Chapter Twenty
Dirk knocked on Meg's door that afternoon. He'd phoned earlier, told her he'd take her to FBI headquarters to do the composite sketch, and she had agreed. As he stood on her porch, he could hear her soft, feminine footfalls padding toward him across the carpet, and a memory arose of her long, pretty legs wrapped around him as he moved deep inside her.
His groin tightened and his pulse kicked up. Then she pulled open the door and smiled at him as if she hadn't seen him in weeks instead of just last night, and his chest clamped down.
Damn, she was beautiful.
She took a step back. “Come on in.”
He shoved his lust down deep, forced his emotions under control, and glanced toward the family room. “How's Charlie doing?”
“He seems fine. Which worries me a little. I've got an appointment next week with a child psychologist. She's supposed to be really good. I want her to see him, tell me what she thinks.”
“Sounds like a good idea. Give him a chance to open up about what happened.” He looked down at his heavy wristwatch. “We need to get going. The feds will be expecting us.”
“Rose is here. Charlie's down for his nap. I was hoping we'd have a few minutes to talk.”
“No time. We can talk in the car on the way.”
Her warm smile faded. She guessed he was stonewalling, which he was. They were over. There was nothing to talk about except the case, and they could do that on the road.
“All right, fine, let's go.” She grabbed her purse and snagged her sweater off the back of the sofa but didn't put it on.
They headed out to his Viper, parked in front of the house. Dirk settled Meg in the passenger seat, then rounded the hood and slid in behind the wheel. He cranked the engine, which roared to life and crooned its familiar purr.
As he pulled the powerful car out onto the street, his gaze cut to Meg, and he tried not to notice the way her loose turquoise blouse had slipped off one shoulder. It reminded him how soft her skin felt beneath his hands, how much she loved it when he cupped her breasts.
“Have you talked to the police?” she asked, dousing the hunger burning through him, thank Jesus.
He concentrated on the road. “Spoke to the FBI this morning. Agent Nolan says they haven't got much so far. They're waiting to see if the rental car security cams picked up any usable images. If they get something, they'll run it through facial recognition, see if anything turns up.”
“That sounds promising.”
“They're also waiting to hear from Interpol on a print they got off the boat the kidnapper abandoned across the lake. They're hoping it belongs to Moore.”
“Moore? He's the man who got away?”
“Thomas Moore. Like the poet. That's the name he was using.” He clicked on his blinker and changed lanes. “Unfortunately it's an alias.”
“Moore would have needed a fake ID and credit cards to rent a car,” Meg said. “He really had the kidnapping well planned out.”
“The guy was a pro. He won't be easy to find.”
“What about the other three men?”
“Clifford Sykes, deceased, was the tall, skinny guy. The one in the hospital is Michael âMickey' Degan. Both two-bit criminals. Nothing that links them to Moore. The big guy in the car was a merc.” He caught her uncertain glance. “Mercenary. Paramilitary. Last known location somewhere in South America. The feds are following up on that, hoping it'll lead to something.” The car moved easily through traffic, cutting around an old blue beater in the slow lane.
“Degan's still at Bellevue Medical?” Meg asked.
“That's right. I called to check on him this morning. He had surgery to repair the damage from the slug I planted in his chest. The feds'll be talking to him as soon as he's out of the ICU.” His jaw tightened. “So will I.”
“I want to be there.”
As he spotted his exit up ahead and pulled off on the ramp, Dirk flicked her a sideways glance. She'd been in it from the start. Part of him felt guilty for her close call with death. Another part was glad she'd been there. If she hadn't, there was a good chance her boy would be dead.
At least she wouldn't be in any danger this time.
“All right,” he said. “Nurse Ratched promised to call and let me know when he's awake.”
“Nurse Ratched?” Meg's throaty laughter slid right through him. He had really missed that laugh.
“She must be some nurse,” Meg said. “She's a friend of yours?”
