Cold Silence (A High Stakes Thriller) (24 page)

"Have you seen the site?"

Travis felt his stomach flutter. "No. What is it?"

The colonel watched him, his eyes narrow, and Travis felt as though he were under some sort of magnifying glass. Every motion, every reaction was being measured. He did his best to ignore the colonel. "What is it?"

"Another picture."

He looked from Cody to the colonel. "Is he..." He couldn't bring himself to ask the question.

"He's fine," the colonel answered.

Cody nodded, crossing her arms. "From the picture, he appears fine."

Travis put his hand out. "I'm so glad. Are there any clues? Can you tell anything about where he might be?"

No one touched his hand, so he quickly drew it back.

"I'm not sure yet."

"Do you have the picture here? Can I see it?"

"It's upstairs," the colonel said flatly.

"Well, I'm sorry to come by so late," he said, still feeling as though he was missing some vital piece of information. "I was surprised to see the colonel here," he added.

"How did it go with McCue?" Cody asked, redirecting.

Travis wondered what the colonel's part in this had become, but he focused on Cody's question instead. "Okay, I think. No leads yet, obviously."

"He has access to the employee records?" the colonel asked.

Travis blinked at him and then looked at Cody. Had she told him everything? Did he know about her ex-husband? Wouldn't he be a risk?

"You gave McCue the records, right?" Cody pressed.

"He's reviewing them at the office now. With someone, of course."

The colonel nodded. "He's profiled the kidnapper?"

Travis avoided the colonel's gaze. He searched Cody's face for a response as to his presence, but she made no move to explain it. "He expects to get through the files by tomorrow."

"He'll be discreet?"

Travis nodded. "Absolutely."

"No press whatsoever."

He tried to find a way to tell her about his interview, but nothing came to him. He didn't want to upset her any more than necessary. "Whatever you say," Travis agreed.

"What's his tactic, then?" Cody asked.

"Narrow it down, contact some people, check current addresses and activities on some of the suspicious ones." He rattled the items off, trying to sound confident despite his own discomfort.

Cody nodded to the colonel, who stepped away from the door.

He gripped his hand in a fist and forced himself to talk. He had to tell her. "I met with—"

"I apologize for missing the meeting," she interrupted. "The new picture came up just as I was planning to leave."

Travis studied her face. Her expression was genuine. He even saw the slightest glimmer of trust, but he wasn't sure it was in him. "He didn't promise much. He's got everything I have and he'll do the best he can do."

She nodded and her lips made the smallest outline of a smile. "I'm sure he'll find something."

He smiled, too, but what he felt was mostly puzzlement. What had happened to the Cody O'Brien he'd seen earlier? He shook his head and forced his mind back to the news. "I also wanted—"

"We're still working on the new picture. Why don't you call me when you hear from him," she said, starting to close the door.

He stepped back so it didn't catch his toe. He raised his hand to say good-bye, but the door was already closed. He hadn't told her about the interview. It would probably just blow over. And the interviewer hadn't mentioned any kid other than Peter.

As he turned his back, he wondered about the new picture. He jogged back to the car, and got into the Porsche, anxious to get to his home computer.

Chapter 23

Cody raced from the front door to her office, then slowed to an even pace and started circling the room again. She thought about Travis Landon. He'd looked genuinely concerned, but why hadn't he called instead? Was he just on his way back from San Jose now? She considered McCue and sat down at her computer and typed in his name into an internet search engine. She came up with a few listings for McCue: a dean's list for Eastworth College, a listing of personnel for the United States Department of Arms Control and Disarmament, and a list of kidney donors. None of them was a Dusty McCue. She tried Dustin McCue instead.

She watched the colonel, immersed in his bug book, until he finally looked up. "What?"

"I was just thinking."

"Spill it."

She nodded. She'd wanted to share it and appreciated his no-nonsense attitude. "If you were a private investigator, would you try to keep yourself low-profile?"

He narrowed his eyes in thought and then straightened his glasses on his nose. "I guess it depends on the clientele I wanted."

"So if you dealt with movie stars and stuff, probably? They'd want someone lower-profile?"

"Right."

She looked back at the screen. "Makes sense."

"You wondering about McCue?"

She nodded without turning around.

"You know anything about him?"

"Nothing."

"Might not be a bad idea to find something out."

She glanced at the phone and decided to call Travis Landon. She dialed his number from memory and waited until the answering machine clicked on. She didn't leave a message. She stood and moved slowly to the office door and glanced into the kitchen at Ryan's favorite Spider-Man cup, fighting off the panic.

She returned to the computer and brought up the website again, scrutinizing its detail for the thousandth time. They'd spotted the bug immediately. Ryan was in front of another white wall, sitting this time. In the very corner of the picture, she saw a glass. It looked like it had water in it. His hands were crossed over one another and on the back of one, right at the edge of his sleeve, was the moth.

