In Harm's Way (Heroes of Quantico Series, Book 3) Read online

  He had also struck her as a man who weighed evidence and options. Rather than entertain wild speculations, he seemed more the sort who would thoughtfully consider facts and draw sound conclusions.

  In other words, he had been the perfect man to share her story with.

  As she fitted her key in the ignition, a sudden, odd tingle that felt an awful lot like attraction quivered in the pit of her stomach.

  Now where in the world had that come from? They'd met less than half an hour ago. And she'd told him a bizarre story that, despite his professional courtesy, probably relegated her to fruitcake land. Besides, even though the third finger on his left hand was bare, he had to have a wife or a hot date waiting for him. No guy that handsome would be unattached.

  Opening her window halfway, Rachel filled her lungs with the chilly night air, hoping to clear her head-and chase away any fanciful notions about Special Agent Nick Bradley. There was no way a man like him would have any interest in a woman who claimed to get messages from dolls. And she didn't blame him.

  As for the doll-in spite of his civility, for all she knew he was at this very moment throwing Raggedy Ann in his trash can.

  But that was beyond her control. She'd done everything she could by turning the doll over to the authorities.

  And as far as she was concerned, that was the end of the story.

  An hour later, as Nick approached the table for five tucked into a private alcove in the quiet West County restaurant, Mark Sanders raised a glass in welcome. "Finally. We were about to call in the FBI. Wait ... we are the FBI" He grinned and set the glass back on the table.

  "Sorry I'm late." Nick dispensed hugs to Emily and Monica and shook hands with Mark and Coop, pausing beside the pumpkin seat next to Monica on the banquette to run a gentle finger down the cheek of two-month-old Michael David Callahan. "I've been looking forward to meeting the newest member of the Cooper clan. Handsome little guy."

  "What else would you expect, with Monica for a mother?" Coop put his arm around his wife of fifteen months and gave her a gentle squeeze.

  Soft color suffused Monica's face, and she shook her head with a rueful smile. `Blushing. The bane of redheads'

  "Russet. That's the color of your hair," Coop corrected, fingering a strand as he examined it. "Like burnished leaves in autumn."

  "Whoa! Former HRT member turns poetic. I ought to tell the guys:" Mark helped himself to a stuffed mushroom cap from the appetizer tray in the center of the table as he ribbed his former Hostage Rescue Team partner.

  "You could:" Coop perused the array of appetizers, lingering over his selection of a toasted ravioli. "But then I'd have to tell them about the rose petals you had the florist sprinkle all over the bed in your honeymoon cottage at Wren Lake'

  "Rose petals?" Nick took the empty chair beside Mark and grinned. "Getting in touch with our feminine side, are we?"

  "Knock it off, Mark growled, his neck turning ruddy.

  "I thought it was very romantic" Emily tucked her arm through Mark's, her golden blonde hair shimmering in the subdued lighting. "But how did you know?" she asked Coop.

  "Mark ran the idea by me. I told him it would be overkill and advised against it, but he ignored me"

  "Good for you, Mark, Monica chimed in. "I agree with Emily. It was very romantic. In fact, the whole wedding sounded romantic. I'll always be sorry I missed it"

  "If this little guy hadn't disrupted our plans by arriving two weeks late you wouldn't have" Coop reached across Monica and folded the blanket more securely around the infant. "Trust me, the best man would have been happier to have his best lady by his side." After aiming a smile at Monica, he refocused on Mark. "You know, the more I think about it, the more I'm convinced that rose petal tale deserves telling."

  "Coop."

  At Mark's warning tone, Coop chuckled. "Don't worry. I can't imagine any of the HRT guys believing either story, anyway. You, romantic; me, poetic. Nah"

  "You guys miss the team at all?" Nick took a sip of the raspberry iced tea Mark must have ordered for him. Everyone at the office knew he was addicted to it.

  "Once in a while," Coop admitted. "But I like the teaching gig at Quantico. And I especially like being home at night-now that I have a family to go home to"

  "I agree, Mark seconded. "I wasn't sure if going back to fieldwork would be challenging enough after the HRT, but heading the reactive squad here keeps things interesting. And the hours for agents are a whole lot better than for HRT operators. Although you must have gotten tied up at the office tonight:' Mark directed his comment to Nick.