He nodded. “I took a bullet a couple years back. Abigail Rathburn was my nurse. I called her Nurse Ratched. She was bulldog mean, but she had a heart of gold. She's helped me a few times since then.”
“I remember seeing the scar on your lower back. I thought it happened in the Rangers.”
He shook his head. “Street gang. I'd just gotten my PI's license. Guy hired me to help him get his son into rehab. Kid's buddies didn't like the idea. The good news was, seeing his friends shoot a man in the back straightened the kid's ass right up. Went home to his folks and been walking the straight and narrow ever since.”
Meg cast him a soft smile of approval. It shouldn't matter, but it did.
As the Viper rounded a corner, FBI headquarters appeared up ahead, a glass high-rise on 3rd Avenue in downtown Seattle. Dirk parked the car in an underground garage half a block away and they both got out of the vehicle.
At least she hadn't mentioned their
talk
again.
Dirk tried to convince himself he was glad.
* * *
Meg pulled her sweater on against the late January chill, Dirk slid into his leather jacket, and they started toward the entrance to the tall, cement-and-glass building that was FBI headquarters.
Stopping for a moment at the corner, Meg waited next to Dirk for one of Seattle's electrical trolleys to drive past, then they continued on to the glass front door.
Special Agent Ron Nolan had visitor badges waiting for them at the reception desk. As Meg pinned hers on, one of the security guards, a curvy little blonde, looked Dirk up and down, assessing his tall, broad-shouldered build and the sexy way he wore his black leather jacket, worn jeans, and work boots. Her hot look said she would like to eat him up, and Meg suffered a twinge of jealousy she had no right to feel.
Didn't matter. She sliced the girl a hands-off glance and the girl looked away.
Dirk didn't seem to notice as he clipped on his badge and they headed upstairs.
Agent Nolan was waiting when they stepped off the elevator. He was medium height, an average-looking man whose eyes reflected his intelligence and an intensity that said his job was important to him.
“Thanks for coming in,” he said. “I've got news. I would have saved you a trip, but the info just came in. Let's go into the conference room where we can talk.”
Agent Nolan led them down a busy hallway, past men in dark suits and women in modest skirts or slacks wearing comfortable shoes. They stepped into a room behind a glass wall and Meg sat next to Dirk at a long mahogany table.
Agent Nolan set up his laptop and opened the screen. “The fingerprint we got off the aluminum boat popped up on Interpol. It belongs to a guy named Raymond Neville. Forty years old, born in England. Both parents deceased. No siblings. Before they died, his folks spent every pound of their savings trying to get their son through medical school. Raymond decided there were a lot easier ways to make money than being a doctor, and the pay was a whole lot better.”
“Professional hit man?”
“In the beginning. He's branched out since then. Now they call him The Fixer. Someone wants something done, he's the go-to guy, the man who can make it happen. Neville's wanted in half a dozen countries in Europe and the Baltics. Rumor is for the past few months he's been working for someone in South America.”
“South America. Same as Mad Max Bremmer. Interesting.”
Nolan turned the computer around so they could see the screen. “That's the only known photo of The Fixer in the system.” A fuzzy image of a man with thick, brown hair and horn-rimmed glasses. There was nothing about him that made him stand out and nothing that looked familiar to Meg.
“The guy's a real chameleon,” Agent Nolan said. “According to Interpol, people have described him as bald with a big nose, an older man with thinning gray hair, and a young guy with a crew cut. And he's got a drawer full of identities to match his many appearances.”
“I gather there was nothing on the Hertz cams,” Dirk said.
“Nothing usable. He kept his head down. What little we could see matches the description you and Ms. O'Brien gave us.”
“So you don't need us to do a sketch,” Meg said.
“Not much point in it. Thomas Moore, or whatever name he's using now, won't look anything like the man you saw at the lake.”
“So someone hired The Fixer to help him set up a kidnapping that would have paid ten million dollars,” Dirk said. “Less, of course, what it cost to get the job done.”
