The Innocent. Amanda Stevens

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      Chapter Two

      Thursday

      Abby sat in the sheriff’s office the next day, waiting for him to arrive. She was bone-deep weary from a nearly sleepless seventy-two hours, and frustrated and heartsick over two investigations that appeared to be going nowhere. No trace of either child had turned up despite a full-scale search, and no evidence had been found at either crime scene. Dozens of leads were being pursued, but so far, nothing concrete had turned up.

      Both cases were now being treated as abductions, and the local authorities had requested assistance from the FBI. An agent from the resident agency in Oxford had arrived late yesterday afternoon, just hours after Sara Beth Brodie had been reported missing, and another agent was due to arrive later today from the field office in Jackson.

      A task force had been assembled, headed by the Jefferson County Sheriff’s Department and supported by the FBI and the Mississippi Highway Patrol Crime Investigation Bureau.

      Abby had been assigned to the Brodie case, although she’d asked to be put on the Campbell case. Naomi had been right yesterday when she’d said that Emily’s disappearance on the anniversary of Sadie’s abduction was the first break they’d had in ten years. Sadie’s case file had already been pulled and the information fed into the computer for analysis and comparisons.

      But it was Abby’s own theory that had gotten her removed from the Campbell case. She didn’t believe, as almost everyone else seemed to, that they were dealing with only one suspect in the two recent abductions. Although ten years apart, the similarities between Sadie and Emily’s disappearances were striking, but Sara Beth Brodie’s abduction broke the pattern.

      “You may be on to something,” Sheriff Mooney had told her. “I want you to pursue the Brodie case from that angle, but you’ll have to coordinate your investigation with the task force. And it goes without saying that all information will be shared.”

      The glass door of the office opened, and Sheriff Mooney walked in. When he saw Abby, he nodded. “Good, you’re already here. That’ll save us some time.”

      He was followed into the office by a man Abby had never seen before. The stranger was tall, dark, but far more dangerous-looking than handsome. In spite of the August heat, which could be brutal in Mississippi, he wore a navy suit, starched white shirt, and conservative tie. Abby immediately pegged him for the fed from Jackson they’d been expecting.

      Even apart from his attire, he had the look of an FBI agent. His posture was ramrod straight, his demeanor tense, his senses on full alert. He was probably in his early forties, with dark hair and a deeply lined face that bespoke too many years of long hours, bad cases, and maybe just plain bad luck.

      When he trained his gray eyes on Abby, a slight chill rippled through her. In her five years in law enforcement, she’d never encountered a colder gaze.

      Sheriff Mooney lumbered around his desk and sat down heavily in a leather chair that squealed ominously beneath his bulk. “Abby, I’d like you to meet Special Agent Sam Burke. Abby—Sergeant Cross—is a detective in our Criminal Investigations Division.”

      Abby rose and extended her hand. “Special Agent Burke.”

      The man nodded in her direction, but barely took the time to shake her hand before turning back to the sheriff. But in that moment when their eyes met, in that second when his hand touched hers, the chill inside Abby deepened. There was something unsettling about the way he looked at her, about the way she reacted to the feel of his hand against hers.

      Special Agent Sam Burke was a very dangerous man, Abby thought. In more ways than one.

      “Have a seat.” Sheriff Mooney leaned back in his own chair to observe Burke with unveiled curiosity. “We weren’t expecting you until late this evening.”

      “I caught an early flight,” the agent explained, waiting for Abby to sit before he lowered himself into the chair across from Sheriff Mooney’s desk. But even seated, he didn’t relax. Every muscle in his body appeared coiled and taut.

      Sheriff Mooney frowned. “You flew up from Jackson?”

      “I flew in to Memphis from Washington, then rented a car and drove down.”

      “Washington?” Both Sheriff Mooney and Abby stared at Agent Burke in surprise. “We were expecting someone from the Jackson office. Didn’t realize FBI Headquarters paid that much attention to the goings-on down here in our fair state.”

      “Didn’t you?” Sam Burke’s gaze never wavered from the sheriff’s face. “I seem to recall the Bureau was pretty active down here back in the sixties.”

      A little dig, Abby thought, to put them in their place.

      It was apparent from his attitude that Special Agent Burke considered them a bunch of incompetent hicks. Abby doubted that even her degrees in psychology and criminology from Ole Miss would convince him otherwise. Her dander was thoroughly ruffled by the man’s demeanor, but Sheriff Mooney seemed to take it all in stride. But then, he would. It wasn’t his style to worry about the opinion of some self-inflated federal agent.

      If you only went by appearances, it would be easy to underestimate Fred Mooney. He was on the back side of fifty, seventy pounds overweight, and his uniform generally consisted of a faded golf shirt—he had them in every color—that stretched tightly over his gut and didn’t always quite meet the low-riding waistband of his trousers. His hair was always rumpled, as if he constantly СКАЧАТЬ