Mindhunters 4 - Deadly Intent (17 page)

His cell beeped, and he drew it out of the pocket of his cashmere overcoat to check the caller ID. It was Paulie. Knowing the man detested talking on phones as much as he did himself, Adam withdrew his laptop from his zippered briefcase and logged on to his video conferencing software. He typed in the necessary commands to reach Samuels while mentally replaying the scene with Castillo.

He decided it was doubtful the man had anything of importance about this case to share. But he’d use Adam’s interest as leverage to get something he desired—a face-to-face meeting with Macy.

Adam was going to make damn sure the man didn’t get what he wanted.

He leaned forward to punch the button that would close the privacy window between him and the driver as Samuels’s face came on the screen. “Paulie. What do you have for me?”

The man’s round face wore its usual smile. It was rare to see it otherwise. “I’ve got a sure thing on a sweet little filly in Louisville. An intriguing offer to join a high-stakes and extremely illegal poker club in Old Alexandria. And a pocketful of winnings due to my uncanny trifecta pick at the dog track yesterday.” His pudgy hand reached up to smooth his tie, which bore aces of every suit. “As usual, should you be interested, I’d be happy to supply you with tips.”

“As usual, I’ll pass,” Adam said dryly. The man’s interest in gambling was nearly as legendary as his prowess with finances. When they’d been in the bureau together, Paulie had been the agency’s top forensic accountant. Since coming to work for Adam, his talents were mostly put to use as chief financial officer and information broker. He was the one person in the world Adam trusted with his life. For very good reason. “Do you happen to have anything for me that has to do with the case?”

Paulie’s smile dimmed. “Not on Castillo. Didn’t hit any walls there. I just don’t think there’s more to find.”

Adam pondered the news. It was no more than he’d expected. Which meant the convict had been blowing smoke about having information he’d share with only Macy.

Again, as expected.

“You found no threads that connect Castillo with Mulder at all?”

The other man shook his head vehemently, then reached up to smooth the thinning hair his gesture had dislodged. “I don’t see where Castillo has the network in place in this country to pull off anything like the abduction, even if he wanted to. In Mexico or Latin America, sure. But not here. Those he dealt with in this country would have been pedophiles. High-roller child lovers with deep pockets. I also managed to take a peek at his financials—online bank security in Latin America is a joke—and he doesn’t have a handy reserve of cash at his disposal. His business was lucrative, but he lived pretty high. He wasn’t much for saving.”

“Probably because he figured there was always more where that had come from,” Adam muttered. “Well, Castillo was the last of them. I’ll probably head to West Virginia from here to see what Abbie and Ryne turned up and then back to Denver.”

“There is one other thing you should know.”

Paulie’s sober tone had Adam’s interest sharpening. “We’ve got someone poking around in your history, especially your financials.”

“How deep did they get?”

“Second level. Before he could try for the third, I threw up another firewall and sent a dandy little virus back his way. Should’ve fried the bastard’s computer if it did its job.” The thought brought a note of merriment to Paulie’s voice. “And I’m sure it did.”

“Did you trace the probe?”

Samuels shook his head woefully. Adam knew him well enough to realize the man would consider it a personal failure. “Used unregistered machines and accessed various Internet cafés across the country.” He looked down as if consulting notes. “Houston, Minneapolis, Tampa. Or more likely, the son of a bitch is good enough to make it look that way. He covered his cyber tracks, bounced me around. You want me to bring Gavin in on this, just to make sure I didn’t miss anything?”

Gavin Pounds, their resident cyber genius, was brilliant with computers. But Paulie was brilliant, too. “No. Not yet.” The other man nodded, as if Adam’s answer was no more than he’d expected. “Keep your eye on it and let me know if there’s another attempt.”

Paulie’s high forehead glistened with perspiration beneath its receding hairline. “No one’s getting through the security layers I constructed, Adam.” For once his expression was completely sober. “You can trust me on that.”

