by Sandra Brown
“To meet you.”
“What car did they leave in?”
“Must’ve been Lewis’s. He was driving.”
“Did you happen to get a license plate number?”
“No, sir, b-but why would we?”
Menundez stepped forward. “Signals got mixed is all.”
Rudkowski’s blood pressure spiked. “After everything I told you on the drive here about this trio, you think mixed signals is the reason Mallory and Lewis have also flown the coop?”
Locke came to his younger partner’s defense. “They may have heard from Easton and had to leave in a hurry. Before we jump to conclusions, why don’t you call them?”
Rudkowski snapped his fingers. “Good idea. Why don’t you?”
Locke bobbed his head at Menundez. As the younger detective moved away to follow the directive, he shot Rudkowski a look of contempt, which Rudkowski ignored. “You two,” he said to the uniformed officers, “get back to what you were doing, which was precious little.”
“Do you want us to call our department or the FBI, get more officers—”
“No,” Rudkowski said. “For the time being, I want to keep this under wraps.”
He didn’t want to appear more of a buffoon than he already did. He’d jumped the chain and placed a call to the SAC of the field office in Columbia, asking him to call him back on a matter of some urgency. He didn’t know whether to look forward to speaking with him and alerting him to Easton’s latest chicanery or to fear the flak he himself would catch for being outwitted again.
Left alone now with Locke, he said, “Show me around.”
“We don’t have a warrant yet.”
“We have a material witness who has skipped out to avoid being questioned.”
“That hasn’t been ascertained.”
“She ran off dressed in pajamas. Wouldn’t you say that indicates flight?”
“Or coercion,” Locke said.
“Which Easton is more than capable of, and, ethically, he’s not above it. But there were four other men on this property. If he was forcing her, why didn’t she scream bloody murder? There’s no sign of a tussle. No, detective, she left of her own volition. Now show me around.”
They went upstairs. From the master bedroom window, Locke pointed out the garage apartment. “There’s a window behind that oak. Easton had a good vantage point. He could surveil them without being seen.”
Rudkowski snorted. “If you call window-peeping and illegal bugging surveillance.”
Locke turned tight-jawed but didn’t comment.
They walked through the rooms on both floors, finding nothing of particular interest. They concluded the tour in a small room behind the main staircase. “Mrs. Ford’s study,” Locke explained. “When she came to the door for us last night, she left her shoes in here. I came to get them for her.”
“Do you extend that kind of courtesy to every murder suspect?”
“We didn’t know then that it was a murder. She wasn’t a suspect.”
“Well, it was, and now she is.”
Menundez joined them. “I called the numbers I have for Mallory and Lewis. They go to voice mail.”
“Um-huh. You still think signals got mixed?” Rudkowski huffed a sardonic laugh. “Apparently you haven’t absorbed what I’ve told you. Easton is Peter Pan. Lewis and Mallory are the lost boys. They weren’t always. They were good agents. Lewis has always been a nerd, but Mallory actually did field work before he turned to blubber.
“Then the two started working with Easton. He recruited them with flattery, told them he needed men with their individual and unique skills. He’s corrupted them. They have no families, no social life, no nothing. Their world revolves around him. They would walk through fire for him. They have.”
“Because they believe in what he’s doing,” Menundez said. “It seemed to me that they’re every bit as committed as Easton.”
The young detective’s admiration of the three inflamed Rudkowski. “Committed to breaking rules, yes.”
“Sir, regardless of their methods, the perp is real. They’ve gleaned a lot of—”
“Save it, Menundez,” Rudkowski snapped. “For years Easton’s been piecing together a scenario and molding it to fit an imaginary bogeyman.” He spread his arms at his sides. “He doesn’t even have the bodies to prove the women are dead.”
In contrast to his shout, Locke’s voice was low. “The Harris woman in Key West is dead. You can’t deny the parallels between her case and Elaine Conner.”
“That photo, right? With the fuzzy-haired guy in the background? And in the foreground—as has recently been brought to my attention—Talia Shafer Ford. We can’t confirm that the man in the picture is Jasper, but we can sure as hell tell it’s her. Two friends of hers, both rich, both dead.
“I’m not saying that the Marian Harris case and this one aren’t connected. I’m saying these two aren’t connected to any of Easton’s others. What’s the common denominator here, fellas?” He snapped his fingers several times as though to hurry them to provide an answer.
“Talia Shafer. Maybe her old man drowned after killing the Conner woman. Maybe a shark got him. Or maybe he escaped and left her holding the bag. However it happened, she was in on it.”
“I’m not convinced of that, Agent Rudkowski,” Locke said.
“Well, if we get a search warrant for this house, maybe we’ll dig up something that will convince you. Twist that judge’s arm. Send those rookies outside home. They’re useless. Easton is long gone.”
“His car is still here.”
“He’s long gone,” he repeated. “Even after everything I’ve told you, it still hasn’t sunk in, has it? You’ve never come up against somebody like him, and, in your career, you probably never will again.”
