Ransomed Dreams (22 page)

He carried the glass shard of Angela’s rejection in his heart. Every memory twisted it deeper. Seeing her again at the park had ripped the still-bleeding scab clear off.

No Band-Aid could cover it either. Nor could Clint’s theories linking bitterness and revenge and his solution of forgiveness. Things were far too complex for a simple cure.

Just like the Kensington case.

But the ambassador was now Attorney Kenneth Marks’s nightmare. Not Steven’s headache any longer.

Finding Olivia’s killer was.

As he entered the embassy from the rear, Steven adjusted his suit coat at the waist to reveal his credentials. He walked the residence halls listening for signs of life. Little beyond electronic buzzing caught his attention, so he proceeded over the bridge and into the original offices.

“I’m here to see Mrs. Charlotte Brown.”

“You’re a bit late. Agent Kessler. She’s just left on holiday and won’t be back for an entire month.” The gold-streaked brunette sitting behind Charlotte’s desk leaned forward. “But I’m Dottie Evans. And I’d be delighted to help you.”

Steven stepped away from the desk, flipped open his phone, and pressed the number three speed dial. “Clint. Charlotte Brown’s not here. We need to check her residence and see if she’s taken her son. Alert transportation routes too. Let’s see if we can find her before she leaves the US.”

“I’m on it.”

Returning to the assistant’s desk, he narrowed his eyes. “I spoke with Mrs. Brown’s supervisor this morning. She didn’t mention a planned vacation.”

Ms. Evans laughed nervously.

“Something funny in that?”

She stood and straightened her tight gray suit. “Follow me. Agent Kessler. I’ll explain in the records room.”

He heard the electronic whir of a surveillance camera turning. Most likely to watch the attractive assistant saunter across the room. Childishness existed everywhere. But there could be a lead to unearth, and he needed the patience to find it.

Ms. Evans unlocked the secluded file room and held the door for him. The room was still tapped, so he was covered should her story about their talk differ from his. Didn’t give him much breathing room, though.

The scent of lavender and lemon quickly overpowered the little room. Less was always more with perfume. “You were going to explain.”

“Charlotte would come back here and put on her little black fan.” Ms. Evans pointed to a back corner of the room. “So as not to be caught on tape when she called her boyfriend, Gordon.”

“What?”

The woman nodded with a wide grin. “No worries, mate. I’m sure you can track ’em down with your supersleuthing. I’d bet the moon that’s where she’s run off to so fast. Find Charlotte’s bloke and you’ll find your answers.”

How right she was. And if he could verify Ms. Evans’s claim, that would link Charlotte as a coconspirator and possibly lead them to Gordon’s hideout. “How do you know this? And why did you wait until now to reveal it?”

Her face lost some color under her caked makeup. “I’m not in trouble, am I?”

“That depends.”

She wrung her hands. “You see, well, Charlotte was a friend, and her private affairs weren’t my business. But when she begged
me to file her holiday paperwork request just a short while ago, I knew something was wrong.”

Just a short time ago?

Maybe he wasn’t too late. “Is there anything else you’d like to tell me? Any other memory that seems worth mentioning now?”

“No, Agent Kessler. I only heard the one conversation, and Charlotte would never answer any inquiry into her beau. Very closed to discussion, she was. But she did talk about her little Stewart. Nonstop. Maybe that will help you find her.”

Clint was already all over that angle. Steven would be too as soon as he could get away from here. “Thank you. We’ll need to get a sworn statement.” He opened the door and held it. “If you’ll follow me, we can take care of that.”

“Am I in trouble?”

“Not unless you’re lying.” Steven almost chuckled at her wide-eyed response.

He led Ms. Evans toward the Secret Service office space in the residence area. After a few paperwork details, he’d join in the footwork that got his blood circulating. Nabbing a suspect beat desk donkeywork any day.

Even more when it ended in arrests and airtight court cases.

Bureau assessments still loomed, case overload or not.

Clint laced his tennis shoes and stretched. The headquarters’ gym smelled of sweat and Old Spice, even on a Friday morning. He watched through the front glass doors for any sign of his partner.

Fifteen minutes to seven, Steven slammed through the door and tossed his gym bag on the first bench. Clint joined him.