“I always have.” He looked at the man who was closer to him than any brother could be. Their bond was forged in blood, if not the biological kind. “Give your wallet a rest and stay away from the casinos tonight.”

“Sure.” The smile was back, and with it, Paulie’s usual irreverence. “Stay away from guys who want to hold a knife to your eye.”

Dark humor flickered. “Too late for that.”

“Back atcha.”

With a chuckle, Adam disconnected and the screen went blank. The day Samuels gave up gambling would be the day he stopped breathing. The gamble he’d taken seven and a half years ago had bound them together for life. Adam had long since stopped wondering if that was a good thing.

He used his mobile Internet to access his e-mail and settled in to catch up on his messages. But first he reread the one Burke had sent him last night. The stab of annoyance it had elicited was still sharp.

So Whitman was playing territorial turf games. It couldn’t be said that he hadn’t given the man a chance. They could ill-afford this kind of pissing contest now that the ante had been raised with the ransom note. It was time to push back. He sent a quick e-mail to Caitlin Fleming, his main forensic operative in the new western satellite office, instructing her to send a mobile lab to the Mulder estate. His next message was to Ty Corbett, his lab manager, telling him to get an available scientist on the first plane to Denver. Then he picked up his phone and called a number he’d placed in his contacts directory in case a situation like this one arose.

One hand dropped to his thigh, rubbing at the constant pain there in an unconscious gesture. When the call was answered, he cut through the secretary’s automatic greeting brusquely. “I’d like to talk to Senator Barnes. Tell him it’s Adam Raiker.”

Kell stopped Agent Travis when his hand went to the car door. “Wait. I think it’s time to change our strategy.”

Travis sent him a look from beneath his low brows. “Remember, you were the one who called this strategy. You said to start with the people who Hubbard communicated with the most. I was the one who wanted to . . .”

“Actually the tie-breaking vote went to Macy, but why quibble.”

“Chivalrous to the end,” Macy murmured from the backseat. But she was more than willing to switch approaches. The seven men they’d interviewed so far had been increasingly uncooperative. All had professed friendship with Hubbard and none had been overly forthcoming when it came to answering questions about him.

“I think Macy should take this one by herself.”

A quick flare of annoyance surged at Kell’s words. If he recommended the low-cut distraction ploy again, she really would smack him. “And why is that?”

“No.” Travis’s response was swift. “We all go in together. Or I could go alone, if you prefer.”

Her annoyance faded as she considered the other man. He was avoiding looking at either her or Kell. And she knew intuitively that Whitman had warned him about letting either of them out of his sight.

Her annoyance with Burke shifted to the Travis. Deliberately, she asked, “What do you have in mind, Kell?”

“We haven’t gotten dick from the guys we’ve interviewed today.”

“Not true,” the agent said halfheartedly. “We now know Hubbard was a fitness fanatic and that he was seeing a woman for the last several weeks.”

“That no one has met.” Burke turned to look at her. “Guys close up when they see us coming, but you might have better luck. Chances are this guy”—he jerked his head toward the auto garage across the street—“may already have been tipped off by someone we’ve talked to. He might be looking for the three of us. One alone stands a better chance of getting information if that’s the case.”

Travis frowned as he mulled it over. “You mean by talking to him on some pretext.”

The patience in Kell’s tone was admirable. “That’s right. We haven’t gotten too far being up front about what we want. Tim Molitor”—he nodded toward the garage—“might be a little more open with Macy.”

Travis rubbed his chin contemplatively before sending her a look. “Are you comfortable with that? It would mean you having to think on your feet. We’ll come up with a story for you to approach him with, of course.”

“I think I can handle it,” she said dryly. “I do have some experience in the area.”

“Some fairly recent,” Kell add wickedly.

Macy grabbed her purse and glared at him. She’d been referring, of course, to her time with BII and Raiker. Trust Burke to reference her episode with Travis this morning.

