Chapter Seven #2
Alanna’s expression gave away her deep concentration on the subject.
God, he hated to do this. “Do your memories track with what I’m saying?”
“Whit knew him in Iraq. Where, how, when?” She shook her head in disgust. “It was not a subject that we discussed. If I had to compare…” She stopped and chewed her lip.
“Lay it out, Lani. Even the tiniest detail could help.”
“I was fifteen, Quaid. I have memories of a lot of it, but I made assumptions about some of what happened because Whit wouldn’t explain.
I didn’t know what I didn’t know. Crossing Whit was not something anybody did.
He knew how to take care of himself and any others needing his protection, but he was not a big talker.
That included to me. But this thing with Mercer was on a whole different level. ”
“What was your perception?”
Alanna set her coke aside and rose. She paced to the window and stopped, staring out at the parking lot as he’d done. Giving her space was the wrong thing to do, for comfort and for truth, so he joined her.
“I witnessed something. I had a friend when I was living with Whit. We called her Frenchie cause she spoke fluid French. Her name was Esme. I never knew her last name. She was in the streets without her parents, too. I saw her earlier in the evening. She was going into hiding, afraid of a bad man who was tracking her. She was scared. I wanted her to go to Whit, but she wouldn’t. ”
“Did you see her after that?”
Alanna bit her lip, the blankness gone from her face. “Yes. Fighting with Mercer.”
&&&&&&&&&&
Alanna took a few moments, trying like hell to turn off her emotions.
Quaid didn’t push, and for that she was grateful, because the clog of panic in her throat wouldn’t let her talk.
He got extra credit for carefully walking her into her memories.
But if something was coming back around from Esme, it was time to dig deep and lay out what she knew.
Her eyes followed each parking lot line, and she mourned the echoing violence there. The parking lot would forever remind her of the threat, the blast of gunfire, and her fear for Quaid’s safety.
“What was happening?” Quaid’s quiet voice worked like magic. The panic dissipated. Dr. Williams asserted herself.
“Esme was screaming, sobbing, hysterical. Her clothes were torn. With my education and experience now, I understand he’d raped her.
She twisted and struggled so hard to get out of his grasp, she was bleeding and bruised.
I was afraid she’d be hurt worse. I had to help, so I attacked Mercer from behind. Stupid, but no choice.”
“You had to help your friend.”
“Yes. Only he slammed her to the ground. Her head bounced on the pavement like a melon dropped from a ripped grocery bag, and she didn’t move.
He tossed me off his back in one hard thrust. He was so strong, I tumbled onto the concrete, slamming my forehead.
It dazed me. He kicked me in the side multiple times, hard blows that I’m sure broke ribs.
I just remember not being able to draw in air.
He rolled me then and kicked me in the head, over and over, screaming obscenities and threats.
Don’t ask. I don’t remember what they were.
Everything went black. When I came to, Esme was gone.
I remember being relieved she’d escaped.
More likely, I didn’t want to face what happened.
I was bleeding and incoherent. Whit and Mercer were in the mother of all knife fights. I’d never seen anything like it.”
“Who won?”
“Neither. It was a fight to the death, now that I know what I was watching. But somebody called the police. Whit broke away at the sirens and carried me to a hiding place. When it was safe, he took me to a hospital.”
Quaid stayed silent for several seconds. “If Esme was already gone, it’s more likely Mercer took her first and came back for you. Whit stopped him.”
Alanna’s gut rolled, greasy fear and remembered pained balled tight. Over the years, she’d reasoned the sequence out, but never uttered it. “I never found out what happened to Esme, and believe me when I got in the FBI, I searched. Nothing.”
“And now, Whit is missing. The police report suggests there was a fight with a lot of blood.”
“I’ve read it.”
“Where have you checked?”
“All our old haunts, some of his hide spots. I can’t ask questions on those streets as easily as I used to. It’s the badge. I guess I do act like an FBI agent.”
Quaid huffed out a laugh. “Yes, you do tend to give off that vibe.”