“Nice of you to show up, given that our HIP assessments are scheduled for next week and I need the practice. Especially on the range.”

Steven grunted. “After yesterday’s disappointments, I need the physical challenge. Health Improvement Program garbage or not.”

“Wasn’t your fault, Steven. We followed the lead and got the warrants as fast as humanly possible.”

“Too late to do much good. Charlotte and Gordon have disappeared. No trace.”

Michael entered the floor from the locker room. “I think she’s still on US soil. Besides, her son is here. She couldn’t have gone too far. Or for long.”

Clint had seen just that thing happen more often than he cared to remember. Give the rookie ten years, and he’d learn.

“You’re a conspiracy theorist, and I don’t have the brain power to hear it today.” Steven crossed the gym and headed up the stairs to the upper level track.

“What’s his problem?”

Clint shook his head. “He’s the coordinator. It’s his behind that’ll be chewed if every lead turns up a day or even a minute late.”

“Steven’s done everything by the book. We’ll find Olivia’s murderer sooner or later.” Michael jutted his chin toward the stairs. “He should loosen up, or a heart attack will be crouching at his door.”

Michael had no idea how close his words came to Clint’s own thoughts. In fact, his partner’s heart had been the focus of his and Sara’s prayers for a long time last night. God had to be at work, or Steven wouldn’t be fighting the truth so hard and on every possible front. Work. James. His dad. Angela. Even Gracie. A name Clint hadn’t heard in far too long. He’d see what he could do about changing that.

Steven wouldn’t run from his questions forever.

Clint took the stairs two at a time and then positioned himself next to Steven on the track. They waited for Michael’s starting call.

The rookie dropped his hands and shouted. “Go!”

Clint felt every muscle in his body bum with the exertion. Keeping up with Steven’s unrealistic pace wouldn’t benefit him in the end. He watched his partner’s back for the first mile, then increased his stride and pushed harder.

Sara would be proud. And he’d enjoy a good rubdown after their date tonight. Since he couldn’t do anything about the image of his wife’s curves right now, he put the mental charge to good use and drove his muscles harder. By the third lap, sweat soaked both his and Steven’s muscle shirts.

He pulled even with his younger partner by the homestretch. But then Steven kicked it up even further and passed the finish line two strides ahead of him.

They walked off the muscle cramps and heaving lungs in silence.

Michael joined them. “If office scuttlebutt is on, you both just bombed your last assessment times by 20 blips.”

“Say again in old folks’ English?” Steven stretched his neck.

Clint shook his head. At thirty-five, Steven didn’t know old yet. Wait till the big four-o started breathing down his neck. Clint knew that experience all too well. “Michael said we beat our Quantico records.”

“Good.” Steven grabbed a white towel. “Now if we can manage that on the range too, we’ll snap the assessments.”

Snap? “Old folk talk, huh?”

Steven quirked a lopsided grin. “That was for you, pops.”

Showers and promising range scores served to improve Friday’s outlook. But there was still paperwork to do before clocking out tonight. Clint bent his aching six feet five inches into the silver and gray thing the FBI called an ergonomic chair. Torture device fit better.

He wanted his cowboy boots. Stetson, and some of Sara’s true Southern sweet tea.

His partner’s typing on the other side of the partition halted. “Clint? Remember graduation? Those were the days, weren’t they? No heating pads necessary after assessments.”

“If I didn’t know better, I’d think you were coming up on a birthday or something. Thinking about your creaking joints, old man?” Clint stood and leaned against the partition. “Hey wait. You are coming up on a birthday aren’t you?”

“Leave it to you to remember things like birthdays. I’m trying to forget.” Steven returned to typing.

“Come on now, you know Sara and I wouldn’t forget. James is looking forward to the party too. Don’t get all grumpy on us and ruin it.”

“All right. All right.” Steven held up his hands. “I wish you had planned a surprise party though, so I could be spared this constant bother from your whole family By the way, the over-the-hill e-card from your kids was a real highlight of my day.”

Clint laughed.

Steven shook his head as he pulled up the dancing Kentucky blue teddy bears in tutus. “I should have hit Delete and not even acknowledged it.”

“Yeah, well, you always were a softie, weren’t you?”