He divided a look between them, but ended on Menundez. “Keep in mind that his preoccupation is psychopaths.” He stabbed his temple with the tip of his index finger. “He thinks like they do. He’s cunning, unprincipled, egotistical, and relentless.”
He let that hover, then said, “Find him, you’ll find your suspect. You’ll have all the help you need from the bureau. I look forward to reading Easton’s eloquent resignation letter to the SAC in Columbia. He’ll be pleased. Easton has built a reputation for himself through the rank and file. He’s been a blight on the FBI for more than a decade.”
He moved to the doorway. “Call the judge back and tell him we need that warrant. While we’re waiting on it, we can grab some lunch.” He turned to go, then stopped and came back around. “Does Mrs. Ford look like her picture? Young? Fair of face and form?”
The two detectives consulted each other with an exchanged look, then Locke spoke for both of them. “You could say.”
Rudkowski snuffled. “Easton’s got the devil’s own luck with pussy.”
Drex sensed that Talia was about to utter a sound of protest over Rudkowski’s vulgarity. He stopped it by placing his finger lengthwise over her lips. Even the slightest sound, an intake of breath, could have given away their hiding place.
Chapter 27
It had been agony to remain perfectly still and silent for the duration of Rudkowski’s conversation with the pair of detectives, especially when listening to the harsh things he’d said about Gif and Mike.
Drex was glad to hear his stamping footsteps moving out of the study and down the hall. As soon as he was out of earshot, Menundez said something under his breath in Spanish. Locke asked him for a translation. What he’d said was unflattering to Rudkowski and his ancestry, but less of an insult than the jerk deserved.
The two detectives remained in the study while Locke called the judge, who must have been unavailable. The detective said, “Tell him there’s been a development. Ask him to call me back. Thank you.”
After a pause, Menundez asked, “Where do you think they went?”
“You’ll have to be more specific.”
“Mallory and Lewis.”
“On a mission for
Easton.”
“That’s what I think, too. What about him and her?”
Locke said, “Maybe she tried to escape, and he had to chase after her.”
“Is that what you really think?”
“Hell, no.”
“Easton’s got balls. Gotta give him that. Would you have the nerve to pull something like he’s doing?”
“No.”
“I admire the guy.”
“Don’t let Rudkowski overhear that.”
“What an asshole. Even after what we now know about Easton and his team, I would choose them over that guy to lead the charge or cover my back.”
“Easton called him a blowhard. That description doesn’t come close.”
“How’d he make it into the FBI and manage to stay on?”
“Must’ve been a nephew,” Locke said. “I’ll get the search warrant for him, but, between you and me, I think it’s a waste of time.”
“How’s that?”
“If Jasper Ford is Easton’s guy, and he’s as canny as Easton says, he wouldn’t have left anything incriminating behind. He never has before.”
“Maybe he did, and the investigators missed it.”
“But Easton wouldn’t have.” Following Menundez’s unintelligible agreement, Locke said, “We’d better rejoin Rudkowski.”
“Do we really have to eat with the guy?”
“We’re his ride.”
Menundez continued to mouth about it. Their voices faded as they left the room.
Tension ebbed out of Talia. “Close one,” Drex whispered.
“I’m not cut out for adventures like this.”
“Me neither. I’m too tall. I’m getting a crick in my neck.” He’d had to keep his head lowered in order to fit beneath the ceiling.
“How’s the bump?”
“I’ll live.” He’d banged his head as they’d squeezed into the small space. “You could have warned me about the low ceiling.”
“There wasn’t time.”
“Sure there was. We had maybe a second and a half to spare.”
Inside the enclosure, it was pitch black dark. He couldn’t see her, but he felt the silent laugh that caused her breasts to shift against his chest, then resettle in the hollow between his ribs. They were soft, unbound, and enduring this forced alignment with them had been both agony and bliss.
Except for pressing his finger against Talia’s lips, he hadn’t dared to move. He estimated that two hours had elapsed since her offer of unconditional help had launched him into action. Through the back porch screen he’d seen his partners marching up the stairs to the apartment, the two young patrolmen trailing them.
“I’ve got to get you out of here,” he’d told her. “Now. Before they come back. They’ll try to stop me, and they would be right to.”
He’d gnawed on the problem as he watched the quartet disappear into the apartment. How could he and Talia leave, either from the back or front of the house, without being seen? Taking any of the cars would result in a chase.
Then he’d remembered something from the floor plan he’d studied before breaking in the first time. “There’s a sizeable unlabeled space beneath the stairs,” he said to Talia. “Storage closet?”
“Safe room.”
“Where’s it accessed?”
“My study.”
“Who knows about it?”
“Jasper and me.”
“Well, unless he’s in it, that’s where we’re going, and we’ve gotta be quick.”
They had rifled a kitchen utility drawer to find a pen, some notepaper, and an envelope. After seeing why he’d requested them, Talia had exclaimed, “You can’t resign!”
“We’ll discuss it later.” He’d hastily assembled the items on the dining table, then hustled her down the hallway and into her study, where he’d drawn up short. “Where is it?”
She stood her ground. “Drex, you can’t throw away your career.”