  "Yeah. We had a walk-in not long before closing. I drew the short straw."

  "Tough break," Mark sympathized. "Was it some hanger-on who wanted to tell you his life story?"

  "It wasn't a him. It was a her. And she wasn't a hanger-on. Just the opposite. She couldn't wait to leave"

  "That's a switch"

  The waiter appeared to take their orders, and the conversation shifted gears as they debated the merits of pork tenderloin with a rosemary glaze versus the asparagus and prosciutto risotto special of the day.

  Nick wasn't sorry for the distraction. In general, when someone showed up at the office with a bizarre tip, the story circulated around the bull pen and everyone had a good laugh. But for some reason, he didn't want people laughing at Rachel Sutton.

  Instead of letting the subject drop, however, Mark resumed the conversation without missing a beat once they'd placed their orders. "Tell us more about this mystery woman:"

  "She's not a mystery. I have all her contact information. Besides, I'd rather socialize than talk about work. You're all coming to my house for brunch on Sunday, right?"

  "I wouldn't miss it;' Monica said. "After all the stories I've heard, I want to see this place:"

  "How's the drywall dust situation?" Coop asked.

  "Much better than when you and Mark stayed with me last summer. The first floor is pretty much finished. And I'm not doing a whole lot of new drywall on the second floor. You should be able to breathe without sneezing:"

  "I can vouch for that," Mark offered. "Your sinuses are safe"

  "The house is fabulous," Emily told Monica. "It's a two-story, Federal-style brick from ... 1850, Nick?"

  "1852."

  "And it had been abandoned for a decade when he bought it a year ago, Emily continued.

  "I can't even imagine tackling a project like that:' Monica shook her head. "I think it's awesome'

  "We had a few other less complimentary words for it last summer, didn't we, Coop?" Mark smirked at his ex-partner.

  "I'll take the Fifth"

  "Still the reticent type, I see. Better have him reread that communication book you wrote, Monica, Mark teased.

  She snuggled closer to her husband. "He communicates just fine, thank you very much"

  Mark eyed the infant in the pumpkin seat and grinned. "Yeah. I guess he does"

  "Mark!" Emily gave him a playful jab. "We were talking about the house. I think you've done a great job on it," she told Nick.

  "Thanks. It's the most ambitious rehab I've ever taken on. But it's really coming together. I'll give you a tour after brunch on Sunday."

  "About that" Coop squinted at Nick. "I have one question. Are you serving tofu?"

  Mark chuckled and glanced at Nick. "You're never going to live down that health food phase you went through, you know"

  "I still eat healthy. And there's nothing wrong with tofu. But you'll be happy to know the menu for Sunday includes eggs Benedict-with real ham."

  "Now that's good news:" Coop grinned and confided to Monica. "Actually, Nick's not a bad cook, despite all the grief Mark and I gave him last summer. Some woman will be lucky to get him-if he ever decides to love one as much as he loves that old house"

  "Speaking of women ... I still want to hear about the one who showed up at the office this afternoon;' Mark interjected. "How come you're holding back?"

  "I'm not holding back. I'm trying to leave my job at
the office"

  "Since when?"

  "Since tonight"

  The two dark-haired agents exchanged a speculative glance.

  "I sense a story here, Coop remarked.

  "I do too" Mark turned toward Nick. "You might as well spill it. Or Coop and I will have to dust off some of those interrogation techniques we learned in the HRT:'

  Nick stifled a sigh. He'd already made a tactical mistake, raising suspicions by dancing around the subject. In any other circumstance, he'd be the first one to talk about a walk-in with an off-the-wall tip. They'd all share a laugh about the weirdo and move on.

  Except he didn't think Rachel was weird. Just her story. But he could imagine what these guys would think of it. Of him too, if he didn't dismiss it as summarily as they would. He'd prefer to avoid the whole subject, but he didn't see any way out of the corner he'd painted himself into.

  Shifting in his seat, he took a long, slow sip of his iced tea. And prayed for inspiration.

  "Do you know what I think?" Emily interjected.

