In Harm's Way (Heroes of Quantico Series, Book 3) (15 page)

Thoughts of his lunch with Rachel had distracted him all
afternoon as he drove around following up on leads for a case,
but Nick's focus sharpened at the woman's comment. "Where
did you hear that?"

"A certain reporter by the name of Claudia Barnes. St. Louis
Scene"

"How did she connect me to this?"

"You'd have to ask her that yourself. She wouldn't answer
that question for me"

"When did she call?"

"Two-thirty. That was her second attempt to get information, by the way. She showed up in person on Monday. Claims
a psychic by the name of Rachel Sutton brought a doll here ten
days ago, saying it gave her bad vibes. Is that true?"

Hanging his coat on a hook in the corner of his cube, Nick
perched on the edge of his desk. "Yes. All except the psychic part.
Rachel Sutton is not, and did not claim to be, a psychic. I filed a
302 and an FD-71 and considered it closed until Ms. Sutton called
to inform me the press had contacted her. This Claudia Barnes
overheard a friend of Ms. Sutton's talking about the situation to
her husband in a restaurant and decided it was newsworthy."

"I doubt the reporter had your name Monday when she
stopped by, or she would have used it. Any idea how she got
it?"

"No" Nick knew Rachel wouldn't have given it to her.

"What did you do with this doll?"

He tipped his head toward the small shopping bag shoved in
the corner of his office, under the workspace.

Leaning into his cube, Ellen surveyed the disreputable-looking
Raggedy Ann smiling back at her from the shadows. "Why did
you hold onto it?"

"I'm not sure. It's probably full of germs:"

"That would be a safe bet" She straightened. "Barnes claims
St. Louis Scene is going to run a story on paranormal phenomena and that both you and Ms. Sutton will be mentioned. She
wanted a statement from us"

"I assume you said no comment"

"Yes. This is more a heads-up that your name will soon be
in print:"

"I've had worse things happen. But I'm sorry if this is causing
problems for you or the Bureau"

Her lips twitched. "I've dealt with tougher issues. So has the
FBI:" She gestured toward the doll. "If you want my advice, wear
gloves when you pitch it"

As Ellen exited, Nick noticed the blinking light on his phone.
Preoccupied, he punched in the code, half listening to his messages. Until he got to the one from Rachel.

"Nick, I wanted to let you know that Claudia Barnes was waiting
for me in the parking lot at school after our lunch. She saw us at
the restaurant. I think she's been following me. I brushed her off,
but I realized later I might have said your first name. I'm afraid,
with her tenacity, she might find out your last name and try to
contact you. I wanted to warn you:' There was a slight pause, and
when she continued the worry in her voice had been replaced
with warmth. "I also wanted to thank you again for lunch. It was
lovely. The best part of my day. Take care" The line went dead.

Another mystery solved. If Rachel had told the determined
reporter his first name, it would have been an easy matter for
her to track him down. He was the only Nick at the office. A
simple phone call to the receptionist asking to be transferred to
his line would have supplied the information she was after.

But Rachel's slip revealed her inexperience with the press.
And also suggested she was ill-equipped to deal with the fallout
the article could produce. While he'd reassured her that most
people took the coverage in St. Louis Scene with a grain of salt,
and that readership wasn't that high, the story would bring a few
weirdos out of the woodwork. She needed some preparation for
that. And a little moral support wouldn't hurt, either.

He could supply both.

Besides, it gave him a good excuse to hang around with her
over the weekend. A smile tugged at his lips as he dropped the
receiver back into the cradle.

And that was one piece of fallout he didn't mind in the
least.

Debra swung into a parking spot near the front door of Little
Folks Academy, lamenting as always the need for child care. If
things had gone as planned, she'd be a stay-at-home mom. But
at least her salary as a paralegal allowed her to be selective in her
daycare choice. She tried to take some consolation in that.

As she stepped inside the building, the other harried parents
who'd come to claim their children gave her no more than a
passing glance or a brief, distracted nod. That was fine with
her. She didn't want to get chummy with anyone. Danielle was
all she needed.

"Oh, hi, Ms. Kraus:" Marsha, one of the college-age girls who
helped with the afternoon rush, gave her a frazzled smile. "I'll get
Danielle for you in a minute, okay? We're kind of swamped:"

"That's fine, Marsha. Thanks"

Debra didn't see why she couldn't go back and get her daughter herself, but they had their rules. Everyplace did. As far as
she was concerned, there were too many rules, period. But she
shouldn't fault Little Folks for being cautious with the children
in their care. The world was a crazy place.

Picking up a copy of a tabloid from the stack on the reception desk, Debra turned her back on the rush-hour melee and
paged through the sheets of newsprint, hoping to discourage
conversation should any of the other parents be so inclined.

She skimmed the headlines without interest, thinking instead
about the weekend ahead. Two whole days with her baby. Per haps Danielle would begin to crawl. At almost seven months,
she was on the verge of it. Debra hoped the big event would
happen when she could witness it rather than at daycare, where
no one would give it a second look.

She turned the page to read the next headline. Couldn't Marsha move a little ...

PSYCHIC DETECTIVES: USING
ESP TO SOLVE CRIMES

What do a Raggedy Ann doll
and a powder puff have in common?

