Waking the Dead Part 29

"It was very good news." The smile she'd suppressed earlier broke out. "He didn't dismiss it out of hand. And I know he wants to place mobile labs in four or five spots across the country to improve our timeliness. I might have to become a contracted worker rather than be employed directly through the agency, but . . ." She shrugged. It was a trade-off she was willing to make. Especially if it meant she and Zach would have some time to see where their relationship was leading.

"Did you call your mother today?"

The question threatened to dim the quiet satisfaction she felt after Raiker's-almost-capitulation. "She still won't take my calls." And from the guarded responses she got from Lydia's doctor, she didn't expect that to change anytime soon. Her mother's path to emotional recovery looked like it might prove to be as slow as the disintegration of her mental health.

He slipped his arm around her waist for a hard hug. As she leaned against him, she realized with a note of surprise that it was becoming easier to accept his support. They regarded each other silently for a moment. "Unfamiliar territory," he said finally.

"It is that." For both of them.

"Fortunately guiding in foreign terrain is something I do have experience in. The first trick is to go in prepared."

"Good advice, I suppose. If you know what to prepare for." He wasn't the only one who'd avoided long-term relationships like the plague.

"You don't go in alone." His hand slid down to caress her b.u.t.t.

"Small chance of that." Obeying his urging, she pressed closer, feeling a little of her trepidation leak away when his arms came around her.

"You trust your partner."

She saw the flicker in his eyes. Knew he was thinking of the fight they'd had before she'd tracked down Paulsen. "Back atcha."

"I'm a quick learner." He reached up to toy with a strand of her hair, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth. "Last thing to remember is we're in this together."

Going up on her tiptoes, she nipped at his bottom lip. "I'm counting on that."

"Then there's no reason in the world that we shouldn't expect a successful journey. Complete with enough thrills and adventure to satisfy us both."

His lingering kiss stemmed the sound of agreement she would have made. There was nothing more to add, at any rate. Cait had a feeling that teaming up with Sharper was going to be the trip of a lifetime.

Turn the page for a preview of

the fourth book in Kylie Brant's

exciting Mindhunters series.

DEADLY FEAR.

Coming soon.

from Berkley Sensation!

Icy fingers of fear clawed through the fabric of sleep and brought Ellie Mulder instantly awake. Old habits had her keeping her muscles lax, her eyes still closed as she strained to identify what had alerted her. When she did, her blood ran as cold as the frigid Colorado wind beating against the windows.

She could hear him breathing.

It was the same snuffle snort that warned her whenever he was coming for her. He'd returned, just like he'd threatened. He'd s.n.a.t.c.h her from her bed, from her home and this time, she'd never get away. Not ever.

Her eyes snapped open as a scream lodged in her throat. The old terrors were surging, fighting logic, fueled by memory. It took a moment to see through the veils of the past and notice her familiar surroundings.

She was home. In her room. In her bed. And Art Cooper wasn't here. He would die in prison.

A long sigh of relief shuddered out of her. The bright illumination of the alarm clock on her bedside table said one-eighteen A.M. The sleep scene on her computer lit the corner of the room that held her desk. And the large aquarium on the opposite wall was awash in a dim glow. She often "forgot" to turn it off.

The items had been chosen because of the light they afforded. Her mom and dad had worried when she'd needed doors open and lights blazing to go to bed at night. But they'd been happy when she'd casually mentioned wanting a computer. Had expressed an interest in tropical fish. Had selected things to decorate her bedroom like the brightly lit alarm clock. Those things were normal, the psychologist said. And Ellie knew it was important that she seem normal. Even if it was a lie.

The slight noise sounded again and she tensed, her hand searching for the scissors she kept on the bedside table. But even as her fingers gripped the handle, her mind identified the sound. It was the gurgle of water in the overflow box for the aquarium. Not Cooper's breathing.

The recognition relaxed her, but she didn't replace the scissors. She kept them clutched in her hand and brought them close to her chest, the feel of the small weapon comforting. Learning their daughter slept with a knife under her pillow had made her parents cry. So Ellie had to pretend not to need that anymore. She had become very good at pretending.

