“And if it isn’t my least favorite Fed,” Brian replied, his sarcasm matching the other guy’s.
She heard little of the verbal exchange. When the volcano erupted, it triggered a powerful psychic vision. She saw a brief glimpse of a fiery explosion far greater than the volcano’s. Shaken, she slowly opened her eyes and took a deep breath. What did the vision mean? Was it connected to her grandchild? She prayed it wasn’t. Heated words dragged her back to reality.
“What are you doing here?” Brian barked.
“What I’m doing here is none of your business,” the tall blonde man standing near them replied.
“Come to botch up another kidnap case, Dunning? Get another child killed.”
“Murphy, you know damn well I’m not the one you should be blaming.” Dunning addressed several other men standing nearby. “I don’t think we’re going to find anything here. Let’s go.”
Brian grabbed the man by the arm and swung him around. “You received the same clue we did, didn’t you? That’s why you’re here.”
Dunning looked down at Brian’s hand. “Let go of me or I might decide to charge you with assaulting a federal officer.”
He dropped his hand. “Bastard,” he muttered as Dunning and the other men left.
She’d never seen Brian so angry. It frightened her. “What gives with the two of you?”
“I hate that he’s the Fed in charge of this case.”
“He’s an FBI agent?”
“Yeah.”
“Why don’t you want him on the case?”
His lips thinned into a grim line. “I don’t want to discuss it. Let’s go.”
What was going on between the two men? She feared that whatever it was could jeopardize her granddaughter’s life. She thought about sharing her latest vision with him, but changed her mind.
****
Standing on Las Vegas Boulevard across the street from them, the kidnapper observed the encounter between Dunning and Brian and smiled. Because of the traffic noise and distance, he couldn’t hear them, but he could read their body language. They were at each other’s throats and his game was barely underway. This was going to be better than he had originally planned.
He threaded his way through the flyer-distributing hustlers. He’d return to the kid now and plot the next step in his game.
He smiled. Like puppets, they dangled on his strings, foolishly chasing clue after clue. They didn’t know the final clue spelled death for both the kid and the woman.
When would Angela discover the flyer he’d slipped into the side pocket of her purse? It contained the next clue. Not that it mattered much. Her limited psychic abilities posed no match for his cleverness.
Chapter Five
Monday morning
Angie prided herself on her office cubicle’s tidiness. It might be small, but it was hers. Everything remained as she’d left it on Friday. Orderliness spelled control. The only thing different was the flyer she’d just pulled from her purse. Staring at it sitting in the middle of her otherwise uncluttered desk, she realized her controlled world had unfortunately vanished.
She studied the front side of the flyer. The ad for a strip club featuring a scantily clad lady with a seductive smile didn’t disturb her as much as the message pasted on the backside of the paper. It read, “Beware, I’m watching you and the time grows short.”
He’d been on Las Vegas Boulevard last night. He’d been close enough to shove the flyer in her purse’s side pocket. Yet, she couldn’t remember what he looked like and hadn’t sensed his presence. A tremor ran through her.
When her desk phone rang, she picked up the receiver with trembling fingers. Hearing Brian’s familiar voice, she let out the breath she’d been holding. He immediately knew something was wrong.
“Angie, what is it? You sound upset.”
“I just found a note from the kidnapper in my purse. He was close enough to me last night to slip it in the bag’s side pocket,” she said, unnerved by this fact.
“I’ll be right over. Don’t panic.”
“There’s an FBI guy to see you,” her boss announced from the cubicle’s doorway just as she hung up the phone.
She shoved the advertising flyer back in her purse and turned to face him. What did an FBI agent want with her? Did he know something about the relationship between her and the victim? How could he? Then why was the agent here?
“A Special Agent Dunning.” He stared at her over the top of horn-rimmed glasses. “Are you in trouble, Ms. Martin? You know this accounting firm doesn’t tolerate improprieties.”
“I know.” She stood and smoothed her black skirt while cursing the fact that her boss had delivered the message. Wasn’t Dunning the guy Brian argued with the night before?
