Midnight Fear (16 page)

W
hen Reid returned to his apartment, Caitlyn appeared to have recently showered, her hair still damp and her skin pleasantly flushed. She sat on the couch between Maddie and Isabelle, wearing the simple cotton pajamas she’d purchased earlier that day. At his arrival, Megan stood and announced, “Okay, girls. Uncle Reid’s back. Get your things. Let’s go have dinner.”

“Thanks for staying,” he said to Megan as she began gathering her troops.

“Everything okay?”

“Yeah.” Reid nodded, although his eyes fell on Caitlyn, who was helping Isabelle shove her collection of spiral notebooks and stickers into her Hello Kitty backpack. The time with his nieces appeared to have relaxed her some, and he dreaded telling her about the latest turn of events.

“Good to meet you, Caitlyn,” Cooper said as he held his older daughter’s coat out for her to slide her arms into.

“You, too.”

Reid didn’t miss the look that passed between Megan and Caitlyn. It made him think they’d actually talked while he was away instead of staying in their opposite corners like prizefighters waiting for the bell to sound. At least Caitlyn looked none the worse for wear. He owed Megan for not coming down on her too hard.

“Thanks for the help,” Caitlyn said as Megan turned to leave.

His sister nodded. Reid lowered his head to allow her to place a kiss against his cheek. “Take care, big brother.”

He gave her a hug, grateful for her presence in his life. Once the group was gone, Reid refocused his attention on Caitlyn. She’d remained on the couch with her feet tucked underneath her.

“Did you have to leave because of the case?” she asked.

He sighed heavily, removing his leather jacket and laying it on the wing chair Cooper had vacated. “Agent Tierney asked me to come to the scene of an abduction.”

He saw her shoulders tense underneath her pajama top, her green eyes searching his. Reid walked to the couch and sat beside her.

“An abduction? The copycat’s taken someone else?”

“It occurred at your Georgetown residence, Caitlyn.”

It took just seconds for her to realize the victim’s identity. Her lips parted and horror filled her eyes. “Oh, God. Bliss?”

“Ms. Harper told her real estate office she was going
by the house to take some photos earlier today. She never reported back in, and she failed to show up for an evening appointment. Her office sent someone to the house looking for her a couple of hours ago.”

“But you said ‘abduction.’” Caitlyn grasped at hope. “That means there’s no body. Isn’t it possible that—”

“It’s obvious there was a struggle. There’s…significant blood at the scene.”

Closing her eyes, she shook her head. “No.”

“This isn’t your fault—”

“You don’t understand.” Her voice trembled. “I
hired
Bliss to sell the house. If I hadn’t contracted her, she wouldn’t have been there. She wouldn’t be…”

She was unable to finish the sentence. Reid gently pulled her into his arms.

“I can’t believe…Bliss,” she murmured brokenly. “We’ve known each other since grade school. I was a bridesmaid in her wedding. And now because of me…”

Reid rocked with her. He smelled the scent of his shampoo in her hair. “Don’t blame yourself, Caitlyn. This guy is a sociopath.”

“He knew I was still in the city.” Her words were muffled against his chest. “He was hoping to find me there instead. Don’t tell me you don’t think that.”

He couldn’t disagree. “The D.C. police have an APB out for her. She could still be alive.”

“But for how long?” She looked up at him then, tears glistening in her eyes. “And what’s happening to her right now?”

Reid eased them both back against the sofa cushions.
She cried herself out as he held her. After a long while, he finally felt her body relax and her breathing become slower and steadier, indicating she had fallen asleep. But Reid didn’t want to wake her. Instead, he sat silently, watching the television Megan and her family had left on after their departure. He tried to get interested in the detective show storyline, but his mind was scattered in different directions—Bliss Harper and the copycat investigation, his own questionable health. Caitlyn felt small and boneless in his arms, and Reid admitted to himself that having her here was a comfort. In knowing that she was safe for now, at least.

In knowing he wasn’t alone.

Caitlyn awoke with a start in the unfamiliar bedroom. It took several moments to remember where she was, although she didn’t quite recall ever climbing into bed. The last thing she remembered was…

Bliss.

