The White Carnation (30 page)

“Yes, Prophet. Your will is mine.”

Faye heard boots moving away, and Jimmy hiked her higher on his shoulder. She prayed she wouldn't vomit down his back as he jostled her along. The last thing she wanted to do was make him angry. He stopped abruptly and knocked on what sounded like a wooden door.

“Who is it?”

“James, Mother Kate. I've brought my wife. She carries my seed.”

His seed? The bastard thinks I'm pregnant with his child? Please God, if I am carrying a baby, let it be Rob's.
Faye heard the door open.

“You smell like an executioner.” There was disdain tinged with what might have been respect in the woman's voice. “Lay her over there in the second stall and get yourself cleaned. You can come back to see her midday tomorrow.”

“Yes, Mother.”

Jimmy walked a few more feet and dropped Faye unceremoniously onto a bed. Her eyes flew open. The room was dark, and he walked out of the small space, closing the door behind him without saying a word.

“How are the others?” she heard him ask.

“Mary has adjusted to the news of her mother's passing. She'll be more amenable now. The one you brought in last week has finally stopped whining. I don't applaud your choices. I think that one will have to be returned. Sad, really, since she has the hips of a strong breeder,” the woman called Mother replied, and they moved away until all Faye could hear was the low drone of their voices.

The reality of her situation became clear. She'd been so sure he'd take her to Slocum, so certain Mary had been pointing her there, but now, she didn't know where she was. The one thing she knew was that Mary was here. And she was still alive, along with others. Who? How many?

They'd called this place a stall, and as she sniffed the air, the scent of horses mingled with other aromas, far more pleasant than those in the van had been. As she listened, she heard the sounds of crickets and other insects. She was in the country somewhere, not in a village. How long had she been unconscious? How far had she traveled? By leaving Mary's file behind, she could've given Rob a false lead, and he might never find her. She curled up on her side and cried.

• • •

It was almost midnight when Rob pulled into the Boston police station's underground parking lot. He was bone-tired, his eyes gritty from squinting at oncoming headlights through the fog patches and drizzle. All the way back, he'd done nothing but berate himself for what was simply the stupidest thing he'd ever done in his twenty years as a police officer. Why on earth had he left her alone?

Somewhere along this highway, a few miles ahead of me, is Faye.
If the man has taken her in the opposite direction, heaven help us both. I swear the world isn't large enough to hide them.

The odds were her kidnapper was returning to the Boston area. That's where the bastard hunted, and predators usually stayed in the same territory. Rob had forced himself to stop twice—once for gas, another for coffee and antacid tablets, unable to face the thought of food although he knew he needed to eat. He had to find Faye, but first he had to find his center. This mess might be his fault, but unless he could put guilt aside and become the investigative officer he needed to be, they'd both be lost forever.

The first forty-eight hours were critical in any kidnapping—he knew that, and yet he didn't know where to start looking. There wasn't a phone tap to set up. No one would be calling with a ransom demand. The rules didn't apply here, and because of his close connection to the case, the reality was objectivity had gone out the window seven weeks ago, the moment he'd seen Faye. He shouldn't be anywhere near this case, but they'd have to fire him to get him off it now.

He took a deep breath as the car moved down the entrance ramp. Where did you start if you knew the kidnapper had no intention of contacting you? Was this how the Harvester had taken them—waited until they were alone and whisked them away? But they lived alone, all of them, and who'd gone with him to clean up? Dr. Chong's cabin would need cleaning after the forensic techs went through it, but Boston PD and the FBI would be footing that bill.
I hope to God we'll get lucky and find something this time.

Parking the car in his assigned spot, Rob grabbed his duffle bag and the file folder off the front seat, locked the vehicle, and took the elevator to the fourth floor—homicide, where he wanted to be, but the last place he should go.

