Got the Look (13 page)

Again, not your fault. You reacted appropriately. You brought in Swyteck. Not an ideal situation, but this is one tough case. You got a kidnapper who has killed once before. You got a jealous husband who isn't exactly making things easy for you. And your go-to guy is Jack Swyteck, who was sleeping with the victim. As if that's not confounding enough, he's a criminal defense lawyer who well, he's a criminal defense lawyer. Nuff said, right?

That almost elicited a smile. In fairness, he is a former prosecutor.

The key word there is former.' Use him, but don't trust him too much.

I hear you.

You're doing a great job. From what I see, everything the folks in Seattle said about you is true. I think you found a home here in Miami.

Thank you, sir.

He offered a little mock salute as he disappeared into his office, and Andie started down the hall toward hers. Praise from a supervisor was always nice, but it was especially gratifying for Andie to hear that she still had the backing of some hometown friends. More than anyone, that had to mean Isaac Underwood, the number two man in the Seattle office. Isaac had been her biggest supporter - from her first job on the bank robbery squad, to the dangerous undercover work that put her on the fast track to stardom in the bureau. It was Isaac who'd steered her toward hostage negotiation. He would have been the first to admit, however, that he hadn't planned on saying good-bye to a friend so soon.

Neither had she.

She shook it off, not letting all that personal history spoil the pat on her back from a new boss. In fact, the kind words had given her exactly the kind of lift she needed to deal with Pete Crenshaw, the undisputed malcontent on her team. She had the good sense to realize that today's exercise had ruffled the old rooster's feathers. She'd tried to be as diplomatic as possible about ordering him into the courthouse to arrange for Jack's smooth passage through security. But Pete wasn't easy. Just two years shy of mandatory retirement, he'd never gotten that high-profile case he'd always wanted. The word around the office was that he'd practically exploded when it was announced that the head of the kidnapping task force would be a thirty-two-year-old woman who'd just moved to Miami from Seattle.

As she neared the end of the hallway, Andie spotted Crenshaw making his way toward the kitchen. She followed him inside with hopes of doing damage control. He was standing at the counter stirring extra sugar into his coffee.

Hey, Pete, thanks for taking care of the courthouse guards, she said in a breezy tone.

Should never have been necessary, he said, grumbling.

What do you mean?

He tossed a couple of empty sugar packets into the trash, then looked straight at her. It's called anticipation, Henning. If you'd thought through the various possibilities, courthouse security could have been put on alert twenty-four hours ago. In case you haven't heard, that's what a multijurisdictional task force is for.

Are you saying that I should have anticipated that the kidnapper would send Swyteck four blocks away to the courthouse and have him walk through security?

Hey, I'm not saying anything. You're the one in charge, right?

A snide remark like that definitely required a response, but she took a moment to measure her words. She wasn't the type to cry sexism every time she suspected it, so she took a less accusatory tack. Look, I totally respect the fact that you have almost twenty years more experience than me, but -

This isn't about age or experience. It's about you being a woman.

Her words were on a momentary delay. That was about as blunt as it got. Okay and what about me being a woman?

I think it's a mistake for you to be the team leader. If you ever have to talk directly to this kidnapper, it will be a disaster.

Because I'm a woman?

In a word: yes.

Don't you think that's a little -

Sexist? No way. It's reality. You've seen the psychological profile from our friends up in Quantico. This kidnapper obviously sees women as nothing but a liability, and he wants the husbands of his victims to see them the same way. Basically, he's a woman hater. So it kind of makes you wonder: What the hell is a woman doing in charge of the investigation?

Are you saying I can't do the job?

Don't get defensive about it. If a rape victim wanted a female counselor, would you force her to talk to a man just because some idiot up in Washington wants to prove that men are equally competent?

The situation hardly seemed analogous, but it was an unwinnable argument. If I understand your point, I honestly don't see how my gender has any bearing on the vast majority of my responsibilities as team leader. But if there ever comes a time for an FBI negotiator to speak directly to the kidnapper, I'll definitely consider your input as to who should do the talking. Fair enough?

She thought she was offering an olive branch, but his face showed even more anger. Don't patronize me, he said, then walked away. He got halfway to the door, then wheeled around and stepped toward her, standing closer than before. Just so you know, he said, his voice low but forceful, I've done some checking on you, Henning.

