Midnight Fear (7 page)

“That’s him,” Reid said. Caitlyn pressed her hand against her stomach.

“Manny Ruiz?” Tierney called as he and the other agent strode toward the idling truck. Both held up their badges. Manny froze, and for several long seconds Caitlyn believed he might put the truck back into gear and make a run for it.

“Mr. Ruiz, step out of the vehicle.”

Manny hung his head, the premature lines in his face appearing deeper. His shoulders slumped and he released a long breath before turning off the engine.

“Put your hands where I can see them!”

Manny’s eyes met Caitlyn’s. She felt a mixture of pity, anger and confusion overtake her. He slowly got
out of the car. Her vision was blocked by Tierney’s broad back as Manny spoke with the agents.

“Whatever he did, he isn’t involved in the murders,” Caitlyn appealed to Reid, who still stood beside her.

“You can’t be sure of that—”

“Why? Because I didn’t know my own brother was a killer?” Her eyes clung to his, and her face felt hot. He placed his hands on his hips and looked at the ground.

“Where are you taking him?”

“To the Middleburg police station for questioning. Like I said, we just want to talk to him for now.”

A horse snorted from one of the stalls, its hooves stamping the ground. Caitlyn thought of the prescription pill bottle she’d found in the bathroom that morning. She wondered if Reid needed the medication, if he was looking for it. But now didn’t seem the time to bring it up. At the moment, he appeared strong and resolute. Invincible.

Tierney motioned for Reid as the younger agent led Manny to the back passenger side of the sedan. Manny climbed inside and the door closed behind him.

“I’ve got to go,” Reid said. She nodded blankly.

He didn’t look back. Caitlyn watched as the sedan drove away, feeling more isolated than ever.

T
his wasn’t Reid’s fault, Caitlyn told herself. She couldn’t blame him if Manny had lied about his past, if the secrets he’d been keeping were now coming back to haunt him. But Manny wasn’t responsible for Aggie’s death or the break-in to her home. Certainly, he’d had nothing to do with the murders.

She
was
sure of it…wasn’t she?

A thread of doubt traveled through her, making her question her own judgment. Kidnapping and battery were serious offenses—felony convictions Manny had failed to inform her about. In any case, falsifying information on his employment application was grounds for termination. She would have to begin an active search for his replacement, and soon. His responsibilities at the stables and farm were too large to be left unhandled for long.

She had already gone to bed when the phone rang on her nightstand. Glancing at the glowing numbers on the digital alarm clock, she saw it was nearly midnight.
Not that it mattered since she’d been too wired to sleep and had instead been tossing and turning.

“Hello?”

“Caitlyn, it’s Reid.”

Holding the handset against her ear, she pushed herself up against the bed’s antique, ironwork headboard.

“I’m sorry for calling so late.”

“Where are you?”

“Back in D.C.”

“What about Manny?”

“He was released a few hours ago.”

Caitlyn reached to the nightstand and turned on the lamp. “Meaning the FBI doesn’t have anything to charge him with.”

“There’s nothing substantial enough for an arrest,” he conceded. “In particular, Ruiz has an alibi that checks out for last night when someone broke into your home. But he lied to you, Caitlyn. He never told you about his prison term. Isn’t that something you want to know about a man you’re entrusting your stables to?”

Caitlyn rubbed her forehead. She knew Reid was right, but she was still upset about the disruption at the stables that afternoon. Even more, seeing him with the other two agents had brought back bad memories of the investigation into her brother—memories she’d worked hard to push aside.

“Did he…” She closed her eyes. “Did he know Joshua in prison?”

“He denies it. We also checked Ruiz’s prison records and there’s nothing to indicate their paths crossed
through work detail, especially since your brother’s in maximum security.” Reid paused. “Still, the fact remains that he’s a former convict. I don’t think he’ll come back to Rambling Rose, even to collect his things. But if he does, I want you to call me. My gut tells me he isn’t involved in all of this, but I can’t be one hundred percent certain. You should err on the side of caution where he’s concerned.”

Caitlyn bit her lip. A tree limb scraped the house’s exterior as the oak outside her bedroom swayed in the evening breeze. She didn’t want to talk about Manny anymore.

