Web of Secrets (Agents Under Fire) (11 page)

Chapter Twelve

REGINALD DIDN’T LIKE the cold, and his clunker of a van didn’t much like it either. It huffed and puffed up the final hill toward the trail entrance.

He patted the dash. “You can do it, Wilbur,” he said, mocking the voice of Mr. Ed, the talking horse on television. His mother had watched that show nonstop, and he’d memorized nearly every word of it. Especially Ed’s lines. Reginald had loved that horse. He was so funny.

As he crested the hill, Wilbur coughed, but Reginald couldn’t be concerned with that. At the far side of the parking lot, the spot just below the trailhead, a Portland police officer stood guard. His car sat in the lot next to a crime-scene van and what looked like another official state van parked on the other side.

Reginald’s heart rate kicked up as he kept the van chugging toward his secluded parking space, but when he reached the spot, his instincts screamed at him to keep driving.

“What do you make of this, Wilbur?” he asked. “Could they have found the girls? Not possible, right? I was so careful. And there was nothing in the news about it. Surely, they couldn’t have found them without it making the news. Mother was all about humility, but even I know how much the world would clamor to meet me if they learned of my special skills. The news stations would be compelled to report it.”

He turned down a side street, then another for good measure, and parked the van on a road filled with cars to blend in with. In many cities, a classic VW van like his would stand out, but not in Portland. There were plenty of the old VWs around the town where California hippies had migrated in the seventies.

He found his small flashlight and binoculars under the seat and headed toward the park. He had a special observation spot that he’d used to confirm the trail was abandoned on the nights he’d brought the girls up here. He’d never run in to anyone this late. Honestly, as much as it was exciting, it was equally annoying that he couldn’t dispose of Allie’s hair thingy, but he couldn’t let it get to him. He still had to be careful.

He moved slowly through the dark, not a step out of place. He was used to the darkness. Used to hours and hours confined to his room and required to sit without any light so he didn’t disturb Mother while she tuned in to
Mr. Ed
and other old re-runs of the shows she’d watched with her father when she was younger. More of her alone time, she’d claimed.

Not needing his flashlight, Reginald felt the ground through his Chuck Taylor high-tops as he moved into location and perched on a fallen log. He was close enough to see the cop, hear him if he spoke. Reginald planted his elbows on his knees and focused his binoculars to get a good look at the cop’s face. The burly guy strode back and forth a few times, lumbering like it was a big deal to move. He suddenly shrugged and went back to his car where he sat with his door open.

As Reginald watched, the cold, damp air settled into his body, making him cranky. Minutes ticked by like a slug approaching Mother’s favorite spring primroses. He heard a car before it turned into the lot. Another cop car. Maybe a shift change.

The first cop got up. Stretched and yawned. The other climbed out, two cups of coffee in his hands.

“Man, am I glad to see you,” the first one said. “I’ve been jonesing for something to do.”

“So, no action here, then?”

“Not much. The lady anthropologist is still in the clearing, but she’s not saying a thing.” He stepped closer, as if he feared being overheard. “But you gotta know there are more bodies up there besides the one the ME hauled off. They wouldn’t have called in the anthropologist otherwise.”

No.
They’d found the girls. They were disturbing their peace after he’d worked so hard to drag them to their resting place, using a tarp he’d fashioned into a large canvas bag. Then he’d erased every track, every mark with a rake. He hadn’t been sure he’d gotten them all, but then the rain had set in. The blessed heavy rain, washing the marks away. Maybe that’s how they’d found the girls. The rain had been a real gully washer. It could have exposed one of them, he supposed.

He knew he should have dug deeper, the way he had for the first girls. Dug deep and chose burial sites around the city instead of laying them all to rest in the same location. His heart ached as he lowered his binoculars. One thing was certain. He wasn’t going to hang around here. Allie’s hair clip would just have to go into a dumpster.

“Reginald.” He could hear Mother’s scolding voice. “Haven’t I told you? Every bit of the girls’ possessions from before your cleanse must be buried, just like the girls are buried, or the cleansing won’t work.”

