Capturing Kate (8 page)

“Did you not think you would?”

He shrugged. “First time I tried this particular technology. It’s very—new, let’s say. It won’t hit the public market for another five years.”

She drew another heart. “I thought the government was always lagging behind private industry. Isn’t that why Elon Musk is embarrassing NASA with his rocket flights into space? Don’t you all spend, like five hundred dollars for a toilet seat and it takes ten months to get a new pen?”

He snorted. “Not all government agencies run on the same juice, Kate.”

“So you have some state-of-the-art comm device, but we’re stuck in this crappy cabin? That’s like a racehorse with, I don’t know, no legs. No offense.”

“Yes. I have a prototype link, the best team in the world, and the most difficult roommate an FBI agent could ever regret having. No offense. You’re lucky you have one nice leg.” His gaze raked her and she felt her cheeks redden.

“None taken.” She sniffed, but smiled. “But you can handle me, even with my horrible gaping wound?”

“I think we can downgrade it to merely unappealing. Tomorrow, maybe moderately attractive.”

“If you’re lucky, I might upgrade you to moderately attractive. Right now you’re sitting at misogynistic grunt.”

He laughed. “Good thing even us Neanderthals learned basic medic work, though, you have to admit.”

Sparring with him was fun, and it made her feel energized, because it pushed back the anxiety that lurked. She liked the teasing warmth in his eyes when they joked together, and the heat behind it, the power that threatened to burst forth. She didn’t know why she wanted to push him and make that strength roar out, overtake her. Maybe, she wondered, his strength would fill in the gaps in her soul, the ragged edges that were leaking out her emotions, and hold her together.

She wrote ‘Soul Glue’ in her notebook and added some swirls.

Ella’s note tugged at her mind. What were those numbers?

She bit her lip. Sloan had a secure connection. If she shared the information with him, he could search. Maybe together they could figure it out. His team could help the work go faster.

But another gem of an idea took root in her head. Mancini’s men knew Ella knew something, or had something that she was going to give to Kate. What if Kate could let them know she was alive and had the ‘thing,’ whatever it was, and that she’d only give it back if they let Ella live? Then, of course, she wouldn’t hand anything over. Instead, people (Sloan and his team?) would arrest/kill/mutilate/etc. him. If she thought it out carefully, could she convince Sloan that this was a really good idea?

Was Ella still alive? Pictures, stills from CSI detective shows on TV rushed her mind and she felt goosebumps on her arms. What in the living hell should she do?

“
Follow your heart.
” Well,
fuck
. Talk about every pop sugar rock song and Internet meme for the past ten years. Talk about every shitty motivational poster with a picture of a new sapling or a baby animal. It was too generic. “
Don’t pawn your emotions.
” It meant nothing. Nothing!

“I’m going to the bathroom,” she announced, and sauntered down the hall. She took the note from her pile of dirty clothes, memorized the numbers, then ripped up the paper and flushed it.

Back at her notebook she wrote the numbers down, glanced up to see if Sloan had sensed her deception like a heat-seeking missile, saw that he had not, and breathed out.

Time to think.

1945 2 23.

Could 1945 be the year Ella was born, and maybe 2/23 was February twenty-third? But Ella was only in her early sixties.

Did she have a calendar in her house and something was written or hidden on the date for 2/23? Could it be the license plate of a car, and something was hidden in the trunk or glove compartment?

“Are you thinking about the heart thing?” Sloan’s voice broke into her reverie.

“Oh! Ah. Yes, actually. I am.” She darted a glance at him, trying to look calm. She flipped a page quickly in the notebook and made more swirls. “Just doodling. It helps me relax. And think! Doodling is great. I do it while I’m on the phone all the time. You know.” She gave him a broad smile. “Hehe!”

“Hmmm.” He looked for a second to his screen, then back. “Well, any ideas?” His gaze was direct.

She flushed. “Not really. I mean, songs? Posters? It means nothing. It’s too broad spectrum. There’s not even—I mean, are there any movies or books with that title? Any restaurants or stores with ‘heart’ in the title in our town?”

“Already checked, and there are two: Heart to Heart Animal Rescue on Third Street. Pink Heart Boutique on Seventh. Neither cross-checks to Ella in any way.”

