The Longest Silence. Debra Webb

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      “Yes, of course. We’re headed to Milledgeville now. I need you, Tony. I don’t care what’s going on with you and the Bureau—I need you. Tiffany needs you.”

      With Ang and Steve in Dahlonega, the drive down to Milledgeville would take between two and three hours. They would arrive well ahead of Tony, which meant he had to get moving.

      He leaned forward, fighting back the urge to vomit, and gathered his sneakers. “Call the Dean and ask him to put campus security on high alert. As soon as you get to Milledgeville, go straight to the security office. I’ll call the Milledgeville chief of police and explain our concerns so he’ll see the urgency in the situation.”

      “Thank you.” His sister made a keening sound. “What if—”

      “Ang, stop. Don’t even go there right now.” She started to cry and the sound was like daggers twisting in his chest. In the background her husband, Steve, offered quiet reassurances. When silence filled the air between them, Tony said, “Listen to me, sis, we’ll find her.”

      “Promise me, Tony. Promise me you’ll find our baby.”

      “I promise.”

      The call dropped off. Tony blew out a heavy breath. Now sure as hell wasn’t the time to tell his sister that he wasn’t simply having trouble with the Bureau—he had resigned from his position at BAU-2. He’d been keeping that secret from his ex-wife and his sister for more than a month. He glanced back at the blonde. He’d filled his nights with booze and women whose names he couldn’t remember the next morning. Like a vampire, he spent his days sleeping.

      He grabbed his shirt and headed for the bathroom. A better man would shave and shower before hitting the road, but Tony wasn’t a better man anymore. He’d stopped being that man more than a year ago.

      Bitter bile rushed into his throat and he barely made it to the toilet. He heaved until there was nothing left to exorcise from his gut.

      The path of self-destruction. His new boss had said those words to him in the final weeks before Tony gave the hard-nosed asshole and the Bureau the middle finger. He flushed the toilet and, with effort, pushed to his feet. He ducked his head under the faucet and rinsed his mouth. Swiping his face with his forearm, he stared at his reflection. He definitely needed to shave. Needed a haircut. Looked like death warmed over.

      No time to fix his broken image.

      He bumped into the wall on his way to the walk-in closet. The idea that his blood alcohol level might still be lingering above the legal limit filtered through his mind. No time to fix that either. He’d take food and water with him and work on that particular issue en route. He grabbed the leather overnight bag he’d used for the eleven years of service he’d given the Federal Bureau of Investigation.

      He ignored the row of suits and crisply pressed shirts and stuffed a couple of polo shirts and another pair of jeans, socks and underwear into the bag. A pair of loafers went in next. Should have gone in first. Before his fall from grace he’d packed this damned bag so meticulously that even his shirts came out as smooth as when they’d gone in. Not anymore. On second thought he shoved a suit jacket into the bag. If he halfway looked the part maybe Angie wouldn’t have too many questions.

      At the door to the bedroom he remembered his Dopp kit. He might not want to shave now but he’d have to eventually if he expected the local cops to listen to what he had to say. He added the toiletry kit to his bag.

      As a profiler for the Bureau he’d spent a lot of years learning how to manipulate the locals to accomplish his goal. In fact, he’d become a master manipulator. Maybe all that bad Karma he’d left in his wake had finally caught up to him.

      He glanced at the blonde in his bed. This was the part he always dreaded.

      Chelsea or Chanel wasn’t happy about being roused. She called him every foul name in her vast repertoire while he helped her dress. When he’d called a cab, he gave her a bottle of water and maneuvered her out of the building. As the car pulled away from the curb she shouted asshole and flipped her middle finger at him.

      Nothing he didn’t deserve. He climbed into his BMW and collapsed against the seat. Anthony LeDoux, this is your life.

      Somehow, until he figured out where the hell Tiffany was, he’d have to find a way to pull himself together and at least pretend his world hadn’t gone to shit and that he could help rescue his niece from whatever trouble she had gotten herself into.

      Too bad he’d lost his hero credentials months ago.

       4

      Milledgeville, Georgia

      8:30 p.m.

      It was late, but the tension in the chief of police’s office was motivated by far more than the hour. Tony sensed the animosity the moment he walked through the entrance doors of the Public Safety building. Obviously, the man already had Tony’s number. Not surprising. Any cop worth his salt would do his homework.

      There was a time when Tony had been damned good at prompting all the right reactions. Not anymore.

      Since it was well past business hours, a uniformed officer had been waiting to allow him into the one-story building and then to escort him to the office of the town’s top cop. A tall, fit man, Chief Arlan Phelps had no doubt spent the last thirty or so years in law enforcement and possessed no tolerance for those who used evasion and innuendo to manipulate events.

      Not so good for Tony since these days those were his most valuable assets.

      “Make yourself comfortable, Agent LeDoux.” Phelps gestured to the chair in front of his desk.

      “Thanks.” Tony settled into the offered seat, careful to keep his gaze on the chief. He’d pulled over at a truck stop outside Atlanta. After topping off the gas tank, he’d spent some time in the bathroom shaving and changing clothes. Then he’d forced himself to eat a hot meal. He’d used some Visine to tone down his bloodshot eyes and popped a couple of Advil. By the time he made the exit for Milledgeville some ninety miles later he felt reasonably human.

      Phelps hadn’t stopped staring at him since he came into the room. The older man smoothed a palm over his slick head. “There is nothing in this world I hate more than having my time wasted, and you, Mr. LeDoux, wasted a good deal of my time this afternoon.”

      So, he knew Tony’s secret. Great. Might as well play this out and see if there was anything salvageable. “How do you mean, Chief? When a young woman—anyone for that matter—goes missing, I take it very seriously, and time is not an asset that should ever be wasted in a situation such as this one.”

      “The FBI tells me you’re no longer in their service.” Phelps leaned back in his chair and rested his hands on its worn, smooth wooden arms. “I don’t know what to make of that, Mr. LeDoux. Isn’t it against the law to impersonate a federal agent?”

      Now he was just being an asshole.

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