Racing Through Darkness Page 11

  “Funny hearing from you again,” Mercer drawled.

  “Why the hell didn’t we do more at the warehouse?”

  “No visual on the cargo,” he said matter-of-factly. “I was authorized to make a move only if recovery was feasible.”

  “Fuck you.”

  “Good evening, Agent Parker.” He hung up. Dammit, this was how a proper negotiator dealt with a hard to handle situation. I called back and waited for Mercer to answer.

  “Point taken. Have you been in contact with any of the Seasons?”

  “Not your concern.” My free hand opened and closed into a clenched fist.

  “The Cales don’t have the funds to pay, but we’re supposed to make a trade in the morning. Professionally speaking, what would you do?”

  “Interesting.” In the background, I could hear Mercer calling to Bastian and the sound of markers squeaking against a whiteboard. My guess, Mercer was making a drop in the morning too. “Renegotiate. If that fails, follow the bloody bastards until they lead to something concrete. Don’t you have official negotiators to confer with?”

  Ignoring his question, I asked the only thing which might provide an answer, “Are you going in hot?”

  “Too soon to tell.” He disconnected.

  Kicking a stray rock as hard as possible, I took a deep breath. Whatever Mercer and his team of ex-SAS mercenaries were planning, I wasn’t privy to. Their operation was separate from mine, but I might need their help. My attempt at negotiating was pitiful.

  “Parker,” Palmer called from inside, “we need to talk.”

  Inside the house, the FBI was narrowing the location from the call. Optimistically, Winter remained on the phone long enough to allow for triangulation, and an extraction team could go in, procure Catherine, and take down the kidnappers. Unfortunately, all roads led to nowhere. The technicians were stumped as to how the signal continuously bounced from tower to tower. The final conclusion reached was the kidnappers must be using an encrypted SAT phone.

  “Mr. Cale,” Palmer spoke deliberately, “I would like to position a team here.” He pointed to a spot on the aerial image of the wharf. “It would be helpful to have this exit and this exit monitored. In the event the kidnappers do not bring Catherine to the exchange, we shall follow them and ascertain her location.”

  “What if they see you?” Evelyn asked.

  “They won’t,” Palmer tried to sound reassuring, but Peter hedged.

  “I don’t think we should take any additional risks,” he said.

  “Sir,” it was about time I added my two cents, “it’s the best chance we have to get Catherine back, unless you have some hidden accounts with the full two million dollars.”

  “We don’t have that kind of money,” Peter screeched, and no one said a word as he and Evelyn exchanged a few meaningful glances. “Send your agents, but don’t screw this up.”

  A couple hours later, Palmer and I were at FBI HQ with a tactical unit. He reviewed the plan and made sure the UCs knew where to stand and how to appear inconspicuous. The tactical team was leaving now to station themselves on the roof of a nearby building. Hopefully, the snipers were excellent shots. Since the exchange was to occur at a pier, there weren’t many vantage points, and while the road could be covered, if the kidnappers traveled by boat, our chances to stop them were slim, just like the ground cover.

  “We’re pushing too hard,” I sighed. The room had grown silent as logistics were worked out, and at the sound of my words, every face turned to me. “Peter and Evelyn don’t want us to do this.”

  “It needs to be done,” Palmer insisted. “You used to be on the job. You know how this goes.”

  “I’ve never done this job.” My tone was heated. “O’Connell was afraid of this. God, what have I caused?” The agents went back to business as Palmer stared wide-eyed.

  “I would say ‘there’s the door’ but the family requested you. So we’re all stuck following your lead.”

  “Fine. Do what you do best, and to paraphrase Peter, don’t fuck it up. I’ll be at the rendezvous point in plenty of time.” I left the office, dialing Thompson as I ran down the steps to avoid the elevator’s dead zone.

  After giving him every last detail, he let out a sigh. “Jablonsky gave us everything he had, but he’s been called away. Heathcliff and I have been sorting through Interpol records and databases. We’re waiting for the Polizei to fax over some files on a similar situation. We have a possible suspect, but without their files, it’s too soon to tell.”

