Ashley was sure she’d heard a noise. A creaking sound. Footsteps? She was probably imagining things, but, after what had happened to Krissy, she wasn’t in the mood of letting anything slide.
She belted her bathrobe and left her room. First, she poked her nose into Krissy’s room, scanned the area. All was silent, dark and deserted. She flicked on the light. Nobody was there. She shut the door behind her, and headed down the hall, glancing into each upstairs guest room and study. Nothing. Mrs. Akerman’s door was shut. Ashley pressed her ear to the door. Silent. And no light shone from underneath. Not a surprise, given that the poor woman had retired hours ago.
Completing her tour, Ashley headed down to the other end of the hall and the master bedroom suite.
The door was ajar, the way Judge Willis often left it. Pushing it open, she stepped inside and glanced around.
There was no warning, nor any chance to turn around.
A heavy object crashed down on her head, sending blinding pain vibrating through her skull, and knocking her to the ground.
She made a faint moaning sound and lost consciousness.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Hope and Edward were silent during their car ride home from the police precinct. Edward drove mechanically, and Hope sat in the passenger seat, her body angled away from her husband, her head resting against the cool windowpane.
It didn’t take a professional to interpret their body language.
“Joe Deale didn’t give us a damned thing, other than his connection to Bennato,” Edward finally said.
“Neither did you. And you once had business ties to Tony Bennato, too,” Hope replied bitterly.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that there are all types of criminal acts, some dirtier than others. I realize you don’t work the streets. But you represented a major figure in organized crime.”
Edward shot her a sideways look. “I already explained that. Besides, I hardly see the two associations as the same. Joe Deale works for the mob. I don’t.”
“Not directly, no. But the clients you represent, and the way you do business…” Hope sucked in her breath. “I’ve turned a blind eye for so long. But your scruples, or lack thereof, really struck home when I remembered your defending Tony Bennato. No, that’s not entirely true. They struck home when I opened your safe and saw the treasure chest you’ve accumulated. You made it very easy for me to get the cash I needed for the ransom. I doubt you won the money on lottery tickets.”
“What’s your point?”
“My point is you’re hardly one to cast stones. Stop being so sanctimonious about my negotiating with the kidnappers. I was trying to save our daughter. I’m well aware that you don’t care for my methods. I’m not particularly fond of yours.” Hope inclined her head slightly in her husband’s direction. “Let’s put aside our dirty laundry for now and get through this crisis. Then we can deal with our differences in whatever way we see fit.”
Edward’s jaw tightened. “Whatever you say. But our differences aren’t just professional
“And you see no merit to that theory?”
“I didn’t say that. Your father’s mob dealings back then, and the fact that it just now became common knowledge makes the first strong argument in favor of that idea. But it’s not the only theory. The FBI is working on several.”
“None of which have produced any results. Now that Forensic Instincts is focusing entirely on this angle, I feel as if we might get somewhere. Joe Deale isn’t the only mob employee. Plus, he was a baby thirty-two years ago. Maybe Felicity’s and Krissy’s kidnapper was the same person. Maybe he’s Agent Lynch’s age.”
“That doesn’t fit the BAU’s profile.”
“Profiles are based on rigorous analysis of evidence. But they’re not exact.”
“Neither are gut instincts.”
“So, once again, we agree to disagree.”
“It would seem that way,” Edward said with a not undetectable amount of scorn in his voice.
The silence in the car resumed.
Hope was exhausted when they arrived home. She went directly upstairs, leaving Edward to nurse his snifter of brandy. Once she was on the second floor, she stopped in Krissy’s room, just as she had the past two nights. Flipping on the light, she looked around, her gaze instinctively going to the bed, where her baby would now be asleep. Her chest gave that awful squeeze, and the rush of panic surged through her.
Two days. It had been two full days since Krissy was abducted. How in the name of heaven could she still be…
No. Hope gave a hard shake of her head. She couldn’t allow herself to consider the implications of her daughter being missing this long. She had to believe that Forensic Instincts, if not law enforcement, would find Krissy and bring her home, safe and sound. They had to.
She turned off Krissy’s light and headed wearily down the hall to the master bedroom suite. She ached everywhere, inside and out. But she didn’t have the wherewithal to soak in a tub. So she’d take a quick, hot shower and slide into bed. Then she’d lie there, her eyes burning, for yet another sleepless night.
It didn’t play out that way.
Crossing the threshold, Hope didn’t even have a chance to turn on a lamp before she heard a thump as she tripped over a solid object. She regained her balance and reached for the overhead light switch.
Light flooded the room.
Collapsed in a crumpled heap on the carpet just inside the doorway was Ashley.
“Oh my God.” Hope dropped to her knees, shaking Ashley in a reflexive motion. “Ashley! Ashley, can you hear me?” She leaned sideways toward the door, yelling at the top of her lungs. “Help! Somebody help me!”
There was a pounding of footsteps, and Special Agent Dugan burst into the room, Edward at his heels. They both instantly saw Ashley’s limp figure.
“Call 9-1-1,” Dugan instructed Edward, whose entire face had gone white. The agent crouched down, gingerly examining Ashley. “I’ve got a pulse,” he announced. “It’s strong and steady. I don’t see any indication of a puncture wound, and there’s no pool of blood. That means no knives or guns. And no contusions around the throat, so no
