“Let’s keep the bickering to a minimum.” Most of Ben’s attention stayed on navigating traffic between the airport and the hotel. “We can’t afford to miss a crucial clue because he’s focused on being pissed instead of on the case.”
“Don’t worry. I can behave.” Ray pursed his lips thoughtfully. “After all, I’m sure he enjoys the stick up his ass. Who am I to take that away from him?”
Thankfully, the drive passed without further incident. When they arrived, Orlund stood impatiently at the lobby entrance, his arms crossed. “I don’t like being kept waiting.”
Ben glared at Ray before his partner could make a colorful comment to further antagonize the man. Clearing his throat, Ben addressed the real complaint. “Let’s be clear, Special Agent Orlund. We’re here strictly to consult. This is your investigation, and we have no intention of interfering. That said, we are on a limited timeline with this unsub. We cannot afford to waste it arguing.”
Orlund’s aggressive stance softened slightly. “I nearly caught him six months ago. I’ve been waiting for him to poke his nose out again. The Director always sends at least seven letters before kidnapping his victim, and we’ve received three. We can set up a trap to catch him.”
“Once we’ve talked with Ms. Ballard, we can go through the files to see if we can determine whether or not this unsub has supernatural abilities.” Ben’s jaw tensed at the word victim despite his efforts to maintain a poker face. Delacroix had drilled all investigators to use target instead. If you call them victims, you forget the job is to save them.
“He’s not a loocy. He’s a garden-variety psychopath.” Orlund clearly wasn’t in the mood for diplomacy. “But if you want to talk to the victim, be my guest. She’s not here. She’s at the rehearsal venue.”
“Not much for compassion, is he?” Ray held the door as they stepped inside the hotel lobby.
Which doesn’t bode well for Katherine Ballard.
~ ~ ~
“All right, Aggi, starting position for Lose My Number.” Stinging Butterfly’s instructions echoed off the rows of empty seats. Her long electric blue braid swayed from side to side with each emphatic stride across the stage. “You’re still coming in half a measure early on the second chorus.”
“I’m right on time.” Aggi moved into place, shaking her head.
Standing on the sidelines, Katie smothered a smile behind her hand. Butterfly had been their first professional choreographer. She still critiqued every performance.
“Cue music.” Butterfly jabbed her finger at the sound booth.
Hard drums pounded in a syncopated rhythm. This song was a fan favorite from Aggi’s second album, and had become a staple on her concert tours. Despite the success, Katie still felt it was missing something. Maybe if I added a second guitar?
Butterfly interrupted her pondering. “Ready for some defense practice?”
“Absolutely.”
“The most attack common scenario is a grab from behind. So what can you do?” Butterfly moved behind Katie, and grabbed her shoulders.
“Drop into a crouch, poke to the inner thigh, and roll away.” Katie demonstrated, though she only lightly tapped Butterfly rather than striking the nerve point.
Hands gripped her shoulders again. “Good. What else?”
“Throw myself backward and to the side—”
Razel’s hard voice interrupted, “This doesn’t look like choreography.”
Katie lifted her head to stare directly into a camera lens. Dressed in a neat suit and designer shoes, Razel’s polish and arrogant stance made her acutely aware of her sweat-stained T-shirt, disheveled hair, and faded leggings. Not wanting to allow her discomfort to be captured on film, she made herself smile graciously. “We weren’t expecting you so quickly.”
“That’s why I’m here.” Razel’s answering smile was perfectly poisonous. “For my exclusive access.”
Aggi came closer. “Access doesn’t usually include my private rehearsals.”
“But you don’t seem to be rehearsing.” Razel’s finger circled. She aimed the lens squarely at Katie to capture every flinch and stutter.
Razel continued, “Tell me, is this self-defense training in response to a particular threat, or is it something you regularly feel the need to do?”
The insinuation of paranoia stiffened Katie’s spine. “All women should know how to defend themselves. It’s a way to push back against imposed fear.”
“I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, Aggi’s brand is all about quick-fix self-empowerment.” Razel fluttered her hand in an eloquent gesture of dismissal. “Of course, most of her fans don’t have bodyguards to protect them from the consequences of their choices.”
The sudden onslaught was baffling. Razel’s choice to be antagonistic within the first few minutes didn’t bode well for the relationship. I should have done more research. She’d made an assumption based on her admiration of the woman’s work and now they were stuck with her. Katie wiped at her forehead. Only one option remained, brazen through.
Aggi lifted her head regally, matching the reporter’s contempt. “We can discuss this at another time. Our trainer has a tight schedule. We shouldn’t delay her.”
“That’s right.” Butterfly’s crossed arms and angry glare made her opinion obvious. “And I don’t allow cameras in private rehearsal. Turn it off.”
“Of course. I’m so sorry to have interrupted.” The taut curve of Razel’s lips made it clear she wasn’t sorry at all. The red light above the camera winked out.
“May we speak privately?” Katie asked quietly, moving offstage.
Razel sauntered after her.
Katie’s jaw twitched with the effort of maintaining a calm exterior. “I’m not sure what conditions you’re used to, but we’re not interested in participating in ambush journalism. You were invited as a courtesy—”
“I was invited because you need good press to offset Trevor’s accusations,” Razel said bluntly.