So has the rest of the FBI.

Not like I have. I know why you left Seattle. Not the bullshit I-needed-a-change' excuse. The real reason.

Andie tried to show no reaction.

He was almost glowing. So if you're not up to this, you'd best step aside now. Because sooner or later people around here are going to realize that this case is far too important to be in the hands of someone who doesn't have a clear head.

Don't worry. I'm up to it.

I hope you are. Truly. I mean that. He couldn't have sounded less sincere. He raised his coffee mug, as if toasting her failure, and left the lounge.

Andie didn't move. She stood there, thinking, trying to get a better handle on what had just happened.

Crenshaw knew the real reason? Yeah, right. Everyone thought they knew the real reason she'd suddenly chucked everything and left her hometown of Seattle. She had an affair with the special agent in charge. Her ex-fiancE was stalking her. She got passed over for promotion to Quantico. All those rumors and many others ran up and down the grapevine. Truth be told, no one knew the real reason. No one but Andie.

And she wasn't about to share that secret with anyone.

Ever.

Andie had a meeting to prepare for. She poured a cup of coffee and walked back to her office, albeit with a little less spring in her step.

Chapter
17

Jack didn't touch his midafternoon lunch. Theo ate it for him.

A Windbreaker lined with Kevlar and a troop of FBI agents notwithstanding, Jack wasn't about to put himself in the crosshairs of a kidnapper and known killer without having his friend Theo Knight somewhere within shouting distance. After the debriefing with Agent Henning, Jack and Theo went for sandwiches at Gruenberg's Deli, downtown Miami's version of a New York delicatessen, complete with matzo balls the size of a grapefruit. They found a table by the plate-glass window overlooking the sidewalk. The lunch crowd had long since passed, and Gruenberg's wasn't open for dinner. Inverted chairs rested atop the other tables, and the janitor was mopping the tile floors, almost ready to close.

This maniac is going to kill her, said Jack. I can feel it. Somebody has to come up with some ransom money.

Theo polished off a pickle spear. What about the FBI?

No way. The bureau put up ten grand for a proof-of-life payment, but that was in marked bills used as bait to trace back to the kidnapper. The Justice Department isn't in the business of paying ransoms, especially not the big number we're probably talking here. Hell, when I was with the U. S. attorney's office, we were lucky to get twenty or thirty grand for an entire undercover operation.

What about tapping Mia's husband? You think Bailey's got leverage on Salad Bar?

Jack was beyond correcting him about Salazar's name. Maybe he can reason with him. Especially if I tell him what I just saw on that CD.

Then let's you and me go pay Mr. Bailey a visit.

Thanks, but this is something I should do.

Just let me walk you over there. Could be the kidnapper is still watching you. Doesn't hurt your profile any to be seen in the regular company of a former death row inmate who's built like Governor Ahh-nuld in his prime.

I guess that makes some sense. Come on. Bailey's office is right across the street.

Bailey Benning & Langer occupied the top six floors of the fifty-five-story Financial Center. Jack and Theo cut through the breezeway, a huge covered area where palm trees and pedestrians soaked up the sunshine beneath a clear Plexiglas canopy that connected the office tower to the parking garage. It was a popular spot for the lunch crowd, people-watchers, and employees in need of a nicotine break. Anytime Jack passed through it, however, he was reminded of the poor construction worker who'd taken a seat on a steel crossbeam and leaned back to relax against the Plexiglas, only to discover that his crew had yet to install that particular panel. A fifteen-story fall onto solid granite had to hurt, but he didn't live to tell anyone about it.

I think I can take it from here, said Jack.

Nah, I'll go up with you.

Jack hesitated, naturally suspicious of Theo's desire to actually enter a law firm like BB&L. But he was too worn out emotionally to argue about it. Just behave yourself, all right?

You're hurtin' my feelings, buddy.

The escalator carried them up to the main lobby. They passed through security to an express elevator that would take them nonstop to the reception area for the BB&L office suites. The chrome doors closed, and Jack and Theo stood side by side, watching the illuminated numbers blink as the car rose. Annoying symphonic Muzak played over the speaker; Jack recognized it as a string-and-woodwind abomination of the old Rolling Stones hit Satisfaction.