“You already checked that?”

“Also had someone scour her home—nothing. We even checked the local bookstores and scanned the shelves and books with any reference in the title to heart or follow. Nothing.”

“But she wouldn’t have put something in a store,” argued Kate.

“You have to check every possibility,” Sloan said. “Part of the job. Check and recheck. Eventually you find what you’re looking for. Share very scrap of information with the team, no matter how insignificant it seems.”

“I guess.” She flushed again and ducked her eyes.

“Did she ever mention that phrase before, when talking about the plant, or in casual conversation?”

“No. We talked about her life.”

He just looked at her and didn’t say a word.
Jesus!
Could his stare be more intense? Feeling pressure, she started to babble, trying to deflect attention from her deception. “It’s been hard, Sloan. Ella’s grandson, Eli? He has lots of health issues, and because of it he’s sensitive to heavy metals and chemicals. His mom used the drinking water from the tap to make his formula, and the lead in there set off a seizure that resulted in brain damage. She OD’d, and we don’t know if was suicide or accidental. Ella adopted Eli but he’s really messed up. I don’t think he’ll ever get better.” She shuddered.

“What kind of lead levels are we talking about?” He leaned forward, examining her.

“Well, if I had my computer,” she said, rolling her eyes, “I could tell you more. But the EPA’s limit is zero. We should have zero lead in our drinking water. Some of the water test results for that neighborhood are over five hundred parts per billions of lead!”

“And you believe it made Eli sick? His levels are that high?”

“You measure lead in the blood differently. At five micrograms per deciliter in the bloodstream, we start to get worried. Eli’s test results after his seizure showed three hundred micrograms per deciliter in his blood. That’s crazy. Medically, that’s enough to cause organ damage and seizures.”

“And you’re sure the lead in the water is coming from Mancini’s plant?”

“Yes. Carcinogens, too. Look, he owns a factory upstream of the water plant, a chemical degreasing plant for engine parts. He’s dumping contaminated water into the river. And I think the water purification plant is not cleaning it properly before sending it out to the homes in town. What I think is that the plant is old and can’t keep up with the supply demands for our growing town. So sometimes, they bypass the filtration system and send uncleaned water right out to the city—but to the poorer parts, because those people don’t have as much power or voice to complain.”

“Okay.” Sloan nodded. “Interesting.”

“Yes! And independent tests of the water in the public pipelines just outside the plant that lead to the poorer part of town? And from people’s homes in those neighborhoods? Those read way higher than the limits should be. Those are the ones that read in the hundreds for particles of lead in the water. But the pipeline leading to the richer side of town is clean.”

“Why is Eli the only one who’s gotten sick?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know, Sloan. He has a condition where his body can’t purge heavy metals properly. So they build up in him faster. But the lead from Mancini’s plant, it’s way outside EPA limits. Nobody should be drinking water that dirty. Studies prove that even low levels of lead for children, over time, lead to a reduction in IQ. Eli’s case is special because of his medical case, I admit that. But it’s not good for anyone who drinks that water.”

“I agree.” A beat. “But you remember nothing with that phrase. Anything about a heart. She didn’t say anything else.”

She averted her eyes. “I told you. No.” She put her face into her hands. “I’m sorry. It’s just—I
know
her. This isn’t a story on TV, Sloan, or in a book. She’s a real person, and that water killed her daughter and damaged her grandson. Her whole life. And now her, probably.”

“We’re going to get him.” Sloan’s voice held conviction.

“Yes, but when?” Her voice was dull. “And I hate knowing that all the research, all the work I had Ella do—for me, Sloan, for me—is not only responsible for getting her killed, it’s ultimately worthless. Do you know how that makes me feel?” Her voice was full of rage.

“This is not your fault.” His voice was firm. “Do you understand? None of this is at all your fault. It’s Mancini’s—his alone. You need to remember that, Kate.”

She shook her head. “But if I hadn’t asked her to give me information, Sloan? I feel terrible. And so angry!”