Reality hit her like a tidal wave, causing her heart to ache and simultaneously pound inside her chest. Was Bliss dead already? Or was she being tortured at this very moment? Caitlyn looked around the shadowed room, hearing only her shallow breathing and an alarm clock ticking on the nightstand. A faint memory now danced at the edge of her mind, one of Reid tucking her into bed and kissing her forehead. He’d told her everything would be all right. But she didn’t feel that way. Instead what she felt was an incredible helplessness.

She couldn’t go back to sleep.

Pushing away the covers, Caitlyn got out of bed and carefully felt her way down the short, unlit hallway that led into the apartment’s living room. What she expected to find was Reid, lying on the sofa with one of the bed pillows tucked under his head, sleeping. But the couch was empty. Only a crumpled blanket indicated anyone had been there. As her eyes continued adjusting, she made out his tall form. He was in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his head in his hands.

She went to him. “Reid?”

His skin felt clammy where she touched him. She could see the brush of his black lashes against his cheeks, his eyes closed in pain.

“Reid, please answer me!”

“I’m…okay.” His voice sounded weak. “It’s just a headache.”

Caitlyn wondered how long he’d been like this. “Where is your medication?”

“I’ve already taken it,” he said quietly. “Go back to bed, Caitlyn.”

“You need to lie down.”

Slowly, she coaxed him to the sofa, then guided him down onto it. Once he had stretched out, she went into the bathroom and ran cool water onto a washcloth. Gently, she placed it over his eyes, studying his tightened features as he seemed to fight some internal menace. Sitting on the edge of the cushion, she waited in silence beside him, watching for nearly twenty minutes until his frame finally began to release some of
its tension. After another interval of time he lifted the washcloth from his eyes and ran it over his face.

“Better?”

He nodded faintly. “Yeah.”

“Something’s wrong.”

His eyes remained closed. “I’m fine.”

“You’re
not
fine,” Caitlyn argued. “I saw the message on the notepad, Reid. Dr. Isrelsen’s office called about some test results.”

He paused, swallowed. “I’m having some residual pain, that’s all. My last MRI was clean.”

“I want to believe that,” she said softly.

Reid gazed at her, his eyes glassy and fevered. “Believe it, Caitlyn. I don’t want you to worry about anything else right now—”

“I do worry,” she whispered. “I’m worried about you.”

He reached for her uninjured hand.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” he assured her for the second time that night. “It’s just a headache, that’s all. Nothing more. I’m back on duty in a few days. And I swear to you I’m going to catch this bastard if it’s the last thing I do—”

“Sssh,” she urged. It was just a saying, she knew, but it still frightened her. “Just rest, all right?”

Caitlyn threaded her fingers through his damp hair. His entire body was hot, perspiring.

“Come lie down with me,” she suggested. “You’re too big for the couch to be comfortable. I just want you to get some sleep.”

“Caitlyn…” He said her name on a weary sigh.

“Let me take care of you.” She stood, waiting until he pushed himself up from the couch. The migraine or whatever he’d experienced seemed to have receded. Still, he appeared spent, wrung out. How long had the pain ravaged him before she’d found him? A half hour? More? As Reid walked to the bedroom, Caitlyn stopped in the bathroom and refreshed the damp cloth. When she reached him, he was already lying on the mattress on his back, still dressed in the jeans and T-shirt he’d had on the previous evening.

Caitlyn placed the cloth over his eyes and was rewarded with a murmur of thanks. Then she lay down beside him, resting her head in the crook of his shoulder. In less than two minutes, he was asleep. As her fingers stroked his broad chest, Caitlyn stared into the darkness.

Did she believe him about the headache? She wanted to, desperately. Still, what she’d witnessed didn’t seem normal, and the message from the neurologist was especially troubling. A seed of worry germinated inside her. Her mind raced with questions. How long had he been experiencing these headaches? Who was he hiding them from—his family, the Bureau…himself?

The possible answers, she realized, scared her more than the copycat.

S
quinting through safety glasses at the target in front of him, Reid fired off another series of careful shots. The squeeze of the trigger, the repeated kick of the Glock in his hands, the explosive sound of each discharge—they were reminders of his training days at Quantico. With an electronic whir, the wire-strung cardboard target moved back another twenty-five feet.

“Fire!” the instructor called from behind him.

Pop. Pop. Pop. Pop.

“Halt!”

