A Deadly Influence (Abby Mullen Thrillers #1)(117)

“Don’t call again!” The line went dead.

Abby and Will exchanged glances. She’d been listening in on the conversation as the secondary negotiator. Her heart thrummed in her chest, the angry words still echoing in her ears. McCormick was furious. And rage mixed with fear was deadly.

“What do you think?” Will asked.

“I think the initial communication might have tainted you,” Abby said.

The first contact with the subject was always tricky. Adrenaline flooded the subject’s body, making them erratic and unpredictable. The negotiator’s only role during that first contact was to calm the subject down, mostly by using active listening. Except sometimes, like in this case, it wasn’t enough. McCormick had been too angry, or too scared, or both. He’d lashed out at Will and marked him as an enemy. For McCormick, Will wasn’t someone you could talk to, negotiate with. He was someone you threatened—or raged at.

“I don’t know,” Will said. “There was a moment during the second conversation when I felt we were building a rapport. I can make this work.”

“Let’s hear it.” Abby put on a pair of earphones.

Will turned to the control panel and played the recording of the call.

It was similar to the one she’d just heard. McCormick talked in angry outbursts with Will doing his best to be receptive, to draw McCormick into a conversation. At one point McCormick calmed down enough to stop screaming. He said he wanted them to clear out. Will asked him how he expected them to do that. McCormick said it wasn’t his problem, and hung up.

Abby looked at Will. He was one of the best negotiators she knew. But her gut told her she was right. McCormick wouldn’t talk to him. They needed a fresh start.

“We’re going to switch,” she said. “I’ll be primary.”

Will nodded, and she saw the hurt and concern on his face. His instinct told him he was the right man for the job, and she had just effectively told him he wasn’t. Even if she was right, it was no fault of his, but that didn’t lessen the sting. Even worse, a transfer between negotiators was always risky. The subject in a crisis never responded well to surprises. If she was wrong, it might mean that Eden and Gabrielle would get hurt. It might mean they’d die.



The point of the knife dug into Gabrielle’s cheek. She was frozen, a statue sculpted by sheer terror.

“When you lie to me, it feels like someone is cutting me with a blade,” Tom hissed at her. “Do you know how much that hurts? Do you want to find out?”

She didn’t. She didn’t dare shake her head. She tried to speak, but her voice was gone, robbed. Please don’t, she mouthed. She could vaguely hear her mother’s sobs. Tom had handcuffed her mom and shoved her onto the couch. He’d told her mom that if she moved, he’d kill them both.

The blade withdrew from the cheek, wavering an inch from her face. She tried to look away from the knife’s tip as it hovered in front of her eye. Oh god, what if he cuts my eye? No, please no, please please please.

“You’ll stop lying to me, right?”

“Yes,” she managed to whisper.

“You remember asking me to help you now?”

“Yes.” Anything. She’d say anything.

“When?”

She blinked. “What?”

“When did you ask me to help you? You said you remember.” His voice had an edge almost sharper than the knife. “I think about it every. Single. Day. I hope you do too.”

Her mind whirled, thinking about the few conversations they’d had, the interviews. What could he possibly be talking about? What could it be?



“We need to call again,” Abby said.

“He said he’d hurt them if we do,” Will warned her. “Perhaps we should wait until he calls us.”

She shook her head. “It’s an abstract threat. He won’t act on it.”

When people made threats they intended to act upon, they were usually specific. If McCormick had said, “If you call again, I will slit Eden Fletcher’s throat,” Abby would have been warier. But a generic “I will hurt them” wasn’t as strong.

There were exceptions. She hoped this wasn’t one of them.

She turned to Summers, who sat in front of a laptop, scrutinizing the screen. “What do you have so far?”

Summers turned to face her. “I found the phrase undying gratitude twice in Gabrielle’s feed,” she said. “One is in a post where she said that another Instagrammer had her undying gratitude for introducing her to a brand of protein bars.”

“And the second?”

“There was a contest post. She offered a signed picture to the fan who got her the most followers in a week. A fan joked, asking what if he quadrupled her followers, and she said he would have her undying gratitude.”

Abby blinked. That was it. “Find me that post. And get me everything you can on the fan who made the comment. He’s our guy.”

She picked up the phone and called McCormick. It rang.

There was a certain feeling Abby always got as she started every negotiation. A terror in the pit of her stomach, the weight of responsibility crushing down on her.

Second ring.

A bitter taste in her mouth. Sweaty palms. She breathed in through her nose.

Third ring—and he picked up.