Found Wanting Page 4

  "Humor me."

  She blew out a breath. "All right."

  "Check out his kid, too. Maybe there was some gang activity --"

  "Now you're reaching. That family is as squeaky clean as Alaina Chancellor and her kid."

  "Yeah, well, she's only clean on the surface, isn't she?"

  "Mitch, I hate to keep repeating myself, but this job is bad news. I think you should walk away."

  "It's too late now. I was hired to find the kid, and now the cops are all over the place where he was supposed to be and isn't. To me, that means he's at risk."

  After a long moment, as if she could wait out his resolve, she sighed. "I'll get back to you as soon as I know something new."

  "Thanks."

  As he slipped the phone back in the leather holder on his belt, headlights slashed across the front of the house. Squinting, he shielded his eyes. The driver of the small SUV didn't kill the lights, and Mitch heard a door open and close.

  When the driver came into view, shock froze him.

  She staggered and would have fallen if he had not moved quickly to catch her by the elbows. He felt the tremors shuddering through her, saw she was pale and perspiring, the green scrubs she wore damp and clinging. Her eyes didn't look right. They were wild with fear -- the kind he would have expected earlier if she'd thought Jonah's life were in danger.

  "Let me go," she gasped, pushing him away with surprising strength and stumbling toward the house.

  Mitch chased after her, grabbed her arm. "He's not in there."

  * * *

  Alaina wrenched away from him, her strength manic. At the front door, she dodged a cop, barely seeing him.

  Instead, she saw a mess. Overturned chair. Coffee table on its side. A busted lamp.

  A large bloodstain on the light carpet.

  Oh, God, no.

  She swayed as her heart thumped in her ears, slammed against her ribs. Ignoring the dizziness that came in waves, she searched for Jonah, didn't find him. Maybe he was upstairs.

  Ordering her jelly legs to obey, she lurched toward the staircase. "Jonah!"

  The man from the driveway blocked her way. She saw his lips moving but couldn't hear his voice over the ringing in her ears. All she could smell was blood, metallic and sweet.

  Her knees threatened to buckle, and she sank her fingers into his damp shirt to keep from falling. She felt his arm go around her and fought the black spots. But she was losing the battle. Dammit, dammit, dammit.

  There was no time for this. She had to find Jonah.

  But her body had other plans.

  She fainted.

  * * *

  "I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."

  Addison Keller turned to face FBI Assistant Director Norm Potter as he walked into the office and shut the door. He was a tall, lanky man with thick red hair and a face full of freckles. She'd been skeptical the first time she met him three weeks ago, the day she had sat across from him at a Dupont Circle coffee bar and told him that the revered and respected Layton Keller was plotting the murder of her sister.

  Potter hadn't shown one twitch of surprise. Without hesitation, he'd told her the FBI would be more than happy to find and protect her sister and nephew. He'd followed that up with a smooth request for her help in return.

  It had stunned her that the FBI was already investigating Layton. For what, Potter refused to say. And while he didn't tell her that the feds would protect Alaina and Jonah in return for Addison's assistance in the investigation, he implied it, and Addison was frightened enough for her sister and nephew to agree to help. So far, though, Potter had asked for nothing, and she'd begun to think that maybe he didn't need her help after all. Until he'd called today and asked her to meet him. He'd given her the name of a dentist and told her to make an appointment. He would meet her at the dentist's office.

  She had arrived for her "appointment" five minutes before, and the receptionist had led her down a long hallway to a sparse room at the back of the office. The room held a gun-metal gray desk, a chair behind it and in front of it, and a lamp. It was as stark as her life had become.

  Potter's somber expression didn't help. A chill passed through her, and she clasped the edges of her coat together. "What's going on?"

  Potter gestured at the chair facing the desk. "Why don't you sit down, Mrs. Keller?"

  "I don't want to sit down. I want you to tell me what's happening. It's dangerous for me to be sneaking around like this. You know that."

  "Yes, and I'm sorry about that, but I felt it was important for us to have this conversation in person."

