Natasha’s stare zeroed in on Izzie’s face. “Ms. Rostoff, your personal assistant, called the police. When her cell phone pinged, and the internal camera showed her that someone was in the house, she recognized your ex-husband. Apparently, he isn’t allowed in,correct?”
Tristan wondered how much of the agent’s focused attention was meant to reassure Izzie she was qualified for that job, and how much of it was interrogation technique. He settled forboth.
“Mark King isn’t Arthur’s real father, and he never gave a crap for the kid. When we divorced, I got full custody. That isn’t the issue here,” Izzieaffirmed.
“He hasn’t made any demands yet. In fact, he hasn’t contacted your house or your manager atall.”
“I see where you’re going with this, but he didn’t take Arthur because he wants him,” Izzie spoke through gritted teeth as she fumbled with her phone. “I turned this piece of crap off during the flight and haven’t turned it back on again. Maybe he calledme?”
Tristan noticed Natasha’s forehead wrinklesmultiplied.
Izzie punched codes to access voicemail and set the loudspeaker on. She had gotten over a dozen voicemail messages. She played them, then skipped them, until they heard Mark’s voice. He slurred, “Hey, beautiful. Calling to let you know I’ve got your baby. If you want to see him again, you’ll transfer two million dollars to my account. You still have the routing number, right? I guess that godforsaken place you traveled to must have some kind of internet connection. You should be able to transfer the money in time for little Arthur to get back home and take his meds. I mean, I can’t afford any. He’s counting on you, gorgeous. Don’t let him down. Again. Oh, I don’t need to tell you to keep the cops out of our little arrangement, doI?”
Izzie swiftly scanned the remaining calls. None from Mark. She tipped her chin up and gazed into the FBI agent’s intent stare. “Mark isn’t allowed in my home because he’s a lowlife vermin. I’ve got a restraining order a couple of years ago to protect my family. Anastasia has been working with me for years, she’s aware of the situation and I trust her. I can’t figure out why she was out of the house, though. I told her not to leave Arthuralone.”
“I understand. She reported that Arthur felt dizzy after they got home from dialysis, so he went up to his room to take a nap. She had to fill Arthur’s prescription, she called the store. The physician had not authorized the medication to be delivered, so the store set a time for Ms. Rostoff to pick the medication up. She never got to the store. The notification popped up on her cell phone on her way there. She immediately called the police, but by the time the responding officers got to your house, Mr. King wasgone.”
Tristan interrupted her, “Agent Cooper, sorry, Natasha, time is a key factor. Not only because the longer it takes, the colder the leads get, which is common sense. But, Arthur has a serious health condition. He needs meds and dialysisregularly.”
A chilling pause ensued. He refused to glance sideways at Izzie for fear of crumpling if he spotted on her face a fraction of the dread that gripped him by thethroat.
“He had a session yesterday. He’s set for a couple of days,” Izzie comforted him. Not only with her soothing tone, but with her fingers squeezing his fist as it rested on hisknee.
He had not noticed he had balled his hands until her warm palm connected with his taut skin. He closed his eyes for a moment, fighting to simmer down the fury and frustration. He would become a liability instead of an asset, if he flew off thehandle.
Izzie needed himsane.
Arthur needed himwhole.
Maybe if he repeated those words a million times they would eventually sink in. One couldhope.
When he opened his eyes again, he caught Natasha’s intent stare on him. She waited until he locked his demons in the dungeon before replying, “We’re doing all we can. In addition to my team, most of our field agents are working the case around the clock. We’re coordinating with local law enforcement to follow all leads wefind.”
“What does that all mean?” Izziewhispered.
“Police officers are canvassing the neighborhood interviewing potential witnesses. We’ve got people watching hours of footage from surveillance cameras seeking to spot Mr. King’scar.”
Tristan glimpsed the exit 55 sign as Agent Morales changed lanes to take it. They would soon be at the FBI’s office. Impatient for information, Tristan asked, “What have you found out sofar?”
Neither of the agentsreplied.
His stomach churned, he fought the burning sensation of acid crawling up his throat. Glancing sideways, he spied Izzie’s knuckles turn white as she fisted her hands. He pried her left hand open, and laced their fingers together, anchoring her as much ashimself.
“That’s why we brought you here. We hope you might put some pieces of the puzzle together,” Agent Morales clarified, while they hasted to theelevator.
Once out of the elevator on the twenty-fifth floor, the small group turned right, and the agents led the way. A distraught blonde came out of nowhere and wrapped herself around Izzie. Almost as tall as Tristan, and heavily built, she made Izzie look like a tiny china doll. He refrained from stepping between the two, when Izzie’s hands hooked on the blonde’s broad shoulders, squeezing them in a tightembrace.
A faint Eastern European accent colored her speech when she stepped back and apologized, “Izzie, forgive me. I was so stupid. I should have never left Arthur’sside.”
“Don’t beat yourself up, Anastasia. We’ll find him. Everything will turn outfine.”
Tristan wished he shared herconfidence.
Natasha showed them to a meeting room. On the brief walk through the open plan office, Tristan took in the frenzied activity, along with images on various types of screens and boards that confirmed the agents’ commitment to findingArthur.
In the meeting room, Natasha waited until they settled in the leather chairs. Although the long mahogany table was set for at least twelve people, Tristan, Izzie, and Anastasia chose chairs on the same side, to the left of Natasha. She stood at the head of the table, a large screen behind her showed an enlarged version of the FBI’s seal. It framed her as she debriefedthem.
“Evidence shows that Mr. King had watched the house for quite some time before he made his move yesterday. He saw a chance and grabbedit.”