  All heads swiveled in her direction. Her authoritative, notedpsychologist voice always commanded attention.

  "What?" Monica asked.

  "I think Nick had an unsettling encounter this afternoon"

  The heads swiveled back to him.

  "Is that right?" Mark asked.

  "I don't know how Emily knew that. But ... yeah"

  Mark shook his head. "That's amazing. Sometimes I think my wife is psychic"

  "That must make marriage interesting" One side of Coop's mouth hitched up, and he popped a salsa-laden tortilla chip into his mouth.

  "This has nothing to do with mind reading." Emily aimed a wry look at Coop. "You can get a lot of insight into a person by observing their behavior. Nick isn't his usual laid-back, open self tonight. He seems a bit distracted-and troubled"

  If there was any way out of talking about his late-afternoon encounter, Nick would take it. But he was stuck. At least Emily's perceptive comment, along with Mark's mention of psychics, gave him the perfect opening.

  "Kudos to Emily." Nick raised his iced tea glass in salute. "You nailed my mental state dead on"

  "I have to say I'm intrigued" Monica leaned forward, her attention fixed on him. "What happened?"

  "You know, these two would have come in handy during interrogations in our HRT days," Mark commented to Coop.

  "Yeah. A psychologist and a communications expert. What a great tactical team."

  "The real question is whether their sympathetic technique will work" Mark regarded Nick. "So are you going to talk? Or do we have to resort to less pleasant means of dragging the information out of you?"

  "Very funny" Nick took another swig of iced tea and set the glass precisely back in the ring of water on the polished oak surface of the table. "Okay, here's what happened. A woman showed up near closing time. Asked to speak to an agent. Yours truly got the nod. I met her in one of the interview rooms out front. She was dressed nicely, and she had a shopping bag"

  "Oh no" Mark rolled his eyes. "The old evidence- in- a- shopping bag routine"

  "Do you want to hear the story or not?" An uncharacteristic note of impatience sharpened Nick's words.

  Surprise flickered across Mark's features, and he exchanged another glance with Coop. "Yeah. Sorry."

  "Okay. There was a very beat-up Raggedy Ann doll in the bag. She said she found it in a Bread Company parking lot, sticking out from a melting pile of snow. She decided to rescue it and turn it in to the store's lost and found"

  "She dug a shabby doll out of a frozen pile of filthy snow?" Mark arched an eyebrow.

  "She thought some little girl might be missing it, and that her mother might be looking for it." Nick's defensive comeback only seemed to increase his fellow agent's curiosity.

  Emily, on the other hand, smiled. "She has a soft heart. I like that"

  "Me too;' Monica affirmed. "I had a Raggedy Ann doll as a child. It traveled all over the world with me, from one diplomatic post to the next. I'd have been devastated if it ever got lost:"

  Sensing two allies in the wives of his friends, Nick focused on them as he continued his story. "When I asked her why she thought the FBI might be interested in the doll, she said. . "

  He stopped. Abruptly.

  All at once he knew exactly how Rachel Sutton had felt in the seconds before she'd told him the reason for her visit. And his admiration for her mushroomed. It was bad enough to share this story with friends, with people who were predisposed to give you the benefit of the doubt. He couldn't imagine how much more difficult it had been to march into a law enforcement agency, a place she knew would be inclined to treat her with cynicism-at best-and talk about what had happened.

  "What did she say, Nick?" Emily reached out to touch his hand.

  He stared at her fingers, drawing courage from the comforting, supportive gesture. "She said when she touched it, she had a reaction:"

  Silence greeted his statement. He kept his gaze fixed on Emily's fingers, expecting them to be withdrawn at any moment, bracing for the rejection. But when the silence lengthened and her fingers stayed in place, he ventured a scan of the table.

  Mark and Coop shared identical expressions, eyes narrowed by a combination of caution, doubt, and suspicion. And he wasn't surprised to find an is-this-for-real-or-are-you-pulling-my-leg quirk to their lips.

  The two women, on the other hand, seemed far more receptive to his story. Emily's expression was thoughtful. Faint furrows marred Monica's brow as she leaned closer.

  "What did she mean by reaction, Nick?"

  He wasn't surprised by her question. She was a word person. Clear communication was her thing. He'd asked the same thing of Rachel himself.

