Colby Conspiracy

CHAPTER SIX

FIVE O’CLOCK HAD come and gone before Victoria had found time to review the day’s Tribune. Some days were like that, one meeting or conference call after the other. She didn’t actually mind. The flurry of activity meant that the Colby Agency continued to thrive. Victoria had worked hard for nearly two decades to carry on what her husband had started. Having her son returned to her last year had made all the hard work and sacrifice worth it.

She had kept alive the legacy of Jim’s father. Jim would carry on with the same.

Victoria’s brow furrowed with remembered worry. Jim hadn’t come in today. He usually called when he planned to take a day off. But today he hadn’t. She hadn’t heard from Tasha, either.

Months and months of therapy had brought a semblance of normalcy to Jim’s life. He’d adjusted extremely well, in Victoria’s opinion. But it was hard work and there had been times during the past year when failure had loomed. Somehow her son, showing the true strength he’d inherited from his father, had overcome his weaknesses and the extensive brainwashing he’d suffered.

Victoria pressed the intercom button. “Mildred, would you see if you can reach Jim or Tasha for me, please?”

“Certainly, Victoria.”

Victoria stared at the silent intercom for a time after she’d instructed her personal secretary to make the call. That was another part of the past that was over now. Mildred and her niece, Angel, had been saved from the evil the Colbys’ archnemesis had wielded.

Leberman.

Victoria couldn’t recall how many months it had been since she’d thought of that heinous name. The bastard had died last October, but his devilish machinations had continued for months afterward. The ordeal finally culminated in the world being rid of those who’d conspired with Leberman to ruin the Colbys.

Despite having lived through that nineteen-year nightmare, it still seemed impossible to Victoria that one man could harbor such immense hatred toward another.

“Victoria, I’m not getting an answer. Shall I keep trying?” Mildred’s voice floated from the intercom, tugging Victoria from the troubling memories.

She pursed her lips thoughtfully for a moment before making a decision. “That’s all right, Mildred. I’ll try from home later.”

Victoria turned her attention back to the newspaper and attempted to put her concerns about her son and his fiancée out of her mind. It was possible that Jim had had an appointment today that Victoria had forgotten. Tuesday was Tasha’s usual day off. Perhaps she was overreacting.

She unfolded the paper on her desk and spread it open. A quick scan of the major headlines before turning the page drew her up short. She dropped the page into place and let her gaze zero in on one particular news article.

Local Homicide Detective Murdered.

Victoria read the accompanying story, regret churning in her stomach.

Carter Hastings…

What on earth?

The name swept her back nineteen years as easily as Leberman’s had…back to the night she had realized her son would not be found in the woods near their home. He was gone, had vanished, seemingly into thin air.

Homicide Detective Hastings had shown up at her door and Victoria had fallen apart. She had not wanted to believe that her son might be dead, but obviously Chicago PD had considered that possibility.

Hastings and his partner, Madelyn Rutland, had worked hard to prove Victoria’s son had merely wandered off or perhaps had been abducted by someone who wanted a son of their own. Everyone at Chicago PD had wanted to help the Colbys overcome their tragedy. The Colby Agency had already earned a respected place amid local law enforcement. No one wanted to see Victoria’s family suffer.

But there had been nothing anyone could do. The vile bastard Leberman had been behind little Jimmy’s abduction. And it would be eighteen long years before Victoria would know what really had happened.

Just three years after that horrific tragedy, Victoria’s husband had been murdered, and Carter Hastings had once more come back into her life. He had insisted on being the lead investigator. She would never forget the way he comforted her and worked diligently to bring James’s murderer to justice. But Carter had been searching for a ghost…a man more elusive than he could have imagined. Still, she had appreciated all his hard work and his endless emotional support.

The time between Jim’s abduction and James’s murder still carried a measure of guilt for Victoria. Hers and James’s relationship had not been the same after their son went missing. They’d struggled to hold things together those final three years, but it hadn’t been easy. For years after James’s death, she had worried that she should have done more to make things right between them, but she just hadn’t been able to get past the pain. Living with the reality that she might never see her son again, that he was likely dead, had been too monumental a burden to allow her to contend with anything else—even her beloved husband’s needs.

Lucas had helped her to get past those haunting months and years. He’d reminded her over and over how much James had loved her, how very well he had known that she loved him. The loss of a child brought hardship upon even the best marriage. Maybe that’s part of what had made Victoria fall in love with Lucas. Or maybe she’d been a little bit in love with him from the very first time she’d ever met him.

A wistful smile tugged at her lips. No matter the harsh realities of her past, her life was wonderful now. She had her son back and the man she loved beside her.

That nagging feeling she’d suffered last night at the gala filtered into her thoughts.

Victoria shoved it aside. She refused to be plagued by worry any longer. She had worried enough in the past for a dozen lifetimes.