Sloan stood up and put his hand on her shoulder. “Anything else you can tell me that might help? Use that rage, that anger. Tell me anything you can that might help us unravel what exactly Ella had that Mancini wants. She may still be alive. I’m sure he’s asking her the same questions, so we need to figure it out before he does.”

She swallowed. “If I think of something, I will let you know.”

She still didn’t know why she wasn’t telling him about the numbers. She’d tell him—soon. Ten minutes. She just needed a little time, time to process, to think. She wanted to come up with an argument about why they should try to save Ella with her grand idea, and if she just had time to think, she could make it sound appealing.

“I need to get a few more things from my stock. Can you handle being alone for a few minutes?” He stood up, pointing to the window.

She looked up. “Oh. Yes. Fine.”

“All right.” He headed for the door, and to her immense surprise, he didn’t even put down the lid of the laptop, let alone lock it or take it with him. Stunned, she waited for him to come back in and fix that oversight, but he didn’t, and when she ran to the window and pushed back the curtain, there he was, already at the entrance to the woods.

Chapter Seven

Breath in her throat, she sat down gingerly in his seat, still warm from his body. She flushed, thinking about that perfect ass sitting here. Sitting her ass down in the same spot seemed intimate, and made her think about the things she’d like him to do… wicked things from novels hidden in her nightstand.

The screen showed an array of numbers; some kind of spreadsheet. Nothing she found useful. She clicked, minimized it, waiting for alarms to blare, but only silence met her fast breathing.

Settling into the chair, she examined the icons and clicked on Google Chrome. She typed the numbers into the search bar just as Ella had written them: 1945 2 23.

U.S. flag raised on Iwo Jima - Feb 23, 1945 - HISTORY.com

The B-29 Superfortress: A Comprehensive Registry of the…

The Bob Hope Radio Show, October 23, 1945 (II)

Ugh. History! Boring. Ella couldn’t have meant this. She tried again: ‘1945 2 23 Maryville,’ adding the same of their town.

Ancestors of - Freepages - Ancestry.com

She felt the hairs on the back of her neck tingle. She turned her head slowly and there he was—Sloan. “Sloan! Where did you—how did you get in?”

“Back entrance.” His voice was not surprised. “I thought you were hiding something, and I was right.”

She sank back into the chair. “I was just—I was…”

He put his arms on either side of the desk and looked over her shoulder. “1945 2 23. What’s that, Kate?” Even though he was angry, she couldn’t help but feel a spark of arousal from his biceps rubbing the sides of her arms. His face was close, his breath on her neck.

When she didn’t answer, he pulled back and twirled the chair to face him. “Answer me.”

She dropped her eyes. “It’s something Ella told me. Well, wrote to me. On a note.”

“When?” His voice held a bite.

“Um… yesterday?”

“Is that a question?” His voice was silky, dangerous.

“No?”

“Kate.”

“So when she took my hand, she gave me a wadded-up piece of paper, and I swear, I forgot about it for a while because of all the stress. And now I remembered it and opened it and read it, and it was just—that. Those numbers. Nothing else. I was going to tell you.”

“Where is the note?”

“I flushed it.”

“Why?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know.”

“Kate!” His voice held frustration. “What the hell were you thinking? That note could have been checked for fingerprints. Residues. Other messages.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So you were not planning to tell me about this? Look at me.”

She raised her eyes. “I was—I just, I wanted some time first, to think by myself. I wanted to see if I could think of a plan to save her.” It sounded lame to her ears, stupid, ridiculous. But at the time, it had made sense, somehow, in some dusty recess of her brain. “I know it doesn’t sound smart. I get that. I wanted to find the thing, whatever it is. And—I was thinking if could tell Mancini that I have what he wants maybe he wouldn’t kill Ella.” Her voice rose, thin and hopeful. “Please, I want to try to save her.”

“The way we save her is by using all of our information to research.” He typed rapidly, standing, bent down to reach the keyboard. “We don’t bargain, not with him, and I’ve already told you—if he knows you’re alive, it will destroy our whole investigation.”

He typed again, then looked up. “There. I’ve sent the numbers to my team, and they can start parsing with a ton of computer power. If that means something, we’ll figure out what. Because of your impulse to help your friend, you might have harmed her further with this delay.”