Love Inspired Suspense May 2015 #2 (49 page)

She emptied her bag of supplies onto the kitchen table.

Grayson had seen her in action before, but he pulled up a chair and watched, anyway. He needed this sketch to match something in the database. Despite the police presence, he was worried. Laney had been attacked again. Both times she'd been under the protection of the MPD. Both times, he was not around.

Had the attacker known Grayson would be at the airport picking up the sketch artist? The timing of the fire seemed to indicate that, but only a few people had known when Willow would arrive.

Was the leak in the FBI or in the local PD? It was a question Grayson needed answered. Until then, he'd be taking extra precautions. And unless it was absolutely necessary, he wouldn't be leaving Laney's side.

He'd confirmed the FBI protection detail had been processed and should arrive before the day was out. It couldn't come quickly enough for Grayson.

His phone vibrated, and he glanced at his caller ID.

Ethan Conrad.

Good. Grayson needed to run a few things by him.

Though retired, Ethan remained an influential and well-connected force in the FBI. He had lobbied for Grayson to be assigned the kidnapping ring case when the Boston field agent stepped down. He'd been Grayson's sounding board during the past few months, helping him weed through and make sense of dozens of reports and reams of information from field offices in California and Boston.

Grayson didn't bother excusing himself, didn't want to interrupt the flow of Willow's work. Instead, he stepped out the sliding glass door. “Grayson here. What's up?”

“Just making sure Willow arrived as scheduled. I spoke with Michael this afternoon, and he's antsy to get a sketch of the perps into the system.”

“Same here,” Grayson responded. “Willow's working with Laney Kensington now. The sooner we can identify our suspects, the better. There've been additional attempts on Laney's life.”

“I thought you requested twenty-four-hour protection.”

“I did. MPD's been covering so far and FBI is on the way. But our perps seem to know my schedule, and they use it to their advantage.” He explained briefly, and Ethan sighed.

“Your theory seems accurate, then. We've got a leak. In the bureau or in the police precinct.”

“I'm inclined to think it's in our office. Who else would have known what time Willow would arrive?”

“Anyone with access to airport databases can search for a name and find out when that person's flying in or out of a city. Willow is one of the most sought-after sketch artists in the country, and this kidnapping ring is savvy enough to pinpoint who you'd likely bring in and follow that person's activities. It would be easy enough to figure out what time she'd be arriving.”

He was right, but Grayson couldn't shake the feeling that the leak was somewhere in the FBI's house. “I've got Arden coming in to take a look at the computer system at the local police department. If any information is being filtered out or in there, we'll know it.”

“You've got that right.” Ethan chuckled. “She won't miss anything.”

“Do you have time to look through some case files for me, see if there's something I missed?” Grayson asked.

“Send the files to me over the FTP site. I'll grab them from the server and start reading through them tonight.”

“Thanks. And Ethan, let's keep our suspicions quiet. If the leak
is
a federal agent, we don't want to give him a chance to cover his tracks.”

“You know me better than that. I'll call if anything jumps out at me from the files. In the meantime, stay focused. This kidnapping ring has got to be stopped before any more families are destroyed.”

Disconnecting from the call, Grayson paced the length of the back deck. He didn't want to believe the leak could be one of their own. But he couldn't afford to bury his head in the sand.
Someone
was leaking information to the kidnappers. There might be a computer hacker accessing the online systems, but the information the perps had went deeper than that. They seemed to know who would be where, and when. There was no way for them to know so much without an informant.

Worse, Grayson was beginning to believe the head of the child trafficking ring might be hiding behind an FBI badge. The cases spanned three states and international waters. It was possible someone in the state PD was on the payroll, but there was no way that person was the mastermind. It had to be a nationally connected source, and the FBI was the only agency working this case. The thought wasn't a reassuring one, and Grayson wanted to ignore it.

He couldn't. Children's lives were at stake. Families were at stake. Laney's safety was at stake.

He walked back into the kitchen. Laney was still at the table, eyes closed as she said something to Willow. Was she visualizing the perps? Trying to bring their faces into better focus?

Maybe she sensed his gaze. She opened her eyes, glanced his way and offered the kind of smile that seemed to say she was glad he was there.

