“You have a theory.”
“I do.”
Stockton didn’t say anything. Sean decided it didn’t matter if Stockton knew or not. “Lucy wants to handle it herself. She doesn’t want me, or you, or anyone butting in.”
“But you ran a background check anyway.”
“And again, I ask, why do you care?”
“Agent Laughlin has been undercover for the last year in a major drug and money-laundering sting in a joint operation with the DEA. We sent him to Quantico as a class mentor until the trial.”
“As protection?”
“It was a dicey op, but we have the bad guys in custody. Just wanted to make sure one of them hadn’t hired you.”
Stockton wasn’t being completely honest with him, but Sean let it slide for the moment. “I’m stunned you’d think I wouldn’t check out my clients,” he said.
“Point taken.” He sipped. “Why does Lucy think Laughlin is harassing her?”
“I said, she wants to handle it.”
“I’m not getting involved. Just curious.”
Sean didn’t believe that, but it couldn’t hurt for Stockton to know that one of his agents held grudges. He told him what he knew about Laughlin’s and Kate’s shared work history.
Sean put his beer down. “Now my question to you is, how does Laughlin know Lucy didn’t pass her FBI panel, and why would he tell her Hans got her into the Academy?”
Stockton kept a poker face, but his eyes told Sean the information came as a surprise.
“I’ll answer that,” Sean continued. “To demoralize her. To make her doubt herself. He doesn’t know her; he doesn’t have any connection to Lucy except through Kate. So I think Laughlin was buddies with Standler and he blames Kate for Standler’s death.”
“That’s weak.”
“Maybe it is, but unless you have other information, that’s what I’m going with.”
Stockton drained his Scotch and put the glass down. “Thank you for the Scotch, and the truth,” Stockton said.
“Anytime. You’re practically family.” Sean trusted few people in law enforcement; Rick Stockton was an exception. In addition to being close to RCK, Stockton had proven to be both discreet and smart.
“Learn anything in New York?”
“Already gave the intel to Noah.”
Stockton nodded. “You’re still searching for Peter McMahon?”
Sean walked Stockton to the door. “That’s the last thing Hans asked me to do, as I explained to Noah. He never legally changed his name to Peter Gray, but he was using it for years. Peter Gray disappeared six years ago. My guess is he either went completely off the grid or changed his name, this time legally. I’m working on a couple angles from his time at SU.” Sean had a buddy in Syracuse who would be pulling files at the police station first thing in the morning.
“Kate’s also working on tracking down McMahon. A little competition never hurt.” Stockton smiled and left.
Sean ran up the stairs and logged in to his computer. Lucy was online. He called her.
“Rick Stockton just paid me a visit. I think he’s looking at Laughlin for something completely different than we are.” He told her about the case in Detroit and the “protection” by being put at Quantico. “There’s something fishy about the whole thing.”
“It’s Stockton’s job to protect his agents. It makes sense to me. Laughlin may be a great agent and a jerk at the same time.”
“It was the way he asked, the way he assessed my answers.”
“Did he have an update on Hans?”
“He’s the same. How are you holding up?”
“I’m okay. Better now, anyway. All I have to think about is Hans lying unconscious after someone hit him over the head-if these people are really my friends, they’ll understand.”
“Did you get the photo I sent?”
“The guy in the subway station? I didn’t recognize him, but it’s not a lot to go on. I don’t know if I saw him that I’d recognize him.”
“And the articles?”
“I’m reading them now.”
“I sent Noah a message about a notebook of Rosemary Weber’s that Tony took before leaving New York.”
“We went through his overnight bag-it was in his car-and the notebook wasn’t there. Are you sure he took it?”
“He could have brought it into his office. Maybe it went the same way as his file.”
“Meaning, someone stole it. What year was it?”
“The anniversary week of Rachel McMahon’s disappearance. That’s why I sent you the articles from that week. You read Tony’s file-maybe you’ll notice something.”
“I’ll try.”
“It’s all we have for now. Watch yourself, Lucy.”
“I love you, Sean.”
Sean hung up, wishing he could just pop in and see her. But he had his own tasks, and if they were going to get to the bottom of what was going on in New York and at Quantico finding Peter McMahon was one major step.
The guy might be innocent in all this and just trying to disappear from his past.
Or he could have a vendetta he was in the middle of enacting.
Sean sent Lucy an encouraging e-mail, then went back to his notes on McMahon. He itched to find the guy. Kate was good-one of the best-but Sean was better.
Especially since Stockton didn’t say anything about Sean having to find McMahon legally.
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
Three Years Ago
I walked out of the courthouse expecting freedom, but only fear followed me.
How long until that crazy woman found me again? Cami. I had loved her, but I’d loved a lie.
I’d always thought whoever was harassing me was a bully. Some jock who liked to pick on the little kids who couldn’t, or wouldn’t, defend themselves. But I’m six foot two now, I work out at the gym every morning, and I can defend myself.
But only if I see them coming.
I changed my name for a second time. The first had been to protect me from the media, and I’d taken Grams’s last name. But this time, I needed to do more than fill out a form. I needed to be a new person. Someone the woman who wanted me dead couldn’t find.
I was getting in my new car, the one registered under “Gray Manning,” and saw Detective Charlie Mead striding toward me. He’d made detective fast, but I wasn’t surprised. He was a smart man and the only person on earth I trusted.
No bad news. I can’t take any more bad news. “Gray Manning,” he said.
It would take a bit of getting used to, I realized.
“Charlie.”
He stopped just short of my car and scratched the back of his neck. I was going to miss him. He was like Rachel, only a big brother rather than a big sister. We’d become friends. I went to his wedding last year. I liked his wife, and she liked me. It was normal. The only normal I’d ever had.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t find her.”
“You tried.”
Trying didn’t satisfy him.
“I’ll keep on it.”
I shook my head. “No prints, no photos, no name. She found me when I transferred from SU. The sketch gave us nothing. This is the only way.”
“I’m not giving up,” he stated. “You deserve to have your life back.”
“No. I don’t want that life. I’m going to make a new one. But I’m going to miss you and Tina.”
“We’ll keep in touch-through that account I set up for you, okay?”
I nodded. “You’re the only one who knows where I’m going.”
“As far as I’m concerned, you’re in witness protection, of sorts.”
Some people might think that a twenty-one-year-old man going into hiding-legally changing his name, burying his past, teaching at a poor public elementary school in Brooklyn to avoid seeing anyone who might know him-was a weak man.
But I need peace. Anonymity that a big city can provide. I need to be someone else. I don’t need to know why someone wants to hurt me just like I don’t need to know why my parents are selfish or why my sister was murdered or why I’m here.
These things just are.
I said, “Thank you.”