As it was whenever they were working any big case, the squad room was crawling with people despite the late hour. Many looked up when the elevator doors swished open, but other than a few nods in his direction, no one stopped working. He hurried across to his desk, dropped the bag on it, and opened his bottom drawer. He removed his gun from his holster, stored it in the gun box, and reached into the back of the drawer. He pulled out the ring box that had sat there for more than a year and put it in the pocket of the tweed jacket he wore—the one he kept in the car to put on if he wasn't wearing a suit. The sight of a gun in a shoulder holster made most people nervous.

After Faye had tossed the ring in his face that day, he'd taken it in to be cleaned. He'd intended to return it to her once her Irish temper cooled, but she hadn't come around to apologize, and he'd been too hurt to go after her. Another stupid mistake on his part, like leaving her alone in the cabin and not telling her how he felt about her now. It was hers; it was his talisman.

He took a deep breath and headed into the BAU's area. Trevor and a few men were going over some information on a whiteboard. Seeing Faye's picture at the top pierced him. Below her picture, the board had been divided in two. On one side, the contents of Mary's file, on the other, what little they knew about Faye and her disappearance. A smaller whiteboard on an easel stood beside it, awaiting the contents of the folder he carried. Everyone looked up when he entered. Tom, looking as if he hadn't slept in days, separated himself from the men near Trevor and rushed over to him.

“Rob, what can I say? You were right all along. I'm sorry I doubted your theories even for a minute. It was Pierce. The son of a bitch has me questioning everything.” Tom glared at the offending FBI agent entering the room, and the man shrugged.

Garett Pierce, as disheveled as ever, handed some papers to Trevor and then joined them.

“Halliday.” Even though he knew everyone's first name, Pierce preferred to use the last one. It had to be an FBI thing, although Trevor didn't do it. “Don't blame yourself. It could've happened to anyone. He outsmarted you. Perps often do.”

Maybe he was just tired, but something about the way Pierce said the words rubbed Rob the wrong way.

“He won't do it again.” The anger and frustration he'd been feeling since discovering Faye missing bubbled to the surface, and he fought to control them. When he was composed enough to speak, he looked directly into Pierce's cold, gray eyes. “This is my fault. It happened on my watch. I'll get her back, and the bastard who took her will pay.”

Pierce's face contorted into a mask that might have been a wry grin. “Good! Stay angry. It'll keep you focused a hell of a lot better than guilt will.” He turned to Trevor. “There's nothing happening in Slocum. I'm telling you we're on a wild goose chase. My time and that of my men could be better spent elsewhere. I'm out of here.” He nodded and left.

“Where the hell's he going?” Rob asked.

“Who knows?” Tom said. “Back into the field. He's running the surveillance in Slocum. He brought in his own team, too. I was up there a couple of hours ago. Mean-looking bunch—ex-military.” Tom shook his head. “The guy looks like the biggest pile of useless garbage, and yet I'm convinced any one of those bastards would die for him.”

“Why'd he bring in his own men?”

“Apparently, they're crackerjack at surveillance. Look at that board,” he said, indicating the white board on the other side of the room. “It's updated every night. They have each house noted, time the lights go on and off, who comes out of each house, license plates on the car. Hell, I'll bet they know what each family has for supper.”

“Faye was so sure there was something there,” Rob said as he handed the file folder he'd brought from the cabin to his partner. “This is the only clue I have to her whereabouts, and it points to Slocum, and yet you tell me that's a dead end. The answer's in here. It has to be. She fiddled with this file for days—something in it bothered her. We need to find it.”

Trevor interrupted them. “Rob, glad you made it back in one piece. No doubt you broke a few speed laws along the way.” He stared at the file in Tom's hand. “If there's anything to find in there, even if it's just one word that's different from our information, we'll find it. I have my best people on the job. Tom, give the file to Penny. She'll start putting the contents up.”

Tom nodded and walked over to the slender blonde standing beside the blank easel. Trevor spoke again, his voice barely a whisper.

