Deadly Intent (The Mindhunters)

271 Pages·2010·1.05 MB·English

by  Kylie Brant

Prologue
She could hear him breathing.
Icy talons of fear shredded the fabric of sleep and brought Ellie Mulder
instantly awake. Old habits had her keeping muscles lax, her eyes still closed as
she strained to identify what had alerted her. When she did, her blood ran as cold
as the frigid Colorado wind beating against the windows.
The sound was the same snuffle snort that warned her whenever he was
coming for her. He’d returned, just like he’d threatened. He’d snatch her from
her bed, from her house, and this time, she’d never get away. Not ever.
Her eyes snapped open, a scream lodged in her throat. The old terrors were
surging, fighting logic, fueled by memory. It took a moment to see through the
veils of the past and notice her familiar surroundings.
She was home. In her own room. In her bed. And Art Cooper wasn’t here.
He would die in prison.
A long sigh of relief shuddered out of her. The bright illumination of the
alarm clock on her bedside table said one eighteen A.M. The sleep scene on her
computer lit the corner of the room that held her desk. And the large aquarium
on the opposite wall was awash in a dim glow. She often “forgot” to turn it off.
The items had been chosen because of the light they afforded. Her mom and
dad had worried when she’d needed doors open and lights blazing to go to bed at
night. But they’d been happy when she’d casually mentioned wanting a
computer. Had expressed an interest in tropical fish. Had selected things to
decorate her bedroom like the brightly lit alarm clock. Those things were
normal, the psychologist said. And Ellie knew it was important that she seem
normal. Even if it was a lie.
The slight noise sounded again and she tensed, her hand searching for the
scissors she kept on the bedside table. But even as her fingers gripped the
handle, her mind identified the sound. It was the gurgle of water in the overflow
box for the aquarium. Not Cooper’s asthmatic breathing.
The realization relaxed her, but she didn’t replace the scissors. She kept them
clutched in her hand and brought them close to her chest, the feel of the small
weapon comforting. Learning her daughter slept with a knife under her pillow
had made her mother cry. So Ellie pretended not to need that anymore.
She had become very good at pretending.
So good that her mom and dad had been thrilled with her new interest in
kirigami several months ago. She’d heard the psychologist tell them that the act
of creating, of folding and cutting paper into pretty shapes, would be very
therapeutic for her. So there was never any fuss about the constant paper scraps
on the floor. Fresh supplies appeared on her desk without her ever having to
request them.
Only she knew that the new hobby was an excuse to keep a sharp pair of
scissors with her at all times. And the psychologist was right. That part, at least,
was very therapeutic.
The initial flare of panic had ebbed. She listened to the blizzard howl outside
the windows and found the noise oddly soothing. Bit by bit, she felt herself
relax. Her eyelids drooped.
She had the half-formed thought that she needed to replace the scissors
before her mom came in the next morning to check on her. But sleep was
sucking her under, and her limbs were unresponsive.
It was then that he pounced.
The weight hit her body, jolting her from exhaustion back to alarm in the
span of seconds. She felt the hand clamped over her mouth, the prick of a needle
in her arm, and fear lent her strength beyond her years. Rearing up in bed, she
flailed wildly, trying to wrest away, trying to strike out. She tasted the stickiness
of tape over her lips. Felt a hood being pulled over her head.
There was a brief flare of triumph when the scissors met something solid,
and a hiss of pain sounded in her ear. But then her hand was bent back, the
weapon dropping from her fingers, and numbness started sliding over her body.
She couldn’t move. The hood prevented her from seeing. A strange buzzing
filled her head.
As she felt herself lifted and carried away, her only thought was that she was
being taken.
Again.
Chapter 1
The sleek black private jet sat waiting, its motors idling. It looked impatient
somehow, looming dark and silent in the shadows, as if it had somehow taken on
the personality of the man inside it.