This was her time. She deserved this happiness and she would not waste any of it borrowing trouble.

She picked up the phone and put through a call to Chicago PD. Carter Hastings had been incredibly helpful to her all those years ago. The least she could do was offer whatever help her agency might be able to provide for him.

“Chief Holmes, this is Victoria Colby.” She listened as the chief of Chicago’s homicide division parlayed the usual pleasantries. “Yes, it was good seeing you and Karen at the gala last night.”

Chief Marvin Holmes reiterated how no one he knew was more deserving of the honor of Woman of the Year than Victoria. She appreciated the sentiment. “Thank you, Chief. I was actually calling about this terrible news I’ve just read in today’s paper about Detective Hastings.”

Victoria’s posture stiffened at the abrupt change in the chief’s tone. It was as if the call had suddenly been diverted to some other office and some other man.

She tried to make another inroad, offering her condolences and suggesting that certainly all of Chicago PD was shocked and determined to bring this killer to justice. But the chief wasn’t biting. The change in the whole tone of the conversation was so extreme that Victoria felt uncomfortable continuing to attempt to discuss the topic.

“Don’t hesitate to let my agency know if there is anything at all we can do to facilitate this investigation.”

Chief Holmes hurried to end the call after that, insisting that he had a meeting. Victoria dropped the receiver back into its cradle, her mind reeling with questions and mounting confusion.

Why in the world would the chief be so evasive, so downright uncooperative about a case? She understood that this one was particularly sensitive because one of their own had been murdered, but why would her help—at the very least her condolences—not be welcome?

Before she could dwell upon the puzzling questions, her door opened and Tasha appeared. Victoria instantly set aside her troubling thoughts and offered her future daughter-in-law a warm smile.

“Tasha, what brings you to the office on your day off?”

Jim’s fiancé didn’t have to answer. As the younger woman quickly closed the door behind her and strode straight up to Victoria’s desk without pause, Victoria could see that something was wrong.

“We have to talk.”

It wasn’t so much the words, or even the expression on her face, but something Victoria saw in Tasha’s eyes sent her apprehension rocketing to the next level.

Every instinct Victoria possessed, had honed over the last decade and a half, warned that the shift in her world had just occurred.

CHAPTER SEVEN

TASHA HADN’T WANTED TO COME TO Victoria this way. She had hoped to work out the situation on her own, just her and Jim. But when she’d awakened this morning, Jim had been missing and last night’s incident had morphed into a whole other dimension. She’d spent the entire day searching for him with no luck. Every place he liked to go, the clinic where he still received therapy, even the Colby offices. She’d looked everywhere and no Jim.

“Tasha, sit down,” Victoria urged, no doubt noticing the paleness that fear and exhaustion had painted on her skin. “Tell me what’s happened.”

Tasha had always known her future mother-in-law had uncanny instincts; she only prayed that she could keep being pregnant a secret from her. Not that she wanted to hurt Victoria or to keep things from her, but she didn’t want to tell anyone else until after she’d told Jim.

She couldn’t tell him last night.

Not even after he’d begged her to forgive him for the slip back into the darkness of his alter ego. He’d bathed her, made her hot chocolate and hovered over her for hours afterward in an attempt to make up for his slip. He’d promised it wouldn’t happen again.

But he’d been wrong.

Eventually, his sweet coddling had turned sensual and they’d made love. It was then that she’d felt Seth again. Just little glimpses…but he had been there, as real as if she’d been making love with two different men.

Tasha trembled even now, felt guilty for thinking such negative thoughts. It wasn’t that she hadn’t cared about Seth, loved him on some level, even; she just couldn’t live with that ruthless part of who and what Jim had once been. No one could.

“It’s Jim,” she said, knowing Victoria waited for some kind of explanation. “He’s suffered a regression.”

The look on Victoria’s face said it all.

Regression. The single most dreaded word known to the family members of a therapy patient.

Victoria sank back into the luxurious chair behind her desk. “Please, tell me exactly what happened.”

Her fingers twisting together in apprehension, Tasha’s knees pretty much gave way on their own, bringing her bottom in contact with the closest chair. Having said it out loud made the whole situation even more real. Tasha swallowed in an attempt to dampen her dry throat. She wasn’t sure exactly how to begin. There were parts she simply couldn’t share with Victoria. Parts she would be the first to admit that maybe she’d imagined. Tasha closed her eyes. No, she hadn’t imagined his ruthless touch, the brutal way he’d taken her even after his drawn-out apology for the way he’d greeted her when she’d come home.

Something was very, very wrong.

What could have happened to trigger this kind of sudden regression? The doctors had insisted from the beginning that any possible regression would be triggered by something. That’s why they’d all been so careful and followed every order of the team of psychiatrists studying Jim’s unparalleled case. They kept no liquor at home, not even wine.