  “Do you have a translator if everything comes over the wire in German?” I turned the key in the ignition and backed out of the garage, heading for the precinct.

  “Ja,” Thompson attempted to joke. “Are you on your way?”

  “Yes. See you in ten.”

  The day’s events and my words to Winter kept replaying through my mind as I made the short drive from HQ to the precinct. Parking out back, I rubbed my hands over my face and prayed the cops received something useful from Interpol and their due diligence. Palmer was a pro, and he’d been working negotiations for years, but until I sat in the conference room while he went over the plan, I didn’t understand O’Connell’s reticence. There was a reason he didn’t want the authorities involved. Too many risks. Too many guns. And statistically speaking, too low a percentage for a possible positive outcome.

  Before I opened the door to the major crimes unit, angry, frustrated words traveled to the stairwell. “Who the hell would think a fucking vegetable could be a viable suspect?” Heathcliff growled, throwing the folder across the room as paper scattered everywhere. I opened the door and glanced down at the pieces of the Polizei’s report, strewn across the floor.

  “Goddammit,” I swore.

  “Our solid lead attempted to blow his brains out. He’s been in a mental institution in Prague for the last two years.” Thompson was the only calm one among us. How he was calm, I didn’t know.

  Heathcliff fumed silently, pacing the bullpen and shoving every single chair under the desks, even if they were already pushed in. “We’re back to square one.” He took a seat and banged away at the keyboard. “Unless one of you can pull a miracle out of your ass, we won’t make the seven a.m. time crunch.”

  “Let’s regroup.” Thompson leaned back in his chair and considered our options. “They were in that warehouse. No one can be that meticulous. They must have left something behind. A print. A hair. A piece of paper or a friggin’ napkin from a fast food joint. Something.” He scooted the chair back and stood. “I’m going downstairs to forensics. Something’s gotta track. It has to.” Without waiting for any acknowledgement, he was out the door, leaving Heathcliff and I alone in the empty bullpen.

  Sitting down, I supplied a rundown of the FBI plan. He listened as he continued searching every criminal database known to man. When I was done, he shot a look in my direction.

  “Parker, when I implied this was on you, it’s not. This is on these sick motherfuckers who messed with the wrong cops. No matter what happens tomorrow, this is not your fault.” He witnessed firsthand what a guilty conscious and failed rescue attempt could lead to after his previous partner killed herself when an abduction case went south.

  “Derek,” I swallowed, “I threatened to kill him, Winter, the ringleader or whatever you want to call him. I lost my cool. He wants two million, and they don’t have it. He wouldn’t negotiate.”

  “So you did what you always do.” He chuckled. “It’s about damn time someone put these assholes in their place.”

  “What if,” my voice caught in my throat, and I blinked my insecurities away.

  “No reason to play the what if game now. If,” he met my eyes, “it happens, then I will help you bury them.”

  I nodded, unable to speak. The possibility was unimaginable which was mind-blowing in and of itself. I didn’t know Catherine. Until a few days ago, I didn’t know Evelyn or Peter, but it didn’t matter. The thought of that little girl in the picture not coming back w
as beyond my comprehension.

  Thompson spent the rest of the night downstairs, driving the forensic techs crazy. There were a few fibers, some partial prints, and a bag of garbage that contained a couple takeout containers. They were being tested for DNA, but that type of analysis took weeks to complete. The partial prints were being run through IAFIS, but so far, not a single hit had come through. Maybe they were too damaged, or the son-of-a-bitch was never fingerprinted before.

  “It’s time to go.” An FBI agent entered and handed me the two hundred thousand dollars that the Cales compiled during the course of the night. After signing the proper documentation, he left without a word. I looked at the clock on the wall. In an hour and a half, I might be confronting Winter and bringing Catherine home. “Whatever happens,” I searched Heathcliff’s face, “I’m not sure what else I should have done.”

  “You’ve done everything you can. The rest isn’t up to you.”

  I bit my lip and looked away. “Just remember that when O’Connell asks.”

