Chapter 3 #2
Touché. He moved up behind her, appreciating again that subtle feminine scent she wore, just as a ding announced their arrival on three.
She braced to make a run for it the instant the doors opened.
“I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Grace,” he murmured.
She shivered. As hard as she tried to hide the reaction, he saw it, relished it—one of the few pleasures in life he still enjoyed.
“I prefer saving my energy for other, more satisfying forms of physical activity.”
The doors opened, and she burst into the lobby like a racehorse charging out of its chute. Taking his time, he followed her.
The third-floor lobby boasted another of the widely recognized FBI emblems, this one a part of the royal-blue carpet. As they passed, a receptionist glanced up from her desk. Her gaze stabbed into his back until he moved out of her visual range. Nothing like being the traveling freak show.
The corridor Grace chose was flanked by closed doors, but the double doors at the far end stood open, waiting.
The conference room.
An invisible wall jumped up in front of him . . . bringing him to a jarring halt.
Reality check.
“Hang on, Grace.”
She stopped, reluctantly swung her attention to him. “What now, McBride?”
For nearly three years he hadn’t cared what anyone thought of him.
Not one damned little bit. Even as he reminded himself that he still didn’t give a damn what she or anyone else in this place thought, he found himself searching for something besides the too plentiful disapproval and impatience in her eyes.
He was a fool. But even fools had their moments.
“They’re waiting,” she reminded, that impatience multiplying like an unchecked virus even as he watched.
“I’m going to need coffee.” He hesitated, not sure he should trust her with this admission.
The people waiting in that conference room were going to be watching him, anticipating even his most minute misstep.
Consciously or unconsciously, all of them would seek confirmation that the Bureau had been right to oust him.
No way was he giving them the pleasure of watching him stumble. “Lots of coffee. To do this right.”
Her unforgiving stare told him she wasn’t going to just disregard the hard time he had given her, but the disapproval dwindled just a little. “No problem.” She took the badge he had been issued from his hand and clipped it on his shirt pocket.
They entered the conference room together. He was braced for the expected scrutiny but armed with the knowledge that even if she had her doubts about him, she would back him up to keep him here.
An immediate hush fell over the room, and all eyes shifted first to Agent Grace and then to him.
“Mr. McBride.” Special Agent in Charge Randall Worth stood and crossed the room to meet him. His elegant suit and sophisticated comportment announced who was in charge before his badge got the chance.
Mid-fifties. Receding hairline and most likely burdened by a Napoleon complex considering his small stature. A yes-man of the highest order. Ryan knew the type and wasn’t impressed.
Worth extended his hand. “We appreciate your willingness to help us find this little girl.”
Ryan’s attention bypassed the SAC’s offered hand and zoomed straight across the room to the timeline the task force had created. “What’ve you got so far?”
“I’ll walk you through it.” Worth indicated that Ryan should precede him, with the same hand he’d failed to shake.
A picture of six-year-old Alyssa Byrne and the time she was last seen was the first entry on the board.
Four hours later the school was searched, every teacher questioned, and the parents were interviewed.
Two hours after that the Bureau was contacted.
Worth explained that the father, Allen Byrne, owned the two largest construction companies in the state of Alabama, and Fiona, the mother, was a stay-at-home mom and volunteer who worked with various fundraising organizations.
“By the time the email came in,” Worth summed up, “the Byrnes’ entire extended family and network of friends and business associates had been identified and prioritized for questioning. That process is ongoing.”
“The email?” Ryan looked from the timeline to Worth, who snapped his fingers, and a hard copy of the email was promptly provided by the nearest agent. Worth passed the document to Ryan, then planted his hands on his hips and looked away as if expecting an unpleasant reaction.
Dear FBI,
This email is to inform you that Alyssa Byrne is safe and in my custody. You have forty-one hours to find her, or I will have no choice but to do the worst.
To level the playing field, I will provide clues to assist you in finding her. However, not just any agent will do. I will only give my clues to Ryan McBride.
Reinstate him so that he may save this child. Forty-one hours . . . not a second more. Starting now.
