Find Me If You Dare (The Chronicles of Elizabeth Marshall Book 2) (7 page)

                   
Chapter Seventeen

The last few days had been some of the most exhausting of my life. It was well after dark before I gathered my things and prepared to go home.

I glanced around the room at all the information that had been gathered so far on the hunt for Elizabeth Marshall. Although the information was well organized and helpful, I was beginning to see that real life wasn’t at all like the forensic shows on TV. The crime wasn’t committed, investigated, then solved, all wrapped up in a tight bow within an hour.

Despite all our hard work, despite my own extensive research, most of which I still felt I was only scratching the surface of, there was still no sign of Lisbeth. Every law enforcement agency had been alerted between here and Texas, but it was like trying finding a needle in a haystack. More like trying to find the eye of a needle in a haystack. And this was just the first day without word of her. I tried not to become discouraged.

“Caitlyn, do you have a minute before you leave?” Logan was at my side. He had been all over today, in and out of the Chief’s office, on the phone, on the computer, helping me with my research. I was so tired at this point I was only now just realizing that I hadn’t seen him for a while.

“Sure,” I agreed with a slight nod, “what is it?”

“Field Director Phillips wants to see you for a moment,” he gestured towards the chief’s office. The stress from the last few days was starting to show in the dusky shadows beneath his eyes. We exchanged a silent look between us that communicated how we both felt.

It was interesting how close I felt to Logan after such a relatively short amount of time. There already seemed to be an unspoken language between us that usually
doesn’t come into a relationship until after an extended amount of time. I had heard it said that relationships begun under a high amount of stress could be that way. I certainly felt as though I had known him much longer than I actually had.

He walked beside me down the hall to the chief’s office, our arms brushing occasionally as we walked. Once in the office, Director Phillips was just finishing up a phone call and
gestured for us to each take the same seats we had earlier.

“That was our field office in
El Paso,” Phillips explained as he hung up the phone and typed a few notes into his laptop that now sat on the desk. “I was giving them a heads up on the situation.” After he finished his typing he moved that direct gaze back to me. Again, I realized that I never wanted to be interrogated by this man. It felt as though he could see right through you with those dark brown eyes.

“Ms. Stewart,” he was addressing me formally, which I wasn’t sure I liked, “I want to thank you for your help with our investigation. Your information has been very valuable.” Was he dismissing me? Thanks for the help but we’ll take it from here? I wasn’t certain where this was going. “I have something for you.”
He picking up something off the desk and handed it to me. I reached out my hand and took the plastic laminated ID badge attached to a black lanyard. With a shock I looked down at my driver’s license photo and next to that the words: “Caitlyn Stewart, FBI, Special Consultant”.

“I hope you don’t mind that I took the liberty of doing a background check on you,” his tone was slightly apologetic, “entirely routine, you know. Anyone involved in an investigation like this is required to be screened. All we could find was a speeding ticket out of North Carolina.” He smiled at that, the first smile I’d seen from him. He seemed like a proud father to have found no dirt on me. “Your ex-husband was a real bastard, by the way, but that’s beside the point.”

Logan gave me a raised eyebrows look at that comment. I wasn’t one to elaborate on that period of my life. The director continued.

“I don’t know how long this investigation is going to take. So far, the trail has gone cold since Golden, Colorado, but we’re still early into it,” he put his hands flat on the desk on each side of the laptop. I could sense his fatigue too.
“I’ve taken the liberty of contacting your employer at the law firm and requesting a leave of absence for you.”

My eyes flashed up to his. He did what? Didn’t he realize that I was a struggling student with bills to pay and student loans? I opened my mouth to protest but he cut me off.

“Don’t worry, you’ll be well compensated.” I wasn’t certain what he meant by that. I didn’t make much at the law firm but I liked the job. “Well compensated”? That could mean six figures or it could mean barely more than minimum wage.

“What about school? I’m a full-time student
.” I protested. I couldn’t just drop everything right now.

“I’ve also talked to the president of your university.” I tried not to gasp at that. I was sure my face was turning a bright red. He talked to the University president? About me? I tried to say something but the words wouldn’t come out. “He
was actually a Bureau man himself. Served for five years right out of college. He was more than happy to do a waiver on your classes if this investigation takes up too much of your time. You can just pick up the next semester right where you left off.”

Was he always this high-handed? In a single conversation my entire life had just been rearranged. I couldn’t decide if I should be angry at the loss of control or humbled that the FBI wanted my help so much. Before I could decide he continued.

“My forensic psychologist, Madeline Reynolds, got hung up in Atlanta. She should be here in the morning. I’d like for you to meet with her. That badge should give you easy access in and out of here.”

I all I could really do was nod
numbly. How could I refuse?

“Should we say ten o’clock then?” It wasn’t a question as much as a statement.

