Nameless (11 page)

Now, that day had come. A few minutes from now, the next stage of his strategy would be set in motion.

She
would have been first but then he had read in the newspaper about the sealing of tombs at the cemetery. The concept hadn’t been part of his original strategy but his dear, sweet wife, his beloved Deirdre, had found it inspiring and urged him to use the opportunity. He could never let her down.

Whatever she wanted, she would have.

But now he was back on schedule with the oblivious Mrs. Katherine Jones.

Five nights per week Katherine left her second-shift job at Wal-Mart and drove home to her empty house. Her husband had been killed in an automobile accident two years ago and she had chosen not to remarry. Martin understood that kind of loss. There was no way to replace a lost loved one.

There was only vengeance, atonement, and mercy. Before he was finished those FBI rats would know all three intimately.

For Katherine Jones life had been so sad for so long that she wondered at times why she bothered. Approaching forty now with no children and no prospect of romance, she had decided that nothing would change this monotony of sadness. She had said so in the journal she kept on her bedside table. She had also written about her one mistake … that long-ago blip in time for which she had never forgiven herself. She remembered that evening, not as vividly as he, of course, but she had not forgotten.

She would never forget.

Katherine Jones needn’t worry that her life was over. Her time had finally come. Tonight was her night. Her life was about to change, to become a part of something much bigger. This was her chance to redeem herself, to make up for that one momentary lapse that had cost so very much.

Martin smiled as he watched her exit the grocery side of the store’s front entrance. She chatted with two of her coworkers as she crossed the parking lot to her decade-old Buick. The four-door sedan wasn’t much to look at but it was paid for and it allowed Katherine to support herself with reasonable comfort on her paltry salary.

Katherine said good-bye to her friends and scooted behind the wheel of her car. She drove to the nearest exit and merged out onto Hackworth Road. At that same time, across the street, Martin pulled away from the parking lot of a gas station. He adjusted his speed, switched lanes so that he was right behind Katherine’s Buick, and settled in for the drive.

It wasn’t far. Only a few miles and that one weekly stop. That was what made Thursday nights special. Each and every Thursday night, Katherine stopped at the minimarket on her way home. One would think that was an odd thing to do since she had only just left the Wal-Mart where she worked and prices were certainly lowest. But Katherine had her reasons. She didn’t want her coworkers to know about the wine she purchased each Thursday night. Friday and Sunday were her days off. Sundays she had church, but on Fridays she slept in. A whole bottle of wine made sure her Thursday nights were restful ones. She didn’t dream about the husband she had lost or the lack of opportunity in her life. Or about that one mistake that would haunt her until the day she died.

She stopped at the minimarket and Martin drove on past, went directly to her small ranch-style home and parked across the street, keeping a careful distance from the one working streetlight on the block.

A few minutes later Katherine arrived and parked in her garage. Moments later the lights came on in the living room.

Her bottle of wine, he knew from watching her before, would be cloaked in a nice brown bag so no one could see it. She was so very careful. It was a shame she didn’t take such pains in her home security. No dead bolts, no alarm system. Nothing at all to deter the unexpected. Which told him more than anything else that she thought she had become invisible, that the world had forgotten her. Or perhaps she wanted to be forgotten, so she, in turn, could forget.

In a couple of hours she would be sound asleep and a new, exciting episode in her life would begin.

Katherine Jones would be terrified. He regretted that part but it was necessary. The fear would wash away her one sin. But she had no cause for alarm. Special Agent Ryan McBride never failed. He was a true hero. He would save her.

Martin knew the truth about what happened three years ago. He would make them all see how wrong they had been and they would finally understand the gravity of their mistake. The
rats
.

McBride would take his rightful place once more and Martin’s beloved Deirdre would be so proud. She had been devastated by the way the FBI had treated McBride. Martin would make this right … and she would finally be happy once more.

