The elevator doors whispered open on the top floor of ETC headquarters. The hallway was carpeted in pale beige. The walls were light green. Miguel Peters stepped off promptly at nine and proceeded to the vice president’s office. The outer wall and its door were glass.
Natascha Campbell rose before he’d gotten through the door.
The rest of the room was paneled in wood. The door to Phillips’s office was wooden, blocking the interior from sight. As though ugly secrets were hidden inside.
“Good morning.” Natascha walked out from behind her desk with a smug smile.
Miguel took in the young woman. Once again, she wore a gray suit: the jacket and pencil skirt fit snug across her slender figure. But this time, her auburn hair was pulled back into a sleek ponytail that sharpened her features, making her look even younger today. Perhaps twenty-six. She was centerfold pretty, something he hadn’t noticed in the previous day’s chaos.
Natascha picked up the phone and pressed a button. “Agent Peters is here.”
Miguel strained to hear the response but couldn’t pick up so much as a murmur. The office door and walls were thick.
Interesting.
On the center of her desk was a copy of the press release ETC had issued earlier, regarding Jackson’s resignation.
Natascha hung up the phone. “He’s ready for you.” Smile widening, she led him across the room and opened the door.
Miguel stepped into an enormous room that was lavishly equipped with furniture. His gaze swept across the table near the window, potted plants, a sofa, Andrew Phillips and his lawyers.
Plural.
¡Mierda!
One lawyer would be a pain. A team of lawyers would be a problem.
“Can I get you a coffee, Agent Peters?” Natascha asked.
Before Miguel could open his mouth to respond, Phillips said, “He won’t be staying long enough for coffee.”
We’ll see about that.
Natascha left, shutting the door behind her.
Miguel sat in the chair facing the desk, beside a gentleman in an expensive suit. The man was gray haired and thin and colorless as though the years had leached the life from him.
“George Grohs.” The older man extended his hand but not to shake. A business card was proffered in between his fingers. “Mr. Phillips’s attorney.”
Miguel took the card. Across the middle The Grohs Law Group was printed. “You’re not ETC corporate counsel?”
“No, we’re Mr. Phillips’s personal attorneys.”
Big companies such as ETC often had a legal team deeply involved in various aspects of operations from exploring groundbreaking new products, supporting growth, to managing legal risks. Providing counsel for a vice president wasn’t unusual.
But Phillips’s going outside company channels to bring in his own team was highly suspect.
The other two, a man in a navy suit and a woman in red, who Grohs neglected to introduce, stood flanking Phillips on either side of him behind the desk.
This was more than a precautionary measure. Phillips was scared for some reason. Enough to hire outside representation that had cost him a pretty penny.
Dressed in a pin-striped tailored suit, tanned to an unhealthy degree, dark hair slicked back with too much mousse, Andrew Phillips shifted in his seat, not appearing nearly as confident as his assistant. A green smoothie in a clear plastic container sat untouched on his desk. The top half of the paper wrapper still covered the straw. “Agent Peters. None of us at ETC know what to think, what to say. We’re all still reeling from what’s happened.”
Funny. He didn’t appear distraught in the least.
“Mr. Phillips,” Miguel said, sliding the business card into his pocket, “I’m going to record this interview and give you your rights.”
The VP squirmed in his chair, smoothing a hand back over his hair.
Miguel set a recorder in plain view on the desk and recited the Miranda rights. Then he asked, “Where were you yesterday afternoon when Emma Rhodes went missing?”
The woman tapped Phillips’s shoulder, a light press of her hand.
“I can’t say exactly.” Phillips looked down and away. “Because I don’t know when she was taken.”
“Let me clarify. Where were you between twelve thirty and one thirty yesterday afternoon?” Miguel asked.
Phillips shrugged. “Working. Somewhere in the building.”
“Somewhere?” Miguel repeated. “You don’t know where you were?”