“That doesn’t mean it has to be in the same place,” he said under his breath as he got up to leave. He’d bury the clip somewhere in the boonies. Then what?

Did the fact that the cops had found the girls change anything? Maybe. This was sure to make the news, and he’d suddenly be a hero for saving these girls.

“A hero?” Billy’s voice broke the quiet. “More like a zero. The press is gonna crucify you like they did in the nineties.”

“Be quiet, Billy,” he whispered so they couldn’t hear him. “They have no idea who I am so it shouldn’t interfere in my plans.” But he couldn’t be too careful. He needed a clear head to think this through. He’d have to delay the call about Molly until he’d sorted this out.

“Just for a day,” he promised himself. “Just until you’re sure you’ve covered all the bases.”

He’d waited a long time for Lauren. Mother had taught him patience. He could wait one more day.

IT WAS THREE A.M. when Becca finally closed the door behind Connor. What a night. She should have sent him on his way after thirty minutes as she’d threatened, but it felt good—oh, so good—to talk to someone about Van Gogh after working the investigation alone for so many years. She hadn’t been able to stop. They’d thrown out thoughts and ideas and worked side-by-side through the possible leads. It was so much better than talking to herself.

True, she had to be on guard every moment, and it was hard to watch her words and not accidentally slip and say that she was Lauren, but she’d managed. At least, she hoped she had. Connor’s lack of questions indicated as much.

Maybe he was too distracted with his crazy infatuation with her that he simply didn’t notice. She touched her cheek, remembering the feel of his hand on her face as he’d said goodnight, and a smile found its way to her lips.

Maybe the real reason she hadn’t sent him packing was because she’d simply liked his company. His teasing. His easy jokes, which lightened her usual no-nonsense, get-it-done-now behavior. She even liked the way her heart beat faster when he looked at her. When he touched her.

Honestly, she felt alive around him. Really alive, and her hope for a normal life came alive too. A hope she’d buried for years.

“Not good, Rebecca Ann Lange. Not good at all,” she scolded herself. “You don’t get to have that kind of life. And wishing for it will just make things worse for you.”

Shaking her head, she went to the table to pack up her files.

Diligence. That’s what she needed. A recommitment to being cautious around Connor. She’d always found staying busy to be the key to avoid these impossible emotional desires.

“That you have,” she mumbled before a yawn caught her.

She could use some sleep, but if she wanted to free up time to help Elise, she needed to head into the office now to get organized so she could assign tasks to Taylor when she arrived.

Becca shoved the reports into a folder, then took a quick shower and dressed in one of her many suits. In less than an hour, she was parking in the FBI’s secured garage. A car that Becca recognized as Nina’s sat in the space nearest the door. Odd. Nina was on vacation and shouldn’t be there. She was probably checking on one of her investigations. Agents never really turned off the job. Not even for vacations. At least Becca didn’t, but Nina was more laid-back.

Becca entered the building and went straight to the bullpen housing agent cubicles. The room was pin-drop quiet. It was a perfect time to work. She could get so much more done without interruptions and distractions.

As she approached their workstations, she heard fingernails clicking on a keyboard.

Yeah, Nina was here. She was the only one on the team with long nails that sounded like birds pecking as she typed. Ones that were usually perfectly manicured and polished in bright colors, Becca might add. She didn’t understand why anyone would waste time on a manicure. Snip and a quick file was all Becca needed. Then again, she couldn’t imagine Nina with plain nails either. They were as much a part of her personality as were her brightly colored clothes and southern accent.

Not to mention her messiness. To a casual observer of her cubicle, it would appear as if she’d been in a fight for her life, lost, and had been abducted. She’d always been messy, but now that she was engaged to Quinn, she had even less time to organize herself at work.

Becca approached. “Thought you were on vacation.”

Nina shot her head around, her hand going to her chest. She took a few deep breaths, her bright fuchsia blouse rising and falling.

“You like to have killed me,” she drawled. She worked hard to curb her deep Alabama drawl at work, but it came out in times of stress.

“Sorry.” Becca dropped into the chair at the end of the desk. “What happened to your vacation?’

