The Sleeping Doll

Diego and not gone through airport security she could have a weapon with her.
    Dance said, “Good, Charles.” Then, a nod at TJ. “Let’s go see Nagle.”
    •    •    •
    Dance and the younger agent were en route to their destination when her phone rang.
    “Hello?”
    Winston Kellogg said in an uncharacteristically urgent voice, “Kathryn, she’s gone.”
    “Rebecca?”
    “Yes.”
    “Are the others okay?”
    “They’re fine. Linda said Rebecca wasn’t feeling well, went to lie down. Didn’t want to be disturbed. We found her bedroom window open but her car’s still at CBI.”
    “So Pell picked her up?”
    “I’m guessing.”
    “How long ago?”
    “She went to bed an hour ago. They don’t know when she slipped out.”
    If Rebecca had wanted to hurt the other women, she could’ve done it herself or snuck Pell in through the window. Dance decided they weren’t at immediate risk, especially with the guards.
    “Where are you now?” she asked Kellogg.
    “Going back to CBI. I think Pell and Rebecca are making a run for it. I’ll talk to Michael about getting roadblocks set up again.”
    When they hung up, she called Morton Nagle.
    “Hello?” he answered.
    “It’s Kathryn. Listen, Rebecca’s with Pell.”
    “What? He kidnapped her?”
    “They’re working together. She was behind the escape.”
    “No!”
    “They might be headed out of town but there’s a chance you’re in danger.”
    “Me?”
    “Lock your doors. Don’t let anybody in. We’re on our way. I’ll be there in five minutes.”
    It took them closer to ten, even with TJ’s aggressive—he called it “assertive”—driving; the roads were crowded with tourists getting an early start on the weekend. They skidded to a stop in front of the house and walked to the front door. Dance knocked. The writer answered a moment later. He glanced past her at TJ, then scanned the street. The agents stepped inside.
    Nagle closed the door. His shoulders slumped.
    “I’m sorry.” The writer’s voice broke. “He told me if I gave anything away on the phone, he’d kill my family. I’m so sorry.”
    Daniel Pell, standing behind the door, touched the back of her head with a pistol.

Chapter 49
    “It’s my friend. The cat to my mouse. With the funny name. Kathryn Dance  . . .”
    Nagle continued, “When you phoned, your number came up on caller ID. He made me tell him who it was. I had to say everything was fine. I didn’t want to. But my children. I—”
    “It’s all right—” she began.
    “Shhhhh, Mr. Writer and Ms. Interrogator. Shush.”
    In the bedroom to the left, Dance could see Nagle’s family lying belly-down on the floor, their hands on top of their heads. His wife, Joan, and the children—teenage Eric and young, round Sonja. Rebecca was sitting on the bed over them, holding a knife. She gazed at Dance without a fleck of emotion.
    The only reason the family weren’t dead, Dance knew, was that Pell was controlling Nagle through them.
    Patterns  . . .
    “Come on out here, baby, lend a hand.”
    Rebecca slid off the bed and joined them.
    “Get their guns and phones.” Pell held the gun to Dance’s ear while Rebecca took her weapon. Then Pell told her to cuff herself.
    She did.
    “Not tight enough.” He squeezed the bracelets and Dance winced.
    They did the same with TJ and pushed both of them down on the couch.
    “Watch it,” TJ muttered.
    Pell said to Dance, “Listen to me. You listening?”
    “Yes.”
    “Is anybody else coming?”
    “I didn’t call anyone.”
    “That’s not what I asked. You, being the ace interrogator, ought to know that.” The essence of calm.
    “As far as I know, no. I was coming here to ask Morton some questions.”
    Pell set their phones on a coffee table. “If anybody calls you, tell them that everything’s fine. You’ll be back at your headquarters in an hour or so. But you can’t talk now. We clear on that? If not, I pick one of the kiddies in there and—”
    “Clear,” she said.
    “Now, no more words from anybody. We’ve—”
    “This is not smart,” TJ said.
    No, no, Dance thought. Let him control you! With Daniel Pell you can’t be defiant.
    Pell stepped up to him and, almost leisurely, touched his gun to the man’s throat. “What did I tell you?”
    The young man’s flippancy was gone. “Not to say a word.”
    “But you did say something. Why would you do that? What a stupid, stupid thing to do.”
    He’s going to kill him, Dance