CHAPTER TWENTY

4:00 P.M.
1000 Eighteenth Street

 

 

McBride dragged out his Zippo and lit a Marlboro.

Seven hours ago, as scheduled, Dr. Kurt Trenton had pulled himself. together, despite the objections of his friends and family, and performed the needed surgery on former governor Donald Shelby.

Trenton was a hero. A tragically wounded one, if only in the emotional sense.

He might not be God but an angel certainly sat on his Versace-clad shoulder. Maybe, just maybe, because he would put himself through the rigors of a life-saving surgical procedure after his terrifying night in a hell designed just for him, the good doctor was actually a humbler man. Time would tell.

McBride sat on the counter of the first-floor men’s room and inhaled a deep drag from his cigarette. Worth had given up and authorized him to smoke there since the press whores were still camped outside. A technician had been brought in to temporarily override the smoke detector so the alarm wouldn’t go off every time McBride lit up.

Worth was officially off McBride’s asshole list. He still didn’t like him much but that was because he was a prick. Pricks were different from assholes. And Worth was definitely a prick.

Getting back to another prick, Trenton’s high-powered attorney had reduced the doctor’s official statement down to one sentence: “Dr. Trenton recalls returning to his car in the hospital’s parking garage and sitting down behind the steering wheel.” “That’s all, gentlemen,” his attorney had insisted. “He didn’t see anyone or hear anything.

Trenton’s pimped-up Caddy had been taken into custody by forensics. So far they hadn’t found jack shit. Nothing in the hospital garage that couldn’t have belonged to any one of several hundred other people. Nothing at the church.

Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.

The media was all over the story. McBride’s past had been rehashed again. All sorts of speculation about the three victims and the possible perpetrator had hit the papers as well as the television and radio news.

Worth had issued a statement saying there was a possibility the abductions were connected and that the Bureau was investigating that avenue.

McBride closed his eyes and leaned back against the mirrored wall. The C-4 explosive glued to Trenton’s chest had been fake—a substance similar to polymer modeling clay. The detonating charge had been a small homemade explosive configured from an illegal type of holiday fireworks commonly sold under the table. Basically a cardboard tube packed with explosive materials like a “quarter stick” or an M-80. Had Trenton not been found before detonation, that charge could have caused a serious enough injury to pose a threat to his life. The reverend had said that he generally started tours in the church by noon on weekdays. That would have been too late, lending credence to the possibility that before being discovered, Trenton could have bled to death.

And that was the thing … Devoted Fan didn’t appear to want anyone to die. Sure, this last challenge had been a little tougher, but not so much so that the likelihood of failure was greater than the likelihood of success.

McBride had concluded that the man wasn’t a murderer … maybe, under ordinary circumstances, not even a criminal. Yet, something had triggered him to act, and he was trying to prove some point. Something beyond McBride’s hero status. Something personal.

But what?

The door opened and Grace walked in, a folder in hand.

“Is Worth looking for me?” McBride took another drag. He felt like a brand-new freshman skipping class, hiding out in the men’s restroom.

“Not yet.” She scooted onto the counter on the other side of the sink. That burgundy skirt hiked up, revealing several inches of very nice thighs.

“You have a thing for men’s rooms, Grace?” He turned on the water in the sink, wet the cigarette butt to ensure the fire was completely doused, then tossed it into the waste bin beneath the paper towel dispenser. Color darkened her cheeks. He smiled, couldn’t help himself. He’d done that now and again since meeting her. More irony. This was the last situation that should make him smile.

“Let’s talk,” she suggested, opening the file she’d brought with her.

“Let’s.” She could talk all night and he would be content to watch her profile as those lips moved, forming each word. His brain instantly retrieved the imprinted memories of having those lips meshed with his own. So soft and yet so full. The image instantly morphed into other scenarios that included him and that lush mouth. He would be more than happy to repay in kind. He couldn’t think of a thing he would enjoy more than having his mouth on every part of her.