Don’t look at Aggi. Razel would be hoping to provoke a reaction. Katie held the woman’s gaze.
Razel smirked. “You’re wondering if you can get rid of me without making the situation worse. And the answer is, you can’t. I’ve already announced that I’m here. If I have to leave, speculation will run wild. So, you and Aggi are going to answer my questions, and let me film all of the gritty details. If not, I’m going to make Trevor’s accusations seem like the tip of the iceberg.”
This was worse than expected, but Katie had been raised in front of the press. “We don’t have anything to hide.”
“How refreshing.” Razel’s arrogant smile widened. “I’m sure the law enforcement agents waiting at your hotel will be relieved. Well, dear, don’t worry about us. I’ll see you later at the scheduled interview.”
Katie watched the woman walk away, passing Aggi’s security team. Razel’s ability to walk into the private rehearsal didn’t give Katie an encouraging feeling about the new security measures. I’ll have to talk to them later. She bent to grab her phone, already planning the calls to mitigate this disaster. A text message waited from Colleen, their press liaison. An FBI agent and two investigators from Special Investigations are at the hotel.
Trusting Colleen to manage, Katie called the company’s lawyer. “Patrick, can you tell me what’s going on?”
“I was about to call you.” Patrick’s rich bass voice instantly soothed her building uncertainty.
“Is this some kind of public lewdness-slash-morality crackdown? Because if it is, this is bad timing. The reporter I called is out for blood.” Katie’s brain clicked through contingency plans. “Or is this about the package? Did they make an arrest?”
“What do you mean?” Patrick asked.
“You weren’t calling about the FBI agents at the hotel?” Kati
e’s heart sank.
“I haven’t heard anything about the FBI or threats to public decency.” Patrick coughed once. “I was actually calling about Bernice. Is Agatha with you?”
“Yes. Should I get her?”
Her sister had returned to practice with Butterfly. Patrick’s calls about Aggi’s mom were never good news.
“I’ll speak to her after I’ve told you. There’s no easy way to say this. Bernice tried to withdraw forty thousand dollars from Aggi’s business accounts this morning.”
Oh no. Katie’s mouth dried. “Do you think she’s using again?”
“She’s refusing to take a drug test. And the bank manager described her behavior as erratic,” Patrick answered. “Now why the questions about public decency?”
Katie told him about the package, Razel, and the waiting officers.
“Do you need me to fly out? I don’t want you facing all of this alone.”
The offer touched Katie. Even before her father died, Patrick had offered parental support wherever possible to her and Aggi. He’d represented them in court, and protected Aggi’s investments from Bernice’s money-making schemes. All of it done with quiet dignity and grace. She couldn’t do her job without him.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ve got this. I’ll keep you posted.” She hung up.
I’ve got this. Repeating the thought to bolster her courage, Katie took a deep breath, and hurried to get changed. She didn’t want to speak to federal agents in workout gear. Whether their visit was for the package, Bernice’s antics, the concert, or some new crisis she didn’t know about yet, she intended to face it with every advantage she could muster.
Chapter 4
“How much longer will she be?” Orlund’s hard-soled shoes clacked against the granite tile. Every hard tap brought Ben new doubts about working with this particular FBI agent. This case had crossed a line, and become personal for the man. I don’t have a problem with dedication, but without a semblance of professionality, we won’t catch this unsub.
“Ms. Ballard will arrive shortly.” Colleen Graham’s smile narrowed. The press liaison for High Notes Music had met them in the hotel lobby. “I’m sure you can understand the tremendous demands on her time with the tour.”
More important than saving her life? Or has she not realized what’s at stake? Ben ground the toe of his shoe against the floor. Civilians assumed bad things couldn’t happen to them. If they would pay more attention to the world, there would be fewer tragedies.
The hotel doors slid open to reveal a young woman. Ben didn’t immediately recognize Katherine Ballard from her photo. The loose T-shirt and leggings were gone, instead she wore a fitted suit jacket outlining her spectacular figure, and long, lean trousers showcasing legs which took at least a week to reach the ground. Her rich red-brown hair was knotted into a bun, and her stern expression hardened her features. The windblown waif was gone. Ben could easily believe this woman ran an entertainment empire.
“Ah, Katie,” Colleen said gratefully. “These gentlemen are from Special Investigations, and this is Special Agent Tarek Orlund from the FBI.”
Katie nodded a greeting. “Let’s go someplace private to speak. Colleen, is there a conference room available?”
“Already taken care of.” Colleen handed over a keycard embossed with the hotel’s logo. “Room 2-B.”
“Follow me.” Katie led them up the wide branching staircase to the hotel’s second floor.
To Ben’s surprise, Orlund didn’t make a comment about her assertiveness. Instead the agent wore a sour but thoughtful expression as he studied her. The sight left Ben unsettled, and fighting an inexplicable protective impulse.
Don’t get emotional. Personal involvement didn’t solve cases or increase accurate analysis. Sentiment distorted perception, and overlooked evidence. If Peter had paid attention instead of acting the hero—Ben cut off the train of thought before it traveled into painful territory. His hand gripped the worn leather of the jacket which had once been his brother’s.
