JORDAN BLAKE CALLED Fletcher as he pulled away from Sam’s house. She told him to head home. It was too late to rattle any more cages tonight—the key to the puzzle was off on walkabout, and without further authorization to check out the spot on the map Rousch had left behind, their hands were tied. And they all needed rest. They’d be useless without at least a few hours of sleep.
He had to cross the Key Bridge to circle down the George Washington Parkway toward his place on the Hill. He was tempted to exit right onto the Parkway, drive out to Great Falls and see what was there. See whether it was simply a pinprick on a map, or something more. But common sense prevailed. Jordan was right. Rest. Recharge. Up and at ’em tomorrow. Maybe a few hours of sleep would help him see things clearly. Because right now this whole case and its various facets made zero sense to him. And the thought of Sam with a knife to her throat made him want to tear Kaylie Rousch limb from limb.
So when he pulled up to his house on Capitol Hill, he was surprised to see Jordan Blake sitting on his doorstep. She had a pizza and a six-pack on her lap, and a document box by her side.
He parked and joined her. “I thought I was supposed to be resting.”
“You rest, I’ll talk.”
He pointed at the box. “What’s all this?”
“Two years’ worth of SIGINT. If Matcliff really was checking in, we should be able to find evidence of it in these files.”
He raised an eyebrow, walked up the stairs and unlocked his front door. He reached for the brown cardboard box, hefted it into his free arm. It was heavy.
“Place is a mess,” he said.
“I’d expect nothing less.”
He shrugged and opened the door. “After you.”
Once they were both inside, she double-checked the door was locked and leaned up against it. She looked around the room for a minute, didn’t seem inclined to run screaming into the street. Still, he didn’t let his guard down, especially when she started to talk.
“Listen. What I’m about to share with you—we’re totally off book. This might cost me my job. I can trust you, right?”
He paused a second, then set the box down gingerly on his coffee table, sending a prayer of thanks to whatever god was responsible for inciting the random cleaning spree he’d done last week. At least there was room on the table for the box—if this had been last Saturday night, it would have been covered two feet deep in back issues of The Washington Post and the corners of the rooms would be full of random crap. He tried to remember when he’d last changed the sheets, and chided himself—she wasn’t going to be seeing his bedroom, so it hardly mattered.
He tapped the lid of the box. “I take it you’re not supposed to have this stuff?”
“Nope. Thurber made it very clear I was on ViCAP matches to the information Baldwin pulled out of Rousch tonight, before she took off on you. Slipped right out from under your protective little thumb, eh, Detective?” She grinned. She was too damn cute for her own good.
“Focus, Special Agent. My thumbs aren’t little. Now, ViCAP?”
“Right. There’s a definite link between the garrotings and the sightings of Eden. We’re running a property check. Seems they owned land in all the same places where our girls went missing, so I’m fairly confident this is our group.”
“So why are you here with this?”
“When I got home tonight, this box was on my porch, with a note that said ‘Keep it to yourself.’ I opened it, saw the SIGINT traffic, knew exactly what it was, figured you’re outside the Bureau, might be willing to lend a hand.”
“Who left it for you?”
“It wasn’t Thurber, that’s for sure. He’s acting weird. I think it was Baldwin. He was completely shaken up by the news Matcliff was still calling in.”
“What about Rachel? Any sign of her?”
“They’re working the map Kaylie Rousch left. It’s our best lead yet. Problem is, there’s nothing out there. Not that they’ve found, at least. Big push in the morning, search teams, aerial, the whole works. We all need some sleep in case we get into trouble out there.”
“I see. So instead of sleeping like everyone else, we’re going to go through reams of paper looking for...what, exactly?”
“I don’t know yet.” She plopped down on his couch and popped open a beer. “You ready for an all-nighter? We find the good stuff, maybe I get a promotion.”
He sighed and shook his head, reached out for a beer. “You so owe me.”
She opened the box and pulled out the file on top, gave him a little smile. “Matcliff’s jacket. Want to read over my shoulder?”