Mindhunters 4 - Deadly Intent (14 page)

Then she shifted again. “I can’t get comfortable.”

Swiftly, he strode around to the back of the stool and checked the length of tape securing her other wrist to the table leg. “Jesus.” The spoon was nearly hidden up the long sleeve of her pajama top. He reached for it and threw it on the floor. “Give it up, kid. Think you’re going to saw through duct tape with a plastic spoon?” So much for freeing one of her hands so she could eat. But damned if he was going to hand-feed her. He headed for the battery-operated TV. Reception up here was a joke. But even a channel that was little more than static was better than nothing.

“Who were you talking to out there?”

Stilling, he slowly turned his head to look at her. A quick flash of fear crossed her expression. But she persisted. “You took that phone outside. Who was it?”

“No one you know.”

She didn’t look convinced, but that wasn’t his problem. He picked up the remote and started hunting through the channels for one that wasn’t totally fuzzy.

“Is someone else coming up here?”

Why in hell she’d sound scared now when she hadn’t really showed much fear since that first night, he couldn’t say. And didn’t care. “No one’s coming for you. Now shut the fuck up.”

She shut up. The kid was polite, he’d give her that. If he’d been stuck up here with a whiny brat, he’d have done her that first day, without waiting for the order.

If this thing dragged out too long, he still might.

Whistling tunelessly, Kell headed toward his bedroom door. As little sleep as he’d gotten last night, it’d almost been a relief when morning had hit. He blamed his restlessness on the case details that had replayed in his head all night long.

That excuse would play a lot better if images of Macy Reid hadn’t been stuck there, too.

Scowling, he reached for the knob. He’d almost made a dumb decision last night. Very dumb. She’d made it abundantly clear months ago—in a crisp matter-of-fact tone that still rankled to remember—that the two of them weren’t going to happen again. Hell, he’d even agreed with her assessment. They were colleagues. Occasionally paired together on a case. It was just asking for trouble to muddy that up.

And the fact that it had only happened once—and wasn’t likely to recur—was undoubtedly the reason he hadn’t been able to get their encounter out of his head in the time since.

Kell stopped short, mentally slapping his forehead when that thought elicited another. He owed a phone call to the woman whose bed he’d hurriedly left when he’d received Adam’s callout the other night. By his calculations, the call was a couple days overdue.

Shit. It took a glance at his watch and some mental gymnastics to recall the time difference. Nearly nine back East. With any luck, she’d already be at work with her cell turned off. He could leave a message and hang up, having done his duty.

Quickly he dialed her number and headed out the door. After it’d rung a few times, a familiar voice picked up. The message he’d formulated in his mind died a quick death. “Celia.” Trying to inject a note of pleasure in his voice, he walked past Macy’s door. “I was afraid you’d already be at work.”

Intent on passing by, he stopped dead in front of Macy’s open door. She was on her hands and knees, scrabbling for the fruit that had mysteriously fallen to the floor again. And Agent Travis,
Dan
, was down there with her.

“Of course I didn’t forget.” He delivered the lie mechanically as a vicious stab of jealousy seared through him. What the hell was the agent doing in Macy’s room? “This is the first moment I’ve had free. Had to catch up on the case. How’s your mom doing?”

“I’m so sorry.” Damned if Macy’s voice didn’t sound breathless. And her cheeks were flushed. Could she call the color at will? “I’m not usually such a klutz.”

“First thing in the morning, I’m lucky to put one foot in front of the other,” Travis assured her as he handed her two apples he’d rescued.

Kell’s lip curled. Apparently gallantry wasn’t dead. Just—in the case of the agent—very very rusty. Dimly aware of a lull in the conversation with Celia, he interjected, “I’m glad to hear that.”

Macy was rising. Sir Galahad did, too. “I guess you should be grateful I didn’t offer you coffee.”

The rise in Celia’s tone yanked his attention back. “No, I’m not glad she’s in the hospital again. I’m sure gout is very painful. I meant I’m glad to hear you can be with her.”

“I’d take whatever you offered.”

