Deep Disclosure Page 9

  “Maybe it’s over,” she said, wishing the words true. “Maybe they’ve realized I don’t have what they want, and now they’ll just leave me alone.”

  “No. I’m sorry to say it, but I don’t think so. For one thing, Fogerty is dead. He’s a bottom feeder, but there are still bound to be repercussions somewhere along the line. And if they were satisfied that you didn’t have what they wanted, they wouldn’t have tried to kidnap you. Or come after us in the car.”

  “So what do we do?”

  “It’d help if we knew what they wanted.” Tucker said. “Did you keep any letters George might have sent from prison? Any documents he might have stored with you?”

  “No. I don’t have papers or files or anything. All I have is the bracelet you gave me and a ring George gave me after my dad died.”

  “Well, keep thinking. There’s got to be something.” Tucker gave her a smile meant to reassure, but in truth she only felt more confused.

  “So what do we do in the meantime?” she asked.

  “We need to find a connection. Something that links Fogerty and Dryker to George,” Tucker said. “I know Atterley was in prison for quite a while, but he had a life before that. Does he have a house somewhere?”

  “No.” Alexis shook her head. “He’s always been somewhat of a wanderer. Used rentals. Never really put down roots.”

  “What about a storage facility?” Tucker moved back to the window, his expression calculating.

  Alexis started to shake her head, then smiled instead, dimple flashing. “Wait. He had a cabin on the Rio Grande. I haven’t been since I was a kid. I don’t even know if he still owns it. It was near South Fork in Colorado. He and my father liked to fish. ”

  “Yeah, I’m on it,” Harrison said, typing again on the laptop. “Nothing in the county property taxes that show George Atterley. Any other name he might have been using?”

  “Actually, there were several. But his favorite was always Dick Charles.” Alexis smiled, remembering. “He was a big Dickens fan.”

  Harrison nodded, still typing. “Got it. Or at least there is a Dick Charles who owns property. Had it since the eighties. That seem right?”

  “South Fork is small. I can’t imagine there’d be another Dick Charles. Although I suppose it’s possible.”

  “Only way to know for certain is to go there and see for ourselves,” Tucker said. “How do you guys feel about a road trip?”

  CHAPTER 9

  Hey,” Tucker said, stopping just inside the apartment building’s lobby. “Wasn’t expecting to hear from you so soon.” He adjusted the phone as he stepped back into the shadows, his gaze moving across the room to make sure no one was listening. “I’m assuming you’re back in New York?”

  “Yeah, we got back a couple of hours ago,” Drake responded. There’d been nothing more to do at the scene. So the decision had been made to leave Tucker and Harrison to handle Alexis, with the rest of the team coordinating things from Sunderland. “Sorry to interrupt. Hopefully I didn’t put anything at risk.”

  “I was on my way to get takeout,” Tucker said. “Alexis is upstairs. But you’d better make it quick. I’m assuming it’s important?”

  “Yeah. Maybe something you can use as leverage with Alexis. Actually, there are two things,” his brother told him. “The first is that Tyler got a hit on the bomber’s MO.”

  “The one that killed George.”

  “Right,” Drake said, his tone grim. “It’s a match right down to the way the bomb was constructed. Ignition, size, blast radius—all of it. The interesting part is that it dates back thirteen years.”

  “That’s a hell of a long time to wait for the second act.”

  “Agreed. But the similarities can’t be ignored. It happened in Walsenburg, Colorado. A house was destroyed along with everyone inside. A family of four. Guy taught at the local elementary school. His wife worked in a flower store. Case was cold almost before it started. No leads. No reasons anyone could find why this family was targeted. And with no one living, there was no one to push the case, so it was shelved unsolved. We’re lucky it was even entered into the database.”

  “Is there any connection between the bombing and George Atterley?” Tucker asked. “Or Alexis?”

  “Not directly, but there is if you connect the dots,” Drake said. “Harrison told me about the house in South Fork. It’s about a hundred and twenty miles from Walsenburg.”

