, notched up his interest a bit. Still, she wasn’t a killer. She lacked that instinct, which would forever put her at a disadvantage. So he would have prevailed, taking her life and the threat she posed all in one move.
Unfortunately, her death would cause a stir neither he nor Neville could afford at the moment. Time was what they needed and what kept her alive. Time to let the whole Chelsea Madden incident die down. And time for the feds to give up and forget about Cody Sanders.
Besides, she was far too interesting a subject. She presented him with a challenge he hadn’t experienced in too long. He didn’t understand how she’d recognized him. W
hat was it she’d seen in the two men, the two personas, that had caught her eye? He wanted to know, and until then, he wouldn’t kill her.
So he’d just watched, taunting her. Because she’d sensed his presence, and that, too, made her special. Unique.
Now, as he cut back through the woods to reach the playground before her, he thought about his meeting with Neville. For once they’d agreed on what needed to be done, if not on the how or why.
Neville hadn’t a clue about the real threat Erin Baker presented. Though he understood the danger to himself and had come to the same conclusion about her background as Isaac. She was NSA. Or CIA. It was the only thing that made sense. She’d fallen off the radar for a full year after earning her doctorate, then surfaced in Cairo for two more. It wasn’t exactly your standard career path for an academic. What Neville didn’t understand was that this was not about her government connections. This was personal. It was about her sister. And that made her all the more dangerous.
Neville had sent men to watch her. Isaac had seen them, parked a discreet distance from her house, close enough to watch, far enough not to be spotted. Not fools. Competent, efficient men who would watch her movements and report back. They weren’t, however, in her league. They would underestimate her—her skill and her determination—and she’d bring them all down.
So Isaac would do things his way, despite Neville’s orders to the contrary. Just as he’d done with the Madden girl. He’d let her go because killing her would have lent weight to Erin’s story. Missing or dead, they had a crime. Alive, they had a hysterical witness. As it was, the sleeping child had no recollection of the missing hours she’d spent in the back of his van. He’d dropped a chloroform-soaked cloth over her nose and mouth before taking her from the stroller. It had kept her sleeping, and ensured she had no memory of him.
He reached the edge of the playground and settled in to wait. Erin wasn’t that far behind him, running now, her long legs eating up the dirt path along the river.
Despite his resolve to do otherwise, he considered again the expediency of killing her now. He could take her quickly, then disappear. Neville wouldn’t be happy. But then, Isaac didn’t take Neville’s orders.
XII
ALEC SAW HER brace herself, her body settling into a defensive posture. He’d learned a lot about Erin Baker in the last six hours. She’d been training in the martial arts since she was twelve and held three black belts: tae kwon do, aikido, and kenpo. Which explained the incident with Beckwith last night. The kid hadn’t stood a chance.
Alec stopped walking, hands up, palms out. “Easy, Dr. Baker. It’s me, Agent Donovan.”
She didn’t let down her guard, though she eased up a bit. “What are you doing here?”
“I need to talk to you.”
“And so you stalk me in the middle of the night?”
“I’m not stalking you, and it’s almost—” He started forward but stopped when she tensed again.
“Were you following me along the path?”
“What?” He looked behind her, toward the dark water, and reached for the weapon beneath his jacket. “No.”
“Someone was, if not you—”
“It wasn’t me.” He moved up beside her, the .38 automatic in his hand now, and scanned the surrounding trees. The darkness was giving way to morning, but too many shadows lingered with too many places a man could hide. “You told me you ran early, so after checking your house and finding you’d already left, I came here to wait for you to finish. Did you see him?”
“Only a shadow.” She took a deep breath and seemed to shake off a chill. “He’s gone now.”
He realized she was spooked, and from what he’d seen so far, she wasn’t a woman who spooked easily. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” She noticed the gun in his hand and laughed abruptly. “It was probably nothing.” Though she didn’t sound like she believed it.
“Maybe.” But then, maybe not. Especially if his suspicions were correct and they’d hit a nerve last night. In that case, she shouldn’t be running alone, no matter how many black belts she held.
“I think it would be best if we talk somewhere else,” he said, slipping his weapon back into its holster. “There’s an all-night diner a block over. Is that okay?”
She nodded and started for the park entrance, but he held back, studying again the now-empty dirt path and the rim of bushes framing it.
Was he out there even now? Watching them?
With a shiver of his own, Alec turned and caught up to her.
