The Coldest Fear. Debra Webb
LeDoux turned his back to the woman. “I lied to you, Bobbie. The courier sold me the package for a hundred bucks. Find Amelia Potter. You have the address.”
“Who’s Amelia Potter? Is she a distant relative of—?”
“Just go.” His free hand went up stop-sign fashion to halt the agent’s approach. “When I finish speaking to my attorney, you can have my phone back and I’m all yours,” LeDoux snapped at the woman.
The agent backed off but they were clearly running out of time. Bobbie cut to the chase. “What was in the package?”
“Only one item,” LeDoux said, turning his back to the agent once more. “A recent photo of Nick Shade.”
While Bobbie absorbed that information, LeDoux dropped his phone on the asphalt and crushed it with the heel of his shoe. The female agent grabbed him by the arm and pointed to the damaged cell phone, her face twisted in anger. Another of the agents gathered the pieces of the broken phone from the ground.
The suits loaded up, LeDoux in tow, and drove away. Atlanta PD followed. Why would Zacharias send a photo of Nick to someone in Savannah? Was this Amelia Potter a distant relative or the front for a hit man or maybe another serial killer? Bobbie’s phone vibrated and she dragged her attention to the screen. Voice mail. Expecting to find another lecture from the chief or someone from her major crimes team, she tapped the screen and listened to the voice mail.
“Detective Gentry, this is Lieutenant Troy Durham from the Savannah Chatham Metropolitan Police Department. We’ve reopened a cold case and we found your name in the detective’s notes.” Durham exhaled a big breath. “Frankly, we’re hoping you can help.” He hesitated for a moment before going on. “If you could give me a call I’d really appreciate it. I’ve never seen anything like this.”
The call ended. Bobbie stared at the screen. She couldn’t imagine why her name would be in the notes of a cold case in Savannah, but the call and the address LeDoux had given her couldn’t be coincidence.
Something was happening in Savannah and somehow it involved Nick.
And her.
Century Parkway, Atlanta
12:30 p.m.
Tony stared at the nameplate on the desk. Janet Kessler.
Supervisory Special Agent Janet Kessler.
LeDoux shook his head then remembered the hellacious headache he’d awakened with. Beer didn’t usually give him a hangover but he’d added the vodka. Apparently the lack of sleep and food along with dehydration and the quantity of alcohol had set a new precedent.
He’d been questioned about any contact he’d had with Zacharias and interrogated about Weller’s and Zacharias’s whereabouts. Most of the answers he’d given had been tactical evasions or flat-out lies.
A BOLO had been issued for Zacharias. The blood in his study was presumed to be the missing attorney’s. His driver’s body had been found in the home’s garage, cause of death a nasty blow to the back of the head. The driver’s car had been located in the parking lot of the Paces Ferry Road Home Depot. No blood in the car but there was a suitcase and a briefcase, both of which belonged to Zacharias. Cell phone, passport, money, all sorts of goodies were in the briefcase. He’d hired a private jet to take him out of the country. The pilot had been located and questioned. Zacharias hadn’t shown up for the flight—yet another indication he was dead. Not so surprising, Zacharias’s destination had been Maracaibo, Venezuela. Venezuela had no extradition treaty with the US.
“How cliché,” Tony muttered. Weller would be doing the same. If anyone involved in the search expected any different, they were fools.
Except Weller appeared to have something to take care of first. It was that something that would be his downfall...if Tony could figure out what the hell it was quickly enough maybe he could intercept the bastard.
That was the thing, the Bureau had nothing on Weller. Not one damned lead. At least Tony had Savannah.
After the last round of questioning, Tony had been sequestered to this room—to Kessler’s office. Nothing he hadn’t expected. She was on his short list of insiders who’d given Weller far too much leeway. Some-damned-body in the Bureau had been providing him with reports on his son and all sorts of other classified material. Kessler, Tony felt confident, was nothing more than a pawn—one close enough to keep a close watch on Weller.
Except she’d seriously fucked up.
The door opened and the uptight bitch walked in. Her navy skirt was snugger than it should be, ensuring that anyone who bothered to look noted her taut ass and toned legs. The white blouse showed more cleavage than necessary. The matching navy jacket fit her narrow waist, accentuating her nice tits.
That was the only damned thing nice about her. She wore her blond hair in one of those severe buns that suggested sexual repression, and just enough makeup to demonstrate she had a feminine side even if it was locked down tight to facilitate her climb up the management ladder. According to his research, she would do anything for a promotion. Didn’t mean she wasn’t damned good at her job, just a cold, calculating bitch who didn’t mind stepping over the bodies she left in her wake.
“I spoke at length with your supervisor.”
Yay. “Then you know I’m on administrative leave pending an OPR review.” No point beating around the bush. Supervisory Special Agent Rodney Pitts of the Behavioral Analysis Unit-2 had no doubt given her a complete rundown on his rogue profiler and his issues with the Office of Professional Responsibility.
The thought had no more flitted through his brain when the man himself entered the room. He closed the door and gave a nod to Kessler.
What the hell? Tony had expected that Pitts would be involved in the task force, after all Weller had been his pet project for more than a decade. In fact, Pitts’s rise up the ranks had more to do with Weller’s unprecedented cooperation than the man’s leadership ability. The first two years of Weller’s incarceration he had done little to back up the deal he’d made to lend his powers of analysis to the Bureau. Then suddenly he was all in and Pitts was on the fast track to stardom. The latest rumor was that Pitts would be the next unit chief at BAU. He’d already been offered a lucrative book deal on his work with Weller.
Pitts—above all others—should want Weller back where he belonged. The real question was, what had Pitts been giving Weller in exchange for his collaboration all these years? Tony had a feeling he’d provided the monster with whatever he’d wanted short of his freedom. All Tony had to do was prove it before the quest to uncover that truth cost him his career.
Kessler settled behind her desk and studied her notes while Pitts pulled a chair around so that he faced Tony. Pitts wasn’t that much older than him, late forties. His dark hair had started to gray at his temples but he hadn’t slowed down. A strict workout regimen kept him in shape and his expensive taste in suits ensured he always looked the part of a power player. His team—discounting Tony’s recent fall from grace—was the best in BAU. He had a smoking-hot wife and two perfect kids, despite spending sixteen hours a day at work.
Tony hated him on so many levels.
“It doesn’t look good for you, LeDoux,” Pitts announced. “You’ve had a stellar career with the Bureau until the past year. I’ve done all I can to save your ass, but this latest move may very well be the straw that broke the camel’s back.”
Tony shrugged. “What do you want me to say?”
Kessler braced her forearms across her desk and leaned forward a bit. “You could start by telling us the truth.”
Though Pitts was ultimately the one who set the rules where Weller’s interactions with the Bureau were concerned, Kessler was the boots on the ground, so to speak,