  “Well, I think we can be fairly certain that Atterley didn’t blow himself up.”

  “Agreed,” his brother said. “But there’s more. We did a little more digging into Alexis’s past—and came up with nothing.”

  “Which is bad because…” Tucker swallowed his frustration, wondering why the hell it suddenly seemed to matter so much.

  “Because when I say nothing,” Drake said, “that’s exactly what I mean. Nothing. We can trace her back in New Orleans for like six years. A little more. But before that there’s no record of her anywhere.”

  “Well, she said she was off the grid with George for at least part of her childhood.”

  “That’s just it, though. We—”

  “And of course by ‘we’ you mean Hannah.”

  “Roger that.” Drake laughed. “I honestly believe Hannah can produce intel from a pile of sand. Anyway, the point is she can’t find any record of an Alexis Markham that fits the stats. There’s no one. It’s as if she sprang full blown into New Orleans without any kind of past at all.”

  “So Alexis is using an alias. Again, not that surprising based on what she’s told me,” Tucker said, leaning back against the wall, his eyes still on the empty lobby.

  “Here’s the really interesting part,” Drake replied. “We ran her DNA and didn’t get a match. Which wasn’t all that surprising since she’s clearly taken great care to stay off the radar. But then Hannah widened the perameters a little bit, just in case there was something we’d missed, and she got a hit. A partial match. Close enough that it could only come from a sibling or parent.”

  Tucker felt the hairs on his neck rise and knew he wasn’t going to like what Drake had to say next.

  “The hit was a man named Randolph Baker. A DOD employee. He was a high-clearance chemist who worked on several weapons development programs, including the Omega Project circa 1980.”

  “The one tasked with developing the formula for aerosolizing biotoxins.” Tucker clenched a fist, waiting for the other shoe to fall.

  “Theoretically,” his brother said. “The project was shut down in 1982, and some claim it never existed. Certainly it was never for public consumption. Anyway, whatever the hell they were working on, Baker’s partner, Duncan Wallace, was found dead in his lab shortly before the program was dismantled, and not too long after that, Baker disappeared.”

  “He’s the one who is supposed to have stolen the formula.”

  “DOD, quite understandably, denies that. But yes, that’s the story that was circulating at the time. Bottom line, Baker just fell off the grid.”

  “So why was his DNA on record?”

  “Apparently it was standard op for weapons development programs in the day, especially those requiring tight security.”

  “And you’re certain that Alexis is related?”

  “You can’t fake DNA,” Drake said. “And based on his age, I’d say he’d have to be her father.”

  “What do the records show? Did Baker have a family?”

  “According to DOD insurance records, there was a wife and child—a son. But that’s all we’ve got.”

  “Well, if Alexis was his daughter, she wouldn’t have been born yet. So there wouldn’t be a record then.”

  “And after that, if he was living underground,” Drake said, “there wouldn’t be a birth certificate. At least not in that name.”

  “According to Alexis, her father’s dead. And I’m guessing from context that he’s been gone awhile,” Tucker said, gut churning as the facts suddenly fell into place. “You think it was Baker
who died in the bombing in Walsenburg.”

  “It seems conceivable,” Drake concurred. “And it explains a lot. Like why Alexis is living off the grid. And probably how she was acquainted with Atterley. He’d have been in the same situation and therefore moving in the same circles.”

  “She said her father and George used to go fishing. That’s how she knew about the cabin in South Fork. But according to your intel, the entire family died in the explosion, right?”

  “Yes,” Drake agreed. “But it’s possible she wasn’t there that night. As I said, there wasn’t a long-term investigation. The house was completely incinerated. If Alexis did survive, it would have been easy enough to simply let authorities think she died along with everyone else. And considering that someone murdered her family, I can certainly see the attraction of staying dead. Bottom line, if Randolph Baker did steal the formula, and if Alexis is in fact his daughter, then there’s every possibility she’s got it now.”

