Noah's Rainy Day (13 page)

Streeter was of average height, maybe five-eleven or six foot, with a boxy build, and broad shouldered. I considered him sturdy looking. Not
the least bit fat. Just fit. Streeter’s hair was cropped short and stark white, too white for his age. And his blue eyes were alive with a fire that made people believe in him, especially when they seemed to turn green. To me, he would always be Agent Adonis.

“Danica Bradsky was the airport security employee assigned to the escalator from the underground trains to the main terminal, where passengers exit the concourses.”

The stubble that grew on Streeter’s tanned cheeks looked as rough as his voice sounded. Although he was not a smoker, Streeter’s voice reminded me of hearing the lawn mower on Saturday mornings as a child. It had sounded rough and effective, cutting across the chirping of early birds. His voice was to the point, not to be ignored. He was driven to accomplish the task before him.

“Can I come along?” I asked.

“I don’t think I have a choice,” Streeter said, his tone cranky.

“What does that mean?” I asked, feeling the bite in his comment and realizing I hadn’t imagined his irritation with me on the phone earlier.

Turning to Gates, Streeter added, “And I want this airport searched end to end, garbage gathered, secured, and examined as soon as possible. I want anything and everything suspicious bagged and tagged.”

Gates cleared his throat. “Are you sure? The sheer magnitude of trash discarded in one hour here is overwhelming.”

“Secure it all. Everything since this morning until noon tomorrow.”

As he was leaving, fingers hovering above his cell phone, Gates paused as he passed me and asked, “What happened to your face? Are you okay?”

At least Chief Gates noticed my scratched up cheeks. I opened my mouth to explain when Streeter interrupted, “Gates, how many men can you have searching this place? We’ll need an army to search every hiding place.”

I simply nodded at the chief. He smiled, his eyes tenderly studying my injuries as he answered Streeter, “I can get the National Guard out here. Let me step out and get my team moving on the garbage retrieval and airport lockdown and get started on a more thorough search.”

Streeter nodded. As Gates left the room, Streeter turned his back to me and started punching numbers on his phone. I waited.

“This is Pierce again. I need your help. This is the third message I’ve left so I assume you’re in an area with no coverage or have your cell phone
turned off. We have a situation. Call my cell as soon as you get these messages.” The thick fingers of one hand flipped the phone off and slid it into his pocket while his other hand brushed through his short crop of white hair. He stood in front of the window facing the tarmac, staring into the darkness beyond. I could see the worry etched in his face in the reflection of the glass.

“Where is he?”

“Little Max?” I asked.

“Linwood.”

I hesitated. “I … I have no clue. Is that why you’re angry?”

“He wasn’t with you for the holidays? At your sister’s house?”

“No. Not that it’s any of your business,” I said, walking up beside him and staring out the same window. “Is that what this is about?”

Streeter ignored me. “And you have no idea where Linwood might be?”

“I told you, no. Streeter, if you’re angry about me dating Jack I think we should—”

He spun to face me, his blue eyes blazing. “I’m angry that you’re acting as if this is no big deal.”

“What are you talking about? Little Max’s disappearance is a very big deal,” I said, folding my arms across my chest, my anger elevating to meet his.

“We have a child, a young boy, who’s disappeared. But somehow, you know his name is little Max. And somehow you’re mixed up in all this.”

“What? I’m mixed up in all this? I’ve never even met the boy,” I stammered.

“Little Max? Where’d you learn that nickname?”

“From Phil. During your interview earlier with—”

“But you know who little Max is, don’t you?”

Hesitating, I nodded.

“And you know his father.”

I nodded again, realizing where he was going now.

“The billionaire.”

“Millionaire,” I corrected, taking a few steps away from Streeter to give him room to cool off. I could actually feel the heat rising from his skin, could smell his scent blended with something clean and spicy. “I wouldn’t give him any more credit than he deserves. Which ain’t much.”

He turned and stared at me as if he might explode. “This isn’t a joke.”

His dark mood concerned me. I’d never seen Streeter like this. Serious yes, dark no. Normally he was so calm. This response confused me and I wasn’t sure why he was so worked up, other than that I was dressed like a vagabond, which I could see would be upsetting. I took a few steps toward him, holding his glare, and said, “I know that, Streeter. What’s gotten into you?”