“That's about it. It's rare that one of his schemes ever fails.”
Dirk glanced at Meg but spoke to Nolan. “You don't think The Fixer will go after the boy again?”
Nolan shook his head. “It took weeks, maybe months of planning to get to Charlie the first time. I don't see it happening again any time soon. But the guy has a reputation for accomplishing his mission, so there's no way to know exactly what he'll do. After a job, he usually just disappears.”
“I don't like it,” Dirk said.
“The man's no fool. No way he's going to make another attempt without being prepared.”
“Maybe not, but as you said, there's no way to know for sure.”
The door of the conference room opened and one of the agents leaned in. “Sorry to bother you, Ron, but there's a call you need to take. Shall I have it patched in?”
“I'll take it in my office. We're almost through here.”
The agent nodded, slipped back out into the hall, and closed the door with a soft click.
“Sorry, where were we?” Nolan asked.
Dirk went back to the conversation. “I was saying there's no way to know for sure what Neville will do, which is a roundabout way of saying the boy might need protection.”
Nolan shook his head. “No way the cops or the FBI is going to spring for security when there's nothing to indicate the child is in any kind of danger.”
Meg figured Agent Nolan was right. The police couldn't afford to protect everyone. Still, she didn't like the little thread of uncertainty that slipped down her spine.
“All right, I'll take care of it,” Dirk said. “Anything else you need from us?”
“If there is, we'll let you know.” The agent rose from his chair while Meg and Dirk rose from theirs. He walked out the door. “Keep me posted,” Dirk said.
“Same goes,” said Nolan.
* * *
They left the office and walked back to the car. They were pulling out of the parking garage when Dirk's cell phone started playing a rock country song. He hit the Hands Free button on the steering wheel as the car rolled into the street.
“Reynolds.”
“Dirk, it's Abigail. The man you asked aboutâMichael Degan? They just moved him out of the ICU into a private room.”
“He's awake?”
“Off and on.”
“Thanks, Abby. I owe you.”
The nurse laughed. “That's what you always say. One of these days I'm going to collect.” The line went dead and Dirk pressed the End button on the Hands Free.
“I have a feeling Nurse Ratched isn't some sixty-year-old woman,” Meg said.
“Actually, she's a single mother, same as you. Only she's in her late forties. Two kids and a grandkid on the way.”
“So you and she neverâ”
“No. She's just a friend.”
Meg hated feeling such a wave of relief. “So we're on our way to the hospital?” she asked as Dirk stopped at a red light.
“Unless you want me to take you home.”
“No, I want to be there when you talk to Degan. Maybe he knows something that'll help us find The Fixer.” She leaned back as Dirk stepped on the gas and continued through the downtown traffic. “What about Charlie? You don't really think Neville might come after him again?”
“I think Nolan's right. No way the guy's working without some kind of plan. The thing is, he doesn't need Charlie. He could go after you or your mom and still get your dad to pay the ransom.”
“I never thought of that.”
“Even if he wanted to try, putting a plan together takes time. Plus he'd need a new crew, people he can count on. He'd need a way to transport you, a place to keep you till the money was paid.”
“So at least for now we're safe.”
“Yeah. On the other hand, I'd rather err on the side of caution. I'll bring in one of the guys from BOSS, Inc., park him in front of your house for a while. Ethan's good with kids. If it looks like there might actually be a threat, I can ask him to help.”
Meg didn't argue. Now wasn't the time. Maybe after they talked, he would reconsider and handle the job himself.
Or maybe not.
When they reached the hospital parking lot and Dirk turned off the car, he reached beneath the seat and pulled out his pistol.
A chill slid through her. “You're taking your gun?”
“Like I said, I'd rather err on the side of caution.”
Meg didn't argue. She trusted Dirk. Now more than ever. Cracking open the door, she climbed out of the car as Dirk clipped the pistol on to his belt, out of sight beneath his black leather jacket.