She was a strong woman, determined, hardworking, energetic and obviously willing to sacrifice her safety for the safety of others.

So why had she retired from search and rescue? His cursory search of national databases hadn't revealed much. She'd retired early from her work, but the article he'd read hadn't said why. He wanted to know. Not because it would help with the case, not because it mattered to the outcome of his investigation, but because he wanted to know more about Laney.

He wasn't sure how he felt about that, but it was a truth he couldn't deny, one that he carried with him as he crossed the kitchen and settled in the chair next to her.

ELEVEN

L
aney tried to focus on Willow Scott's work as Grayson took a seat beside her.

It shouldn't have been difficult. Her elegant hands deftly moving across the paper, Willow was bringing Laney's description to life. The work was fascinating, her questions as detailed as her drawing.

Yes. Laney definitely shouldn't have had any trouble keeping her eyes on Willow and her sketch. Unfortunately, Grayson was difficult to ignore. Especially since he'd pulled his chair a little closer, his arm brushing hers as he leaned in to get a closer look at the sketch.

She met his gaze, her heart doing a strange little flip when he smiled.

“So,” Willow said, turning the drawing pad toward Laney and forcing her to refocus her attention. “How's this match with what you saw?”

Laney's breath caught in her throat. The charcoal drawing looked like a black-and-white photograph of the gun-wielding kidnapper.

“Wow, that's him.” Laney didn't think it could be any more perfect—down to the small scar on his left cheek and the slightly crooked nose. Willow had captured him perfectly.

Grayson leaned over to look at the drawing, his closeness oddly comforting. “I'll run this through my scanner and feed it into the facial recognition system while you work on the sketch of his accomplice.”

Carefully tearing the page from her pad, Willow handed it to Grayson. “Let's stretch and grab a drink of water, Laney. Then we'll do the next sketch.”

“There's probably some homemade raspberry iced tea in the fridge if you're interested,” Laney offered, her focus still on the sketch. The guy looked mean, and she could almost picture him slinking through the kennels, setting fire to her office. Had he been the man on her property? She thought so. And it wasn't a comforting thought.

“That actually sounds good,” Willow replied. “I'm a Southern girl at heart, and we do like our iced tea.” Willow chatted with Grayson about new updates to the FBI facial recognition system as Laney grabbed the pitcher of tea from the fridge and tried to pour it into a tall glass. Her hands were shaking so hard, the tea sloshed over the sides of the glass, spilling onto the counter.

“Let me help with that,” Grayson said, reaching around her, his chest nearly touching her back as he steadied her hand. The tea poured into the glass without a drop spilling, and Laney handed it to Willow, her cheeks warm, her heart racing.

Not because of the sketch. Because of Grayson.

The man was messing with her composure, and she didn't like it.

“Thanks,” Willow said, not a trace of Southern accent in her voice. She took gulp of the tea, tilting her head back just enough for Laney to catch a glimpse of a thin scar extending from the bottom of her jaw horizontally across her neck. Even to Laney's untrained eye, it would have been a significant injury. Life-threatening, even. And definitely intentional.

She turned away, not wanting Willow to know she'd been staring.

Whatever had happened, it had been a long time ago. The scar was faded and old.

“Here.” Grayson thrust a glass of tea into Laney's hand. “I think you need this. You look a little done-in.”

“Gee, thanks,” she responded, sipping the tea as she dropped back into her chair.

Willow and Grayson were still on their feet, both of them tall and fit. They looked good together, seemed comfortable with one another. For all Laney knew, they were dating. Good for them. Laney had better things to do with her life than devote it to a man. Her mother had done that. She'd spent her entire adult life trying to please a man who couldn't be pleased. Laney's dad had been a good-looking charmer.

When he wasn't drunk.

Most of the time he was. Behind closed doors, he was a mentally and physically abusive husband and father. Laney had watched her mother lose herself to depression, and she'd vowed never to be in the position where being with someone meant losing herself.

“Okay.” Willow's voice jogged Laney out of her thoughts. “I'm ready if you are.”

Within an hour, Willow had completed the second sketch. It was eerie how much the charcoal drawing resembled the man. Somehow Willow had even managed to capture his menacing stare.