  “But she would have been just a kid when he died,” Tucker protested.

  “A teenager. And if her father trusted her, she may very well have known everything, and then sat on it until she was old enough to do something with it or felt like it had been long enough not to raise too many red flags.”

  “I don’t know if I’m buying any of this.”

  “Maybe you just don’t want to,” Drake suggested.

  “No. It’s just that the further into this I get, the more I’m certain that she isn’t trying to sell anything. And I definitely don’t believe she killed George Atterley. The man was like a father.”

  “I think we’ve pretty well established the fact that she didn’t kill George. First off, we’ve got the fact that Atterley’s bombing was almost an exact match for the one in Walsenburg. And when you add in the father’s partner’s death…” Drake trailed off.

  “Don’t tell me,” Tucker said. “It was an explosion.”

  “Officially an accident. But there were pyrotechnics involved and a severe fire. Not exactly the same MO. But it was enough to send Baker underground. And given the scenario we’ve come up with, I think it’s highly likely Duncan Wallace’s death is related to Baker’s and Atterley’s.”

  “We’re just missing the connection.”

  “And for my money,” Drake said, “innocent or not, Alexis Markham is the key to that connection.”

  “You’re absolutely sure? Everything he told me is the truth?” Alexis glanced up from the phone toward the door of the apartment, almost as if she expected Tucker to materialize.

  “Yes,” Milo Alozono confirmed.

  She’d agreed to using Tucker’s friend, but that didn’t mean she’d agreed not to contact Milo. Despite Tucker’s warnings she trusted the man. Milo was a utility player, capable of handling most anything—for the right amount of money. He’d helped her set up her new ID when she’d moved to New Orleans. George had recommended him, and in truth, she’d liked his easygoing Cajun manner and over the years they’d developed a close friendship.

  “All the details checked out,” Milo continued. “Prison. His conviction being overturned. All of it. And I even found proof of George’s involvement. I only had time to scratch the surface. But for what it’s worth, the guy seems to be on the level.”

  Relief flooded through her, and she released a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. “Thanks, Milo.”

  “I can do some more digging if you want me to,” Milo offered. “Or you can just talk with George. He’s out of prison now, isn’t he?”

  “Yeah,” Alexis said, forcing herself to sound cheerful. Tucker had insisted that she not tell anyone about George’s death. All the better to keep his killers off balance. “I will. He’s just out of pocket for the moment. I think he needed time on his own for a bit.”

  “Figure he’s got some itches that need to be scratched,” Milo’s voice held a note of laughter.

  “I’m sure,” she said, choking up as the image of the explosion filled her mind. “Anyway, I knew you’d be able to verify the truth. And at least for now, I don’t need anything further. Except maybe Tucker’s last name?”

  “Flynn.” Milo said. “His name is Tucker Flynn.”

  The door to the apartment opened, and Alexis mumbled her thanks and punched the button on the phone to disconnect.

  “Who were you talking to?” Tucker asked, his voice calm and not at all accusatory. But she felt guilty all the same. For a moment she considered lying, but something in his eyes reminded her that the man valued honesty. It was important to her too. Even living in a world that necessitated lying.

  “My friend Milo. I was checking out your story, actually.”

  He didn’t seem the least bit surprised. “And what did you find out?”

  “That you’ve been telling me the truth. About prison and George helping you.” She slid the phone into her pocket, chewing the side of her lip as she waited for him to say something.

  “I’m surprised it took you this long,” he said, the hint of a smile playing about his lips. “So, learn anything new?”

  “Just that your last name is Flynn.” There was something comforting in his calm acceptance of her doubt. “Nice Irish name.”

  “My dad would be happy to hear you say that. Even though he never set foot on the Emerald Isle, I think he liked to believe he had a bit of the blarney.” The last was said with a soft, rolling lilt.

  Alexis smiled, even more charmed than before. “I thought we weren’t talking about personal things.”