“Good. He’s waiting for you in the reception area.” Her boss looked at his watch. “Take your break now, but don’t be long. Time’s money.”
Sucking in a breath, she exited her workspace, and marched through the maze of cubicles to where the agent stood.
“Good day, Miss Martin, I’m Special Agent Dunning from the FBI.” He flashed his official badge. “I’d like to ask you a few questions.”
She nodded, trying to maintain a business-like demeanor, while wondering what the FBI wanted with her. He was dressed in a dark suit and starched white shirt. Both his clothes and his expression were formidable.
The receptionist eyed the man with great interest. Soon the whole office would know about the Fed who’d come to talk to her. She didn’t need that kind of notoriety.
“Let’s go down to the lobby,” he said, glaring pointedly at the overly curious woman behind the reception desk. They rode the crowded elevator in silence. Upon reaching the atrium lobby, he directed her to a group of leather couches at the far end.
She walked across the marble floor, her heart rate increasing with each step. She hadn’t done anything wrong so why did she feel guilty? Sitting down opposite him, she avoided making eye contact at first. Instead, she studied the office workers scurrying into the lobby through the glass revolving doors. A phone rang at the nearby security desk and distant elevator bells clanged. Realizing lack of eye contact might imply guilt, she finally forced herself to look into the man’s ice blue eyes.
Just before the special agent began firing off questions, another man in a similar dark suit and white shirt appeared and stood nearby. Although he didn’t introduce himself, she presumed he was Dunning’s partner.
“What’s your connection to the youngster abducted in San Diego and the nursery rhyme kidnapper?” Dunning asked, his expression revealing nothing.
“What do you mean, ‘my connection’?” The question unnerved her. Was this man accusing her of something, or did he know her secret? Welcome relief filled her when she saw Brian come in from the exterior courtyard. Happy to see him, she waved.
He hurried across the lobby. “I came as fast as I could. Let’s see the second note.” He frowned at Dunning. “Why are you bothering Angie?”
“What’s this about another note, Murphy? The bureau disapproves of people withholding evidence,” he shot back, not bothering to answer the question.
“I wasn’t withholding anything, Mr. Dunning,” Angie said, not liking the man’s implication. “I didn’t realize I’d received another note until I found it in my purse a short time ago.”
“It’s Special Agent Dunning, Ms. Martin. When do you think he put this note in your purse?”
“Probably on the Strip last night before we ran into you.”
“I’ll need the details.”
She filled him in on what she knew.
“And where is this note now?”
“In my purse upstairs.”
He frowned. “More evidence contaminated. Refresh my memory about your involvement in the previous nursery rhyme case, Ms. Martin.”
“You have the files, Dunning. You know exactly what her involvement was,” Brian said coming to her defense. “She’s a psychic who worked with the San Diego police to help solve several missing persons’ cases. Then they called on her to help with the Tucker kidnapping.”
“Don’t give me all the credit, Brian. With my limited visions, Agent Dunning, I provided a few signposts. It’s the police who connected my information with facts they’d already gathered. Good police work solved those first missing persons cases, not me.”
“It’s always good investigative work that gets the job done,” Dunning replied. “Not hocus pocus from someone claiming to see things.”
She wasn’t surprised at the man’s skepticism. Many law enforcement people didn’t believe in psychics. However, that didn’t prevent her growing dislike of the man.
“Your so-called psychic ability didn’t work in the Tucker case, did it, Ms. Martin?”
“No.”
“We were close to finding Tucker’s boy,” Brian said, coming to her defense.
“But we didn’t in time,” she conceded. She’d always feel the pain of that truth. However, the special agent didn’t need to throw salt in a wound that refused to heal.
“We won’t be needing you on this one, Ms. Martin. You’re not to get involved. Understand?”
“In other words stay out of your way,” she replied. The fierce intensity in his blue eyes told her she should agree with him, but she wouldn’t.
“You’re making a big mistake,” Brian announced. “More forward-thinking law enforcement people utilize psychics.”
