Don't Tell (13 page)

„This is begging for trouble,“ Lambert grumbled, following Steven inside nonetheless.

„I want to observe all the players in their natural habitat,“ Steven murmured.

„They’re not animals, Thatcher,“ Lambert gritted, his jaw clenching.

Steven rolled his eyes. „Figure of speech, Lambert. Lighten up.“ Steven looked around at the clientele of the modest little bar. Cops everywhere. Some uniformed, others in suits and ties, but all unmistakably cops. „I want to talk to them in their most natural environment. Is that better?“

Lambert hadn’t lightened up an iota. „Then question the men at the precinct. They come here to relax, not to be spied on.“

Steven turned to face Lambert, all levity gone. „Any cop worth his badge – and without anything to hide – won’t mind talking to me. A woman and her child are missing. I certainly hope that means something.“ He lifted a brow. „To all of you.“

Lambert’s mouth twisted. Ironically enough, it didn’t mar his good looks one bit. „Rob Winters isn’t my favorite person, Special Agent Thatcher, but I respect his service record. I won’t have his name dragged through the dirt without evidence. Innuendo is insufficient.“ His eyes roamed the crowd who hadn’t yet noticed them. „You’ll find my opinion to be broadly shared.“

„If not so eloquently stated,“ Steven muttered, mentally preparing himself for the attack he’d purposely instigated by insinuating himself where he would be most unwanted. And not a moment too soon, he thought as Detective Ben Jolley sauntered up to where they stood, clutching a mug of beer in one unsteady hand. From the look of him, the mug hadn’t been his first.

„Don’t they teach you manners in Raleigh, Special Agent Thatcher?“ Jolley slurred. „I would have thought you’d know better than to barge in on a private party.“

„Ben,“ Lambert warned.

But Jolley was apparently on a roll. „Shut your face, Jonnie.“ Steven watched Lambert wince and knew the nickname was as unwelcome as Steven’s own presence. „Take him to your wine and cheese shop. We don’t want him here.“ Jolley swerved, coming to a stop mere inches from Steven’s face. „You think you can come here and get us to talk bad about Rob. No chance, Special Agent Thatcher. There’s not a man in this place that wouldn’t go to the mat for Rob Winters.“ He turned around and raised his mug. „Right, boys?“

Steven watched the crowd carefully. The majority of the men responded with an emphatic „Right!“ But not all. He memorized the faces of the men who said nothing, paying special attention to the men who looked away. Not everyone in this place hailed Rob Winters as a hero. But Ben Jolley did and at this very moment, that was trouble enough.

„So go home, Thatcher.“ Jolley leaned forward and Steven fought the urge to turn away from the overpowering odor of the man’s breath. Mixed with stale cigarettes, it was enough to turn the most iron stomach. „Go home and use all your fancy computers and labs to find out what really happened to Rob’s little boy. ‘Cause you’re wasting every minute you think he did it.“

„You sound certain,“ Steven commented. „Why?“

„Because I know him,“ Jolley declared, his eyes taking on an impassioned light. „I trained him when he was no more than a boy himself. Like a son t’me.“ He swallowed, emotion sneaking up to overwhelm him. „I held his hand when Robbie disappeared. He loves his boy, Thatcher.“ Jolley swallowed again, clearly overcome. „Make no mistake. Rob Winters could no more have hurt that boy than I could.“

Steven watched as tears clouded the older man’s eyes. Jolley was as sincere as he was drunk; of that Steven had no doubt. „How about his wife, Detective? Could Rob have hurt his wife?“

Jolley’s jaw tightened. „He was good to that woman. She was a terrible burden to him, but he took care of her. She was depressed all the time. Couldn’t even tie her own shoes,“ he said in disgust. „But he kept her in his house. Paid her doctor bills. Tied her shoes,“ he added with contempt. „And got nothin’ in return.“ His eyes narrowed meaningfully. „Nothin’.“

Steven felt all the eyes in the place fixed on him, waiting for his next move. „Justice, I would think.“ He paused, waiting until he saw the flash in Jolley’s eyes. „Especially if he made her that way.“

Bingo, he thought, wincing even as the contents of Jolley’s half-empty mug of beer splashed his face and the man’s beefy hands grabbed his shoulders, shoving him against the wall.