In the family room, Grayson had set up his portable scanner and laptop.

Jax, Brody and Murphy were lying by the coffee table, watching him work, when Willow and Laney brought him the second sketch.

“This looks great,” he said. “I'll get it scanned and entered into the system.”

“How long will it take to get the results?” Laney asked.

“That depends. There are thousands of mug shots in the national database. If we don't get a hit there, the system will ping other participating statewide databases according to a query I've set up. This search will run against the California, Boston and Maryland databases first, then hit the rest of the states until all databases are exhausted.” He carefully laid the second image down on the scanner. “I'll queue up the next query to run when the first is complete.”

The dogs barked, announcing a visitor.

“Place,” Laney commanded, going to the door. An overweight, balding man dressed in a blue uniform that read Carlston Construction stood on the threshold. With barely a glance at Laney, he began his practiced spiel. “Good afternoon. I'm here to replace a pane of glass in a window...” he said, flipping through a clipboard of invoices, oblivious to Grayson, who had followed Laney to the door.

“Looks like...back window. Double-paned glass.” He looked up, finally seemed to notice Grayson and took a step back. “I do have the right house, don't I?” he asked, looking down at his invoice again.

“We've got a broken window in the back, but I didn't call in an order to have it fixed.”

“It was called in by Rose Cantor.”

Rose hadn't returned from the kennel. Laney suspected she was camped out in a lawn chair, reading one of her romance novels while Bria tended to the dogs.

A police officer approached the door. “Want me to show him around back, Agent DeMarco?” he asked, and Grayson nodded.

“Yes. Don't let him leave without a guarantee that window will be fixed tonight. It poses a security threat.”

“Yes, sir.”

The look on the contractor's face had Laney thinking he'd replace the entire window, not just the broken pane of glass, to keep Grayson happy. Of course, she'd be glad to have the window fixed. They'd nailed a sheet of plywood across the window last night, but that brought with it other concerns in case of a fire—a real consideration in light of today's events.

Grayson's laptop dinged twice as they returned to the family room.

Willow looked over at them, a grin spreading across her face. “We have a hit—with a 94 percent accuracy rate, Grayson.”

Laney rushed over. Two images—Willow's sketch and a photograph of a convict—were on the screen.

“That's definitely him.” She couldn't contain her smile. They had identified one of the kidnappers. That meant they were a step closer to finding the missing children and closing down the child trafficking ring.

“You were the perfect witness, Laney,” Grayson said. “I knew you'd be the key to identifying the kidnappers.”

“Willow was the key. If she hadn't been able to sketch what I saw—”

“Let's give credit where credit's due,” Willow countered. “You managed to really see this guy and commit his face to memory. That's hard to do, even under the best of circumstances. I consider myself fortunate to get a 75 percent likelihood of a match.”

“And that's a high average.” Grayson added, saving the image to his laptop.

“What do we do now?” Laney asked.

“We put out an APB on David Rallings Jr. Tonight.”

* * *

The sun was low in the sky, the air crisp. Grayson sat on the porch swing, rocking with one foot. The three dogs had followed him out, and after a brief romp around the yard, they had each found a place on the porch to relax in silence. The windows were open, the aroma of chicken and freshly baked Pillsbury rolls wafting through the screen, mixed with the scent of honeysuckle and pine, nearly masking the now faint smell of smoke. Light chatter and low bouts of laughter came from the kitchen where Laney and Willow were helping Rose prepare dinner.

In any other circumstances, this would have been an idyllic fall afternoon, the evening quiet and relaxing.

He was tense, though, anxious to hear from the local PD. The APB on David Rallings had been issued, and Grayson was hopeful they'd be able to bring the guy in for questioning soon. They had a name, a last known address. And a lengthy criminal record with multiple charges for assault, robbery and domestic violence. He'd served jail time five years ago, but had been clean—or just avoided being caught—ever since. Kent had sent officers to Rallings's house, and they were procuring a search warrant.

Things were coming together.

Unfortunately, there had been no match on the second suspect. They might have an ID soon, though. If Rallings wasn't at his house, if he couldn't be located, both sketches would be released to the media on the ten o'clock news.

