If I Should Die (19 page)

“She was undercover?”

“It’s a classified investigation, and as an agent-in-training I don’t think you have the clearance.”

She winced at his tone, but understood. A message popped up on Lucy’s screen. It was from Noah.

Call me when you’re done with Candela
.

She said, “Based on the appearance of the body, I think she was frozen. Not in a freezer, but naturally, in the underground mine. No freezer burn or ice that indicates a mechanical unit was involved in any way, and because her body was flat—arranged that way, would be my guess, based on the positioning of her arms—I’m guessing she was down there prior to full rigor. Meaning, less than twelve hours after her death.”

“Was there any sign of a struggle or injuries?”

“No outward cause of death. No bruising around the neck to indicate strangulation—though, to be honest, I don’t know how or if freezing would impact her appearance.”

While she was talking, Sean walked in. He was about to speak, but saw she was on the phone.

“Send me the photos,” Candela ordered.

“Of course.” She had already downloaded the photos to Sean’s laptop. She zipped them into one file.

Candela gave her his email, then said, “I need the name and contact information of all people involved in the search for Agent Sheffield.”

Lucy typed everything she had in the email as she told him the same information. “Thank you. I’ll be in touch,” he said, then hung up.

Lucy turned to Sean. “Well, that was Albany FBI. ASAC Candela.” She shook her head, still trying to absorb all the information Candela did share with her. “I identified the body. Victoria Sheffield. She was an FBI agent.”

Sean sat across from her. “FBI? What was she doing here?”

“He wouldn’t say. I think he was surprised. She disappeared between December twenty-third and January second.”

“A Fed is missing and it’s not plastered on the national news?”

She turned the laptop around and showed Sean the missing persons report. “It doesn’t even say she’s a federal agent in the report. There’s nothing about her, other than her photo and description.”

“If they didn’t want anyone knowing she was a Fed, maybe they have an active investigation.”

“He didn’t give me any details.”

Sean stood and looked out the window. It was getting late, the sun was setting to the southwest, and Lucy wondered what had him so preoccupied. Usually he preferred to talk out possible scenarios.

“What is it?” she asked.

“I found the arsonist. His name is Ricky Swain.”

She leaned forward, palms hitting the desk. “
Swain
?”

“The son of Paul Swain.”

“What happened?”

“After I went to Canton—which was mostly a wasted trip—I made a detour to Colton and waited until school got out. I spotted him and ran the plates.”

Lucy raised an eyebrow as Sean related what had happened at James Benson’s house.

“What did you find in Benson’s house?” she asked, ignoring the obvious fact that it had been an illegal search.

“Letters from Ricky’s dead mother. One in particular stands out.” He plugged his cell phone into his laptop, scrolled through, then turned the screen to face her. “Read this.”

Lucy scanned the image of the letter, not only absorbing the information it contained, but wondering if this beautiful but sad letter was partly the cause of an uneasy vibe she was getting from Sean.

“What do you think Abigail meant by the card her husband had to play? And why would their son be in danger?” Lucy frowned, looking at the letter again. “If we take what she’s writing at face value, she was genuinely concerned about her son’s safety.”

“It’s vague, but Ricky must know who the ‘monster’ is.”

Lucy reread the letter slowly. Three sentences stood out.

He will do everything to protect you. Anything to keep you away from the Swains
.

Your father told the monster that he would destroy her if anyone hurt you
.

“Sean, why would Abigail write that her brother Jimmy would do anything to keep Ricky away from the Swains? Ricky
is
a Swain.” Lucy added, “And the monster she writes about is a woman.”

“Patrick found only two female Swains in the immediate family,” Sean said. “The woman who married Butch and the younger sister.”

Lucy looked at the notes from Patrick. “Kathy Davis Swain married Butch fourteen years ago, so she was in the family during Abigail’s illness. And Roberta Swain moved to Florida sixteen years ago, but Patrick couldn’t trace her after that. She’d be thirty-four now.”

Sean leaned over and sent Patrick and Duke a message. “I’ll get them working on it, because you’re right—Abigail was very concerned.”

“And yet look what’s happened anyway. Her son is involved in something extremely dangerous.”

