“Nothing you shouldn’t already have figured out!” Hope snapped back. “This was no random kidnapping. It was meticulously planned. For God knows how long. Obviously, the monster who abducted my baby researched the make, model and color of my car so he could pass it off as mine. He also took the time to study Krissy, and to learn what meant the most to her. Then he got his hands on it, and used it to dupe her into getting into that car with him….”
“What did he get his hands on—specifically?”
“That’s why I’m tearing up her room. To find it. But it’s gone….” Hope’s voice cracked as she stared at the overturned bedding. “He was here. Today. But not to take Krissy. To take…” Hope buried her face in her hands.
Before Krauss could demand that she finish her sentence, Edward swung his legs over the tape and strode into the room.
“Hope?” His gaze darted wildly around, as if by visually covering every square inch of the bedroom, he’d spot his child. “What have you found out?” He turned to the cop. “Officer…?”
“Krauss,” the other man supplied.
“Officer Krauss,” Edward echoed. “Have you heard from the kidnappers?”
Krauss didn’t ask why Edward Willis assumed this was a ransom case. He just filed the information away for later and shook his head. “No contact whatsoever. But it’s early.”
“Early?” Edward snapped. “We’re not talking about a morning stroll. My five-year-old daughter’s life is at stake.”
“We’re aware of that, sir. Our sergeant and two officers are at your daughter’s school, as are detectives from the Westchester County Police and FBI agents from the White Plains Resident Agency. They’re all questioning Krissy’s teacher, principal and the entire staff. More FBI agents from Violent Crimes are on their way over here to join us locals. So is the county’s CSI team. We’ll comb through your house for clues, and branch out to widen the investigation.”
“I called the U.S. Attorney. He alerted the FBI’s New York Field Office,” Edward announced. “I also made my own personal call to the field office. I have a contact there who specializes in Crimes Against Children.”
“That wasn’t necessary, sir. As I said, we notified the FBI to request their assistance as soon as we got Mrs. Bock’s call. They were already aware of the situation. The hotline reached the local RA, who contacted the CAC squad in New York. Their Assistant Director in Charge contacted FBI Headquarters, and requested a Child Abduction Rapid Deployment Team. That team is en route. So is the team from the New York Field Office. They’ll be setting up an off-site command post, and working with us to safely recover your daughter. Plus, an Amber Alert’s been issued.”
“What about the NCIC Missing Person File?” Edward pressed on, referring to the National Crime Information Center’s entries. “Did you—”
“An entry was made immediately,” Krauss interrupted quietly. “Being an attorney, sir, and familiar with the law, I’m sure you’re aware that there’s no waiting period in a child kidnapping. Our police department may not be the size of the NYPD, but we know our jobs. And we do them—well.”
Krauss’s point struck home, and, abruptly, Edward realized what an overbearing tyrant he was being. “I apologize. I didn’t mean to attack you. But under the circumstances…”
“I understand. You’re going through hell.”
“Ed.” Hope interrupted, clutching her husband’s forearms. “Who would do this? Who took our baby?”
“I don’t know.” He drew Hope closer in a protective gesture. “But we’ll find out. And we’ll bring Krissy home.” Again, his gaze swept the room. “Who trashed her bedroom?”
“I did.”
Ed drew back, his brows knit in confusion. “I don’t understand. You told me Krissy disappeared at school. That she was taken right after the bell. So why…?”
“Your wife was about to answer that very question for me,” Officer Krauss interceded. “We checked this room out first, before we sealed it off for the Westchester County Forensic Investigation Unit. Everything seemed to be in order and completely untouched—at least until your wife turned the place upside down. Your nanny confirmed that she arrived right after you left this morning so she could do the laundry, bake cookies for your daughter’s after-school snack, and catch up on her own studying. She assured us that no one was at the house, or in this room, today.”
“Ashley’s wrong,” Hope countered. “So are the police.” Tears glistened on her lashes. “Whoever took Krissy was in this room. Today. During the time that Krissy was in school. Ed—” she turned to command her husband’s attention “—I looked everywhere. Oreo’s gone.”
