Dead Heat
Page 51

“You didn’t get yourself into trouble,” growled Charles. “You got yourself out of it.”
Leeds looked at Charles, and Anna saw it in his eyes as he looked at her husband. He was one of the ones who’d been hurt, one of the ones who saw that her Charles protected the helpless. Interestingly, Marsden saw it, too. The hand that had been resting on his partner’s shoulder tightened. Leeds glanced at him and smiled.
“That’s why I’m taking you with me,” Leslie told her quietly. “You see a lot of things that happen without words.” In a carrying voice, she said, “Okay, you goons. Go find our perp. We’ll rendezvous here at sixteen hundred hours if no one finds anything worth calling each other about.”
As it turned out, Leslie and Anna had identical rental cars, parked several spaces apart. Anna glanced at Leslie and laughed. “Guess we’re going to have to use the fob to see which car is which?”
“No,” Leslie said after a moment. “Mine has a scratch on the driver’s-side door. It’s the closer one. You might as well leave yours locked,” she continued in a no-argument tone. “I’m driving.”
Anna rolled her eyes. “The mommy voice doesn’t work on me,” she informed Leslie. “I was raised by my dad, a very logical, calm man who explained things in a normal tone. When he swore, it was in Latin, mostly directed at my brother.”
Leslie assessed her. “The only person I trust besides me to get my butt where it needs to go in safety is currently teaching second graders how to multiply by twos. Do you mind if I drive?”
“See,” asked Anna, walking around to the passenger seat, “was that so hard?”
“Anna,” said Leslie, “I think I could learn to get along with you just fine. Go through those files and see what you want to start with.”
There was a stack of files tucked in between the seats. Fourteen new in various colors and one faded and battered. She opened the battered one and said, “1978?”
“Five-year-old boy—attempted kidnapping except that the boy had a big dog who heard him cry out. And—” She stopped. “You read that file and tell me what you think.”
Anna read. And thought. “This sounds right. The fae don’t like to move.” Bran had told her that once. There were a few that moved all the time, but most of them found a place and stayed if they could. “Most of them, anyway. They don’t age. And they don’t change their rituals, not unless they’re High Court fae.” And to think just a few years ago the only things she’d known about the fae had come from Disney movies. “They can’t.”
“That’s what Leeds said. He said we were making this perp too human. He’s the one who went digging in older files. Found four cases that fit, but that one was the only one where the kid escaped. This kid grew up and still lives in the Phoenix area. Teaches higher mathematics at Arizona State.” She gave Anna a challenging smile. “Why don’t you call him and see if we can make an appointment.”
As it turned out, Professor Alexander Vaughn had just finished his two morning classes and had the rest of the day free. Did they want to meet him at his house? He’d be delighted to entertain an FBI agent and her consultant—they should reach his house in Tempe about the same time.
Anna assured him that would be lovely.
“He didn’t ask what it was about,” Anna observed after hanging up.
“Could be a crime groupie,” said Leslie. “Lots of people are. Could be he is bored or lonely or anything. No speculation until after we talk to him.”
“FBI policy?”
“My policy. Assumptions drive an interview away from interesting places.”
“All right,” Anna said. “We’ll go talk to the professor.”
Leslie pulled up to a house that had been built in the fifties. Evidently they had beaten the professor there. Leslie did not obey speed limits as well as Anna. She arrived fifteen minutes earlier than the car’s navigation system’s estimate.
The house was large and most notable because it was not built in the Southwest adobe style Anna’s eyes were getting used to. Nor was the yard xeriscaped with the conscientious water conservation she saw everywhere. Green grass covered the very small front area and huge old trees surrounded the house. Likely the shade from the trees was how the grass survived summers here.
A Volvo, older but in pristine condition, purred into the driveway and disgorged an athletic man with a military-short cut that managed to tone down his bright red hair. He shut the door and took his time looking at them. Anna returned the favor. He looked a little younger than someone who had been five in 1978.
He walked toward them slowly and said, “Can I help you, ladies?”
“Professor Vaughn?” asked Leslie.
He shook his head. “No. Who are you? Why are you looking for Alex?”
The roar of an engine distracted them and a big truck pulled into the driveway beside the Volvo. The truck was painted black with bright pink flames and jacked up high enough it wallowed when it turned.
The door popped open and a mad scientist hopped out, looking very out of place in the redneck vehicle.
“It’s okay, love,” he called out. “If you answered your cell phone I’d have updated you.”
The red-haired man turned to the professor, tilted his head, and said, “I don’t talk while I’m driving. And you shouldn’t call while you are driving, Bluetooth or no. I don’t want to get that phone call.”
The mad scientist nodded, kissed the big man on the cheek, and patted his shoulder. “I’m Alex Vaughn and this bulldog is my partner, Darin Richards of the Phoenix Police Department. He worries, that’s his job. Dare, these are the FBI, they want to talk to me.”
Darin’s head jerked first to his partner and then to the two women. His eyes narrowed. “ID,” he said.
Leslie showed him her badge and he examined it. He frowned and said, “I don’t know you. I work with the local FBI office a lot.”
“They brought me out especially for this case,” Leslie said.
He looked at Anna, and she raised both hands. “Don’t look at me, I’m just a consultant.”
“And you are here to speak with Alex.”
“With Dr. Vaughn,” Leslie said. “Yes.”
“Dare,” said the mad scientist. “It’s okay.”
“Maybe,” he agreed, without agreeing at all. “Why are you here?”