“I helicoptered in the forensic unit, and Tina Jackson's body is with the ME as we speak. It arrived about four hours ago, so Amos should have something for us by now. The techs have phoned in two reports. According to them, Jackson's been dead about forty-eight hours, which would mean someone took her down right after I spoke with her. Decomp is advanced because she was kept someplace warm and away from the usual predators, but she wasn't insect-proofed. They found tire tracks near the body dump that didn't match yours, and from the wheelbase, they figure it's a small commercial van—the kind you can rent for moving. He may have kept the body in there. It would've been like an oven during the heat of the day. They should have the make and model by noon. It looks like he tossed Tina out and put Faye in. I hope she was unconscious because it would've been a less than pleasant ride.”

The van he'd noticed following them last night could've been a small commercial van; he'd never really gotten a close look at it. But he'd lost the tail—he was sure of it. What if he hadn't? What if he'd led the bastard right to her?

Faye, tossed into the back of a hot, stuffy, fly-infested death wagon, her delicate nose and stomach subjected to who knows what … Hopefully, it hadn't been as bad as Trevor implied. She'd been nauseated lately, probably the ulcer she'd had a couple of years ago bothering her again. Who wouldn't develop an ulcer under the circumstances? Rob absently popped another antacid pill while he stared at the large calendar on the wall. July fourth. It had been seven weeks since the initial attack.

“Hey? Are you still with me?” Trevor spoke in his normal tone. “You look like you've just been hit between the eyes with a two-by-four. What did I say?” He was moving his hand up and down in front of Rob's eyes.

Rob pulled himself together, forcing the image of Faye tied up and tossed into a bloody van from his mind.

“Sorry. I'm just tired, and it's all starting to hit me. I guess the thought of Faye in the back of a van like that … She hasn't been feeling well. What were you saying?”

Trevor put his hand on Rob's shoulder. The sympathy on the man's face touched him deeply.

“Hey, you're doing an amazing job of holding it together. Tom filled me in. I knew you and Faye had history, but I hadn't realize you'd almost gotten married. I've brought in my best people. We're getting close. I can feel it. We'll find her.”

But will you find her soon enough to prevent another death? Mary's baby is due in a little more than a month.

The phone rang, startling him, and Trevor reached over him to answer it.

“Clark ... You're sure? ... Damn ... Get Lynette on it and have them bring the artist here.” He hung up and lowered his voice to a whisper. “The tattooist who inked the Fotomat girl was found near Albuquerque. Since many of them are considered artists and are proud of their work, they often catalogue their most difficult or intricate designs. I had my computer tech friend at Langley run a data search for that particular tattoo.”

“That's good news, so what was the bad?” Trevor was obviously upset about
something
he'd heard.

“We sent in a forensic team to look over the New Horizon commune. They've found human remains. One of the Jeffersonian's best forensic anthropologists is being called in as we speak. I've worked with Lynette James before, and if there is something irregular there, she'll find it, but bear in mind, that compound was active for at least sixty years. People die of natural causes and get buried. Before Lucius purchased the property, it was a ranch that floundered in the thirties. Prior to that it was Indian land. Those remains could date back 200 years or more. The tattooist will arrive in Langley by nine, and we'll do a video interview. Too many key witnesses are ending up dead, and I don't like it. No one will know she's there but my team. That mole, whether he's Boston PD or FBI, is going down. Now, why don't we get something to eat before you lie down for a few hours?”

Rob frowned. He wasn't hungry, but it wouldn't hurt to put something in his belly before he tried to catch some shut-eye. He followed the BAU agent to the deserted break room.

Trevor checked the room carefully, including the adjacent washrooms and dorm. “Your partner's paranoia is rubbing off on me. I'm becoming almost as bad as he is, but he's right. Every time we get a solid lead, it vanishes. I brought someone in to look into that. If this is related to the cult, that leader has spies all over. Do you want to hear what else the techs found in the chalet and in the area?”

“You're not going to have me taken off the case?” Rob was surprised it hadn't come up.

“Could I?”

“Not without a fight.”

“Then why would I even try? Besides, you, my friend, are one of the few people I know I can trust. Faye may have said something inadvertently that isn't in that file. I intend to pick your brain and dig up every last shred of evidence you carry in there. I want this bastard so badly I can taste him. Now, do you want to know what else they found at the cabin or not?”