Page 7 of The Devoted Game
He shifted his gaze to what he could see of her profile as the elevator bumped into motion. “I had you pegged for a stair climber, Agent.” Judging by her toned calves and that nicely rounded ass, the lady did some serious working out.
She kept her stare steady on the display where the digital one became a two. “I took the elevator for you, McBride.”
Touché. He moved up behind her, appreciating again that subtle feminine scent she wore, just as a ding announced their arrival on three. She braced to make a run for it the instant the doors opened. “I appreciate your thoughtfulness, Grace,” he murmured. She shivered. As hard as she tried to hide the reaction, he saw it, relished it—one of the few pleasures in life he still enjoyed. “I prefer saving my energy for other, more satisfying forms of physical activity.”
The doors opened, and she burst into the lobby like a racehorse charging out of its chute. Taking his time, he followed her.
The third-floor lobby boasted another of the widely recognized FBI emblems, this one a part of the royal-blue carpet. As they passed, a receptionist glanced up from her desk. Her gaze stabbed into his back until he moved out of her visual range.Nothing like being the traveling freak show.
The corridor Grace chose was flanked by closed doors, but the double doors at the far end stood open, waiting.
The conference room.
An invisible wall jumped up in front of him ... bringing him to a jarring halt.
Reality check.
“Hang on, Grace.”
She stopped, reluctantly swung her attention to him. “What now, McBride?”
For nearly three years he hadn’t cared what anyone thought of him. Not one damned little bit. Even as he reminded himself that he still didn’t give a damn what she or anyone else in this place thought,he found himself searching for something besides the too plentiful disapproval and impatience in her eyes.
He was a fool. But even fools had their moments.
“They’re waiting,” she reminded, that impatience multiplying like an unchecked virus even as he watched.
“I’m going to need coffee.” He hesitated, not sure he should trust her with this admission. The people waiting in that conference room were going to be watching him, anticipating even his most minute misstep. Consciously or unconsciously, all of them would seek confirmation that the Bureau had been right to oust him. No way was he giving them the pleasure of watching him stumble. “Lots of coffee. To do this right.”
Her unforgiving stare told him she wasn’t going to just disregard the hard time he had given her, but the disapproval dwindled just a little. “No problem.” She took the badge he had been issued from his hand and clipped it on his shirt pocket.
They entered the conference room together. He was braced for the expected scrutiny but armed with the knowledge that even if she had her doubts about him, she would back him up to keep him here.
An immediate hush fell over the room, and all eyes shifted first to Agent Grace and then to him.
“Mr. McBride.” Special Agent in Charge Randall Worth stood and crossed the room to meet him. His elegant suit and sophisticated comportment announced who was in charge before his badge got the chance.
Mid-fifties. Receding hairline and most likely burdened by a Napoleon complex considering his small stature. A yes-man of the highest order. Ryan knew the type and wasn’t impressed.
Worth extended his hand. “We appreciate your willingness to help us find this little girl.”
Ryan’s attention bypassed the SAC’s offered hand and zoomed straight across the room to the timeline the task force had created. “What’ve you got so far?”
“I’ll walk you through it.” Worth indicated that Ryan should precede him, with the same hand he’d failed to shake.
A picture of six-year-old Alyssa Byrne and the time she was last seen was the first entry on the board. Four hours later the school was searched, every teacher questioned, and the parents were interviewed. Two hours after that the Bureau was contacted. Worth explained that the father, Allen Byrne, owned the two largest construction companies in the state of Alabama, and Fiona, the mother, was a stay-at-home mom and volunteer who worked with various fundraising organizations.
“By the time the email came in,” Worth summed up, “the Byrnes’ entire extended family and network of friends and business associates had been identified and prioritized for questioning. That process is ongoing.”
“The email?” Ryan looked from the timeline to Worth, who snapped his fingers, and a hard copy of the email was promptly provided by the nearest agent. Worth passed the document to Ryan, then planted his hands on his hips and looked away as if expecting an unpleasant reaction.
Dear FBI,
This email is to inform you that Alyssa Byrne is safe and in my custody. You have forty-one hours to find her, or I will have no choice but to do the worst.
To level the playing field, I will provide clues to assist you in finding her. However, not just any agent will do. I will only give my clues to Ryan McBride.
Reinstate him so that he may save this child. Forty-one hours ... not a second more. Starting now.