“I need to find Ricky again. The kid’s scared shitless. And now his uncle is missing and presumed dead. This is no coincidence—it’s all connected.”

“He could be setting you up. Can you trust him?”

“Hardly, but I’m not going to dismiss him as a lost cause. The kid has been through hell. What if Benson wasn’t the paragon of virtue his sister thought he was? What if he got in deep with whoever took over the Swain drug operation?
Or
something worse?”

“Patrick said there’s nothing on law enforcement radar.”

“Yet you found a dead federal agent in the mine. There’s something we’re missing!”

Sean had a point. They had only a few pieces of the puzzle and none quite fit.

“Ricky wasn’t scared of his uncle,” Sean said. “In fact, if anything, he seemed protective. And his reaction to Benson’s death was real enough. He’s hurting.”

“What are we going to do about it?” Lucy asked. “Obviously, the kid is in trouble, but he nearly killed you.”

“He knows how to reach me, and I think he will try to make contact. If not today, I’ll track him down tomorrow. After I go to the prison to talk to Paul Swain. He has the answers I need.”

Lucy didn’t like that idea, though she had to admit it sounded logical. This situation had exploded far beyond simple vandalism. “Do you think he’ll cooperate?”

Before Sean could respond, her phone rang. “It’s Noah,” she said.

“Word gets around fast,” Sean mumbled.

“The FBI needed to verify my credentials,” Lucy said as she answered the call. Sean and Noah weren’t friends, though Lucy appreciated that both made an effort to be cordial.

“Hi, Noah,” Lucy said.

“You didn’t call.” Direct and to the point, as always.

“Sean came in and I was filling him in on the details.”

“This situation sounds serious.”

“I’m going to put my phone on speaker, if you don’t mind.”

Noah paused. Sean wasn’t looking at her, but his jaw was tense. “Fine,” Noah said crisply.

She put her cell phone down on the desk and turned up the speaker volume. “It’s just Sean and me,” she said.

“Rogan,” Noah said in greeting.

“Agent Armstrong,” Sean said formally.

Lucy ignored the tension and asked, “Do you know what Agent Sheffield was investigating when she disappeared?”

“Enough to know you’re in dangerous territory. Candela asked me to come to Albany. He’d like you to join us and debrief the task force.”

“What task force?”

“I don’t know who’s involved, but it’s related to Sheffield’s case. She was working undercover for the white-collar crimes squad.”

“White collar? Bribery and political corruption?” Hardly her area of expertise.

“They also handle intellectual property rights, corporate espionage, major fraud. From what Candela said,” Noah continued, “I gather that not only was Victoria Sheffield exceptionally good at her job, she loved it. About three years ago, illegal DVDs started popping up in Canada. Piracy is nothing new, but these were special—top quality. An international task force was created, and last summer they’d identified an operative they felt could be used.”

“Who?” Sean asked. This was definitely his area of strength, particularly corporate espionage.

“Candela didn’t say. When they were about to take down the ring, Sheffield discovered that the piracy was just a small part of the operation—and that she still hadn’t identified the leader. They agreed to a delay, then her communications became sporadic. She met with her boss and her Canadian counterpart before Christmas, told them she was close, and would contact them on January second—after a big meeting that was supposed to take place between the principals. She was scheduled to visit her parents for Christmas but never showed.”

“Why didn’t the FBI pull her in earlier?” asked Lucy.

“Her parents said that she canceled her trip, that she was working a big case and couldn’t get away. They didn’t know anything was wrong until the FBI contacted them in January.”

“But her last communication was January second?”

“She sent her boss an email that said the meeting was canceled and she’d let him know when it was rescheduled, that she needed to lay low because her contact was suspicious.”

“What the hell were these people thinking?” Sean said, shaking his head. He didn’t look at Lucy, and while she sensed he was irritated, she hadn’t expected him to react so strongly.

“Because she was on vacation, no one considered—”

Sean cut Noah off. “It just seems to me that you either have a rogue agent or an incompetent office.”

Lucy bristled. “We don’t have enough information—”

“They want you to brief them in Albany, but they’re not sharing what they know. You’re going in blind.”