Needles of sleet pricked Macy Reid’s cheeks as she hurried across the tarmac
at the Manassas Regional Airport. Adam Raiker, head of Raiker Forensics and
her boss, had demanded she be there within the hour. Her home in Vienna,
Virginia, was nearly twenty miles from the airport. Since the usual DC traffic
was light at four A.M., she’d made it in less than forty-five minutes.
An attendant took her suitcases and stowed them for her as she wiped the
frigid moisture from her cheeks and made her way up the steps to the aircraft.
Her satisfaction at arriving early dissipated when she recognized the man seated
in the roomy black leather seat next to her boss. Kellan Burke. Fellow forensic
investigator. And the man she’d been avoiding for months.
Her stomach gave one quick lurch before she ordered it to settle. She gave
Raiker a nod. “Adam.” She spared barely a glance for the other man as she chose
the free seat next to her boss and buckled in. “Burke.”
“The inimitable duchess Macy.” Kellan gave her a sleepy smile that she
knew better than to trust. “Been a while since we’ve been paired on an
investigation. Miss me?”
“Like a case of foot rot.”
“A comeback,” he noted admiringly. “You’ve been practicing.”
She could feel a flush heating her cheeks and damned yet again the fair
complexion that mirrored her emotions. Almost as much as she damned the man
for being right. Experience had taught her that it paid to have a ready repertoire
of witty replies if she was to spend any length of time in Burke’s presence.
Unfortunately, those replies usually occurred several hours after they were
required, leaving her at the crucial moment as tongue-tied and frustrated as an
eight-year-old.
It also paid to have her guard up and her hormones on a tight leash. That
experience was more recent, and the memory much more devastating.
Adam pressed a button on his armrest that would alert the pilot to ready for
takeoff. “Any squabbling and you’ll ride in the luggage compartment. Both of
you.” He leaned forward to withdraw two file folders from the pocket of his
briefcase and handed one to each of them as the jet began its taxi down the
runway. Macy seized it, grateful to have something else to focus on.
“Stephen Mulder.” Burke was studying the first sheet inside the folder, his
expression thoughtful. “Why is that name familiar?”
“Maybe because he’s the owner of the discount stores that bear his name.”
Raiker’s voice was dry. “A quick Google check shows there are two thousand
Mulders in the country, with several hundred more operations in Europe, Asia,
and South America.”
The name had also struck a chord of recognition with Macy, but not for the
same reason. “Stephen Mulder? His daughter was one of the girls rescued when
you broke that child swap ring a few years ago.” The case wasn’t one she was
likely to forget. Her testimony had helped put one of the perpetrators behind
bars. It had also brought her to Raiker’s attention.
“That’s right.” For Burke’s benefit, he explained, “Ellie Mulder was seven
when she was snatched while attending a friend’s birthday party. FBI took
control of the investigation almost immediately. She was found incidentally
when one of my cases overlapped a couple years later. I broke up a child auction,
and her kidnapper was among those looking for a trade-in. By that point, she’d
been missing twenty-two months.”
Macy’s gaze dropped to the opened folder in her lap. A moment later she
froze in the act of scanning the information he’d put together for them. “She’s
been abducted . . . again?”
“Sometime between eleven and two A.M. this morning.” Raiker’s expression
was grim. “The entire Denver area was having a hellacious blizzard, and Ellie’s
mother went in to check on her. She discovered her missing from her bed and
looked around the house. Woke her husband when she didn’t find her, and they
searched the estate. He called me an hour after they discovered her gone.”
“But not the FBI,” Burke guessed shrewdly.
Macy caught Raiker’s gaze on her and followed it to where her fingers lay
against the folder. Her fingers were beating a familiar tattoo against the surface.
Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. Throat drying, she deliberately stilled
them and refocused her thoughts.
“The feds failed her before.” She met Raiker’s stare, knew she was right.
“They had nearly two years to find her the first time. But you’re the one
responsible for bringing her home to them. So her father contacted you.”