The smell of gunpowder burned his nose as Reid engaged the gun’s safety. The target moved toward him once again. Even before the instructor stepped into the partitioned space to take it off the line, Reid could see from the visible holes that he’d done well. The silhouetted figure of a man had distinctive marks at the head, shoulder and chest.

“You’ve still got it, Novak,” the instructor commented. He initialed the target and placed it in a
drawer underneath his stand. “The time away didn’t hurt you any.”

Removing his glasses and protective earmuffs, Reid felt relief—relief that he’d easily passed the first part of the firearms recertification, and even more important, that the loud noises hadn’t caused another headache. He hadn’t been able to identify a cause. Sound? Stress? Whatever it was, he hated that Caitlyn had witnessed one of his more severe bouts last night. And that he’d lied to her about the message from Dr. Isrelsen.

Reid holstered his firearm. He felt strong today—his vision was clear, and there were no signs of the tremors he’d experienced in his hands before the brain tumor had been diagnosed. Didn’t that mean something? He just needed to make the call to Dr. Isrelsen, find out what the hell was going on.
He knew that.

Soon.

His mind heavy as he exited the FBI firing range, he ran into Mitch, who had apparently been watching from behind the shooting platform.

“Not bad,” Mitch commented as he removed his own protective headset. “Exactly how much practicing have you been doing?”

“Some.”

“You bona fide yet?”

“Not yet,” Reid said as they walked from the facility and into the sun-filled parking lot. His SUV stood out among the sea of sedate, dark sedans—government-issued vehicles. “I’ve still got the course to go.”

The obstacle course was a miniature-scale city street
with human figures that popped up in random locations without warning. Some were intended to be armed criminals, some civilians. The course was meant to gauge reaction time and how well an agent could assess threat levels under pressure.

“Any update on Bliss Harper?” he asked.

Mitch shook his head. “Morehouse is with the family now. I’ve been up most of the night working on leads with the task force, but it’s all been a dead end so far. I just wanted to drop by and check on you. I’m considering going back to the office and crashing in one of the cots in the back room.”

He fished his sunglasses from the inside pocket of his suit coat and put them on. “Look, Reid. I’ve got some news you’re probably not going to like.”

“About what?”

“SAC Johnston called this morning. The Bureau’s refusing security detail for Ms. Cahill.”

Reid released a breath. In some ways, he wasn’t entirely surprised considering how stretched FBI resources were right now. “Even with the attack on her two days ago?”

“There’s no direct evidence linking the attack to the serial murder investigation,” Mitch said. “For all they know, it could have been a random attempted robbery or rape.”

“Right.” Reid’s tone was sarcastic. “Random victims aren’t lured by a phone call.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” Mitch said. “Unfortunately, the supposed lack of evidence wasn’t enough
to keep the media from speculating about the attack. I got a call last night from a reporter at the
Post,
asking about the incident in the parking garage. I told him no comment, of course. But I’m amazed they hadn’t caught wind of it before now.”

“What about the surveillance on Hunter’s residence?” Reid asked. Mitch had accompanied him to where the Explorer was parked.

“That we have, sort of,” Mitch said. “Since he’s considered a fugitive from the law, the D.C. police have a plainclothes stationed in the neighborhood. No sign of him so far, though. From what I understand, his home’s about to go into foreclosure. It’s a nice place, too—big house, upscale neighborhood. But the lawn’s a mess. Overgrown grass and weeds. The homeowners association’s up in arms about it. They’ve left a half-dozen citations on the front door.”

Reid frowned as he opened his vehicle. The poorly maintained home was an apt metaphor for David Hunter’s deteriorating life. After the loss of his wife, he had lost the will to care for it, for anything. “Were you able to get a search warrant for the house?”

“Not yet. The judge is being a real son of a bitch about probable cause. The unofficial word is that he knows Hunter from his days as a prosecuting attorney and he’s sympathetic. We’re trying to get it in front of someone else.” Mitch shoved his hands into his pockets. “Jesus, I’m starving. Got any lunch plans?”

Reid checked his watch. “It’s nine-fifteen.”

“Okay, breakfast.”

“I don’t have time,” Reid said. “I’ve got the second part of the exam in a half hour—I’m on my way to the course now—and afterward I have some things to take care of.”

“Guess I’m eating alone then, but no problem. Glad you’re back, man.” Mitch turned and walked toward his own car.