His gaze snapped back to the bed. “Are you sure?”
“Positive. He and his blanket are both missing. The kidnapper must have come specifically to get them.”
“Dammit.” With a hard swallow, Edward turned to explain to Krauss. “Oreo is my daughter’s stuffed bear.”
“Panda,” Hope corrected.
“Panda. She drags him all over the house. The only time she puts him down is when she goes to school. Then, she covers him with a little blanket. It’s…” He paused to think.
“Lavender fleece,” Hope supplied. “It came with one of her dolls. She gave it to Oreo. She said she was afraid he’d get cold when she went to school and wasn’t there to hug him, so she tucked him in every day…on her bed….” With that, Hope finally, completely broke down. She bowed her head, her shoulders shaking with sobs.
Edward touched his wife’s shoulder, but she backed away, wrapping her arms around herself in a determined attempt to withstand this emotional ordeal on her own. Still weeping, she drew inward, seeking comfort where none existed.
It was like reliving a nightmare. Only worse. Now she was grown. And now the victim was her child, her precious little girl.
Officer Krauss was scribbling notes onto a pad. “You’re sure the bear was here when Krissy left for school?”
“Positive,” Hope managed. “I saw him when I came in to get Krissy’s jacket. She was already waiting for me at the front door. We were running late. I took her directly to school. She never went back upstairs.”
“Which means she never reentered her bedroom.” Krauss double-checked the bedroom windows. “As I said earlier, no sign of forced entry.” He was already heading for the door. “My men and I will recheck the security system and every door and window in the house. Then, I’ll need those personal items and information we talked about.”
There was a long silence when Hope and Edward were alone.
“The FBI should be here any minute,” he said at last.
“I’m sure they will. They’ll set up Command Central, waiting for a ransom call, while they grill us. They’ll start with our relationship, since we’re Krissy’s parents and the primary suspects. Then, they’ll move on to every human being who holds a grudge against us—which will take days, given our careers. Meanwhile, Krissy’s out there somewhere. Scared. Alone. And God knows what else.” Hope’s hand was shaking as she whipped out her cell phone. “So, yes, I’m glad we have the police and the FBI on board. But it’s not enough.” She punched in directory assistance.
“Who are you calling?”
“Forensic Instincts.”
Edward blinked. “The profilers?”
“Yes,” Hope confirmed. “You know their track record. It’s unbelievable. Five cases. Five successes. They find criminals. Serial killers. Rapists. And kidnappers. They’re on the fast track. And they don’t have a dozen other cases they have to work at the same time.”
A scowl. “We should check with the FBI first. What if the involvement of an independent organization puts Krissy in more danger?”
“It won’t.” Hope was talking so fast she was tripping on her words. “I’ve followed their work. They know just how to handle things. Your friends at the FBI might not like it, but I don’t give a damn.” A hard look at Edward as her index finger hovered over the send button. “I’ve been through thi
s nightmare before. I’m not losing Krissy.”
“I know what you went through. But you can’t compare the two traumas. It’s over three decades. Law enforcement’s capabilities have grown by leaps and bounds.”
“I don’t care. I can’t survive this again. Especially not when it comes to my daughter.”
“I understand. But—”
“Look, Edward, three decades ago or not, some things haven’t changed. Like the fact that an investigation can remain active for only so long. The last time the case went cold after two years. I’m not chancing that again. Not with my baby. Don’t bother arguing with me. I’m doing this. I’ll get them to drop anything they’re doing. I’ll pay them whatever fee they ask for.” Hope was finished waiting. She punched the green button and put the call through.
“In Manhattan, I need the number for Forensic Instincts, LLC.” Hope reached for a pad and pen.
“Fine. If you feel that strongly about it, go ahead,” Edward reluctantly conceded. “But I want them working with law enforcement. Not independently.”
