Chapter 14
Fourteen
Ryan watched the final moments of the news segment on the wall-mounted television in Worth’s office. Ms. Nadine Goodman certainly had all her ducks in a row, including a few to which she shouldn’t have had access.
No one knew better than Ryan what Derrick Braden had gone through.
There were no words to adequately articulate that kind of pain.
Ryan would have given anything to go back and fix that moment in time.
To save that boy and make his family whole again.
But he couldn’t. Quinn had made the ultimate decision, and the boy had died.
Ryan had spent three years blaming Quinn when the truth was .
. . he couldn’t be sure if anything he could have done would have made a difference either.
There was no way to know, and that was what he had to live with. Evidently Braden had decided that he could no longer live with the not knowing and had opted to take the man he deemed responsible for his unhappiness with him.
Worth clicked the remote and the recorded broadcast vanished.
He shifted his attention to Ryan. “Strange that you’re in town barely forty-eight hours and our top-ranked investigative reporter suddenly has all the facts on a three-year-old case.
” His gaze turned openly accusing. “More of that irony, huh, McBride?”
Ryan shouldn’t waste his time debating, this prick was going to believe what he wanted to, but for the sake of self-satisfaction he would set the record straight.
And make one minor point. “I don’t even know the woman.
When would I have had a chance to collaborate with her?
Thursday night I never left the hotel, last night and tonight I was with Agent Grace. ” Now for his point. “You have a leak.”
Outrage turned Worth’s face an unpleasant hue of purple. “This office does not have a leak.”
Ryan turned his palms up. “Then your investigative reporter is psychic. Believe it or not, Worth, suspect interrogations actually work. Have you questioned Ms. Goodman regarding her source?”
The purple faded to more of a reddish-blue color. “She’s not talking. We’re holding her as a person of interest for a few hours to see if she’ll budge.”
“There are certain details,” Grace said, drawing Ryan’s attention to her, “that no one at this field office could have given Goodman.”
“That’s right,” Worth said. “The copy of the case file that we received electronically had been heavily redacted.”
Didn’t change Ryan’s opinion. “Then the information had to come from someone at Quantico.”
Worth snorted. “We both know that isn’t the case.” He did that little forward-lean intimidation maneuver that wouldn’t even have worked had he been standing up, and it damned sure didn’t with him behind his desk. “You and Quinn were the key players in that saga, and Quinn is dead. That leaves you.”
“Your powers of deduction are astounding, Worth.” Ryan shook his head. “I’m sure the Bureau is very proud.”
Grace shot him a warning look.
“I actually went up against Quantico for you on this whole Devoted Fan fiasco,” Worth said, his tone incredibly level for a man who clearly wanted to rip off Ryan’s head and piss down his throat.
“I believed you were a pawn in this case, but that may have been a mistake on my part. Either way, Director Stone wants you off this case.”
Ryan had suffered about enough of this bullshit. He would not be the Bureau’s scapegoat again.
“Fair warning, if we find out you’re Goodman’s source,” Worth advised, “or that you manipulated these events somehow or had any contact whatsoever with Derrick Braden, I will nail your ass to the cross so help me God.”
Ryan stood. “I assume we’re finished here.” He had stayed this long out of consideration for Grace. He didn’t want his actions coming back on her after he was gone.
Worth rose, postured himself with that authoritative panache guys like him utilized to distract from their lack of personality. Like the thousand-dollar charcoal suit and crisply starched white shirt accented with a red power tie. He was in charge, and he didn’t plan to let anyone forget it.
“Agent Grace will escort you back to the Tutwiler,” he announced.
“She and Agent Pratt will be your personal security until you’re on a nine o’clock flight to Miami.
A representative from the Miami office will pick you up and escort you back to your residence in Key West.” Worth took a breath.
“If you divulge to the press anything you’ve seen or heard during your stay here, formal charges will be forthcoming.
Your attitude, your appearance, your whole life is a disgrace to the hundreds of agents who work hard and play by the rules. ”
This whole affair had stopped being Ryan’s problem when Director Stone ordered him off the case. He should have walked out when this bastard paused to catch his breath after that announcement.
But he hadn’t, and now it was too late for that.
