“Security.”
She recognized the voice. It was Tommy, who worked the midnight-to-eight shift. During the afternoon and evening, he ran a barbecue joint in Northeast Portland. Despite the fact that he must never get any sleep, Tommy always wore a smile.
“This is Allison Pierce,” she said in a low voice. “I’m in the elevator lobby on the main floor. I just received a call in my office from a man claiming to be Greg Keplar. He said he lost his badge and needed me to come down and let him in.” As she spoke, she could feel her pulse beating in her throat.
There was a pause. “And you don’t think it’s Greg,” Tommy said matter-of-factly.
“No, I don’t. Can you check it out for me?”
As she waited, Allison’s breath came faster and faster. This can’t be good for the baby, she thought, consciously trying to slow her breathing down, but her fear was nearly overwhelming.
It was so quiet that she could even hear soft footsteps on the carpet in the main lobby. Someone was walking toward her. Any second the person would come around the corner. And she had no place to hide. Panicked, she stabbed the elevator button repeatedly. Why hadn’t she gone back upstairs to wait?
Then Tommy turned the corner. His gun was in his hand. His face was grim.
“There was somebody, but it sure wasn’t Greg. He started running as soon as he saw me, but I lost him.” He shook his head, defeated. “Some guy in a blue parka.”
PORTLAND FBI HEADQUARTERS
December 31
On the big-screen TV in the FBI gym, Fox’s Shepard Smith leaned toward Valerie Converse. The volume was turned up loud enough that Nicole could hear even over the sound of her jump rope slapping the mat.
“Do you want Senator Fairview to take a lie-detector test?”
Valerie nodded vigorously. “Of course, Shepard. We want the comfort of knowing that the people who are closest to Katie are giving complete and truthful information to investigators. Has he disclosed everything? We honestly don’t know.”
Smith nodded thoughtfully. “Excuse me if this question is painful, Valerie, but were you surprised or shocked by the news that Senator Fairview may have had an inappropriate relationship with your daughter? A man who has children near your daughter’s age?”
“Nothing surprises me anymore, Shepard, and everything shocks me.” Valerie’s cheekbones were sharp on her newly hollowed face. “All of this seems surreal. What matters most to me is to see Katie again.”
Dropping her jump rope, Nic bent over, put her hands on her knees, and tried to catch her breath. Far from hiding from the media, the Converses had embraced it. Wayne, Valerie, or both had appeared on every morning TV show, every radio talk show, and now were even showing up with increasing frequency on Fox and CNN. They were determined to keep the media’s eye focused on their daughter. As a result, interest in Katie grew every day. The number of tips flooding into the hotline was exponential.
But they still had no real leads. This morning Nic had heard from an FBI agent in DC who had interviewed Luisa Helprin. The young woman was now making her own rounds of the talk shows, milking her past relationship with Senator Fairview for what it was worth. Which wasn’t much. They had gotten together six or seven times over the course of a month. Luisa had been eighteen when it started, so she wasn’t underage. All that the interview with Luisa had substantiated was that Senator Fairview was a horndog—and they already knew that.
The lack of progress filled Nic with frustration and gave her no place to put it. Which was why she was here. She moved to the corner, put on her hand wraps and gloves, and began to work the heavy bag, drowning out Valerie’s sorrow, Smith’s sympathy.
Nic had learned the joy of boxing at Quantico. The first physical test—which involved sit-ups, push-ups, and running—took place on the second day, and the results sent some would-be agents packing. Taking the tests was as much a mental as a physical battle, as Quantico class instructors, counselors, and general staff liked to turn out to see who was up to snuff. The new recruits were also instructed in defensive techniques, including grappling, handcuffing, disarming, and boxing.
At Quantico, Nic had discovered that she loved boxing. Loved it because she lost herself in it. It was one of the few times that her brain just completely shut off. After leaving the academy, she no longer fought against an opponent, but she worked out with a heavy bag two or three times a week.
Sometimes when new agents saw Nic putting on her pink hand wraps, the pink boxing gloves lying on the ground waiting for her, they would smile. Like she was some silly little thing who would give the bag a few light taps.