  "She said when she held the doll, she felt terrified:"

  "And you bought this?" Mark's question was laced with incredulity.

  "Not at first:"

  "What changed your mind?" Coop joined the conversation.

  "I asked her to hold the doll. And I witnessed her reaction"

  Silence again.

  "Okay, let me get this straight" Mark folded his hands on the table. "She picked up the doll, and she ... what? Freaked out?"

  "She had all the symptoms of terror. Like a panic attack"

  "Adrenaline rush, trembling, muscle tension, rapid and shallow breathing?" Emily clarified.

  "Yes. And I don't think those kinds of physical symptoms would be easy to fake"

  "They wouldn't;' Emily concurred.

  "Then how do you account for what happened?" Mark directed the question to Nick.

  "You mean besides the explanation she offered?"

  "Her explanation isn't logical."

  141 saw it;' Nick countered.

  "Okay." Coop stepped in. "Let's skip the discussion on plausibility for a second and ask the next question. What did she want you to do about it?"

  "Look into it. She sensed danger and felt compelled to pass the ... for want of a better word, message ... on to someone in a position to investigate."

  "Where's the doll now?" Mark asked.

  "Sitting on my desk"

  "Pitch it"

  Nick raked his fingers through his hair. "That was my first inclination. But I couldn't do it. She seemed so ... sincere:"

  "They all do."

  "The thing is, why would she make this up?" Monica tapped a finger on the table, her expression thoughtful.

  "To get attention? Because she's delusional? Why do any of these weirdos show up with bizarre stories?" Mark responded.

  "She wasn't a weirdo" Nick gritted his teeth. Took a deep breath. "She's a teacher. And she's very intelligent and articulate"

  "A woman shows up at an FBI office claiming she's getting bad vibes from a doll and wants us to investigate. You don't call that weird?"

  "In theory, yes. In this case ... it doesn't fit."

  "Are you saying you believe her?" Mark pressed.

  Nick shifted in his seat. "I don't want to. It's too bizar
re:"

  "But you do" Mark leaned back and regarded him through narrowed eyes. "How old is this woman?"

  "Early thirties, I'd guess"

  "Attractive?"

  Nick frowned. "What does that have to do with anything?"

  "Pretty women are hard to dismiss as kooks"

  "I didn't say she was pretty."

  "I noticed that. You sidestepped the question:"

  Cornered, Nick folded his arms across his chest. "Okay. Fine. She was pretty. But her looks have nothing to do with this. I saw her reaction. How do you explain that?"

  "I can't. But maybe psychology can. And we happen to have an eminent psychologist in our midst tonight. I think I can work out a suitable consultation fee, since she's my wife:" He winked at Emily and draped his arm around her shoulders. "Dr. Lawson, what's your take on this?"

  "I'm afraid this is really outside my realm of expertise. It dips more into parapsychology than psychology. But I can tell you these sorts of paranormal phenomena in general are not considered by most psychologists to have much credibility. There's been research done in the field, but a lot of the work is unscientific and much of the data is flawed. So despite decades of effort by proponents to prove these kinds of phenomena are real, there've been no conclusive positive results"

  "What about people who claim they can sense emotions from objects? Isn't there a name for that?" Monica asked.

  "Psychometry," Emily supplied. "It's considered to be a form of ESP. Practitioners say they can read the history of an object and its owners by holding it. There's a lot of interesting anecdotal material about it, but again, virtually no reliable empirical evidence to support its validity."

  "In other words, the woman Nick talked to is a fake" Mark settled back in his seat.

  "I didn't say that," Emily clarified.

  Frowning, Mark leaned forward again. "What do you mean?"

  "It sounds to me like her reaction was very real. We can't discount that. I think there could be a legitimate explanation for it. A memory buried somewhere in her past, perhaps. The doll may have been a trigger of some sort:'

  "Meaning you don't think she's a kook." Relief coursed through Nick. Emily had offered the first logical explanation for the phenomenon he'd witnessed. One that took the "loony" stigma off Rachel Sutton. And for some reason, he was grateful. Which was odd, since she was a stranger to him and he was unlikely to see her again.