Ultimate Prey (Book 3 Ultimate CORE) (CORE Series) (9 page)

“He will.”

“Right. Because Vlad have strength of hundred alligator,” she mimicked the Russian’s accent. “Whatever. I’m sure he’ll be fine. We just need to get on the jet and…”

A brunette stepped out of the hotel room, slipped on her heels, then adjusted her skirt. Seconds later, another woman, this one a blonde, joined her. “Now we know why he was busy,” Lola said.

“Yeah, Vlad has a thing for the ladies.”

The Russian joined the women, then led them down the stairs. After giving each woman a kiss and a pat on the rear, he slung a pack over his shoulder and walked to the rental car. “Harry owe Vlad,” he said after he hauled his big frame into the backseat. “Harry know how much Vlad like woman with big—”

“Vlad,” Harrison said in a censoring tone.

“Vlad say big brain. What wrong with that?”

As she drove toward the airstrip, Lola’s stomach churned with dread and tears stung her eyes. Her mom and Ian’s life depended on a black cat, a computer geek and…Vlad. She glanced at the clock on the dashboard. In a little over an hour the hunt would begin. The dread moved from her stomach and lodged in her throat. She needed to be strong for her mom and Ian. What she needed was to pray to God that the former Navy SEAL, who would help guide them and track her mom and Ian’s whereabouts, knew what he was doing.

Through her peripheral vision, she looked at Harrison, then to Vlad in the review mirror.

Because the three of them were clueless.

CORE Offices, Chicago, Illinois

Thursday, 3:48 a.m. Central Standard Time

John Kain stared at the TV screen hanging on the wall of CORE’s evidence and evaluation room, viewing the Skype call Rachel had taped for at least the twelfth or twentieth time. There was something about the kidnapper that was strangely familiar to him, but he couldn’t put his finger on it.

“Haven’t you watched that enough?” Owen asked, taking a seat next to him and setting a cup of coffee, along with a stack of case files, on the table.

Without looking away, he shook his head. “Just trying to get a read on this guy.”

“Or, maybe you’re avoiding a phone call to your wife?”

John slid his gaze to Owen, who raised both hands. “None of my business. But it’s not like I’ve never met Celeste. If you don’t tell her she’s going to be—”

“I did tell her. And she’s pissed off anyway.”

Rachel looked up from her laptop. “Did she try to get a reading?”

He hardened his jaw. Screw the psychic crap. He might believe in his wife’s gift, but he hated it, too. Celeste’s
ability
had nearly killed her. He hadn’t dismissed her when she’d told him she would try to gain a read on Ian, though. She’d been angry and distraught when he’d called her with the news about her dad and Cami, and he had understood that she’d wanted to do everything in her power to help find them. While he’d reviewed the Skype call and gone through old case files, she’d been at home doing her psychic stuff. When she’d called him fifteen minutes ago, upset and frustrated, a part of him had been sorry she’d been unsuccessful. The other part of him had been sickly satisfied. After what they’d gone through when they’d first met in Wisconsin, he hadn’t wanted her drifting back to her old, psychic ways, where visions led to murder.

“Yeah, she tried,” he said, pausing the tape. “Didn’t work. She thinks it might be because she’s too close to Ian.” He shrugged. “Or that maybe she was too emotional. She’s going to try again tomorrow morning after she gets some rest.”

“That’s too bad.” Rachel reached behind her ear for the phantom pencil she no longer chewed—a habit they were all grateful she’d given up before marrying Owen. “I wish she could look into her crystal ball and tell us where they are.” She let out a sigh. “In between looking through old case files, I’ve been researching the area and I’m worried. The Everglades consists of seven hundred and thirty-four square miles. There are islands, marshes, forests and so many remote areas, I don’t know how Lola and Harrison are going to even begin searching for Ian and Cami.”

“They’ll be fine. Ryan was born and raised down there,” Dante said. “Rachel, have you heard back from the car rental place yet?”

“I haven’t
found
the car rental place.”

“Didn’t you book his trip?” Owen asked.