Kell’s brows skated up and he threw a narrowed glance at Travis, who seemed to recognize belatedly how the words sounded. “I mean, this time of day, I’m ready to eat or drink anything. Matter of fact, I was on my way to the kitchen to grab a quick bite before starting the day. Join me?”

Macy took the bowl of battered fruit he held and handed him a green expandable file folder. And comprehension hit Kell like a ton of bricks.

She’d staged the whole thing to switch the folders back. He wanted to believe the flare of relief he felt had nothing to do with the fact that he’d bought her act. Hook, line, and sinker. “I’d like that.” Her baby blues were guileless as she gazed up at the much taller agent, who wore the sappiest grin Kell had ever seen outside his grandpa’s old hound at biscuit time.

“Hope things continue to improve,” he said rapidly, as Macy and Travis walked by him. The look she shot him would have skewered a lesser man. “I don’t know when I’ll get a chance to call again, but I’ll be thinking about you.”

That brought a giggle and a very unladylike suggestion that he hoped Celia wasn’t making in her mother’s presence. “Let’s rain check that. But I like the way you think.” He clicked the phone shut and slid it in his pocket, the conversation already forgotten. “So. You guys going down for breakfast? I could eat.”

Neither bothered to answer. “I hear the cooks here studied in Paris,” Agent Travis told Macy as they moved down the hall ahead of Kell. “Maybe I can talk them into making some crepes.”

“I like those, too. Especially the ones with fruit in them.” Kell may as well have been invisible for all the attention the other two paid him.

“I’m more of a fruit or cereal person in the morning,” Macy confessed.

“I saw that earlier.”

They both laughed, and Kell shoved his free hand in his pocket, disgusted. Travis was about as funny as a train wreck. Macy was sort of overdoing things. Switching the folders was one thing. If she kept this up, she’d have the guy following her around like a trained poodle by the end of the day.

Hell, for all he knew, Dan Travis was exactly the sort of guy she normally went for. No personality. No sense of humor. No threat.

Yeah. He ambled along behind them, shamelessly eavesdropping on their innocuous conversation. He’d lay odds that Macy went for the vanilla straightlaced guys. Safe and boring. Which just meant they’d both made the right decision about going their separate ways months ago. He couldn’t guarantee her safe. And he’d never been described as boring.

They were walking by the conference room where Assistant Director Whitman was framed in the doorway, his face grim. “Reid. Can you come in here?”

Macy immediately veered toward him. Travis would have kept on moving toward the kitchen but must have noticed that Kell was following Macy into the room. He paused and changed direction to trail behind him. When Kell saw everyone collected in the room, his gut took a quick vicious twist. He didn’t need Whitman’s terse explanation to guess the reason for the invitation.

“There’s been a ransom demand.”

Macy went to stand beside Stephen Mulder, who was staring blindly at the screen of his laptop. His wife sat next to him, her perfect profile ravaged by tears, one fist pressed to her lips. Swallowing hard, Mulder pushed the computer around so she could read the message.

A GUY LIKE YOU IS USED TO BUYING WHATEVER YOU WANT. IS GETTING YOUR DAUGHTER BACK WORTH $10,000,000? YOU’VE GOT FIVE DAYS TO GET THE MONEY TOGETHER AND AWAIT FURTHER ORDERS. THERE’LL BE NO EXTENSIONS. SHOULD YOU DECIDE NOT TO COOPERATE, SHE GOES ON SALE TO THE HIGHEST BIDDER. THE MIDEASTERN MARKET FOR WHITE PRE-TEEN FEMALES IS VERY LUCRATIVE.

“Is this your personal e-mail account?” she asked the man quietly.

“No.” A muscle clenched in his jaw. “It’s the one I use for work.”

“How do we know she’s still alive?” It was difficult to make out Althea Mulder’s words, choked as they were by sobs. “I need to talk to her. I have to hear my baby’s voice . . .” Her husband slid an arm around her shoulders then, and she collapsed to weep against his shoulder. He pressed his lips against her blond hair, seeming to struggle with his own composure.

