Cold Pursuit (Cold Justice) (Volume 2) (26 page)

Time moved on.

He looked every one of his thirty-four years. Hardly old, but not young anymore either.

Michael sat at the table drinking milk and eating a cookie. Every so often he’d reach out a finger and touch the screen of the tablet Jed had given him. He seemed to be figuring out what it could do, although he didn’t attempt to pick it up or even move it closer to him. The kid was definitely scared of what would happen if he broke it, even though Jed had told him twenty times it didn’t matter. Accidents happened.

“H,” said a small text-to-talk electronic voice.

Vivi’s head jerked up.

“Hey, buddy, that’s awesome.” Jed grinned at the boy, who grinned back.

The next letter was a ‘C’ which deflated Jed slightly. He was hoping for a whole word, maybe a detailed account of what had gone down in the toy store. He shook his head at himself and went back to his self-portrait. Patience was the key.

Jed had no doubt Michael was a smart kid. He understood why the doctors refused to label Michael autistic, because he was so high-functioning. But there was also no doubt the kid didn’t make a sound, not even when terrified, and that wasn’t normal.

It was heartbreaking, but it was also frustrating when they were trying to capture terrorists who were in all likelihood planning another attack. Jed also knew that the moment he let his frustration show he’d lose the rapport he’d built with Michael. He couldn’t afford to do that, so he needed to step back. To ignore. And to hope.

He sketched in his nose, lips, the shape of his eyes.

The news came on the radio, and the newscaster started talking about the FBI investigation into the mall attack. Jed put down the pad and stood up. It seemed unbelievable that it had only been two days since the shooting. Two days since the awful events that had changed their lives forever. He went over to the radio to turn it down, because he didn’t want Michael to be reminded of that bad stuff, but he did want to hear what the media had to say. There was no satellite or cable at the cabin. Just a TV hooked up to a DVD player, and the internet.

Vivi came up beside him, arms crossed over her chest, biting her bottom lip, as she listened in too.

“…an unofficial source today leaked the fact that the weapons used during the mall attack were issued by the Syrian government to its armed forces…”

A cold sweat broke out on his brow.

“What does that mean?” Vivi whispered at him urgently. “The Syrian government attacked the Minneapolis Mall?”

“Not necessarily.” But that would be the general consensus. “A lot of government troops defected to the opposition at the start of the conflict, and they would have taken what weapons they could with them.” But Abdullah was Syrian Republican Guard. If the media discovered that, there would be a frenzy demanding action.

She pressed closer to his side, both of them huddling over the kitchen counter where the radio sat. He tried not to be aware of the shape of her beside him, the points of contact. He wasn’t a teenager with hormones to match. Theoretically he had some control.

Yup. Not.

“…Funerals for the dead are due to begin tomorrow, and a memorial service will be held for all the victims…People still in hospital…Missing woman and child…Hunt continues for a mystery female terrorist…”

Jed placed a finger on her lips before she repeated that information out loud. Her irises dilated, and a jolt of heat shot through him. He’d never told her one of the tangos was female. He didn’t want Michael influenced. He dropped his hand when it was clear she’d gotten the message and ignored the fact his finger felt like it had been branded.

“…Rumors suggest President Hague might attend the memorial service…White House officials say no details have been finalized…”

“I used to work in the White House many years ago,” Vivi said contemplatively. “That’s where I met Michael’s father.”

A tingle of unease crawled down his spine. “Your ex works in the White House?”

She pulled a face. “No. The Pentagon.” She put her hand to her head as if she had a headache. “He coordinates military attaché appointments around the world.”

The slight dread turned into a rush of ice that swept over Jed’s body. “Your ex works for the Defense Intelligence Agency, and you didn’t tell me?”

The expression on her face was misery stacked with guilt. “I know I should have, but I didn’t think it mattered when we were at the safe house and then after the attack.” She pursed her lips for a moment. “I forgot for a while.”

DIA?
Holy shit.
The woman had probably just sunk his career without even knowing it.

“…the search continues for Veronica Vincent and her son, Michael, who were abducted from federal protective custody yesterday and are feared dead…”

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck!

