Nameless (2 page)

“Maybe not to you, but to those of us who admire what you accomplished during your career, it matters.”

“Tell that to the kid’s father.” He turned his back to her, braced against the counter and squeezed his eyes shut in a futile attempt to block the images tumbling one over the other through his head. He couldn’t do
this
.

“We don’t have the luxury of time, McBride.” Apparently bolstered by a blast of latent courage, she moved in right beside him as she spoke. As hard as he tried not to react, he tensed. “We have less than twenty-three hours. If we don’t find her before then, Alyssa Byrne will die.”

Alyssa.
The name reverberated through him. He banished it. Couldn’t help her. He’d given the Bureau everything he had for ten years. He’d maintained a perfect record. Never failed. Except that once. And the mistake hadn’t been his. When the proverbial shit had hit the fan, the Bureau had refused to take the heat. They had needed a scapegoat and he’d been it. A decade of hard work hadn’t made a difference any more than his so-called legendary status. Case in point. For nearly a year afterward, he’d actually expected someone to show up and beg him to return to duty.

No one had shown up. No one had even called.

So he had found other ways to spend his time and fill the void left by the part of his life ripped away from him. He blamed the booze on his current on-again-off-again occupation, but that was just an excuse. The ugly truth was that every time an Amber Alert had been issued he had turned to the one consistent thing within reach to help him forget that he wouldn’t be there—distraction. With enough distraction, he could forget that he no longer made a difference.

That part of his life was over. There wasn’t any going back … not for Agent Vivian Grace and all her hero worship … not for Alyssa Byrne and the people who loved her.

Truth was, even if he wanted to go back, he wasn’t that man anymore. The pressure of working that kind of case was immeasurable. If he lost his focus, fucked up, someone died. If he wasn’t fast enough, smart enough, someone died. He no longer had that kind of nerve, the edge it took to get the job done. The hero he used to be was long gone. Pretending otherwise would be a mistake. The kind he didn’t want to make twice in one lifetime.

Nowadays he was just your plain old garden-variety coward.

Before he sent the agent on her way, there was one thing he had to know. “Why now?” He couldn’t keep the resentment out of his tone; didn’t really try. “In three years the Bureau hasn’t once acknowledged that I still exist. What makes this case different?”

She searched his eyes, her own still hopeful that he would change his mind.
Not going to happen.

“The kidnapper,” she explained, her voice somber, “asked for you by name. He claims he’ll provide clues to facilitate the search for the girl.”

That damned headache started bearing down on him again, hammering at his temples. “What kind of clues?”

“Don’t know. No you, no clues.” She swallowed hard, the effort visible along the length of her slender neck. “No clues, McBride, and the little girl dies.”

CHAPTER TWO

22 hours, 55 minutes remaining …

She had one shot. She couldn’t screw it up.

Vivian Grace held McBride’s icy blue stare without flinching. If he said no, she had failed. She couldn’t go back to Birmingham without him. Too much was riding on his cooperation. For starters, a child’s life. Getting the bastard, officially designated as the unknown subject or unsub, who had done this ranked a close second.

“How did the unsub communicate?” McBride asked grudgingly.

Relief trickled inside her. At least she had his attention now. That was a step in the right direction. She reminded herself to breathe.

“There was an e-mail at six last evening. Alyssa had been missing for ten hours at that point. Since she never made it to her classroom yesterday morning, we have to assume he picked her up somewhere at school immediately after her mother dropped her off. The e-mail informed us that she was in his custody and that she was safe. He gave us the time constraint and one instruction: that he would only deal with you.”

At this point, there were details she couldn’t share with McBride. Her supervisor, Special Agent-in-Charge, SAC, Randall Worth, had instructed her to provide the minimum amount of information possible to get McBride on board. Not that they had that much. They didn’t. Irrespective of that less-than-optimal situation, until McBride could be completely ruled out as a potential suspect, he had to be handled as one.

