Secure Desire Page 14

  A cup of coffee steamed beside him at his desk while he signed off on training center instructor renewals for the Department of Justice of the Commonwealth of Virginia.

  An angry voice rumbled from the reception area. Greg Wilds stood flush against Esther’s desk.

  “Can I help you, sir?” Esther, retired after a twenty-year career as a Master at Arms in the Navy, was not intimidated. She gave the arrogant man a coy smile.

  “I’m FBI Supervisory Special Agent Greg Wilds. I demand to see Ian Chase.”

  She stood in the man’s path. “I am sure your parents are very proud of you for having such a spiffy title, Mr. Wilds, but I’m sorry, sir, you need an appointment.”

  Wilds moved closer to Esther. “I know he’s here. If he doesn’t show himself, I will return with an army of agents and a warrant to tear this place apart.”

  “Sir, do not come any farther,” Esther implored.

  Before Greg could move another step, Ian threw open his door. “What would I do without you, Esther?”

  Esther smiled. “Ian, you’ve never had me.” Their repartee irritated the office’s blustering occupant.

  “Good morning, Greg.” Wilds brushed past Esther into Ian’s office. “I heard you’re looking for me.” Ian enjoyed goading him.

  “Where the hell is she? Johns Hopkins never heard of her. They have no new admissions fitting her injuries.”

  Ian leaned against his desk, crossing his legs at his ankles. “She’s safe—especially from you.”

  Wilds picked up a paperweight from his desk. “Chase, I have witnesses who say you kidnapped her from University Hospital. The nursing supervisor said she was in no condition to be moved. They planned on getting a court order. You drugged two federal agents with coffee, then two of your goons assaulted two other agents and vandalized her home.”

  Ian tried to douse his smile, but the angrier Wilds got, the more Ian’s lips turned up. “Cassie was moved with the permission of her guardians. The proper parties know where she is, and you apparently are not one of them.” He saw the smoke rising and made a phone call before he lifted his tablet, turning the image to Wilds. “Here’s your bone. Proof of life.”

  Wilds, with his harassing bravado, appeared taken aback by how ill Cassie looked. Kieran and Martin entered the office at what Ian assumed was Esther’s appeal. He held his hand up and delivered a command: “Mr. Wilds was just leaving.”

  “I’ll be back with a warrant, Chase. I’m watching her family. I will find her.” Wilds bristled.

  After the door closed, Ian said, “Call Luke Paulsen and tell him to expect the asshole.”

  Martin gave a salute, smiled, and executed a tight military turn to leave and make the call. Navy men never saluted inside. Ian chuckled.

  “I’ll notify Brock that Wilds is gonna make trouble,” Kieran advised.

  “I know. We need to figure this out, fast. What do you think we should do?” Ian placed the blue baby hat on the desk.

  “We need to treat this like any other job—no matter where it takes us. We need to get whatever background we can, including pushing her family. And, Ian, if you can’t keep a professional distance…” Kieran didn’t need to complete the sentence. Ian nodded in agreement.

  The brothers stared at Ian’s computer screen. In front of them was Sebastian Ames’ preliminary background check. Yale graduate. Scholarship kid. Grew up poor in Kentucky. An aide to Senator Bynum. No regular girlfriend. Lots of friends on social media. Decent credit rating. No excessive or unusual financial transactions. Father deceased, Mother RN at a weight loss clinic, sister RN at Georgetown. Another sister was a teacher. Brother at Princeton. Kieran scrolled through his financials and employment records.

  “Bogota. The bastard worked for the UN in Bogota. That’s where he got the scopolamine idea.”

  Ian clicked the next file. Garett Whitman, age thirty. A graduate of Georgetown Law School. Admitted to the bar in Texas, Virginia and the District of Columbia. Married, Cheyenne Huntley, age twenty-three, two children—four and two—and one on the way. “She’s young.” Kieran pointed out the wedding date. “He married her right after his relationship ended with Cassie. She had to be seventeen. Employed by Whitman, Tyler, and Bates. Father’s company. Current legal address in Reston, Virginia. Financially secure. Credit good.”

  “What did you do to Cassie?” Ian asked.