“I need to know you’ll take this seriously, no matter what your personal connection with this guy.” The darkness in his eyes faded to an expression of concern.

He had it all wrong. Max was nothing personal to me. Not one bit. “What in the hell are you talking about?”

“Are you? Going to take this seriously and professionally?”

What did he mean by that? Maybe he assumed I wasn’t taking it seriously enough because it took me so long to get to DIA. But I was staying at Frances’s house, clear over in Wheat Ridge, and I drove as fast as I could without breaking the law, not even taking time to change clothes. Based on how he was giving me the once-over, maybe it’s the clothes. Not very professional, I’ll admit. Maybe I’d embarrassed him in front of the chief.

Contrite, I answered, “Yes, of course.”

“And not take matters into your own hands because this is personal?”

“If you think I’m compromised, why did you involve me at all? You called me, remember?” I said, the frustration beginning to build in my throat and gut, frustrated that in my excitement to prove to Streeter I could do this job, I’d missed the fact that for some reason, he didn’t want me doing my job.

“Because I had to.”

“Says who?” I shot back.

“Chandler, that’s who,” he shot back.

My eyes grew wide and my jaw went slack. I eventually managed, “John Chandler? The John Chandler? The Director of the Federal Bureau of Investigation? From Washington DC? You got your orders from him?”

Streeter scowled. “And I’m not too happy about it. Neither is Tony.”

“I’m confused. Why is John Chandler telling you how to run this case?” I asked, dumbfounded.

“Maximillian Bennett Williams II apparently has a lot of money and
a lot of pull. But you already knew that. You say millionaire. Whatever he’s worth, apparently when he wants something, he gets it. And with his son’s disappearance, he did not want the locals on the case. He wanted the FBI.”

“So Max asked for us?” I asked.

“Actually, he didn’t ask anything. He
told
Chandler he wanted
you
,” Streeter corrected.

With everything hanging on that final word, he eyed me. Not so pleasantly, I might add. I’d even say he was a wee bit pissed. I could understand that. I’m just out of Quantico and some guy with money has John Chandler’s ear and insists that I be assigned a high-profile case involving abduction. I would be pissed too if I were Streeter or Chief Gates. Or Calvin, for that matter; first chance I got, I’d call him and explain. But why the hell had Max asked for me?

My response to Streeter’s questioning expression was lame. “Max and I knew each other some time ago. Seven or eight years ago.”

His eyebrow rose.

“And it was nothing personal. I mean, with me. He was dating my youngest sister, Ida.”

The long pause preceding Streeter’s response told me he was weighing the validity of his anger with me. This was not my fault.

“The sister you’re staying with in Denver?”

“No, that’s my sister Frances. And she lives in Wheat Ridge, not Denver. Which is why it took me so long to get here. I made it as quickly as I could. And I’m sorry I didn’t change first. I didn’t think there was time.” There, maybe now he’d be a bit less surly with me.

The tiny lines around his mouth softened a bit. “And Elizabeth’s the one I met in Rochford?”

“Right. I have six sisters and two brothers. Remember the funeral for my brother Jens’s fiancée that you and the other FBI agents were casing in Rapid City? I don’t think you met Ida, but you probably saw her. She was the tallest, the model.” Although your eyes seemed to be glued to FBI Agent Jenna Tate that day, I wanted to say, but didn’t. I was apparently in enough trouble as it was.

His scowl became more pronounced. “Ida was the one with long, dark hair and green eyes, wearing the expensive-looking pink dress? Looks like she stepped off a Victoria’s Secret runway?”

“You did notice.” His attention to detail from months ago caused me a twinge of jealousy, and an acute awareness of how shabbily I was dressed. “She met Max in the Big Apple. As a teenager. She was a protégée at the Juilliard School of Music, an opera singer, before being discovered as a model. She has a fabulous voice, but Max seemed more interested in everything south of Ida’s vocal chords.”

Streeter cleared his throat and turned back to the window. “Well, that’s how we ended up on the case. Maximillian Bennett Williams II requested you.”

