we made to Mr. Gibson that he join our holiday celebration? Let this play out without our involvement?”
Ian propped his elbows on the arms of the chair, steepled his fingers and considered his response a moment. “I believe we should do what’s best for the agency. If the media gets wind of this sting, they’ll be right behind the arresting agents. You know there’s always a leak to the press. The Bureau likes every move they make to be high profile.”
A former U.S. Marshal, Ian was married to a former FBI agent. But Victoria didn’t need Ian or his lovely wife Nicole to spell out how this would go down. She’d been in this business long enough to know it wouldn’t be pretty.
“Tell me, Ian.” She sat back in her chair and studied the one man she felt with absolute certainty could run the Colby Agency every bit as well as she. She trusted his judgment implicitly. “It’s not that I’m dismissing the Bureau’s assessments, but did you get any sense whatsoever that Mr. Gibson was anything other than what he presented in our interviews?”
Ian moved his head from side to side. “This feels exactly like a setup. Of course, there is always the risk that I’m wrong, but I believe Mr. Gibson may need us far more than we need him just now.”
“We can’t exactly warn him,” Victoria confessed, more for her own benefit than Ian’s. As much as she’d like to help Mr. Gibson with his coming woes, the agency fiercely protected its many sources. Without those sources they could never accomplish the results Colby Agency clients had come to expect. However, she felt obligated on some level to the young man.
“No, we can’t warn him.” The glint in Ian’s eyes told her he had a plan. “We can, however, bring him in early for one final test in an attempt to preempt tomorrow afternoon’s untimely episode.”
“You want to explore more deeply any problems he may be having with his current employer?” Ian couldn’t outright ask about any suspected wrongdoing but he could pose theoretical questions that might prompt certain responses.
Ian nodded. “And I’d like to invite O’Brien to sit in.”
Victoria nodded her understanding. “Outstanding idea.” The newest Colby Agency investigator on staff, besides the two new recruits they’d hired a few months ago, Patrick O’Brien was a former college professor. Not just any sort of college professor, he’d achieved his Ph.D. in psychology, which technically made him Dr. Patrick O’Brien. But he preferred not to be addressed that way. His absolute brilliance when it came to the human mind was uncanny. Victoria wasn’t sure Mr. Gibson would appreciate an on-the-sly analysis, but she wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt where the accusations against him were concerned. This route would be discreet and, hopefully, helpful to all involved.
“Shall I see if Mr. Gibson is available during his lunch hour tomorrow?” Many of the offices were either closed or shut down early on Christmas Eve. Like the Colby Agency, Welton Investments was not one of those.
Ian stood. “I’ll make arrangements with O’Brien before I leave for the day.”
Almost five o’clock. “Very good. I’ll let you know if I can’t reach Mr. Gibson.”
Victoria entered the number as Ian left her office. When the receptionist two floors below completed her company spiel, Victoria said, “Brad Gibson, please.”
The moment’s hesitation that followed set Victoria on edge. Even before the woman’s response finally came, dread had started to well all too rapidly. “I’m sorry, but Mr. Gibson…” She cleared her throat but even that didn’t stop it from wobbling as she continued. “Mr. Gibson is no longer with this firm.”
Victoria thanked the woman and placed the handset in its cradle. She immediately buzzed Ian, but he was already back at her door.
“Gibson is missing,” he said as he moved into her office. “My source just called. Apparently Gibson didn’t show up for work this morning. An hour ago a neighbor reported that his apartment door was standing open. The apartment was ransacked. No clues as to what was taken, at this point. No body was found but there was a considerable amount of blood. Forensics is attempting to determine if the blood belongs to Gibson.”
Uneasiness added a few extra beats per minute to Victoria’s heart rate. This didn’t feel right. She’d spoken to this man on several occasions. Bradley Gibson was no bad guy and he certainly wasn’t a killer.
“Let’s put someone on this, Ian. The boys at the Bureau won’t like it, but I can’t let this go without seeing if there is any way we can help Mr. Gibson.” Dead or alive, she didn’t add.
“I’ll look into the case myself,” Ian offered.
“I would appreciate that. This doesn’t feel right.”
Victoria sat very still for a long moment after Ian had gone. It was almost Christmas….
She stood and moved back to her spacious window. The snow was falling harder now—big, lush flakes. Life was so fragile. All that one cherished could be lost in a mere instant.
She offered a quick, silent prayer for Bradley Gibson.
This would not be such a happy holiday for him.
Chapter Two
December 23, 7:45 p.m.
The sound of children laughing woke Elaine Younger from a dead sleep.
She sat straight up and pushed the hair out of her face.
The office…she was still at the office.
She could feel the imprint of her forearm marred into her forehead. She rubbed at it with the heel of her hand.
The sound she’d heard had come from the radio. Christmas music…“Santa Claus is Coming to Town.”
Disgust groaned out of her as she pushed up from her desk. She’d listened to that stuff all day long, every day for the past three weeks. Enough already.
She moved around her desk and headed for the lounge. The media control center was in the lounge supply room. Everyone else had already gone home except her. She could turn off the music now and no one would care.
It was nearly eight. Where the heck were those musicians? Hadn’t Mildred said they’d be here about seven? Just her luck that they’d be running late. She couldn’t believe she’d fallen asleep at her desk.
Elaine flipped on the overhead light, crossed to the far side of the lounge and went into the supply room, where cases of soft drinks and other refreshments, as well as stacks of napkins and disposable cups, were stored. She opened the control panel door and entered the sequence to shut down the piped-in music.
The silence that followed was truly golden.
She nabbed herself a bag of chips and a bottle of water before turning off the lights and heading back to her desk. Maybe she’d call security and see if they’d heard anything. If the musicians weren’t coming until tomorrow morning there was no reason for her to hang around.
Maybe there’d been a miscommunication but she doubted it. Mildred never got things like that wrong.
Elaine had the day off tomorrow. She