“You mentioned a second victim in the District,” she recalled. Reid had been going to the crime scene when he had left her home that morning. “Who is she?”

“Another Jane Doe for now, but it fits the pattern.”

“So there
is
a copycat.” The words felt lodged in her throat.

“It’s going to be okay. Just take the precautions we’ve discussed. I’ll be in touch as soon as I know more, I promise.”

“Reid? You left something here. A prescription medication—”

“I don’t need it.” He sounded polite but distant. “Good night, Caitlyn.”

Just like that, he was gone. She replaced the phone in its handset and stared out the window into the black night. The limb scraped the house’s siding again with a low, heavy rasp. Caitlyn glanced at the console on the bedroom wall, assuring herself that the repaired secu
rity system was active. Letting go of a breath, she drew her knees to her chest, willing away the nagging anxiety she felt. From inside her solitary bedroom, morning seemed about as far away as the moon.

Reid observed silently from the back of the room as Mitch laid the photos on the table in front of Joshua Cahill. Garbed in an orange prison jumpsuit that appeared two sizes too large for his thin frame, Joshua’s dark eyes moved across the gruesome crime scene images. He wet his lips, frowning a bit.

“Someone’s copying me?”

“Like you don’t know,” Mitch growled.

“I don’t.”

“Are you willing to take a lie detector test to validate that?”

Joshua pushed his scruffy bangs from his eyes, which had yet to leave the photos. He raised a tentative hand out to them.

“Don’t touch,” Mitch ordered. He leaned closer, his tone goading. “Nice, aren’t they? This guy’s stolen your act, Cahill. You’re trapped in here while he’s out having a good time. Know what I think? Maybe he’s better at it than you.”

Mitch pulled one of the photos closer, studying it. It was of the woman at Hains Point. “Just
look
at what he did to her. His work makes yours seem almost amateurish.”

Joshua looked up then, his eyes slowly morphing into cold, black stones. His previously slumped shoulders
squared a bit and his upper lip curled into a small smirk. Reid had witnessed the transformation before—in his myriad interviews with Joshua following his arrest, and in the psychological profile assessments following his conviction. He could turn on a dime from withdrawn, barely seeming capable of violence, to something bold and aggressive. It was as if a hardened, darker version of himself could overtake the more timid one at any time.

“But maybe I’ve got it wrong,” Mitch admitted, scratching his head. “If you’ve been instructing him from behind bars, then the kills would be partly yours, right?”

“I told you. I don’t know anything.”

“Bullshit.”

“I’ll prove it. I’ll take your stupid lie detector test. On one condition.” His obsidian gaze moved to Reid. “
If
I can see my sister.”

Reid crossed his arms over his chest, his jaw tightening. “Caitlyn’s not coming here.”

“But you could get her to. Couldn’t you, Agent Novak?”

Mitch’s back had been to Reid, but he turned in his chair to look at him, too.

“You can make her do just about anything, I bet. You got her to go through my things and steal from me. She turned her own brother in, all for you.” He rotated his shoulder, touching the area where it met his clavicle. “It still hurts where you shot me—”

“Too damn bad.”

“Maybe you got her to do some
other
things, too.”

His suggestive tone made Reid’s face grow hot. Instead of looking at Joshua—he wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of letting him see his irritation—he focused on the barred window on the far side of the small room.

“Did she go down on you?” Joshua asked. “Caitlyn’s got a real nice mouth.”

Anger thickened Reid’s voice. He still didn’t look at him. “This is a waste of time. This asshole doesn’t know anything.”

With that, he strode out.

A few minutes later, Mitch caught up with him in the corridor. Reid ran a hand through his short hair. “You can use a lie detector test if you want. We can get a warrant. But it won’t do any good. Cahill’s a habitual liar. He’ll fool the polygraph.”

“Well, he knows how to push
your
buttons.”

Reid said nothing. He looked at the heavy door separating them from Cahill.

“So, you witnessed the interview—what’s your gut?” Mitch asked. “Does he know the copycat or not?”

Reid wished he knew. He had hoped to see something in Joshua’s eyes when he viewed the photos. He’d expected some show of pride. If he was serving in the role of mentor to the second killer, Reid thought he might have seen that emotion. Unless Joshua was more in control of himself than anyone realized.

