Paying The Piper (13 page)

“I’ll be in touch,” Friedkin said. “I need to get what I can from you about the kidnappings.”

“Just let us know when,” Jane said.

The Piper’s cell phone vibrated against Scott’s thigh. This was it—his new assignment. The Piper would ask him to perform the impossible. Scott’s heart pounded like it was out of balance.

In his head, Scott fumbled for a reason to excuse himself, but the phone’s buzzing could be heard quite clearly within the confines of the office. Everyone stopped to look at him. The air-conditioned room felt a lot hotter than the seventy-one degrees the thermostat showed.

“Do you want to take that?” Friedkin asked.

“It’s probably the
Independent
wanting an update. They can wait.”

“It could be Sheils,” Jane said.

Scott reached into his pocket and pulled out the Piper’s phone. “Yeah, it’s the
Independent
.”

“We’re finished. You’re welcome to take it in here,” Friedkin said and ushered Rooker and Jane out of the office.

Scott answered the phone. “Yes.”

“Did Jane pass on my message?” the Piper asked.

“Yes, she did.”

Scott kept a grip on his emotions. The room might have been soundproofed, but it was all glass. He rounded the conference table to face the city below, turning his back on anyone looking in.

“You took Peter, you bastard.”

“That was your fault. You defied me. I gave you a simple task, and you blew it.”

“You asked me to find Redfern. You
said nothing about killing him.”

“Typical,” the Piper said with disdain. “You knew what I would do with Redfern. You had no problems sending a man to his death as long as you didn’t have to pull the trigger. I believe that’s the definition of a coward.”

“I pulled the trigger on you, didn’t I?”

“Only when you thought I was unarmed.”

“Even if you had a gun, I would’ve shot you.”

“You sound brave. I’m bringing out the best in you.”

“How are my boys?”

“They’re fine.”

“If you hurt them…”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, I know the cliché.”

Scott tossed a glance Jane’s way. Friedkin was showing them framed commendations on the wall. He smiled at her. She didn’t smile back.

He held up his hand, spreading his fingers wide, and mouthed,
Five minutes
.

She nodded at him.

He turned to face the view again. “I want to speak to them.”

“There’re not here.”

“You can’t leave them alone.”

“I’m not operating a day care, Scott. They’re safe. That’s all you need to know. You’ll see them again, if you do as I tell you.”

Scott stared out the window. He caught sight of his reflection in the glass. A haggard and distressed man stared back at him.

“What do you want?”

“I want you to find me. Do it, and you’ll get your kids back.”

“Are you serious? The FBI hasn’t found you with all their resources after two decades, and you’re expecting me to find you?”

“The FBI doesn’t have the incentive you do. I have a lot of faith in you, Scott. I think you can do this.”

Why the theatrics?
Scott thought. “Just tell me where you
are, and I’ll come. We’ll finish this.”

“Scott, that’s too easy. You have to work for this one. This one is for your kids. The challenge has to meet the reward.”

“It’s going to take time to find you.”

“I can wait.”

“The FBI can’t. We have the new ransom.”

“Charles Rooker again?”

“Yes.”

“The FBI won’t be a problem. I’ll slow them down. But I can’t wait forever, Scott.”

Scott’s stomach clenched.

“You’ve got until Monday. After that, I’m going to have to kill one of the boys.”

Scott fought to keep his hand gestures and body language relaxed. He was supposed to be talking to the paper, after all.

“A week,” Scott murmured. He wasn’t agreeing to the Piper’s terms. He just needed to hear the time period out loud. A week, just seven days, sounded so small when stacked up against his task.

“I might get impatient, though. If I feel you’re slipping, I’ll cut the deadline—and maybe a throat.”

“I’ll do it. Give me the week.”

Scott recognized the defeatist tone in his voice. It would have been so much easier if the Piper had asked him to assassinate the mayor or start a revolution. Finding the man who’d yet to be caught was a task beyond him.

“A week it is. Ticktock, Scott. The clock starts now.”

“T
he bastard!” Sheils barked and thumped
his desk.

Brannon sat opposite him back at his office. They were supposed to be getting dinner, but once he told Sheils about the Fleetwoods hiring a private investigator, dinner was suspended.

“I should have seen it coming,” Sheils complained. “He suckered us all with his generosity.”

“Technically, the Fleetwoods hired the PI, not Rooker.”

“Yes, but my money says Rooker is paying the bills.”

“He is,” Brannon conceded.

“Son of a bitch.”

Professional pride fueled his annoyance. Rooker had coerced the Fleetwoods into taking on a private investigator. What did that say about the FBI and him? It said they weren’t up to the job. And if he were being honest, who could blame them? How many times had the Piper slipped through his fingers? Peter Fleetwood had even been snatched out from under his protection. The Fleetwoods were entitled to bring someone on board. He sighed.

