Edge of Black (24 page)

Chapter 45

Dillon, Colorado
Dr. Samantha Owens

Sam was quiet as Xander drove them back up the mountain. She felt like they were going in circles, and had no idea if they were on the right path. If they were, why weren’t Fletcher and the rest of the JTTF here, combing these mountains? Unless they really did feel the man they’d arrested was responsible for the attack. She was getting really frustrated and didn’t know what to do next. She didn’t want to call him again and get another
well done you,
not until she was sure they were totally on to something. But she needed him to call out the troops, to get the CDC to Sal Gerhardt’s farm, and the FBI and Homeland here to deal with this. She was only one person, and there was no way she could handle all of this.

But she knew they
were
on to something. Something bigger than what they originally thought they were dealing with.

Clouds were gathering, blotting out the sun with unholy speed. Summer in the mountains: one second sunny, the next a torrential downpour. It fit her mood. She’d been all over the place today, exaltation and sorrow, jealousy and possessiveness.

She guessed that’s what love was supposed to be about, but wow, she wasn’t sure if she was ready for this again.

It scared her. She didn’t want to belong to someone again, to have him belong to her. Belonging meant there was a chance of loss, and she didn’t think she had the strength to go through it once more.

But she couldn’t deny that her feelings for Xander had gotten completely out of her control. They were wild and untamed and so strong it took her breath away.

And she knew he felt the same way. It was becoming unavoidable. They were rushing toward a huge brick wall, and it was going to be up to her to either slam on the brakes before they hit the barrier, or make herself malleable and willing, and let a door open that would allow them to pass through safely to the other side.

She wondered what had driven Loa Ledbetter. Was it love, or heartbreak? Was she running away from something, or toward it? The constant travel, the desire to live off the land, to disappear into other cultures, other lives. What was she looking for? Why would she take her only child into that world with her?

“Penny for your thoughts.”

She wrapped her hand around Xander’s. “I was just wondering why Loa Ledbetter felt so compelled to be on the move, to expose herself to so many different worlds. It seems exhausting.”

“I was thinking about that, too. She may have been on orders.”

“What do you mean?”

“I ran into people like her from time to time while I was in the Army. They were the ones with actionable information that we used to topple governments, or steal weapons caches.”

“A spy?”

“Of sorts. Versatile. More an information broker. She had the perfect cover if she was, her ‘research’ allowed her to travel the world, to go anywhere, with impunity. Some of the terms she uses in her book are ones I’d attribute to a broker. Or a spy.”

“So what did she want with the Mountain Blue and Gray?”

“I think she wanted Will Crawford.”

“Your friend? Wait, the one we’re heading to see right now?”

“Friend is a loose term. But yes. This is between us, okay? I don’t want you sharing it with Fletcher.”

“I can’t promise that. If it’s vital to the investigation, Xander, you know you can’t ask me to withhold information.”

“I’d never ask that of you, Sam. Not if it mattered.”

“Okay, then. I promise not to breathe a word.”

He smiled at her. “Thank you. I think Ledbetter was trying to find Crawford. She wouldn’t know his name—no one does. But Will...how to best put this? You’ve heard of Anonymous, right? The group of hackers trying to bring down big government across the world by creating as much chaos as possible?”

“The ones who use the mask from that movie,
V,
as their symbol.”

“Right. They are practically an open group, anyone who’s into hacktivism can join. But Will is also an anarchist. He is antigovernment, antijudiciary, anti-just about everything. He unconditionally rejects the concept of centralized political authority, and authority in general. His groups work behind the scenes to hack into the computer systems of the major corporations and governments who support democracy. It’s a war to him, just as sure as boots on the ground in Iraq was to America.”

“He’s the head of Anonymous?”

“No. They’re the kiddie pool. Will’s actions are much bigger, and much stealthier. His hackers wouldn’t dare draw attention to themselves. They get in, get the information they need, and get out with no one the wiser. They aren’t merry pranksters, or looking for any sort of vindication. Their reward is destroying the concept of a government by the people and for the people from the inside.”

“Good God. He’s not an anarchist, Xander, he’s a terrorist.”

“That may be,” he said. “But he wasn’t always like this. He used to do work for the alphabet suits. CIA, FBI, NSA. Something tripped his switch and he went out on his own, working against them instead of for them, stealing the information they’d need right out from under them.”

“So he’s a wanted man.”

“Yes. But he’ll make a mistake, and the feds will bring him down. That isn’t our problem.”

Sam disagreed wholeheartedly with that sentiment but kept her tongue. Xander continued.

“No, our problem is Will knows the attacker. Knows where he is, too. I’m sure of it. He lied to me before, sent me off thinking it was the work of the Farmer, but he’s covering for someone. I’m not sure why, though. I’ve never known Will to have any allegiance to anyone but himself.”