So good that her mom and dad were thrilled about her new interest several months ago. She'd heard the psychologist tell them that the act of creating, of folding and cutting paper into pretty shapes would be very therapeutic for her. So there was never any fuss about the constant paper sc.r.a.ps on the floor. New supplies appeared on her desk without her ever having to request them.

Only she knew that the new hobby was an excuse to keep a sharp pair of scissors with her at all times. And the psychologist was right. That part, at least, was very therapeutic.

The initial flare of panic had ebbed. She listened to the blizzard howl outside the windows and found the sound oddly soothing. Bit by bit, she felt herself relax. Her eyelids drooped.

She had the half-formed thought that she needed to replace the scissors before her mom came in the next morning to check on her. But sleep was sucking her under, and her limbs were unresponsive.

It was then that he pounced.

The weight hit her body, jolting her from exhaustion back to alarm in the span of seconds. She felt the hand clamped over her mouth, the p.r.i.c.k of a needle in her arm and fear lent her strength far beyond her years. Rearing up in bed, she flailed wildly, trying to wrest away, trying to strike out. She tasted the stickiness of tape over her lips. Felt a hood being pulled over her head.

There was a brief flare of triumph when the scissors met something solid, and a hiss of pain sounded in her ear. But then her hand was bent back, the weapon dropping from her fingers and a strange numbness started to slide over her body. She couldn't move. The hood prevented her from seeing. A strange buzzing filled her head.

As she felt herself lifted and carried away, her only thought was she was being taken.

Again.

Icy needles of sleet p.r.i.c.ked Macy Reid's cheeks as she hurried across the tarmac at the Mana.s.sas Regional Airport. The sleek black private jet sat waiting, its motors idling. It looked impatient somehow, looming dark and silent in the shadows, as if it had somehow taken on the personality of the man waiting inside it. Adam Raiker, head of Raiker Forensics and her boss, had demanded she be there within the hour. Her home in Vienna, Virginia was nearly twenty miles from the airport. Since the usual D.C. traffic was light at four A.M., she'd made the trip in under forty-five minutes.

An attendant took her suitcases and stowed them for her as she wiped the frigid moisture from her cheeks and made her way up the steps to the aircraft. Her satisfaction at arriving early dissipated when she recognized the man seated in the roomy black leather seat next to her boss. Kellan Burke. Fellow forensic investigator and all-around pain-in-the-a.s.s.

Her stomach gave one quick lurch before she ordered it to settle. She gave Raiker a nod. "Adam." She barely glanced at the other man as she chose a seat on the other side of her boss and buckled in. "Burke."

"The inimitable d.u.c.h.ess Macy." Kellan gave her a sleepy smile that she knew better than to trust. "Been awhile since we've been paired on an investigation. Miss me?"

"Like a case of foot rot."

"A comeback," he noted admiringly. "You've been practicing."

She could feel a flush heating her cheeks and d.a.m.ned yet again the fair complexion that mirrored her emotions. Almost as much as she d.a.m.ned the man for being right. Experience had taught her that it paid to have a ready repertoire of witty replies if she was to spend any length of time in Burke's presence. Unfortunately, those replies usually occurred several hours after they were required, leaving her at the crucial moment as tongue-tied and frustrated as an eight-year-old.

Adam pressed a b.u.t.ton on his armrest that would alert the pilot to ready for takeoff. Then he sent them a look. "Any squabbling and you'll ride in the luggage compartment. Both of you." He leaned forward to withdraw two file folders from the pocket of his briefcase and handed one to each of them as the jet began its taxi down the runway. Macy seized it, grateful to have something else to focus on.

"Steven Mulder." Burke was studying the first sheet inside the folder, his expression thoughtful. "Why is that name familiar?"

"Maybe because he's the owner of the discount stores that bear his name." Raiker's voice was dry. "A quick Google check shows there are two thousand Mulders in the country with several hundred more operations in Europe, Asia, and South America."

The name had also struck a chord of recognition with Macy, but not for the same reason. "Steven Mulder? His daughter was one of the girls rescued when you broke that child-swap ring a few years ago." The case wasn't one she was likely to forget. Her testimony in the case helped put one of the perpetrators behind bars. It was also what had brought her to Raiker's attention.