They walked in silence, and he could almost feel her settling back into the coolheaded woman he’d met the night before. It wasn’t until they’d put the park a full block behind them that she finally spoke.
“So, what does the FBI want with me?” she asked.
“Not the FBI. Me.”
She threw him a glance, a spark of surprise in her eyes. “Agent Donovan, are you hitting on me?”
He actually felt himself blush. The thought appealed to him more than he’d admit aloud, more than was prudent under the circumstances. He was looking for a kidnapper, possibly a serial kidnapper. He couldn’t afford to be distracted by a woman, even one as intriguing as Erin Baker.
“No,” he said, and realized that didn’t sound right. “I mean . . .” He shook his head, clearing the inappropriate thoughts. “I just have some questions about the missing girl.”
“There is no missing girl, remember?” Her voice held a touch of sarcasm. “She was found under a bush.”
“But there is a missing boy.” He pulled a manila envelope from his inside jacket pocket and withdrew a picture of Cody Sanders. Offering it to her, he said, “He’s been gone five days now.”
She refused the picture. “As I recall, we’ve already had this conversation. I told you I watch the news, and you suggested there might be a connection between the two kidnappings.”
He was about to tell her a lot more, probably more than he should. But he needed her help. “Then you also know we’re running out of time. The longer Cody’s missing, the less chance we have of finding him alive. Or ever.”
She stopped and turned to him. “What does this have to do with Chelsea Madden? Or me?”
“You believe someone took her yesterday, don’t you?” He slipped the picture back in his pocket. “Then left her for us to find?”
She didn’t comment. Why should she? She’d made her opinion clear enough to the police the night before. Calm. Rational. Totally sure of herself. She’d told them they were making a mistake.
“And you think it was the man you saw in the park who took her?” Alec added. “The same man you saw in Miami nineteen years ago.”
“Even if you don’t buy my story—and I really can’t blame you for that—there are still too many coincidences to write off Chelsea’s disappearance.” She started walking again. “You need to be looking for someone who had a motive for taking her and then letting her go.”
“I agree.” He snagged her arm and stopped her. “Cody Sanders was seen in Cross Street Market the day he disappeared.” It was the break in the case Alec had been waiting for, ferreted out by the locals who knew the area much better than his agents. “He was talking to a middle-aged man, balding, soft around the middle.” He saw her understanding, the recognition that he’d just described the man she’d seen in the park. “No one knows how long the man’s been hanging around the market. A week? A month? But we can’t find him now.”
He released her arm. If he hadn’t caught her attention yet, he’d have her with the next piece of information. “The one thing everyone does seem to remember is that the man played the shell game for quarters.”
She went very still.
“You do know what the shell game is, don’t you, Dr. Baker?” She nodded, but he explained anyway. “It’s a sleight-of-hand game played with shells and a ball. The dealer puts the ball under a shell and mixes them up. To win, the player needs to identify which shell hides the ball.”
“Then he seldom loses.” She took a deep breath, looked away for a moment, then seemed to accept some unseen burden. “The same man I saw performing magic tricks in the park?”
“It’s possible.”
“And the man in Miami, the day Claire disappeared?”
“A long shot, but again, possible. Along with a dozen or more kidnappings over the past twenty or so years. That’s why I’m here, why you and I need to talk.”
The early morning, with its wakening sounds, settled between them. A street-cleaner pushed its bulky weight along the curb. A city garbage truck stopped and started in the alley alongside the diner, the gears of its belly cranking and creaking as stiff steel arms lifted and emptied a full Dumpster. And a few Sunday-morning commuters straggled onto the streets, heading for the district.
“Why would he do it?” she said. “Why grab Chelsea, then let her go?”
“Because someone—you”—he paused, letting his words sink in—“recognized him.”
She was so still. It was an extraordinary ability, one that seldom came naturally to the human species and was even beyond the skill of most professionals. And he had to wonder how she’d acquired it. “But that’s only one of the remaining questions,” he said, referring to her question about Chelsea’s release, though it applied to his thoughts about Erin as well. He gestured toward the diner. “Come on, I’ll buy you coffee and tell you the rest.”
They claimed a back booth. Other customers had begun drifting in, bleary-eyed, for coffee or a quick breakfast after a late shift or before an early one. A girl in her late teens, with nine silver hoops marching up each ear and three in each eyebrow, poured coffee.
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