“It’s still a possibility. Did you get the visitor list?”

Mitch nodded. “There’s a minister from the Cahills’ church who comes every few weeks, but the guy’s in his
seventies and half-crippled with arthritis. There’s also a couple of women who show up regularly for visitation. Sick, huh? I guess they’re erotic masochists who get off on the idea of Cahill torturing those women. Speaking of, he gets quite a bit of
fan mail,
which the warden is now screening. They’re watching any and all postal mail and internet correspondence—what comes in as well as what he sends out.”

“What about prison guards in maximum security?” Reid asked.

“We’ll look into it.”

They began walking toward the exit, stopping at the desk where Mitch had checked his gun. Handing over their clearance badges, they waited for the guard to open the cage door and let them out.

Maybe you got her to do some other things, too.

As the late morning sunlight greeted them outside the penitentiary, Reid felt another flare of anger. He was being baited, he knew, but it didn’t keep him from seething inside.

A
t just before 1:00 p.m. on Wednesday, Farragut Square in downtown D.C. was bustling. Bicycle messengers congregated beneath the statue of the Union admiral, awaiting their next errand, while the business lunch crowd sat with brown bags on benches. Caitlyn traveled through the park, headed to a meeting for a nonprofit on whose board she still held a seat. It had turned out to be a beautiful fall afternoon, the air crisp and the sky bright blue, so she’d decided to walk instead of take a cab. She had arrived in town earlier that morning, checking into the nearby Montier Hotel in hopes of putting the past few days behind her.

With all the activity inside the park, she was reminded of the excitement of living in the nation’s capital. Men in power suits were most likely brokering deals for or against some federal legislation, while tourists studied maps and snapped photos. A tattooed man in a skullcap strummed guitar and sang for a crowd. For most of her life, Caitlyn had been a part of the District’s
energy. She had been a senator’s daughter—well connected, on the inside of it all. It seemed strange now to experience it merely as a visitor.

Although the stables were only an hour away, Caitlyn had opted to stay in the city for a day or two instead of driving back at the end of her meeting. Tomorrow morning she had an appointment with her financial advisor, and then afterward she would go to the adult care facility in Foggy Bottom, near George Washington University, to visit her mother. She also had a meeting about listing her family’s Georgetown home for sale. But Caitlyn couldn’t lie to herself; the overnight stay was about more than simple convenience. She considered it ironic that the District, the place from which she’d originally sought sanctuary, had become a temporary respite from her secluded life in the country.

At the crosswalk, she waited for the light to change so she could get across busy Seventeenth Street to the postmodern office building where the board meeting was being held. It was then that she saw the man. Tall and pale, with a receding hairline, he seemed to be staring directly at her. Pretty certain she didn’t know him, she averted her gaze and crossed the street with the other pedestrians.

Reaching the building, Caitlyn checked her wristwatch. She was early, and considering the gorgeous day there was little point in going inside too soon. She took a seat on the ledge of a splashing fountain outside the marble and glass lobby, intent on soaking up some sun.

She spotted the man again.

He stood on the other side of the street, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his wrinkled trousers. His features were pinched, his gaze on her intense. A businessman bumped into him on the sidewalk, but he didn’t break his stare. Their eyes locked for several heartbeats, until one of the metro buses pulled in front of the building, blocking her view. When it drove away a short time later in a cloud of black smoke, the man was gone.

Puzzled, she scanned the busy street looking for him. But it was as if he had vanished into thin air. Did she recognize him, after all? Something niggled at the back of her mind. She continued rifling through her mental Rolodex until her cell phone rang. She dug it from her purse and answered, expecting it to be Sophie.

“Caitlyn, it’s Reid. I was just calling to check on you. Is everything all right?”

Several days had passed since the ruckus at the stables involving Manny Ruiz.

“I’m fine.” She pushed away a few strands of hair the cool breeze had blown across her face. “I’m actually in the District for a couple of days on business. I’m staying at the Montier.”

“Where are you now?”

Caitlyn squinted against the bright sunlight. “On Seventeenth Street at the Habersham Building, getting ready to go into a long and probably boring meeting.”

