Web of Secrets (Agents Under Fire) (19 page)

“We should get going.” She stepped out the door and didn’t stop until a group of costumed children charged across her path on the sidewalk.

“I forgot it was Halloween,” she said to Connor.

“No problem. I’ve taken care of it for you.” He opened the back door of his car and lifted out a garment bag. “Costumes for both of us.”

She shot him a surprised looked. “You can’t seriously think I would, a) ever dress up to go out on Halloween, and b) do it right after seeing Molly.”

“Not for fun, no. But I thought we could keep an eye on the gang at the credit card apartment afterward. Maybe we’ll get lucky and grab Willow.”

“I know I said I wanted to go back there, but not tonight, Connor.”

“I get that you’re hurting and it cuts me to the core, but tonight is perfect. First, it’ll take your mind off Molly. Second, we’re dealing with teenagers, and they’ll be partying. Their guard will be down. We can hang out on their street and no one will be suspicious. We won’t get another chance like this again.”

“I suppose you’re right.” She mulled it over for a second, her curiosity growing over what the bag contained. “What kind of costumes did you get?’

“Ah, see, that’s where you’re going to have to trust me. You’ll have to agree to come with me first.”

“That’s not fair.” Trusting was the hardest thing for her to do. With his astute detective skills, he’d have to have picked up on that by now. Maybe this was a test. An easy one, really. How bad could it be?

“Okay, fine,” she agreed, albeit reluctantly. “We’ll do it. But not to have fun. It’s all business.”

“It always is with you,” he said sadly. “It always is.”

He reached for the passenger door to open it for her. She didn’t know if he did it out of pity, or if he was just an old-school kind of guy. Either way, she could open her own door, which she did and plopped onto the seat.

His work car was immaculate, but the cup holder held two lidded foam cups.

“I got you some tea.” He pointed at the cup closest to her. “Sam said you liked chai.”

“Thanks,” she mumbled, hating this feeling that everyone wanted to do something for her. She didn’t need help. She had things under control.

He merged the car onto the road, and she lifted the cup. “Would you mind stopping with all the pity? Everyone has been treating me like fragile china today. It honestly makes me uncomfortable. So just be yourself. Please. Even if that’s more annoying.”

“I’m happy to oblige.” He grinned. “One annoying detective at your service.”

Chapter Twenty-One

THE MASK ITCHED. Reginald resisted lifting the chin and scratching until he was safely inside Lauren’s apartment. He glanced down the deserted hallway, and then worked the lockpicks in Lauren’s door. He’d mastered this skill at his mother’s insistence. She’d said he never knew what kind of situation he’d need to overcome to take his girls.

The lock clicked, and he took one last look down the hallway before stepping inside and closing the door. He appreciated the cover that the costume provided, but he didn’t need it inside, so he ripped off the infernal ninja hood. The irony of the night made him mad. Halloween was the only night of the year he could go out in public and not worry that someone would run in revulsion from his scars. They’d stare at him as usual, but then compliment him on his mask, maybe ask him where he got it. It drove him crazy, but at least he could spend the day out of the house. But tonight, he couldn’t risk being recognized by a cop on patrol, or getting picked up by security cameras that were everywhere these days, so he’d worn the costume he’d bought online when he was younger.

He clicked on his flashlight and fell back against the door in surprise. The room was filled with information about him. A current drawing. Police files. Pictures of the girls. He was at first repulsed, but then he got it. This was perfect. Lauren had been looking for him, too. He hadn’t counted on that. She must have realized she shouldn’t have run and wanted to be with him as much as he wanted her.

“Yes!” He shot his fist up. “I knew we had a connection. She felt it, too.”

“Really?” Billy said. “How can you be so dense sometimes? You haven’t even proved Rebecca Lange
is
Lauren. All this proves is that an FBI agent is trying to catch you.”

Reginald ignored Billy’s insult. Reginald preferred to think he’d been right the first time. His gut confirmed it, so he wouldn’t bother thinking about that until the DNA results came back.

He flexed his fingers in the latex gloves. The temperatures had fallen throughout the day, becoming much more like fall in Portland, and the cold weather always tightened the scar tissue and made his hands ache. The tight latex caused them to throb even more. Maybe he’d sell the house and move to Florida with Lauren. If he let her live.

He went to her bathroom and studied her hairbrush with a magnifying glass. He collected not only the minimum five strands of hair with roots for the DNA test but took as many as he could find. He pocketed the sample and went back to the living room where he’d seen her backpack and laptop.

He carefully unloaded the canvas pack. He stroked the side of his face with her gloves, inhaling her scent. He remembered that smell. Becca was Lauren. There was no question in his mind.

