Outside Grey said, “Thank you for thinking of that. I feel a lot better knowing he’s going to take his family out of town. Kelvin’s mean, but he’s also smart. Smart enough to know the best way to hurt a man like Wixell is to go after his family.”
“Kelvin has a mean streak all right,” Rachel said thoughtfully. “I said that he’d jumped to the top of my dance card, but I’m still having trouble seeing him as a kidnapper. He’s street-smart like Dr. Wixell said, but he doesn’t appear to have the brains to orchestrate a kidnapping as smooth as Lily’s.”
Grey agreed. From what they’d learned, Lily’s abduction had been carried out without a hitch. No shots fired. Nothing to attract the attention of others at the park where she’d been taken.
That meant planning and attention to detail. Kelvin liked to show off. He’d want to at least wave a gun around if for nothing else than the pleasure of seeing others cower in fear.
The burden of getting nowhere weighed on Grey. Everything they’d learned so far spun around in his thoughts. He needed to do something. Anything.
He looked down at his borrowed clothes and remembered he had yet to pick up anything more.
“Know of any thrift shops around here?” he asked. “I need to buy some clothes.”
“Are you kidding? You’re talking to the queen of bargain hunting.” Rachel directed him to an older section of town where a thrift store was flanked by Beauty by the Bushel salon on one side and a dry cleaners on the other. “It’s not Saks Fifth Avenue or Neiman Marcus, but I guarantee you’ll find the prices to your liking.”
Grey came away with three pairs of jeans and an equal number of shirts, plus a lightweight jacket in case the evenings grew chilly. A stop at a local discount store saw to the rest of his needs.
“Thanks,” he said once they were on their way again.
“No problem.”
A brief, hard rain had left the asphalt wet. With the hot Georgia sun baking the landscape, steam rose from the ground. He breathed in the strong aroma of drenched pavement and soil. The intoxicating odor was a far cry from the arid heat of Afghanistan that always smelled of scorched earth.
Red filled the sky with the setting sun. It was a picture to behold. He wished he had it in him to appreciate the scene, but he couldn’t summon the energy to do even that. A yawn escaped before he could clamp a hand over his mouth. “Sorry.”
He let his gaze move over Rachel in an attempt to get a handle on her. “Tell me about working for the FBI.”
She drew in on herself. At the same time, invisible barriers went up, closing her in...and him out. “Not much to tell.” The offhand tone brushed off the subject.
“No?”
“No,” she said, voice now noticeably cool. “I worked at the Bureau for several years, then joined S&J, and never looked back.”
“I hear the Bureau has good benefits and a top-notch retirement plan. You didn’t think it was worthwhile to stick around?”
“I guess not, since I quit.”
Her tone made it clear that she’d prefer to talk about something else. Anything else. Her reluctance to share that part of her background made him more curious than ever, but he knew when to back off.
“Sorry,” he said, “I didn’t mean to pry.”
“Didn’t you?” She didn’t give him an opportunity to answer. “Enough about me. You need to rest. I’m going to take you to a motel where you can grab some sleep, and then I’ll fill in Shelley.”
“Okay.”
Grateful that Rachel had guessed he couldn’t afford much, he approved her choice of motel. On the rundown side, it was limping on its way to falling down. Slightly swaybacked, it appeared as if an elephant had rested there for a while, then moved on.
“It’s not fancy,” she said, “but it’s cheap and clean.”
“I don’t need fancy,” he said. “Cheap and clean suit me just fine.” Until Grey got his money problems sorted out with the army, he was short on funds and didn’t want to burn through what remained of his cash any faster than he had to.
Technically, he could have drawn on the trust fund left to Lily, but there was no way he’d do that. The money from his wife’s family belonged to his daughter, not to him. Some would call it foolish, but for him, it was simply right.
He didn’t bother explaining it to Rachel, instinctively knowing that she understood. After registering and getting a key card—apparently, even the shabbiest of motels had gone that route—he returned to the truck.
“I’ll take you back to S&J.”
“No need. I can flag a cab.”
“No need,” he said, using her own words. “I’ll take you back.”
She shook her head. “There’s more opportunity for someone to find and follow you back here.”
“I can take care of myself.”
Another shake of her head. “Taking care of you is my job. For now you do what I say.”
That didn’t sit well with Grey. It didn’t sit well at all.
* * *
Rachel considered Grey’s request that she take him to a thrift store and his approval of her choice of a motel. He hadn’t said so, but she had surmised that he had money problems. She had learned enough about him to know that he wouldn’t use the money in his daughter’s trust for himself. That wasn’t who or what he was. It only made her like him all the more.
There was a lot to like about him, starting with his unrelenting determination to find Lily. He had a quiet steadiness about him that said he wouldn’t seek out a fight but that he wouldn’t back down from one, either.
She pushed Grey Nighthorse’s undeniable appeal out of her mind and reminded herself that she’d already declared him off-limits.
At S&J, she gave a report to Shelley and filled her in on the meeting with Dr. Wixell. “He’s smart and now he’s scared. I don’t think he’ll be going back to playing war again.”