Her employer inclined his head. “If the Mulders had their way, no law
enforcement would be involved at all. They’re pretty devoid of respect for LEOs
after the last incident. But I convinced Stephen that he has no choice but to
report Ellie’s disappearance. He has a personal relationship with the governor
and both Colorado U.S. senators. He’ll use his influence to bring in the Colorado
Bureau of Investigation as leads.”
“Elbowing aside the Denver PD,” Kellan muttered, still studying the contents
of the file.
“The Mulder estate is located near Conifer. It actually falls under the
jurisdiction of the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Office. Mulder is still bitter at the
way the feds kept him out of the loop on the first kidnapping. He’s insisting we
stay on his estate so he can be updated as often as possible. CBI isn’t going to
like that. Without proper management, this could turn into a territorial tug-of-
war of monumental proportions.”
Macy considered the ramifications. Being hired by a family member rather
than the investigating law enforcement entity made their appearance on the
scene a bit more tenuous. In a case like this, suspicion fell first on the family and
those in closest proximity to the child. The CBI would worry that their
allegiance to Mulder would take precedence over their commitment to
teamwork. Without Raiker running interference, they could be shut out of the
investigative end of things almost completely. He was going to have his plate
full handling the politics of this one.
She glanced at Burke. Found him watching her through a pair of trendy dark-
framed glasses that were new since the last time she’d seen him. “They’re going
to want to bring in their own people.”
“Of course. But it’s my job to convince them they don’t have anyone who
can match the experience the two of you bring. Don’t make a liar out of me.”
It took her a moment to realize Raiker was joking. It was always difficult to
tell with him. “You’ve checked on Cooper’s whereabouts?”
“Art Cooper is still in prison in Sussex, fulfilling his thirty-year sentence for
the kidnap and rape of Ellie Mulder.”
“And . . . the others?” It took all her resolve not to fidget under the shrewd
look Raiker aimed her way.
“All accounted for, still inside serving their time.”
She wouldn’t have asked. Couldn’t have formed the words. But in the next
moment, he added deliberately, “Castillo has been bounced around some. He’s
currently housed at Terre Haute in Indiana.”
“So are we looking at the original group you rounded up in that first case?”
Burke demanded. “Do any of them have the cajones to reach out this way from
prison?”
“Every avenue will need to be explored.” Adam outstretched his injured leg,
nudging aside the cane he was never without. “We can’t afford to overlook the
possibility that Ellie’s disappearance this time is somehow connected to that first
kidnapping. I’ll line up the interviews for each with the prison wardens and
make personal visits.”
There was a sick knot of dread settling in the pit of Macy’s stomach. With an
ease born of long practice, she pushed it aside and looked at her boss. “And then
we have to decide who the real target of this crime is. Ellie Mulder, or her
father.”
There were more than a dozen SUVs and vans parked in the wide drive that
looped in a half circle in front of the sprawling Mulder estate. Additionally, what
looked like a black oversized ambulance set on a sixteen wheeler was pulled up
next to the house. It didn’t look like Stephen Mulder had been successful in
limiting the scope of the LEO presence. The still-heavy snowfall had already
buried the vehicles and had slicked the roads here from the airport. A drop in
temperature would make them treacherous.
Macy stepped out of the SUV and scanned the grounds. They’d been
detained at the iron gates at the base of the drive, more than a quarter mile back,
until the CBI agent posted there had scrutinized their IDs and waited for
permission from someone inside to admit them. That had given her plenty of
time to eye the twelve-foot stone walls that surrounded the property. Discreetly
placed security cameras topped them at regular intervals. The security station in
front of the gates was meant to be manned by a live operator. If a stranger had
gotten in and out of the estate undetected, he wasn’t an amateur.
The front door of the home swung open as they got out of the SUV. From the
grim-faced visage of the man in the doorway, Macy knew immediately he was
another CBI agent.
He waited until they’d ascended the stairs to demand their IDs again. It
occurred to her that the extra precautions were a bit late. Ellie Mulder was gone.