“How the hell does he even know I’m with the FBI?” I wondered aloud. “It’s not like any of us Bergens have stayed in touch with the asshole, and certainly Ida wouldn’t have talked with him. I doubt if she’s ever talked with him again after walking out on him seven years ago.” Then it dawned on me. “Which is why you’re so angry. Max requested me, which translates to, you have to work with me.”

He turned back to me, standing inches from my nose, looking down at my intense expression, and whispered, “All I know is that Williams demanded you be on the case. And I convinced Calvin to ignore Chandler and to let me be in charge of the case instead. And Calvin backed my decision. At the risk of getting us both fired.”

I took a step closer to Streeter and stared into his eyes, “What? Are you saying Calvin was going to let me lead? That’s crazy! No wonder you’re pissed. I’d be pissed, too.”

I could smell his cologne. He wasn’t budging.

“Calvin’s job is on the line, but he listened to me. I’m lead, as long as I work with you.”

I stood staring up at him. Our faces were so close we didn’t dare move.

I felt his hot breath against my face when he said, “We’ve got a job to do and we better do it right, or Williams will make sure John Chandler has us chucked curbside like yesterday’s garbage.”

I didn’t move. I didn’t want to. The heat felt good. Streeter wasn’t about to move, either. After a few intimate seconds, I smirked, leaned back, and crossed my arms across my chest, matching his posture. “Then we better get busy and solve this case.”

In the short six months that I’d known him, to say our relationship
was complicated would be an understatement. One moment he’s kissing me, convincing me a relationship beyond friendship is not only possible but also promising, and then the next moment it’s like he doesn’t even acknowledge my existence. We’d developed a strong friendship the instant we met earlier in the summer. His kiss this fall, at Storybook Island of all places, left me undeniably weak-kneed. And it was damn near love at first sight for me, but I’d shoot anyone who repeated that to Streeter.

Then, he did a one-eighty as if he’d made a terrible mistake and wanted to forget all about me. He’s never talked about it. I convinced myself that maybe Streeter’s just not ready, having lost his wife. More likely, his disinterest in me has something to do with the rumor that he and the lovely Jenna Tate are an item.

“Not before you look me in the eye and answer two questions,” Streeter demanded.

But there’s no denying the chemistry between Streeter and me. He’s the single reason I chose to leave the family business in limestone mining for a life with the FBI. And although I asked to spend part time with the Bureau, it quickly turned to full time, and I haven’t looked back. My days and nights since September are occupied nearly 24-7 with Bureau business, which means I get to spend a lot of hours working with Streeter Pierce and occasionally with the ICO team, which includes Jack.

“All right,” I said, unnerved by how much he smelled like the inside of an Abercrombie & Fitch store, which was wildly erotic compared to his usual Old Spice scent. For the first time he smelled less like my dad and more like the young thirty-nine-year-old he was, closer to my age.

“Were you and Maximillian ever involved?”

I shook my head. “Not my type.”

“Rich isn’t your type?”

“Complete asshole isn’t my type.”

When the hint of a smile played in the corner of his lips, I uncrossed my arms and stood tall, hoping he’d notice I was unafraid of his closeness, until he asked his second question.

“And you have no clue where your boyfriend is?”

“Max isn’t my boyfriend.”

“I meant Linwood.” His blue eyes were as intense as I’d ever seen them. Emotion stirred and roiled within me, smothering all that was logical.

“Streeter, I—”

He interrupted me before I could answer. “You brought Beulah?”

I nodded at the sudden change of topic.

“Where is she?”

I stuttered, “Next door in the room where they’re setting up for the Williams interrogation.”

“Work the airport. Start around gate B31 and see where the trail leads.”

I was not disturbed by his directness. Or by how he barked orders. What bothered me was the way he tore his intimate gaze from me and turned abruptly away. Because I was dating Jack? Clearly, he was upset at Chandler’s demand that I lead the case. That would have offended me, too, if I were Streeter. So I had to do whatever I could to make him look good on this case. To prove myself worthy.

“I’ll need a scent for her to track.” My voice sounded weak.

Streeter nodded toward the tiny backpack in the corner of the room. “Benson said that’s the child’s. He was traveling with it and Benson has been holding it for him since they deplaned.”