Mindhunters 4 - Deadly Intent (10 page)

Ellie lay still for a moment, thinking. Her brain was still a little fuzzy from whatever he’d given her, so she had to concentrate hard.
With knowledge comes control.
That’s what Dr. Givens, her psychologist, always said. Of course, he was talking about knowing herself and admitting to what she was feeling. But it could also mean knowing whoever had done this to her, couldn’t it? Maybe that would help her make a plan to get away.

She stopped moving her fingers and toes then and experimentally rubbed her cheek against the floor. The hood moved, too. She could feel that the tape was still over her mouth, but whatever was covering her head was looser. Maybe she could get it off.

Concentrating fiercely, she worked her head in a rhythmic motion. Drag it along the floor. Lift slightly to return to the original position and try again. Each time brought the hood up an inch or so.

It was hard to know how long she went on like that. Each time she was rewarded with a slight movement of the hood, she redoubled her efforts. Her progress wasn’t much faster than a snail’s. But when she saw the first glint of light beneath the hood’s edge, there was a fierce leap of satisfaction in her chest.

Long minutes later, the hood was worked up to her forehead. Ellie lay there, blinking. The darkness under the hood had been complete. But there was some light in the room, although the window above her was dark.

Slowly, she craned her neck to look over her shoulder. The room actually looked like a little cabin. There was a small wood-burning stove with a fire in it on one wall. Either the fire hadn’t been going long, or it didn’t do a good job heating the place. A folding table and two stools were in one corner. But as hard as she tried, she couldn’t angle her head to see any farther behind her.

Made bolder by her success, Ellie rolled to her other side to complete her inspection of the room. A chaise lawn chair was next to the table.

And on it sat a man.

Her heart hammered in her chest like a spooked horse in full gallop. It wasn’t Art Cooper. Her stomach jittered and she felt dizzy. She’d known it couldn’t be. But she’d still been afraid it would be him.

He just sat there, looking at her in the dim light. Not speaking. Just staring, the way people did at the zoo, while they waited for the animals to do something entertaining.

Dragging in a deep breath, she battled back the fear that was creeping its way up her spine. He had one of those faces that looked sort of familiar, but she didn’t know him. He just looked like a guy you’d see on the street. In the mall. Someone you passed and then forgot in the next moment.

“Guess you had to wake up sooner or later.”

He sounded kind of impatient, the way her mother did when the hairdresser was late. And thoughts of her mother had tears stinging her eyes, making her angry with herself.
Don’t think about her. Don’t feel anything. Nothing hurts when you don’t let yourself feel.
That mental chant had helped her get through two years with Art Cooper. It’d help her get through this, too.

That thought shattered when the man finally moved. One hand reached inside his flannel shirt and he took out a knife. Ellie shrank away, panic doing a fast sprint up her spine. The blade was long and thin. As she stared, he ran it lightly across the pad of his thumb. Blood immediately welled in its path. He wiped the blood across his lips and smiled at her. A bloody, horrible smile.

“Tell me what you’re feeling right now.”

Chapter 4

“You’re wrong if you think Nick had anything to do with that poor girl’s disappearance.”

Sophie Brownley stared at each of them in turn from anxious brown eyes. They were seated in the small living area of her Florence ranch-style home. Toys littered the floor. A pile of dolls and stuffed animals were heaped on the opposite side of the couch she was seated on. Her daughter was napping, she’d informed them in hushed tones when she’d let them in. They’d have to be quiet.

“Why do you say that, Ms. Brownley?” Travis took the lead while Kell sat back, his gaze traveling around the small space. Unlike her ex-husband’s place, everything about the woman’s home shouted family. Assorted pictures cluttered shelves and tabletops. The small kitchen opened onto this room, and there were freshly baked cookies cooling on racks on the counter. The refrigerator was covered with magnetic plastic letters and farm animals and a large sheet of paper covered with indecipherable crayon scribbles. Squinting hard at it, he decided the image most resembled a mutated walrus. In rainbow colors.

“Because he’d never do anything illegal, much less something so terrible.” She threaded her fingers together nervously. “He might not work for the correctional system anymore, but he’s a law-and-order kind of guy. A crime like this . . .” She shook her head, her glossy blond hair swaying at the movement. “It would never even occur to him.”

“Maybe it occurred to someone else,” Travis suggested tersely. “Someone who had the idea and tapped him to get in and out with the kid.”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head again. “No. I’ll never believe that.”

“How long have the two of you been divorced?” Macy asked.

Kell slanted her an approving look. Her voice was gentle as a mother’s kiss. Well, not
his
mother. But it had a soothing quality. Damned effective at getting people to open up to her. Until last night, the only time he heard that tone from her was in an interview. She’d used it to calm Althea Mulder, at least as much as she was able. He didn’t recall it ever being directed at him.

But then, they hadn’t spent a lot of time talking the one night they’d spent together.

“Eight—almost nine years. But ours wasn’t a bitter divorce. We just had . . . differences.”

She gave the woman an encouraging smile. “That’s the way it usually goes.”

“When’s the last time you talked to your ex?”

Travis’s insertion shattered the tenuous bond Macy had been building. Kell watched Brownley draw up her shoulders, her hand going to her hugely pregnant belly. The guy was about as subtle as ton of falling bricks.

“We haven’t . . . We don’t keep in touch. It’s been years. Since shortly after our divorce.”

