Daddy's Little Killer (4 page)

"I wasn't sure you'd call me back
today.  I understand you had a funeral this morning.  My
condolences, doctor."

"Thank you.  I was surprised by your
call.  You said you had business to discuss with me, yet you
called my personal number at home.  Most requests for bureau
assistance come through official channels."

"Well, that's true enough.  We're not
interested in asking the FBI to come help us, Dr. Eriksson. 
We want you."

"I see.  May I ask what gave you the
impression that I'm authorized to take on private contracts for
work in addition to my duties assigned by my employer?"

"You come highly recommended, and one of our
police captains says he knows you.  Rodney Martin?"

"I remember Rodney."  Remembered being
abandoned by him while he pursued his obviously successful ladder
climb in law enforcement.  "Still, that doesn't explain why
you would contact me directly, Mr. Hardy."

"Rodney heard about your husband's death
last week, ma'am.  He thought … well, we all wondered if you
might be up for a change of scenery after such a tragic event."

"I see."

"I realize the timing of my phone call was
inopportune.  Pardon the intrusion if you will."

"It's quite all right, Mr. Hardy.  I'm
afraid at this time, I'm not interested in taking on additional
work."

"And the FBI isn't going to insist that you
take some time off?"

"Rick was my ex-husband."

"Oh.  Well, I suppose that does put a
different face on the matter.  Don't suppose I could interest
you in a short term arrangement in any case, could I?"

"Like a consultant arrangement?"

I heard creaking over the phone
connection. 

"At this point, Dr. Eriksson, we'd be
willing to offer you whatever it takes to get your help.  I'm
not sure how much you know about Darkwater Bay."

"I visited once, which I'm
sure Rodney already told you.  Other than those two weeks, I
know very little about Darkwater Bay." 
Except that target number two lives there
.

"Do you find that odd, considering of
course, that you work for the FBI?"

"No, Mr. Hardy.  There are hundreds of
local jurisdictions that rely on the bureau's field offices for
assistance rather than making requests to Quantico."

"The situation in Darkwater proper is dire,
doctor.  May I be frank?"

"Please."  I wobbled with my glass of
scotch toward the sofa and hunkered down.

"For a number of years, our crime rate in
the city proper has grown exponentially.  For awhile, we
believed it was shoddy work out of the county medical examiner's
office."

"I see."

"No, you really don't.  We got
ourselves a new chief medical examiner, a gal from your neck of the
woods."

I dropped the crystal on the table at the
end of the sofa and sat up straight.  "You got someone from
Quantico?"

"No, but east coast.  She's a go-getter
all right.  I know it's a big place out there, but maybe you
heard of her over the years.  Maya Winslow?"

"Baltimore, worked for the state medical
examiner's office," I said.  "We met several years ago on a
case I helped close.  I've seen her a few times over the years
at conferences held at Quantico.  I wasn't aware she had
relocated."

"Well, she's been out here for six months,
and nobody can fault the quality of the work she does."

"I don't imagine they could."  Maya was
a meticulous forensic expert in the field of pathology.  "Yet
you're calling me, which leads me to believe that the turn around
in your success rate is unsatisfactory."

"Well that's the truth.  It seems that
Central Division has a bit of tunnel vision when it comes to
solving crimes."

"And you want me to come profile crimes to
help broaden their perspective."

"In short, yes, but that's only part of it,
doctor.  See, I don't entirely disagree with the
detectives.  The guy they look at for every single crime is a
slippery bastard, and from what I've heard, he's got connections to
some folks who are nothing but bad news out on your side of the
world."

He had my full
attention.  I could feel my liver pumping liquor out of my
blood and clearing my foggy mind.  "Oh?" 
Don't sound too interested,
Helen.
  "Who is that, Mr.
Hardy?"

"The guy's name is Danny Datello."

I almost dropped the telephone.  "I
see."

"And he's Sullivan Marcos' nephew.  Now
to hear him tell it, Danny's distanced himself as far as humanly
possible in the lower 48 from his east coast kin, and runs only
legitimate businesses."