  “Alexis,” he adopted a soothing tone, “call me when it’s over.”

  Driving to the pier, the sun had just emerged over the horizon, and it bathed everything in a harsh glare. Parking my car, I dialed Palmer and made sure all the teams were out of sight and in place. As I waited a few minutes, I noticed some people unloading cargo and a few fishermen heading toward the marina. This didn’t look like a place where a kidnapping exchange would occur.

  Inhaling, I reached for the briefcase and strolled to pier nineteen. The area was abandoned, except for some seagulls circling overhead. Continuing across the unsteady wooden planks, the slip was empty. No boats were docked nearby, and there was no foot traffic. At the end of the pier, the wooden boards were covered in a wet, sticky substance. Blood. The pool of blood stretched the width of the boards and ran down the sides. The water below was tinged red. Nailed to the dock was a piece of paper with my name.

  Unfolding the paper, I read: You were willing to pay a tenth of the ransom, so here’s a tenth of the girl.

  Eighteen

  “There’s no body,” Palmer pointed out. “You cannot jump to the conclusion she’s dead.”

  “Look at the blood,” I screamed. “All that blood.” I screwed my eyes shut. “No one survives that amount of blood loss. The body’s probably at the bottom of the ocean by now.”

  Sirens were approaching from the distance. The pier had been roped off, and the FBI and PD were sending in units to scour the area. No one had any idea when the blood was left. The tactical team on the roof didn’t notice anything suspicious or see anyone near the pier.

  “From the coagulation, I’d say it was still fresh when you got here. Maybe an hour before you arrived,” one of the blood specialists offered. “Looks to be about three and a half, maybe four, pints. Hard to say how much of it went into the drink.”

  “Parker,” Heathcliff said my name and grabbed my arm, spinning me away from the pool of red, “are you okay?”

  “She’s dead. She must be dead.”

  “We don’t know if it’s hers. We don’t even know if it’s human. It could be an elaborate joke or something,” he offered. “Go home. Go anywhere. Just get out of here. You don’t need to stay any longer. You’ve been staring at that for hours.”

  “Has anyone told Evelyn?” I asked, ignoring his suggestion. “What about O’Connell?”

  “Don’t you dare go near them. There’s no reason to freak anyone else out when we don’t know anything yet.”

  I let out an incredulous sound. “We know more than we want to.”

  “Get the hell out of here, Parker,” he ordered. “I’ll check on you later. Stay safe.”

  “Fine.” I performed a final three-sixty of the area and went to my car. Standing around wasn’t helping anyone. I couldn’t go home. I couldn’t go to the Cales or to O’Connell. The authorities were investigating everything they could think of, so I dialed Mercer as I maneuvered through the streets, searching for nonexistent leads. There was no answer and no option to leave a voicemail.

  I felt numb. My mind was fragmented in so many directions it was a wonder I managed to get to my office in one piece. Leaving my car in a parking space, rational thought didn’t hit until I was unlocking my office door. On autopilot, I checked the messages, discarded the junk mail, and stared at the walls. I needed to search for the bastards responsible. But right now, I couldn’t focus. I was hollow and tired from being up longer than I could recall. Locking up, I headed for home but somehow ended up at the MT building.

  “Miss Parker?” Jeffrey was stupefied by my appearance. “Is everything okay?” I didn’t acknowledge him; instead, I ended up knocking on Guillot’s door.

  “Alexis?” His expression read alarm.

  “Sorry, I must have my days confused and thought it was casual Friday.” I noticed my jeans, my gun still in its holster at my side, and my leather jacket barely concealing this fact. “I need to do something. I have to focus on work.” My eyes searched his face imploringly. “Anything. I don’t care what it is. I just need to do something.”

  He pressed his lips together in thought. What felt like a century later, he went to the filing cabinet, pulled out a dozen folders, and handed them to me. “We’re considering hiring a computer specialist to safeguard against electronic threats. Figure out the kinds of qualifications our applicant pool should have and send it over to HR.”