She swiveled her face toward him, stared straight into his eyes. “Stop looking at me that way.”

He ordered his pulse to slow. “Sorry.” But he wasn’t sorry. He was hard and horny and he wanted her again. And again after that. Right here would be fine, right now would be better than fine.

“I want to go over a couple of theories with you.” She turned her attention back to the folder.

“Hit me.”

She glanced at him again with that look that suggested he might want to rephrase.

“We,” she said before settling her attention back on the pages in the file, “have three completely unrelated victims, two female, one male. Two adults, one child. Two rich, one poor. Three historic landmarks as crime scenes. And you.” Those big dark eyes rested on him once more. “And that’s it. No evidence, no prints, no witnesses other than Mr. Jackson, who didn’t see enough to be useful.”

That about summed it up. “How is Davis coming along with that fan list?”

“He has it narrowed down to less than two hundred and he’s making phone calls. When he eliminates those who have moved away or died or whatever, he and Arnold are going door to door.”

“Nothing from Schaffer?”

Grace shrugged. “Nothing significant. She did find your notes on that final report. So Goodman’s associate told the truth about that part anyway.”

“Speaking of Goodman,” McBride ventured, recalling the pushy lady from last night outside the church, “what’s the deal with her? Just another pushy newshound?”

Grace closed her file and clasped her hands atop it. “She’s been around for a while. Came to Birmingham about five years ago from Pittsburgh. Most people consider her the voice of what’s happening in this city. Divorced. No children. Totally dedicated to the job. A bitch.”

McBride considered his temporary partner. “Sounds like you don’t care for the lady.”

“She hurts people to get what she wants. I have a problem with that. The Byrnes were ready to take out a restraining order to keep her away from their house after their daughter was rescued. I’m sure Katherine Jones has suffered the same treatment only she doesn’t have a fancy lawyer. Hospital security will probably keep her off Trenton’s back.” Grace gave her head a little shake. “Look what she did to Mr. Braden and Agent Quinn. And you,” she added, a flicker of some undefined emotion in her eyes.

Could she possibly give one shit about his feelings? “That exposé of Goodman’s didn’t hurt me, Grace. The man she targeted is gone, this one”—he patted his chest—“isn’t that guy. He’s just a bum who does what he has to and nothing more.” When she would have argued, he went on, “What she wrote hurt Derrick Braden and Andrew Quinn … the two people left from that nightmare who still had something to lose.”

That was the truth if he’d ever spoken it.

A knock on the door drew their attention there.

“Grace?” Pratt called through the door rather than coming on in.

Maybe he was afraid of what he would see. He hadn’t asked any questions about the episode at the airport but the guy had to have noticed the tension between McBride and Grace after that.

Grace slid off the counter and strode to the door. McBride took the opportunity to admire those gorgeous legs. He’d gladly sell what was left of his soul to have them wrapped around him one more time.

She opened the door, the back of the hand holding the file propped on her hip. Her colleague peeked past her to see what McBride was up to. “What?” she demanded.

“Worth wants the two of you upstairs.” He looked from Grace to McBride and back. “There’s some guy from Quantico here.”

McBride had wondered when the Q would get around to sending somebody down for a look-see. Took them longer than he had expected.

Grace followed Pratt up the stairs and McBride followed her. He definitely got the better end of the deal. If he loitered a few steps behind he could see up her skirt just far enough to get a glimpse of smooth thighs.

Didn’t take her long to figure that out. She stopped. Waited for him to catch up, then gave him the evil eye.

Like he said before, he was only human.

Worth waited in his office. The agent from Quantico sat in one of the chairs facing Worth’s desk, his back to the door.

“Agents Grace and McBride,” Worth said, “have a seat.”

The visitor stood, turned to greet them and McBride stopped.

Collin Pierce.

“Agent Grace.” Pierce extended his hand. “It’s good to see you.”

She accepted his hand, her action delayed just enough for McBride to notice.