“If that’s possible, great. If not—” Hope shrugged, scribbling down the number. Having gotten what she wanted, she disconnected the call, and began furiously punching in the telephone number. “The truth is, I don’t give a damn about the cops’ or the FBI’s internal politics. I don’t give a damn about anything—except getting Krissy home safe and sound. So if Forensic Instincts’ methods are too unconventional to suit you—hello?” Hope put her lips to the mouthpiece, her throat working as she spoke. “Is this Casey Woods?”
“Speaking,” a weary voice answered. “And this is…?”
“My name is Hope Willis. Judge Hope Willis. I live in Armonk. An hour and a half ago, my five-year-old daughter was kidnapped from her elementary school. The police are here. So is the FBI. But the minutes are ticking by. And the suspect list is way too long for them to tackle alone.”
“Really. And why is that?”
“Because I’m a family court judge, and my husband is a criminal defense attorney. We’ve racked up more grudge-holders and enemies than we can recall. We’ll try to compile a list, but it’ll be long. Plus, there are special circumstances involved that make this even more unbearable. I need to hire Forensic Instincts. Now. On an exclusive basis.”
There was a prolonged silence at the other end of the phone.
Special circumstances. An interesting and succinct choice of words. Plus, Casey could hear the repressed note in Judge Willis’s tone. The woman might be going through hell, but she was clearly holding something back. Half-assed candor didn’t fly for her—no matter how dire the circumstances.
“I’m terribly sorry about your daughter,” Casey responded. “But my team and I are just coming off a very intense, draining investigation, and we have other cases that have been back-burnered because of that, and now require our attention. I’m sure the FBI and the police will be on top of—”
“They’re not enough,” Hope interrupted. “I need more than conventional methods. We can’t afford to waste a second. Please. You know how crucial these first three hours are.”
“Yes,” Casey replied soberly. “I do.” And they’re slipping away, she mentally noted.
“Then will you come? I’ll do anything. Pay anything. Follow your instructions to a tee.” The last semblance of Hope’s facade cracked. “Please, Ms. Woods. I’m begging you. Find my baby.”
Casey had to cave. And not just because this case would mean big bucks for the company. But because instinct told her that the honesty and trust would come when they met in person. If not, the team would walk.
For now, a five-year-old child was missing.
“Okay. Stay calm. We’ll do everything we can,” she assured Hope, her entire demeanor softening. “Hang on.” A rustle as she snatched up a Post-it and pen. “Give me your address. Then give us an hour.”
CHAPTER THREE
Forensic Instincts showed up at the Willis house at the same time as the FBI. Watching them pull into the driveway, Casey immediately recognized the four special agents who’d been contacted and deployed by the Crimes Against Children Unit at FBI Headquarters in D.C. They were one of the two Child Abduction Rapid Deployment teams in the Northeast, and consisted of specially trained agents from several different field offices, each of whom had dropped everything and taken off the instant they’d been contacted. Aware of how crucial these first post-abduction hours were, the CARD team was here to assist C-20, the New York Field Office’s CAC squad, in tracking down Krissy Willis and bringing her home.
The team members now jumping out of their car consisted of Supervisory Special Agent Don Owens, and Special Agents Will Dugan, Guy Adams and Jack McHale. And Casey knew exactly which of them would be smiling at the sight of her team’s arrival, and which of them would be exceedingly pissed off to see them.
“Hey, Don.” As she climbed out of the driver’s seat, Casey waved at the seasoned agent who had to be nearing fifty-seven and mandatory retirement. He was hard-core, married to the Bureau, and yet he was more open-minded about Casey’s team than some of the younger squad members. Go figure.
“Casey Woods. Why am I not surprised to see you here?” Owens acknowledged her with a slight smile, his trim gray mustache curving with his lips. “I’m lucky I sped to Logan, and that my shuttle flight from Boston arrived early. Otherwise, you would have already set up the FBI’s Command Post and canvassed half the neighborhood.”
“Damn straight,” Ryan muttered under his breath.