“Who’d they hire?”

“Friedkin International Investigations.”

Sheils knew John Friedkin by reputation. Friedkin was good, and his moral compass still had the needle pointing in the right direction. He doubted he would be a problem.

“At least they went to someone
good,” Sheils admitted.

“What do you want to do about Friedkin?”

“I’ll pay him a visit and establish a few ground rules.”

Brannon dropped a report on Sheils’s desk. “The report on the Fleetwood house.”

Sheils flipped through the pages without reading. “Give me the CliffsNotes version.”

“No prints, fibers, or hairs. The Piper gained access via the patio slider in the rear yard. No signs of force. He used a key.”

“That means one of two things.”

“He either stole a key or someone gave it to him.”

His prejudice against Scott Fleetwood bubbled to the surface again. Had he given the Piper the key? Sheils struggled with this. He couldn’t believe a father could do that to his children. As much as he didn’t like Scott, he didn’t believe Scott could be that callous.

So the key was stolen. The Piper was meticulous in his preparations. He could have swiped a patio key from the house months ago. That presented a chilling proposition. The Piper had snatched Sammy from school. That meant he didn’t need a patio key, unless he had always intended on kidnapping both Fleetwood boys.

The mood at the house turned subdued after Sheils left for the evening. Jane didn’t want quiet, because it made her miss the constant chatter of her children. Even when Sammy and Peter slept, the house thrummed with their energy. That energy had waned after Sammy’s abduction, and without Peter, it was extinguished. Without their boys, Scott and Jane’s energy had been sapped as well. Scott hadn’t spoken a word to her since they’d come home from Friedkin’s. He’d retreated into his bedroom office.

The four agents left behind to babysit them milled around in the background, purposely trying to blend in with the wallpaper. Jane wished they wouldn’t. She wanted their noise to distract
her from thinking about what she’d witnessed at Friedkin’s office. She knew what she’d seen. Knew it was wrong. If Peter were here, maybe it wouldn’t be on her mind. Without him, it ate away at her. She couldn’t let it rest. She had to talk to Scott.

She went into the living room. Two of the agents were watching TV while the other two watched the house from the front and rear.

“Can I get you guys anything?”

“No, ma’am,” came the reply.

She climbed the stairs. Her feet felt progressively heavier with every step, but it didn’t deter her. Scott’s door was closed. She knocked and went in without waiting for permission. He sat at his PC, staring blankly at the information on the screen, a framed picture of the boys on his lap.

“We need to talk.”

He straightened in his seat and turned to face her. “I’m busy.”

“I don’t care. Tell me what’s going on, Scott.”

“What do you mean?”

She needed him to be honest with her. It didn’t matter how bad or how ugly it was, she could live with it, as long as he told her.

“I know you’re hiding something from me. From the FBI.”

Panic lit up his eyes.

“I won’t tell them. Not if you don’t want me to.”

He got up out of his chair and grasped her hands in his. “Honey, I really don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you?”

“No.”

She stuffed her hand in his pocket and grabbed the phone. She yanked it free before he could stop her.

He took a step toward her. “Gimme that.”

“No.” She backed up. “This isn’t your phone, Scott.”

Scott thrust out a hand and stepped forward again. “Give it back.”

“Scott, I swear to God, if you don’t tell me where this phone
came from, I’m going straight to Sheils.”

Jane was grateful the threat halted him. Fear was burning up her strength.

“Where did this phone come from?”

“It’s a business phone.”

Her breaths came fast and shallow. His lies were killing her.

She flipped open the phone. “If I hit redial, who would I get, Scott? Someone from the
Independent
, or someone else?”

She flipped through the phone’s functions.

“Don’t.” His plea was made of glass. “Please.”

“Tell me, Scott. I can’t turn my back on this.”

“I can’t tell you.”

A tear raced down Jane’s cheek. “I’m calling.”

She pressed buttons on the phone’s keypad.

“All right, all right, I’ll tell you. Just give me back the phone.”

She held out the phone, and he swept in to snatch it from her hand. He examined it like it was a lost artifact, checking for damage. When everything looked to be okay, he returned it to his pocket. He looked relieved.

Jane wasn’t.

He moved in close to her. She took an involuntary step backward, but he continued to crowd her.

“You can’t tell anyone,” he whispered. “He’ll kill the boys.”

It was everything she had feared but was too afraid to believe. “I won’t tell.”

“The Piper slipped me the phone.”

She went cold, the chill starting at her head and spreading all the way to her feet. She slumped against the bureau and he steadied her.

“He didn’t give me a choice.”

Scott dropped to his knees before her and poured out the entire story. He was in such a hurry to tell her events slopped out of him as if spilling from an overfilled bowl. The things he told her didn’t follow in chronological order, but it
didn’t matter.