  She felt a little dizzy as the implications of that statement whirled through her head. Alaina dead. Jonah lost and alone. The Chancellor-Keller empire wiped out by the one man who had nearly single-handedly built it.

  Potter touched her elbow. "Can I get you something to drink?"

  Addison shook her head, swallowing. "I'm fine. Please, let's ..." She trailed off, searching for the right word. Talk? Negotiate? But hadn't they already done that? Hadn't she already traded her husband's future freedom for the safety of the sister she had spent nearly two decades detesting?

  Potter leaned back against the front of the desk, his brow furrowed as he crossed his arms. "I'm not going to lie to you."

  Addison grasped the back of the visitor's chair for support. "Please, just tell me what's happened."

  "Your sister and nephew are missing."

  "They're together?"

  "We don't know. Your nephew was last seen at a private home in Mount Prospect, a Chicago suburb. A father was shot, and his son was knocked around at the home."

  Addison decided to sit after all.

  Potter moved behind the desk and lowered himself to the chair, folding his hands on his desktop. "Your sister was last seen at a Chicago hospital after being struck by a car running away from the two agents I sent to take her into protective custody."

  "Is she okay?" Addison asked.

  "She walked out of the ER, so her injuries weren't that bad."

  "So what you're telling me is that everything went wrong."

  He cleared his throat. "The Bureau is committed to fulfilling its end of the deal, Mrs. Keller. I've got agents working night and day to find your loved ones."

  Loved ones. She didn't know whether to laugh or dissolve into tears. "You didn't bring me here to tell me this. You could have told me over the phone."

  Instead of responding, Potter took a cellphone out of an inner jacket pocket and punched some buttons. "We're ready for you," he said into it.

  After stashing the phone, he said, "A gentleman is going to be here shortly to show you how to distribute listening devices throughout your home and your husband's cars and offices."

  Addison felt exhaustion and defeat settle over her like a heavy, black cloud. "We made a deal."

  "Yes, we did. And the Bureau has made, and continues to make, a good faith effort to fulfill its part. Now, it's your turn."

  Chapter 6

  Alaina opened her eyes. The ceiling above her was unfamiliar. So were the scents -- mint, stale cigarettes and the faint odor of bleach. A frantic glance around told her she was in a hotel room. And apparently alone.

  Ignoring the slashes of pain from various bumps and bruises, she tried to sit up. That's when she discovered her left wrist was handcuffed to the wooden slatted headboard of the bed.

  Her heart jackhammering in alarm, she scanned the room for clues. It was standard Best Western -- two double beds, a TV on top of the dresser, a desk and chair, flowered décor in teal and wine and heavy curtains that blocked whatever light might have come through the single window. Someone's belongings littered the room -- loose change scattered on the desk, a denim shirt draped over the back of the desk chair, a suitcase open on the other bed. In it, she could see balled socks, folded T-shirts and polos, a couple pairs of rolled blue jeans, a black leather belt. Man things.

  Her shoulder throbbed, and she massaged it, realizing that the hospital s
crubs she wore were wet and cold, clinging uncomfortably to her skin.

  And then she remembered the blood on Grant Maxwell's carpet. It hadn't been from an accident. Furniture wouldn't have been overturned from an accident. Police cars, lights flashing, wouldn't have been there because of an accident. Something horrible had happened. And Jonah had to have been there when it did. That was the Wednesday routine. He took the bus with Lucas after school to Lucas' home and waited for her to pick him up after work. So whatever had happened at the Maxwell home might have happened to Jonah. The blood might have been his.

  Panic spilled through her, filling her head with a deafening roar. She fought it down, inch by nauseous inch. Jonah knew what to do. She had trained him, painstakingly drilled into him the details of what to do and when to do it. Ever since he'd been old enough to read. The teen was as prepared as any adult to do what he needed to do to survive. Alaina had made sure of it.

  She flashed again on the blood on Grant's carpet, and her brain stuttered.

  Guns. She had not prepared Jonah to handle people with guns. She hadn't known how to without scaring him, hadn't known where to begin. Now she realized what a mistake that was.