Katie opened the door to a small hotel conference room, typically anonymous with pale yellow walls and a few generic art prints. Black stretchy fabric concealed the tables, but the chairs were high end wood and upholstery. She took a seat, and gestured for them to join her. “What brings you gentlemen here today?”
“Your unexpected delivery yesterday.” Ray claimed an end seat.
Her shoulders dropped, revealing relief. What else did she think we were here for? Ben sat where he could observe her unnoticed.
“Before the package arrived, did you see anyone around your dressing room?” Orlund’s question held undertones of suspicion more suited to an interrogation than talking to a criminal’s target.
Katie seemed unfazed by his aggression. “No. We reviewed the surveillance footage. There were no unidentified personnel. No sign of anyone carrying a package. Copies of the recordings were sent to the Tucson police. I would be happy to provide copies to you as well.”
No sign on surveillance. If the unsub is an occulata, he could manipulate electromagnetic signals, making it impossible to record him on film. From Ray’s slow nod, his partner was thinking along similar lines. Ben would send a copy to Investigator Adler and her computer genius partner, Lucy, for analysis. Lucy would be able to detect any tampering, including esoteric interference.
“Have you received more letters, ones you haven’t shared with the police?” Orlund asked.
“High Notes Music receives hundreds of communications daily, and Aggi’s personal social media gets thousands of interactions. All of it is logged and archived.” Katie’s cool reply suggested plenty of self-confidence. A woman familiar with being in control. “We searched for further messages from Walter and the addresses he used, but didn’t find anything. Again, we would be happy to provide those records to you. Now, I would like to know why federal agents are speaking to me about a fan with boundary issues?”
Orlund rested his fists on the table. “This is more than a stalker—”
“With respect, Special Agent Orlund, your presence makes that clear.” Katie fixed her clear green eyes on Ben. “Why is Special Investigations involved?”
“We’re here to assist the FBI,” Ben said quietly. He couldn’t guess why Orlund would insist on playing his cards close to the vest, but professional courtesy required Ben and Ray to follow his lead. Even if it seemed like a counter-productive way to manage an investigation.
Real interest sparked behind her professional mask. “So you have special abilities to help apprehend Walter more easily?”
Ben coughed to give himself a moment before answering. Plenty of people assumed those in Special Investigations must be occulata themselves. It normally irritated him. This time he wished he could do something to keep the gleam of admiration in her eyes.
“I’m afraid our only superpowers are our sparkling wit and brilliant skills.” Ray’s flirtatious reply came with a wink. “It should be enough to let us start wearing capes to work, but management insists on staying with the more conservative suit and tie option.”
When she laughed at his partner’s quip, Ben found himself caught between jealousy and admiration. Laughter transformed her from beautiful to transcendently gorgeous. He wished he could have been the one to inspire it. The mental struggle added gruffness to his reply. “We’re investigating the possibility that the man who left you the box is an occulata hominem.”
Her smile disappeared. Ben hated being the one to make it go. Her gaze fastened on him as if she could see deep into the darkness of his soul. After a long pause, she spoke, “There’s more to this than a few notes and a dress, isn’t there?”
“We think this man has targeted other women besides yourself. However, you don’t fit the typical profile of his victims.” Orlund drummed his fingers. “He usually contacts women trying to break in
to acting or modeling. You aren’t exactly struggling.”
Katie’s chin lifted, suggesting she wasn’t as calm as she appeared. “I’m not naïve enough to be taken in by someone wanting to exploit my career.”
Ben shifted in his chair, irritated at Orlund’s approach. Ray held a finger over his twitching lips, a warning sign of losing patience.
A knock on the door interrupted the tension. An older woman with short blond hair and a tablet entered. “Sorry to interrupt, Miss Ballard.”
“That’s fine, Sonya. Excuse me, gentlemen.”
“We’ve got an M&M issue,” Sonya said grimly. “I need to inspect all of the stage arrangements, but I can’t guarantee everything will be checked before the start time.”
Katie’s lower lip briefly disappeared between her teeth. “Give me an update in two hours. If we still have doubts about safety, we’ll invoke the cancellation clause.”
“Got it.” Sonya closed the door behind her.
Orlund barely waited for the lock to click. “It seems you’re not taking this very seriously.”
“Sonya Petrova is our production manager. She coordinates our crew and the local venue crews,” Katie explained, her voice thin from anger.
“Maybe you could tell us what an M&M issue means?” Ray asked.
The FBI agent scowled at the interruption, but Ben exhaled in relief. His partner was trying to set Katie at ease by appealing to her as an expert. A more mature option than Ben’s impulse to punch the FBI agent.
Katie took a deep breath. “It started with Van Halen, back in the eighties. Their contract demanded a number of snacks backstage, including a bowl of M&Ms with all of the brown ones removed. If there were brown M&Ms, Van Halen reserved the right to cancel the concert at the venue’s expense. For years, people made fun of them. They mocked the rock star divas and their weird requests.”
Deadly Potential Page 3