It was more convoluted and far crueler than she’d expected. The revelations struck her like body blows, but she couldn’t betray his confidence. The price was too high; her children were at risk.

“He took our boys,” Scott said and broke into tears.

She pulled him to her stomach to muffle his sobs from prying ears. She felt the warmth of his tears soaking through her blouse.

His words dissolved into mumbles. She stroked his hair and shushed him.

“It’s going to be okay.”

And it was. She didn’t exactly feel his burden lift, but she felt part of it rest on her shoulders. They would work together from now on.

Scott pulled away from her. She helped him up and sat him at his desk.

She nodded at the image on the computer screen. “What are we going to do?”

“We?”

“Yes. How do we find him and get our boys back?”

Friedkin showed Sheils and Brannon out of his offices. Everyone thanked everyone for their time, although none of them meant it. Sheils had read him the riot act. He wouldn’t allow a PI to interfere with an important federal investigation, blah, blah, blah. Brannon said little, simply providing an extra layer of menace. None of this fazed Friedkin. He’d expected the visit and even respected it. He had no intention of “poaching the glory,” as Sheils had put it. He’d witnessed firsthand the damage the Piper had done to his victims. He wouldn’t wish what happened to Rooker on anyone.

He’d cut off Sheils’s argument by insisting he’d share any and all findings with
the bureau, as long as his clients gave their consent. That robbed Sheils of the bite that went with his bark.

Friedkin returned to his office, fell in to his chair behind his desk, and revisited the real reason for his staying late at work. He opened up Alex Hammond’s personnel file, removed the letter of termination, and set it to one side. He read through the documentation he’d gathered that would save his butt in a wrongful dismissal case. He wasn’t making sure he had all his bases covered; he was searching for a reason not to fire Alex, but didn’t find one. Alex’s work had gotten sloppy over the last six months. He took time off without notice, came in late and left early, and didn’t have his eye on the ball when he was present. His failure to show up for a surveillance assignment today was the last straw. He picked up his pen and signed the termination letter.

It was a shitty way to end a professional and personal relationship. He liked to think he could have saved the situation if Alex had just answered his damn phone, but no one could argue he hadn’t tried. He put the letter in his out tray for mailing.

As he was putting Alex’s file away, his cell rang.

“John Friedkin.”

“Mr. Friedkin, it’s Scott Fleetwood.”

“Scott, I was about to call you. Special Agent Sheils just paid me a visit. He wants access to all findings pertaining to your case.”

“Let him have it,” Scott said, sounding weary.

“Is that why you were calling?”

“No, I have a different request. With the length of time you’ve been working for Mr. Rooker, I’m guessing you’ve generated quite a file on the Piper.”

“Yes. Over the years, we’ve compiled a sizeable chunk of data on him. Sadly, it hasn’t led to identifying him. Do you want me to share this information with the FBI? The information is private, but I can’t see any harm in sharing it.”

“No, it’s not that. I want to read the file. Would it be
possible for me to see a copy?”

Friedkin raised an eyebrow. “Can I ask why you want this information?”

“I just want to try to understand what kind of man I’m dealing with.”

“I see,” Friedkin said skeptically. “I don’t think that will be a problem. I will need Mr. Rooker’s approval.”

“Sure.”

“Is there anything else you need from me?”

“No. I think that’s it for now.”

Friedkin pressed End on his cell and tossed the phone on his desk. He couldn’t imagine the pain the Fleetwoods were going through right now. If he were in their place, he wouldn’t be able to function. At that moment, he realized he’d do everything he could to get these people their children back.

But the fate of two kidnapped children had to come second to the needs of his other client. He retrieved the phone and dialed Charles Rooker’s number. Rooker answered.

“He called,” Friedkin said.

“When?”

“Just got off the phone with him. He wants to see everything I have on the Piper. I told him I needed your permission. Do I have it?”

“Of course. Whatever he needs, give it to him. You don’t have to check with me first.”

When Rooker had come to him after the Piper had murdered his son, Friedkin had been driven to help him. He couldn’t watch another human being in so much pain. Friedkin now judged that decision as a mistake. Business drove business. Not vendettas. Vendettas were messy, sticky things that never ended well and resulted in poor judgment. He’d made a number of questionable decisions already. When Rooker needed him to cross a line, he crossed it for the good of the case.

“Do you still want me to put Scott under
surveillance?”

“Yes. I want to know where he goes and who he sees.”

“Do you really think he’s in contact with the Piper?”

“I’m not taking any chances. If he is, I want to know.”

“What about Fleetwood’s kids?”

“What about them?”

“Do you want me to find them?”

“No. That’s the FBI’s job.”