  Panic welled again, like blood from a pinprick, and she shoved it away. Getting hysterical wasn't an option. She had to focus on how to free herself so she could find her son.

  The bedside clock told her it was 5:32. Judging from the dampness of the scrubs, it had been only an hour since she had swiped Rachel's keys. That meant the hotel couldn't be far from Mount Prospect.

  Turning her attention to her restraints, she tried to slide the handcuff over her hand. When that didn't work, she tried to snap the wooden slats encircled by the opposite cuff, managing only to bruise her captured wrist and send throbbing pain shooting through her injured shoulder. She accomplished more of the same trying to snag the phone that sat on the other bed, its cord just a finger's length beyond her reach. She couldn't reach it with her foot, either.

  Finally, she searched the drawer in the bedside table for anything she could use to pick the lock, but it held only hotel stationery and a Bible.

  A subtle click brought her head around as the electronic key on the room door tripped. She could do nothing but hold her breath.

  The man who walked in wore faded blue jeans, a white polo shirt and a black leather jacket, a backpack over one shoulder and a navy sports bag dangling from one hand. He had dark brown eyes, razor stubble and short, dark hair salted with gray. He reminded her of George Clooney, and under ordinary circumstances, she would have considered him very attractive. Except, unlike the actor, this man didn't look the least bit affable. In fact, he looked pissed off.

  As the door closed behind him, he paused, his dark gaze flicking over her, unreadable as he dropped the bags at his feet.

  Alaina sensed that remaining calm was imperative, even as her muscles twitched to bolt. She would have tried already if not for the manacle encircling her wrist.

  "Who are you?" she asked, conversational, even a little casual.

  "Mitch Kane." His voice was deep and rough, his tone matching hers.

  The name meant nothing, but he didn't offer anymore information, as she'd hoped. She raised her handcuffed wrist. "What's this for?"

  "I didn't want you bailing on me."

  She might have assumed he was a stupid henchman hired to do a job, but his eyes were sharp, his stance tense, ready to react if she made an unexpected move. "It's a strange way of asking me to stick around," she said, still casual.

  "From what I've heard, you're slippery."

  Her pulse started to sprint. "Who would you have heard that from?"

  "Your son's father."

  Nausea began to churn. "You know Layton?"

  He gave a curt nod. "I work for him, yes."

  Jesus, oh, Jesus. "Where's Jonah?"

  His gaze flickered ever so slightly. "I don't know."

  So he had escaped. She could have wept in relief. "What did you do? I saw the blood."

  Surprise arched his dark eyebrows. "I didn't have anything to do with that."

  "But you were there."

  "I was looking for your son."

  "How did you know where to go?"

  "I'm a detective. I've been following you for three weeks. I know your routine."

  For a long moment, she couldn't think. Then it began to sink in: A stranger had been watching their every move. He had watched her drop Jonah off at school, pick him up, take him to the dentist, to soccer practice, to the movies to meet his friends. This man had witnessed the heated discussion they'd had in the parking lot of their apartment complex after she refused to let her son buy a dirt bike with the money he'd been saving. This man knew when Jonah was home alone. He probably even knew that after Jonah turned off his bedroom light at night, he usually huddled under the covers with his Game Boy, determined to win one more level of the latest James Bond video game before calling it a night.

  She imagined all the snippets of their life that this man had watched, uninvited, plotting whatever Layton had in mind. The sense of violation and dread rolled over her in a hot wave. "I'm going to be sick."

  Mitch moved fast, whipping the key to the cuffs out of his pocket and springing the lock without hesitation. She stumbled getting off the bed, and he caught her around the middle and helped her to the bathroom.

  She dropped to her knees in front of the toilet and lost the contents of her stomach.

  * * *

  Mitch stood in the bathroom doorway as she sat back on her heels, a hand pressed to her right side. Her breathing was ragged, her face pale. The scrubs were too big for her, the material slipping off one smooth shoulder. Myriad bruises marred that shoulder, spreading across her collarbone. His stomach clenched.