“That’s a long time. So you wouldn’t know whether or not he’s changed.”

The woman’s jaw set in stubborn lines. “No one changes that much.”

“What caused the divorce?” Macy asked smoothly. Her expression was guileless. But then it was most of the time. Except when she talked to him, when it went closed and guarded. Or pink and flaming.

Brownley heaved a sigh and settled more deeply into the sofa cushions. “I wanted a family. He didn’t. I knew that going in, but I thought . . .” Her voice trailed away.

“That you could change his mind?”

She gave a jerky nod at Macy’s gentle question and Kell shot Travis a warning look. But the agent seemed content to let the two women talk. For now.

“Men do, you know,” Sophie said defensively. “After a while sometimes they come around to the idea. But I’m ten years younger than him, and he told me up front he didn’t want kids. After about five years, it started getting more urgent for me, and we’d fight about it.” She shrugged, a flicker of guilt skating over her face. “My fault, really. I knew how he felt going in.”

“As you said, sometimes men change their minds.”

Sophie shot Macy a grateful look. “I hoped he would. But he didn’t. And I finally felt bad about ragging him about it, when he’d been honest all along.”

“Did he ever mention his reason for not wanting a family?”

It was like watching a master fisherman, Kell decided. Macy cast the line, played the lure a bit, then slowly reeled the woman in. Nice technique when the situation called for it. And this situation did.

“No-o-o,” Sophie said slowly, her brows drawing together. “Just that he wasn’t that into kids. His father ran off and left him and his mother when he was young. They struggled. I think that made an impression on him.”

“Maybe it was the cost,” Kell interjected, his voice light. When the woman looked at him, he gave her a smile. “They aren’t cheap to raise, are they? Was his a financial decision, do you think?”

“I never got that impression.” Brownley shrugged helplessly. “Nick was careful with money, but he wasn’t cheap. I think it was like he said. He just didn’t care for kids much.”

Would a man careful with money be motivated by the chance to earn a large wad of it? Kell wondered. Especially if he didn’t especially like kids in the first place? He caught Travis’s gaze on him and knew they were on the same page. Whatever Sophie Brownley might believe about her ex, Kell remained convinced that Hubbard was involved up to his neck in the disappearance of Ellie Mulder.

“We can be fairly certain that whatever Hubbard is involved in, his ex-wife doesn’t know anything about it.”

“Assistant Director Whitman will have his LUDs in a few hours.” Travis pulled away from the curb in front of the house. The low gray clouds were spitting out a frozen substance that wasn’t really snow, yet not quite sleet. It looked, Kell decided, like someone was sprinkling soap detergent crystals out of the sky. “But yeah, I doubt we’re going to discover from his phone records that he reached out to her. What she said about their differences . . . that rang true. It also made me think that maybe his thing about kids ran a little deeper than daddy running off and leaving him. Maybe he’s got a real dislike for them. That would explain his motive.”

“Or maybe he likes them too much.”

Kell’s head swiveled at Macy’s comment. She raised her brows at him. “Well, there’s no ransom demand yet. Given Ellie’s history, we can’t ignore the possibility that Hubbard is just a garden-variety scumbag that preys on children.”

“Absolutely nothing in his background suggests it. I imagine that Mulder’s background check is extensive.” Besides, what were the chances that the girl would be snatched twice for the same reason? They had to be even more astronomical than her being kidnapped twice, at all.

Travis leaned forward to flip on the wipers. “Whitman looked through them and said the background checks were as thorough as those for classified government jobs.”

“Then it also would have discovered known associates.” Kell was thinking out loud.

“But that doesn’t exclude someone contacting Hubbard and pulling him in on the scheme,” the agent added.

“Which brings us full circle,” Macy murmured from the backseat.

Kell looked out the window pensively. The wind had kicked up, making flurries out of the soap detergent snow that still fell. “Yeah. But that circle closes solidly around Hubbard.”

Adam Raiker studied the man sitting across the scarred table from him. Art Cooper wasn’t faring well in prison. The blues hung on his frame, as if he’d lost weight since they’d been issued to him. His hair was thinner, his face haggard. But the bitterness in his voice when he spoke was all too familiar.

“What the hell do you want with me now?”

“Just have a few questions,” Adam answered mildly.

The man gave a snort. “You ruined my life. What makes you think I’d help you?”

“I’d say you ruined your own life. And after what you did to Ellie Mulder, you got exactly what was coming to you.” Some would claim that prison was too good for the likes of Cooper. But this represented justice in America, and Adam had spent most of his life in search of justice.

Reaching for the folder in front of him, he turned it around, flipped it open, and pushed it over to the other man. “Even so, if you give me anything useful, I might be able to help you.” He waited while the man looked at the sheets inside, until a flicker of recognition lit his eyes. The papers were copies of the complaints Cooper had filed since he’d gotten to Sussex. And the folder was thick.

“This place is a hellhole,” Cooper muttered. His gaze raised to Adam’s. “And you’re the reason I’m here. So go fuck yourself.” His chair scraped the floor as he pushed back to rise.

Leaning forward, Adam hooked his cane behind one chair leg to pull it forcibly against the back of the man’s knees, sending him off balance. “Sit down,” he ordered. “Or would you have me believe you’re really not that unhappy about having Robert Salvoy as a cell mate?”