“Maybe he
is
the Metro killer, and he’s just trying to send you off his trail.”

“I thought of that. And I haven’t ruled it out completely. He wasn’t a part of the Blue and Gray, but it’s possible he has something to do with them that Ledbetter was after. The key lies there. If she is a broker, he would have been a massive coup.”

“What are you going to say to make him talk?”

“I have no idea.”

“Xander, think about it. He could easily have ties to all the victims. Marc Conlon was talking to someone who he thought he could research and write a thesis about. Loa Ledbetter was trying to broker the information to take him down. And Congressman Leighton’s appropriations bill has funding for massive increases in military spending. I’d say the three would be an anarchist’s field day, especially if one of them identified who he really was. Conlon might have picked up the banner where Ledbetter left off. If she lost her daughter in the process, maybe she threw up her hands and quit, went back to her research and stopped her spying because the cost was too great. And Conlon, having studied at her feet, was in the perfect position to follow in her footsteps and keep searching for answers. And he found them, so he had to be killed.”

“That’s a solid theory, Sam. I won’t discount it.”

“But?”

“Will isn’t a murderer.”

“You don’t know that. You of all people understand how hate changes a person.”

They were pulling into the Whitfields’ drive now.

“We getting your dad to come along?”

“Among other things.”

His tone was dark, and Sam could only imagine what he meant.

The dogs bounded up to the car, happy to see them. She assumed it was going to be the last welcoming committee they’d encounter for a while.

Chapter 46

He was running now, fighting to keep himself from screaming her name. If he could find her, there was still time. She was small, she couldn’t have gotten far. But he didn’t know that, not for sure. He had no idea when she’d gotten out of the truck. Had someone come by and seen her? That would have been impossible, she was on the floor. They’d have to climb the hood of the truck and look in the windshield to see her.

No, she must have gotten out by herself.

He felt for the keys in his pocket. He had locked the door, thinking that was enough. He should have chained her. Damn devil’s spawn. He should have chained her to the arm rail like he’d done with her mother, though that stupid bitch had broken her own wrist to slip out of the handcuffs and make her escape.

Stop. Regroup. Think. Look.

He scanned the sidewalks. Estimated in his head, used the geometry that flowed through his brain like a second nature. If she’d gone half a mile in twenty minutes, a mile in thirty...

How could a little girl walk away unnoticed on the busy streets of Boulder? Especially one with fire-red hair?

He needed to start looking inside the businesses, then he’d be forced to ask about her. It couldn’t be helped. Decision made, he opened the door of the nearest shop and stuck his head in.

Nothing. He ran to the next, and the next. A wail built behind him. The fire trucks. First responders. Coming to see why the alarms were blaring at the baby-killing business.

Oh, no. His bombs. His beautiful, precious bombs. They’d comb the building and might find the devices. Hurry, hurry, hurry.

Two more businesses empty, devoid of his daughter.

He ran back onto the street. There was a flash of red, in his peripheral vision.

There she was. One hundred yards away, talking to a grandmotherly woman. He would be able to make it, to grab her, to get her back to the truck, to hit the Send key. It would all be okay. She must have wandered off, trying to find him. Lost without him. He knew she was a good girl.

His breathing evened, and his strides grew long, eating up the distance between them.

He watched them turn. The old woman took Ruth by the hand and led her through a small blue wooden door.

He didn’t want to run, didn’t want to draw attention to himself.

One hundred feet.

Fifty.

As he put his hand on the door to follow after them, the ground began to shake. The roar of the explosion hit him a moment later. A million years of instinct took over and he hit the deck.

His ears were ringing. And a single sentence kept flowing through his brain, competing with the noise.

My daughter triggered the bombs
.

He froze facedown on the concrete sidewalk. Wails grew, and shouting, and the alarms on the cars nearby began to sing, their very cores shaken.

My daughter triggered the bombs.

A clock started counting down in his head, and his mind began measuring wind speed and distance. He had to get out of there.

He got to his feet. Didn’t look back. There would be no way to trace this back to him. Ruth was gone to him now, in the hands of the devil. She had committed the ultimate sin—was dirty with it. It was too late for her. She wouldn’t have any idea how to find him; they had no address or phone number or driveway. She was lost in a world that he devised for her, an innocent. She couldn’t lead them back to him.

And in ten minutes or so, none of that would matter. She was beyond his help now.

He couldn’t worry about her anymore. He needed to save himself. The abrin would be floating in the air, and everyone in the vicinity would be affected. Those who hadn’t made it out of the building would be pulverized, those who did were breathing deep the venom, molecules of death that coated their souls. He had to get out of there, he didn’t have his mask on.