“I’m about to lose my mind with all the wedding plans and couldn’t sleep. I thought a few hours of mindless paperwork might tire me out.”

“Are things not going well with the wedding plans?”

“Oh, no, no.” She waved a hand. “But you know Quinn. He’s got to have a say in everything.” She wrinkled her nose. “I figured Mr. Tough Guy wouldn’t want to participate, but he’s weighing in on everything.”

“A former SEAL . . . choosing colors and whatever else you need to decide on for a wedding? That’s got to be quite a sight.” Becca laughed, and it felt so good.

Nina smiled. “He’s really into it. Not that he’d admit it. He says it’s because his former team will be there, and he’s trying to protect his cred by keeping things from being over-the-top girly.” Nina leaned closer. “Between you and me, he really cares about the day. It makes a girl’s heart melt.” She sighed and a dreamy look claimed her face.

Nina’s peaceful and contented expression accentuated the heavy weight of sadness in Becca’s heart. It was an ache, a physical ache. She might not want marriage, but she wanted contentment. She’d longed for it, ever since her mother died. Sure, she had a difficult life with her mom, but it was
her
life, and she’d been fine with it. Until the accident and then Molly.

Rare tears welled up. She closed her eyes to stem the flow. She was just weepy because of what had happened with Frankie. Not to mention Van Gogh resurfacing.

“What is it, hon?” Nina asked. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Becca swiped at her cheeks with the back of her hand.

“Puh-lease.” Nina rolled her eyes. “I may be all wrapped up in my own life right now, but I’ve never seen you cry. Ever. So, something big is going on with you, and we’re going to sit right here until you tell me about it.”

Becca had never met an agent who wasn’t tenacious, and Nina was no exception. She would keep Becca there until she gave in. So she gave Nina the sanitized version of what was going on with Van Gogh, the story she told everyone else, and then told her about Frankie’s death. “Guess it’s just too much. Both things happening at the same time, I mean.”

“Of course it is.” Nina squeezed Becca’s hand. “I’d be bawling like a baby over just one of them.”

Becca laughed. “That’s not hard to believe. You cry at sappy YouTube videos.”

She swatted a hand at Becca. “I sure hope Sulyard agrees to let you work the Van Gogh case. I know how much it means to you to find closure on Molly’s abduction.”

“It does, and that’s part of my problem. I desperately want to find Van Gogh
and
the person who hacked Frankie’s medical record, but I only have so much time in a day. I feel like I’m really needed on the Van Gogh investigation right now and the fact is, someone else can track down Frankie’s killer. But I don’t want to hand off Frankie’s case and disappoint Elise.”

“So instead, you came to work in the middle of the night so you could do it all.” Nina shook her head. “You can’t keep doing that, hon. You’ll burn out before you know it, and then, you won’t be able to do either.”

“I know.”

“Besides, there’s not really much you can do on Van Gogh at this point, right? At least until Sulyard tells you you’re officially on the team.”

She nodded. “Even Connor is pretty much on hold until they recover all of the bodies.”

“So for now, why don’t you work on Frankie’s death? I’m sure Connor will let you know if something changes.”

Connor.
Right, the guy who was starting to worm his way into her life.

Nina sat back and appraised her. “Is that part of the problem, too? Connor, I mean.”

“So, is everything going according to plan for your big day?” Becca asked, desperate to change the subject.

Nina watched her carefully for a moment. “I’m right on schedule, thanks. Although today, I was thinking about a last-minute change in the bridesmaids’ dresses. Would you mind giving me your opinion?”

“Me? I’m the last person you want to weigh in on this.” Becca ran her hands down her suit. “You know that, right? Otherwise, you wouldn’t have had to do a fashion intervention with my closet.”

“You are pretty hopeless.” Nina smiled, then frowned. “I really would like another opinion. Maybe I’ll still be here when Kait or Taylor come in.”

“I’d be happy to look at what you’re considering. Just don’t be surprised if I give you bad advice.”

Thirty minutes later, Becca was still trying to understand the difference in the fabric trims Nina was suggesting, but she was hopeless.