But Worth was wrong. McBride wasn’t involved. If she’d had any doubts, finding him in bed with a friend at this hour of the day and obviously hungover had discredited most of those reservations. The flicker of pain and the surprise in his eyes on hearing about the child and the promised clues diminished the rest.

Then there was the matter of his overall appearance. McBride basically looked like hell. Nothing like the man depicted in the legendary stories of the Hunter, the last of the true bloodhounds, she had heard whispered about at the academy. The theory that he had plotted a kidnapping to draw attention to himself or to get back at the Bureau was hogwash. The man she was looking at right now was pretty much a disaster that had already happened. He wasn’t planning anything except his next smoke, drink, and twist in the sheets.

“He provided proof of life?”

McBride’s question interrupted her from her ruminations. Allowing her attention to drift like that was a strategic error she couldn’t risk repeating in his presence. As far down skid row as it appeared he had gone, she had a feeling that beneath that hangover and I-don’t-give-a-shit attitude, he was still damned sharp at drawing conclusions.

“Yes,” she told him. “The e-mail included a photo.”

He moved around her to help himself to another cup of coffee as if they had all the time in the world.

Anxiety and anticipation tightened her chest, making every beat of her heart an unnatural effort. Each second seemed an eternity. Each minute that got away from her was one she couldn’t get back, one that might prove pivotal as this case played out. Standing around here wasting those precious moments had her tension mounting at breakneck speed.

To make matters worse, standing this close to McBride, she found it impossible not to inhale his scent—a mixture of man, heat, and his many vices. He seemed taller than the six one his personnel file had listed. Definitely leaner than the one ninety he’d weighed according to those stats. The instant he opened the door, he had put her off balance. Scarcely dressed … all that naked skin culminating in the fuck-me vee exposed by his unfastened jeans.

She had arrived prepared for his bitterness and underlying anger. Like he said, the way his career ended had been ugly, and very public. But none of her preparation had readied her for his blatant sexuality. He had been handsome before, but this edgy, primitive version of that man had her scrambling to regain her usual poise.

The angles of his face were more distinct than in the photos she’d seen, as if time and living a life of debauchery since leaving the Bureau had chiseled them so. A couple of days’ beard growth accentuated those distracting changes. The whole package was very disconcerting.

“No luck tracing the IP?” he asked when he had made some headway on his second cup of coffee.

“None,” she admitted. That was one of the few things they did know already, the unsub was smart. “This one knows how to erase his cyber footprints better than most.”

“Sounds like you don’t have much considering you’re beyond the twenty-four-hour mark.” He turned his head, stared directly at her. “That’s bad, Agent.”

“That’s why I’m here.” She held his gaze, understanding on some level that he used this probing intimacy as an intimidation technique rather than as the crude invitation he would have her believe. “We need you.”

He set his cup aside. His hand shook and he immediately fisted it to halt the visible reaction to his apparent overindulgence in self-abuse. According to his psych evaluation, he hadn’t been a drinker or a smoker during his time with the Bureau. This raw, uncut demeanor gave the definite impression that the crash of his career had taken a significant toll. His brown hair was longer, shaggier, as if he hadn’t visited a barber in quite some time and didn’t care. The Florida sun had streaked it with gold. His current occupation, when he bothered to show up, was acting as a spotter at a local nightspot. He mingled in the crowd, watched for trouble, giving security a heads-up as necessary. From the look of things, he mingled a little too much.

Whatever McBride’s demons and addictions, the only thing she cared about was obtaining his cooperation. This was her first opportunity to play a principal part in a high-profile case. The only way she was going to get Worth’s respect, or that of any of her colleagues, was to prove herself in the field. She had to make this happen. They needed to know she could do it.
She
needed to know she could do it.

Challenging Worth’s decision on not bringing in McBride was a step in that direction even if it risked her career. Call it instinct, woman’s intuition, whatever, but she had a feeling that McBride was the only one who had a snowball’s chance in hell of stopping this unsub even if they did finagle the clues out of him.

Now if she could only get McBride to comprehend the urgency. Time was running out for Alyssa Byrne.