He jammed his hand through his short hair. “Should we call him? Inform him you’re safe?”

Icy distance entered her entire demeanor—expression, posture, voice. “I called him when we were at the hospital after the attack.” Even though she held herself rigidly under control, Jed spotted the sheen of tears in her eyes. “He never called back. Am I really supposed to think he gives a damn about us now?”

Jed held onto his anger for half a second and then dragged her against him, not understanding how much what she thought of him mattered until she relaxed in his arms.
Damn
. Her ex was a prick. He squeezed her so hard it had to hurt, but he didn’t let go. Her hair was soft against his lips. The scent of her shampoo fragrant and sweet. Then he looked up and froze.

He shifted them both slightly and leaned down to whisper in her ear. “
Look.
Look at what Michael is doing…”

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

M
ichael drew with absolute determined concentration. He’d been at it for hours.

Vivi stood as if to go to him, but Jed caught her arm.

“He needs to eat.” She tried to pull away, but he held onto her as gently as possibly.

“Put a sandwich and a drink beside him. I’ll do it.” He stood and went to the fridge. She followed.

Her eyes narrowed. “He also needs to rest.”

“He needs this more.”

Protectiveness flared. “You do, you mean.”

He sighed. Patient. “We all do, remember?”

She flinched and pulled away. He let her go, wishing he could recapture some of that earlier connection and trust, but her child was under pressure, and she was worried about him. Jed was fine with that. But their opinions on what was best for Michael differed. He thought Michael needed to get this out of his system and dammit, yes, Jed needed to find a way to save a career that was probably already shot. If that made him an asshole, he was a fucking asshole. Nothing new there.

Defense Intelligence Agency. Shit. Why couldn’t the guy be a used car salesman?

It didn’t matter. Even if he’d known, he wouldn’t have done anything differently, except maybe tell Frazer what was going on.

After another thirty minutes, Jed couldn’t take sitting still any longer. He left the cabin, checking the perimeter for footprints in an effort to work off some of his energy. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, but his skin felt itchy, and he couldn’t settle. Maybe the fact he was on the verge of a massive breakthrough with the case? He called his brother Liam, the police chief, who’d agreed to keep an eye out for any strangers coming into town and do regular drive-bys of all the local routes, running vehicle checks on anything suspicious. Nothing untoward as yet.

When he got back to the cabin, Michael was still drawing, Vivi was still pacing, and he was still on edge.

He waited.

And waited.

Every forty minutes or so, Michael would set aside a finished drawing, and now Jed had a bunch of images, some of which touched him unexpectedly. The first one was of him holding Vivi in his arms earlier in the kitchen. Something about the moment had motivated the kid to pick up the pencil and draw. Jed didn’t know what it was, but he was damn glad. The picture was so skillfully drawn, Jed could see all the emotions he was trying to hide as he tucked Vivi against his chest. Anxiety, anger, lust.

She remained silent as he slipped the drawing into the back of his own art pad.

His father was next, the likeness so incredible, the image so detailed Jed wouldn’t have believed the phenomena if he wasn’t witnessing it with his own eyes. His dad had a scar on his left eyebrow and a tiny mole on his nose. The kid had drawn both perfectly. To see these drawings come from an eight-year-old’s pencil was a little unnerving, like the kid had been possessed by Picasso or Michael Angelo with a camera-like memory. No wonder Vivi was convinced his talent was savant-like.

“Who’s this?” Jed asked Vivi, holding up an image of a broad-faced black man.

“The nurse from the hospital.” She avoided looking at the likenesses of Dr. Hinkle and both marshals.

“Michael really is incredibly talented.”

“I know.” Those navy blue eyes of hers held a seriousness now. A reserve. He knew he’d put it there.

“I’m sorry for being angry about your ex, earlier. I had no right.” He should have found out for himself on day one, but he’d been too busy chasing his tail.

A brief frown crinkled her brow. “I should have told you.”