“Yes, sir,” I couldn’t help answering.

“Get some sleep then,” he directed as Logan and I rose to our feet and exited the room, “I need you at the top of your game tomorrow. It might be another long day.”

I wasn’t sure I liked the sound of that.

Dragging
myself into bed that night, I didn’t want to think about the patrol car outside my apartment thanks to Logan. He still didn’t want to let his guard down until Lisbeth was sighted again.

So many thoughts kept cycling through my head. So much had happened the last few days. Everything in my life, it seemed, had been turned upside down. I couldn’t take it all in.
There were so many conflicting emotions running through me I couldn’t even identify them all.

One stark reality hit me though. T
omorrow was going to be my first official day as a FBI consultant.

What have I gotten myself into?

                    
Chapter Eighteen

Dr. Madeline Reynolds was a tiny woman, not even five feet tall. She wore her straight hair in an A line and it was five shades of blonde, brown and everything in between. She wore thick-framed rectangular glasses with jewels at the hinges. Her conservative black pant suit had a dash of color with a ruby red blouse underneath.

Logan introduced us as I came into the briefing room the next morning. She was pouring over several books, piles of papers in neat stacks and Lisbeth’s medical file I had already gone through the day before.
A laptop sat on the desk before her, an online medical journal was on the screen. She hardly looked up at the introduction.

“Caitlyn, this is Dr. Madeline Reynolds, a forensic psychologist with the FBI,” Logan began
.

“Call me Dr. Reynolds,” she extended a hand of introduction without glancing my way. Logan and I exchanged a look that she didn’t see. He raised an eyebrow at her formality.
“I should have been here yesterday, I know,” she was speaking more to the papers in her hand than to me, “but they had a bomb threat from a passenger at the airport in Atlanta. They wanted me to interview the suspect once he was in custody. He was a paranoid schizophrenic off his meds, poor thing. ”

I sat down in the same chair I had occupied most of the day before. I looked up at the board before me and all the detailed information I had tried to gather about Lisbeth and the family. Logan walked away to go speak with Detective Hammond and his police chief.

“Now, since I received the call from Field Director Phillip I’ve been doing extensive research on Dissociative Identity Disorder. I will admit that it’s rare and I have little personal experience with the disorder, but the American Journal of Psychiatry outlines everything well enough.” She glanced up just long enough for me to see her light brown eyes behind her glasses. “Actually,” she pulled back the sleeve of her jacket to look at an expensive women’s watch, “I know Director Phillips set up this meeting with you this morning, but I took the liberty of making an appointment with Dr. Martin Ross, Elizabeth Marshall’s attending physician, in a little more than an hour from now. I really do need to leave right away to make the drive down to Provo.”

She clicked her laptop shut and started putting it in her traveling case. I sat there quietly and watched as she gathered her books together and rearranged her papers into more neat piles.

She had already dismissed me.

I sat thoughtfully for a moment, debating with myself about whether or not I should warn her about Dr. Ross.
Who knows, maybe he would be more helpful to her than I would be. Perhaps she was just meeting with him out of some sort of professional courtesy.

She was packed up and ready to walk out and she hadn’t even allowed me to say a single word.

“Well, good luck with Dr. Ross,” I called to her as she shouldered the bag for her laptop and then her purse and started walking out.

Something in my tone must have stopped her. She turned around and looked at me clearly for the first time. With her standing and me sitting, we were almost eye level.

“Excuse me?” She asked. I wasn’t certain if she was annoyed with me or merely curious.
“What did you mean by that?”

“Nothing,” I decided at that moment that explaining Dr. Ross to her was not going to help. She needed to meet him herself to understand what it was like to deal with that man. “I’m sure he’ll be very helpful to you.”

“Yes,” she gave a sharp nod, “I’m certain he will.”

With that, she turned her back on me again and left the room. Dismissed again.

I sat for a few minutes in thought after she left. I certainly didn’t want to meet with Dr. Ross again. After I had repeatedly warned him, told him numerous times that Lisbeth was resistant to medication, he had still insisted that he had “cured” her. It was his carelessness that had allowed her to be moved to a treatment facility with lesser security. A treatment facility she had all but walked away from.

Yes, I wasn’t about to volunteer to go with her to see Dr. Ross. I was afraid that if I sa
w that pompous, arrogant doctor I’d want to wring his neck.

Before my thoughts could stray too far down that path, my attention was drawn by a federal agent carrying in what looked to be a large tube wrapped in plastic. He came over to the desk just vacated by Dr. Reynolds and with careful hands unwrapped the plastic.

There, laid across the desk, were a canvass protected by a thin plastic layer. Staring up at me from the canvass were a pair of deadly, blood-red eyes. The eyes of my nightmares.