In Harm's Way (Heroes of Quantico Series, Book 3) (27 page)

As her ex-husband's co-worker strode across the strip-mall
parking lot toward her, Debra tried to curb her escalating panic.
She had a story prepared for such an emergency. Stay calm. Act
normal. Get rid of him as fast as you can.

"Hello, Warren'

"I thought it was you. I didn't know you were in St. Louis:"

"I moved here a few months ago. After the divorce'

"Yeah" He shoved his hands into the pockets of his oversized
coat. "I was sorry to hear about the split:"

"It happens" She managed to keep her tone neutral while
fighting down the urge to scream, "Go away. Leave me alone!"

"So how've you been?"

Small talk. The man wanted to make small talk when all she
wanted him to do was disappear. She'd never liked Warren. He
was such a nerd. No social skills-or fashion sense. Today he
wore gold corduroy pants that were too short, scuffed hiking
boots, and a putrid green coat missing a button. But a lot of
her ex-husband's fellow academicians were like that. Typical absentminded-professor types. At least Allen had managed to
find matching socks each morning.

"I'm fine, Warren. What are you doing here?"

"Attending a chemistry conference"

"Is Allen here?" Her panic surged again.

"No. I came by myself. I could have driven back tonight,
but I thought I'd wander around, take in the sights. After I got
lost three times, though, I decided a movie was safer" With
a sheepish smile, he gestured toward the cinema across the
mall parking lot. "Never did have a sense of direction. Anyway,
I'll be heading home in the morning. I've got an easy Friday
this semester. Just one class in the afternoon, and I'll be back
in plenty of time for that. I'm always up with the chickens,
anyway."

Debra jingled her keys. Of all days to decide to stop for Chinese on the way home. Warren had cornered her once at a faculty
Christmas party and talked her arm off until she'd ditched him.
He seemed poised to do the same tonight. Too bad he wasn't
more like Allen. Her ex-husband's introverted quietness might
have bothered some wives, but it had never been a problem for
her. She hadn't married him for conversation.

She turned up the collar of her coat and affected a shiver.
"I've got to get in out of the cold:"

"It is pretty chilly here" He didn't move.

So much for dropping subtle hints. Turning, Debra opened
her door and started to slide behind the wheel.

"Cute baby."

She jerked upright again. Warren was smiling at the infant
in the backseat, doing the kind of idiotic facial gyrations adults
always inflicted on babies. Or perhaps they were an indication
of his real personality. Debra aimed a dark frown at him as she
fought off the urge to push him away from the car and burn
rubber getting away.

"I'm watching her for a friend. Good-bye, Warren." Congratulating herself on her calm tone despite the churning in
her stomach, Debra slid into the driver's seat and shut the
door.

Warren didn't move away until she started the engine, put
the car in gear, and began to back out of the parking spot.

He was still waving, a stupid grin plastered on his face, as
she drove off.

Watching him recede in her rearview mirror, Debra tried
not to let fear muddle her brain. She had to think rationally,
like she did on the job.

Don't letpanicconfuseyou. Confusion could lead to mistakes.
And mistakes could destroy your dream.

She repeated that over and over until a cheery gurgle from
the backseat drew her attention to the rearview mirror again.
Danielle was pumping her fists and bouncing in her car seat.
Such a happy little camper. At her antics, Debra's lips relaxed
into a smile, and contentment eased the tension in her shoulders. The little cherub was the light of her life. If that light ever
went away ...

Her trembling fingers tightened on the wheel. That wasn't
going to happen. She wouldn't let it happen. She was ready
to do whatever it took to keep her little girl with her. For
always.

As for Warren ... it had been dark in the parking lot, and the
backseat had been shadowed. He couldn't have gotten a clear
look at Danielle. And even if he had, it wouldn't matter. Her
hair had grown, and the brown hue was unremarkable. Not that
Warren was likely to notice, anyway. A guy who regularly forgot
where he parked, as he'd admitted to her once at a faculty party,
wouldn't be inclined to pay attention to details.

Still, Debra had no doubt he'd mention their meeting to
Allen. The man had a chronic case of flapping gums. But Allen would have little interest in details about his ex-wife. He'd
made it clear when they split that he wanted no further contact with her.

The feeling had been mutual.

There could be other threats down the road, however. Ones
more dangerous than Warren. She'd realized that after reading
the St. Louis Scene article last week, which hadn't amounted to
anything, either. But it had prompted her to action. She'd spent
Saturday playing with Danielle-and drawing up a contingency
plan. On Sunday, she'd scouted around the rural area within a
few-mile radius of her house and found the perfect place to
dispose of any ... problem. Earlier this week she'd purchased
the necessary equipment.

She didn't need to implement her plan for Warren. Running
into him had been more annoying than menacing.

But she was ready to deal with anyone who did become a
threat.

"You're in the news again"

Nick turned from the coffeemaker in the FBI lunch room to
find Ellen Levine in the doorway. His stomach clenched as she
waved the latest edition of St. Louis Scene at him.

"What are they up to now?"

"Top of page three:" She thumbed through, folded back the
tabloid, and handed it over. "Hot off the press. I picked it up
when I went out for lunch"

Taking the paper, Nick read the headline.

LOCAL PSYCHIC HAS LINK
TO O'NEIL KIDNAPPING CASE

The subhead was even more specific.

