“Not that I know of.” The first hint of impatience finally crept into Caity’s voice. Her initial approach to others was always warm and respectful, but Spense knew from experience that however lightly Caity treaded, she was a force to be reckoned with when challenged. It was best not to mess with her.
“There’s a serial killer in Denver! You’re just not allowed to tell me! I know I’m right!”
Spense heard a number of gasps and saw heads turning. All neighboring eyes fixed on them.
Caity raised her palm in a stop sign. “We don’t know of any serial killers in the area.” Then, keeping a remarkably straight face, she added in a low voice meant just for Green Eyes, “But if you’re keen on meeting one, I can always put you in touch.”
The woman’s jaw went slack.
The plane rolled to a stop. A bell dinged, diffusing the tension in the air, and the race to de-board was on. It appeared the threat from crazed killers was nothing compared to that of other passengers getting ahead in line. Spense stood up and popped open the overhead bins on either side. He passed Caity her carry-on and then asked their “fan,” “May I get your bag?”
“Oh, no. I checked mine. But can I have your phone number?”
Spense made his voice polite but firm. “No can do.”
“I don’t see a wedding ring,” she insisted.
Spense threw Caity a wink. “I’m taken just the same.”
The woman’s lips became puffy . . . make that puffier. “If you won’t give me your number, the least you can do is tell me why you’re in Denver. Serial killer or no serial killer, there must be something big going on for the two of you to get called in.”
Chapter 3
Thursday, October 24
12:20 P.M.
Denver, Colorado
“Do you think she’s still alive?” Caity whispered as they rushed toward the gate’s exit.
“Don’t know,” Spense said. Now that they’d cleared a space between themselves and the big ears of surrounding passengers they could speak freely, but to be safe, he kept his voice low. Discretion had never been more vital.
At the conclusion of their last case, the president had called to thank them, and he’d issued a request. He’d said he would consider it a personal favor if Spense and Caity would join a task force formed in Colorado to find a missing coed. On Tuesday morning, Laura Chaucer, the twenty-one-year-old daughter of Senator Whitmore Chaucer, had gone missing. Spense hadn’t believed anything could make him give up a Tahitian vacation with Caity, especially not after they’d finally declared their love for each other, but a young woman in trouble and a plea from the president of the United States had been impossible to ignore.
As for whether or not Laura Chaucer was still alive, they could only hope. For now, they’d operate on the assumption they were here to rescue rather than search and recover, but he wasn’t optimistic. In a missing person case the first forty-eight hours were vital and that critical marker had already passed.
Beyond the security checkpoint, Spense stopped short to avoid barreling into a man dressed in a black uniform. He held a placard that read “Cassidy & Spenser.” Shooting a look over his shoulder at Caity, Spense asked, “I forget your birthday or something?”
“No.”
“Because it sure isn’t mine, and I can’t remember the last time the Bureau sent a driver to pick me up at the airport.”
The look on her face made him regret his quip. Her father had been executed on her eighteenth birthday, and he’d just carelessly reminded her of that black day. But the darkness in her eyes vanished almost as quickly as it had appeared, and she smiled at him, as if he were the finest version of himself instead of a thoughtless ass. He hoped she knew he’d rather rip his own heart out than hurt her, and just in case she didn’t, he’d tell her so later. But right now, there was a man with a sign to deal with.
Spense dropped the bags. Offered a hand to the driver. “What the hell’s up?”
“You’re Agent Spenser?” he asked, though his tone and pointed address told Spense he knew the answer already.
“Yeah, and this is my partner, Dr. Cassidy . . .” Spense angled his head, checking out the man’s name tag . . . “Mr. Crawford.”
“Jasper.”
“Nice meeting you, Jasper.” Caity stuck out her hand. “Pardon our surprise, but we weren’t expecting you. The Bureau doesn’t usually . . .”
“The Bureau?” Now it was Jasper’s turn to look confused, but he made a fast recovery. “You mean the FBI.”
Impatiently, Spense shifted his feet. They didn’t have time to waste on small talk, and he wasn’t going to put Caity in a limo and go for a joy ride without verification this guy was legit.