“I’m a busy man. There was a lot going on yesterday. So many moving pieces.”
Miguel took brief notes on his phone as well in case he needed to follow up on anything during the interview. “What were you working on?”
Another whisper in the VP’s ear, this time from the blue suit.
“I was preparing for my trip to Spokane,” Phillips said.
Taking a deep breath, Miguel tried to tamp down his growing frustration at Phillips getting coached by lawyers. What was he hiding? “Why weren’t you downstairs at the Family Day event?”
“I was for several hours at the beginning, but I’m single and not all of us had the luxury of taking the entire day off.”
“Many employees have characterized your relationship with Jackson Rhodes as contentious.” Miguel studied him. “Would you say that’s accurate?”
The prune-faced attorney sitting in the chair crossed his legs. “My client can’t speak to the opinion of others. Move on.”
Miguel cut his eyes from the shark of a lawyer back to the executive. “Do you like Jackson?”
“We’re not friends, if that’s what you mean,” Phillips said.
“Are you enemies?”
The woman in red leaned in and spoke low in the VP’s ear.
“We’re on the same team with a common goal.” Phillips flashed a shaky grin, his beady eyes gleaming. “The success of ETC.”
“Did it make you angry to see someone fifteen years your junior promoted over you?”
Phillips made a small sound, a little breath of distress. “It didn’t put a smile on my face.”
“You’re the only person with something to gain by Jackson resigning,” Miguel said with straining patience.
“I didn’t hear a question for my client,” Grohs said.
Miguel gritted his teeth. “Do you find it suspicious that the kidnapper’s one demand was for Jackson to step aside, effectively giving you the promotion you were passed over for?”
Both attorneys flanking Phillips leaned in at the same time, but he raised a palm silencing them. “I’m suspicious of lots of things. All-you-can-eat buffets, hotels with low ratings, that some prizefights are fixed. I can go on endlessly about my suspicions.”
Irritation snapped through Miguel, but he didn’t let it show on his face or in his voice. “Do you find it suspicious that you’re the only one to benefit?” he asked again.
“Have the FBI considered that maybe the kidnapper’s ulterior motive is to make my client look bad?” Grohs asked.
“No,” Miguel said, deadpan, keeping the intensity of his focus lasered on Phillips. “We have not.” With the lawyers buffering every response, this was futile. Miguel began to consider a different approach, a change in tactics. “Andrew, have you considered there’s a six-year-old child missing? She’s alone and scared and wants to go home.”
The vice president’s chair creaked under his weight as he shifted back. “Look, I feel bad for Jackson—honestly I do. I wouldn’t wish what he’s going through on my worst enemy. I assure you I had nothing to do with the disappearance of his daughter.”
“That’s enough,” Grohs said. “My client has shown considerable courtesy in giving you this much of his time. I think this interview is over.”
If this was courtesy, Miguel hated to see contempt.
Relief poured over Phillips’s face, and he picked up his smoothie for the first time, removing the wrapper from the straw and taking a sip.
The more Miguel thought about it the less likely it seemed that Andrew Phillips cast the spotlight of suspicion on himself by kidnapping the kid and then taking Jackson’s job.
But an irrefutable fact remained. Phillips was hiding something that required legal representation, and Miguel wanted to know what it was. “Actually, we’re just getting started. And since I’ve been so courteous as to come to Mr. Phillips’s office rather than giving him no choice but to answer questions in mine, I’ll have that coffee now.”
NICK JAMES ENTERED the observation room adjacent to the interview room and handed Jackson a steaming hot cup of coffee. The poor guy accepted it with a weary nod of thanks.
Jackson looked to be holding up well considering the holy hell he had been through over the past twenty-four hours. Though bags under his eyes, the five-o’clock shadow before noon on his jaw and the cut on his head showed the heavy strain he was under.
The press release from ETC announcing Jackson’s official and permanent resignation had been released two hours earlier. But there had been silence from the kidnapper. Examination of the torched van had produced zero prints, and the culprit had been smart enough to remove the VIN number.