Dunning glared at him. “I don’t believe in psychic mumbo jumbo. I handle all my cases by the book.”
“And don’t I know that?” Brian spat back.
“Stay out of my way, Murphy. The only information you print on this case is what our public information officer provides. Is that understood?”
“I’ll write what I want to. As far as I know, freedom of the press still exists.”
“Agent Dunning,” Angie announced, fuming over the man’s dictatorial attitude. “How do we stay out of your case when the kidnapper delivers the clues to us personally?”
“Just why is he coming to you, Ms. Martin? He didn’t do that in the last case, did he?”
“No. I don’t know why I’m being targeted this time,” she replied. Why did everything sound like an accusation?
“It’s imperative you handle any clues you receive as little as possible. When you get one call me. We’ll pick it up. Don’t tamper with any more of the evidence.”
She bristled. “I didn’t tamper with evidence, Agent Dunning.”
“It’s Special Agent Dunning. Let the pros take care of it from now on, Ms. Martin. It’s for your own good.”
She hated when people told her something was for her own good. It meant it was for their good, not hers.
“Remember, we’re the ones in charge. Stay out of our way and we’ll nail the bastard.”
“Isn’t finding the child more important than collaring the bad guy?” Brian asked.
“How we handle this case is none of your business, Murphy.”
“It is if I think it is. And you can’t make me stay away from the case.”
“I will if I need to. You could be arrested for interfering in a federal case,” the special agent pointed out. “I’ll be walking Ms. Martin back to her office now to pick up the note.” It was obvious that he didn’t want Brian tagging along.
Brian glared at him, then looked at Angie. “We need to talk.”
“Not now,” she replied.
She followed the man to the elevator. His partner remained in the lobby talking on his cell phone. As soon as they boarded, Dunning pushed the close-door button effectively cutting off anyone else from riding the elevator with them. Then he dropped a bombshell.
“I know that your real name is Angela Parducci Martinelli.”
She stared at him in shock. No one had called her by that in a long time. “How do you know that?”
“I do thorough background checks on anyone I’m going to interview. How’s Tony doing these days?”
Her mouth grew dry. “How do you…?”
He smiled. “Tony and I went to the same college, belonged to the same fraternity.”
“I see,” she managed to stutter. Tony never mentioned Dunning’s name, but that didn’t surprise her. She really knew very little about her ex-husband.
“We keep in touch. I heard about the divorce.”
She didn’t reply. How much did he know about the divorce? She doubted her ex ever divulged her side of the story. “The next time you contact him, please don’t mention that you’ve seen me.”
“Divorces can be messy.”
“You could say that.” And what else did the man’s research reveal? How far into her past did he delve?
When they arrived at her floor, she retrieved her purse and brought it to the reception area. Fortunately, the nosy receptionist was away from her desk. Reaching in his suit pocket, Dunning pulled out plastic gloves, put them on, and placed the note in a small evidence bag. Without saying another word, he took off the gloves, shoved them in his coat pocket, and left.
As if her life wasn’t complicated enough. Could she trust the man not to tell her ex-husband her whereabouts? She doubted it. Did she need to run again? She hoped not. Unwelcome memories and fears surfaced. Would she ever escape her ex?
****
Looking out the condo’s window, Brian saw the summer desert storm’s approach. Late afternoon clouds billowed up over the nearby mountains. Beginning as innocent puffy white cumulus shapes, they quickly shot skyward into a mass of thunderheads. Then the clouds flattened out turning from gray to ominous black. Soon the rain would come in buckets, the air rumble with thunder, and the wind gust. The potted palms on the condo’s deck started to whip around as the storm approached.
Sitting at the table in front of the floor-to-ceiling living room window, he turned his attention back to his computer screen. In his gut, he knew the article was good. He read through the story again. He needed to capture the step-by-step process of finding the child. Readers needed to feel the anguish of a distraught mother coming to Vegas to wait for her daughter’s return, and the frustration of a psychic afraid to help that mother because she feared failure. This piece did that. So why couldn’t he file it, send off the e-mail?