“Agent Pierce,” she acknowledged, drawing out the syllables as if surprised or reluctant.

During that instant, that fraction of a second, when Pierce held on to her hand before she pulled away, McBride observed something. Some infinitesimal impression that said these two shared a connection, past or present, which still simmered.

“McBride.” Pierce turned to him next, thrust out the same hand. “It’s been a while.”

McBride gave his hand a quick, firm shake, more a challenge than a greeting. “Not nearly long enough.”

Pierce smiled and made one of those noncommittal sounds that was supposed to be humorous or indulgent but mostly came out like a pissed-off grunt.

“Agent Pierce,” Worth spoke up as he gestured for them to take their seats, “was in Montgomery speaking to a group of potential academy candidates and he dropped by to see how we were coming along on the Devoted Fan case.”

Like hell.

Before McBride could say as much, Grace did.

“Your checking up on me is inappropriate, Agent Pierce.”

Well, well, at least now McBride knew. There was something between these two. He liked it when Grace got spunky. She only did that when she was damned pissed off or pushed into a corner.

“Agent Grace,” Pierce said in that patient, wiser-than-thou way he had of talking down to others, “I’m not here to check up on you. I’m here to offer assistance on the Devoted Fan investigation.”

As if she’d just realized what she said and that she’d done it out loud, her lips pressed into a firm line and her smooth, porcelain skin flushed.

“I hate to think you’ve wasted your time,” McBride said, deciding to take the heat off Grace, “but we’ve got things under control here, Pierce. There’s not a lot you can offer.”

“I was sorry to hear you’d been terminated, McBride.” Pierce shifted his interest from Grace to McBride and allowed a lack of it to show. “At one time you were the best.”

McBride laughed softly, the real thing, not one of those fake sounds. “I was sorry to hear you’d turned to teaching. But then, I guess when you can’t cut it in the field, it’s best to do what you can.”

“Gentlemen,” Worth interrupted, “we were going to review what we have on this case. Why don’t you get us started, Agent Grace?”

 

 

5:02 P.M.

 

Vivian was ready to get the hell out of there.

She had never been so furious in her life.

Every particle of self-discipline she possessed had been required to remain seated during the past forty-nine minutes while Worth and Pierce and McBride went back and forth over this case. She had purposely kept her mouth shut after her opening remarks.

Pierce’s visit had nothing to do with this case and she knew it.

He was here about her.

He was worried about her. Worth had told her that much already.

Dammit.

The one real surprise was that McBride and Pierce appeared to know each other. She should have realized that was a possibility since they were both at Quantico at the same time. Pierce wasn’t anything like McBride. He was as tall as McBride but leaner. His hair was black, cut short and neat. His eyes were almost as dark as his hair and were ever watchful. There was no fooling Pierce, he never missed a thing.

McBride abruptly stood. “If we hear anything from Devoted Fan, let me know.”

What the hell had happened while she’d been seething?

Vivian pushed to her feet, scrambling to catch up as McBride walked out. “Was there anything else, sir?” She faced Worth, careful to keep her attention fixed fully on him and off the other man who had suddenly stood.

“Stay a moment, Grace,” Pierce said.

When she glared at him, he was busy sending Worth a not-so-subtle “give us some privacy” look.

“Excuse … me,” Worth stuttered. “I have to check on …”

The way he was mumbling Vivian didn’t catch the last of his excuse as he made his hasty exit and closed the door firmly behind him.

This was beyond ridiculous. She shook her head at the man watching her. “I considered you a friend. I trusted you.” She hadn’t spoken a word to him since the announcement that her assignment had been changed. She had avoided him at all costs, ignored his phone calls and his e-mails.

