him.
No wonder he was in politics.
“I’m grateful for everyone’s support. I can’t tell you how much it means to me.” Walters looked straight at the camera, his chin up, his eyes soft with emotion. “Please remember to keep your eyes open. Be aware of who’s around you. That little redhead you see in the grocery store could be my daughter.”
“He’s good,” FBI Special Agent Cal Brody murmured.
McBride glanced at the agent. Brody was a lean, rangy man with the sharp eyes of a hunter. He said little and missed nothing. And he looked just as bemused as McBride felt.
“He has an alibi,” McBride responded, aware what the agent’s dry words were implying. “And no discernible motive.”
“What about his opponent?”
“If Blackledge was behind it, he screwed up. Walters’s poll numbers are way up since his daughter disappeared.” A niggle of unease crept under McBride’s collar as he spoke.
“Motive.” Brody echoed the path of McBride’s thoughts.
McBride pressed his lips together, considering the idea of Walters as the mastermind behind his daughter’s kidnapping. Was it possible? His alibi was airtight, so he’d have had to hire someone else to make the snatch…
No. Until this morning, when he’d arrived to find Walters up to his elbows in campaign discussions with his campaign manager, Joe Britt, McBride had never seen the man as anything other than a desperate, heart-sick father.
But Walters had a job to do, just like McBride.
When Brody joined McBride and Walters that morning, he’d gone over the FBI’s game plan. “We think we’ve figured out this guy’s trace-blocking system, so we should be able to pinpoint him when he calls today. We get his location, we strike, we grab him.” Brody had looked at Walters. “I understand you don’t believe he’s legitimate.”
“Lily is sure he’s a fraud,” Walters had said.
“Lily?” Brody had asked.
“She’s a psychic who’s helping us find Abby,” Walters had said before McBride could stop him. McBride had braced himself for the agent’s reaction.
Brody’s only response had been a quick glance at McBride.
Walters had managed to stay away from the topic of Lily for most of the day, distracted by a Birmingham television news crew who’d arrived to interview him about his missing daughter.
McBride wished he were as easily distracted. He couldn’t seem to stop thinking about Lily Browning.
The crew wrapped up the interview, broke down their equipment and left. Walters went to change clothes, leaving McBride alone with Brody.
“How closely did you look at him?”
“Verified his alibi. Checked his bank account to see if there were any odd outputs of money, but he is in the middle of a senate run. There’ve been outlays. But they seem legit.”
Brody shrugged. “From what I know about Blackledge, if Walters had any skeletons, they’d be out of the closet already.”
Brody was right. Walters knew what it was like to live under scrutiny. It was only reasonable he’d hold up under pressure better than the average guy with a missing daughter.
Walters returned to the sitting room, minus his jacket and tie. “I hope that earns us a few more eyeballs.”
Odd phrasing, McBride thought. But the trill of a phone diverted his attention.
It was the dedicated line.
McBride glanced at Brody. The fed nodded. Andrew Walters sank onto the sofa and took a deep breath.
As they’d agreed, McBride answered the phone. “Hello?”
“Hello, Mr. Walters. Remember me?”
McBride recognized the voice from the surveillance tape. He squeezed the receiver tightly. “I remember.” He smoothed his gravelly voice to sound more like Walters.
“We want five hundred grand in tens and twenties, dropped in the waste bin at the corner of 10th and Maple. Tomorrow night at eleven-thirty. We’ll be watching, so don’t be stupid.”
“That’s a lot of money to get together by then.”
“Don’t jerk me around, Walters. You’re worth fifty times that. Eleven-thirty tomorrow night.” The man’s voice quavered despite his attempt to sound tough. “And no cops, got it? I smell so much as a whiff of bacon, the kid is dead.”
McBride gritted his teeth. “You’ll have Abby there?” He wondered if the FBI techs had been able to get a trace yet.
“Just be there.” There was a click, then a dial tone.
A second later, an FBI surveillance tech burst through the door. “We’ve got him!”
* * *
LILY STARED AT her sister. “I beg your pardon?”
“I said, you’re going to marry McBride.” Rose was matter-of-fact, as if she’d just said Lily was having waffles for breakfast. “I just now saw a true-love veil, your face over his. You know what that means.”
Lily shook her head. No matter how attractive she found McBride, she couldn’t believe he was her “one true love.” They’d never find common ground enough to be together forever.
“He’s the man in the dream I had, the man you’re going to be madly in love with, remember? You find his daughter….” Rose stopped, frowning. “Does McBride have a daughter?”
“I don’t think so.” None she knew of, anyway. McBride wasn’t the most forthcoming man she’d ever met. “I think you’re off the mark this time.” A queasy feeling settled in her stomach. “For all I know, he’s happily married.”
Which would shine a new, unwelcome light on their recent kisses, she realized with a sinking heart.
Rose frowned. “I’m never wrong about these things.”
“Trust me, whoever the mystery man is, it’s not McBride.” She changed the subject. “How’s business?”
“Pretty good. Right now I’m working on a wedding in Willow Grove and one over in Talladega. I think—”
The jangling phone interrupted her. Lily shrugged apologetically and answered on the second ring. “Hello?”
“Lily? It’s Andrew Walters. They traced the call!”
Lily’s stomach flipped. “Really?”
“I’m heading to the station to wait for them to arrive with the suspect.” Andrew paused, tension buzzing over the phone line. “Are you sure he doesn’t have Abby?”
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