“Good. Sounds like he was out of his league.”
“He was.” But Rachel’s mind wasn’t on the doctor or even the men who’d tried to rough up her and Grey. It was on Grey himself. He was different from any man she’d ever met, including her ex-fiancé.
She could barely recall Jeremy now, his features blurring in her mind. Through a mutual friend, she’d heard that he’d made supervisory special agent-in-charge and was working in New York City, a prestigious posting. She didn’t begrudge him his success. Climbing the next rung in the Bureau hierarchy had always driven him.
Looking back, she shouldn’t have been surprised that he’d dumped her in favor of his career. Though he hadn’t meant it that way, he’d done her a favor. She didn’t know if she’d have had the courage to cut him free.
Quiet and determined, courageous and strong, Grey wasn’t a glory hog like some agents she’d come across in the FBI, who cared more about adding commendations to their records than about getting the job done. He had probably earned his share of medals and awards, but she doubted they meant a great deal to him.
Her meanderings drew her up short, and she gave herself a mental shake. What was she doing thinking about Grey in those terms? No man had caught her attention in the three years since she’d left the Bureau. Aside from that, he was a client, and therefore hands-off. Or he should be.
A smile slipped into her thoughts as she recalled that several S&J employees had fallen for and eventually married clients, including Shelley and her brother Jake. Both were now happily married with a couple of children each.
Okay, so falling for a client wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility, but finding Lily was her priority. It had to be.
In addition, she had no intention of allowing another man into her life. Look what had happened the last time.
“Rachel?” The concern in Shelley’s voice brought Rachel back to reality. “Are you all right? I’ve asked you the same question two times.”
>
“What?” Another mental shake. “I’m fine. What did you ask?”
“You looked a million miles away. Do you have any other leads?”
“I don’t know.”
Shelley waited expectantly.
“We met with Grey’s ex-mother-in-law today. She had a lawyer with her. He had been engaged to Maggie before she broke it off and married Grey.”
“What’s he like?”
“Polished. Educated. Not the kind you’d think would be involved in a kidnapping. He was engaged to Maggie before she met Grey, so there’s some leftover resentment on his part.” According to Grey, it had been more than resentment.
“So...”
“So I don’t know,” Rachel said again. “We need to shake something loose.”
“You seem out of sorts.”
“Just frustrated that we haven’t made more progress. You know the stats about missing children.”
Shelley’s nod was as despondent as Rachel’s thoughts. If a missing child wasn’t found within forty-eight hours of the time of the abduction, she probably wouldn’t be found. At least not alive.
If she failed to bring Lily home, she feared Grey wouldn’t recover from the grief. And she wouldn’t recover, either. The case had become personal, which wasn’t smart. She always strove to maintain a professional distance in her work, but she was failing.
Failing badly.
* * *
At 5:00 a.m. the following morning, Grey was up and dressed.
He went through a sequence of exercises. Fifty sit-ups were followed by an equal number of one-arm push-ups. A forty-five-minute run cleared his mind and left him dripping in sweat from Atlanta’s humidity and ready for a shower.
A half hour later, he headed to a nearby laundry and washed the thrift store clothes, then returned to the motel. Dressed in the new clothes, he was clean and tidy, a sight better than many of his days in Afghanistan, and decided that, though he wouldn’t win any fashion awards, he’d do. He drove to a fast-food place where he picked up two breakfast sandwiches and two cups of OJ.
He arrived at S&J at eight and found Rachel waiting outside for him.
She climbed in the truck, and he handed her a sandwich. “Breakfast.”
“Thanks.”
“Where to?” he asked.
“I want to visit Michaels. Maybe we can convince him to persuade your mother-in-law to drop the reward. Or at least reduce it. And, while we’re at it, we can size him up. I want to get a better read on him.”
“Good idea.” Grey turned the truck in the direction of the high-rent section of professional offices where he knew Wingate Michaels had an office.
“Tell me about your name,” Rachel said.
“I wondered when you’d get around to asking about it. Most people do.”
“You have to admit that it’s an unusual name.”
“I’m one-quarter Cherokee. Nighthorse was my grandfather’s name, passed down to my father, and now to me.”
“What about Greyson?”
“My mother’s father.”
“Greyson Nighthorse. It fits you.”
He gave an exaggerated groan. “Please, not Greyson. The only one who ever calls me that is Roberta.”
Rachel grinned. “That went over well, I’m guessing.”
“I never thought about my name much, only that I wanted to live up to the men and women whose names I bore. My grandparents and my parents never had much, but they passed down their values to me. I do my best to live up to them, though sometimes I fail miserably.”
“Seems to me that that’s a lot of thinking for something you don’t think about much.”
“Sorry. I don’t usually get into all that.” So why had he shared those feelings with Rachel? It didn’t make sense, given that they’d known each other for just a couple of days. Somehow, though, he’d wanted her to know.
In that space of time, she’d roused not only his curiosity but also his respect. Curiosity came easily; respect, not so much. So when he met someone who managed to engender both in him, he paid attention.