"But nobody believes him."

"I wouldn't say nobody, but those of us in
law enforcement think his legitimate businesses are a front for
something illegal."

"Mr. Hardy," I began.

"Call me George."

"George, there's something you should
know.  As of this morning, I have resigned my post with the
FBI.  It's my intention to retire."

"Oh."  Deflated.  "Then I've
wasted your time with all of this."

"Which isn't to say that I'm not intrigued
by the notion of a contract only position elsewhere."

"Really?  I mean … I doubt we could
afford to pay you a whole lot of money, doctor."

"Money isn't an issue."  I felt his
breath catch in my ear.  "My parents were wealthy and left me
a generous trust fund when they passed.  My ex-husband's
attorney has also informed me that I am apparently the beneficiary
of his life insurance.  I can afford to retire young. 
Any work for Darkwater Bay would not be necessary to my
income."

"Well then … will you consider my
offer?"

I sucked in a deep breath.  If the
goons that accosted me were Marcos' men, I could be walking into
certain death if I suddenly showed up in Darkwater Bay.  On
the other hand, my last conversation with Rick burned like the
breath of a Fury in my mind.  Dad didn't believe in
coincidences.  Wasn't this a little too coincidental?  I
ached to turn to the one person I trusted for advice.

That wasn't possible.

"I could come to Darkwater Bay and discuss
it with you further," I suggested.  Vengeance wanted to leap
into a commitment.  Dad lived in my brain and urged
caution. 

"How soon could you arrive?"

"A day or two.  I'll call you when I
get the details ironed out, George."

The soonest flight I could get to Darkwater
Bay departed Wednesday morning.  I booked a first class seat
and started packing the mounds of clothing, shoes, undergarments
and makeup I had delivered to my room throughout the
afternoon.  I left two outfits hanging in the closet for
tomorrow and Wednesday.  Even though I had no intention of
being seen out and about in D.C., I didn't plan to lay around doing
nothing.

The knock on my door startled my heart into
fibrillation.  "Who is it?"

"Todd Hunter."

"Great," I muttered under my breath. 
Regret over the surrendered sidearm filled me.  I wondered if
the neighborhood Costco sold mace.  "This isn't a good time,
Mr. Hunter."

"Could you just open the door so we're not
shouting through it?"

I cracked the door but left the security bar
in place.  "What is it?"

He grinned sheepishly.  "I called hotel
security.  I got to thinking about what happened after you
went to your room, and the whole thing made me really
uncomfortable, Diana."

I cursed softly and started to close the
door.

"Let me explain," he said quickly. 
"The conference I'm attending, it's for guys who run private
security companies.  That's what I do.  Anyway, that's
why I got the vibe that those guys were hauling you off against
your will.  One of the guys at the conference over the weekend
runs security for the Ritz-Carlton properties, so I gave him a
call.  I didn't want you feeling like you're being held
hostage in your room."

"I see."  My mind
screamed,
remain calm.  He may not
say Sully Marcos.

Hunter continued.  "I couldn’t let what
happened go without telling someone.  I hope you don’t mind,
but I contacted hotel security.  They reviewed their security
footage, and are keeping an eye out if these guys return. Even if
they don’t, if you want to file a report with the police, I’m sure
they could ID the guys from the tape."

I rested my head against the door
frame.  It wouldn't stop Marcos, but for all I knew, I could
be walking into his carefully laid trap.  In any case, I
doubted Marcos would be so foolish as to send someone else to the
hotel for me after security's alert that a guest had been nearly
taken from the premises against her will.

"Does that help at all?"

I glanced up into one concerned eye peering
at me through the crack in the door.  "Yes.  Thank you
again, Mr. Hunter."

"Todd," his grin widened.  "Now maybe
you'll have dinner with me?"

"I'm not feeling up to –"

"We can order room service.  You can
call security and ask them if I really called if it makes you feel
safer."