Ryan leaned forward, flattened his palms on that glossy desktop, and put himself at eye level with Worth. “I want you to remember this moment when you come begging for my help again, so that when I turn you down cold you’ll understand whatever happens is on your head.”
Worth backed off first. He shifted his gaze to Grace. “Don’t let him out of your sight until he’s on that plane headed the hell out of here.”
“Yes, sir.” Grace tugged at Ryan’s sleeve. “Let’s go.”
Ryan held Worth’s gaze for two beats more before walking away. Fury roared deep in his gut. He had come here to do the right thing. Just went to show that doing the right thing was vastly overrated.
They were down the hall and at the stairwell door before Agent Pratt’s voice interrupted their exit. “Wait up, Grace!” He hustled over to where they stood. “SAC said I’m supposed to go with you.”
“I want a drink and someplace quiet,” Ryan announced to the two of them. His bullshit index had maxed out.
“That’s not going to be easy at this hour. Most of the clubs and bars will be loud,” Grace warned. “You can’t buy liquor anywhere else after midnight on Saturdays.”
Pratt reached for the stairwell door. “I know a guy. He’ll help us out. As for the other, your hotel room will be quiet.”
Things were looking up. Ryan clapped Pratt on the back. “Good. You can drive.”
On the landing inside the stairwell, Grace paused and said, “This whole thing is a mistake, McBride.” She searched his face and eyes as if she hoped to see some hint of agreement or sense of indignation.
“If you’re referring to the drink, you can give it up. If it’s that load of crap Worth just dished out, don’t waste the energy, Grace.”
“Look,” she argued, “I have my issues with you, but I’m pretty sure you don’t care for reporters any more than I do. This is crap. The director’s decision was unfair.”
Ryan had stopped expecting life to be fair about three years ago. Who knew? Maybe he had started to get a little cynical even before that. After what she had been through, Grace should understand that feeling. Or maybe she was still looking through the rose-colored glasses of youth.
Whatever, his excursion into the worst of his past was over. “Let’s get the hell outta here.”
1:15 a.m.
Lucky for Ryan, Pratt’s source turned out to be a friend who operated a liquor store and who was willing to provide on the house a bottle of Jack Daniel’s Tennessee sipping whiskey.
Grace was annoyed with Ryan as well as her colleague, but right now the demons were grumbling and he needed some peace.
The images and voices in his head just wouldn’t shut up.
Mixed in with his own personal demons were some of Grace’s.
He had heard more than enough about the ravaged bodies left behind by the serial rapist-murderer referred to as Nameless to have a reasonable handle on how that horror went down for her.
That she had survived the sick son of a bitch and had put her life back together so well was an outright miracle.
But the bastard had left his mark.
Ryan studied her from the corner of his eye as they exited the elevator on the seventh floor of the Tutwiler. That was why she had balked at the scene. Why she had a problem with comments about her body.
Damn, he had been an asshole.
He hadn’t taken into consideration that she might have suffered in her life the same as he had. But then, she was so damned young, who would expect such a horrific past? She’d only been seventeen when that twisted piece of shit took her.
She had every right to be hypersensitive about her body, and he had unknowingly capitalized on that.
Outside the door to his room, rather than unlock it, Grace faced him. “Don’t you dare look at me that way, McBride.” Her eyes warned that she knew exactly what he had been thinking.
He kept in mind that Pratt was right behind him. “Sorry, Grace. I was just admiring your . . . shoes.”
Pratt chuckled.
Grace took it well enough. She arched one eyebrow and suggested, “Shove it, McBride.” She glanced past him. “You, too, Pratt.”
She opened the door and completed a walk-through of the room and adjoining bath while Ryan pulled JD from the brown bag wrapper. He reached for a tumbler. “I don’t suppose either of you would care to join me.”
“You know how it is,” Pratt said with a halfhearted shrug. Grace tossed her purse onto a chair. “Are you going to drink that straight, or do you need a cola?”
He picked up a glass from the silver tray on the table and poured a hefty serving. “Obviously you don’t know your whiskeys, Grace.” He indulged in a slow, soothing swallow, then turned to the lady glaring at him. “Otherwise you wouldn’t ask.”
“I’ll take the first watch,” Pratt offered.
He grabbed one of the chairs at the table and headed for the door.