“Thank you for telling me. Your grandparents and parents sound like incredible people. You must be proud of them.”
“I am. It just about killed me when my parents died.”
“I’m sorry.” The words were simple, but he heard the genuine sympathy behind them and was warmed by it.
“It was a long time ago. They were caught in a flash flood, trying to help others get to safety. That’s the kind of people they were. They never turned away anyone in need, even at the cost of their own lives. I was away in basic training.” The memory still had the power to shred his heart. “I should have been there.”
“Do you think your parents would have blamed you?”
“No.” He knew that was true. “They were proud of what I was doing. My father fought in the last days of Vietnam and my grandfather in the Korean War. Serving the country always came first in my family. No matter the sacrifice. My father lost an arm in ’Nam, but he never regretted serving, never spoke against the government, though many did.”
“Then that’s what you should remember, his legacy and that he was proud of you.”
“You’re right. Thank you for reminding me of that. And for listening.”
“I’m your partner. That’s what partners do. Thank you for sharing with me.”
He gazed at her in challenge. “Maybe someday you’ll do the same.”
SEVEN
Rachel thought over what Grey had told her. The pride and love in his voice when he talked about his parents and grandparents, the humility when he said that he didn’t measure up to them. She very much doubted that. Honor and courage defined him and everything he did.
The challenge he’d issued—and that was what it had been—she set aside to think about later.
“Tell me about your parents,” Grey said.
Another challenge. At least this was one she could accept.
“I never knew my parents. I grew up in the foster care system.” She sent a warning look his way. “Don’t feel sorry for me. Most of the foster families were okay.” That much was the truth. The rest of it, the loneliness, the sense that she didn’t truly belong, was best left unsaid.
When Grey pulled into the underground parking garage of one of Atlanta’s most prestigious office buildings, she gave a low whistle. “Wow. You weren’t kidding when you said that Michaels didn’t need money.”
“He’s a very successful attorney, caters to the city’s rich and privileged. Roberta made that clear to me when I started going out with Maggie.”
Rachel didn’t hear any rancor in Grey’s voice. “You didn’t mind?”
He climbed out of the truck, and she did the same. “Maybe a little. At first. Maggie told me that that was just the way her mother was and to ignore it. I was doing what I wanted to, what I had to do. That was enough for me. I grew up with very little, so money was never important to me. My father used to say that having a lot of money doesn’t make you happy if you aren’t already.”
“And yet money is at the root of a lot of our cases at S&J. Some people never think they have enough and will do anything to get more.”
“You’re right.” He sent an intent look in her direction. “You think money’s a part of Lily’s kidnapping even though there’s been no demand for ransom.”
“I think it’s possible.”
They walked to the elevator and pushed the button for the lobby. In the lobby, they looked at the directory by the bank of elevators and saw that Michaels’s offices occupied half of the thirty-second floor. Another law firm with an impressive-sounding name took up the other half.
The elevator glided smoothly to their destination. When they stepped off, Rachel had to suppress the desire to gawk. “Wow.”
“Close your mouth,” Grey advis
ed. “You’ll catch flies.”
She wasn’t gaping. Not exactly. But she came close. “Wow,” she said again. “Just wow.”
Navy-colored carpet so deep that she felt like she was sinking into it complemented burgundy leather sofas and chairs. Art that was no doubt original graced the walls while bronze abstract sculptures found homes on clear acrylic tables.
They stopped at the reception desk where an efficient-looking young man with glasses asked if they had an appointment. When Grey answered no, the man bestowed a lofty look upon them.
“I’m sorry, but Mr. Michaels doesn’t see anyone without an appointment. If you’d like to make one, I can probably fit you in sometime in the next month, depending upon his schedule.”
“I think he’ll see us,” Grey said smoothly. “Tell him it’s about the Nighthorse kidnapping.”
The man disappeared down a hallway and returned a few minutes later, his manner now one of deference. “Mr. Michaels will see you now.”
“Thank you,” Rachel said and walked by him.
In the private office, which was even more opulent than the reception area, Wingate Michaels crossed the room to greet them. “Nighthorse. Ms. Martin.” He gestured to two chairs, which appeared to be designed for comfort rather than to hasten guests’ departure.
A large window overlooked the city. At a left angle to it was a wall of framed diplomas, proclaiming Michaels’s graduation from Ole Miss University and then Harvard Law. Other framed certificates showed that he’d made Law Review and was the editor of the school’s paper. Numerous awards from charities and civic groups joined the academic accomplishments.
The opposite wall held a glass case of trophies. She would like to have had a closer look, but from the figures mounted on top of each trophy, his accomplishments included skiing, swimming and shooting, among others.
The man was not shy in boasting about himself. Rachel didn’t hold it against him. Some people needed that outward confirmation of their success.
After she and Grey had each taken a chair, Michaels said, “I don’t generally accept walk-ins, but in this case, I deemed it necessary to make an exception.” The words were said pleasantly enough, but there was a gentle and unmistakable rebuke that Rachel and Grey pretended not to notice. “Now,” he said briskly, “how can I help you?”
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