"That's right." For Burke's benefit he explained, "Ellie Mulder was seven when she was s.n.a.t.c.hed while attending a friend's birthday party. FBI took control of the case almost immediately. She was found incidentally when one of my cases overlapped a couple years later. I broke up a child auction and her kidnapper was among those looking for a trade-in. By that point she'd been missing twenty-seven months."

Macy's gaze had dropped to the opened folder in her lap, but she froze a moment later in the act of scanning the information he'd put together for them. "She's been kidnapped . . . again?"

"Abducted sometime between eleven and two A.M. this morning." Raiker's expression was grim. "Denver was having a h.e.l.lacious blizzard and Ellie's mother went in to check on her. She discovered her missing from her bed and looked around the house. Woke up her husband when she didn't find her and they searched the estate. He called me an hour after they discovered her gone."

"But not the FBI," Burke put in shrewdly.

Macy caught Raiker's gaze on her and followed it to where her fingers laid against the folder. Her fingers were beating a familiar tattoo against the surface. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. Throat drying, she deliberately stilled them and refocused her thoughts.

"The feds failed her before." She met Raiker's stare, knew she was right. "They had over two years to find her the first time. But you're the one responsible for bringing her home to them. So Mulder contacted you."

Her employer inclined his head. "If the Mulders had their way, no law enforcement would be involved at all. They're pretty devoid of respect for LEOs after the last incident. But I convinced Steven that he has no choice but to report Ellie's disappearance. He has a personal relationship with the governor. With both Colorado U.S. Senators. He'll use his influence to bring in the Colorado Bureau of Investigation as leads."

"Elbowing aside the Denver PD," Kellan muttered, still studying the contents of the file.

"The Mulder estate is located thirty minutes outside Denver. It actually falls under the jurisdiction of the Denver Sheriff's office. This could turn into a territorial tug-of-war of monumental proportions."

Macy considered the ramifications. Being hired by a family member rather than the investigating law enforcement ent.i.ty made their appearance on the scene a bit more tenuous. In a case such as this, suspicion fell first on the family and those in closest proximity to the child. The LEO would worry that their allegiance to Mulder would take precedence over their commitment to teamwork. Without Raiker running interference, they could be shut out of the investigative end of things almost completely. He was going to have his plate full handling the politics of this one.

She glanced at Burke. Found him watching her through a pair of trendy framed gla.s.ses that were new since the last time she'd seen him. "They're going to want to bring in their own people."

"Of course. But it's my job to convince them they don't have anyone who can match the experience the two of you bring. Don't make a liar out of me."

It took her a moment to realize Raiker was joking. It was always tough telling with him. "You've checked on Cooper's whereabouts?"

"Art Cooper is still in prison in Yazoo City, fulfilling his thirty year sentence for the kidnap and rape of Ellie Mulder."

"And . . . the others?" It took all her resolve not to fidget under the shrewd look Raiker aimed her way.

"All accounted for, still inside serving their sentences."

She wouldn't have asked. Couldn't have formed the words. But in the next moment he added deliberately, "Rodriguez has been bounced around some. He's currently housed at Flor ence in Wisconsin."

"So are we looking at the original group you rounded up in that first case?" Burke demanded. "Do any of them have the jones to reach out this way from prison?"

"They'll have to be checked out," Raiker replied. "Every avenue will need to be explored. We can't afford to overlook the possibility that Ellie's disappearance this time is somehow connected to that first kidnapping. I'll line up the interviews for each with the prison wardens and make personal visits."

There was a sick knot of dread settling in the pit of Macy's stomach. With an ease born of long practice, she pushed it aside and looked at her boss. "And then we have to decide who the real target of this crime is. Ellie Mulder, or her father."

There were only three other cars parked in the wide drive that looped in a half-circle in front of the sprawling Mulder estate. Macy wondered if that meant Steven Mulder had been successful in limiting the scope of the LEO presence, or if others had already been and gone since Raiker received the man's call this morning. The still heavy snowfall made it impossible to tell. As it was, the trio of vehicles in the drive were already buried under several inches of wet snow that had turned the roads from the airport into thick puddles of slush. A drop in the temperature would make them treacherous.