Nick stopped beside him and stared through the two-way viewing glass partition into the interview room.
“How long have you worked for Jackson?” Madeline asked the nanny.
Liane Strothe, a blond, curly-haired twentysomething, sat across the table with her hands folded in her lap. She wore funky catlike glasses and a long, flowered dress with Converse sneakers. “Almost two years.”
“I spoke to the agency that placed you and they said you have excellent references.”
Giving a shy smile, Liane pushed her glasses up her nose. “That’s good.”
“Have you been happy working for Jackson?”
“Oh, yeah. No complaints. The pay is great, the work is steady. It’s so much better working for a family than at preschool. And I love Emma.” Her eyes brightened as she perked up in her seat. The affection was genuine. “She’s sweet and funny. Really smart for her age. Is she going to be okay? How is Jackson? I wanted to call him, but I also didn’t want to intrude.”
“Do you know of any reason why someone would take Emma to hurt Jackson?”
Liane’s gaze roamed as she thought a moment. “No. I can’t think of anything.”
“How would you describe Jackson?”
The young woman’s brows drew together. “I don’t understand.”
“Pretend I’m a girlfriend and you’re describing your boss. Would you say he’s hot?”
Jackson flinched as though the question had made him uncomfortable.
Liane gave a one-shouldered shrug. “I guess, if you’re into that Norse-god kind of look. Thor isn’t my type. I’m more of a Spider-Man gal.”
Madeline had taken a shot in the dark and hadn’t hit a target. Nick drew in a deep breath. “No issue of an unrequited crush with your nanny.”
“Thank goodness for that,” Jackson said, sounding relieved.
A lot of guys might enjoy it if their young, attractive nanny had stars in her eyes for them, but he clearly wasn’t one of them.
“Where were you yesterday afternoon between twelve thirty and one thirty?” Madeline asked.
“At the movies. I went to see the new Marvel film at the Pacific Cinema since Jackson gave me the day off.”
“Was there anyone with you who can confirm your whereabouts?”
Liane shook her head. “I was alone.” She picked up her slim backpack that doubled as a purse, opened it and fished around inside for something. After a long sigh, she said, “I thought I still had my ticket stub, but I can’t find it.”
“When did you arrive at the theater and what time did the movie let out?”
Her mouth twitched. “I got there early. Maybe noon. I hate to miss the previews. It was done around three thirty, I think.”
“That’s a long time.” Madeline’s gaze slid over the woman, doubtful.
It sounded about right to Nick. The film Liane was talking about had a running time of 180 minutes. Three hours. Throw in previews and it added up. Still, it was easy enough to verify whether or not she had been there. “I’ll be back in a minute.”
Jackson nodded and sipped his coffee.
Nick left the observation room and headed down the hall. He rapped on the open door with a knuckle.
“Yep,” Dash said, eyeing his state-of-the-art monitors with a frown.
“Hey, how long will it take you to hack into the Pacific Cinema and pull up security footage from yesterday?”
Dash’s fingers flew over the keyboard. “Five minutes.”
“I’m timing you.” Nick waltzed in and strolled around behind Dash’s chair to watch.
On one monitor the cybercrimes specialist brought up a black screen. Lines of code zipped across.
Between their tech guru, Liam, and Dash’s stunning ability to crack computer systems and write code, the BAU almost always found what they needed if it was in the digital ether. Provided there was something to find.
“Was the new number that texted Jackson last night untraceable again?” Nick wondered as he watched his colleague work.
Dash blew out a heavy breath. “It was, unfortunately, but before you came in, I was doing a deep dive of the metadata to see if there was anything the kidnapper might have left behind.” The camera feeds of the Pacific Cinema popped up, showing the ticket counter, concession stand and outside each numbered theater. “Child’s play.”
Impressive. “Less than three minutes.”
“What are we looking for?”