“Or are you just wanting it to be so?” his mother asked.

“No, Mother. I’m sure. This is Lauren.”

“We’ll see.”

He rarely got mad at Mother, but she was pushing it.

He used his pocketknife to make a small slice in the interior lining of her backpack in the bottom corner where she’d never notice. He slipped in his mini GPS tracker and looked at the pack. The device was obvious if he stared at it, but then, how often did she unload everything from the pack and stare at the bottom? Never, he hoped.

He reloaded the pack and wished he had time to study every item, but he couldn’t take the chance of getting caught. He moved on to her laptop that was sitting on the table surrounded by files containing information about him.

“Oh, Lauren, you are so detailed,” he whispered. “You really do want to be with me, don’t you?”

It took several tries to discover her password, but on a lark, he entered the word “Molly” along with the date he’d taken her and Lauren in several configurations. Bingo. He was in. He opened a Word document and took note of the most recent file names so he could reopen them and not leave a trail of his work.

Now. The note—a suicide note. When she disappeared with him, he hoped her fellow law enforcement buddies would see her suicide note and stop looking for her. He typed . . .

If you’re reading this, I am dead. I’m sorry, but after seeing Molly, I can’t go on any longer. I’ve tried, but life holds no meaning without her. Please don’t waste your time searching for me. I’ve always been fascinated by drowning and think this is the best way to go. Forgive me if I’ve hurt you. I don’t mean to.

Love, Becca

Yes. Perfect. He saved the document in an obscure part of her hard drive so she wouldn’t find it, but when she disappeared, the cops would discover it in a computer search.

He closed the document and reopened the most recent documents in order, leaving everything as he’d found it. Then he logged out and watched until the screen went back to sleep before closing the lid and stowing it again.

He smiled. He was almost there. Almost with Lauren. He put on the mask again, not even caring now that it was hot and itchy. With a quick check of the hallway, he was on his way toward the street without notice.

At the end of the hall, he turned to look at her door one last time.

See you soon, my love. Very soon.

“A PRINCESS, REALLY?” Becca tugged at the low-cut neckline and shoved the garment bag holding her clothes at Connor. “You see me as a princess?”

“Not in the traditional sense, no.” He latched on to her gaze. “I just think you’ve gotten some rough breaks and someone needs to see you as their princess. You deserve to be spoiled for a night.”

Her expression instantly softened, and Connor knew he was lost. Totally and completely lost and under her spell. He touched her cheek.

“Will you be my princess for the night?” he asked, inserting humor in his voice to lighten the mood.

Mixed emotions flashed through her eyes. “On one condition.”

“Name it,” he said, and waited for her demands.

“If we arrest Willow, you’ll book her. Because I’m definitely not going to go into the station dressed like this.” She took a step back and planted her hands on her hips.

Her reply wasn’t at all what he expected. Couple that with the consternation on her face and her hands lodged on hips that the dress accentuated, and he couldn’t contain his laughter.

She socked him in the chest, then grinned, too. “Of course, you might not want to go in dressed like that, either.”

“What’s wrong with my knight costume?” He took a step back and bowed. “I made sure to get one with pants instead of tights, and I am armed, after all.” He clapped his hand on the hilt of his plastic sword. “Just think of me as a medieval police officer.”

She rolled her eyes and shifted the bodice of her costume. “You just picked this stupid costume for the cleavage.”

“Hey, now,” he complained. “I chose the most modest outfit I could find. I could have gotten you a naughty nurse or Cat Woman costume, instead. Or even worse.” He gave her an evil grin.

She laughed. “You were right. As much as I hate that this is happening on the same day we found Molly, I needed a laugh. And I know she would approve of me trying to solve this thing instead of wallowing in my grief.”

Connor shoved the garment bag in the police issue sedan and held out his arm. “Then come, my princess. Let us alight onto the streets and make merry.”

She slipped her gun and shield into the small drawstring purse that came with the costume. “You’d better hope I don’t need this to back you up. It’s gonna be a real pain to get my gun out.”

“Me, need backup, with this at my side?” He tapped his sword again. “Never.”

She laughed, and put her hand on his arm. They’d parked near a convenience store to change in the bathrooms, and the apartment was several blocks away. As they walked, contentment settled over him for the first time in years. It felt as if something that had been worrying him was finally resolved, but he didn’t know what it was. Strolling down the street like this, arm in arm, Becca’s lighthearted laughter of a moment ago still ringing in his ears, he could imagine the fun they’d have on a date. On many dates.

“I think Finn took the news about Molly as well as could be expected, don’t you?” Becca said.

