Читать книгу Stalked - Elizabeth Heiter - Страница 10

1

Kyle McKenzie leaned across the table in the tiny Italian restaurant with the dim, romantic lighting, and said in a too-calm voice, “I start my new job at the Washington Field Office tomorrow.”

Evelyn Baine felt the same surge of regret she always felt when this topic came up. “I’m glad they had a spot open up for you there.”

They both worked for the FBI, her as a profiler in the Behavioral Analysis Unit, and Kyle, up until a month ago, as an operator for the Hostage Rescue Team. He’d been off work since taking a bullet on a mission. She’d known how risky the mission was and couldn’t help but think she hadn’t pushed hard enough to stop HRT from going in. Now here they were. Kyle pretending he was okay with leaving the job he’d loved. And her pretending she didn’t feel guilty as hell over it.

He shrugged his good shoulder, the one that hadn’t been torn up by a bullet. “Yeah. I’m surprised I got it, but I wanted to stay close. To you, of course, and...”

He trailed off, but she knew the rest, anyway. He wanted to be close to his old team. The FBI’s Washington Field Office was only a forty-five minute drive—with a siren—from Quantico, where HRT was located.

Evelyn worked in Aquia, the town right beside Quantico, herself. The entire time she’d been at the BAU, she’d gotten used to Kyle making the eight and a half-mile drive to see her at her office. He’d pretended he wasn’t coming to see her. But everyone around him had seen through it. Eventually, so had she, and she’d decided to act on it. Now, they’d been dating for six months, and even though she saw him more often, she’d missed seeing him at work, missed their old office banter, over the past month.

He missed the team. She knew it, even if he wasn’t saying it out loud. As an HRT agent, he got sent out on critical missions—everything from stopping a prison riot to rescuing hostages from inside a survivalist compound to assisting with overseas rescues in war zones. The rest of the time was spent training for those missions. It was completely different from being a regular Special Agent.

She wasn’t sure if he’d be able to return to that life. She couldn’t imagine doing it herself, even though she’d worked in a Violent Crimes Major Offenders squad for six years before coming over to the BAU.

She stared across the candlelit table at him now, seeing the tension he was trying to hide. Maybe he could go back to HRT someday. But more likely, his career was going to head in a different direction.

She fiddled with her napkin, reflexively looking at the door of the near-empty restaurant as it opened. Until very recently, she and Kyle had hidden their relationship. It felt strange to be out in public, in Virginia, where someone from the FBI might see them.

Ironically, they’d only been able to officially tell the FBI because he no longer worked in the Critical Incident Response Group, which included both the BAU and HRT. He’d wanted to announce it from the start. She’d been sure that would mean reassignment for one of them. And she didn’t have quite two years in at the BAU—where she hoped to stay until mandatory retirement, which was still twenty-seven years away.

She gave him an embarrassed smile when she realized it was just another patron that had drawn her attention to the door. Some habits were hard to break. “This feels weird.”

He smiled back at her, making crinkles fan out from his ocean-blue eyes, and the slightest hint of dimples dent his cheeks. “Maybe you enjoy your secrets a little too much.”

Maybe he was right. She’d always been a private person, and in an office full of profilers, keeping anything to yourself wasn’t easy. It was ingrained in them the same way it was in her: assess everyone you meet, try to see through the mask to what was underneath. Dig up those secrets.

She tried to relax, unbuttoning the loose-fitting suit jacket she’d worn straight from the office. It hid the SIG Sauer she always kept strapped to her hip, but didn’t exactly scream “date clothes.”

When the restaurant door squeaked open again, and she instantly looked over, Kyle twined his fingers through hers across the table, and the light contact brought her attention back to him.

“What do you say we get dinner to go?”

His big, calloused hand seemed even paler wrapped around her tiny, darker one. So different, just like their personalities—but somehow they worked.

She nodded, but before she could add, “Let’s go,” her phone buzzed from her pocket.

She pulled it out, but the instant she saw Dan Moore’s name pop up, she regretted grabbing it. Her boss calling her at nine at night meant a new case had come in, one that couldn’t wait.

Six months ago, she’d been his go-to agent for urgent cases, because she didn’t mind the late-night calls. Hell, she lived for the job.

But right now? With Kyle McKenzie’s deep blue eyes staring back at her? “This better be good,” she muttered before answering, “Dan? What’s up?”