"Just a minute."  I closed the door and
debated whether or not to consider his offer.  The only thing
that had buoyed my spirits today was the illicit thrill of being
someone else, if only for a little while.  What would Diana
Farber, single vacationer and power shopper do in this
situation?  Would she let a strange man who saved her life
into her room?  Would she call security to verify his
story?  She should, if she had any common sense at all.

Diana Farber wasn't a black belt in
jujitsu.  Helen Eriksson was.  Diana Farber should be
scared out of her wits.  History told me that women tended to
trust the knight in shining armor unconditionally.  Was that
the kind of woman Diana was?

I flung the door open.  "I'm sorry,
Todd.  You've got to understand that what happened made me
more than a little wary of strangers."

"And I'm a stranger."  His fingers
raked through his short, golden hair.  "I debated whether I
should come over here at all.  Believe me, I get it."

"I'm not being a very gracious damsel in
distress, am I?"

"Understandable."

"Please come in."

Todd stepped into the suite and immediately
stared at the pile of luggage in the living area.  "You got an
earlier flight out of town?"

I moved to the bar and wrestled open two
single serving size bottles of merlot.  "Not a chance.  I
still can't leave until Wednesday, but I was hopeful that I could
get out of here in the morning.  No offense to you of
course."

"None taken."  Todd took the wine glass
I offered and sipped.  "So.  Dinner in?"

"I think there's a room service menu on the
desk."  When was the last time I'd eaten anyway?  I
couldn't remember.  Then again, given the events of the past
week, it was no wonder my diet had veered in a decidedly liquid
direction.

"Can I ask what you do for a living?"

"I'm a psychologist," I
said.  Dad's advice –
don't stray too
far from what you know
– seemed
appropriate.  I was too preoccupied to successfully adopt a
new profession on the fly.

"That explains your instincts."  The
smile turned his dimples into craters.  Todd had stripped away
the suit in lieu of jeans and a form fitting t-shirt.  The
muscles that bulged left no doubt in my mind that my would-be
kidnappers were no match for him.  Unless my gun theory was
correct, and if they were on Sully's payroll, it would've been
right on the money.

"I suppose it would if that were the kind of
psychology I deal with."

"What kind?"

"Kids."  Lie.  Mostly a lie.

"Ah, hell.  That must be rough."

"Vacations are sacrosanct.  At least
they used to be."  I took the menu he offered and scanned the
page.  "Hmm.  Nothing grabs me."

"Maybe you can advise me.  Is the
seafood in this area as good as the rest of the eastern
seaboard?"

Something niggled in the back of my
brain.  "I never said I was from the east coast, Todd."

"Your accent says you are.  Not most of
the time, but this afternoon when you were upset, you sounded very
… New York?"

For a security guard, he was pretty damned
observant.  I nodded.  "That's correct.  Not home
for a very long time now, which is why I suppose I don't always
sound like a native New Yorker.  What about you?"

"West Coast.  Small place south of
Seattle, north of San Francisco."

"Remarkably vague.  If you're in the
mood for seafood, I'd suggest the scallops."

"I was thinking something lighter. 
Appetizers maybe.  We had a late lunch this afternoon."

"Calamari then?"

"Sounds great."

I grabbed the phone and dialed the number
for room service.  Calamari, marinated olives and garlic
bread, a Caesar salad, crème brûlée – and a human sized bottle of
merlot instead of the mini-bar variety.  "Thirty minutes," I
said.

"Are you really all right after what
happened earlier?"

I sank into one of the chairs and drew my
knees to my chest.  "To be honest, it was very
unsettling.  I suppose I'm more concerned about the woman they
were looking for, hoping they didn't find her."

"Makes you wonder what she did, doesn't
it?"

"Maybe she didn't do anything.  If they
were private investigators, my theory earlier was probably
correct.  She's running away from a bad husband.  That he
would hire men to basically abduct her like that is a chilling
thought."

I felt his eyes fix on me, deep and
probing.  "I can't imagine that made you feel very safe
either.  They take the safety of guests seriously at the
Ritz.  I don't think you'll have to worry about anyone
bothering you during the rest of your visit.  I'd hate to
think that you're curbing whatever you had planned for the rest of
your time here because of what happened."