Bone Cold (4 page)

Except she couldn’t. With a dry laugh, she listened to the message. Chief Larson’s deep baritone rumbled in her ear, relegating the subtle tones of the music to the background. “Sarah, call me.” A heavy pause. “I don’t care what time it is. This can’t wait until you come into the office.”

Couldn’t be good news. Since she would already have been notified if forensics had found anything on Katie Adams before calling it quits at dark this could only be trouble. Either another child had gone missing or a body had turned up somewhere.

Pulse thumping, she chugged down the rest of the beer, steeled herself for the worst, and punched the chief’s contact number. He answered on the second ring.

“It’s me. What’s up?”

He exhaled noisily... hesitated.

Sarah wished she’d taken her pill already. “Do we have a body?” She didn’t want any of the children to be dead. Dammit, she didn’t want that. No matter how much evidence they might glean as a result.

“No body.”

She wanted to feel relieved, but the resigned undertone in his voice warned her that the news was still bad.

“I’m guessing the Senator has done a little cage rattling. I received a call from Quantico.”

The FBI was part of the Task Force. Maybe they were sending another profiler from the Behavioral Analysis Unit. Sarah didn’t have a problem with more insight. “I don’t see the big deal.” She said the words a little crankier than she’d intended, but she was overtired and more than a little punchy.

“It’s Tom, Sarah. Your husband is coming and he wants to talk to
you
.”

For something like ten seconds Sarah felt too stunned to speak. Tom’s was the last name she’d expected to hear.
What the hell?
“Why is he coming? Isn’t that a conflict of interest or something?”

“I asked the same question,” Larson assured her. “He believes these missing kids are related to an ongoing case he’s investigating. I got the impression it’s a high priority case with a major classified stamp on it.”

Sarah shook off the disbelief. “When will he be here?” There went any chance of sleep tonight—this morning actually. The final hours before dawn would be spent trying to strategize ways to deal with an up-close encounter with Tom.

“Noon,” Larson said. “He asked for a briefing at one.”

Sarah sat her newly emptied bottle aside and raked her fingers through her damp hair. “I don’t like this,” she muttered, more to herself than to her boss. She plopped down on the stairs and braced her head in her hand. She wasn’t ready to see him again. Tom would be watching her every step… analyzing her.

“I don’t like it either. Listen, Sarah, the truth is, I was worried about you being a part of this investigation, particularly once things started to escalate, but I’ve been watching you. You’ve still got it, Sarah. Those kids need you.”

It had taken nearly a year after leaving the treatment center for her to get comfortable in her own skin again. She had her moments, like today when the panic had gotten the better of her, but she managed and she was growing stronger every day. She inhaled a deep, bracing breath. If finding these kids meant facing Tom she would have to find a way to do it.

“I’m not backing off.” She had been on this case since the beginning. She wasn’t going anywhere until it was done. “I’m in until the end.”

“That’s what I wanted to hear. See you in a few hours.” The chief ended the call with a final order for her to get some sleep.

Sarah seriously doubted that was going to happen.

1730 Dublin Drive, Silver Springs, Maryland, 8:15 a.m.

Lawrence Cashion woke with a raging headache. He straightened, pain streaking through his muscles as the reality of where he was penetrated the lingering haze of a hangover. Wiggles licked his hand and he cursed and shoved the annoying animal away. Whimpering, she scrambled for the closest piece of furniture to cower under.

Muttering a string of hot expletives, all self-related, he swiped his hand on his trousers and then scrubbed it over his jaw. He swore again when he encountered stubble and drool, neither of which fit with the image he had worked hard for more than a decade to build. He’d fallen asleep in his chair.

“Fool,” he growled, disgusted with himself for giving in to the temptation of alcohol after more than five years of sobriety. He clenched his jaw against the continued protest of his muscles as he pushed out of the wing chair.

A glass and an empty bourbon bottle lay on the sand colored carpet next to the chair he’d vacated. Whatever contents he hadn’t managed to consume during the night’s binge had absorbed into the expensive wool fibers, yellowing them.

He cursed himself some more and staggered from the room. He stared listlessly at the stairs for a moment before tackling that climb. What he needed was a shower and a steaming pot of coffee. He started up the stairs, one slow step at a time. Thank God it was Saturday and he didn’t have to worry about going into the office. He didn’t need a mirror to know his eyes would be bloodshot, and his face would be flushed with the signs of his lost struggle with the bottle. He’d seen that image too many times in the past. He’d hoped he wouldn’t see that face again.

What was done was done. He shuffled through his bedroom and into the en suite bath. Nobody was perfect. It wasn’t as if he was the first man who’d fallen off the wagon. He had always enjoyed a good drink, there was no denying that fact. Had it not been for the blackouts he’d suffered he probably would never have given up the booze he loved so dearly.

He sighed and flipped on the bathroom light. He figured he’d inherited the trait from his old man. As he peeled off his shirt, the memories from his childhood clicked one after the other through his mind like a bad fairytale. In each and every one the overriding theme was the same—his father on or after a bender, with no memory of what he’d done or where he’d been.