“Nope. Ian did it on his own.” She tapped at the keyboard. “I browsed through his credit card statement to find any activity he made today, but didn’t find anything.”

Owen rose, then moved to stand behind his wife. “We’re certain he rented a car, correct?”

“He rented something,” John said. “He did the last time he was down there. But I don’t know from where.”

“Check Cami’s credit cards,” Dante suggested. “I don’t know why Ian would’ve used one of hers, but let’s check it anyway. We have to find that car. Right now it’s the only thing we have to go on. In the meantime, I heard from Lola. Looks like they’ll be landing at Everglades Airport ahead of schedule and should arrive around twenty after five.”

“In other words,” Owen began, resting his hands on Rachel’s shoulders, “work your magic.”

She gave his hand a squeeze, then went back to the keyboard. “On it,” she said, then added, “Before I hack into Cami’s credit cards, I’m printing off a list of suspects we can work with, as well as their case files.” She gave the keyboard a final tap, and the printer across the room began humming. “I combed through our database of closed cases and narrowed our search down from six years ago, when we were all working for CORE, up until Owen and I married, since he called me by my maiden name.”

“That’s almost four years of cases,” Hudson said, looking up from the laptop he’d been using. “How many are we looking at?”

“Exactly one hundred and sixty-two.”

Owen whistled. “No wonder I’m exhausted.”

Hudson grinned. “No kidding. I guess I never kept count of what we do here.”

“Quite successfully,” Rachel said. “Dante and I discussed this and we’ve narrowed the files down even further. Unless the rest of you disagree, I don’t think our hunter is someone seeking revenge against Ian for a loved one that CORE has sent to prison, or who might’ve been killed while being apprehended.”

Interested in where Rachel was going with this, and grateful that he wouldn’t have to continue to sift through the large pile of files she’d given him earlier, John leaned forward. “That absolutely makes sense. He called us by name, called Dante an ass-kisser…said,
you all think your shit doesn’t stink
.” He tapped his fingers on the table. “He knows us.”

“That’s what I’m thinking, too,” Dante said, and looked to Rachel. “So, what’d you find?”

“Twenty-eight suspects worth investigating. The rest are either still in prison or deceased.” She held up a hand. “I’m not suggesting that the hunter couldn’t be off this list. It’s possible I might have missed a few, but I think this is a good start.”

Hudson had already moved to the printer and was gathering the stack of papers. He leafed through the first few. “An excellent start. I worked this case…John, you helped me on it.”

“Which one?”

“Douglas Renn.”

John shook his head, and sighed. “How can I forget?” The frustration over that case had never left him—it was always disappointing when a killer got away with murder. He glanced to the rest of the team. “Renn was copycatting the Green River Killer, Gary Ridgway, except he went after prostitutes in the Boston area. The difference was that we could only link him to one prostitute out of eight—and she was the only one who survived.” He looked to Hudson. “Are you telling me this guy was released?”

“One month ago.”

Damn. They hadn’t had any DNA linking Renn to the other murdered women, but the MO had been the same for them as for the woman they’d managed to save. He glanced over his shoulder to the still shot of their current suspect. “Renn is a big guy.”

“At least six-four,” Hudson said, moving on to the next page. “Let’s split these up and see if anyone else fits the mold.”

After Hudson passed out the files to him, Dante and Owen, he took a seat. Except for Rachel’s typing, they worked in silence.

The first possible suspect from his stack was a man Owen had helped the St. Louis PD apprehend five years ago. Joseph Lawry had killed two males who were openly homosexual, after they had allegedly tried to rape him. Evidence had suggested otherwise.

Lawry had used a hunting knife—which he’d kept in his pickup truck—to defend himself. Only that had meant Lawry would have left the home where the two men had attacked him, gone to his truck, grabbed his knife, then returned back inside to murder the men. Unfortunately, Lawry’s attorney had painted a nasty picture of the two murder victims, and had brought in witnesses to corroborate that they were heavy into BDSM and enjoyed using drugs and roughing up their sexual partners. The jury ended up finding Lawry not guilty of first-degree murder, but guilty of voluntary manslaughter. The Judge had given him five years with the possibility of parole in two. Based on his size, Lawry also fit the profile of their suspect. Although Lawry had only met Owen, if they added on the use of a hunting knife and that Lawry had been released three years ago, he was still a person of interest.