“I’m not. I’m fulfilling it. How do we get into the safe room?”
Through the window, he’d seen that Mike and Gif had parted company with the officers and were making their way across the expansive lawn toward the house. “Talia? It’s gotta be now.”
She’d hesitated, searching his eyes, then went over to a built-in bookcase and reached between two books. With a metallic click, a section of shelving had popped out a few inches. Drex had propelled her toward it. “Is it ventilated?”
“Yes.”
“Get in.” He’d taken one last glance out the window. His partners were approaching the porch.
Talia had slipped into the space. He crowded in behind her. “How do I shut us in?”
She’d turned to face him, reached around him, and pulled the door closed with a handle that had been digging into his right kidney ever since. Both being breathless by then, he’d asked in a whisper if she was all right.
“A little claustrophobic.”
“Close your eyes.”
“I’m thinking about Marian.”
He’d put his lips to her ear. “Don’t. Just close your eyes. Breathe.”
They’d said no more after that because footsteps were heard thudding upstairs and others approaching the room from the hallway. Judging by the heavy tread, it had been Mike who’d come looking for them in the study. They’d held their breath until they heard him head back down the hallway toward the front of the house, where he and Gif had discovered the items left on the dining table.
Drex still felt a twinge of conscience for hoodwinking them, but they could never be held accountable for something they didn’t know about. He would beg their forgiveness later.
He and Talia had remained sealed in darkness. He, too, had spent some of that time dwelling on Marian Harris’s final minutes. Hours? Who knew how long she had struggled to free herself, to survive.
That was justification enough for what he was doing. It was rash, unadvisable, and irreversible. No apology or rationale would be adequate to pacify either the FBI or the local authorities. But he was prepared to live with the consequences of his action. Whether or not he was wrong about the others, Marian Harris was dead, and now Elaine Conner. He would die before letting Talia be added to their number.
To call this a safe room was inaccurate. It was no larger than a telephone booth. They couldn’t change positions without risking making a sound. The slightest bump, thud, or scrape would carry through the walls and give them away. Because they couldn’t be sure who was inside the house at any given time, they’d had to remain perfectly still.
Time crawled. Sounds reached them, but they were indistinct and not always identifiable. Occasionally they’d caught a word or two spoken by someone in the front rooms, but then there would be stretches when their light breathing was the only sound.
During one of those silences, Talia had whispered, “How long do we have to stay?”
“Longer.”
She’d sighed but hadn’t complained.
At that point he hadn’t known whether or not his partners were still in the house or perhaps had returned to the garage apartment. They could have posted the two young cops to stand guard duty inside. He’d felt it prudent to stay put.
Then Rudkowski had made his grand entrance. Drex had sensed his arrival even before he could be heard chewing out the patrolmen for letting Mike and Gif leave. Learning that they had gotten clear before Rudkowski descended on them had made Drex smile.
Talia and he had tensed when Rudkowski and Locke came into the study. It had put additional strain on their already strained muscles, but Drex was glad he had gotten to hear the game plan.
Of course he’d wanted to rip out Rudkowski’s jugular with his teeth over the crude comment, not because it was an insult to him, but to Talia. It had made him feel better, knowing that Locke and Menundez had accurately sized him up. They hadn’t even wanted to share a meal with him.
After their footsteps had faded to nothingness, Talia whispered. “Have they gone?”
“Let’
s give them a few more minutes before chancing it.”
“Chance sneaking out?”
“Chance searching the house before they return with the warrant.”
“Oh. Then what?”
“Then we chance sneaking out.”
“Will we be able to?”
“That’s the hope. We’re not out of the woods yet.”
When she gave a small nod, her hair brushed against his cheek. He thought strands of it got caught in his scruff.
“I was afraid my stomach was going to growl,” she said.
“You should have eaten your doughnut.”
“It was a matter of principle not to touch it.”
“Because I’d given it to you?”
“Exactly.”
“Next time, you’ll know better than to let pride get in your way.”
“Next time.” With those words, she drooped, as though the prospect of what they still faced sapped her strength. “I’m scared, Drex.”
“Fear is healthy.”
“It’s draining. Exhausting. I’m so tired.”
“Lean against me.”
She did.
God, he was going to die. “Just a few more minutes, then you can stretch.”
“No, I meant I’m so tired of living the way I have been.”
“How’s that?”
She took time to choose her word. “Watchfully. For a while now, I’ve treaded very carefully around Jasper.”
He thought on that. “I want to hear about it. Everything. Later. When we’re out of here. All right?”
Again she nodded. Again he thought strands of her hair were caught in his whiskers, and the thought of that alone, in addition to their proximity, sent heat rushing to his center.
He tried to stay focused. “Say it out loud. ‘All right.’”
“All right. I’ll explain later. For now, I’ll just say thank you.”
“What did I do? Other than cram you into a closet.”
“You forced me to acknowledge what I had intuited about Jasper but refused to accept. I feel unburdened, liberated from my own denial, by your browbeating. I realize you were only doing your job, but you have my gratitude anyway.”