“Remember the case file that made the rounds in the office last month?” Dan replied without preamble. “The missing teenager?”

“Right,” she said slowly. She’d been through fifty cases since then, but that one stuck out.

A seventeen-year-old girl last seen walking into her high school had gone missing, no signs of foul play. The BAU had passed the police file around the room, but there hadn’t been enough to go on to give a solid profile, and they hadn’t been able to spare a profiler for more in-depth involvement.

“Did they find her?” Evelyn asked.

“Would I be calling you if they had?” Dan snapped, then said, “Sorry. Look, we told the police department this was probably a stranger abduction since no body had turned up, and the noncustodial parent hadn’t run. But now they have a note, suggesting the kidnapper was someone in the girl’s life, after all.”

“Okay,” Evelyn said slowly as Kyle unthreaded his hand from hers and walked over to the waiter. Undoubtedly he was ordering food to go, knowing their evening had just ended.

“So, if it’s someone in her life, shouldn’t—”

“Yeah, normally that would make it more of a straightforward police matter. But we can spare a profiler for a week or so, and the note was disturbing. The girl left it herself. She predicted her own death.”

Evelyn let the words sink in. “They have a body?”

“No. Still no sign of the girl. But the mom is hysterical, and she’s gotten close with the local news stations. The police need help getting in front of this.”

“If she predicted her death, there’s more to the case than it seemed.”

“You got it,” Dan agreed. “Detective Sophia Lopez is expecting you.” He hung up, as details of Haley Cooke’s missing-persons case came back to Evelyn.

“Nice talking to you, too,” Evelyn muttered. Her boss was usually terse—at least with her—but lately he’d been abrupt with everyone. She tucked her phone into her jacket as Kyle returned with to-go bags of food.

“Duty calls?” Kyle guessed, glancing around the still-empty restaurant. “I guess our big debut night on the town will have to wait.”

She nodded ruefully. Apparently they weren’t the only ones who had been hiding something from the people around them.

So had Haley Cooke, the seventeen-year-old girl whose background had revealed a popular, straight-A student whose most dangerous pastime seemed to be standing on top of a cheerleading pyramid.

What had she gotten involved in that she thought would get her killed?

* * *

The Neville, Virginia, police station looked interchangeable with hundreds of other stations Evelyn had been to in her BAU tenure. But the detective standing in front of her in figure-hugging blue jeans and an elbow-length red blazer better suited to an afternoon luncheon than hiding the Glock at her hip definitely didn’t resemble the average police officer.

“Detective Sophia Lopez.” The woman held out her hand, complete with deep red polish, and stared expectantly at Evelyn. She was already tall—topping Evelyn’s petite five-foot-two by at least eight inches—but a pair of high-heeled boots gave her an extra boost. Her long, dark hair dangled in a loose ponytail that seemed impractical for crime scenes, and her bright red lipstick looked out of place in a police station. But her intense stare was 100 percent cop.

“Special Agent Evelyn Baine,” she replied, shaking firmly.

To the mostly male officers around them, they probably seemed to have a lot in common. Two women in law enforcement—one biracial and the other Latina—giving the typical first-impression handshake. Hard, so the other person would know they weren’t to be messed with. Matched with solid eye contact, projecting seriousness.

But if Sophia’s clothes were similar to a clerk at a trendy boutique, Evelyn dressed more like the male officers, in a baggy, solid-black pantsuit. Her heels were always under two inches; enough to give her a little extra height, but not so high she couldn’t run in them. While Sophia seemed to want to stand out, Evelyn liked to blend in—hide in the background where she could watch and analyze everyone.

She studied the detective in charge of the Haley Cooke case, taking in the incongruities, trying to decipher her from just a greeting.

She didn’t just profile the predators, although that was in her official job description. To do it well, she also had to figure out the personalities of the other law enforcement officials on the case. Figuring them out fast made for an easier working relationship, usually a better reception to her profiles. Especially since the head detective wasn’t always the one requesting her presence. Often, that pressure came from above, such as a police chief or a mayor, and usually because of media attention.

As Evelyn tried to work an instant profile, Sophia’s steady stare broke, a wide grin stretching across her face and making all of her uneven features seem to come together. “All right. That’s enough posturing. We’re both hard-asses and we both know it. Come on. I’ll show you what we’ve got on the Haley Cooke case.”