Glad you’re back, man.

Was he back? It all depended on what Dr. Isrelsen had to tell him.

“Caitlyn, it’s me.” Reid knocked as he stood outside his apartment door. He’d given her strict instructions not to open it for anyone else. Soon, he heard the slide of the lock and then the turn of the dead bolt.

She stood in front of him, already dressed. He wondered how long it had taken her to manage that feat on her own. He also noticed the sling that was supposed to stabilize her injured hand was missing. Reid felt it was too soon, but didn’t want to criticize. Instead, she was wearing only the brace they’d picked up at the hospital pharmacy the day before.

As he closed the door behind him, she asked, “How did it go?”

“I passed.”

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, Caitlyn,” Reid reassured. He removed his gun and holster clip and laid them on the desk near the kitchen, suspecting he was about to be questioned.
“Last night was an isolated incident. You don’t need to worry.”

“Isolated? Meaning it hasn’t happened before?” Her eyes searched his as she waited for a response. Reid wanted to give her solace, but he wasn’t sure what to say. He didn’t want to lie to her further.

“Were you able to sleep after I left?”

“Not really. I watched TV. Bliss’s abduction is all over the news.” She added somberly, “So am I.”

Reid followed her gaze to the television set. Although the network was currently airing a commercial, he guessed the local stations were having a field day with the story, especially since the abduction had taken place at the Cahill residence. Something like that was an obvious tie-in to the original Capital Killer case.

“Is there any update on Bliss?”

“I’m sorry, Caitlyn. No.”

She bit her lip. But she seemed to fight her way through her emotion, instead turning toward the kitchen. “I made some coffee and toast. I hope you don’t mind.”

“That’s fine. You could have made some eggs, too.”

“I wasn’t that hungry,” she admitted. “Would you like coffee?”

“That would be great.”

Her hair had been pulled behind her head in a loose, messy bun. Reid’s heart lifted a little when he saw the hair clip she’d used.

“Hello Kitty?” he asked.

“What? Oh.” Handing him a cup of coffee, Caitlyn
absently touched the back of her hair. “Isabelle must have left it. And since I currently have the manual dexterity of a six-year-old, I was able to use it.”

Reid took a sip of coffee. The hair clip seemed to have broken the solemn mood a little, until the string of commercials on the television ended and a female reporter began talking about the abduction. An image of a blonde, smiling Bliss Harper, taken on a sunny beach somewhere, appeared behind her.

“…In a possibly related story, authorities confirm that Caitlyn Cahill, daughter of the late Senator Braden Cahill, was assaulted two mornings ago inside a parking deck at George Washington University Medical Center. Law enforcement won’t verify whether the attack on Ms. Cahill is related to the copycat investigation. Caitlyn Cahill played a prominent role in helping bring her brother, Joshua Edward Cahill, to justice for the murders of six women in the D.C. area two years ago. Ms. Cahill was released from the hospital yesterday morning….”

“I’m going back home,” Caitlyn said. “Right away.”

“Caitlyn—”

“This isn’t up for discussion. News like this is going to affect the therapy program. I need to be there to show everyone it’s business as usual. I’ve worked too hard to let things fall apart. If you’re dead set on having a bunch of FBI agents camped out there, fine.”

Reid released a breath. He might as well tell her the rest of it. “We didn’t get approval for the security detail. The Bureau denied the request.”

Caitlyn frowned, busying herself with folding a dish towel she’d left on the counter.

“I know you’re scared, Caitlyn. You have a right to be. You can stay here.”

Her eyes met his. “I can’t. I have to get back.”

“You’ll be unprotected—”

“I don’t care.” She moved toward the bedroom. “I’m going to get my things together. If you can just drive me to my car—”

Reid caught her arm, causing her to look up at him. Her eyes were wide, haunted. He’d been about to give her a stern lecture, but it died on his lips.

“Manny will be back from his trip on Sunday,” she said, trying to sound businesslike. “He can help with security. And I know very well how to use a gun.”

“Caitlyn,” Reid murmured. Her bravery both impressed and scared the hell out of him. He toyed with a strand of her blond hair that had escaped the confines of the clasp. “Counting today, I have four days before I’m officially back to work. If you want to go home, all right. But I’m going with you. I don’t want you out there alone.”