One day when he and his hero had the opportunity to meet, perhaps McBride would thank Martin. Pride welled in his chest. Yes, that would please him very much.

Martin lived for that day.

Soon. Very soon.

CHAPTER NINE

Friday, September 8, 8:45 A.M.
Tutwiler Hotel

Vivian clutched the shopping bag in one hand and rapped on the door to McBride’s hotel room with the other. She squared her shoulders and braced for facing him.

When a reasonable length of time had passed she knocked again. She hoped he hadn’t stayed in the bar until it closed last night. If he was still in bed and hungover, Worth would count it as
her
failure.

It wasn’t like she could watch the man twenty-four/seven without sleeping with him. Unbidden and damned unwelcome, hot shivery sensations raced over her skin. That he could get to her on that level in spite of her determination not to allow it made her mad enough to spit.

Between worrying about him and fighting the nightmares, she had scarcely slept at all last night. McBride or the rats or the cemetery or a combination of all three had ruined her night … made her vulnerable.

She hadn’t had one of those godforsaken dreams in over five years. The memory of it … of the whispered voices … the darkness … made her shudder.

Sedatives usually efficiently blocked the nightmares, but going that route right now was out of the question. And, unlike McBride, she refused to try drinking her demons away.

As she lifted her fist to pound a third time, the door opened. And there he stood, filling the doorway, half naked and to her surprise half shaven.

“Come on in,” he invited, that smoke-and-whiskey-roughened voice rumbling from deep within his bare chest.

The sound brushed against her senses, instantly disturbing her equilibrium. Mentally scrambling to recover, she remembered the bag and thrust it at him. “I stopped at Target and picked up some clothes for you. I hope I got the sizes right.” She considered the shaving cream on his jaw. “Toiletries too.”

He waved the razor. “Room service,” he explained. “It’s amazing what they’re willing to provide.” He took the bag with his free hand. “You coming in?”

Vivian managed a stilted nod as she crossed the threshold into his room. She would die before she would ask exactly what room service had provided in addition to shaving implements. The scent of soap permeated the air, but it was the tousled sheets that immediately captured her attention.

The door closed behind her and she jumped.
Don’t start off this way.
She had dreaded this moment all morning. Her reactions to his masculinity were foolish. Davis or Pratt or Aldridge wouldn’t have this problem. That thought propped up her determination, giving her the courage to face the man. Just like yesterday, he had dragged on his jeans, leaving them unfastened as if he were prepping for an Abercrombie ad campaign. Physically he looked damned good for a guy who drank too much, smoked no matter that it was no longer PC, and was closer to forty than thirty—all the more reason to utilize extreme caution in his presence.

“I’ll finish up,” he offered, then headed into the bathroom.

She relaxed and took stock of the room. A room service tray sat on the table. Curious, she picked up the silver coffee server. It was empty. So he’d had coffee. Good. She didn’t see any indication that he had eaten. She would have to remedy that. Wandering closer to the bed, she picked up the pad of paper on the bedside table. He had written several names there and eventually crossed out most. Suspects? A number forty-one had been written and circled beneath the names. She would have to ask him about that. The only connection to the number she could call immediately to mind was the time limitation Devoted Fan had used with Alyssa.

The notion that McBride had worked last night, even if he had visited the bar or had had drinks delivered to his room, was a good sign.
Let’s just hope we can get through this without regretting it.

Something else she had worried about last night. But her new temporary partner seemed chipper and raring to go this morning. Maybe this wasn’t going to be as difficult as she had imagined.

Expect the best, prepare for the worst,
her father always said. Seemed good advice just now.

“You did good, Grace.”

McBride strode into the room dressed in the jeans and the navy button-down shirt she had purchased. Both appeared a perfect fit. Finding a customer at the store who looked about the same size as McBride had proven a useful strategy.

