“No, thank you.”
She poured the cocoa into two cups and took a can of whipped cream from the fridge, crowning the top of each cup with a generous portion. “We’ll be in the living room. Just close the kitchen door.”
She took the mugs, walked out, and Sydney closed the door, then faced Jake.
To say that he was angry was an understatement. “She could’ve been killed,” he said, trying to keep his voice low. “What the hell is going on? You have no idea what went through my-”
“Daddy? You’re not mad at Sydney, are you?”
He caught his breath, and Angie pushed through the kitchen door, ran into his arms, and he held her for several seconds, saying nothing, his eyes tightly closed, then just whispered her name. Finally he looked down at her, holding her face. “No, sweetheart. Just scared. You have your stuff?”
Rainie moved into the doorway, threw Sydney an apologetic look, then held up Angie’s little purple backpack. “Got it right here,” she said, handing it to Jake.
“Kiss your sister good-bye. We have to go.”
“But Daddy, I’m not done with-” Apparently Angie thought better of trying to cajole him, and she walked up, gave Sydney a hug and a kiss, and said, “I’m sorry about your kitchen.”
“Yeah, well, it needed repainting anyway.”
“The fire engines were so cool,” she said, with a quick smile, then glanced at her father, who nodded toward Rainie. “Thanks for the sundaes, Rainie.”
“You’re welcome, Angie.”
Jake gave her one last look, then guided Angie out the door, and Sydney heard her ask him, “Did Sydney do something wrong, Daddy?”
“We need to hurry. You’re mother’s waiting for us at home.”
Sydney watched them walk out, Angie’s hand clasped in his, and as they passed the men standing out front, Angie gave a wave to Carillo, and he winked at her. Scotty said something to Jake, who hesitated, then apparently sent Angie to the car by herself. “I’ll be right back,” Sydney told Rainie.
Dixon pinned his gaze on her as she walked out, and asked, “What’s this about the Jane Doe killer calling you?”
She glanced toward Jake and Scotty, who seemed deep in conversation, and said, “I have no idea who it was. Didn’t Carillo tell you?”
“I’d like to hear it from you.”
She gave him a quick rundown of the call. “Only problem I see is that it doesn’t fit the killer’s profile.”
“So it would seem,” Dixon replied. “Unless you recall during your sketch interview of Tara Brown that she mentioned her attacker smelled like fire. That was why you ran off to Houston, wasn’t it?”
“Smoke from a fire,” Sydney said, recalling her excuse to get to Houston. “I think Tara’s case was the anomaly. Reno. Maybe he stopped and lit a campfire between here and there-”
Dixon gave her a stern look, and Sydney clamped her mouth shut, feeling Jake’s gaze burn into her. “I think Scotty needs to expand the surveillance to your parents’ and sister’s house as well.”
To which Jake said, “I don’t need anyone watching my family.”
Carillo asked, “Why would you want to take a chance?”
“I can handle my own family.” His gaze lit on Sydney as he added, “At least most of my family.” And then he walked off, got into the car with Angie, and drove away.
Carillo watched his car disappear around the corner, no doubt checking to see if he was being followed-because Sydney was doing the same.
Scotty looked at her and said, “I’ll get a team out to keep an eye on your mother’s house.”
Carillo said, “Don’t worry, Fitz, he won’t even know we’re doing it.”
Dixon nodded. “Probably best. Don’t want anyone walking into any surprises.” He looked at his watch. “Carillo, take Sydney to a hotel. You and Ren sit with her tonight. Scotty, I assume you’re taking this to the next level? We’re done playing games?”
Scotty took a deep breath, glanced at Sydney, and she thought she saw the weight of the world on his shoulders as he said, “I just talked to HQ. They want us to go in, make the arrest tonight. We still don’t know if Gnoble was part of it, but maybe after we interrogate that slimy aide of his, put the fear of God in him…”
He walked off, pulling out his phone.
Sydney turned to Carillo. “Before we go, I need to talk to you. Privately.” She drew Carillo away.
“What’s up?” Carillo asked.
“I’m going to talk to Wheeler again. I want to show him those photos.”
“Why bother? The guy’s not worth your time.”
“For my own peace of mind? The bastard lied to me. Here I am, busting my butt to help him, putting my job on the line-”
“Before you get worked up, think about who you were really doing it for.”
“Okay. Maybe I was being selfish, but he certainly would have benefited. I can’t believe I believed him…”
“What do they teach you at Basic?”
She met Carillo’s gaze. “ Everybody lies.”
“Not that you can blame the guy. They’re gonna flip the switch in what? Two days?”
“A little over one. But I still need to hear it from his mouth. I want him to admit it. To quit lying and-and I want him to know I know.”
“Okay. Do it. But I’m going with you. Surveillance in case you’re being followed.”
“Like some dipshit’s going to follow me to San Quentin? This is one interview I need to do on my own.”
“So I sit and drink a cup in the guard’s office. By tomorrow, I’ll be in serious need of caffeine anyway. Do me a favor when I get to the hotel. Since I’m going to be up watching you all night, try to get some sleep, so you can drive in the morning.”
46
The next morning, Carillo rode shotgun while Sydney drove to San Quentin, because she had to hear it from Wheeler before she could let it go. Hear that he was lying about this. She’d thought he was this innocent man, that her father had befriended him because of the relationship with Wheeler’s father, Francisco… But once again it occurred to her, what did she really know about her father anyway?
And therein lay the crux of the matter. She’d been so distracted about her father’s secret life and that damned photo that McKnight sent that apparently she’d grasped at any little thing that might turn it around, prove it was wrong, even Wheeler’s lies, even though his lies didn’t prove everything else was wrong. In fact, Sydney was still distracted by it all, still upset, so much so that she wasn’t even aware that Carillo was talking to Dixon on the phone. “I’ll let her know,” he said, then disconnected.
He tucked his phone on his belt, looked over at her, and said, “Not sure if it’s a good news, bad news, good news thing.”
“Okay…”
“They arrested Gnoble’s aide, Prescott. Interrogated the shit out of him, got the big deny, deny, deny, until the moment they walked in with his cell phone and pulled up your cell phone number and the time of your threatening call. That was all it took. He admitted to leaving that voice mail on Dixon’s phone, too, and then he confessed to starting the fire. Said he’d unlocked your window, then set up the can of turpentine the day before, when he and Gnoble went out to bring you flowers, so that he could come back, slide the window open, then light it on fire.”
“The bad news?”
“He says that Gnoble didn’t know a thing. Prescott hired a hit man without Gnoble’s knowledge, but decided to do it on his own when the guy kept missing you. So we got Prescott, but Gnoble’s untouchable. Bet you’ll never guess who Prescott did give up. Mrs. Gnoble.”
“Mrs. Gnoble?”
“The one and only. Seems she was worried about McKnight sending you this photo and opening up a big can of worms involving your father, McKnight, and Gnoble. The BICTT scandal. Thought it might interfere with her chances of becoming first lady, so she got Prescott to hire a hit man. They arrested her this morning.”
“Then what’s the good news?”
“The hit man that Prescott hired? Richard Blackwell. Supposed to be the best in the business? Well, just might be. Only he works for CIA. The guy you saw in court, then out on the street? That’s him. He’s the one who made that first phone call to you, pretending to be the Jane Doe killer in order to make Prescott think it was legit. His job was to prevent Prescott from killing you, by pretending to be the one who was going to take you out.”