The dogs came alert to the sound of tires on gravel, lifting their heads simultaneously, eyes focused on the driveway.

A candy-apple-red 1965 Camaro rounded a curve in the drive.

Arden. Finally.

He loved his sister, but her fear of flying made it difficult for her to move from location to location quickly. But he'd choose her any day over a more accessible computer expert.

She'd driven ten hours, from a contract job in Georgia, to make it to Maryland this morning, heading directly to the precinct to examine their system. He wondered what she'd found, but was certain if something was there, she'd know it. She was a genius, graduating from high school at fourteen and from college with a master's degree by the time she was eighteen. Focused and independent, she marched to her own drum. That was one of his favorite things about her. Unfortunately, along with the genius IQ came some quirks that didn't necessarily endear her to everyone.

She came up the walk, a backpack slung over her shoulder. With her black shoulder-length hair, fair skin and blue eyes, she looked much like their mom.

“Hi, Gray. Mom said to tell you you'll be in hot water if she doesn't hear from you before the week is out.” She grinned, stepping into his embrace.

“Is that the way you greet the brother you haven't seen in six months—with threats from Mom?”

“Hey, don't shoot the messenger.” She brushed a hand over her hair, sweeping thick, straight bangs from her eyes. It was a new look. One that had probably taken her a year to decide on.

“You look great, kid.”

“Flattery won't get you anywhere. You owe me big time, and you know I'm keeping track.”

Grayson laughed. “I'm sure you are.”

“What's with the dogs?” she asked, bending down to scratch each behind the ears.

“Two of them belong to my witness, Laney. The other is a dog she's training for the MDP.”

“Laney, huh? Chief Andrews told me about her this morning. He thinks highly of her.”

“I do, too.”

“Hmmm...guess I need to meet her, then.” With that, she walked into the house without ringing the doorbell or knocking. That was pure Arden. No qualms about walking into other people's space, barely any acknowledgment of the boundaries most people lived inside. It wasn't that she didn't understand the rules. She just tended to ignore them unless it was absolutely necessary to do otherwise.

He followed her into the house and wasn't surprised when she made a beeline for the kitchen. Arden loved cars, computers and food.

Laney and Willow were slathering butter on slices of bread. Rose was tossing a salad. Hopefully she'd had nothing more to do with the cooking. If her burnt cinnamon rolls and mud-like cookies were any indication, the woman should be kept far away from meal preparations.

Inhaling deeply, Arden dropped her backpack on the floor.

“Something smells good. Do you have room for one more?” she asked, taking a seat at the kitchen table before she was invited to do so.

Grayson shook his head.

“Of course there's room,” Rose said, setting a plate in front of her. “But get yourself out of that chair and help first. If you want to eat, you've got to work. Get the tea from the fridge and some glasses from the cupboard to the right of the sink.”

Laney looked horrified at Rose's barked instructions, and Willow tried hard to squelch her snicker.

Arden laughed outright.

That was another thing Grayson loved about his sister. She knew how to laugh at herself. “Laney. Rose.” Grayson gestured toward Arden as she got up to do as she'd been told. “This is my sister, Arden. She's the computer-forensics specialist I told you about.”

Laney and Rose smiled in greeting. “Nice to meet you,” Laney said. “Make yourself at home here.”

“And you remember Willow...” Grayson began.

“Hey, Willow,” Arden interrupted. “It's been a while. How's the facial-recognition system working out?”

“Perfectly. Which you know. So stop fishing for compliments,” Willow responded with a smile, setting a platter of roasted chicken in the middle of the table.

“Not fishing. Making sure the program I designed works,” Arden responded, reaching for a piece of bread and getting her hand slapped away by Rose. “Got paid a lot of money to do it, and I want to be sure the FBI is happy with the return on their investment. I've been toying with some upgrades to speed the processing, mostly by giving it the ability to read multiple file formats without conversion.”

“I didn't know upgrades were in the budget.” Grayson cut in, trying to steer away from the more technical discussion that was sure to ensue once Arden got on a roll.

“They aren't. I just feel it's not the best product I could have delivered. The first set of upgrades will be on me.” Arden tried to snag a cookie from the jar on the counter, and Rose sighed.