“Assistant Director Cal Whitman is waiting for you in the study with Mr.
Mulder. This way.”
They were led through a marbled-floor hallway that was lined with paintings
and punctuated by large abstract sculptures. Macy recognized some of the artists,
had no doubt the pieces were original. With Mulder’s billions, there was little he
couldn’t afford. Except the one thing his money apparently couldn’t buy.
His daughter’s safety.
“Not too shabby,” Kellan said in an undertone as he strolled along at her
side, casting an appraising look at the place. “What do you figure? Fifteen
million? Twenty?”
“I wouldn’t know.” It was usually best to ignore Burke. But the man made it
difficult. Even now she could feel his pale green eyes on her, alight, no doubt,
with amusement. It seemed to be the primary emotion she elicited from him.
The hallway seemed endless. They trailed Raiker and the CBI agent who had
let them in. “Pretty easy to get lost in a place this huge,” Burke said, unzipping
his navy down jacket and shoving his hands in its pockets. “How long do you
think it would take them to locate us?”
“Why don’t you find out?”
He gave her a lazy grin. The prism of lights from the crystals on the
overhead chandeliers shot his thick brown hair with reddish glints. She’d bet
money he’d been auburn-haired as a youngster. And probably incorrigible even
then.
“If you promise to lead the search and rescue party, I might consider it. I can
imagine it now. Me, weak from lack of food, maybe injured. You, bending over
me in concern, wiping my brow, the strap of your lacy camisole slipping down
one satiny shoulder . . .”
She resisted an urge to smack him, which was the most frequent reaction she
had around him. “Why would I lead a search and rescue mission clad in a
camisole?”
His smile turned wicked. “Why indeed?”
“Burke.”
They both jumped at the crack of Raiker’s voice. He was several feet ahead
of them. They’d been speaking too quietly for him to have heard. Hadn’t they?
“Yeah, boss?”
“Shut up.”
He slid a sideways glance at Macy and winked at her, clearly unabashed.
“Shutting up, boss.”
And those, she noted, as they were ushered into a large dark-paneled room,
were the most promising words she’d heard all day.
The man who rose to his feet to step toward Raiker, his hand outstretched,
was immediately recognizable. Stephen Mulder. He hadn’t appeared at the
Castillo trial Macy had testified at, but there’d been plenty of news stories
devoted to his family since his daughter’s first disappearance. He was
prematurely gray, with a long lean runner’s build outfitted in a tailored suit. Its
cost likely exceeded two months of her very generous salary. As the two men
clapped each other on the shoulder and leaned forward to murmur a few words,
her gaze went beyond them to the others seated behind a long polished
conference table. It was easy enough to guess which one was Whitman.
The assistant director had a decade on Raiker, she estimated, which would
place him in his mid-fifties. It was difficult to tell his height while he was sitting,
but she’d bet well under six feet. He had a shaved head and thick neck. His ill-
fitting suit pulled across his beefy chest and shoulders. When his flat brown gaze
flicked over them, Macy had the impression they’d been sized up in the space of
an instant. There was nothing in his expression that gave away his thoughts
about their inclusion in this case.
Mulder stepped away from Raiker and inclined his head in the direction of
her and Burke. “Thank you for coming. I have tremendous respect for your boss.
He performed a miracle once.” There was a barely discernible break in his voice.
“I’m hoping he’s got another one up his sleeve.”
“Where Raiker is concerned, achieving the impossible is a daily
expectation,” Burke assured him soberly. Macy remained silent. She was always
leery about issuing assurances to victims’ families. Life didn’t come complete
with happy endings.
Mulder turned away. “Assistant Director Calvin Whitman”—he gestured to
the man she’d pegged as CBI and then to the second man—“and my attorney
and friend, Mark Alden. He’s also Ellie’s godfather.”
Alden was impeccably dressed, but his dark hair was slightly mussed, and
his eyes were as red-rimmed as Mulder’s. He gave them a nod but said nothing.
