Mindhunters 4 - Deadly Intent (13 page)

A partial thumbprint found inside the closet in the room next to the girl’s had been positively matched to Nick Hubbard.

Chapter 5

“I don’t get it.” Macy looked both excited and puzzled. “Why would Whitman want to hide the fact that Hubbard has been positively linked to the kidnapping?”

“Because he doesn’t want Mulder to know yet. Hubbard is Mulder’s employee. His involvement in the girl’s disappearance doesn’t exonerate the family. Just the opposite. And Whitman thinks we’re a direct line to Mulder. Or at least he isn’t taking any chances that we might be.”

Kell pushed away from the bed to crowd closer to her. “What else do you have there?”

She shrugged him away irritably. “You’ve seen what I have. The bank account records were in Travis’s file but not ours. So were the LUDs from Hubbard’s cell and landline phones. These lab results. And what looks like the beginning of a comprehensive background check on Stephen and Althea Mulder.” She leaned forward to snatch up the report in question. And to her chagrin, he didn’t move away, as ordered. Instead he chose to read over her shoulder.

That was a habit she invariably found annoying. It was doubly so with Kell. At least she told herself that’s what she was feeling. Her galloping pulse and jittery stomach made it impossible to concentrate.

She scooted away. “You have personal-space issues.”

His smile was slow and wicked. “Do I make you nervous?”

Because she had no response—an all too frequent problem in his presence—she chose to ignore his remark. Scanning the page quickly, she flipped the page. “Mulder has opened up his financials to them. It would take a handful of forensic accountants to work that lead alone. But from the looks of things, he could buy a couple third-world countries without making a dent in his money.”

Falling into silence, she looked through a few more pages. After a couple minutes, she said, “There are also the beginnings of reports on the lawyer—Alden. And it looks like they’ve made a good start digging on every employee on this estate.”

“Alden was here the day she was taken,” he recalled. “So were Lance Spencer and Tessa Amundson. They’d have to find some link between any of them and Hubbard.” He fell silent, but she could tell his mind was racing. “Whitman probably has an ulterior motive in putting us onto him. Hubbard’s a direct line to the girl. Hard to believe he doesn’t want a whole CBI team following up on him.”

“He’s trying to keep us away from the Mulders as much as possible.” Macy was surprised the realization hadn’t hit her before. “Probably afraid we’ll collude with them. Pass along information.” The agent’s doubt of their integrity burned anew.

Kell nodded. “His distrust of us actually puts us in a better position on this case. Hubbard is key to solving it.”

“We’re in a better position because of the switch you made with Travis,” she admitted.

He cocked a brow. “Glad to hear you approve.” He got up lazily and stretched before ambling over to put his shoes on. “’Cuz you’re going to switch the files back in the morning.”

Her head snapped up. “What? No. I can’t.”

“Sure you can.” To listen to his encouraging tone, one would think he was giving a pep talk to a Little Leaguer. “He’s going to get suspicious if I’m always arranging ways to get him to put his folder down. You’re a female. You can bring a whole different aspect to things.”

Her mind had gone blank. Scrambling to her feet, she hurried after him as he headed for the door. “I’m not good at things like that.”

“You’ll think of something.”

“No!” Panicked, she lowered her voice. “Wait.” He turned, one hand on the knob, his expression quizzical. “Um . . . let’s talk about this. Maybe I could help you. I could . . . distract him somehow and you could make the switch.”

“That’s what I’m saying. Wear something low-cut. Bat your lashes at him. You know.” He fluttered his hands in a feminine gesture that under other circumstances would have amused her. “Use your wiles.”

When he would have pulled open the door, she grabbed for his shirt to yank him to a halt. “Burke,” she hissed desperately, all sense of self-preservation gone. “I don’t have wiles.”

He looked at her then, really looked at her. And she could tell he was about to say something she’d have to make him regret. But then the expression on his face changed. His pale green eyes glinted with something very different than humor.

Macy swallowed. For the first time she realized how close they were standing. But for the life of her, she couldn’t move away. His gaze was arrowed on her mouth. Nervously, she moistened her lips, then caught her breath when she saw the muscle jump in his clenched jaw. She couldn’t begin to count the number of times she’d wanted to see him regard her with any expression other than amusement.

Heat flared in her belly when she read what was on his face. Desire. An emotion she couldn’t—wouldn’t—return.

His lips looked firm. And somehow closer than before. Tiny tendrils of fire zinged through her veins. The breath strangled in her throat. His headed dipped imperceptibly.

Then he stopped, as if pulled back by an invisible wire. His jaw clenched. It seemed to take him a moment to fight for control. “Oh, yeah,” he muttered. “Take it from me. You’ve got wiles.”

He yanked open the door with barely restrained force. And this time she knew better than to try to stop him. Couldn’t have if she’d wanted to. It was all Macy could do to remember to haul in a shuddering breath. And then another. She shut the door after him. Locked it. Then checked the lock three times before turning and forcing herself to move across the floor.

Well. With effort, she reached for her scattered senses and tried to force them in some semblance of order. Heading for the bathroom, she scrubbed her face with a washcloth that felt cold against her heated skin. It gave her something to concentrate on besides that moment of suspended animation with Kell.

Carefully she spread the cloth out to dry and turned her attention to brushing her teeth. For an instant or two she’d been convinced he’d been about to kiss her. And history told her just how big a mistake
that
would have been.

She’d known getting involved with him, however briefly, would complicate their teaming together in future cases.

But recognizing that hadn’t stopped one night of madness after they’d shared a ride home from a colleague’s wedding. He’d suggested stopping somewhere for one more drink. She closed her eyes painfully. There had been dancing. Burke was as smooth at that as he was everything else.

