HARD FAL (17 page)

This could be his last chance. He shoved the gun into his jacket pocket. It made the fabric bulge, but that was okay, he wouldn’t need to hide it for long.

Couldn’t risk getting his phone from the car to see if there were any new messages. Or…a plan began to form. Maybe he could. But not here.

He used Megan’s phone to access his cell account online. Nothing new, just the same untraceable message sent via an auto-repeater that hounded him every hour of every day for the past five months.

They’re mine and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.

The words were burned into Seth’s soul.

Hands trembling, he pocketed the cell. This ended tonight.

He returned to the living room. The keys to the car Lucy had driven them in, that silly yellow thing, were on the buffet that stood against the half wall separating the kitchen from the living room. He leaned against it, looking at June as if it was the last time he’d ever see her again.

If he did this right, it would be.

“I’m going to sit on the porch for a few minutes, get some fresh air,” he said as his fingers curled around the keys, gripping them tight.

June looked up. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’ll be fine. Long day is all.”

“If you want me to pick up any medicine or anything when I run to the store, the list is right there,” Nick said.

“No thanks, I’m good.” He forced a smile for June, was rewarded with one in return. God, she was amazing. She had no earthly idea how strong she was, but he did. She’d be okay. She had to be.

“Go ahead,” he said, still smiling. “You can have my meatballs. You know you want them.”

“Not me, the baby,” she replied as she speared one from his plate. “She’s ravenous.” She took a bite. “These are so good. Do you think your grams would mind you sharing the recipe with me?” she asked Megan, leaning toward her as if they were conspiring.

“She taught me how to make them. I’ll teach you.”

“Oh, the baby kicked. Want to feel?” June guided Megan’s hand to her belly.

She was going to make such a wonderful mother. Seth blinked hard, pushed away and turned his back on them, crossing the room to grab his coat. They were the most difficult nine steps he’d ever taken.

“Bring some wood in, if you don’t mind,” Nick called.

Seth nodded. He slid into his coat and opened the door. The porch sheltered the house from the brunt of the wind, but beyond it trees bowed, their branches whipping back and forth. It took everything he had not to look around as he closed the door.

He crossed the porch, ignoring the stack of wood at the other end, ran down the steps and into the storm.

Chapter 21

LUCY HAD JUST
made it past the Oakland exit when Taylor called back. “Change of plans,” he said. He didn’t sound like his usual, eager to catch bad guys, self. Instead his tone was subdued.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Burroughs said the CSU guys were going to be a while and I found something else. Meet me at the office?”

“What did you find?”

“A few things. The geo profile you did is narrowing down potential suspects—well, combined with the nifty little algorithm I created. Don’t worry,” he hurried to add. “It’s only searching data we can access without a court order. I’m not letting this guy walk on a technicality. But…there’s something else. I’d rather show you in person.”

“On my way.” She headed across the river to the Federal Building. The storm wasn’t quite as fierce here as it was to the east, but it was still bad enough that the streets were abnormally empty for a Friday night.

She parked in the secured garage and passed through security without needing to go through the scanner, feeling a twinge of vindication. On the elevator ride up to her office she dry-swallowed another of the anti-inflammatory pills. She wasn’t sure if it was the rain or the stress or just the fact that it was a long day, but her ankle was throbbing worse than the thunder outside.

The squad room was empty and dark except for a light on in her office. Taylor had taken over her conference table, had several laptops set up there. He’d also made use of her white boards, mimicking her style of using one board to jot down random questions and facts and the other to plot out a timeline as she addressed them.

Watching him spin back and forth between his beloved computers to the white boards, she couldn’t help but feel a sense of pride. He’d turned into a damn fine agent, even if the Bureau in its infinite wisdom had decided to keep him out of the field.

He jumped when she opened the door. Looked more than a little guilty.

“What have you got for me?” she asked, taking a seat and sitting back, giving him the floor.

He shifted his weight, caught between the white boards and his array of computers. Finally grabbed a remote and clicked on the large screen monitor on the wall beside him.

“First of all, your geographic profile is working.” A map of western Pennsylvania, Ohio, West Virginia, and Maryland appeared. On it winking lights appeared and disappeared again, at first filling most of the screen, then slowly diminishing until only a handful remained.

“I used it as a framework then added filters for age, computer skills, and here’s the kicker,” he looked more than a little smug, “I added any public reference that would require a significant amount of cash—set the parameters around the amount we know Green Elephant Man withdrew.”

“You can do that?”

He scoffed. “Sure. Think of everything that’s out there in public records: bail proceedings, property sales, civil suits, foreclosures, tax debt…it’s a treasure trove if you know how to set up the search algorithm.”

“You’re not searching for child porn or any arrests?”

“Our guy is too smart for that. His porn won’t be hosted on any computer that we can touch—and he won’t have been arrested, not for anything that would flag him as a sexual offender.”

Right, because a charge like that would come with severe limitations and monitoring of any computer activity. Their guy, Daddy, he liked his privacy too much to risk arrest.

“Okay, I buy that. But can you really take a population of a million or more men who fit the basic profile and narrow it down accurately?” That was the thing about profiling—too vague and your net was too wide, too specific and you might miss your target all together and end up aiming at an innocent bystander.

“It’s a starting point,” he conceded. “But at least we’ll have someplace to start digging. And, I think I found June’s mother. Maybe.”

“How did you do that?”

“I ran missing persons from within the highest probability area generated by your geo profile. Centered on the year we think June was born and went back from there. I didn’t find any mother-daughter abductions and only a few pregnant women—but they were all found dead, still pregnant.”