She eased back from the memories, glad to be finished talking about it, and followed him to the door. “I’m sorry. You requested me for a cold case review, and this is interfering. I’ve read all the case files and made notes with some suggestions for how to proceed.”
Quaid waited for her to come alongside him, and they left his office and slowly made their way down the hall to Operations. “It’s a cold case for a reason. It’ll wait.”
Confession time. “I was trying to find Whit, too. I’d exhausted FBI assets and figured yours were worth a try. The FBI doesn’t have as many street sources as your people do.”
Quaid grinned. “You were using us?”
“Yeah, your case and Whit’s dovetailed nicely.” Relieved to get the truth off her chest, she laid aside the guilt for using him. She did what she had to.
Quaid paused with his hand on the Operations door handle. The office was quiet. It was unusual for middle of the day by her short experience, but Quaid didn’t notice. “How do you do this work?”
“It’s fascinated me since college when I realized I could study the subject and figure out why Mercer was like he was.”
“Trauma leads to destiny.”
“In some ways, yes. He identified how vulnerable I am from the parking lot attack, but he also saw how you operate, here and at the hotel. As you say, he may be an assassin with a couple tried and true methods, but logic isn’t part of his current operation.”
“Emotions fuck with thinking straight.”
“A compulsion pathology that he’s had longer than his assassination tendencies is more likely.
There’s too many reasons it could be spilling out, though.
We can’t guess. It won’t help us find him.
” Alanna let the sigh trapped in her chest ease out.
Talking more practically about those violent moments had helped keep the sensory grit at bay – the vivid colors, the smells, the terror.
“If he remembers you from that street incident, which I’m guessing he does, it stands to reason he’s done his own investigation into you. Something triggered this. When was last time you searched for Esme?”
She took a drink of her coke, wetting her throat with the last of the can.
“Six months ago. I started with the Jane Doe database at the Medical Examiners Office, then branched to hospitals and funeral homes. You understand the process. I was using a fifteen-year-old’s memory.
With no last name, it gave me a lot of records to sift through. ”
“You think she’s dead?”
“I’m operating on that assumption. Given the incident, it was a plausible conclusion given she completely disappeared.
She was a teenager without the resources.
I know.” She held up a hand. “My search assumes he used established sources for her body or dumped a Jane Doe for the police to find. Flimsy, at best. We’ll never find a dumping ground if that’s what he did.
But searching for a live Esme is a worse maze.
Too many sources, too many directions. The morgues are finite. ”
“How far did you get?”
“This is an urban area. You have no idea how many funeral homes there are. The only plus I have is her age. It eliminates dozens.”
“Not very far, then.”
She twisted her face in disbelief. “I did have a demanding day job at the time.”
Quaid grinned, then finished his own drink. “Still do.”
She conceded the point by tipping her head in agreement. “None of which helps us find Whit.”
“Mac won’t quit until he finds him. No worry there.”
“We need the piece from Iraq. Those two fought like they hated each other twice, and the police report doesn’t give me any clues for why now.”
“Let’s bring in the team and give them the places that were his haunts. We’re using what Delaney knew of him, too, but he’s having surgery in the morning and will be out for a bit.”
“Then what?”
Quaid opened the Operations door, tossed their soda cans in the recycling bin against the wall, and offered a hand for her to go first. “We need to talk tactically. If we stay here, we have backup, but he’s going to stay away.
We can’t predict when another hit will come.
As good as I am combined with as good as you are – that’s still not an acceptable risk. Let’s talk to Mackey.”
Mackey’s work with Delta always intrigued her, but she never went so far as to discuss anything with the man. He was smart, respected, and dangerous with high expectations for those around him and ethical standards she approved of.
Quaid went in front of her, and she tracked him with hungry eyes dying for details – how his muscles moved, how his brain worked, how the playboy and the warrior fit together. Because there was no doubt now. The man was more warrior than playboy.
Which begged the question – why hadn’t he put the playboy persona to bed?