“Melanie’s never coming back, is she?” she blurted out in resignation.
“Don’t think like that.” Alexander brought her back into his arms. “You need to stay positive. We will find her,” he declared, even though Olivia was certain it was just as difficult for him to remain optimistic. She was usually the assured and hopeful one, not Alexander. He was pragmatic and realistic to a fault. “This is just a tiny setback. It happens. We had no idea who was behind any of this before the press conference. Now we at least have something.”
“We do? How?”
“We’re going to sift through Rayne’s life with a fine-toothed comb to see if anything falls out.”
“Do you think that will work? That you’ll find Melanie that way?”
He ran his hand through his hair. “I don’t know, but I have some of the best men working for me. They could probably find Jimmy Hoffa’s body if they really wanted to.”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Burnham,” a female said, out of breath. They turned to see Agent Long come running up. “Agent Moretti needs to see you right away at the FBI field office.”
Alexander turned to Olivia, letting out an irritated sigh. “Stay here with Tyler, okay?”
“Actually, he needs both of you. This involves your wife.”
“My wife?” Alexander furrowed his brows.
“What’s going on?” Olivia asked, nerves settling in her stomach as she glanced between Agent Long and her husband. She wondered how much digging the FBI had conducted into their backgrounds, whether they had found something she didn’t want them to know.
Something she didn’t even want Alexander to know.
“He ordered me not to say anything, just to bring both of you back…in handcuffs, if necessary.” She raised her eyebrows, looking directly at Olivia.
Shaking off her unease about what they may have found out, Olivia held her head high, giving the appearance she had nothing to hide.
Alexander’s grip on her waist tightened. She glanced at his reddening face, the telltale sign he wasn’t too happy. He was probably itching to get back to the office and see what he could dig up on Rayne. When every second counted, this felt like it could be another waste of time.
“His words, sir, not mine,” Agent Long added.
“Fine,” Alexander muttered through a clenched jaw.
“If it makes you feel any better, it’s about a new lead.”
Chapter Eighteen
December 19
2:35 PM
“MR. AND MRS. BURNHAM,” Agent Moretti greeted Alexander and Olivia when they stepped into a large conference room at the FBI’s Boston field office. A pristine white table sat in the center of the room, a half-dozen agents congregated around it, some of them talking in hushed tones amongst themselves. There was a hurried sort of buzz in the room, and Olivia grew hopeful there had been a major break in the case, despite the setback they had just experienced.
“You had one job to do! One!” Alexander roared, cutting him off, taking Olivia completely by surprise. “If you can’t even ensure the safety at a goddamn press conference, how am I supposed to believe you when you say you’ll do everything to find my daughter? The one lead we had is now dead! Gone! Because your agents couldn’t get to her in time!”
“No one could have foreseen something like this happening!” Moretti responded, his voice raised. His white suit shirt that was once crisp and clean now bore several new stains — black, brown, red. Looking into his weary eyes, Olivia could tell everything weighed heavily on him. Despite the rough start he and Alexander had gotten off to, she wanted to believe this man would be true to his word and work tirelessly to bring their daughter back home. It was all she could do.
“It’s your job to foresee something like this happening and prepare for it, no matter how little the probability may be!” Alexander continued. “In this day and age, can you really stand there and tell me the FBI doesn’t train all its agents to plan for this kind of attack and how to counteract it? All of this…” He gestured to a television monitor on the wall broadcasting the news story, “is on your head.”
Olivia glanced at the screen, her jaw falling. On ground level, it was hard to fully understand what had happened. Now that she was looking at aerial footage of the plaza, she couldn’t help but gawk at what appeared to be a large black crater-like hole a few hundred feet from the steps of City Hall, almost exactly where Rayne had been standing. She wondered how anyone could have walked away from that, but she knew some had. According to Agent Long, there were only five confirmed deaths and a dozen or so injuries that required hospitalization. The rest of the crowd had miraculously escaped relatively unscathed.
“I realize that, Mr. Burnham, and I take full responsibility for what happened. I am just as frustrated as you are, and you better be damn sure I intend to do everything within my power to find the bastard who’s responsible. Now, there have been a few developments I want to discuss with you and your wife. Please, have a seat.” He gestured to two chairs at the far end of the table, almost directly across from where he sat at the head.
Alexander glared at him for a prolonged period of time, his chest heaving. Olivia tugged on his arm, encouraging him to play nice.
“Need I remind you that time is of the essence here.”
With a tense jaw, Alexander lowered himself into a vacant chair, his fierce eyes remaining trained on Moretti’s every move.
“It’s my understanding that Ms. Kilpatrick is an old friend,” Moretti continued after a pause.
“How did you…?” Alexander asked, raising his eyebrows. Olivia grabbed his hand beneath the table, squeezing it. He shot his eyes to her and she gave him a look, urging him to be cooperative.
“I’ve been cursed with an eidetic memory. I saw her name while I was doing my research on you earlier this morning. Once I see something, it never leaves here.” He tapped the side of his head. “It’s ruined more relationships than I care to talk about. When was the last time you saw Ms. Kilpatrick?”
“Yesterday,” he responded firmly.
Moretti narrowed his gaze. “Yesterday?”
“I didn’t realize it was her. She doesn’t look like she used to. She was standing outside my office building as I was running in. I hadn’t seen her in close to a year. She shut us out after the funeral.”
“Funeral?” Moretti raised his eyebrows. “Whose funeral?”
“She was my friend’s fiancée,” Alexander huffed, annoyed. “He died a year ago while on assignment for my company. I assume she blames me for his death and decided taking my daughter was the only way to get back at me.”
“And your friend’s name?”
“Landon. Landon Tate.”
“Any relation to the Mischa Tate who was found murdered?” he asked with a smug expression on his face. It was more than apparent he knew exactly who Landon was and his connection to Alexander and Mischa.