  “Bradford Whitman, age sixty-four. Married to Adrienne Burns, age sixty-three. One son, Garett. CEO and managing partner of Whitman, Tyler, and Bates. Resides in Georgetown. Finances and credit good,” Kieran read from the screen.

  Ian scrolled through the client list and pointed out Robert Bynum Sr. and Joseph Maddox, MD. “These people make me feel slimy. I can see Bynum, but why would Maddox need a lobbyist? We need to grab one of the other partners and hear their opinions on Bynum and the good doctor.” Kieran jotted a note. “Adrienne Burns Whitman, retired RN. Married thirty-nine years to Bradford.”

  “We need to know Mrs. Whitman’s whereabouts and what kind of nurse she was,” Ian added.

  Kieran pulled up his desktop on Ian’s system. Greg Wilds’ financials were pristine. Married and divorced four times.

  “No shock there,” Ian’s tone was sarcastic.

  It was a different story with Joe Maddox. “He is deep in debt, and he lives above his means. The morning after Cassie’s surgery, a wire transfer cleared his personal account for one hundred thousand dollars. The trace is in progress. He’s a doctor—damn it. The sponge was placed on purpose?” Kieran asked.

  “There’s no such thing as a coincidence.” Ian spat.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Luke Paulsen sat at his kitchen table across from a very pissed off Greg Wilds. “I’m sure you believe what you’re doing is right, but Cassie is a sick girl and should be in the hospital.”

  Luke sipped a glass of orange juice. “Greg, you have been here every day since we moved Cassie. And every day, I tell you the same thing: Cassie is just fine where she is.”

  Greg’s face tightened. “I know she can’t be okay. That bastard Ian Chase is involved. What can he do for her? He’s a loose cannon. A mercenary in a suit.” Wilds placed his palms flat on the table and blew out an exasperated breath. “I didn’t want to get into this with you, but, you know, Cassie made tactical mistakes that night. We need to get her statement ASAP. We need to put this mess to bed to save her career.”

  Luke stiffened. “Ian Chase offered a safe haven for Cassie to recover. She is receiving state-of-the-art medical care. Now, as for you, Supervisory Special Agent Wilds, she is incapable of giving any type of statement."

  “Not saying I don’t believe you—Chase showed me a video feed—but I need to see her.”

  “I will contact you when she is able to speak and not one second earlier.”

  “You better.” Wilds moved toward the door.

  “What are you insinuating?” Luke stood, his chair tumbling behind him.

  “I’m not insinuating anything. You know the rules.”

  “I am quite aware of policy and procedure in the Bureau. The appropriate notifications were made.” Luke’s expression turned to steel.

  Caleb and Christian Paulsen joined their father. “Mr. Wilds, we think you better leave before you wear out your welcome.” Christian tilted his head toward the door, then he and Caleb took up a position on either side of Cassie’s supervisor.

  “Are you threatening me?” Wilds tried to stare them down.

  Caleb leaned down, his impressive body invading Wilds’ space, and whispered, “Nah, just predicting your future.”

  Wilds pointed a finger into Luke’s chest. “We need to hear from her soon, or I’ll have a material witness warrant issued for her—and an arrest warrant for Chase for assaulting two federal agents.” He stormed out.

  Mike “Raptor” Johnson sat outside FBI headquarters, his Oakley sunglasses hiding scanning eyes. “Boss, I tailed Wilds from the Paulsens’ past your gate to back here. No movemen
t since 1215 when he went in. Your entrances and the tunnel are covered by Bravo team. I grabbed that kid Walton. Your instincts were right on the money. I showed him a live shot of Cassie, and he burst into tears. Guilt is a damn good motivator.”

  “He give you anything?” Ian asked.

  “Yeah, he said Cassie was on Wilds’ radar the minute she came over to his squad. Wilds was professional at first. Walton believes he asked Cassie out. Walton went through Quantico with her and was sure she didn’t date coworkers—in fact, she didn’t date at all. Wilds wouldn’t take no for an answer. Rumor has it the last three women assigned to him said yes. At least that’s as many as Walton was around for. Those who said no ended up transferred to less attractive offices.”

  “Bastard.”