Noah spoke up. “We’ll have a full briefing. I agree, there are some apparent abnormalities in this investigation, but we’re assessing it with limited information. Candela isn’t going to reveal sensitive information over an unsecured line.”

Lucy changed the subject back to Sheffield’s disappearance. “Does the FBI think the January second message was fake?”

“They didn’t say, but that’s my read on the situation. Her contact is missing, presumed dead, or in hiding.”

“White-collar criminals don’t tend to be violent,” Lucy said.

“That’s in the past. Financial crimes now top $400 billion annually. That’s a lot of money to kill for.”

“Then how did she end up in the middle of nowhere at the bottom of a mine?” Lucy said.

“That’s the million-dollar question.”

“Or the 400-billion-dollar question,” Sean interjected.

Lucy glanced at Sean. He was staring out the window, but every muscle was rigid. “When are we going to Albany?” she asked Noah.

“Tomorrow morning. Patrick will be on a commuter flight that gets in at seven-fifty a.m. It turns around and goes back to Albany at eight-twenty a.m. I’d like you on it. I’ll pick you up at the airport.”

“Of course,” she said. “Whatever I can do to help.”

“In the meantime, both of you be careful. If they’ll kill a Fed, they’ll kill anyone. Patrick told me someone already took shots at you.”

Sean said from across the room, “It was basically a message to get out of town.”

“You tend to have that effect on people,” Noah said, a modicum of humor in his voice.

Sean didn’t smile, however. “I gathered up the shell casings and shipped them to RCK in California. I’ll let you know if Duke uncovers anything.”

The tension returned, Lucy could practically feel Noah’s frustration through the phone. She quickly added, “I collected a few insects in the cave. I’ll bring them with me to Albany.”

“Thank you,” Noah said. “Watch your back, both of you. I’ll see you in Albany, Lucy.” He hung up.

Lucy watched Sean as he continued to look out the window toward the lake and colorful sky as the sun sank on the horizon. “We’ll find out everything Albany knows about the case,” Lucy said. She wished she understood what was bothering Sean. He was usually up front about everything, especially with her.

“Maybe it’s better to get you out of town for a day or two,” Sean said.

“Excuse me?”

“It’s heating up here, and—”

“And you don’t think I can handle the pressure? Yes, it’s dangerous, but we’ve both been in dangerous situations.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

Lucy wondered what Sean really thought. He was always more than willing to explain what he meant, but he didn’t elaborate now. “You can understand why the Albany office would want to ask me questions, but—”

“It’s
fine
.” He turned to face her, but she couldn’t read him. “A sniper shot at us today and I couldn’t do a damn thing about it. I’d rather you were away from here, at least until I can figure out what the hell is going on.”

She was stunned. He was talking about her as if she were a hindrance to his job, as if he couldn’t work the case if he had to worry about her. She didn’t know how to respond, whether to be angry or upset or ask him to explain himself. Or maybe this was why law enforcement agencies frowned on lovers working together. Breaking deep-seated male protectiveness over women, especially women with whom they were romantically involved, was difficult. Yet two of her brothers had married FBI agents and didn’t have this problem. Was it her? Did she act needy or incompetent?

She was missing something. Sean had always been supportive of her career choice—aside from his general animosity toward law enforcement. He’d always stood up for her. Yet he stared at her now, as if egging on an argument. She just didn’t have the energy to go at it again.

“All right,” she finally said. “We need to pick Patrick up at Oldenburg at seven-fifty and my flight leaves at eight-twenty.”

“I’m going to the Lock & Barrel,” Sean said. “I’m going to drop some bombs tonight and see what happens.” He kissed her, but it was a light peck, out of habit, without any real emotion. “Keep your eyes and ears open; don’t leave the cabin without a gun. Adam and Annie are here; I’m bringing Tim with me.”

She didn’t ask to join him.

TWENTY

I’m used to people lying to save their ass, but I couldn’t be one hundred percent positive whether Carl
was
telling the truth. He swore up and down that not only had he
not
told anyone to take a shot at the P.I and his bitch, but he hadn’t heard that anyone had gone off on their own
.