The FBI Thrillers Collection Books 1-5 - Catherine Coulter [656]
Savich said, “I think you should call Thomas first, tell him what’s happened. We’ve put it off long enough, don’t you think? He’s got to know.”
Adam cursed under his breath at the sound of Tyler McBride’s angry voice. Tyler came into the kitchen, three agents right behind him, one holding his arm, and yelled, “What the hell is going on here? Every light in the place is on? Who are these guys? Let me go, dammit. Where’s Becca?”
“Let him go, Tommy,” Savich said, nodding to one of Thomas’s men who was guarding the front of the house. “He’s a neighbor and a friend of Becca’s.”
“What the hell is going on here, Adam?”
“He took her,” Adam said. “We think he’s heading to Washington, D.C., with her. We’re going to have to clear out soon.”
Tyler paled, then yelled, “You were supposed to protect her, you bastard! You really screwed up big-time, didn’t you? I wanted to help but you just kissed me off, I was a civilian, of no use at all. What about you? All these big Fed cops, none of you could protect her. None of you were of any help at all!”
Savich said as he closed his fingers around Tyler’s arm, “I understand your anger. But all these accusations aren’t going to help anyone, particularly Becca. Believe me, we all know what’s at stake here.”
“You’re damned incompetent bastards,” Tyler yelled even louder, “all of you.” He jerked away from Savich.
“Tyler,” Adam said quietly, “don’t go to Sheriff Gaffney. That would be the worst thing you could do.”
“Why? How much more could things be fucked up?”
“He might kill her,” Adam said. “Don’t tell anyone anything.”
After Tyler McBride was escorted from the house by three agents, Sherlock said, “Why not tell everyone now?”
Adam shoved his hand through his hair. “Dammit, because if some cop happens to see them, then you know our guy would kill her and take off. We can’t take the chance. No, we’ve got to get to Washington, fast.”
“First you’ve got to call Thomas, Adam.”
Adam didn’t want to, he really didn’t.
Savich and Sherlock listened to Adam flail himself on the speakerphone.
There was silence on the other end. Finally, Thomas said, “Get over it, Adam. We’ve been dealt new cards now, we’ll play them. I’m very relieved that Chuck is all right. His wife would roast me alive if he’d been killed. Now, if this is Krimakov, then he at least knows I’m in Washington, probably knows about the condo. I’ll stay here. I’ll be ready for him. Get back here as quickly as you can, Adam. Savich? Can you and Sherlock stick with us?”
“Yes, Thomas.”
“Now, I’ve got to get myself ready for Krimakov. It’s been so many years. Many times I thought he’d finally given it up, but it appears that he’s just been biding his time.”
“He could really be dead,” Sherlock said.
“No,” Thomas said. “Adam, you, Savich, and Sherlock hang around there for a while. Try to get a line on this guy. He’s got to be somewhere. He’s got to be traceable. Find him. Oh, and Adam?”
“Yes, sir?”
“Stop beating yourself up. Guilt just slows down your brain. I want that brain of yours sharp. Get it together and find my daughter.”
They finally rang off. Thomas Matlock looked at the phone for a very long time before he slowly eased it back down. Then he leaned his head back against the soft leather of his chair. He closed his eyes to blot out the feeling of helplessness, for just a moment, an instant, but instead, he felt a deep, soul-corroding fear that a man should never have to feel in his damned life. It was fear for his child, and the knowledge that he was helpless to save her.
It was Krimakov, he knew it, deep in his gut, he knew, and they had cremated the body. No, Krimakov wasn’t dead—maybe he’d staged his death, murdered another man who resembled him. He’d somehow found out about Becca and he had begun his reign of terror. There was no doubt at all in Thomas