“I still think we need to brainstorm a cover story . . .” The agent’s words were lost as she yanked open the car door and got out. Quick reflexes were the only thing that saved her when she immediately slipped on the slick pavement and nearly landed on her backside.

“Watch that first step,” warned Kell blandly.

Sending him her most killing glare, which lacked a little something in light of her ignoble exit, she slammed the door and rounded the hood to march to the corner. She heard the buzz of the window as it lowered behind her. “Word of advice—lose the hat.”

Since no fitting rejoinder came to mind, she chose to ignore him. And kept her eyes warily on the pavement as she crossed at the light, heading toward Honest Tim’s Auto.

It occurred to her that most honest businessmen didn’t feel compelled to advertise that trait, but then her suspicious nature had been acquired early in life. Once she’d crossed the street without incident she stopped to surreptitiously pull out her BlackBerry and do a little belated research. Then she squared her shoulders and headed into Honest Tim’s.

Manufacturing a harried smile for the bored twenty-something girl behind the counter, she asked, “I’m looking for Tim.”

The girl jerked her head to an adjoining door. “In there.”

Macy looked through the door’s window and saw that she was referring to the auto bay. Slipping through the door, she approached a pair of legs that were jutting from beneath a minivan. “Is Tim around?”

The creeper rolled out from beneath the vehicle. Its occupant was in his forties, with a porn-star mustache and a thicket of wiry dark hair. He wore insulated coveralls with an embroidered name tag. She’d found Molitor. “Hi,” she said with phony enthusiasm. “I’m Sandy Jenkins. Nick recommended I talk to you about my fuel pump.”

“Nick?” Wariness flickered across the man’s face as he got up.

“Nick Hubbard. He said you had a car place and that you’d treat me right. I got a quote from E-Z Auto, on Greeley and Seventy-sixth. They want over a thousand dollars for a new fuel pump, installed. I was talking to Nick about it at the gym last week. He said they’re ripping me off and told me to talk to you.” She bumped up the wattage of her smile. “So I’m talking to you. Is that a good price for replacing a fuel pump?”

He grabbed a grease rag from his back pocket and rubbed his hands on it. “You the gal he’s been dating?”

“He’s dating someone?” She strove for a surprised expression. “He didn’t say.” She lifted a shoulder. “We just talk at the gym, you know?”

“Yeah. He’s nuts about working out.” Obviously more at ease now, he made no attempt to hide his once-over. “Looks like you put in plenty of time there, too.”

Honest Tim was a lowlife lech, but Macy forced herself to nod enthusiastically. “I do, but I haven’t seen Nick there all week. Maybe he’s been busy with that woman you mentioned. The one he’s been seeing.”

“Denise . . . or is it Diane?” Shoving the grease rag back in his pocket, Tom scratched his chin. “No, I think it’s Denise. Never met her, you know? And Nick doesn’t say much. But I know they’ve had a thing now for two or three months.”

“Well, I’ll have to tease him about her next time I see him. He’s always giving me a bad time about my reps.”

“No one’s talked to you yet?”

Feigning ignorance, she asked, “About what?”

The mechanic lowered his voice conspiratorially and took a step closer. “A buddy of mine and Nick’s called this morning to warn me. Said some feds are nosing around asking questions about him.”

Feds? She nearly rolled her eyes. Difficult to say if the buddy had screwed up their identification that badly or if Honest Tim was trying to impress her. “Why would they have questions about Nick?”

“You ask me, they’re trying to hang him with that kid’s disappearance. You knew he’s a security guard for Stephen Mulder, right? The billionaire whose kid was snatched a few days ago?”

Macy rounded her eyes and considered that the stage could have used her talents. “OhmyGod, I never knew . . . they think he kidnapped that little girl?”

Tom smoothed his thin mustache. “Sounds like it. I got a theory that Nick took off when it looked like they were gonna blame him for it and is lying low until they catch the real kidnapper. You ask me, he’s holed up with his girlfriend until this blows over.”