Sam used a hand signal and he came willingly. She snapped on his leash and started for the door.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
She jumped at Xander’s voice, turned around to see him standing in the foyer behind her, the top button of his jeans open, hair wild and tousled.
“I was going to walk Thor.”
“Negative. Take him out back.”
Crap. Xander had gone operational on her, never a good sign.
She crossed to the back doors and let Thor out into the yard. The pool took up almost all the grassy space, but there was a spot for him. She brought him back inside and locked the door, knowing if she didn’t Xander would instruct her to, anyway.
“Are you hungry?”
He gave her an amused look.
“Right. When are you ever not hungry? Let me put something together and you can tell me what you found.”
“What makes you think I found something?”
“Xander, love, you look like you have a flagpole glued to your back. I suppose telling you to relax would be a moot suggestion?”
“Coffee. Then we’ll talk.”
He went into the kitchen to put together one of his infamous pots of coffee. It made her laugh. For all his attempts to be a laid-back mountain man, he was an absolute coffee snob. Before they’d gotten together, he ran his fly-fishing guide service out of a small coffee shop an hour down the mountain from his cabin. He swore it was one of the few places he could get a decent cup. He claimed it was army life that did it to him; being stationed all over the world, he’d been able to sample some of the best brews out there. She thought it might have been his upbringing, his commune-living parents who’d instilled a love of all things natural in him. Whatever it was, it was a skill and preference she benefitted from. She loved a good cup of coffee.
Minutes later, hot joe in hand, leftover blueberry popovers in front of them, Thor fed and watered, they sat at the kitchen table and he filled her in.
“I found the definitive link between Doug Matcliff and the man named Adrian Zamyatin. They went to high school together at Langley. Adrian’s mother died soon after he was born, and his father worked for a grocery chain as a long-haul trucker. He was rarely home, and Adrian was left to do what he would.
“Doug’s family were polar opposites—both his parents were lawyers. They divorced in 1993, just before Doug started high school.”
“So you’re saying these two weren’t just familiar with each other—they were friends?”
“Good friends. The online photos from their classes at Langley show them to be inseparable.” He took a sip of coffee, broke off a piece of the pastry. He waited while she processed that information.
“How’d you find the photos?”
“Facebook. There are several groups from their high school on there. I faked a profile and joined a few. They’ve done a nice job uploading the old yearbooks to the sites. People like to chat. I asked a few discreet questions, got an earful.”
He had a little smile on his face. There was more, but he wasn’t going to just give it to her.
“It’s early and I’m foggy, hon. What?”
“Guess who handled his parents’ divorce?”
“I have no idea.”
“Think of a lawyer’s name you might have heard in the past couple of days.”
She thought. There was too much leftover Ambien; nothing was clicking for her. “Mac Picker?”
“Bingo.”
She let that wash over her, felt her pulse pick up. “So Benedict, Picker, Green, Thompson handles divorces. What else do they do?”
“Adoption has a legal component.”
She watched him take a self-satisfied swig of his coffee.
“They were the ones handling the adoptions of the babies born in Eden.”
“Yep.”
It all made sense. Before she could say anything else, her phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number. It was still obscenely early. This had to be news.
“This is Sam.”
“Dr. Owens, this is Lisa Schumann, from The Washington Post. I have a couple of questions about the Stevens kidnapping. Can you—”
“No comment.”
“Dr. Owens, please. Hear me out. I understand Kaylie Rousch came to visit you last night. Don’t you find that odd? Why would a girl who everyone thought was dead show up on your doorstep, very much alive?”
Damn it. One of the cops talked. “No comment. Seriously. You can direct your inquiries to the authorities. Good day, Ms. Schumann.”
She was about to disconnect when the girl yelled, “Wait! I know where Kaylie Rousch is now.”
Sam put the phone back to her ear. “What did you say?”
“I know where Kaylie Rousch is. I’ll tell you if you hear me out.”
“You’ll tell me now, or I’ll have D.C. Metro on your ass before you can blink.”
Schumann had the audacity to laugh. “I can take care of myself. I have more friends at Metro than you do. Is it true, then? Did Kaylie Rousch resurrect and show up on your doorstep?”
Sam shook her head. No, she wasn’t going to fall for this. “I’m sorry, Ms. Schumann. No comment.”