  Slipping the handcuffs into his back pocket, he reminded himself that she had stolen a man's son, had robbed that man of fourteen years of knowing his child. She had killed a fellow detective. Feeling sorry for her wasn't allowed. People who shattered lives and broke hearts like she had deserved whatever they got. And if he got to be on the giving end of that, well, then, he was more than happy to take care of business.

  His main concern at the moment was for Jonah. Wherever he was, he was no doubt frightened and confused. His mother had done that to him, and that angered Mitch.

  "Do you have a plan?" he asked.

  She pushed damp hair back from her face. "What do you mean?"

  "In case you get separated."

  She closed her eyes, swallowed hard. "No."

  Kneeling beside her, he waited until she turned her head to look at him. Her eyes were rimmed in red, making them look more green than gray. She had started to shiver. "If you lie to me, I can't help you," he said.

  "Help me do what?" Her voice was low, hoarse.

  "Find your son."

  "So you can take him away from me."

  "That's not my job. My job is to find him."

  She tightened her lips as if fighting off another surge of sickness. "I won't take you to him."

  He straightened, and tired of seeing her shiver, reached down to help her up. She recoiled as if he were a striking snake, scrabbling back until her back hit the wall. The impact made her gasp, but her gaze, wide and fearful, never left his face.

  Startled by her reaction, Mitch backed off. Panic poured off of her in waves that seemed to shimmer like heat. Don't let her get to you. He hardened his jaw. "This is how it's going to be. You're going to get dressed, and we're going to go meet Jonah at your rendezvous point."

  She glared up at him, some of the panic shifting into defiance. "You can't force me."

  "No, but the longer you leave him out there by himself, the harder it's going to be to find him. Don't you think?"

  "He knows how to take care of himself. He's a survivor."

  He stared her down for several moments, but her gaze stayed level on his, and he couldn't help but admire her resolve. He also couldn't help but notice that the wet scrubs clung to her body
, and that she wore nothing beneath them.

  Turning on his heel, he left the bathroom to retrieve the sports bag he'd bought while she'd been out of it. Dropping it at her feet, he said, "I picked up some clothes and other necessities for you. Get dressed, and we'll talk some more."

  Chapter 7

  While Mitch waited for Alaina to change, he thought about Layton Keller. He couldn't imagine him and Alaina together. The man was a corporate maverick, an icon in his field, known as a ruthless perfectionist who didn't hesitate to fire an underperformer. His peers respected him, his managers worshiped him and his underlings feared him. In essence, Mitch surmised, Keller was a mirror image of the late Paul Chancellor.

  Keller also loved money. Loved making it and loved showing off how much he had with fancy parties, fast cars and a rich social life filled with theater, five-star restaurants, bottles of expensive wine and luxury boxes at major sports arenas.

  From what Mitch had observed of Alaina and Jonah, and what his partner, Julia Rafferty, had turned up on them, they lived simple lives. Their apartment was small -- barely large enough for two. Alaina took brown-bag lunches to work and drove a late-model Honda that had seen better days. The wardrobes of both mother and son didn't appear shabby, but they weren't new or sporting designer tags, either. The kid, he noticed, needed new athletic shoes, though Mitch figured the holes in his jeans made them fashionable rather than worn.

  Mitch wondered what Alaina had gained by keeping Jonah from his father. Considering the child was conceived out of wedlock, he was sure Keller, who obviously prized his pristine public image as much as his late father-in-law had, would have shelled out handsomely to keep it that way. She could have reaped thousands a month in support payments simply to keep quiet, and it would have been chump change compared with Keller's fortune. It certainly would have topped the piddly salary she pulled down as a journalist.

  Instead, mother and son survived paycheck to paycheck, eschewing full-price movies and fancy restaurants for macaroni and cheese, matinees and videos, hiking and biking, usually just the two of them. Jonah didn't seem to mind hanging out so much with his mother. She was certainly able to keep up with him athletically. Last week, when the weather had been unseasonably warm, Mitch had watched Alaina and Jonah engage in a competitive one-on-one basketball game at a local park. It had been evident from the game that Jonah adored his mother. When she scored, he high-fived her like a good buddy.