He made a sound of approval, drawing her too avid interest to that taunting mouth and his smooth jaw. The man cleaned up surprisingly well. If she was completely honest with herself, she would admit that he looked a little too good in most any state. The wicked half grin he wore should have clued her in that trouble was coming, but she missed it … too caught up with inventorying the details of this slightly more gussied-up version of the fallen legend.

“Just one question.” He walked right up to her, so close she could smell the sport-scented Right Guard she had purchased for him, and lifted the writing pad from her fingers. “How did you know I wasn’t a briefs man?”

That was when she made her first real mistake of the day: she looked directly into those devilish eyes. The mischief twinkling there was far too intriguing, way too appealing. Where did those flashes of genuine charm come from? Certainly not from the raw, barbaric man she had met yesterday.

“I saw a pair of boxers on the floor at your place.” That her voice held a distinct breathless quality only added to the theory that she was not herself when alone with this man.

“Very observant of you.” He tossed the pad on the bed and walked over to the chair where he had left his shoes.

That small distance allowed her to breathe again. He tugged on the well-worn sneakers without bothering to untie them, then stood up. “We ready?”

She adjusted her purse strap and met his expectant expression, mentally bracing for any sneak attack on her composure he might have planned. “Ready.”

He walked past her, opened the door like the perfect gentleman she knew firsthand he was not.

“Worth called.” She cleared her throat, but the effort did nothing for the persistent tightness prompted by the uneasiness associated with the unexpected. “The toe tag wasn’t the only item from UAB’s research center; the rats were too.”

McBride followed her into the corridor; let the door close behind him. “Already euthanized?”

“According to the log, they had been euthanized and were scheduled for incineration.” She followed the corridor toward the bank of elevators. “The tech who noticed them missing filed a discrepancy report with his supervisor yesterday.”

“Black looks good on you, Grace.”

The rhythm of her step altered clumsily and just like that he had her unsteady again. At the elevators, she stabbed the call button. How did he do it? More importantly, why did she let it get to her?

“Thank you,” she returned with enough of a chill in her tone for him to get frostbite. Turning around wasn’t required for her to know that he was having a good, long look at her butt.

The ding announced the elevator’s arrival a couple of seconds before the doors slid apart. She stepped into the car, pressed the button for the lobby, and waited anxiously for it to start moving again. McBride assumed his usual position against the rear wall. Keeping her attention on the changing floor numbers prevented her from staring at his image reflected in the shiny metal doors.

They had almost reached their destination when he did that thing that made her want to hit something—usually him. He moved up close behind her as the elevator slowed for the lobby level. That her traitorous body reacted to his nearness made her want to join a convent.

“Do me a favor, Grace.” His hot breath heated the skin on her neck.

“What?” She didn’t look back at him. Didn’t dare move with him practically on top of her.

And still he leaned nearer … near enough to whisper in her ear. “When we have sex, wear those shoes.”

The elevator bumped to a stop and the doors slid open. She hesitated before stepping out of the car, uncertain her legs would hold her upright. During that pause she turned her face to his. Her respiration hitched. She hated that she couldn’t contain the response, but she was only human. All the more reason to get this over with. “Don’t hold your breath, McBride.”

With that out of the way, she strode across the lobby and out the front door to where her Explorer waited beneath the valet canopy.

Time to go to work and catch the
other
bad guy.

1000 Eighteenth Street
9:30 A.M.

“Devoted Fan thoroughly erased his cyberspace footprints again,” Worth said to those present in the conference room. “Quantico can’t give us a profile on the unsub until we can give them something to work with. We’re still pretty much left in the ‘react’ mode.”

Worth had insisted on daily briefings that included Aldridge, Pratt, Schaffer, and Davis, though Schaffer was missing in action. The briefings were a good idea. These agents were his and Grace’s backup, he didn’t expect them to be left in the dark. The goal was to keep as tight a lid on this operation as possible, using local law enforcement when necessary. The Bureau didn’t like airing its dirty laundry in public, most especially when it involved an ex-agent whose departure from service had already caused a considerable scandal.