As she’d found out firsthand a few hours later.

Unconsciously, she spread toothpaste on the brush a second time and began brushing again. Maybe she’d interpreted the recent interlude incorrectly. After all, earlier tonight she’d been half persuaded he’d shown up in her room for a very different reason than the one he’d had, and she’d been proved wrong about that. She was usually a far better judge of people, but Burke screwed with her normally reliable instincts.

And that had been just one in a list of very solid reasons to not see him again outside of work. Another was that he didn’t fit in her carefully constructed life. There was nothing wrong with wanting order in it. Control. Burke created chaos. Uncertainty.

She began brushing her teeth for a third time. If he’d kissed her, she would have pushed him away. An inner voice jeered as she had the thought, but she clung to it stoutly. This case was as serious as it could get, and none of them could afford diversions.

Breathing a bit easier, she carefully replaced the cap on the toothpaste and turned to return to the bedroom, flicking the light off. On. Then off. On again. Off. Crossing to the dresser, she swiftly changed into pajamas and folded her clothes, placing them in drawers. Gathering up the file, she laid it on the top of the bed, firmly pushing away the image of Kell sprawled on top of it. She switched on the bedside lamp and then moved to the overhead switch and turned it off.

There was really nothing to worry about. Burke wasn’t the type to moon over a woman who’d been quite clear about not wanting a repeat performance. There were too many other willing women eager to take her place.

The thought did nothing to lighten her mood. She moved to the bed, carefully folded down the bedcovers, and smoothed them lightly. Once. Twice. Again. It was probably nothing more than habit for him, and she’d just happened to be there. If he hadn’t returned to his senses, well, she’d never taken leave of hers. Nothing would have happened.

She fluffed the pillow. Once. Twice. Before she caught herself and went still.

Oh, God.

She replayed the last few minutes in her mind. How many times had she brushed her teeth? Turned out the lights? Her gaze fell to the covers that she’d smoothed repetitively.

Deliberately she tossed the pillow on the bed and refused to allow her mind to linger on the way it sat askew against the others, the arrangement a bit off kilter. Anxiety sometimes still brought out her strange compulsion to do things in threes.

And there was plenty to be anxious about in the last few days. The few moments with Kell were the very least of them.

A girl was still missing. Terrified. Probably waiting for a replay of the horror she’d endured only a few years earlier.

With grim resolve, she slid into bed and reached for the case file. Macy was going to go through it again. Commit as much of it as she could to memory.

And the only compulsion at work this time was the need to bring Ellie Mulder home.

Alive.

“No. I’m going to kill her now.” It was freezing on that damn mountain, the sort of deep bone-numbing cold that would take hours near the stove to dispel. There had been no reason to have this conversation outside. It wasn’t like it mattered what the girl overheard.

“You’ll follow my instructions exactly.” The voice was robotic. A distorter was used whenever they had phone contact. “The girl has to stay alive until I give the word.”

“I’m not a fucking babysitter.” Emotion flared, and he stopped to identify it. Frustration. Feeling anything at all was rare enough that the experience distracted him. The wind whipped icy pellets of sleet to sting his cheeks, bringing him back to the matter at hand. “I’m not going to sit on this damn mountain playing nursemaid to a kid.”

“You have a gift for revisionist history, my friend.” Even with the distortion, the mockery in the caller’s voice was evident. “You agreed to the kidnapping for an additional fee. This is part of that sum. The second half of your very generous payment is only forthcoming if you can follow directions.”

He took the phone away from his ear and considered it for a minute. The person on the other end of the line was wrong. The money had been only part of it. There weren’t many in his line of work who would take a job with a kid involved.

But that had actually been his primary reason for taking the hit. He’d never killed a kid before. But he was convinced it was exactly what he needed to be normal again. To
feel
again. He’d been numb for a very long time.

Resuming the conversation, he shrugged. “Just don’t take too long. I’m about to go crazy on this damn mountain. It snows all the fucking time. And there’s no reception for the TV.

“Read a book.” The voice was unsympathetic. “I just need to be sure you’re going to be able to end things when I give the word. Are a few more days with the kid going to make you go soft toward her?”

He gave a grim smile. “Hardly. You could say I’m looking forward to it.”

“Just don’t get in a hurry. Things have to go exactly according to plan.”

He snorted. Reaching up, he broke off the enormous icicle hanging from the branch of a nearby fir. It was thick and sharp. He imagined drilling it through the caller’s eye, into the brain. He might not know his employer’s identity, but he could imagine the type easily enough. Just another corporate asshole, used to calling the shots from his cushy corner office, while feeling safely anonymous.

“Nothing goes exactly according to plan. Things come up, I adapt and move on.”

“Well, don’t try any ‘adapting’ before speaking with me first.” The voice was sharp. “We’ve come too far for any screwups now.”

The call abruptly ended. Tucking the satellite phone back inside his pocket, he blew out a breath just to watch it steam and then climbed back up the steps and into the shelter. A welcome blast of heat enveloped him at the door. Slipping out of his coat, he threw it and his gloves and hat in a pile on the floor and pulled off the boots before walking further inside. It was going to be hard to wait. Give him more time to plan, sure. He was adept with a gun, but the knife had always been his favorite. He could always get started early. Take a piece of her at a time. Make it last.

Once he’d lost the thrill of his work, he’d taken to using the gun more and more often. Quick and over then back home again. But this time had to be perfect. It might be his one chance to get that joy back. To get
any
feeling back.

Yeah, he could wait. And while he waited, he’d plan every second of how he’d do it.

A fraction of movement caught his eye. He looked hard at the kid, sitting on one of the camp stools at the table. She went still, looking at him with those big doe eyes.