His loving, however undisciplined, father had eventually given up the bottle for that same reason. The change had made him even harder to live with. After years of taking his misery out on his family he’d died a bitter, unhappy man. Well, Lawrence had no intention of allowing that to happen to him. He had the situation under control. So what if he’d slipped up last night? It was the first infraction in years. Besides, he’d been entitled. That cocky bastard Rupert Wendell had won the government contract Lawrence had worked his ass off for. He’d deserved that contract. It would have put him back on easy street. Everyone knew the contract should have been his. Now he had to deal with the questioning looks and the murmuring behind his back.

He hated that feeling. Made him feel the way he had as a kid back in school. Everyone had known his old man was a drunk.

Lawrence kicked aside his shoes and then his trousers. As if that hadn’t been enough to kill his day, he’d come home and dinner hadn’t even been ready.

It was
her
that had tipped him over the edge.

He gritted his teeth as he considered all that he’d done for his wife. All she had to do was take care of the house and their daughter. That’s all. She couldn’t even handle those measly tasks. She knew better than to set him off.

Tamping down his fury before it got the better of him, Lawrence reached into the shower stall and flipped on the spray of water. He shivered as the first cold droplets splashed his arms. He’d feel better after a good hot shower. Then he’d savor coffee and have a talk with his lovely, however inept, wife.

He frowned as he considered that she apparently wasn’t up yet. She usually made sure the coffee was brewed before he arose. He woke to the rich smell of his favorite blend. That was the way he liked it and she knew it. Another little something they needed to discuss.

He rubbed at the ache in his temples, thinking maybe he’d better pop a couple of aspirin now instead of waiting until coffee. Something in his peripheral vision snagged his attention and his fingers stilled in their work. He blinked as he lowered his hand and peered into his open palm.

Red streaked the pale skin of his palm and fingers. Rubbing his thumb and fingers together, he watched curiously as the water from the shower that had splattered on him and the streaks blended, becoming liquid and sticky. What on earth?

He turned his other hand palm up and stared at it. The same reddish tinges marred the skin there, too. As if watching himself from above he lifted his hands to his face and sniffed hesitantly. The distinct metallic odor slammed into him with such force that he stumbled backward, banged into the open shower door.

What the...?

He peered down at himself, noting no injuries.

Fear held him in its choking grip for the space of two frantic heartbeats, and then he barreled into the bedroom. Nearly hysterical with the thoughts whirling in his head, he scanned the meticulously made bed. It hadn’t been slept in. The jacket he’d removed and slung across the footboard when he’d come home last evening still lay exactly where he’d left it.

No longer caring about the ache in his skull or the fact that he only wore his boxers, he rushed to Cassie’s room. Not a thing looked out of place. Her bed had not been slept in either.

His heart stalled in his chest and he stared down at his bloodstained hands.

What had he done?

Washington D.C., Special Services Division

Metropolitan Police Department, 12:30 p.m.

Sarah surveyed the neatly arranged files on the conference table. She had compiled a detailed file on each missing child, including Katie Adams, for today’s briefing. She stopped to look up at the new photograph added to the board of doom. The Adams child was such a pretty little girl. Sarah let go a weary breath, her chest aching with the weight of it. Her big smile reminded Sarah of Sophie. Sarah rarely allowed thoughts of her daughter. It was the sole way to maintain her sanity. Today she couldn’t seem to get a handle on those forbidden detours into the past.

Tom would be here soon. When he arrived everything she and the Task Force had on the investigation would be ready for his perusal. Getting straight down to business to expedite this meeting was essential for numerous reasons, her mental wellbeing included. She hadn’t seen him in more than a year. However much she told herself she was prepared for the meeting, she really wasn’t so sure. The one certainty she understood was that she could not allow this briefing to turn into a rehashing of their family issues.

Your family doesn’t exist anymore
.

Sarah banished the tender thought. She had to concentrate. So far, they had determined only a few similarities that tied the children together: age, the family’s financial status, and the manner of abduction. One of the children had siblings, the rest were onlys. Yet that one victim broke the pattern, eliminating to a significant degree that distinguishing factor.

Sarah rubbed at the throb starting in her left temple. Between Carla’s visit and the chief’s call about Tom, she’d hardly slept at all. The notion that she might not be able to help these children anymore than she had Sophie and Josh had replayed over and over in her mind during the wee hours before dawn.

Hearing that Tom was coming had started to chink away at her confidence. He knew her far too well. He would see through her carefully constructed façade to all the shattered pieces. Panic trickled through her.

“Sarah?”

She looked up, startled from her troubling thoughts to find Larson looming in the conference room doorway. She steadied herself and mustered a smile. “I’m almost ready.”

“There’s been another abduction.”

Her heart thumped hard once then lodged in her throat. “This morning?” Jesus, whatever his ultimate goal, his timing had bumped up again.

“Last night. We think,” Larson amended.

“You think?”

He nodded, stepped into the room, and then closed the door behind him. “Lawrence Cashion, a Silver Springs businessman, reported his wife and daughter missing about ten this morning. He claims they went to a neighbor’s birthday party at around six last evening and never came home. The wife’s car was found abandoned five blocks from their home near a wooded park.”

