“Sure she is.” George shook his head. “You can’t trust the Agency or anyone it churned out. You know that, Riley.”
“Well, I didn’t have a lot of luck trusting the Bureau, either,” Jake retorted.
George raised his eyebrows. “I heard you were engaged to someone from BSU.”
“I am.” Jake sighed. “At least, I think I still am.”
“Wow. You make life in the private sector sound like a complete nightmare.” George grinned. “Where do I sign up?”
“Depends. Are you really going to arrest me?”
George shrugged, surveying the scene. “As long as you can convince me this is exactly what it looks like, and the family backs you up, we can probably cut you loose. The sheriff is thrilled to have something to nail these jerks with, so that’s a bonus. But I can’t vouch for the Benicia P.D. They might still be touchy about you taking off with their star witness.”
“About that.” Jake lowered his voice. “I’m not sure it’s over.”
George’s eyes narrowed. “How do you mean?”
“The husband originally hired us, and now he’s missing. We still haven’t figured out who snatched the girl, and every time we get her back, someone tries to grab her again.”
“Shit, Jake.” George rubbed his eyes with one hand. “And here I thought I might actually get to go home. Start at the beginning, and don’t leave anything out.”
Twenty-Eight
Kelly flipped over again and punched her pillow. Typical cheap motel-issue, the down kept separating until she was lying on nothing but pillowcase. She folded it double, but even then it only offered a small rise from the surface of the bed. She sighed. Sunlight was still leaking through the curtains and around the door. It was only eight o’clock, but she had gone to bed early to make up for the night before. Unfortunately her body clock was thrown off by all the traveling, and sleep was evading her.
Rodriguez didn’t appear to be having any trouble-she could hear him snoring through the paper-thin walls. They were in a Motel 6 a few miles from the Houston field office. That afternoon they’d been moved progressively farther away from the warehouse as a multitude of hazardous material response units descended and expanded the perimeter. An ASAC Leonard from the Weapons of Mass Destruction Unit had shown up, face grave. For an hour he grilled her on every detail of their investigation. He was clearly dubious of the Jackson Burke link, but noted it down. And she hadn’t been able to get any answers on when her dead John Doe would be processed. It was frustrating. For all intents and purposes this was her crime scene, but she’d been squeezed out of the loop. They were practically treating her like a civilian.
Finally, irritated by the vague responses and brush-offs, Kelly had conceded defeat. At a local Denny’s she’d picked at a sandwich while Rodriguez tore through a stack of pancakes, then they’d checked into the motel. ASAC Leonard had promised to call as soon as he knew anything. Kelly checked her phone again, resisting the temptation to throw it against the wall when it showed No new calls.
The stilted exchange with Jake still bothered her, too. They were supposed to be getting married, but the past few weeks they’d had a hard time getting through a five-minute phone conversation. She tried to tell herself that a lot of couples weren’t great on the phone. But the truth was over the past year and a half, they had spent more time on the phone than in person, and this strain was new.
Maybe it was the cases they were working on. This one was getting under her skin, and she was always distracted when that happened. And it sounded like Jake was having a similar experience. He usually shared every detail of his day-to-day activities. It was odd to have that suddenly shut off. She could tell he was constantly searching for things to say that wouldn’t violate someone’s privacy. But if this was how things would be once his business was up and running, how would they handle it? She pictured them sitting in silence at the dinner table every night, occasionally saying, “Please pass the salt.” And a second later realized that after her brother was murdered when she was eight years old, that was exactly how family dinners were at her house. The thought of returning to that was awful to contemplate.
Kelly threw off the covers, flicked on the television and tuned to CNN. An image of Jackson Burke appeared on-screen, and she turned up the volume.
“…honored to be asked to serve the great state of Arizona in this time of terrible need. The murder of my good friend Duke Morris by a criminal gang of illegal immigrants aptly shows the danger he fought against his entire career. Our borders remain porous, thanks to a president and congress who are unwilling to stem the tide of violent offenders for whom it’s become a virtual highway for drugs, weapons and prostitutes. These are the people putting needles in your kids’ hands. These are the people ruining communities with drug wars and drive-by shootings. They’re stealing our jobs, and in the process our nation. I pledge to continue Duke’s work, devoting myself fully to…”
Kelly dialed the volume back down, irritated by the flood of rhetoric. What was Burke’s game? Could he really have been involved in Morris’s murder? He’d ideally positioned himself to assume the Senate seat. If Burke had run against Duke Morris in an election, they were like-minded enough to split the conservative vote, something the Arizona GOP wouldn’t have supported. Still, murdering a friend to steal his job was cold, and there weren’t any guarantees that Burke would be appointed. Morris’s wife could have taken office until the next election.
Kelly flashed back on her, an anxious woman whose hands fluttered as she spoke, and realized that was unlikely. Mrs. Morris didn’t appear stable enough for a spot on the PTA. And all the groups she’d run across in the past few days, from skinheads to Minutemen, shared an anti-immigration stance. Blaming an MS-13 offshoot for Morris’s murder had forced the immigration issue back into the national consciousness.
Kelly powered up her laptop and searched for information on Jackson Burke. There were numerous photos of him at fund-raising events, arm in arm with celebrities, politicians and business magnates. Also, the text of a few keynote addresses, one given at his alma mater and the others at business conferences. They were all fairly mundane, focused on the future of various industries, with no overt references to his immigration stance. Interesting that the GOP had chosen him to fill the seat. Granted he was a major fund-raiser, hosting events for candidates-including Duke Morris-at what the society pages termed his “palatial estate” in Scottsdale. But Burke hadn’t held any chairmanship positions or run for elected office prior to his appointment.
Kelly sat back and thought for a minute. Her stomach grumbled, chastising her for not eating more at dinner. She dialed Leonard again but was sent straight to voice mail, and she hung up without leaving a message. Kelly considered calling Jake, but decided not to. She knew it was childish, but the way he’d behaved, distracted, barely listening to her…he should be the one to call and make up for it.
Kelly powered down her computer and stretched her arms above her head, trying to ease the stiffness in her neck. After the pace of the past few days, it was strange to be stuck with nothing to do. She ran over the case again in her mind, and decided to make one last call.
Her friend Mark had left the Bureau for a job with the Southern Poverty Law Center a few years earlier. He’d said that he wanted to leave before all the idealism and faith in mankind was sucked out of him. At the time she figured he was being melodramatic, but he might have had the right idea. Maybe that was the problem, she’d overstayed her welcome.
After a few tries the switchboard routed her to an extension. She left a message for Mark, hung up, and was surprised when almost immediately her phone rang.
“Kelly! Can’t believe you called, it’s been years!” Mark said.
Kelly smiled. It was nice that someone actually sounded happy to hear from her. “Hi, Mark. Listen, I’m in the middle of a sticky case right now, and thought you might be able to help out.”
There was a pause. Mark’s tone had shifted when he said, “So much for catching up, huh?”
“No, I didn’t mean…How are you?” Kelly asked awkwardly.
Mark laughed. “It’s okay, Kelly. I should’ve known better, you’re not the type to call for a chat.”
Kelly wanted to protest, but he was right. Since Mark had left the Bureau she’d barely thought of him. And not only had they been close friends, they’d even briefly dated. She wondered what that said about her. “I’m really sorry, Mark.”
