Chapter 16 #2
When the door closed, Worth tried valiantly to hang on to his professional tone, but he failed.
“That’s the difference between us, McBride.
” That firm grip on his Bureau-perfect demeanor was gone; outrage had scratched its way to the surface and seized control.
“I don’t think for one second that I know everything or that I’m always right.
I fully understand that I’m only human and that mistakes are inevitable.
“Unlike you,” he went on, disdain oozing from every pore, “I don’t assume that no one else can do the job the way I can.
Isn’t that what happened three years ago?
” he goaded. “You thought you were the only agent in your unit who could do the job right. You worked day and night, the way I heard it. Rarely slept, hardly even went home. Your termination report said you tried to solve all the cases personally. Had done so for years. A real team player.” Worth shook his head slowly in unconcealed pity.
“Let me see if I can get this right. The wording was”—he gestured vaguely—“a perfect definition of your character. ‘Agent McBride repeatedly and brazenly spread himself too thin. He showed no regard for authority or procedure. Crash and burn was inevitable.’”
There it was. The whole Ryan McBride story in a nutshell. Crash and burn. Ten years of service, and that was the summation. Yeah, he had spread himself too thin. Hell yeah, he’d ignored the rules and done things his way. But, by God, he’d gotten the job done.
Ryan held that condescending gaze. “And yet, here we are. In the same place.”
“Trust me,” Worth guaranteed him, “if there was any other way to do this, you would be out of my town so fast that enormous ego of yours would have to be FedExed to the Keys to catch up.”
All that charm and a sense of humor too. “Is all this foreplay leading someplace, Worth? Because, to tell you the truth, I’m not feeling it.”
A quiet fury, hampered by a distinct resignation, settled over the SAC’s face.
“We don’t know where this is going.” He shrugged.
“Devoted Fan has abducted and drugged two innocent victims. He’s facing several felonies already.
And from the look of things, he isn’t finished yet.
That doesn’t even take into account that the fallout has indirectly cost two lives.
We need to find this son of a bitch before this thing takes any more unexpected turns. ”
Worth let go a mighty breath. “That said, we received another email.”
What the hell? The guy goes through all that bullshit before getting to this? “You couldn’t have mentioned that first?” Ryan seemed to recall asking that same question before. What was it about guys like Worth who needed all that beating around the bush before just spitting out the real issue?
Worth held up both hands in a hold-on gesture. “No victim, just an email.”
Relief deflated some of his surliness. “Let’s see it.”
Worth reached into the file and removed a sheet of paper and passed it to Ryan.
The email got straight to the point.
Dear Foolish FBI,
If McBride gets on that plane, there will be no clues for the next victim. Are you prepared to take responsibility for that, Agent Worth?
The mistake is yours to make. As it is, you have made far too many.
Devoted Fan
“I don’t know how,” Worth said, the fury kindling once more, “but this guy is watching us. Watching you. We can’t afford to trivialize his threat.”
Ryan tossed the email on the table. “We need to focus on finding a connection between the two victims. Devoted Fan talked about Katherine Jones and atonement, oblivious was written on her forehead. He mentioned Byrne’s mistake and a stiff price to pay.
His daughter was marked with the word innocent.
There has to be a link here that we’re missing. ”
“Agent Schaffer was working on that,” he said, reminding Ryan that Schaffer was headed to Florida. “I’ll put Talley on it in her stead.”
Ryan shook his head. “We need Aldridge.” He held up a hand when Worth would have tried to argue.
“He made a mistake, you can deal with that later. Right now, I need experience on this, and from what I’ve seen, he’s the most experienced agent you’ve got.
This isn’t about leadership skills; this is about instinct. We need him.”
With some reluctance, Worth said, “All right.” He reached back into his file folder for another document, then slid the page down the table to McBride.
“Also, the director has authorized me to temporarily reinstate you for the purpose of sorting out this case. If all goes well, you may be looking at permanent reinstatement. Second chances don’t come along every day, McBride. Don’t blow it off.”
Ryan stared at the directive that transformed him from a civilian to a federal employee again—with one stroke of the director’s pen. For a year after the termination he had waited for exactly this. For the Bureau to recognize the mistake they had made. For the opportunity to have his old life back.