As he noted that they should check on Lawry’s whereabouts, Rachel stopped tapping at the keyboard. She let out a sigh, drawing John’s attention from the file.

She looked around the room, guilt clear in her green eyes. “Are we doing the right thing? Lola doesn’t have the experience for this kind of mission. And Harrison might be great with a computer, but he’s never fired a gun. Don’t get me started on the mysterious Russian guy no one talks about.” She smoothed her bangs to the side, then reached behind her ear again. “I feel like we’re abandoning them, and Ian and Cami. We’re supposed to be this elite operation, but not one of us is willing to go to Florida and help.” She glanced at her husband. “I feel like a coward. Like we’ve let this guy bully us.”

Owen took her hand. “I do, too. But I won’t risk our daughter’s life.”

“We’ve been over this already,” Dante said, but John saw the regret in the other man’s eyes. “This isn’t the ideal solution, but it’s the only viable option right now. Ian wouldn’t want us to put our families at risk. We need to remember that, and do what we can from our end here. Once we know who we’re dealing with, the situation could change, and we could consider heading to Florida to help with the search.”

Rachel shook her head. “This still doesn’t feel right. Let’s face it. We abandoned Ian.”

“I don’t think Lola or Harrison are thinking that,” John said. “Those two, the Russian and Dante’s contact, are risking their lives to save Ian and Cami. Like Dante said, this is
not
the ideal situation, but I also guarantee Ian wouldn’t want me to make a decision that could end with his daughter and granddaughter’s murder. Hell, if he knew, he probably wouldn’t want Lola down there, either.”

“I agree,” Hudson said. “I’d risk my life to help Ian or any of you, but I won’t risk my wife or daughter. If that makes me a coward, I honestly don’t care.”

“Let’s move on and get back to finding possible suspects,” Dante suggested. “And finding Ian’s car.”

The room grew silent again. John shifted to the next file, but his mind strayed to Ian. What they were dealing with had shed new light on the man who was now his father-in-law. Ian had missed the first thirty years of his daughter’s life and had sacrificed being with Celeste’s mother to concentrate on his career with the FBI. He’d kept himself distant and cold, and until John had married Celeste, had never discussed his personal life.

When he’d been with the FBI, John had been as career-focused as Ian. Now that he had Celeste and their daughter, Olivia, he couldn’t imagine sacrificing his family for his career. As much as he loved his job, he’d quit before he’d ever allow any harm to come to them. But if they discovered the identity of their suspect, and he was given the chance to travel to Florida and help find Ian, he’d do it in a heartbeat. For Celeste, and for CORE.

“Didn’t you work this case?” Owen asked, sliding the top sheet from his stack to John.

John viewed the mug shot and instantly remembered the mean son of a bitch. “Yeah, with Hudson. Let’s put him at the top of the list.”

“Who’s that?” Dante asked.

“Terrance Brisbane.”

“God, I wanted that guy to go away for life,” Hudson said, frowning.

Rachel stopped typing. “That name isn’t familiar to me.”

“Six years ago, Brisbane beat a man into a coma.” John flipped through the file. “The man lived, but he’ll never walk again. He also lost most of his fine motor skills. Ian knew Brisbane’s father.” How they had been connected was something Ian, to this day, had never bothered to admit to any of them. “When the father found out his son was going to be released after only serving a year of his sentence, he contacted Ian hoping CORE could find a reason to send Brisbane back to prison.”

She leaned into her chair. “Why would his dad do that?”

“Brisbane had a history of violence,” John explained. “According to the father, he used to beat his wife and oldest son. After how Brisbane put a man in a coma, the father was afraid for his daughter-in-law and grandkids.”

“Interesting. So instead of solving a crime, you were looking for new ones to put this guy away again.”