A Devoted Fan
Ryan reread the signature line, a charge of anger pulsing inside him like a ticking bomb. He pivoted to align his gaze with Grace’s. “You didn’t feel it was relevant to mention the ‘Devoted Fan’ part?”
Grace glanced at Worth.
Oh hell no. Outrage tore through him. He got it. Three years out of the loop had made him a little slow on the uptake, but he was there now.
Worth cleared his throat and explained, “Agent Grace wasn’t authorized to reveal certain contents of the email. We didn’t want that information to leave this room.”
“You sent your rookie agent to get a status on me,” Ryan accused, his fingers clenched into fists, crushing the email. “Whether or not I came back with her was never the point, was it? I’m a suspect.”
He hadn’t been just a fool, he’d been a damned idiot.
“You’re wrong about that, McBride,” Worth insisted with a quick survey of the room as if gathering support. “We need you. You read the email. The unsub will only give the clues to you.”
“I need a smoke.” Ryan tossed the wadded email onto the conference table and strode out of the room. He didn’t slow down until he had reached the elevator.
“McBride! Wait!”
The elevator doors opened and he stepped inside.
Grace dashed in just before they closed. “You have to look at this like an agent,” she urged him. The elevator lurched into motion, making her sway.
Like hell he did. He’d been relieved of that grade three years ago. The Bureau wouldn’t even be talking to him now if he weren’t a suspect. He wanted out of here. The only thing on his mind was getting on a plane headed south.
More irony. His career had gone south, and then he’d done the same. Had been doing it ever since. And the joke was on him.
“It’s the logical process,” she said, trying a different angle.
“You were named in the email. You separated from the Bureau under less than desirable circumstances. We had to be sure. We haven’t been able to pinpoint anyone related to any of your old cases as a person of interest. That only leaves you. ”
The doors glided open and he burst out, stormed across the lobby and then out the door with the security guard calling after him—something about him signing out.
He had the Marlboro in his mouth and lit before the door whooshed closed behind him.
“McBride! Dammit! Think about that little girl.”
He wheeled around and glared at Grace. “I am thinking about that little girl. You’re the one who’s not thinking. You set me up.” He had to keep moving. He was too damned mad to hold still. He walked all the way to the fence and was still steamed. But because he couldn’t go any farther, he stopped.
“You’re right.” She joined him, stared out at the same nothing he did. “I promised to back you up knowing I’d kept this from you. I was wrong.” A pause allowed him to absorb the impact of those three words. “I know how that feels, and I’m the last person who should’ve been caught doing it.”
Yeah, right. She was too damned young to have a clue what he was feeling. “That’s a nice sentiment, Grace, but I doubt we’re talking about the same thing.”
She stared at him a moment, her desperation building. He didn’t have to look. He could feel the tension radiating off her in waves of uncertainty and agitation. Wasn’t his problem. He wasn’t going through this again.
They had people for finding the kid, they didn’t need him.
“Someone I trusted a lot more than you could possibly trust me in the few hours we’ve known each other let me down.
” She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, then let it go.
“I made the mistake of letting him see my one weakness, and he used it to send me here instead of the assignment I had earned. He set my career back at least two years. I’m not sure I’ll ever forgive him, but I’ve got a job to do.
I figure showing him he made a mistake will be the best revenge.
So can we please save the theatrics for after we find the kid? ”
The kid. All this bullshit and the kid was the one who was going to lose.
There wasn’t a reason in the world he should believe Agent Vivian Grace.
Not one. But she was right about the kid.
And about the revenge. Getting the job done would be the best kind.
He flung his cigarette to the pavement and ground it out with his shoe.
“Is there anything else I haven’t been told?
” He would stay, but he wouldn’t be letting his guard down again.
Not to her or anyone else whose title was “agent.”
“That’s everything.” She held up her right hand.
“I swear.” Maybe he was an idiot for putting himself on the line like this, especially considering he knew for sure that the Bureau still had the same shitty attitude about him.
But he wasn’t about to let that little girl die just because their attitude and his life sucked.