The screen switched to photos of missing women. So many that they filled the screen and crowded over top of each other. It was the one thing that always saddened Lucy about her job: how many women simply vanished each year, most of them taken against their will to become victims. How many families left behind without any answers.

“If she was his first,” Lucy said, “he wouldn’t have risked a mother-daughter abduction. He’d want someone he could easily control.”

“Right. So I went back further in time, expanded the parameters. I discovered these missing girls, aged five to fifteen, eliminated the ones later found, and given June’s Nordic looks and blue eyes, eliminated others based on ethnicity and appearance. Which left these.”

The photos on the screen dissolved to eight girls. All blonde, blue eyed. But one could have been June’s twin. Lucy stood, leaned against the table and used her cane to point. “Tell me about her.”

“Casey Hudson. Seven years old. Got off her school bus one day, but never made it home. No signs of her since.”

“Where?”

“Just outside of Akron.” The screen went back to the map and highlighted the location. He paused and his voice dropped. “Five years before June was born.”

Lucy’s stomach twisted. Bastard kept her long enough to get her pregnant and start over. With his own damn daughter. “It’s her. Can you run June’s mitochondrial DNA against Casey’s?”

“I put in a request but it will take time—the sample is so old, it was before mitochondrial DNA was standard.”

“His first.” She considered. “A crime of opportunity? Spontaneous?” She didn’t think so but waited to hear Taylor’s opinion.

“You sure, boss? This guy is so methodical, I think maybe he stalked her for a long time.”

“I agree. Probably enjoyed the anticipation of choosing, preparing. This guy—he’s different from most of our subjects. But either way, he either lived or worked not too far from where Casey was taken. Close enough that he was familiar with the traffic and routines of the neighborhood, escape routes, hiding places, dumping grounds if things went wrong. This guy, he would have every variable accounted for.”

“Same way as he programs,” Taylor muttered. “But there’s something else.” He cleared his throat, obviously uncomfortable. “Something I found that doesn’t make sense. Unless…”

“What is it, Taylor?”

“Is there any way Seth Bernhart could be working with Daddy?” he blurted out. “Because I traced that first threat. The one against the judge and June. It didn’t come from an angry pedophile. I traced it back to Seth.”

Chapter 22

MEGAN CLEARED THE
table while Dad went out to help Seth gather wood for a fire. He came back in alone, arms piled high.

“Where’s Seth?” June asked.

“He’s gone. So’s the car.” Dad’s voice didn’t sound worried or upset. It was his calm voice, the one that meant trouble.

Megan glanced at the sideboard. “The keys are gone but so is your shopping list. He probably went to the store.” The words were for June’s benefit. She didn’t want her to worry.

Dad frowned and she knew why: Seth would have no idea where the store was, so why would he leave without asking?

She joined her dad at the fireplace. “Let me. I can build it so it won’t smoke.”

He held his hands up in surrender and backed away as she opened the flue and arranged the kindling around one of Gram’s fire starters: dried pinecones dipped in paraffin.

“My budding control freak,” he told June. “Not quite sure if she’s going to be a genius or a sociopath. Teenagers, the brain’s not done cooking yet.”

Megan rolled her eyes as she lit the fire. Grownups, always thought just because they were older, they were better at everything. “Either way, you have your fire and no room filled with smoke.”

“That was just that one time,” he protested.

“Does she realize she sounds exactly like her mom?” June said, laughing. “You two are lucky.”

Did she mean Megan and Dad were lucky to have Mom? Or that Mom and Dad were lucky to have Megan? She used the poker to adjust the logs. She loved this house, dreamed of living in it someday. Not with Mom and Dad—they had their house and Megan wanted it to stay just like it was. No, when she was older, after college, she wanted to come live here. By herself. Maybe someday with her husband.

Mom and Dad over in Pittsburgh in the house Megan grew up in so she could still visit. While she lived here in Grams’ house. And things could go back to almost the way they were. Close to it as she could get.

“Dad, did you call Andrea to take care of Zeke and Boots?” The puppy and cat were Megan’s responsibility but no one had planned for them to be here all night.

“Your mom did, before she left. They’re fine.” Dad glanced around. “June, I’m not sure which chair would be easiest for you—want me to move one of the kitchen chairs out near the fire?”

“No thanks, I feel better standing. She,” June rubbed her belly, “gets cramped if I sit too long.”

“Okay. Megan, want to help me change the beds for our guests?” Nick moved down the hall. Megan reluctantly followed him; she hated making beds.

When she joined him in Grams’ bedroom, he was on his knees rummaging through the nightstand. “When you were in here earlier, did you see Grams’ gun?”

“Which one? The shotgun or the pistol?” Growing up with a mom who carried weapons, they’d all learned how to handle them. Megan was almost as good a shot as her mom, better than her dad. Since Grams lived alone, she didn’t bother to keep her guns locked up like Mom did. Megan wasn’t sure why Mom bothered. Wasn’t like she had to worry about Megan doing something stupid.

“The pistol. She kept it in here, but it’s gone.”

“It was in the bottom drawer earlier. And the shotgun is under the bed.”

He sat back on his heels, obviously worried. “The pistol isn’t here. Seth must have taken it.” He stood up turning to the window, thinking things through. Dad liked to do that, be certain about everything before he made a decision about a person.

What was there to think about? Megan leaned down, grabbed the shotgun and handed it to her dad. “Careful, it’s loaded.”

She turned to Grams’ closet and barely had to stretch to reach the box of shells on the shelf. After a growth spurt last month, her clothes didn’t fit anymore, but no one had noticed. Grams would have. Just like she would have remembered that Megan’s birthday was in a week and she’d be turning fourteen.