There was a pause over the airwaves and for a second Caitlyn thought they had been disconnected. But then Reid spoke. “Have dinner with me tonight, Caitlyn? I’m
sorry about how everything happened the other day. I can come by the hotel and pick you up.”

The invitation surprised her. Caitlyn watched as a young couple strolled past, laughing and holding hands. “I’d like that.”

“I’ll pick you up at seven?”

Once they’d agreed to a time, Caitlyn closed the phone.
It’s not a date,
she told herself.
He’s only worried about me.
Still, Reid was under no obligation to take her to dinner. For all she knew he just wanted to show her more crime scene photos or discuss Manny again. But it hadn’t sounded like a business arrangement.

It had sounded like a man asking a woman out.

“You saw Joshua?” Caitlyn placed her dinner fork on the edge of her plate. They were seated at Agava, a cozy Greek restaurant just off K Street that was within walking distance from the Montier Hotel. Reid had met her in the hotel lobby, dressed in a sports coat, khaki slacks and a deep blue dress shirt.

“Agent Tierney wanted to interview him about anything he might know about the copycat,” he explained. “I went with him to analyze Joshua’s reactions.”

A small knot formed in her stomach. “What did you find out?”

“Not much. Tierney goaded him, trying to get him to brag about a mentoring role with the killer. He wasn’t biting.”

Caitlyn couldn’t help but wonder how Joshua was
faring in a maximum-security prison—whether the psychiatrists or medication were helping to control his violent, impulsive thoughts. “I imagine Agent Tierney can be rather…intimidating.”

“That’s an understatement.” Reid smiled faintly and took a sip from his water goblet before finishing the last of his
paidakia,
or grilled lamb chops. Although their conversation had shifted toward the investigation, until now they had talked mostly about other things—the urban nonprofit for which Caitlyn was in town, and the Rambling Rose equine therapy program. She’d expressed concern that losing Manny would be a disruption to what had become a pretty smooth operation. Manny had overseen the operational aspects of the stables and farm, leaving a large gap she feared wouldn’t be easily filled. Already, she had placed an ad in the Middleburg newspaper.

“Do you ride?” Caitlyn asked after the waiter had removed their dinner dishes and given them a rundown on the evening’s desserts.

“My uncle had a farm in East Tennessee,” Reid told her. “Megan and I used to spend several weeks there every summer. We’d fish, ride horses and just generally goof around. It was a chance for the city kids to live in the country for a while.” He shook his head in fond remembrance. “I really loved it there. But no, I haven’t ridden competitively like you.”

Caitlyn had taken an interest in horses from an early age and become an accomplished equestrienne. As a teen, her bedroom in her parents’ Georgetown home had
been filled with ribbons and trophies won for equitation and jumping. She’d even competed on the collegiate level for Sarah Lawrence, her alma mater.

“How’d you know about that?” she asked, surprised.

Reid didn’t answer for several seconds. “When your brother was under investigation, it was my job to learn as much about him as possible, including his acquaintances and family. Your background came…up.”

“Oh,” Caitlyn said softly, embarrassed by her naïveté. She should have realized he’d been privy to such information. He’d no doubt kept some dossier that held the minute details of herself and her family. She wondered if that was how he had selected the restaurant—Agava was one of her favorites.

Her thoughts must have been reflected in her expression, because he said, “I didn’t mean for tonight to be awkward, Caitlyn. I didn’t even intend to talk about the case.”

His gray eyes appeared intense in the table’s soft candlelight, the dancing flame illuminating his handsome face.

“Then why
did
you ask me?”

“The truth is, I didn’t plan to.” He shrugged a little, his voice low. “But when you told me you were here in the District, I realized that I really wanted to see you. It was an impulse move.”

His gaze held hers until the waiter’s return. He carried a tray with their ordered desserts—baklava and a molten chocolate cake with fig ice cream.

“Yours looks delicious,” Caitlyn noted, looking at the dense cake set in a brûlée dish.

“Would you like a bite?”

When she nodded, Reid dug his fork into the cake. Leaning across the small table, he held it out to her. Her fingers curled around his wrist as she helped him guide it into her mouth. The sensation of being fed by him caused a slow, disconcerting heat to unfurl in her stomach, mingling with the sensation of the rich chocolate melting on her tongue.