“Why doesn’t everyone sit down, and I’ll catch you up.” Whitman waited for
them to take a seat at the table. As they shrugged out of their coats, he continued.
“Since the Mulders insist you all need to reside here on scene in case a ransom
demand comes in, he’s agreed to extend his hospitality to a few of my team
members, as well. As per Mr. Mulder’s request to the governor, I brought a small
team of agents, and we arrived around five thirty. My people are completing the
search of the house and beginning to go over the grounds. An AMBER Alert
was issued before I arrived on the scene by the governor’s office.” There was a
flicker in the man’s eyes at this breach of protocol. “I’ll be coordinating the
inter-agency involvement on this case. The Jefferson County Sheriff’s
Department will handle the calls regarding the alert and fully investigate each.
I’ve been assured the Denver Police Department will offer personnel and
resources if any leads overlap into their jurisdiction.”
“Has the alert elicited any calls yet?”
Whitman didn’t appear to appreciate Kell’s interruption. “There’s been no
trace of the child reported so far. I have an agent taking Mrs. Mulder’s statement.
The live-in help have been interviewed and the other employees contacted.
Many have arrived already. We’re preparing to question them.”
“Stephen just finished his statement for Agent Whitman when you arrived.”
It was the first time the lawyer had spoken. “We’ll expect a copy of it, and of all
the case notes, to be shared with Mr. Raiker’s team members in an expedient
manner.”
The tilt of Whitman’s head could have meant anything. But it was telling,
Macy thought, that he had made no verbal agreement.
Mulder obviously thought so, too. “Just so we’re clear on this, Agent.” He
placed his palms on the table and leaned forward, his tone fierce. “Raiker’s unit
is here with the blessing of the Colorado governor and our U.S. senators. They
will be a full part of this team.” He gave a humorless smile. “I’ve been through
this before. I know how it works. Althea and I are suspects until proven
otherwise. So is everyone else in this house. I realize that effectively shuts me
out of most of the details in this investigation. But the person I trust won’t be
shut out. He’s here to be sure other aspects of the investigation don’t stall while
you’re wasting your time eliminating us as suspects.” When the CBI agent
would have spoken, he waved aside his protest. “I’m not waiting two years to
bring my little girl home this time.”
He made a slight gesture, and Alden got to his feet, as well. “I recognize
there’s information that you won’t share in my presence, so Mark and I will
leave now. I want to be there for Althea when they’ve finished with her.”
The room was silent as the men left, shutting the door behind them. Upon
their exit, Whitman eased his bulk back in his chair and eyed Raiker. “Your
inclusion here puts us in a dilemma. You have to realize that.”
“The thing about dilemmas is they always have solutions.” Adam’s voice
was no less steely. “Consider those solutions, Agent. You can’t afford not to
utilize us.”
The other man rubbed the folds at the back of his neck. “We don’t have
grounds to force the Mulders out of their home for the duration of the case, but I
would if I could.”
Adam’s smile was feral. “No one is making you take up residence here. That
was your idea.”
“If you’re here, we’re here. You have to . . .” He paused then, seemed to
choose his words more carefully. “I’m suggesting that you avoid any conflict of
interest by waiting for my people to complete the search of the premises. So far,
this floor has been cleared. I’ve got a crime scene evidence recovery unit going
over the girl’s room right now.”
“And once they’re done, we have free access to the property and copies of
any and all reports as they’re formulated.” Raiker clearly knew how to play the
game. “My people will be included in all briefings and task assignments.”
“The information is a two-way street.” The agent looked at Macy and Kellan,
making no attempt to mask his expression now that Mulder had gone. The man
was plainly unhappy with their presence. “If I learn that you’ve withheld
something from me, you’re off the case and I’ll have you detained for
obstruction.”
Macy noted Raiker’s fingers clenching around the intricately carved knob of
his cane. It was his only sign of temper. His voice, when it came, was even.