at all,” he said. “She reminds me of my late grandma. A Southern belle who knew everything about everybody in her little town. Grandma always said she wasn’t nosy. Just concerned.”
Aha! He had Southern roots. “I thought I heard a hint of an accent. Did you grow up in the South?”
“I’ve lived all over. You?”
“I grew up in a suburb of Chicago. My dad was a police officer, killed in the line of duty.” She pinched her lips together. She wanted information from him, not the other way around.
He asked, “What brought you to Arlington?”
“College. I wanted to be an art historian but got sidetracked along the way by the culinary arts.” And by Joe Donovan. Instead of going to graduate school, she’d married him and launched her career as a caterer.
“Any regrets about dropping the career in art?”
“None,” she said quickly. “I chose the right path.”
Even though she’d lost Joe, the love they’d shared was true and deep. She’d experienced the kind of passion that poets write about. Not that she and Joe were gooey and sentimental. His greatest talent had been making her laugh. More than anything else, he had wanted her to be happy. If Joe could see her now, he’d tell her to give Nolan a chance. She glanced toward him, wondering if he’d ever take off those sunglasses.
Nolan said, “Bart mentioned that your son was born after your husband went missing. That must have been rough.”
“My son’s birth was the high point of my life, and I wish with all my heart that my husband could have shared that moment when I first heard Joey cry.” She couldn’t help smiling when she recalled the joy and relief she’d felt when she held her perfectly formed, newborn baby boy. Joey was so full of energy, wriggling and waving his arms. It was a wonderful moment. But she didn’t want to talk about herself. “Bart was with me. He’s a very special part of our lives. I’d like to know more about his abduction.”
“Such as?”
“Start at the beginning.”
“There was an explosion at a day care center,” he said. “In the confusion, Bart was taken. His handicap van was missing, and his driver was killed.”
Tess had heard this part of the story. “It seems like his van could be traced. Did it have GPS?”
“There were tracking devices in both the van and Bart’s motorized wheelchair. Both were deactivated immediately. We found the van about a week later. A bomb had been exploded inside. There was no useful evidence.”
“And no contact from the kidnappers,” she said. “I know Bart sees his doctors on a regular basis and is on a regimen of medications.”
“None of his prescriptions have been used, but his meds are fairly common, easily purchased. None of his regular docs have heard from the people who kidnapped him.”
“I worry that he’s not being properly cared for.”
Nolan’s jaw tensed. The long scar that stretched from the edge of his nose to his earlobe defined his cheekbone. “I can’t promise you that Bart is all right. We don’t have any definite leads, and I don’t like to speculate.”
She sensed that he was trying to shelter her from worry as though she was a delicate hothouse orchid. Such concerns were unnecessary. She’d been through a lot of pain in her life, starting with the death of her father when she was in her teens. The other cops on the force had tried to protect her and her mother by not talking about the way he died, but the closed casket pretty much said it all. Her dad had been shot point-blank in the face by a low-life drug dealer who was currently spending life in prison.
Her mom refused to face what had happened, but Tess attended the trial for the drug dealer. Every single day in court, she stared at the bastard who killed her dad, and she experienced every shade of rage and hatred. Dealing with Joe’s death was more difficult; she couldn’t focus her anger and sadness on a faceless enemy.
“I can handle the truth,” she said. “I’d rather know everything than not enough. You’ve been investigating for nearly a month. I assume you have suspects.”
He turned toward her. His eyes were hidden by the dark glasses, but she could feel his gaze. “You’re stronger than you look.”
“I’m going to take that as a compliment. Now, talk.”
“There’s a possibility that Bart was abducted by his son, Victor Bellows.”
She was surprised. “I didn’t know Bart had any children.”
“He was estranged from his son.”
That didn’t seem like Bart at all. He was ferociously loyal and caring; he’d be a great father. “There’s more to that story.”
“That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Nolan said. “Bart’s son went into the military when he was eighteen. He did a tour in Iraq and got into trouble with the military police. Rather than be incarcerated, he went AWOL. The military classified him as MIA.”
“How did you find out he was still alive?”
“Victor was using an alias. We found blood at the site of the abduction. When we ran tests, we found a DNA match through the army database.”
A father kidnapped by his own son? She hated to think of the betrayal. There must be another answer. “The fact that his blood was at the scene doesn’t prove that Victor is the kidnapper. He might have been trying to protect his father. Like you, he might be searching for Bart right now.”
“Anything’s possible.” But Nolan sounded skeptical.
“I know Bart was in the CIA for a long time,” she said. “He must have a lot of enemies.”
“True.”
“If Victor took him, he might be keeping his father out of sight to protect him.” She wanted to believe that Bart’s son wouldn’t hurt him. “How much do you know about Victor Bellows?”
“Under his alias, he was involved in some bad stuff. It’s hard to believe that Bart’s son would grow up to be a criminal, but that’s what it looks like.” He paused to take a breath. “I have reason to believe that Victor is here in Washington.”
“That’s the actual reason you’re in town, isn’t it? If you weren’t looking for Victor Bellows, you would have left security for Governor Lockhart’s event to Stacy’s fiancé.”
“Not necessarily.”
“What other reason could there be?”
“Maybe I came here to meet you.”
Was he flirting with her? Tess had been out of the dating game for such a long time that she barely recognized the signs of male attention. “To meet me? Why? What have you heard?”
“I might have heard that you’re a charming woman with black hair and eyes like sapphires. Someone might have told me that you’re creative,