„Ben!“ Lambert yelled, pulling Jolley away, holding him while three other cops raced forward to help. Lambert passed Jolley to the others, then pulled a crisp white handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to Steven, visibly trembling with anger. „Wipe your face,“ he snapped. „And if you value the peace, meet me outside.“

Steven stepped away, pausing at the door to see Lambert motion another man in a suit and tie into the frenzy. The newest suit was Detective Jim Crowley. Toni Ross had introduced him earlier that afternoon. „Take him home, Jim,“ Lambert was ordering. „Make sure he gets to bed.“

Detective Crowley put his arm around Ben Jolley’s shoulders. „Come on, Ben. You’ve had enough for one night. Let me take you home to sleep it off.“ Crowley hesitated when he passed Steven, still standing at the door. „He’s not normally like this, Thatcher. He sat with Rob when Robbie was first abducted seven years ago. He had to sit with him again last night after Rob found out his boy’s likely at the bottom of Douglas Lake. Cut him some slack, okay?“

Steven nodded. „Okay,“ he said, but thought, like hell I will.

Lambert strode up, his face a picture of fury. „You said you’d talk to the men, not incite a damn riot.“

Steven folded Lambert’s handkerchief in precise quarters before slipping it in his pocket. „I’ll wash it and return it to you,“ he said calmly. „Right now, I could use a ride back to my hotel to change my clothes. Then after that, I’m up for wine and cheese if you are.“ He let his mouth quirk up. „Although I’d really prefer a steak, medium rare.“

Lambert closed his eyes, obviously biting back what he really wanted to say. He shook his head and held open the door. „After you, Thatcher. After you.“

Chapter Seven

University of North Carolina, Charlotte

Tuesday, March 6

8:35 p.m.

It was a dive.

Winters paused just inside the door to let his eyes become accustomed to the smoke-filled darkness. Music played, the bass so heavy it drowned out whatever actual music there was. He scanned the room and located his quarry sitting at a table in the corner. Just as the boy said he’d be. It had taken surprisingly little time to locate a computer „specialist“ willing to splash in slightly illegal waters for the right price. It had, in fact, taken more time to drive from Asheville to Charlotte than to find Randy Livermore.

He’d chosen UNC-Charlotte not because of its computer science program. He could have gone to UNC-Asheville for that. He simply didn’t want to risk meeting his computer „specialist“ again while on the job. If the kid was willing to hack for profit, it would only be a matter of time before he found himself on the wrong side of the law. Unless he was quite good. Winters hoped Livermore was quite good for his own sake as well as the boy’s.

Winters started across the room, weaving in and out of dancers, of kids standing around watching the basketball game on a TV suspended over the bar. Duke was playing Maryland and losing. He glanced at the mirror over the bar from the corner of his eye. Good enough. His wig was firmly in place as was the bushy mustache that made him look like a Milwaukee brewmeister. His own mother wouldn’t recognize him. Good enough.

He approached the table carefully, sidestepping a puddle of what he hoped was beer.

„Randy?“

The boy looked up, and Winters had to admit he was surprised. No nerdy geek here, no gangly limbs or horned-rimmed glasses. The boy was muscle-bound, his dark hair long but clean, tied into a ponytail at the base of his neck. Black eyes stared back, aloof.

„Depends.“

„I’m Trent.“ Winters had never used the name before. Would never use it again. The boy cocked his head toward an empty place on the bench seat.

„Make it fast.“

„And make it cash,“ Winters murmured. „You’re not what I expected.“

„Neither are you.“

Winters raised a brow. „Fine, then. I tell you what I want, you tell me how much it will cost. I want access to the personnel records at Asheville General Hospital.“

Randy looked bored. „And then what?“

„And then you find the current locations of all staff that worked the orthopedic ward nine years ago.“

„And then?“

„And then I pay you and you never open your mouth again.“

Randy frowned. „No messing with records? No…“ he shrugged. „No adding or subtracting from payroll? No alteration of certain prescriptions?“

„You’d do that?“

„I didn’t say that. You want that?“

Winters chuckled. If he wasn’t careful he might find himself actually liking this kid. „No. Just the records. Nothing more.“

„A thousand.“

„Five hundred.“ He’d been prepared to pay a lot more than a thousand.

