A whimper had them looking down. The bulldog had lain down at Luke’s feet.
“What about the dog?” Talia asked wryly.
“Find him something to eat,” Luke said. “Then have the lab crate him and transport him back to Atlanta. Maybe he bit a suspect with those teeth.” Luke hesitated, then crouched to scratch behind the dog’s ears. “You’re a good boy,” he murmured. “Waiting for your master like that. She’s a good dog,” he corrected, then jumped when his cell phone buzzed in his pocket.
His heart quickened when he saw the caller ID. “Alex, what’s happened?”
“Daniel’s fine,” Alex said. “But three minutes ago they rushed Beardsley to ICU.”
“Beardsley’s in ICU,” he said to the others. “What happened? He was stable.”
“None of the medical staff are talking, but I’m standing here with Ryan’s father, who said they’d just changed his IV. A minute later he was convulsing.”
“Oh, hell,” Luke muttered. “You think he was poisoned?”
“I don’t know,” Alex said, “but his father said he’d remembered some things you’d want to know. His father said he called your cell, but got your voicemail.”
Luke’s jaw tightened. He’d fallen asleep in the car and missed the call. Dammit. “I’m ninety minutes away. I’m going to call Pete Haywood to come. He’s one of Chase’s.”
“I’ll wait with Daniel and keep an eye on Ryan Beardsley. Tell Agent Haywood he’ll want to take that IV bag in for testing. You should hurry back, Luke. Beardsley’s dad said he flatlined. They had to bring him back with the paddles.”
“I’ll be there.” He hung up. “Looks like someone tried to kill Ryan Beardsley.”
“In the hospital?” Chase asked incredulously.
“In the hospital,” Luke confirmed grimly. “I have to head back.”
“You two both go back,” Talia said. “I’ve got this covered and I’ll start looking for neighbors at daybreak. Don’t worry. We’re good here.”
“Thanks.” Luke started for the door and the dog followed at his heels. “Stay, girl,” he said firmly. The dog obeyed, although she quivered, ready to follow at a word.
“Yes,” Talia said, her tone longsuffering. “I’ll take care of the dog, too.”
Luke slumped in Chase’s car. “It just doesn’t stop.” He grimaced. “And I reek.”
“A little sweat, a little smoke, a little rotting fish. Chicks love it.”
Luke snorted a tired laugh. “No woman would come within a mile of me.” But Susannah had. She’d come within inches. If he concentrated, he could still remember how she’d smelled. Fresh. Sweet. Just leave it alone. “I’ll call Pete. We still have a guard on ICU. I’ll post a guard outside Bailey’s room, too. Dammit, I was hoping this was it. But it’s been ten hours and we still have no idea where those girls are.”
“Granville’s partner is still pulling the strings,” Chase said quietly.
Luke glared at the passing trees. “Well, I’m damn tired of being his puppet.”
Dutton, Saturday, February 3, 3:00 a.m.
“Tell me,” Charles said, his mild voice covering up a fury that was almost ready to explode. Still his hands were steady as he held a new scalpel Toby Granville had given him just last Christmas. It was important to have the best tools. “Tell me where it fits.”
Judge Borenson shook his head. “No.”
“You’re a stubborn old man. I’ll just have to start cutting deeper and perhaps cutting off things you might otherwise like to keep. I know the key fits a safe deposit box. And I know Toby hurt you pretty badly up at your cabin and you still wouldn’t talk. I’m prepared to do much worse.” Charles sliced a ribbon deep into Borenson’s abdomen as the judge cried out in pain. “Just the name of the bank and the name of the city. Box number would be nice, too.”
Borenson closed his eyes. “Bank of Hell. You’ll never find it.”
“That’s a sad attitude, Judge. I need that statement you prepared. You know, the one that could ruin us both if it falls into the wrong hands?”
“Like I give a shit.”
Charles’s lips thinned. “You like pain, Judge?”
Borenson moaned as the knife dug deeper, but he said no more.
Charles sighed. “At least I love my job. I wonder how long you’ll hold out.”
“Check your crystal ball,” Borenson said from between his teeth. “I’m not telling you.”
Charles laughed. “It says you’ll die by Sunday noon. And I’ll make sure my prediction comes true, just like I always do. Some might say I’m cheating, but I just call it strengthening the house advantage. You can die quickly and painlessly or very slowly. It’s your choice. Give me what I want and I’ll go away. So will you, but you knew that was going to happen as soon as either I or Arthur Vartanian died, didn’t you? You made a deal with the devil, Judge. Free lesson-the devil always wins.”
Atlanta , Saturday, February 3, 3:00 a.m.
Susannah got out of bed and turned on the light. Sleep would not come and she’d learned long ago not to fight it. She sat down at the desk and turned on her laptop.
She had briefs to write. Work to catch up on. But none of that seemed real tonight.
She thought of Luke Papadopoulos and wondered what he’d found in Borenson’s cabin. If he’d found the missing girls, he would have called her, of that she was sure.
She thought about the way he’d looked at her when he’d walked out the door tonight and a shiver ran down her back. He was a potent man. She was sure of that, too.
What she wasn’t so sure of was the way she felt about it.
But that wasn’t something she had to settle tonight. Tonight Luke was out there, doing something, while she sat, doing nothing. From her briefcase she pulled her cell phone and studied the photo she’d snapped of M. Jane Doe.
What’s your name, girl? she wondered. Mary, Maxine, Mona? If only I’d gotten a second or third letter. Had M. Jane Doe been a runaway? Kidnapped? She knew the girl’s fingerprints had been taken when she’d arrived at the hospital. The nurses had confirmed that much. But so far M. Doe’s identity was still a mystery.
Is someone waiting for you, M? She’d asked for her mom, just before she’d been placed in the helicopter, so she had at least one parent who, one hoped, loved her.
Susannah brought up the Web site for missing children and searched the database for girls. There were hundreds and hundreds. She narrowed the search to those whose names began with M. Now there were fewer than fifty. She studied every face with a heavy heart. Every girl on the screen was gone.
No matter how bad it had been at home, she’d never been taken away. At least not for longer than the one night Simon and his friends had… raped me. It was still no easier to say, even in her own mind. She wondered if it ever would be.
She got to the end of the pictures and sighed. M. Jane Doe was not listed. Most of the girls listed in the database were classified as “endangered runaways,” and runaways weren’t investigated in the same way abducted teens might be. It was sad, but in a world of strained budgets and overworked resources, it was reality.
She wondered if M. Jane Doe had been a runaway, endangered or otherwise. There were online clearinghouses for teen runaways. Some of them had photos. She brought up a Web site for runaways and sighed again. Lots of photos. All individually listed. There would be no searching based on age or gender or names that began with the letter M. She settled back and began opening each photo file, one at a time.