Get out, get out, get out.

How could this happen?

His daughter had triggered the bombs
.

He was back at the truck now. Fumbled with the keys, realized he was only half upset. She’d become a handful anyway, always needing attention, always wanting him to read to her, tuck her in, feed her, protect her. He was better off alone. He could always snatch her again, should he want to. If she survived. But for now, he just needed to get the hell out of there, back to his camp, to the soothing trees, the warm summer sun catching the rumps of the deer and squirrels, the flowers, the field of columbines he’d planted, glowing blue and yellow.

Leave now, and live to fight another day.

The sirens were shrieking now, close and vivid, but he ignored them. Got in the truck, turned over the engine and slammed it into gear.

He was gone.

Chapter 47

Washington, D.C.
Detective Darren Fletcher

Once Loa had admitted the man in the drawing was her husband, the rest of her sad story came out. Fletcher listened in awe, knowing if he pushed her too hard she’d shut down. So he let her tell the story at her own pace, only interrupting when he needed to clarify a detail.

“At first it was fun. Defying my mom, being out on my own. The first thing we did was ‘marry,’ if you want to call it that, basically handfasting, declaring ourselves. That was legal in the camp, it was how everyone officially married. Because I’ll tell you, he wasn’t about to mess with God’s will by taking me to his bed out of wedlock. And the moment we were official in his eyes, that’s when things got really intense. He was rather single-minded about the whole thing. He discovered he liked sex. A lot. I did, too, in the beginning. But then it became his thing—finish dinner, go to bed, do it three, four times a night, whether I wanted to or not. Then as soon as we woke up, too, and after a couple of weeks he’d come home for lunch and we’d do it again. I wasn’t allowed to say no. He believed in the concept of obeisance quite literally.

“After about a month, I was a mess. I said no once and he beat me to a pulp. I didn’t bother again. I started realizing I’d made a mistake pretty quickly, wanted to go home, but then I got pregnant. When I told him, he was ecstatic. I’ve never seen anyone so happy. He treated me differently then, reverently. No more forcing me down and having his way whether I resisted or not. He’d ask nicely if I would be willing to lie with him, and if I wasn’t, he’d ask nicely for me to do...other things. It was a bit more bearable, but I would be damned if I was going to have a kid all by myself out in the woods. I asked if we could get a midwife, go to the city for the birth, go to a hospital, but he was adamant that he’d handle it himself.

“I ran away once, but he caught me. I was about three months then, and he beat me black and blue, careful not to touch my stomach. So I started doing things so I would miscarry, throwing myself against trees, hitting myself in the stomach, anything that would give me freedom. He caught me at it and started handcuffing me. We went to town one day and he handcuffed me to the door handle while he was gone. He didn’t trust me not to say anything to someone. As soon as he was gone, I started working on the handcuffs.”

Loa wore a thin white oxford shirt over a tank top. With a sigh, she folded back the cuff to reveal an angry scar across the top of her right wrist.

“Broke my wrist, and slid right out of them. Compound fracture. Hurt like hell. But if I’d known that’s all it would take, I would have done it sooner. Walked to the police station and told them I was a runaway who wanted to go home. No one asked any questions, just got me to the doctor, into surgery, and a cast, and Mom flew out that afternoon. I was back in D.C. the next day. To hot water and television and my pink comforter and dolls. It was like the two years I’d been gone was a really bad nightmare. It didn’t feel real.”

“And the baby?” he asked quietly.

She smiled. “I gave her up for adoption. I couldn’t keep her, I mean, my God, the man raped me four or five times a day, and she was the product of that. Not only was I barely sixteen, I had some pretty complicated feelings toward her. I knew in my heart I couldn’t be fair to her, give her a life that wasn’t tainted by his violence. She went to a great family, they told me, and I got back to my life. Mom went on like nothing had happened, but I had myself declared an emancipated minor and got a job doing hair. Got into therapy. Tried to go to school down south, but I didn’t fit in at all, so I came back and finished college at night. I’m a CPA, by the way. You never asked.”

“And you’ve never heard from him since?”

She paled a little more, and he saw her shudder.

“He found me here in D.C. Confronted me on the sidewalk outside my apartment, pushed his way into my place. Demanded I give him the baby. I told him she was stillborn. It was all I could think to do. He was a crazy, mean asshole, and I didn’t want him anywhere near her. Even if I could have told him where she was, I wouldn’t. But it was a closed adoption. I don’t know who she went to or where she is. I did that to protect her.” She shuffled her feet like a little girl. “He didn’t believe me. He made me tell him the truth. That she lived. That I gave her up. He realized pretty quickly that I honestly didn’t know where she was.”

She was wiping her hand slowly across her cheek, and Fletcher knew exactly how she’d been forced into giving up the information.