“Not what, who. Liane Strothe. She claims she was there between noon and three thirty.”
“Marvel movie?” Dash asked.
Nick nodded.
“Yeah, that’s a long one.”
“But a great one.” Nick hunched over, getting a better look when time-stamped footage from yesterday appeared.
“You’ll get no argument from me.”
Nick zeroed in on the ticket counter. Liane Strothe sauntered into the lobby, wearing a purple long-sleeved top, jeans, Converse sneakers and had a backpack slung over her shoulder.
Dash typed something into the keyboard, and the screen shifted from the lobby to the concession stand, where she waited in line and bought a small popcorn and drink. Then they watched her enter theater number four. A few clicks on the keyboard, and Dash fast-forwarded. At three thirty, Liane left the theater, throwing her empty popcorn container and drink in the trash bin. “Her story checks out.”
Nick thumbed a quick message to Madeline on his phone to let her know. “Thanks.”
“No problem.” Dash went back to plugging away.
Leaving the office, Nick stepped into the hall and bumped into Liam.
“Excuse me,” Liam said with a grimace. Weariness added an edge to his expression and voice.
“Hey, there. You okay?”
“Yeah.” Liam’s frown deepened. “No. The wedding’s off. I should feel relieved, thought I would, but I don’t. This whole thing with Lorelai is messing with my head.”
Oh, boy. “I’m sorry to hear that,” Nick said sincerely. Before the engagement—correction—before the wedding planning, those two were so happy together. “Is this because of the fight you had in the hall yesterday?”
His cheeks reddened. “You all heard that?”
Reluctantly, Nick admitted, “We did.”
Liam groaned. His mortification was obvious.
“Listen, we all understand couples go through stuff,” Nick said. “I’m sure you and Lorelai will work things out.”
“I don’t know. I can’t really think about that right now. I need to get back to analyzing the photo the kidnapper sent. I’m almost ready to give an update.”
Nick patted Liam on the back, and they headed in separate directions.
At the observation room, Nick opened the door and slipped inside.
“Madeline is wrapping up with Liane.” Jackson sipped his coffee.
Both women stood. Madeline was giving her the regular spiel about not leaving town in case they had more questions.
“We verified Liane’s story,” Nick said, closing the door. “She was at the movies.”
Jackson’s phone buzzed. Looking down at his pocket, he pulled it out and swiped the screen. Blood drained from his face and he swayed as though the world fell out from under him. “Oh, God. No.” The paper cup dropped from his hand, splattering coffee on the floor.
Dread tightened in Nick’s stomach. “What is it?”
“The kidnapper...” Jackson stared at his phone in horror, shaking his head. “He’s not giving Emma back.”
Nick took the phone from him and read the message.
You haven’t paid nearly enough. I think I’ll keep your daughter a little longer.
What the hell?
“I did what he wanted,” Jackson said, tension and panic sharpening his words. “Why? Why is he messing with me like this?”
Madeline and Liane moved into the hall.
A second later, Madeline came into the observation room. Her expression fell as her gaze traveled between them. “What happened?”
Nick handed her the phone.
She read the message, her eyes widening, her lips tightening to a grim line.
The unsub was determined to make Jackson suffer as payment for something he’d done wrong. But what?
Madeline clutched Jackson’s shoulder. “This isn’t unusual. The kidnapper has already demonstrated that they like to change the rules as they see fit. I should’ve expected this. Don’t worry. This is a setback, nothing more.”
The door flew open. Dash hurried inside. “I found something.”
“What is it?” Madeline asked.
“A match on the cell phone that sent the picture last night. I couldn’t trace the location, but I dug deep into the metadata. The same as I’ve done before. But this time the kidnapper got sloppy. I found a name. Natascha Campbell.”
Jackson’s face twisted in fury. “Andrew’s assistant?”
“Miguel is at ETC now.” Nick took out his phone. “He’ll bring her in.”