He stilled and really looked at her. “When we left the safe house I gave you the chance to go to him for help. Why didn’t you?” He took a step closer, a subtle sort of anger stirring inside him, one he was familiar with. One that came from the thought of people hurting others just because they could. “Did he hit you too?” DIA or not he’d put his fist in the man’s face if he’d touched her.

She shook her head. “He never lifted a finger against me.” The spark in her eyes suggested he wouldn’t dare. “But he mocked and belittled me, often in front of others. It seems like such a small thing looking back on it, but it corroded everything I thought we had together.” She paused, clearly weighing her words. “Have you ever had a relationship that turned so sour that every memory you have is tainted by what happened at the end?”

Angela
. “Yeah.”

“It’s as if the fact we ever loved one another has been buried beneath a mountain of pain. I can’t forgive him for what he did to Michael, or to
me
.” Her voice cracked. Her fingers gripped her arms so tight the knuckles shone white. “I don’t want anything to do with him ever again.”

“Not even to save yourselves from terrorists?”

She flicked a look at him, and her smile grew sad. “I actually trust you more than I’d trust David to keep us safe.”

Every bit of anger or resentment he might have harbored evaporated. Trust was a big thing for Vivi, and this was the biggest endorsement of faith she could give him. He had to do his best not to screw it up.

She crossed the room and put a log on the fire.

Killion called, and Jed took it into the bedroom to answer.

“How’s the vacation?”

“Sipping mai tai’s on the beach. Saw the folks. Did some snowshoeing.” Jed stared out the window, examining the gloom for any activity. “How’s the investigation going?”

“It’s a nightmare. Presidential visit is making all the bosses figure out how to cover their asses about why we haven’t caught the female tango yet.” He sounded like he hadn’t slept in days.

“Why haven’t you caught her? Thumbscrews not working?”

“Heh. Believe me I wouldn’t mind turning a few screws on our friend in detention, but we’re playing by the book, fucking feds.”

“Goddamn Geneva Convention.”

“Pity the asshole terrorists don’t sign up. The other guy in ICU died.”

“Bastard.”

Killion’s laughter was strained. “No kidding.”

“What did your guy from MI6 tell you?”

“He was a she.”

“Sweet and curvy?”

“As a rattlesnake.”

Jed waited.

“MI6 had a file on one of the guys from the safe house. Guy was a merc.”

“What?” That was not what he’d been expecting to hear.

“A German called Klaus Schmidt.”

What was a mercenary doing attacking a US Marshal safe house? “And the others?”

“With the exception of Klaus, the others all originate from Arab countries, although IDs aren’t conclusive for all of them.”

Had Klaus been a convert, or had he just enjoyed killing people? Maybe he’d been doing a favor for a jihadist buddy, but that’s not how they usually operated. “Any luck finding the one who got away?”

“Vanished without a trace. They seem to be a bunch of highly-trained professionals. If you hadn’t found Michael Vincent at the hotel when you did, Abdullah would have killed the boy and walked away without a qualm. Something tells me you fucked up their plans big time when you caught him.”

“I live to serve.”

Killion grunted. “Doesn’t get me any closer to figuring out who was behind this attack. VP is putting pressure on the president to start an offensive against Syria.”

The vice president was Jewish and a definite opposite of President Hague’s no-war-policy. Shit. This thing was already escalating, and they didn’t even know for sure who was responsible yet.

Jed had another question he wanted to ask Killion. “Did you contact Vivi’s ex?”

The silence at the end of the line crackled with sudden hyper-awareness.

“I spoke to him.”

“Had he heard from them?”

“Not a dicky bird.”

“Did you believe him?”

Killion didn’t answer him directly. “I have to go. McKenzie is yelling at one of the marshals about whose fault the safe house shooting was…oh, and the marshal just tried to deck his ass.”

“I would have liked to see that.”

“I suspect you have much prettier things to look at.” He hung up.

Damn. What did that mean? Did he know Vivi was here? The guy was fishing. Maybe. Fuck.

Jed headed back into the living room. Michael was still drawing. He appeared to be working backward through time, oblivious to Jed and his mother, and everything except the images that poured from his pencil.