“Will you tell us where he is, Loa? Where Ryan Carter might be now?”

“Please, don’t say his name again. Every time it’s spoken aloud it’s like he’s being summoned. Though from what you’re saying, it seems he already has been. I’m not sure I know where he is. I can try to pinpoint it on a map, though. At least give you the right area where we were. But, Detective, remember, this was six years ago. He may have a new camp now.”

“That’s fine, Loa. Anything you can give us, we can work with.”

She shuddered a little again. “Then I need a map of Colorado.”

* * *

Bianco was back at long last, and she was not in a good mood. Fletcher was watching Loa write up a statement, and Inez was fetching them a map of Colorado. Bianco stuck her head in the conference room and said, “Detective? May I speak with you? In my office, if you please.”

His balls shrank at her tone. He’d heard it too many times before not to know exactly what was coming. A dressing-down. But for what? He’d done nothing but nail this case to the wall. He had an actual suspect. What did the rest of her team have?

Loa recognized the tone, too, because she flinched and looked at Fletcher with wide eyes.

“Loa, excuse me. I’ll be right back.”

She nodded, and he gathered his notebook and went to join Bianco in her office.

She was sitting at the desk, emanating fury. Inez was sitting in one of the chairs in front of the desk, back stiff like she knew they were in serious trouble. But for what?

Bianco glared at him and said, “Shut the door.”

He did as she asked and joined Inez. If he was going to be yelled at, might as well be comfortable.

All of Bianco’s earlier friendliness and congeniality and “rah-rah team” attitude was long gone.

“Am I to understand that the two of you went to the State Department and the CIA asking about files on both Congressman Leighton and Dr. Loa Ledbetter?”

“It was me, ma’am,” Inez said. “I requested the files.”

“Did it ever occur to you that there might be a reason for chain of command? Did that not seem like something you should let me know about before you trotted off to State?”

“I was just following a hunch, ma’am.”

Fletcher wasn’t about to let Inez take the fall for this. “A solid hunch that paid off. We found out Ledbetter and Leighton were in Liberia together. She was definitely working for us, and they had a—”

“Shut up, Darren. Inez, after you unearthed this information, you discussed it with whom?”

“With Detective Fletcher, ma’am.”

“Then would you like to tell me why the
Washington Post
just called me looking for a quote on the story they’re about to run about Dr. Ledbetter and Congressman Leighton’s time in the CIA and how they both were forced out after having a child together?”

Both Fletcher and Inez said “What?” at the same time.

“Don’t play coy with me. Inez, they’re naming you as the source. They said you gave this to them on background, as a well-placed source in the investigation. When they asked if they could use your name you said ‘certainly.’”

“That is preposterous,” Fletcher said. “We never even discussed this. This is the first I’ve heard of Ledbetter and Leighton having a child. It wasn’t from us, Andi. I can assure you of that.”

As he said it, his mind went
click
. Click. Click. Click.

Loa. Loa was the child.

Fletcher hurriedly counted back. Twenty-two years ago, Ledbetter and Leighton were in Liberia. Loa didn’t know who her father was. That imperceptible twitch when he asked Gretchen Leighton about it.

Son of a bitch.

“What do you have to say for yourself, Inez?”

The girl had tears in her eyes. “It’s not like it sounds. It had to be the guy at State who leaked it. I requested the files. He asked me to dinner. We chatted a little. That was it. He has beyond top-secret security clearance. I never imagined he’d go to the press.”

Bianco slammed her hands on the desk. “Do you realize what you’ve done? You’ve besmirched the name of a man who was a patriot, who can’t fight back. You’ve brought into question everything he’s done in his career from the time he was a soldier until now. And Dr. Ledbetter has been outed as a CIA asset. All because you wanted to play patty-cake with some night watchman from a file room.”

Fletcher’s back went up. That wasn’t fair. “Oh, come now, Andi. You’re being way too hard on the girl. And you were all-fired ready to call Leighton a serial killer twenty-four hours ago. That might have done a bit more damage to his reputation than this will.”

“I’d rather him be a serial killer than people find out he was an asset. A couple of dead girls is nothing compared to the fact that everything he and Ledbetter did is now compromised. Every single mission will now be trotted out, taken apart. You have no idea what you’ve unleashed. I just got my head handed to me. And the fucking
Washington Post
has the story!”

Bianco wasn’t being shy now, she was bellowing at the top of her lungs.

“Both of you, pack your things and get the hell out of my building.”

There was a tentative knocking at Bianco’s door.

“What is it?” she shouted.

A young man Fletcher didn’t recognize opened the door, practically shaking in his boots.

“Ma’am? Detective Fletcher? There’s been a bombing in Boulder.”