The Vanishing Season (The Collector #4)(91)

“How he decided which one to take?” At my nod, she shrugs. “Fraternal twin. Her sister was a redhead.”

“That would do it.”

“Agents are with the Olvarsons now, which means all the families have been notified. Vic sent out a fresh gag order to every field office to be shared with the partnering local troops: no one is to share the information until after the press conference in the morning. Yvonne and Gala set up alerts in case anyone breaks it tonight.”

“It’s not like we can revoke the information if anyone does.”

“No, but it at least lets us scramble to get the facts out.”

“Thirty-one years ago, about three weeks before Karen Coburn went missing, a girl named Barbara Wagner died in KCMO from leukemia,” Cass says. “She was ten years old, blonde, blue-eyed. She’d been the focus of a couple of profiles on local news stations while she was in treatment. After she died, her parents took out a few ads asking that, in lieu of flowers or cards, well-wishers should donate to children’s medical research.”

“That was his trigger?”

“A week later, it was the tenth anniversary of Lisa’s death.”

“So that’s a yes on the trigger.”

“According to his records, his moving every two years predates Karen’s abduction. He started doing that after his divorce was finalized. Just couldn’t seem to stay in one place for any longer than that.”

“Is he still under sedation?”

“No, they were able to ease off that this afternoon a bit. He’s not . . .” She shares a look with Mercedes, who shifts in her seat as she tries to come up with an appropriate description.

“He’s not all there right now,” Mercedes decides eventually. “He’s going to be getting a pretty significant battery of tests in the near future.”

“Incompetence?”

“Safe bet it’ll hold. We’ll see what happens when the initial shock wears off.”

“What do his doctors think?”

“That he’s a very sick man.”

Bran reaches for my hand.

“How tired are you?” she continues.

“How not-tired do I need to be?” I reply.

“With his relative calm this afternoon, they transferred him to a hospital in Quantico. He was appointed a lawyer to protect his rights. So far, though, no one has tried to question him since his initial panic attack.”

“Vic and Watts wanted to wait for me.”

“Yes. If you’d like, we can stop by your place on the way, let you get a shower and some fresh clothes.”

“Manassas isn’t on the way. I can shower at the Bureau and freshen up my hair, change into one of the extra outfits Priya brought to the office. Oh, wait, no. Ian.”

“I’m going with you to Quantico,” he grumbles from the backseat.

“Ian, you’re exhausted and in pain. If we take you back to Vic’s, you can sleep on a real bed. We will absolutely make sure you’re back in the Bureau in time for the press conference.”

“Quantico,” he yawns. “You’ve all got things you need to be doing, and they don’t include going out of your way for an old man.”

“They were about to go out of their way for me.”

“And you don’t need them to, so neither do I.”

“Stubborn ass,” Bran says fondly.

“Insubordinate jackwagon.”

“Ah, the beauty of male friendships,” sighs Cass.

Mercedes and I both give her queer looks. “You say that like we don’t do worse with each other.”

“Fuck off, Ramirez.”

“Atta girl.”

Was it really only yesterday? Or two days ago now, given that it’s just after midnight. Cass restrains herself to about fifteen over the speed limit most of the way down. I can feel the week catching up to me, though, and it’s not long before I click off my seat belt so I can pillow my head in Bran’s lap. His hand runs over my hair, then rests, warm and strong, between my shoulder blades.

I’m asleep before the next exit.

The next thing I know, his thumb is rubbing behind my ear in a way that makes me just a little crazy, a way that is not conducive to working. “Wake up, Eliza,” he says softly.

“M’wae,” I mumble.

“If you can’t pronounce awake, you are not actually awake,” Mercedes points out helpfully.

I lift one arm enough to flip her off.

Bran helps me up to sitting, sort of. It’s a slumping sort of sitting.

More and more light suffuses the night beyond the car. Huh, we’re back in Quantico. We pull into the garage, not quite deserted but certainly not as crammed as we’re used to during office hours. “We’re going to install Ian on Vic’s couch, whether he likes it or not, and let Watts know we’re back so she can scold us,” Cass says. “Follow us once you’re a little more awake.”

“Mm-hmm.”

We help Ian out of the back. He winces at the glare of the garage lights and pulls on his sunglasses. I really wish they’d just driven to Manassas or that I’d kept my mouth shut when they suggested it. He needs to get actual rest tonight, and probably take some painkillers.

Bran sits back down in his seat, bringing me with him across his lap. I bury my face in his neck, ignoring the scratch of stubble, and his thumb and index finger dig into the tense muscles at my nape. “I don’t think I’ve said thank you,” he murmurs after a while.