“Grace.” He reached out, touched her arm. “I know you don’t understand—”

“You’re damned right I don’t,” she snapped. “Let’s leave it at that.” She had wanted that assignment in Baltimore so badly. Her whole reason for joining the Bureau had been to make a difference. An assignment like Baltimore would have given her that opportunity. What the hell was she supposed to do here? Even when a big case came up, Worth didn’t put her on it. He wouldn’t have this time if McBride hadn’t insisted. How could she get the experience she needed for moving to the next level if she wasn’t given the chance?

Pierce drew in a big breath, let it go. “We both know why you decided to make law enforcement your career.”

What of it? Who wouldn’t want to fight the bad guys after going through that kind of thing? She had needed to turn her fear and hatred and bitterness into something constructive.

“In case you haven’t noticed,” she said, her voice harsh and stilted, “I’m doing a good job. I don’t need you looking over my shoulder.” If she hadn’t had that one episode at the academy none of this would be happening! But she had. She’d frozen up, just like she had with McBride at the cemetery, only worse. Her failure in that one training exercise had caused the deaths of two civilians and one agent, hypothetically of course.

She had been so upset, that she had come apart in Pierce’s office and had admitted that she still had problems with what happened when she was seventeen. Big mistake. Hiding that entire history would have been impossible, the background investigation would have exposed it. But she had fooled the psych evaluations, had convinced everyone that she was past the whole Nameless incident.

And then she’d had to go and let her core instructor see her crack.

Now she was paying the price. He had suggested an assignment to a smaller field office until after her probation to ensure less stress. So here she was, back in her hometown trying to prove she could take the pressure.

“Grace, you survived your worst nightmare,” he said, ignoring her assurance that she didn’t need him minding her business. “You killed the man responsible. You were strong and it showed in your ability to survive.”

Here came the but …

“But then you changed your name and ran away, pretended it never happened.”

Fury bolted through her. “Do you really think I wanted to hang around and let the media hound me? To have people looking at me the way you are right now?”

Why couldn’t the past just be over? She didn’t want to look back. She wanted to move forward.

“If that were the only reason,” he said, without the exasperation he surely felt at this point, “we wouldn’t be having this conversation. You’ve been hiding for seven years. You have to face those demons and defeat them the same way you did the real thing. Otherwise you’ll be dealing with them forever.”

“Do we have anything else to talk about, Agent Pierce?” She stood at attention as if she were still one of his students. “If not, I’d like to go home. I’ve had a long day and I had a long night before that.”

For several seconds he looked at her with that concerned, caring face that her father wore at moments like this … that Worth wore whenever he passed her up for a prime case … the same damned one McBride had worn this morning when he had ordered her out of that church.

Damn them all!

“I guess that’s all I have to say.”

Before she could escape, he added, “I’ll be here for a few days. We could have dinner.”

“Sure.” She wrenched open the door and fled to the corridor. She wanted out of here. Away from the weakness Pierce wanted to shove down her throat. She wasn’t weak. She was strong. The past didn’t matter anymore. It was over. Why didn’t he just let it go? How was she supposed to leave it alone if everyone else kept bringing it up?

“Grace.”

Worth was striding toward her.

“Yes, sir?”

“You’re needed in the conference room. McBride is already there. We have a new communication from Devoted Fan.”

Her shoulders slumped with fatigue. Not another one. Hopefully there wouldn’t be another victim already.

She followed her SAC and, as if he’d smelled the trouble, Pierce wasn’t far behind her. Pratt, Davis, and Aldridge were there already, as was McBride. They gathered around the computer screen and read the latest e-mail from the unsub who was now officially a serial offender.

McBride,

You truly are the best. You and your fine partner, Agent Grace, did a spectacular job of solving my puzzling clues. I am astounded at your greatness. As you know by now, Dr. Trenton’s illustrious patient is in recovery and doing well. His survival, as well as the good doctor’s, is solely your doing. I daresay, Trenton will have a new attitude from this day forth, as well he should.

The time has come for me to inform you that, at last, the final challenge is at hand. I do, of course, realize that you have had little rest and I shall save the grand finale for tomorrow.