“Good?”

She nodded, swallowing and touching her napkin to her lips. Needing a distraction, she sipped from her cup of espresso.

Caitlyn chastised herself for her response to him. Was it really that long since she’d been with a man? Her feelings about Reid Novak were confusing…and becoming deeper despite the rational part of her mind warning her to stay unattached.

At the Montier Hotel, Reid escorted Caitlyn to her room. The elegant suite was decorated in shades of russet and gold. A Queen Anne sofa and love seat were arranged in front of a marble fireplace, and soaring Palladian windows gave views of the twinkling cityscape.

“I have a feeling this place definitely wouldn’t be on the FBI’s approved expenditure list,” Reid commented wryly.

“It shouldn’t be on mine these days, either, but I couldn’t resist staying here again.” Caitlyn placed her
clutch purse on the coffee table and removed her pashmina wrap, draping it over the sofa’s back. “When I was little, before we moved permanently to D.C., my family used to stay here. I was about six and I fell in love with the horse-drawn carriages and uniformed valets outside. It always seemed so magical to me, like staying in a palace.”

At her wistful statement, Reid studied her, causing her to run a hand self-consciously through her hair. “I probably sound really spoiled to you, not to mention silly.”

“You sound like someone who misses her family.” His expression was sincere. “You’ve been through a lot, Caitlyn. You’re very resilient. Most people wouldn’t have the strength to start over like you have.”

“I didn’t have much choice. It was sink or swim, as they say.” She smiled and tried to make the statement sound lighthearted, but realized she hadn’t quite pulled it off.

“Caitlyn…” He shook his head in the pale glow of the table lamp. “You don’t have to always act so brave. Not on my account.”

“I do it for
me,
actually,” she replied with honesty. “It’s how I got through Joshua’s arrest and the trial. All those reporters and their horrible newspaper articles. My father’s death.”

Sympathy reflected in his eyes. Reid stepped closer, until they stood just inches apart. Caitlyn realized her breathing had grown shallower. Gazing up into his face, she lightly touched his chest. Little goose bumps rose
on her skin as his fingers skimmed her bare arms in response. She thought he might kiss her, but after several long moments he instead released a breath that sounded like regret and slowly dropped his hands. Caitlyn felt disappointment spread through her.

“I should get going,” he said, voice hoarse.

She nodded. “Thank you for dinner. It was lovely.”

As he reached the door, she stopped him. “Reid? Just a minute…”

She went to the bedroom and returned with his prescription medication. Caitlyn handed it to him. “I was planning to drop it off before I left town.”

“Thanks.” He accepted the vial and dropped it into his coat pocket, not meeting her eyes. Caitlyn touched his sleeve, halting his retreat. She had to know—the prescription had been on her mind since finding it in her guest bathroom. She’d considered bringing it up during dinner, but had decided to let it wait until they were alone.

“Are you ill?”

He shook his head. “No. Not anymore.”

“I know Dr. Isrelsen. He’s a neurologist. A neurosurgeon, actually—”

“I had a brain tumor. A glioma,” he confessed quietly. He touched his forehead with the index and middle fingers of his right hand. “In my frontal lobe.”

His revelation shocked her. “Reid. I’m…so sorry—”

“I’m fine now,” he assured her. “It was benign, but in a tricky location. I had surgery to remove it six months ago.”

She searched his eyes. His mysterious absence from the FBI now made sense. “You must have been terrified.”

“I got through it.
We
did, actually. My family and I.”

“I’m glad.” Caitlyn reached up, her fingers lightly caressing his temple. Reid briefly closed his eyes at her touch.

“Bolt your door behind me, Caitlyn,” he said when she lowered her hand. He took a reluctant step back.

She nodded. With a final look at him, she closed the door and slid the bolt into place. Caitlyn remained in the suite’s vestibule until she heard the chime that signaled the arrival of the elevator to take him downstairs. Then, walking to one of the windows, she stared out at the city lights. The realization that someone as strong and vital as Reid could also be vulnerable was deeply troubling to her…as were her unsteady emotions. There was little point in denying to herself that she wanted him. But who she was—and who he was—meant the cards were stacked so very high against them.

Caitlyn believed Reid understood that, too.