Doll found by Rachel Sutton
belonged to Megan O'Neil;
Kidnapped child's mother meets with Sutton and FBI

The tabloid had rerun the photo of Rachel it had used the
previous week, and picked up photos of Rebecca and Megan
O'Neil from AP and official press releases.

Nick's lips settled into a grim line. "That reporter must be
stalking Rachel again" The speculative item in the Tribune on
Wednesday about the discovery of the doll had been marginal
journalism, as far as he was concerned. But this was worse.

"I've already had a call from the Post. Also the local Fox affiliate. I expect I'll get more:"

Nick bit back a word that wasn't pretty. If the kidnapper was
still in town, the odds were decent she wouldn't be a St. Louis
Scene reader, given the paper's limited circulation. But if major
papers and TV stations began to pick up on this, the news would
spread. And if the kidnapper bought into the telepathic mumbo
jumbo, she wouldn't be too happy about a psychic sleuth on her
trail. Things could get dicey.

"What's the plan?" His question came out terse.

"I'm on my way to see Marty. Want to come along?"

"Yeah:" Nick set his untouched coffee on the counter. A lot
of SACs were political figureheads who spent their days attending meetings. Not Marty. In this kind of high-profile case, he'd
make the final call on press dealings-after conferring with the
Chicago office. But Nick had a vested interest in the decision
and he wanted in on the discussion.

Trailing Ellen down the hall, he speed-read the article. For the
most part it was a recap of the case, culled from previous stories
in other papers and press releases. Very little new information
had been added, other than the connection between Rebecca,
Rachel, and the doll. But that complicated things.

A lot.

At best, Ellen and her cohorts would find a way to make the
disclosure work to the FBI's advantage.

At worst, it could put an innocent woman in jeopardy.

And the latter possibility made his blood run cold.

Ten minutes later, after listening to Ellen's update, Marty
Holtzman pushed back from his orderly, uncluttered desk,
moved to the window, and stared through the glass. Nick knew
he'd been a top field agent in his heyday, and he remained lean
and wiry, still moving with the panther-like grace of a born
athlete. When he swung toward them, a beam of afternoon
sun silvered his short gray hair. "What's your recommendation,
Ellen?"

"We could hold our `no comment' position, but it might be to
our advantage to provide some additional information. I talked
with Shaun Watson, the media rep for the Chicago office, and
since the Tribune piece ran Wednesday, they've been getting
queries too'

Nick understood the rationale for Ellen's suggestion. The
strategic release of information to the media often resulted in
tips. Most were useless. But sometimes all it took was one good
lead to crack a case. The problem was, they had little new data
to share.

"What would we say?" Nick interjected. "We don't have any
news. Our questioning of Bread Company staff didn't turn up
anything helpful. All we have is a doll:"

"On the contrary," Ellen disagreed. "We have a great human
interest angle. Rebecca and Rachel are identical twins. They were
separated at birth, and the doll Rachel found belonged to her as
an infant. That's pretty powerful stuff. The media will love it"

"I doubt Rebecca and Rachel will:" Nick tapped a finger on the arm of his chair. "And that connection isn't relevant to the
case. It hasn't contributed anything to our investigation:"

"True, Ellen conceded. "But my main goal is to get the story
back in the headlines. Flush out some new leads:"

"It could also spook the kidnapper." Marty sat back in his chair
and folded his arms on his desk. "If Megan O'Neil is still alive
and we turn up the heat publicly, our kidnapper could decide
the baby is no longer worth the risk"

"But if this is positioned correctly, it could have the opposite
effect:" Nick mentally worked through an approach that would
reduce the risk to Megan-and Rachel. "Let's assume our kidnapper has heard about the psychic angle. If she's gullible, she may
have bought into it. We could use the press conference to shift
the focus from psychic abilities to twin telepathy-and make
it clear the latter doesn't extend to nieces. That should relieve
our kidnapper's mind on that score. And an implication that the
active investigation is waning should calm her down too. But it
wouldn't stop tips, which is what we're after"

"I agree." Marty looked at Ellen. "You okay with that approach?"

"It was more or less what Shaun and I had in mind"

"Okay. Let me run this by the SAC in Chicago and headquarters. Nick, get in touch with Rebecca O'Neil and Rachel Sutton.
Alert them to the Scene article and make sure we have contact
numbers for them 24/7 for the weekend. I'll call you both later."

As Marty picked up his phone, Nick stood, stepping aside to
let Ellen precede him into the hall.

"Considering the calls I've already had, you might want to
give the two sisters a heads-up ASAP," Ellen suggested.

"Any advice you want me to pass on?"

"Tell them to stick with `no comment' until we have a firm
game plan. Hopefully by end of day." With a wave, she headed
back to her office.

Returning to his cube, Nick checked his watch. Rachel was
still in class, so he left a message on her cell and rang Rebecca.
After briefing her on the latest news story, he relayed Ellen's
advice and promised to call as soon as they had a firm plan.

By the time that conversation ended, his message light was
blinking. Rachel, he assumed. After tapping in her number, he
wasn't surprised when she answered on the first ring.

"Nick? Is everything okay?"

The anxiety in her voice tugged at his gut. He hated to be the
bearer of bad news. But she'd find out about the article anyway,
and he'd rather she heard about it from him. "I wanted to warn
you that we've caught the attention of St. Louis Scene again."