  “Yes, sir.” Turning on my heel, I went to my office in an attempt to drown myself in this new project. Anything to keep my mind off the blood. Off the broken promises. Off Catherine. Off my guilt and the role I played in all of it.

  A few hours later, there was nothing left to do. I even went so far as to break down the potential qualifications into required, recommended, and preferential. Everything was typed, rewritten, printed, modified, and retyped. After passing the report off to HR and a copy to Guillot, who looked surprised and still somewhat frightened, I sat behind my desk, staring at my cell phone. Someone would have called if they knew anything definitive. I should be tracking these motherfuckers at this very moment, but I knew I was compromised. Lack of sleep, lack of emotional detachment, and my one-sighted focus would hurt any real progress. It was too close.

  After sleeping on it, things would be better. I would gain perspective, insight, and calm. But right now, the possibility for sleep didn’t exist. I was frenzied. Frantic. Glancing down, I noticed my leg jittering up and down and my hand drumming against the desk. What time was it? It was a little after three, and sitting in this room a second longer would drive me out of my mind. I was halfway to the elevator when Martin came down the hallway.

  “Alex,” his tone came close to reducing me to a puddle on the floor, “my god.” He put an arm around my shoulders and ushered me into his office, changing the clear glass to opaque for privacy.

  “I can’t do this right now.” I pulled away from him. “I need something to do. I need to get out of my head. I didn’t come here to see you. I was working. Trying to work. Guillot had a project, but I finished it. Now there’s nothing left.” The pool of blood on the pier resurfaced. “Nothing left,” I repeated quietly. I feared I might be insane. What about Nick, Evelyn, and Peter?

  Martin searched my face. He knew he was five steps behind, but he could let it go. “You need to burn off the nervous energy. Something to occupy your time for the immediate future,” he surmised.

  “Yes,” I pleaded. “Something that will keep my mind engaged.”

  He frowned and took a seat at his desk, rummaging through the top drawer. “This is such a bad idea,” he mumbled, pulling out a business card. “Francesca was here the other day, at the office not my house. She’s COO at Hover Designs. They’ve recently employed a management consulting team to review the company practices, and now they have a leak. She was hoping, since we’ve just streamlined our security protocols, that I’d have some helpful hints or a few names she could consider. I was going to ask Mark for suggestions, but if you wa
nt it, it’s yours.” I lunged for her business card.

  “I’m not sure, but if she’ll take a meeting now, at least it’s something to consider. It’ll give me something to do in the interim.” I was halfway to the door when Martin stopped me.

  “Don’t sellout all of my company secrets or our bedroom antics.” It was a joke, but I hesitated.

  “Martin, the other night, I’m sorry. I was angry with myself, and I lashed out at you. It wasn’t right. Are you sure it’s okay if I start bumbling around in your past?” This was uncharacteristic, especially under the circumstances, but I felt I needed to rectify every negative situation I created, even this one. Karma might be a bitch, but I needed her on my side.

  “Hopefully, it’ll be business and not pleasure you discuss,” he offered a grin, “but, at this moment, I’ll do anything to get that morose look off your face.” He hesitated, and in the silence, I knew he understood what led to my erratic behavior. “Give Francesca a call. It’s late enough to assume she’s finished with her meetings today.”

  “Thank you.” Before I made it to the lobby, I dialed her number, and she gave me her room number. Anything to avoid reality for a while longer.

  * * *

  The meeting with Martin’s ex-fiancée was brief. We both managed to remain professional and courteous. Francesca provided a preliminary breakdown of the situation, a few names to consider, and the management consultant team they hired. Her hope was the leak was from the outsiders and not from someone on the inside. At least I had the sense to apologize for my rude behavior the other night. Graciously, she accepted my apology and held her tongue as far as asking what led to the outburst or my relationship with her no longer intended.

  An hour later, I found my equilibrium and was no longer in attack mode. Stepping foot inside my apartment, I locked the doors, took off my shoulder holster, and went to bed. Fighting away the initial waves of indelible images of the bloody pier and the conversation I had the night before with Winter, I managed to have a few hours of dreamless sleep.