“Whatever.” Steven pulled another file from his top drawer and added it to his completed case notes stack. “Don’t forget, I beat your stellar record today. On the range and on the track.”

“Old men live in their pasts, partner.”

Steven turned to face him. “Want to try again tomorrow?”

Clint chuckled. “No way am I going to rain on your parade. Sara and the kids are joining me to do some hunting for all things black tomorrow. Just the ticket to throw your mammoth birthday shindig on the twenty-third.”

“You’ve got some nerve. I’d have expected a respectful lull in the smack talk. You just wait ’til I tell Sara about our times today.”

Steven and Sara would make Clint’s old bones creak all the louder with their joshing. He could take it, though, given that Sara’s eyes still lit on fire when he stepped out of the shower.

“Hey, before I forget: When are you going to call Gracie and invite her to the party?”

Steven grimaced. “I’m not. The thing with Angela at the park last Saturday cooled Gracie’s interest.”

Clint’s smile disappeared. “What do you mean?”

“She didn’t want to hear my explanation and suggested we keep our focus on James.” Steven leaned back in his chair.
“Decoded, that means ‘Get lost, buster.’ I’m not begging for another chance.”

The faraway look in Stevens eyes told a different story “You just can’t get her out of your mind, can you? Been there, done that, got the ring to prove it.”

Steven shrugged. “Doesn’t matter, does it? Not if she’s crossed me off her list.”

Nodding his head toward the picture of Sara, Steven, and himself taken a decade ago at their graduation ceremony, Clint exhaled long and slow. Sara had beamed between him and Steven, but Angela hadn’t been interested in joining the celebration. Clint had tried to get her to warm up to them. She never did. That still stung Steven even now.

More so, since Angela had arrived on the scene again. If Clint didn’t step in and do something fast, Gracie would disappear under the weight of Angela’s memory.

“Don’t give up, partner. You know Sara’s first reaction to me.” Dr. Sara O’Toole’s daunting green eyes and fiery red hair had made even the pain of a broken wrist disappear.

“Wait. Let me see if I recall that story.” Steven cleared his throat.

Michael Parker joined them. Clint wished he’d kept his mouth shut.

“Here’s how it went—you immediately impressed Doctor Sara with your brave handling of that old sports injury, and she fell madly and totally in love at first sight. Right?” Steven laughed at his own parody.

They both knew full well that was not how it happened. Clint had pursued Sara for months after their first meeting in the Anderson ER. Phone calls, cards, and flowers. She finally gave in and went out on a date.

The rest and two kids was a sweet success story One Steven needed too.

“My point, wise guy is that you should ask Gracie out again. For your birthday party Don’t let that spark I see in your eyes
go out so easily.” Clint leaned against Steven’s desk. “Gracie’s a keeper. Just like Sara.”

Michael folded his arms over his chest. “So you’re saying, if at first you don’t succeed, try, try again?”

Clint affected his worst Irish brogue. “You might just find yer big ol’ pot o’ gold.”

Steven and Michael both rolled their eyes.
“Right.”

Michael went back to his desk.

“You gonna call?”

“Yes, Clint. If it’ll get you off my back.”

“I’m just covering your six and your thick skull. My job, you know.”

“Thought that was God’s.”

Clint grinned. The God-talk about Angela three weeks ago must be working, at least a little bit. “Hey, make the call soon, or I’ll invite Gracie myself.”

He settled back at his desk and checked for updates on the Browns’ phone record warrant he’d filed for yesterday Something good had to give in this case and in his partner’s personal life. Soon.

Clint put his money on God and Gracie. Between the two of them, at least Steven’s hardness toward God was toast.

S
teven’s phone buzzed.

“Kessler.” He maneuvered off I-395 toward Pentagon City for the short trek to Russell Road.

“Got a line into SIS,” Michael said. “A chatty Cathy by the name of Thomason remembers both Harry and Gordon Landridge. He also elaborated on what Sir Peter was reluctant to share.”

“You mean they’re being cooperative now?”

“That and staying away from any further videoconferences.” Michael chuckled. “Thomason said the tip that reopened the arms case consisted of cell phone transcripts from Harry’s last conversation with Gordon.”

“Tell me you’re already working that cell number.”

“As we speak, boss.”

“Still nothing from the surveillance at the Brown home?”