  “He also said Cassie warned him over the com at the dinner and was planning on reporting him before the debrief. After Cassie was hurt, the five other agents present sent letters up the chain. Walton said they have to report to the assistant SAC at 1600 today. I’m waiting for my relief, and Linc and I will track down the other men from Wilds’ team before the meeting.”

  “Good work, Mike. Let me know of any changes.”

  “Copy, boss.”

  Ian’s phone buzzed again. “Julian, what do you have?”

  “Ian…”

  Ian heard reluctance in his tone. “What do you have?”

  Julian was in North Carolina to interview one of the police officers who responded to Cassie’s apartment the night she was found six years ago. “Cassie was found naked in her tub… close to death. The police believed she OD’d after a night of very rough sex. She was covered in black rose petals and human bites.”

  The pause drew out between the two men. Julian broke the silence, “I’ll be on the next flight.”

  “Thanks, Julian.”

  Ian dialed the pool house. “How is she?” he asked Hunter.

  “We are at day twenty-seven. It’s still slow going, but we have some positives. As you are aware, we decreased her sedation, and her eyes are opening, and her limbs are moving. She still gets agitated. Your voice and touch seem the only ones that quiet her.

  “I’m going to reassess her leg and have Tuck and Pete change out her IV lines and pull the central line. She’s off dialysis and fever-free.

  “Her right lung is still problematic. We are aggressively performing chest PT. Her pupils are reactive. I’m pulling the monitor after we speak. Sleeping Beauty is trying to wake up, so we’re going to cut back on the sedation and see if her breathing picks up. I’d like to get rid of the tube.”

  “Hunt, I don’t want her to suffer.”

  “Neither do I. I’ll instruct everyone to try to coax her through the agitation. Keep the family involved; ask them to talk to her, read to her. Play some music. Treat her like a newborn, cradle and rock her. And there’s you… She reacts to you.

  “Call me as needed. And the negatives?”

  Hunter blew out a breath. “She’s holding at ninety-three pounds. We’re going to try to get more calories into her. She’s not gonna do anything if we don’t get some weight back on her.

  “And, Ian, we’ve crossed all the emotional barriers with her. This is where it gets sticky. We have hopes, and there’s the reality. We need to see where she’s at when she wakes up. And when she does, it’s going to be a difficult rehab, not to mention the emotional toll on her.”

  “Like you said, we’ll see where she’s at.”

  He never left her side in the hospital at night. He held one-sided conversations, read art magazines, and played music. And at the pool house, he stayed with her when her family turned in.

  “Damn it, Ian, you need to get some rest too.”

  “You worry about Cassie. And I’ll take care of me.”

  “Fine.”

  “You want to be president, then you do it my way!” a voice yelled at Senator Bynum. “You need to get ahead of this. Thanks to your son and that stupid boy, this is going to turn out to bite us all. She’s still missing. Her supervisor has no idea where she is. Ian Chase and his damn company are still nosing around. If they find Robby, it’s over. We need to tighten our ranks and eliminate the weak links. We’re in this too deep. You know what’s at stake.”

  Senator Bynum shuddered. After hanging up, he dialed another number. “Monte, it’s me. I have a problem that needs to be fixed.”

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  “It is not time or opportunity that is to determine intimacy—it is disposition alone. Seven years would be insufficient to make some people acquainted with each other, and seven days are more than enough for others.”

  Jamie's brogue was the only sound coming from Cassie’s room, no whir of the ventilator. Ian found him reading from a tattered copy of Jane Austen’s Sense and Sensibility. Cassie rested on her side, supported by pillows.

  “How’s she doing? Hi, sweetheart.” Ian kissed her cheek.

  “She had a busy day. Hunt pulled the ICP monitor and changed the dressings on the skin graft this morning. It’s healing well. Tuck and Pete performed a chest X-ray, ECG, and changed her IV access. Labs are improved. No temp. The tube came out about two hours ago. The sedation is at its minimum. The downside is she’s experiencing periods of agitation.”

  “More than usual?” Ian’s eyebrows drew together.

  Jamie offered a sad smile. “Yes, she thrashes, and without the tube, you can hear her cries. We’re wrapping her in the blanket, so it feels like she’s being held. A calm voice seems to soothe her too. I was just about to grab Eric. It’s time to clear her lungs again.” He put the book down.