Sarah digested the information. “What about the wife?”

“That’s the twist,” Larson continued. “She appears to have been taken as well.”

Sarah felt her head moving from side to side before she’d consciously disagreed with this new development. “It doesn’t fit our unsub’s MO. He only takes children.”

Her boss smoothed a hand over his neatly trimmed hair. “This could be totally unrelated, but since the child’s age and the family tax bracket fit, we’re going to assume this one is ours for now. Captain Andrews wants you to interview Cashion and make a call on whether this one’s in or out.”

She nodded. “What do we have so far?”

He thrust a report at her. “This was just faxed over. I can try and postpone the briefing with Tom. He’s likely on his way already.”

“Speaking of Tom,” Sarah decided to ask the question that had helped keep her awake most of the night, “why is he meeting with me—with us? Why not Andrews or even one of the agents on the Task Force?” She’d been avoiding his calls for months. Was he using this investigation as an excuse to check up on her?

“I asked that question myself,” Larson admitted. “Tom said he trusted your insights. He wants to talk to
you
.”

If he thought she was going to change her mind about the divorce, he could think again.

Sarah scanned the details of the Cashion report. Cassandra Cashion, age four, only child, financially secure family. A frown annoyed Sarah’s brow. Why would the mother have stopped on the street at night? The car was left on the side of the road in an area where there were no houses, yet only blocks from her home. No indication of car trouble. No flat tire or empty gas tank. Why stop unless to help or to pick up someone she knew? Why hadn’t Cashion spotted the car? Surely, he’d gone looking for them before this morning.

“Is someone checking out the husband’s alibi?” That part didn’t sit right with her. “He could be hoping to blame whatever he’s done on our guy.”

“A couple of Silver Springs detectives have grilled him unmercifully. He hasn’t copped to anything yet, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t guilty. He claims he was at home all night, but no one can confirm his whereabouts.”

The whole story sounded suspect. It would take time to reconstruct the last twenty-four hours in the Cashion family’s lives.

The door opened and before he spoke or she looked up Sarah knew Tom Cuddahy had entered the conference room. A shiver swept across her flesh as if the very air had abruptly been charged by his presence.

“Chief Larson, Sarah,” he acknowledged, “they said I’d find you here. I’m a little early, I hope that works.”

From the corner of her eye, she saw the chief wheel around and thrust out his hand. “Of course. Of course,” Larson said, a smile in his voice. “It’s been a while.”

“Too long,” Tom agreed.

Sarah took a deep breath, squared her shoulders, and did what she had to do. “Hello, Tom. I’m sure you’d like to get started, so if you and the chief will take a seat we’ll get to it.”

Tom walked straight to where she felt nailed to the floor and smiled down at her. Sarah stiffened, terrified he would hug her. If he touched her…

As if he understood that touching was off limits, he gave her a nod. “It’s good to see you, Sarah.” He searched her face a little longer than was comfortable. “You look well.”

She had taken care to dress in a reserved, professional manner today. The navy jacket and slacks along with a conservative white blouse and practical black leather flats completed the all-business image she’d been going for. She’d tucked her dark hair into a thick silver clasp and had kept her hand light when it came to make-up, as she usually did. She wanted him to see a confident woman, a hardworking detective. Not the shattered being he’d carried into that treatment center eighteen months ago.

“I am well. Thank you.”

“Good,” Tom said, a glimmer of approval in those assessing green eyes.

Sarah could scarcely bear to look. Sophie had his eyes… and his black hair. The memory twisted in her chest.

“How about coffee all around?” the chief said, splintering the tension that had started building the moment her husband entered the room.

“Coffee would be great,” Tom announced. “I’m anxious to have a look at what your Task Force has on this cluster of abductions.” He indicated the case board.

“No coffee for me.” She didn’t need the caffeine. “Water, please.”

When the chief had disappeared down the long corridor running parallel to the conference room, her attention moved reluctantly back to Tom.

“You really do look good, Sarah,” he repeated. “I’m glad.”

“I guess you had your doubts about whether I’d ever be all right again.” She picked up the main case file she’d compiled and offered it to the man with whom she’d once shared every part of her being. Voices and images flashed in her mind. Her screaming and sobbing. Him pleading with her to listen to reason.

“Sarah, I—”

She held up a hand. “You’re here to talk about the missing children.”

He gave her a nod and accepted the folder. “Two plus weeks and no clues, no bodies?”

“Nothing. The only conclusion I’ve reached is that he’s collecting them for—” she shrugged, hating like hell that the gesture looked so helpless “—God only knows what.”

Tom reviewed the faces on the board. Four little girls and three boys. And maybe another little girl in Silver Springs.

All waiting to be found.

“Well,” he turned back to Sarah, “I’m afraid this is far more complicated than just some unsub amassing assets.”

Renewed tension slid through her. “You have reason to believe these abductions are connected to something bigger?”

“Let’s sit down.” The worry in his eyes tugged at feelings she had thought long dead. “There’s a lot I need to tell you, Sarah.”