Now he had it.
The expected euphoria didn’t materialize.
Because it was too late.
He wasn’t that man anymore. There was no going back.
That he had succeeded in finding the first two victims in this case was only because the time allotted had been inordinately generous and the clues provided practically a dead giveaway.
And because he’d had Grace backing him up.
If this got more complicated, he would be useless.
Setting himself up for that kind of fall would truly be a major step backward.
Something he had promised himself before walking in here that he wouldn’t allow to happen.
Bottom line: He was a coward. The idea of putting himself on the line like this scared the hell out of him.
Yet refusing would make him far worse than a coward.
If he tried and failed, that was bad. If he refused to try at all and someone died, that was unforgivable no matter how low he had fallen or how stupid it appeared to make him.
As much as he wanted to walk out of here and pretend this had nothing to do with him . . . he couldn’t. Some honorable gene he hadn’t succeeded in completely corrupting with alcohol evidently still functioned.
And all this time he had been certain he had succeeded in eliminating all traits belonging to the man he used to be.
“Can we count on you, Agent McBride, to see this through?”
Agent McBride.
“I need a smoke.”
Ryan left the directive he would have given most anything to have been offered two years ago lying on the conference table and walked out.
He passed the others waiting in the corridor.
Grace started to speak to him, but he just kept moving.
She didn’t attempt to follow him as he headed for the stairwell.
He needed a few minutes alone outside the confining walls of this place.
By the time he hit the lobby, he had the Marlboro between his lips and was ready to push out the front entrance and fire it up.
“I don’t think you want to go out there, sir,” the guard called after him.
And he was right.
The media clowns were still out there. He had forgotten about the dozens of reporters, the news vans with their satellites and drones . . . the cameras. All poised to get a shot or a sound bite for their networks.
Nope, he definitely couldn’t go out there.
He turned back to the guard. “Is there a men’s room on this floor?”
The guard nodded, pointed to a side corridor near the stairwell door. “But you can’t light up in there either.” He made a face as if he didn’t like the rule himself. “Smoke detectors are too sensitive.”
Ryan muttered a thanks and stalked off to find the men’s room. He pushed through the door, let it close, and slumped against it. His fingers traced the outline of the Zippo in his pocket as every cell in his body screamed for nicotine.
What the hell was he doing?
Sweat dampened his skin, and in the blink of an eye, a tenth of a second, his body reacted to the chemical triggers that seriously messed with his head. Heart pounded. Chest constricted. He straightened away from the door, flung the useless cigarette into the trash bin, and started to pace.
How the hell could he believe for one damned minute that he could play this game? His hands shook, answering the question.
He hadn’t fired a weapon in three years.
No one’s life had depended upon him in the same.
Counting Alyssa Byrne and Katherine Jones would be a joke.
Finding Jones had been slightly more difficult, but Grace and the others hadn’t actually needed him for the job.
Other than trading emails with this psycho fan, Ryan understood that he was just a fifth wheel in the whole effort.
Hell, he had spent most of the time playing head games and doctor with Grace.
The next victim could present a real challenge. Like the ones he used to face on a daily basis.
He paused to stare at his reflection in the mirror.
Who was he kidding?
He was a drunk. A nobody. A has-been.
His initial reaction to this when Grace first showed up at his door had been right. He had known then that there was no going back. Two Sesame Street–level rescues did not a hero make.
The hero was gone. How many times had he told himself that in the past three years?
Flattening his palms on the counter, he leaned nearer the mirror, looked closely into the face staring back at him.
“You can’t do this.”
But he wanted to.
Damn it.
He wanted to.
That was the truly screwed-up part. He wanted to be that hero again . . . just for a little while. Just for Grace.
He didn’t want to disappoint her.
“Stupid, McBride. First-class stupid.”
After splashing some cold water on his face, he grabbed a paper towel and scrubbed it away. He took a minute to focus on his breathing. Slow, deep breaths, pushing out the center of his chest and then tightening his belly as he released in a destressing technique that occasionally worked.