She spun, striding down the hallway at a pace that had Evelyn jogging to keep up.

At the end of the hallway, Sophia shoved open a door and ushered Evelyn into a room the size of a janitor’s closet. It smelled like a janitor’s closet, too, as though it had been used to store cleaning products until very recently. The scent of bleach made Evelyn’s eyes water, and she blinked it away before taking in the pictures and timelines tacked to every available wall space.

Sophia pushed back a pair of chairs and a small folding table that took up most of the room. “I know. It’s a pathetic amount of space to devote to the investigation of a missing teenager. But it’s what I’ve got. So I work with it.”

Evelyn nodded, not saying this was more space than she’d expected, given that the case was a month old and the leads were nonexistent. Then again, Neville, Virginia—home to approximately ten thousand people in the summers and thirty thousand when the local university was in session—probably didn’t see very many missing-persons cases.

The BAU, on the other hand, was inundated with countless missing-persons investigations. Rarely did Evelyn consult on a case with only one victim. But every so often, one would come along where the investigation was getting nowhere, and if the perpetrator was a stranger, a profiler could change everything. A regular investigation would struggle to find a kidnapper who had no connection to the victim’s life, but a profiler could do it.

“You want me to put that in our fridge?” Sophia asked.

Evelyn glanced down at the Styrofoam take-out container still clutched in her hand, dinner she hadn’t had a chance to eat. “Thanks,” she said, handing it over as her stomach growled.

After Sophia left the room, Evelyn spun in a slow circle, studying the images thumbtacked right into the drywall. At the center of most of them was Haley Cooke. Seventeen years old, a junior at Neville High School. The media loved to refer to her as “all-American.”

Blonde, blue-eyed, with a smile on her face in every picture Evelyn had seen. People probably couldn’t help returning that smile.

Evelyn had a sudden flashback to another blond-haired girl, one who’d never had the chance to grow up. Cassie, her best friend, whose disappearance had sent Evelyn into profiling. Was this how she might have looked if she’d made it to seventeen?

Evelyn pushed the bittersweet thought aside and focused on Haley. Her routines, her relationships, her personality—they would all contribute to Evelyn’s victim profile. That would help her figure out who could have grabbed her.

“Loved by everyone” was another thing the media constantly repeated about Haley. Whether it was because her mother had cozied up to all the local news stations or because the complete lack of clues had captivated the country’s interest, Haley’s face had become very well-known.

Which made it even more unusual that no one had seen her since she’d walked into that high school a month ago. Unless she’d never come out because she’d been killed there. But if that was true, surely they’d have found a body by now.

The case was bizarre. Although the BAU specialized in bizarre, this one had given Evelyn a bad feeling from the moment she’d seen the case file. A beautiful young teenage girl goes missing without a trace. The ending wasn’t usually positive.

From the limited information in the case file a month ago, there’d been no way to give a solid profile, but her gut had screamed “stranger abduction.” Since Haley had predicted her own death, though, it seemed her gut had been wrong.

“Here,” Sophia said, and Evelyn turned to find the detective holding out a flimsy cup. The smell of overcooked coffee filled the small room.

Instead of telling Sophia she didn’t drink coffee, Evelyn smiled her thanks and took the scalding-hot cup. “Why don’t you give me the highlights? And let’s look at the note the mother found. Can we confirm Haley wrote it?”

“Haley’s mom says it’s her daughter’s handwriting.” Sophia perched on top of the folding table, making it creak loudly underneath her. “Most of what we know you’ve probably already seen on the news. It’s as though someone plucked her out of thin air. Poof. Gone. Forensics is giving us nothing at the scene.”

“Who else was around?”

“Her boyfriend drove away after he dropped her off, and the cheerleaders on the field saw him leave. Otherwise, there was a coach on the field, and some students in the library with a teacher. None of them saw her inside, and no one saw her leave the school, but when her friends went inside, they couldn’t find her.”

“What about other exits?”