Rest well, my hero, for there is still one more lesson to be taught—this one is a lesson I am sure you will appreciate as much as I.

Humbled,
Devoted Fan

“McBride, Grace, and Pratt, I want each of you to take a copy of this e-mail home with you and study it while you get some rest. Be back here at four A.M. At that time Davis and Arnold will take a few hours at home. Meanwhile”—he directed his full attention to those two agents—“I want every number on that list called, every potential suspect visited before four A.M. If folks are asleep, wake ’em up.”

Simultaneous yes-sirs echoed as the two agents moved back to their stations.

“I’ll be here until midnight,” Worth said to everyone gathered. “I sent Talley home for some shut-eye. He’ll be back before I go. If I have anything new, you’ll hear from me.” He started to go but then added, “McBride, Binmingham PD will have a guard at your door for the duration of your stay here … just in case.”

McBride grabbed a copy of the e-mail. “Whatever.”

Vivian picked up her copy and shot McBride a look for the good it would do. What was up with him? Besides the usual. She’d have to ask him about the history between him and Pierce. Then again … if she did, that would open the door for him to question her.

SAC surveyed the room as if he had suddenly remembered something relevant. “I want everyone to stay aware. We don’t know who the next victim will be. It could be anyone, including one of us.”

“Feel free to utilize my expertise,” Pierce offered. He said the words to Worth, but glanced at Vivian. “I’m prepared to jump in with both feet.”

“I’m sure everyone here”—Worth sent a look at Vivian—“is glad to have your experience and expertise available.”

Maybe she hadn’t made herself clear enough.

“Agent Grace,” Worth said as she headed for the door, “Agent Pierce will also be staying at the Tutwiler. Why don’t you let him follow the two of you there?”

She glanced at Pierce. “Of course.”

Vivian didn’t look at either man as she stormed down the stairs. No way was she getting trapped in an elevator with the two of them together. They would probably end up going for each other’s jugulars.

At her Explorer, she hesitated. “Where are you parked?”

Pierce gestured to the black Chrysler 300. Luxury rental, probably flew first class too.

“Just follow me.” She got into her SUV and slammed the door. What kind of car he drove or how he chose to fly shouldn’t make her angrier, but it did. It was the whole arrogance thing. The “I’m older and know it all” thing. She was sick of being pampered … of being coddled.

McBride climbed in. “Why don’t you just shoot him and get it over with?”

“Buckle up,” she snapped. She wasn’t in the mood for any of his arrogance either, no matter how freaking sexy he managed to make it.

She rocketed out of her spot in reverse, jarred to a stop, then jetted toward the gate, squealing tires.

McBride grabbed at the dash as if he feared for his safety.

The gate slid open and she lurched out onto the street. Despite the diminishing press crowd, Birmingham PD remained on duty to keep them at bay, allowing for an unencumbered exit.

She saw neither hide nor witch-black hair of Nadine Goodman. If Vivian never saw her again it would be too soon. As far as she was concerned the woman had stepped way over the line this time.

“He thinks I’m going to appreciate this next challenge.”

Vivian glanced at McBride, thought about his statement. “Are you concerned that the victim may be someone you know?”

“I’d say that’s a safe bet.”

She braked for a light and met that intense blue gaze. “Or maybe someone he knows you would despise?”

“Maybe.”

Quiet crammed into the vehicle and she knew the question was coming.

“So what’s the deal between you and Pierce?”

God, she hated that question. Even Worth had asked it. “He was my mentor at the academy. We were friends. I suppose we still are once you get beyond all his crap about me and my past.”

“He doesn’t act like just a friend, Grace.”

Her teeth clenched to hold back the words that immediately raced to the tip of her tongue.

“I know Pierce,” McBride went on. “He doesn’t look at his students or his friends the way he looks at you.”

“Why did you storm out of Worth’s office?” she tossed back at him. “Looked to me as if you and Pierce have a history of your own.”