Macy stepped out of the SUV and scanned the grounds. They'd been detained at the iron gates at the base of the drive, more than a quarter mile back until the CBI agent posted there had scrutinized their IDs and waited for permission from someone inside to admit them. That had given her plenty of time to eye the twelve-foot stone walls that surrounded the property. The discreetly placed security cameras that topped them at regular intervals. The matching stone security station in front of the gates was meant to be manned by a live operator, and looked to be equipped with full audio and video feed. Whoever had gotten in and out of the estate undetected wasn't an amateur.

The front door of the home swung open as Raiker was getting out of the vehicle, cane in hand. From the grim-faced visage of the man in the doorway, Macy knew immediately he was another LEO. Which meant he was a CBI agent.

He waited until they'd ascended the stairs to demand their IDs again. It occurred to her that the extra precautions were a bit late. Ellie Mulder was gone.

"Special agent in charge, Cal Whitman, is waiting for you in the study with Mr. Mulder. This way."

They were led through a marbled floor hallway that was lined with paintings and punctuated with large abstract sculptures. Macy recognized some of the artists, had no doubt the pieces were original. With Mulder's billions, he could afford just about anything. Except the one thing his money apparently couldn't buy.

His daughter's safety.

"Not too shabby," Kellen said in an undertone as he strolled along at her side, casting an appraising look at the s.p.a.ce. "What do you figure? Ten million? Fifteen?"

"I wouldn't know." It was usually best to ignore Burke. But the man made it difficult. Even now she could feel his pale green eyes on her, alight, no doubt, with amus.e.m.e.nt. It always seemed to be the primary emotion she elicited from him.

The hallway seemed endless. They trailed Raiker and the CBI agent who had let them in. "Pretty easy to get lost in a place this huge," Burke said, unzipping his navy down jacket and shoving his hands in its pockets. "How long do you think it would take them to locate us?"

"Why don't you find out?"

He gave her a lazy grin. The prism of lights from the crystals on the overhead chandeliers shot his thick brown hair with reddish glints. She'd bet he'd been auburn haired as a youngster. She could be certain he'd been incorrigible even then.

"If you promise to lead the search and rescue party, I might consider it. I can imagine it now. Me, weak from lack of food, maybe injured. You, bending over me in concern, wiping my brow, the strap of your lacy camisole slipping down one satiny shoulder . . ."

She resisted an urge to smack him, which was the overpowering effect he had on her. "Why would I lead a search and rescue mission clad in a camisole?"

His smile turned wicked. "Why indeed?"

"Burke."

They both jumped at the crack of Raiker's voice. He was several feet ahead of them. They'd been speaking too quietly for him to have heard them. Hadn't they? "Yeah, boss?"

"Shut up."

He slid a sideways glance at Macy and winked at her, clearly undeterred. "Shutting up, boss."

And those, she considered, as they were ushered into a large dark paneled room, were the most promising words she'd heard all day.

The man who rose to his feet to step toward Raiker, his hand outstretched, was immediately recognizable. Steven Mulder. He hadn't appeared at the Rodriguez trial Macy had testified at, but there'd been plenty of news stories devoted to his family since his daughter's first disappearance. He was prematurely gray, with a long, lean runner's build outfitted in a tailored suit. Its cost likely exceeded two months of her salary. As the two men clapped each other on the shoulder and leaned forward to murmur a few words, her gaze went beyond them to the men still seated behind a long polished conference table. It was easy enough to guess which one was Whitman.

The SAC had a decade on Raiker, she estimated, which would place him in his early to mid-fifties. It was difficult to tell his height while he was sitting, but she'd bet under six foot. He had a shaved head and thick neck. He wore a suit, too, but his was ill-fitting, pulling across his beefy chest and shoulders. His flat brown gaze flicked over them, giving Macy the impression they'd been sized up in the s.p.a.ce of an instant. There was nothing in his expression that gave away his thoughts about their inclusion in this case.

Mulder stepped away from Raiker and inclined his head in the direction of her and Burke. "Thank you for coming. I have tremendous respect for your boss. He's performed a miracle once." There was a barely discernible break in his voice. "I'm hoping he's got another one up his sleeve."

"Where Raiker is concerned, achieving the impossible is a daily expectation," Burke a.s.sured him soberly. Macy remained silent. She was always leery about issuing a.s.surances to victim's families. Life didn't always come complete with happy endings.