“The message was in Mr. Mulder’s in-box this morning,” Whitman explained, looking grim. “As you can see, it’s time-stamped four thirty-seven A.M., but that doesn’t necessarily mean anything. There are ways to change the time on e-mails sent, just like . . .”

“. . . There are ways to change the address it appears to be sent from,” Macy finished quietly. The sender’s name was listed in the lengthy header as [email protected]. She shot the agent a look. “I assume you already have computer techs following up on the IP address.”

“Of course. We’ll have a warrant in a matter of hours.” He switched his attention to the Mulders, and his voice went gruff with what might have been sympathy. “I know this is difficult. But hearing from the kidnapper is actually a good thing. It keeps the lines of communication open. And the time frame cited in the e-mail gives us several more days to track him.”

“What communication?” Althea Mulder’s face was splotchy when she raised it to stare tremulously at the agent. “You said you didn’t think this was his real return e-mail address. We can’t respond, we can’t ask for proof that Ellie is alive. And that’s why he chose this way, isn’t it?” Her voice went shriller, even as her husband hugged her closer and murmured in her ear. “He’s in control. We have no way of making any demands of our own.”

“That could change.” Ignoring the narrowed look Whitman threw at her, Macy went on calmly. “He leaves the message open-ended. You know he’ll be contacting you again. And it’s chancy for him to rely on one-sided communications throughout this process. At some point, he needs to be sure that you have the money ready. That you understand the directions he’ll be giving.”

Hope lit up Althea’s watery eyes as she turned her attention on Macy. “Do you think at that point he’ll call? Let us talk to our daughter?”

Whitman answered before she could. “Reid’s specialty is forensic linguistics. Examining this message and any others that might be forthcoming could give us valuable information about the identity of the person we’re dealing with.”

“You mean Nick Hubbard?”

Whitman’s eyes flickered at Stephen Mulder’s terse question. “Right now it looks like he’s involved. Although it’s entirely possible he isn’t acting alone.”

Mulder gave a jerky nod, and the expression on his face was terrible to see. “And he was here because of me. I gave him a job.” It was his wife’s turn to comfort him, as she took his hand and laced their fingers together. “I brought him into our lives.” His voice cracked on that, and he dropped his head, battling for composure.

The sight of her husband’s grief seemed to strengthen something in Althea. She lifted their linked hands and pressed a kiss against his, the gesture filled with tenderness. Her face was still streaked with tears, but her voice was steady as she stood, tugging at her husband’s hand so he’d join her. Her words were directed at Macy. “Do what you’re trained for, Ms. Reid. Help lead them to the bastard who took my baby. And we’ll do the only thing left to us right now.” Gently she turned her husband toward the door. “Pray.”

The room was silent behind them as the couple exited the room. Macy concentrated fiercely on the message on the computer screen, willing away the tight knot in her throat.

“I’m assuming Mulder is willing to pay the amount and won’t have trouble getting the cash together.” Kell’s voice was the first to break the quiet.

Whitman scowled and glanced at Agent Pelton, who was seated beside him. “He indicated he was willing. But I don’t know that that will be the process I’ll be suggesting. It depends on what the demands are regarding the payment.”

“His finances appear to be in order,” Pelton said matter-of-factly. The whipcord-lean man tapped a sheaf of papers on the table before him. “At least there’s nothing that the forensic accountants have found that would indicate a sudden shortage of money. The fact that such a sizable amount was demanded might mean the kidnapper had some insight into the Mulders’ holdings.”

She was surprised when Whitman leveled a look at her. “What do you think?”

“It’s possible,” she said honestly, staring at the computer screen again. “Certainly someone close to the family or affiliated with the store empire would realize their worth. But Mulder is listed in the Forbes ranking of top twenty wealthiest Americans every year. Ten million isn’t an unreasonable demand for someone who has researched the family, even a stranger.”

Whitman gestured toward the computer. “What can you tell us from that message?”

“It’s brilliant,” she said with a tinge of bitterness. “The threat included is more devastating than death. It plays on these parents’ worst fear. That was deliberate.”