Page 22 of The Devoted Game

There’s another email.

This thing wasn’t going to go quietly away. Murphy’s Law McBride style: Nothing was ever easy. This was supposed to be a one-shot deal. Come, do what he could to save the kid, and then leave.

He regarded Grace from the corner of his eye rather than looking directly at her. Eye contact would prompt conversation, and just now he had no desire to talk. He was relatively certain she didn’t know any more about what was going on than he did. She sat perched on the edge of the other designed-for-discomfort chair stationed in front of the SAC’s desk, looking as miserable as he felt. But that wasn’t possible. You had to have hit a place so low that it didn’t even register on most people’s rock-bottom radar in order to feelthis. It took skill to fall this far.

The door burst open and Worth rushed in, his posture as rigid as any general’s. “I apologize for keeping the two of you waiting.” He rounded his wide mahogany desk, placed a folder atop its gleaming surface, and rested his hands there as if bracing for war. “I’ve just come from a teleconference with Quantico.”

That he focused on Ryan as he made the statement was an added indication that this wasn’t going to be good for him. The idea of having some hotshot agent he’d once mentored or supervised at Quantico show up here to tell him what to do ranked on about the same level as pissing broken glass.

“Since we don’t yet have a second victim,” Worth went on in that authoritative tone he’d refined to a monotonous roar, “and we’re still waiting on the forensics folks to get back to us with any evidence found at the scene, there isn’t a lot Quantico can do to assist us with developing a profile.”

Typical. “That all sounds just dandy,” Ryan interrupted when Worth would have launched into the next segment of his monologue, “but you called us here about an email.” He inclined his head in question. “Is there an email we need to see? You’re cutting into my personal time with a friend.” In this instance, his friend was Jack Daniel’s. No offense to the lovely Vivian Grace. He doubted she would be caught dead spending any more time with him than necessary. If he was smart, he would adopt the same attitude.

Next to him, she shifted in her chair, a clear signal that his high-handedness with Worth made her nervous. She’d just have to get over it.

“Yes, McBride,” Worth said, his tone reluctant, as if what he was about to say was a last resort. “There is another email from the unsub who refers to himself as Devoted Fan.”

Worth opened the folder he’d placed on his desk and removed a single sheet of white printer paper. He passed it across his desk. “Read it for yourself.”

Ryan read the words, each one adding another layer of suffocating tension.

McBride,

Bravo! You saved Alyssa Byrne. I am sure you recognized the simplicity of this challenge. I wanted to give you a practice run in case you were a littlerusty. Now, we shall remind them just how good you really are. The next one will not be so simple. Get a good night’s sleep. I will email your new challenge tomorrow. Soon they will see!

Honored,

Your Devoted Fan

Ryan passed the page to Grace without meeting her eyes.

Who the hell was this guy?

He scrubbed his hand over his face. What the hell did the bastard want from him?

Finding the Byrne child had been a piece of cake. Like the email suggested, the clues had been simple, the timeline ridiculously ample.

That was where the good part ended.

Didn’t this nut job get it? Hewasrusty. The “special agent” in him was over, a has-been. There was no going back to thelegendhe used to be. Not now, not tomorrow.

Determined not to entertain Worth, Ryan grasped the arms of the chair to prevent his hands from shaking. Maybe if he emailed this Devoted Fan and told him straight up that he wasn’t that hero anymore, the guy would go away.

Yeah, right. And immediately afterward he would email his Christmas list to Santa. One of those plans was about as realistic as the other.

“This is far from over,” Worth said when Grace lifted her attention from the page. “For now, whoever this Devoted Fan is, we have to assume that he’s serious about this plan to ... ah”—his gaze settled on Ryan—“make you a hero again.”

That he said the last with a distinct element of derision didn’t really bother Ryan. He’d been insulted by more important pricks than this one.

“Looks that way,” Ryan agreed. No point in denying the obvious. “So, do you and Quantico have a plan?” That was the usual strategy insituations like these. Even if Quantico wasn’t sending a profiler or team in to assist, they generally had advice.

“We have no choice but to react.” Worth lowered himself into his chair and gave the impression of relaxing, but Ryan didn’t miss the tightening along his jawline, around his mouth. “I’ll assign three of my best agents—Talley, Aldridge, and Davis—to work with you until this is done. Once we have a clearer picture of where this is going, Quantico will provide whatever else we need. At this point we don’t have a pattern or any usable evidence. We don’t have anything.” Worth kept his attention steady on Ryan, didn’t spare Grace so much as a glance. “We’ll, of course, accommodate you at the Tutwiler as long as necessary. Since you didn’t come prepared for a prolonged stay, Agent Davis will see that you have any personal items you require.”

Worth had been a busy little bee.

“As much as I appreciate your attention to detail, especially the personal ones,” Ryan admitted without his standard sarcasm, “nothing about that careful plan you just laid out addresses the fact that I have an employer to answer to or that I haven’t agreed to stay.” He forced his fingers to unclench, his posture to relax. He might not have a lot of choices in his current circumstances, but there were at least two he intended to make whether or not Worth or Quantico liked his decisions.

“We can’t make you stay, that’s true,” Worth allowed, the tension Ryan had already noted ratcheting up visibly. “We’re all assuming, of course, that you will want to do the right thing.”