“Yeah, there are others, but the way the school is situated, it’s not likely she could have left without being seen. You’ve basically got the front entrance—where Haley was dropped off—near the main road. On the right side, you’ve got the field where the cheerleaders were practicing. They can see the front entrance from there. Then, on the left, you’ve got another open field the school uses for soccer and other sports. That one butts up against a neighborhood. Some wooded area in between, but not much. Then the back—faculty parking, service entrance. Probably the least visible, but that leads out to a side street. No one saw Haley leave that way, either, though they might not have. Still, it happened fast for an abduction.”

When Sophia took a breath, Evelyn cut in. “How far were the locker rooms where she was supposed to be from the back entrance?”

“Not close. Someone would have had to know exactly where she was, gone in and grabbed her and then subdued her fast, without making noise. The library is fairly close to the locker rooms, at least close enough that they surely would have heard if Haley screamed. Then...this person would have needed to carry Haley out without anyone seeing. Doable? Maybe. But unlikely.”

“Either someone was prepared to take that kind of risk, or Haley went willingly, at least at first,” Evelyn said. “What do you make of the note?”

“Ah, the note.” Sophia swiveled on the table and pulled the evidence list out of the box. “One sentence.”

Evelyn took the list and looked at the description for the last item, the notebook. The matter-of-fact words sent pinpricks down her spine. “‘If you’re reading this, I’m already dead.’”

“Yeah. Ominous.”

“And there was nothing else in the notebook? No other information?”

“None. We even checked for indentations in case she’d written more and then torn the pages out, but there’s no indication of that.”

“Did you run the note for prints?”

“Yep. We found Haley’s prints. And Linda’s—Haley’s mom. That’s it.”

“And the mom just found it today?”

“Yes. Between the box spring and the bed frame.”

“So, you guys missed it when you checked the room?”

Sophia frowned.

“What I’m asking,” Evelyn clarified, “is could it have been put there after Haley went missing? Could it have been planted?” For a case this high profile, a month was a long time for such a key piece of evidence to go unnoticed.

“I don’t know. We checked under the mattress. Could we have missed it? Yes. I mean, it was jammed in an odd location. And we were there to learn more about Haley. We were looking for any hints of what could have happened, get a sense of her personality, her secrets. We weren’t taking everything apart—we were trying to be sensitive to the family. Could the note have been put there after we searched the room? That’s also possible. But if someone planted the note, then why?”

“Attention,” Evelyn suggested. She’d seen it before, sometimes a misguided attempt to get more manpower on a case, and sometimes just to get the victim’s family back in the limelight. “The girl’s mom has been on the news—”

“Exactly,” Sophia agreed. “Linda Varner doesn’t need a stunt to get more attention for her daughter’s case. The woman quit her job. She does nothing but try to get resources for this. But it’s all about finding Haley. She wouldn’t plant evidence that might lead us in the wrong direction.”

“You sure?”

“You’re the profiler,” Sophia said. “But speaking as a cop—and a mother myself? Linda Varner appears to be the devastated mother of a missing child. Do they sometimes do things they shouldn’t, trying to make sense of what they’re going through? Sure. But I don’t think that’s what’s happening here. Linda knows I’m working the case. I talk to her every day.”

“Every day?” Evelyn interrupted.

“Yep. Every single day, she shows up here, regardless of how many times I tell her I’ll call if I have anything new. We might as well have a standing appointment. And anyway, Linda confirmed the note was written in the daughter’s handwriting.”

“The mom—”

“It’s not Linda’s writing,” Sophia broke in. “Could she have gotten someone else to write it? I guess so, but then we’re looking at a conspiracy.”

Evelyn nodded. Conspiracies were relatively rare. The simplest explanations were most often the real ones.

“So, even if we think someone else put it there, Haley still wrote it.”

“Which leaves us at the same place.”

“Right.” Sophia’s shoulders slumped, and Evelyn suddenly saw the dark circles underneath the detective’s heavy-handed concealer.

The dark circles weren’t all from this case, either, and Evelyn realized Sophia was older than she’d initially thought—probably nearing forty.

“She was into something she shouldn’t have been,” Sophia said, ticking off possibilities on her fingers. “Or she knew something she shouldn’t have known, saw something she shouldn’t have seen. Or she was a victim who’d decided to finally tell, and someone wanted to shut her up.” Sophia shrugged. “Whatever it is...”

“She almost certainly knew who grabbed her,” Evelyn finished.

“And if Haley’s note is right,” Sophia said softly, “that person has already killed her.”