His Best Friend's Baby. Mallory Kane
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that was a warm greeting.
When he stepped through the open door, Deke was leaning back in his desk chair with his feet propped up, tossing a steel bearing from hand to hand. A small TV was tuned to a morning news show, its sound muted.
“Hey, Deke,” Matt said. “Playing catch with yourself?”
Deke’s feet hit the floor and he set the silver ball on his desk. “That goober I just hired overtightened a bolt and ruined this ball bearing. Brock offered to take him out for me.”
Matt laughed.
“How’re you doing?”
Matt took Deke’s hand. “Been a while. Can’t say I’m glad to see you.”
“I know.”
“Man, I hate this,” Matt said, nodding back toward the ranch house. “The place feels like a funeral home. I didn’t see Irina. How’s she holding up?”
Deke shook his head. “She’s trying to act like she’s fine, but she’s not. She’s in bad shape.” Deke wiped a hand over his face and then pushed his shaggy hair back. “She’s in town this morning, talking to her accountant again.”
“So it’s true?” Matt asked. “All her funds are wiped out?”
Deke nodded. “All her personal funds. Damn Rook for not signing everything over to her when they got married. I’d like to kill him—” Deke stopped and clamped his jaw.
Matt snorted. “Too late. But it’s not like he knew he was going to die.”
“No?” Deke’s brows lowered and his blue eyes turned black. “He spent his whole life stepping in front of bullets for other people. He had to figure one would hit him sooner or later.”
“I don’t get it. She’s his wife—widow. Why doesn’t she get his money?”
“It’s all about the suspicious nature of his death. Just because they don’t have a body—greedy bastards.”
“Hang on a minute,” Matt said as he glanced at the TV. “Turn that up.”
Deke scooped up the remote control and tossed it to him. “What is it?”
“Check out the pink dress. It’s Margo Vick.”
“Bill’s mother? Opening another Vick Resort Hotel?”
“Not this time. That’s FBI Special Agent Aaron Schiff standing next to her.” Matt hit the volume control.
“—I am personally offering a reward for any information leading to the kidnapper.”
Kidnapper. Alarm pierced Matt’s chest as Margo yielded the microphone to the FBI special agent. Among the dark suits, her brightly colored dress drew all eyes to her.
“We plan to hold press conferences on a regular basis, and we’ll update the media as we have more information,” Special Agent Schiff said. “Meanwhile, please let us do our job. Our primary concern is getting Mrs. Vick’s grandson back home safe and sound.”
“It’s Aimee’s baby. He’s been kidnapped.” Matt sat on the edge of a folding chair and propped his elbows on his knees, listening as Schiff answered questions from reporters. The cameras pulled back to reveal the front of the Vick mansion, located just outside Casper, Wyoming. Besides Schiff and Margo, several uniformed police officers stood on the marble steps, along with a couple of men in suits.
Matt’s gaze zeroed in on a pale face behind Bill’s mother. It was Aimee, dressed in something dark that blended with the suits and uniforms. Her eyes were huge and strands of hair blew across her face.
“There’s Aimee.” He didn’t take his eyes off her until the camera switched back to Schiff. Then he shot up off the chair and paced, rubbing his thumb across his lower lip.
“There’s something more going on here,” he said as dread pressed on his chest like a weight.
“What—with the kidnapping?”
“About a month ago, my journal disappeared from my room.”
Deke frowned and picked up the ball bearing again. He tossed it back and forth. “You mean on your laptop?”
Matt shook his head. With every passing second, pressure in his chest grew. “I keep notes in a small leather journal just for my use. I write my reports to Irina from my notes. You know, rumors of Americans in the area, anything I can glean about what Novus Ordo or his terrorist friends are up to, lists of expenses.”
“You think it was stolen?”
He nodded.
“Okay. How does this have anything to do with the grandbaby of one of the wealthiest women in Wyoming being kidnapped?”
Matt glanced back at the TV, but there was a commercial on. “Work stuff wasn’t all that was in the journal.”
He turned toward the window, letting his gaze roam over the jagged peaks in the distance. “It’s been a year since Bill died, and I haven’t talked to her.”
Deke didn’t comment.
Matt rubbed his lip. “I just couldn’t face her. So I was trying to compose a letter. A way to—tell her how sorry I am.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Novus knows we’ve been searching for any clue that Rook survived his sniper attack. I’ve been followed ever since I got over there. I’m sure whoever stole my journal was sent by Novus, so now—”
“Now he knows how you feel about Aimee,” Deke supplied. He set the ball bearing down and sat up straight.
“How I feel—?” Matt frowned. “Well, yeah. He knows about her baby and about me being William’s godfather. And now Irina’s stopped looking for Rook. What if Novus thinks she stopped because I found him?”
“And what? You think Novus had Aimee’s baby kidnapped—”
“To get to me.”
Deke blew out a long breath. “Kind of a stretch. Why wouldn’t he have grabbed you before now if he thought you knew something?”
“Think about it. I’ve been in Mahjidastan for the past year, searching for information about the only man on the earth who could identify Novus Ordo. And before me Aaron was there for a year. There hasn’t been a day since Rook disappeared off that boat that a BHSAR specialist hasn’t been looking for him. Suddenly, Irina pulls me out and doesn’t replace me. Novus didn’t have a chance to get his hands on me. I left within four hours of Irina’s phone call.”
Deke gave a short, sharp laugh. “That’s quite a conspiracy theory. But it makes sense—sort of. What now?”
Matt met Deke’s gaze and set his jaw. “If Novus Ordo has taken Aimee Vick’s baby to try and get his hands on me to interrogate me about Rook, I’m going to make it easy for him.”
SO FAR EVERYTHING was working well. Not bad for a plan that had been put together in less than twenty-four hours.
The Vick baby was already in safe hands. The FBI was on the case. And, most important, Parker was acting exactly as predicted. He was inserting himself right into the middle of the kidnapping investigation.
A warm sense of satisfaction spread through him. It was immaterial whether Rook Castle was alive or dead. He had a larger goal. And finally, it was in sight.
He looked at his watch. Almost time. He had a telephone call to make.
THURSDAY 1430 HOURS
AIMEE VICK PACED back and forth across the living room of her mother-in-law’s house. The room was crawling with FBI special agents, uniformed police officers, and technicians trailing spools of wire everywhere.
She looked at the grandfather clock