  “What do I need to do? Let Eric have a break.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to. I won’t hurt her, will I?”

  “No, you won’t hurt her, but you’re not dressed for this.”

  Ian dropped his jacket and tie and rolled up his sleeves.

  “We need to wash up.” Jamie handed Ian a pair of gloves and placed a pad over his shoulder. “It’s like burping a baby. I bang on her lungs with my cupped hand, encouraging her body to cough. It can get a little messy.”

  With a gentle touch, Jamie rolled her onto her back, supported her head with one hand, and lifted her to a sitting position. She appeared to weigh nothing. “Sit.” He leaned Cassie against Ian’s chest.

  Ian closed his eyes, absorbing the feeling of her body against his. Her silky hair caressed his cheek.

  “Okay, a mhuirnín, here we go.” Jamie listened to her lungs and began to pound her back.

  Ian winced at the sound, unable to stop himself from wrapping a protective arm around her waist. Within seconds, Cassie coughed on reflex.

  “Good job, Cassie.” Jamie placed her on her side. As he went to retrieve more medication, Cassie cried out. “Talk to her. It helps.”

  Ian took her hands in his and began rubbing small circles on the back of one of them with his thumb. “Sweetheart, open your beautiful eyes for me. It’s going to be okay. Don’t cry.” His voice was filled with emotion. “C’mon. Let me see your eyes.”

  In the mental darkness, Cassie heard a familiar baritone voice. She crawled through a long tunnel, trying to reach him, her eyelids weighed down.

  “You’re safe, Cassie. Sweetheart, open those beautiful eyes. You didn’t miss your chance.”

  Cassie rasped, “Ian.” She coughed hard, the pain making her curl into him.

  “I’ve got you.” Ian braced her pained body against his.

  Jamie returned with a syringe and a bag of antibiotics. “Hang in, luv. The pain will pass soon.”

  She sighed into Ian's arms as his hand rubbed her back. A sense of confusion added to her pain.

  “Where?” Cassie’s throat felt raw.

  “You’re in the hospital. You’re safe, sweetheart.”

  Cassie’s eyes flitted to the large shadow crossing in front of her. Taking one look at Jamie, she grasped Ian. “He won’t hurt you.”

  “Cassie,
my name is Jamie. I’m a physician’s assistant, here to help you.” He moved closer.

  Despite her discomfort, Cassie struggled to sit up. Ian pressed her back into the mattress. “Ian.”

  “Shh, Cassie. Rest.”

  She squeezed Ian’s hand. “Where?” She repeated the question over and over. Soon the pain meds pulled her lids down again. He placed a chaste kiss on her lips. “I’ll protect you.”

  Cassie mouthed, “Safe.” Her breathing deepened and found the natural rhythm of sleep.

  Ian excused himself to return to the main house, where he made a sandwich and popped open an IPA. A press of the remote flicked on the TV in the kitchen.

  “Today, trespassing teenagers notified US Park Police they found the body of a young female now identified as the missing socialite, Phyllis Wilson, along the banks of Hains Point. Ms. Wilson, the daughter of publisher Adrian Wilson and his wife, Theresa, was twenty-three years old.

  “She was initially reported missing by her boyfriend, Robert Bynum Jr., son of Senator Robert Bynum from Virginia, after she failed to meet him for their regular morning date at the Beans R Us coffee shop in downtown DC five days ago. The cause of death is pending an autopsy. The Wilson family and Robert Bynum Jr. were unavailable for comment.”

  Before the report concluded, Kieran’s number popped up on his phone. “Did you see the news?”

  “No ‘Hello, how are you?’ Hell, I’m in the kitchen. Come have a snack.” A smile touched Ian’s lips. The banter between the brothers had disappeared when Cassie was hurt.

  “Damn it, Ian,” Kieran grumbled.

  “All right. Yeah, watching it now.” Ian took a long pull on the beer.

  “Phyllis Wilson was the woman assigned to Cassie’s seat.” Kieran’s typing on his laptop followed his voice. “I’ve already sent Linc to investigate.”