Randy shrugged yet again. „The way I look at it, you need the info. I need the bucks. If you could, you would have picked up the phone and called the hospital and asked for what you want to know. You didn’t and now you’re here. You need me. One thousand.“

Winters felt a grudging admiration for such steadiness in one so young. „Okay. When can I have it?“

„When do you want it?“

„Tonight.“

Randy blinked and Winters got the distinct impression the boy was mocking him. „I’ve got a biology test tomorrow. I have to study.“

Winters narrowed his eyes. „So break into the school’s database and give yourself an A.“

Randy grinned. „Only a B. I wouldn’t want to look too greedy.“ He rose and gathered his books. „I’ll meet you back here at one a.m.“

Chicago

Tuesday, March 6

9 p.m.

„You really don’t have to walk me up, Max.“ Caroline hesitated as the two of them stood next to Max’s car, parked outside Caroline’s walk-up apartment building. „They don’t have an elevator.“

Max looked up at the balconies jutting out from the old, plain brick building. It was a far cry from his own house.

From any place he’d ever lived, for that matter. „Which floor are you on?“

„Three.“

„Two sets of stairs?“

She nodded.

He smiled, but it felt grim on his lips. „I can do that. If you’d said you lived on the fifth floor, you’d just be out of luck.“ He took a step forward, but she stayed put. He looked over his shoulder to find her lips set in a firm frown. He half-turned to face her. „What?“

„You don’t have to do this.“ She stood by the door of his Mercedes that looked completely out of place in this neighborhood, her arms crossed over her chest in a gesture he’d already come to associate with a stubborn streak that hid amongst her charm and laughter. „I had a good time tonight, Max. A really wonderful time. You don’t have to hurt yourself to walk me to the door.“

„Caroline, I have many faults, but dating etiquette is not among them.“ Impatience, however, was and he felt his patience waning. „Will you hurry up and let me walk you to your damn door?“

She stood frowning a moment longer, then suddenly laughed, her eyes lighting up once more. „Are we a pair or what? Come on, let’s go. When we get to the top, I’ll make you a cup of coffee.“

I was hoping for a bit more than coffee, he thought, making his feet move once she was at his side. I was hoping for a hell of a lot more. He’d been in a state of wholly frustrated semi-arousal from the moment they’d left Carrington. Which, of course, David had found wildly humorous. Max breathed a chuckle and Caroline looked up at him in question.

„What’s so funny?“

„I was just thinking about David.“ Max left it at that.

Telling her that his brother had made a great display of ordering more breadsticks, „baked hard,“ from Moe when she’d disappeared into the ladies’ room was hardly appropriate. The encouraging, and almost debilitating, slap on the back accompanied by the „advice“ Moe had given him as response was definitely off topic as well.

Caroline laughed out loud. „Oh, Lord, that thing with Monika had to be one of the funniest things I’ve ever seen. Do you mind if I tell it to my best friend? She’d find it entirely vindicating.“

They got up a small half-flight of stairs that was her landing and Max held open her door. „I take it that your friend is not part of Monika’s fan club.“

Caroline’s smile was wry. „No, she’s not.“ An elderly gentleman was sitting on the stairs as they walked in. „Hi, Mr. Adelman. How are you today?“

The old man gave her a smile that almost buried his eyes in wrinkles. „Fine, just fine, Caroline. And yourself?“

„Fine, just fine.“ She almost sang it and the old man scooted over to make room for them to pass. „This is my friend, Max. Max, meet Sy Adelman.“

Max shook hands with the old man and they continued. At the next landing two small boys sat outside a door, a collection of cards spread out between them. They were trading, apparently, and one of the boys looked up at Caroline with an expression of consternation.

„Caroline, he wants to trade my holographic Pikachu for two ordinary cards.“

„One’s a Mew Two!“ the other boy exclaimed as if that meant something.

Caroline bent down to take a look, glancing up at Max from the corner of her eye. She was giving him time to rest, he realized. Part of him appreciated the thought while part of him rebelled against the notion. Appreciation won out and he took the time she offered to get his breathing under control and relax his leg muscles while she settled the minor Pokemon trading card dispute.

They started back up the stairs, and Max leaned over close to her ear. And shuddered. Her scent was driving him crazy. „You don’t have to let me rest. I can make two flights of stairs.“

Caroline’s eyes opened and her lips parted. He was close, he realized and knew she knew it too. Close in proximity and close… well, to something else.

„It’s okay,“ she said, her voice barely a murmur. „I needed to rest, too.“