She studied him again. He still looked frightened, but he looked clean. Though he wore the same clothes, she guessed from his hair that he had showered. She was relieved to see the water, too. It was in a jelly-jar glass, the same as they had at home. It wasn't fancy, but it was stylish and definitely not drugstore cheap. Though there were a hundred explanations for how someone dirt-poor could have such a glass, the more she thought about it, she was convinced the kidnapper had to be someone Landon had worked with. It just didn't seem like he'd been kidnapped by someone random.

The phone rang and she stood to look at the ID box. Still unlisted.

"You going to answer that?"

She shook her head.

"Why the hell not?"

"Because there's no one I want to talk to."

The colonel's jaw dropped. "What about the kidnapper?"

"He'd be calling Landon." She'd thought this through. No one knew she was there. No one knew it was her child who had been kidnapped. No one but Landon, and this wasn't his number. She recognized his numbers now.

The colonel looked over her shoulder at the caller ID box. "I think you should answer."

"Are you any closer?" she asked, changing the subject.

He raised a finger like he was about to make a declaration.

"What?"

"I think this is it."

"Think?"

He nodded. "I'm almost positive that this is a
Hyalophora gloveri."

"In English please."

"It's a moth found in the Sierras."

Her breath rushed from her chest. "The Sierras," she repeated.

"But there's a related species,
Hyalophora euryalus,
which occurs in the Great Basin."

"Turner," she warned.

"Hang on there and listen to what I'm saying."

"I am listening, but I don't understand a word of it."

"I'm saying that there are these two species of moth that come together in one small area of Lake Tahoe and form distinct hybrids."

"How small an area?"

"I'd have to look it up."

She looked at the picture of Ryan. "You think that's the hybrid?"

He nodded.

She wrapped her fingers into a tight fist. "A small area of Lake Tahoe. That's where you think this bug is found?"

He broke a smile. "That's right."

She jumped up and threw her arms around the colonel.

He laughed and pushed her back. "Hold on, there. I want to be positive."

"Jesus, how can you be positive?"

"I need one more book."

"Another one?" She stopped dancing and started to pace again. "It's driving me crazy. Is it the right damn bug or not?"

The colonel stood and took his glasses off, folding them at a pace so slow she knew it was meant to remind her that good research couldn't be rushed. But it could. She knew it could. She'd seen it done a hundred times at the Bureau. And with Mark's job. That was all they'd ever done: rush, rush, rush. They'd talked about having another child after Ryan. They'd both wanted a big family. Especially her. She'd imagined family barbeques, having her sisters over. All the kids running around a huge backyard, playing. But she and Mark had been so busy. Things had been put on hold. And then Mark was gone.

And it was too late. All that rushing around, she hadn't remembered how it felt.

For three years Cody had actually stopped rushing. But now the adrenaline was back and she couldn't slow it. She wouldn't. She needed it. "Colonel. I swear, I'm going to break those glasses into a thousand pieces."

Her gave her a piercing stare meant to warn her.

"This is my son we're talking about."

"Fine. Then run your butt over to my house and get the thick blue reference book on the floor. It was too heavy to carry over."

"What about Mrs. Turner?"

"She's turned in by now." When she hesitated, he shrugged. "I'm happy to go get it, but it'll take longer."

The front doorbell rang as she was heading toward the door.

"Who's that?" the colonel called.

She walked back and shook her head. "Landon, probably. Don't answer it."

Just then the phone started ringing. She shook her head.

As she headed out of the office, she heard the colonel turn on the office television.

The doorbell rang again, but she sneaked out the back door and through the Turners' backyard. She'd never been thankful for the back route before now. She curved around the Turners' yard and entered through the back door. The house was quiet, but it had the sense of being occupied. It gave Cody the creeps, and she moved quickly through the dark kitchen and into the den. She pulled the heavy book into her arms and traced her path back, shielding it from the drizzling rain.

As she came around the corner of the Turners' house, she ran smack into the colonel.

"Jesus, you almost gave me a heart attack."

He looked over his shoulder and took her arm. "Let's go."

She wrenched herself free and looked around. "What are you doing?"

"I'll show you. Just get inside."

She shook her head. "No. Tell me now." She heard the sound of engines on the quiet street; a set of headlights passed them. Then another.

"You're going to have to trust me."

"Who—"

The colonel grabbed her arm and shook it to gain her attention. His brow was closed down over his eyes in a shadow of bad news. "Trust me," he repeated, his voice urgent.

A third car turned down their street, and Cody thought it was a van. She nodded quickly and turned back toward the colonel's house with him close behind.

He shut the door behind them and locked it without turning on the light, then ushered her into the den.

She shuddered and realized she wore only a long-sleeved T-shirt and shorts. The colonel motioned to the couch and she sat without argument. He pulled a wool afghan over her legs and she noted that the itchiness of the wool that usually bothered her was now distant and warm.

"What's going on?"