She’d truly wanted to end it all.
And that was the difference between now and then.
Then she’d wanted to die.
But not anymore. She might not have the answers but at least she’d begun to ask questions. And she’d developed a theory, a terrible one about a monster who had to be stopped. That was the reason she’d set up a meeting with the newspaper editor on Monday. She’d needed to talk through her theory with someone who had no stake in the past. No bias against the truth.
She absolutely did not want to die.
She needed to live if she were going to expose the monster.
There’s no one else here, Laura.
It didn’t matter. She could never have done this to herself. She wouldn’t have tried to kill herself when she was just beginning to take back her freedom. Not when she was getting so close to finding out the truth about what had really happened to her—and to Angelina—thirteen terrible years ago.
Chapter 7
Thursday, October 24
12:55 P.M.
Task force headquarters
Highlands Hotel
Denver, Colorado
Spense could tell from her forced smile and stiff posture that Caity didn’t much care for Dr. Grady Webber—and Caity liked everyone. If Webber was on her blacklist, Spense figured he must’ve done something despicable. And the presumptuous way Webber spoke to Caity made Spense want to hoist him up by that fancy collar of his and scramble his Ivy-League face.
Caity sent him a warning look.
He relaxed his jaw, stuck his hand in his pocket and rearranged his miniature Rubik’s cube instead.
Then, all self-control, he aimed an equanimous look at Webber. “You, wait here.”
They’d just arrived at the Denver Highlands Hotel where a task force consisting of detectives from the Denver PD and agents from the local FBI field office and the Colorado Bureau of Investigation had rented three adjoining suites. Using a private venue as a command center provided another layer of confidentiality to the proceedings and had the added benefit of preventing any one agency from gaining home-turf advantage. One suite had been set up as a waiting area for potential witnesses, another as a war room, and a third as an interview room/kitchen. This case, involving the missing daughter of a United States senator from Colorado, didn’t seem to be plagued by the usual funding problems.
Webber checked his watch. “I’m on the clock. The longer you keep me cooling my heels the more it’s going to cost.”
“Cost whom?” Caity asked.
“Whit Chaucer, of course. Naturally, I want to do all I can for Laura. But my time is valuable.”
“Everyone’s is. We’ll call you back as soon as possible,” Spense assured him, though he wasn’t about to rush anything up for the arrogant jerk.
“Really, Caitlin.” Webber turned his back to Spense. “No need to give me that disapproving glare. I’m sure you’re getting paid for your expertise, as is Agent Spenser.”
Caity’s lips thinned.
She had a beef with this guy. Spense was one million percent sure of it.
“No one’s judging you, Grady. Spense and I need to get our bearings and meet the team before we bring you in. That’s all there is to it.”
“Yes, but have you considered including me, officially, as part of the task force? Surely I have as much or more to offer in terms of psychiatric expertise as you. After all, I trained you.”
What a condescending creep, Spense thought.
Caity smiled broadly. One thing about her, she didn’t rattle. “You played a small part in my general psych training, yes. But, to my knowledge, you don’t have any hands-on experience with the criminal mind. And, as I’m sure you’ll agree once you think about it, you’re too close to Laura to be objective. You’re far more valuable, in this instance, as a witness. So take a seat and maybe try some of those cookies over there. We’ll call you as soon as possible. Meanwhile, you can take comfort in knowing you’re going to be well compensated.”
“She’s got a little sass on her, but she’s one hell of a shrink. Of course, you’d know that, since you trained her and all.” Spense patted a cushion on an overstuffed, orange sofa.
Muttering something sotto voce, Webber took a seat.
Spense opened the adjoining room door and ushered Caity into the business end of task-force headquarters. He wasn’t sure what to expect. Sometimes, headquarters atmosphere, no matter how grave the case, seemed more akin to a dugout or a men’s locker room—with off-color jokes flying and foul wind breaking. It was no disrespect to the victim, just guys blowing off steam. In this instance, however, Spense was glad to see both genders well represented. He knew what a tough climb women in law enforcement faced, and to be chosen for this task force would be a feather in anyone’s cap.