She quickly burst his bubble of contentment, bringing up the memory of telling Molly’s husband about her death. “I think, considering that she’d been missing for nearly a week, he expected to hear something like this. At least, I would have.”

“But you’re a cop. You always expect the worst.”

He opened his mouth to refute her comment, but she was right. Anyone in law enforcement for any amount of time came to expect bad things and was pleasantly surprised when things went the other way.

“I wish Finn could have given us something to help find Van Gogh,” Becca continued. “People don’t just up and vanish. There has to be something the detective handling the missing person case missed.”

Connor didn’t like that she automatically suspected that someone in his department had screwed up, but grieving people often had to place blame, and he’d give her a pass tonight. “I’ll meet with him in the morning to pick up his files.”

She looked up at him. “Don’t forget to ask for the computer they took into evidence.”

“I’ll get it to you as soon as I can.”

They turned the corner, and he spotted a raucous party on the porch of the house next to the apartment building.

“You up for a party?” he asked.

She smiled again. “Thought you’d never ask.”

They approached the walkway, and Becca came to a stop. “There. On the right side. Do you think that’s Willow?”

Connor focused ahead. “Maybe. But that would be too easy, wouldn’t it?”

“Yes. At least, based on how this investigation has gone so far.”

Connor surveyed the scene. Ten people stood on the porch, a dozen or more in the yard. They were rowdy. Drunk. Which translated to unruly and hard to reason with. Things could get ugly fast.

“We need to get her off the porch and away from the crowd,” he said. “Let’s work our way up to her. Casually. Maybe grab a beer from the keg on the way past. I’ll hit on her. Get her to step off the porch with me. You come up from behind. Cuff her.” He turned his back to the crowd, lifted his shirt, and jerked his cuffs from the belt. “You got room for these in your girly bag?”

She scowled at him and snatched them out of his hand. “I promise you will pay for this costume.”

“I already did. It wasn’t cheap.”

She rolled her eyes.

“Okay.” He stretched, as if he was headed into a boxing ring. “Time to get my game on with Willow.”

“Fine.” Becca stared up at him. “But you don’t have to sound so happy about it.”

BECCA WAS NO LONGER having fun. Watching Connor flirt wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. It was even harder because he was really good at it, and Willow had fallen for his lines. She was dressed as Snow White, and with her short, dark hair, she looked the part.

He suddenly swooped her off her feet and started across the porch. “Make way—a fair maiden in distress needs to be rescued.”

She giggled and wrapped her arms around his neck. The crowd parted, and the men whistled and cheered him on.

Like he needs encouragement.

He appeared to be enjoying every minute of this charade—the way Willow kept touching him, whispering in his ear. Becca hated it, hated each and every minute of being forced to watch him flirt with someone else. Even if it was for a case.

He put Willow down on the ground, but her arms remained around his neck. He peered over her head, looking at Becca and urging her to hurry up. She reached into her bag for the handcuffs as she eased up behind Willow. Not that she needed to be so careful. Willow was far too wrapped up in Conner to notice.

Connor took both of Willow’s hands from around his neck and spun her around, clasping her wrists together. Becca snapped on the cuffs.

Connor turned her to face him. “Sorry, fun time is over, Willow.” Connor held out his shield. “I’m Detective Warren and this is FBI Agent Rebecca Lange.”

“This is about the credit cards isn’t it? Danny finally cracked and told you about me.”

“You’re gonna wish it was just about the credit cards.” Becca’s anger over losing Frankie came through in her voice. “You’re under arrest for identity theft
and
the murder of Frankie Otto.”

“Frankie? You mean Roxanne’s little sister? I didn’t kill her.” Her eyes were wide with fear.

Becca stepped closer. “But you did impersonate her at the hospital, at which time you created a record under her name stating she had no allergies. FYI, Frankie was deathly allergic to Cefoxitin. The doctors checked her records before dispensing the drug, but because you claimed she had no allergies, Cefoxitin was administered. She died.”

“Oh, no . . . really . . . no. I didn’t mean . . . I just was so sick. I couldn’t afford—oh no.”

Connor looked at Becca. “You want me to call a uniform to take her in?”

Becca shook her head.

“But the costume,” he reminded her.

Becca’s desire to see Willow behind bars overrode her need to look professional. “I’ve changed my mind. Let’s get her booked.”

BECCA LOOKED UP at Connor as they stood outside her apartment door. “Do you think Willow was on the up and up? That she didn’t hack Elise’s computer and didn’t give the network password to anyone else, much less the credit card kingpin?”

“What she said made sense, that her boss didn’t need one little home computer when he had connections to data that we couldn’t begin to fathom.”