Casey rolled her eyes. Ryan was cranky. He hadn’t gotten any of the sleep he’d anticipated after closing the last case. Functioning on zero rest was Casey’s specialty. She could operate on empty and make it seem full. She was able to push past her fatigue and get the job done. And Marc was a Navy SEAL to the core. He could run on sheer adrenaline. So Ryan was the cheese who stood alone. He was a royal pain in the ass when he went without sleep. At times like this, barring essential needs to communicate, Casey and Marc avoided him like the plague.
“This place is going to be a circus,” Ryan continued to mumble. “The CARD team. The Feds. The county police. The locals. Can’t we send them all back to their desks?” A grunt. “You know, leave us alone…. I’ll hack into the little girl’s computer. Casey, you can run down the list of suspects, interrogate the right ones. Marc can beat the crap out of the scumbag who did this. Then you’ll size up his reactions until we figure out where he hid the poor kid. And Krissy Willis will be safe in her own bed before the miserable prick who took her can do his worst. After that, we can all go home and crash.”
Before Casey could reply, Ryan spied the tall, slender woman who was squatting down just outside the Willises’ garage. Her brow was furrowed in intense concentration, and her delicate fingers were gliding over the streamers that dangled from the handlebars of what was clearly a little girl’s bicycle.
“Oh, great,” Ryan complained more loudly. “Look who’s here. It’s Claire-voyant—the cops’ favorite psychic, doing her thing. Now, we’ll be grilling suspects, and she’ll be clutching Krissy Willis’s dirty socks trying to get up in her head. I can hardly wait.”
Casey stifled a smile. Claire Hedgleigh—Claire-voyant, as Ryan insisted on calling her—was a noted, self-described intuitive who consulted with several police departments, using her special skills to help solve cases. Casey and her team had crossed paths with her on a couple of cases. And Casey was more than impressed. She’d done extensive background research on Claire, both educationally and professionally.
Academically, Claire held a master’s degree in Human Development and another in Transformative Theory and Practices. In addition, she had teaching accreditation from schools in the U.S., England and Australia in everything from psychic development to metaphysical sciences. And professionally, she had an A+ reputation and a three-year track record with the police. She was so good, in fact, that Casey was determined to lure her over to Forensic Instincts. She’d be a great addition to the te
am—once Casey broke the news to Ryan and pried the chip off his scientific shoulder. Instinct told her it wouldn’t be as hard a sell as Ryan pretended. He and Claire interacted in a way that only masqueraded as combat. But both Marc and Casey recognized it as a smoke screen for something more.
At this point, Claire was rising to her feet. Tall and willowy, with pale blond hair and light gray eyes, Claire had a gentle, ethereal quality about her that suited her calling. Now, she released the bicycle handlebars, brushed a strand of hair off her cheek and spotted them. An exasperated expression crossed her face when she saw Ryan. Clearly, she was not in the mood for a verbal sparring match. And Ryan was practically vibrating to start one.
Casey’s grin widened. An electrically charged tête-à-tête was definitely on the horizon. And Casey and Marc had already placed their bets on a timeline—and an outcome—for that.
For now, some barbed banter would be fine with her. The moments of levity would feel good. More than good. It would be like Novocain before a root canal. Because the latter was what they were about to walk into. Child abductions were among the toughest crimes to swallow.
“Play nice, Ryan,” she said drily as they approached the garage. “Claire knows what she’s doing. So don’t give her too much crap.”
“Who? Me?” he replied with mock innocence.
“Yeah. You look like a lion who’s been prodded with a sharp stick. Relax. You can go back and hole up in your lair as soon as we get the lay of the land here.” Casey reached Claire and stopped. “Hi, Claire. You’re working this case?”
A friendly nod. “And, obviously, so are you. Anything I can do to help out, let me know.”
Ryan made a derisive sound. “I think we’ll rely on science. Messages from inanimate objects just don’t cut it, at least not for me. But thanks anyway, Claire-voyant.”