“Pierce and I go back a ways,” he confessed. “We weren’t in the same academy class or in the same unit. We just don’t like each other. Had something to do with that whole legend then. There were a lot of Qs who didn’t like me because of that.” McBride turned in his seat so he could study her. “But Pierce likes you.”

She parked beneath the valet canopy in front of the hotel. “I don’t want to hear it, McBride,” she said with all the fury she could infuse into her tone. “You’re not exactly in a position to judge me or anyone else.”

If he hadn’t been looking at her with those eyes … with that tiny, tiny glimmer of pain in his eyes, she might have been able to pretend that she hadn’t hurt his feelings.

All this time he had been making a big deal out of how he didn’t care about anything or anyone. Apparently, his indifference was wearing a little thin … all those other emotions he conscientiously denied were showing through.

Reminded her a little too much of herself.

To put it his way, this whole thing was truly fucked up.

McBride said nothing more, grabbed his bag, the one that contained the clothes and essentials she had bought for him the day after he’d gotten here, and entered the hotel right behind her. The clerk, who knew her on sight now, passed her the key for McBride’s room the moment she approached the counter. Out of a sense of civility she should have disregarded, she waited while Pierce checked in. They parted ways on the fourth floor. Her job was to keep an eye on McBride. Pierce could take care of himself.

On the seventh floor she led the way to McBride’s room … the same one they had checked out of about thirty-six hours prior. Worth’s secretary had called and arranged for the room when McBride’s travel plans changed.

Vivian handed him the key and he opened the door, tossed his bag inside and turned back to her.

“I don’t suppose you’d be interested in keeping me company at the bar.”

In one express trip her gaze took in the man, from those intense blue eyes, past the ludicrously sexy stubble on his jaw, to the missing buttons of his shirt, down those long jean-clad legs and back to his eyes. Right now, the way she was feeling it would be damned easy to say yes … or maybe to push him into the room and have her way with him. Enjoy those great orgasms he seemed to so easily mine from her.

But she wouldn’t. Couldn’t. “No, thanks,” she told him before his eyes could change her mind. “The only thing I have on my mind right now is sleep,” she lied.

She couldn’t possibly stay and risk letting him too close. That one time was all it took to know that this innately sexy man held the power to take anything he pleased from her.

“Use room service,” she advised. “Less visible. Your guard should be here soon.”

She didn’t like the idea of leaving until Birmingham PD was in place, but staying presented those perils she was all too well aware of.

When she turned away, he reached out and took her hand to keep her from going. “You know if you walk out now, Pierce is only going to call you and invite you to dinner.”

His fingers teased her hand as he said this, making her heart flutter foolishly.

“And I’ll tell him the same thing I did you. No.”

He held her gaze, unwilling to let her go. “Good night, Grace.”

The vibration at her waist made her jump. She snatched her hand away from his as if she had been caught playing doctor with the boy next door. Pushing all those crazy notions aside, she squared her shoulders and answered the call. “Grace.”

Worth.

“You want me to what?” She couldn’t have heard right.

He repeated his instructions and she pushed past McBride to get into his room. “Which channel?” She sought and located the remote control for the television and selected WKRT, home of the wicked bitch of the South.

The rest of the world faded away, leaving her mind focused completely on the woman, Nadine Goodman, on her voice coming from the six o’clock news broadcast. McBride took the remote from her and pumped up the volume.

“Agent Vivian Grace, formerly Vivian Taylor of Bessemer, a community just outside Birmingham proper, was the thirteenth and final victim of the heinous serial rapist-murderer known only as Nameless. Even after seven years, the twisted monster’s real name is not known. He existed under a number of aliases, moved from city to city, raping and murdering at least twelve women in only five years. His victims were gruesomely dismembered More after the commercial break …”

For three seconds, then five, Vivian told herself this had to be a mistake … it couldn’t have happened. She had been so careful. No one was supposed to know …

Now everyone knew.