The FBI Thrillers Collection(152)

The doorbell rang again. She walked to her front door, immediately moving to stand beside it. No one would shoot through the front door and hit her. “Who is it?”

There was a pause, then, “It’s me, Lacey. Douglas.”

She closed her eyes a moment. Douglas Madigan. She hadn’t seen him for four months, nearly five months. The last time had been at her father’s house in Pacific Heights the night before she’d left for Quantico. He’d been cold and distant with her. Her mother had wept, then ranted at her for being an ungrateful girl. Douglas had said very little, just sat there on the plush leather couch in her father’s library and sipped at very expensive brandy from a very old Waterford snifter. It wasn’t an evening she liked to remember.

“Lacey? Are you there, honey?”

She’d called her father the day before. Douglas must have found out where she was from him. She watched her hand unfasten the two chains. She slowly clicked off the dead bolt and opened the door.

“I’ve got a bottle of champagne, just for us.” He waved it in her face.

“I don’t have any silverware.”

“Who cares? I don’t usually drink champagne from a spoon anyway. You nervous to see me, Lacey? Come, honey, all you need is a glass or two.”

“Sorry, my brain’s a bit scattered. I wasn’t expecting you, Douglas. Yes, I’ve got some cheap glasses. Come in.”

He followed her to the empty kitchen. She pulled two glasses from the cupboard. He said as he gently twisted the champagne cork, “I read about you in the Chronicle. You just graduated from the Academy and you already nailed a serial killer.”

She thought about that pathetic scrap, Russell Bent, who’d murdered twelve people. She hoped the inmates would kill him. He had murdered six children and she knew that prisoners hated child abusers and child killers. She shrugged. “I was just along for the ride, Douglas. It was my boss, Dillon Savich, who had already figured out who the guy was even before we went. It was amazing the way Savich handled everything—all low-key, not really saying anything to anybody. He wanted the local cops to buy in to everything he’d done, then give them the credit. He says it’s the best P.R. for the unit. Actually, I’m surprised my name was even mentioned.”

She smiled, remembering that the very next day Assistant Director Jimmy Maitland came around to congratulate everyone. It had been quite a party. “Savich told me that I had arrived just in time for the victory dance. Everyone else had done all the hard work. His main person on the case was with his wife in the hospital, having a baby, the wife, that is. And so I went in his place. Savich was right. I didn’t do a thing, just watched, listened. I’ve never seen so many happy people.”

“It was a Captain Brady of the Chicago police who thanked the FBI on TV, for all their valuable assistance. He mentioned both your names.”

“Oh dear, I bet Savich wasn’t very happy about that. I had the impression that he’d asked Captain Brady not to say anything. Oh well, it’s still very good press for the FBI. Now everyone knows about his unit.”

“Why the hell shouldn’t the two of you get the credit? He caught a serial killer, for God’s sake.”

“You don’t understand. The FBI is a group, not an individual. Loyalty is to the Bureau, not any single person.”

“You’re already brainwashed. Well, here’s to you, Lacey. I hope this works out the way you want it to.”

Douglas raised his glass and lightly clicked it against hers. She merely nodded, then took a sip. It was delicious. “Thank you for bringing the champagne.”

“You’re welcome.”

“His wife had the baby at about midnight.”

“Whose wife? Oh, the agent who’d done all the work.”

“Yeah, I thought he’d cry that he’d missed it, but he was a good sport about it. Why are you here, Douglas? I only called my father yesterday with my new address.”

He poured himself some more champagne, sipped it, then said with a shrug and a smile, “It was good timing. I had to come to Washington to see a client and decided to put you up front on my itinerary.” He moved into the living room. “I like your living room. It’ll have lots of afternoon sunlight. It’s good sized. Why don’t you have any furniture?”

“It wasn’t worth it to have all my old stuff trucked across the country. I’ll get some new stuff.”

They were standing facing each other in the empty living room. Douglas Madigan downed the rest of his champagne and set his empty glass on the oak floor. He straightened, took her glass, and set it next to his. “Lacey,” he said, taking her upper arms in his hands, “I’ve missed you. I wish you had come home for a visit, but you didn’t. You didn’t write me or call. You left a hole in my life. You’re beautiful, you know that? I’ll bet all the guys are always telling you that, or just staring at you, even with your hair all frizzy around your face, even with those baggy jeans you’re wearing and that ridiculous sweatshirt. What does it say across the back? Dizzy Dan’s Pizza? What the hell is that all about?”