When he’d downed the last of his coffee, he lit a cigarette, blew out a lungful of smoke, and finally broke his silence. “Since I was personally invited to this soiree, did anyone take a look at who might have a hard-on for putting a bullet in my brain?”

The scent of seared tobacco invaded her senses, the knowledge that it had come from his lips irrationally disturbing. She resisted the urge to squirm.

“We understand that’s a possibility. As you know, at the moment, our primary focus is rescuing the child.” The theory that the unsub was attempting to lure McBride out of exile was still under consideration, along with the idea that the legend himself was somehow behind the kidnapping. She was not authorized to share that part with him at this point. “Of course we’ll do all within our power to ensure you’re protected.”

McBride tossed her a look that said exactly how much stock he had in that promise, then he started to pace. He forked the fingers of his free hand through his sleep-tousled hair; let the cigarette dangle from the other. “If …” He stopped abruptly, trapped her in the crosshairs of his full attention. “
If
I agree to do this, I’ll be lead on the case. I won’t be taking any orders from your SAC or any-damned-body else, including you. Is that clear?”

That authority wasn’t hers to give … but she couldn’t afford to let him see her hesitate. “I’m certain that can be arranged.”

He walked toward her, those blue eyes cutting straight through her like the laser-driven scope of a high-powered rifle. “You don’t have the authority to make that guarantee, do you?” He didn’t stop until he stood toe-to-toe with her.
“Do you?”

“I’m certain,” she reiterated, not about to let him see her sweat, “that every effort will be made to accommodate you. Your cooperation isn’t optional; the unsub requires it.” Somehow she managed to hold that intimidating gaze. “I must stress again how little time we have. The sooner we get started, the better our chance of success.”

“Make the call.” He tossed the butt of his cigarette into the sink without shifting his piercing glare one centimeter. “Confirm that condition and I’ll consider your request.”

At least he hadn’t said no. She reached for the cell phone clipped to the waistband of her skirt. That he’d crowded into her personal space, pinned her against the counter, had jolted her pulse rate into a faster rhythm. As much as she needed his cooperation, she wasn’t standing for his physical intimidation tactics any longer. If she didn’t get some boundaries in place soon, this situation was only going to fly further out of control. That was a risk she couldn’t take. “You’re crowding me, McBride.”

For a couple of seconds, then ten, she was certain he wouldn’t back off. To her immense relief he relented, if only one step, giving her room to breathe.

She put through the call. Worth had been waiting to hear from her. He let her know that up front. She bit her tongue to hold back the argument that she wouldn’t even be here were it not for Alyssa Byrne’s father. When more than eighteen hours had passed without any measurable progress, Byrne had insisted on McBride’s inclusion on the case. Worth had balked, just as he had earlier when Vivian vian suggested the same, and Byrne had reached out to his political allies, overriding any possible excuse the special agent-in-charge could hope to toss out.

“He needs an assurance that he’ll be in charge of the case,” she told the SAC without preamble. She barely managed not to flinch at his bellowed answer.

“Tell him that condition is nonnegotiable,” McBride interjected as if he’d heard every single word of the response. The way Worth had yelled, it was possible he had.

“This condition is nonnegotiable,” she passed along before endeavoring to moisten her dry lips. Didn’t work, considering her throat was as parched as an Alabama creek bed in August. Worth gave her all the reasons that McBride’s proposal was completely out of the question then he told her what she needed to hear.
Promise him whatever you have to, but get his butt up here.

“Thank you, sir.” She severed the connection and tucked the phone back into its holster. “You’ll be in charge.”

McBride’s eyes tapered with suspicion. “That easy, huh?”

She refused to allow him to bully her. “You have my word.”

He laughed, one of those soft sounds that lacked any glimmer of amusement and reeked of arrogance. “I hate to tell you this, Agent Grace, but I find that less than reassuring. You see, I know a rookie when I meet one.” He reclaimed that step he had surrendered, leaned close enough to plant his hands on the counter on either side of her. “
You
can’t guarantee me shit.”