The world tilted. Darkened. Debra clutched the back of a chair
for support as she read the first paragraph of the article.

"Rachel Sutton claims she's not a psychic. But when a Raggedy
Ann doll the local music teacher found in a Bread Company
parking lot gave her bad vibes, she went straight to the FBI:"

Raggedy Ann.

Bread Company.

FBI.

The words screamed off the page.

Debra's lungs shut down.

Sinking into a chair, she stared at the photo of a thirtyish
woman seated behind a piano in some swanky setting.

The woman who'd found the Raggedy Ann.

But that couldn't be! She'd thrown the doll into a dumpster.

The container had been full, though. She'd had difficulty wedging the doll in once she'd hefted the heavy lid up a few inches.
Plus, it had been very dark in that back corner of the parking
lot, and the driving snow had blinded her. When headlights had
swung across her she'd panicked. Afraid of drawing attention to
herself, she'd given the doll one final shove and let the lid drop
back into place. It must have fallen out while the trash bin was
being emptied.

"Isn't that an interesting article? I read it on my lunch
hour:"

Debra's hands jerked, snapping the paper, and she swung
toward Marsha.

"Sorry, Ms. Kraus. I didn't mean to startle you." The young
woman bounced Danielle on her hip. "That kind of stuff can give
you the creeps, though, can't it?" She nodded toward the paper.
"I've never believed in all that psychic voodoo, but there's some
pretty convincing information in there. And that teacher looks
normal:" She gestured toward the photo of Rachel Sutton. "Who
knows?" With a shrug, she smiled at Danielle. "Mommy's here
now, sweetie. Time to go home"

As Marsha handed her over, the baby babbled happily and
snuggled against Debra's chest. The warm little body felt so good
in her arms. So perfect. Debra hugged her close and rubbed
her cheek against the child's soft skin. It seemed like Christmas
each time she held her. Not that she'd ever gotten anything to
rival the little bundle in her arms on that holiday. Her father
hadn't believed in spoiling children. Presents had been meager
at best, and always practical. But Danielle made up for all she'd
missed.

And no one was going to take her away.

"Drive safe, Ms. Kraus. The roads are still tricky. How long
does it take to get to Defiance from here?"

With an effort, Debra focused on the girl's question. Act
normal. Don't do anything to arouse suspicion. "About twenty
minutes"

"Really? I thought it was farther than that. It's like a different
world from Chesterfield. I mean, are there even any stores out
there?"

"I do most of my shopping here before I go home:"

"Yeah. I guess you'd have to. Living in the boonies has disadvantages"

But it had advantages too. Debra ticked them off in her mind
as she exited the facility and strapped Danielle in her car seat.
No nosy neighbors. No one to observe her comings and goings.
No questions. During her first few weeks on her new job, as
she'd finalized her plans for motherhood, she'd searched long
and hard to find a home that offered both easy access to the city
and lots of privacy. The little bungalow tucked away on five acres
of woods and fields suited her perfectly. From the night she'd
brought Danielle home, she'd felt insulated there. And safe.

Until now.

But maybe she was overreacting. Who believed in that psychic stuff, anyway? No one she knew of in law enforcement or
the legal community, that was for sure. And she'd seen plenty
of case files from the criminal lawyers she'd worked for through
the years. She couldn't remember one instance where evidence
produced by a psychic was mentioned.

As for St. Louis Scene ... she'd seen it at the daycare center
in the past, paged through it on a couple of occasions. It often
featured oddball stories more suited to the National Enquirer
than a reputable newspaper. She suspected people read it more
for entertainment than information. Most rational people would
laugh off the doll story as far-fetched.

Except it wasn't.

What sort of power did this Rachel woman have that had allowed her to pick up "vibes" from the Raggedy Ann? And how
much more did she know?

Too nervous to wait until she got home to read the entire
article, Debra pulled into a fast-food outlet, parked under an
overhead light, and opened the paper to the story.

A quick scan reassured her. Most of the article focused on a St.
Louis woman from the 1970s who'd practiced psychometry-and
claimed she'd helped police solve crimes using items like powder
puffs. Rachel Sutton, and an FBI agent named Nick Bradley, were only mentioned in the lead and the conclusion. The teacher had
refused to comment, except to deny she had any psychic powers,
and the FBI had responded to queries with a "no comment:"

Okay, so what did they really know?

Forcing her mind into the analytical mode she used when
helping prepare a brief, Debra extracted the few factual nuggets
pertaining to the doll. A teacher had found it. It gave her bad
vibes. She'd discussed it with the FBI. Period.

There was no indication the woman had any specific information. Just a feeling.

And law enforcement didn't act on feelings.

Besides, even if the cops tried to check into it, there wasn't
anything to connect that doll to her.

Feeling more reassured, Debra folded the paper, set it on
the seat, and pulled back into traffic. If the woman had any real
information, the police would have shown up in Defiance by
now. In all likelihood, the doll had been pitched already and the
FBI had written this woman off as a nut.

She was safe as long as she kept a low profile. And made
sure her baby didn't look anything like the one who had been
abducted in Chicago.

It was time to get out the hair dye again.

"Let it roll to the answering machine, Rachel:"

Snatching her hand back from the phone, Rachel followed
Nick's advice.