  He sobered, his face tightening as he sat across from her on the arm of the sofa. “Actually, I think it’s time we broached the subject. Most specifically, your past.”

  She flinched, the words like ice water, banishing whatever camaraderie they’d shared. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Alexis, I’ve been doing some digging too. You should know that bombers are a bit like serial killers. They adopt an MO. A preferred methodology. And no matter how many times they act, or how long a period there is between these acts, there’s usually something unique that identifies them. So several years ago, the ATF created a database. One that helps them track arson and bombing incidents based on past behaviors, and it turns out that the bomber who killed George has acted before.”

  Her hands were shaking, and she fought to maintain control, rage warring with sheer terror. “How the hell did you get access to an ATF database?”

  “Harrison. You’ve already seen what he can do.”

  “But how would you have even known where to look?”

  “I was in the military for a while. Worked with ordnance some. It really doesn’t matter. What’s important here is that the other bombing occurred thirteen years ago.” He paused, his gaze locking on hers. “In Walsenburg, Colorado. It was a house. A family was killed.”

  The air rushed from her lungs, and she could literally feel the blood drain from her face. It had been so long since she’d even let herself think about that night. The fiery sky. George’s hand closing around her arm. Her family gone. Her world destroyed.

  “Look, it’s not that hard to put together. Your dad and George were friends. And George had a place in Colorado. Alexis Markham just sprang into existence six years ago. And you told me your father was dead. I swear, I’m not trying to ambush you. But anything you tell me about that night… about why someone would want to kill your family…” He trailed off, waiting.

  She fought for breath, pushing away her emotions. It wouldn’t help anyone to lose it now. And she’d spent too many years erasing her past to let it swamp her now. As before, she considered lying to Tucker. But again she couldn’t do it. Maybe she trusted him more than she should. Or maybe she was just being practical. After all, if this was about her father she needed help. And Tucker was the only one volunteering for the job.

  “My family was on the run,” she whispered, lacing her fingers together to stop the shaking. “I never knew any other way. I’d had three names by the time I was thirteen. My
father said moving would keep us safe. That and keeping to ourselves, staying off the radar. That’s how we first met George. He worked with us when we moved to Colorado. Secured the necessary paperwork and IDs. Helped my parents find jobs and a home.”

  “And then something happened?”

  “Yes.” She nodded, her mind forced back to the past and the memories of that horrible night. “Someone blew up our house. Someone who wanted my father dead. And my mother and my brother got caught in the crossfire.”

  “And you?” Tucker asked, his voice unusually gentle.

  “I’d snuck out to go to a basketball game. I told my mom I was going to the library. And she let me go. My dad hadn’t come home yet. He was really strict about us appearing in public places—even the library—but my mom understood that I needed my freedom. But she wouldn’t have agreed to me going to the game. I’ve always wondered if it was me…” She trailed off, tears choking away the words.

  “It couldn’t have been you, Alexis. There wasn’t time. The bomb was premeditated. It would have to have been set up in advance. Your going to the basketball game had nothing to do with the bombing. Although it saved your life.”

  “The police just assumed I was dead. And George thought it was better if I just disappeared.”

  “But surely if this was about your father, it wouldn’t have had any further impact on you.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” She couldn’t believe he’d even had this thought. “It changed everything. My life was a little off, maybe, with the changing names and locations, but my father and my mother loved me. And my brother was the only good friend I ever had. The impact was beyond contemplation, Tucker. There aren’t even words.”

  “God, I’m sorry,” he said, reaching out to cover her hands with his. “I didn’t mean it like that. Shit. I’m not always the most sensitive of guys. What I meant was that you didn’t have to stay underground. That with the threat gone, there was no reason for anyone to come after a kid.”

  Alexis turned her hands palms up, reveling in the feel of his skin against hers. It had been a long time since anyone had touched her. “I’m sorry too. Maybe I’m a little oversensitive.”