And yet, here she sat, about to tell his mother the worst news possible.

“Last night when I came home from dinner with Martin,” Tasha began, then hesitated, scarcely able to utter the rest, “Seth was waiting.” Vivid images from their encounters last year—when she’d been working undercover in an attempt to determine the true identity of the hired assassin named Seth—fluttered one after the other through her weary mind.

Please, don’t let this destroy Jim, she silently prayed.

Color visibly drained from Victoria’s face. “Dear God, no.”

Tasha managed a nod. “I’m afraid so.”

Unable to hide as much as she’d like from the perceptive woman, Tasha sat helpless as Victoria surveyed her closer, no doubt noting the turtleneck sweater she wore, though the early fall weather hadn’t cooled enough to warrant sweaters just yet.

“Did he hurt you?”

The pain underscoring the question ripped at Tasha’s chest. Victoria had only had her son back for one year; even the vague idea of losing him again had to be killing her, just as it was Tasha.

“Not really,” Tasha allowed, hoping to spare her feelings. But Victoria was not one to be fooled so easily.

“Bruises?”

Tasha nodded. “And a couple of scratches.” She would not, under any circumstances, mention the other soreness. It was far too intimate. Tears crowded behind her lashes when she considered again how scared she had been for the baby. She quickly pushed aside the memories, couldn’t risk Victoria seeing it in her eyes.

Victoria nodded. “Shall I call Dr. Pendelton?”

Tasha shook her head. “I’m all right.” Dr. Kyle Pendelton was a longtime client of the Colby Agency. He was also a good friend of Victoria’s. “But Jim is missing or hiding.”

“You’ve been looking for Jim,” Victoria guessed, her worry visibly mounting.

“Yes. I’ve looked everywhere I can think of. Checked with the clinic. No sign of him.” Tasha swallowed tightly. “I guess this means you haven’t heard from him, either.”

“Unfortunately, I haven’t.”

Tasha felt her heart sink further. What could they do now?

“All right,” Victoria said, her voice offering hope and the kind of sheer determination that Tasha should not have doubted even for a second. “We have to assume, then, that the situation has progressed into darker territory.”

Tasha had to give her full credit—Victoria’s strength was incredible. Her ability to hold her own under the circumstances was more than Tasha could say for herself just now. She was crumbling inside. But that wouldn’t help Jim.

“What do we do about it?” Tasha asked, feeling hollow and impotent.

“We assume the worst and go from there,” Victoria said bluntly, almost—almost—sounding completely objective.

Tasha watched, feeling numb, as Victoria instructed Mildred, her personal secretary, to convene a staff meeting in the conference room.

Most of the agency’s investigators didn’t leave until around six, which meant everyone would be there.

Tasha wrung her trembling hands and ordered herself to be calm. She had to deal with this just as Victoria did. She owed it to Jim. Anything less was unacceptable. He needed Tasha right now, more than ever. The beginning had been tough, but coming this far only to fail would be devastating to him. To all of them. Tasha had to be strong for Jim.

For the baby.

Minutes later, as Tasha and Victoria entered the crowded conference room, Tasha had about pulled herself together. She surveyed the room, feeling her nerves settle a bit as she acknowledged the strength in the faces she knew so well. Ian Michaels and his wife, Nicole. Simon Ruhl. Ric Martinez. Zach Ashton. Ethan Delaney. Maxwell Pierce and Doug Cooper-Smith. Amy Benson-Calhoun. Incredibly—or maybe it was pure luck—this was one of the few times that all the investigators were actually in town at the same time.

Her gaze shifted to the plaque that held center stage in the massive room and paid tribute to those who had once served the Colby Agency but had moved on for personal reasons. The names listed included: Katherine Robertson, Nick Foster, Trevor Sloan, Alexandra Preston, Ryan Braxton, Trent Tucker, Heath Murphy. There was a special tribute to the agency’s founder, James Colby.

There were others who worked behind the scenes, such as Mildred Parker, and half a dozen other research personnel, including Tasha herself.

But would this hand-selected staff be good enough to find a man like Seth if he didn’t want to be found? Tasha refused to refer to his latest actions as something Jim would do, because he wouldn’t. Jim loved her, had asked her to marry him. This wasn’t him…it was Seth, the lethal alter ego that Leberman had created.

As Victoria explained the situation, the familiar faces in the room grew more solemn.

Tasha knew what they were thinking.

Jim Colby’s damage had been too severe, too deeply ingrained. Making him whole again was too much to ask. The past few months had only been the quiet before the storm.

Tasha had even considered as much herself, but she refused to believe the man she loved couldn’t be saved. She’d seen his progress, had felt the change. He could do this. Something had to have happened to trigger this unexpected episode.

The idea that with the sort of brainwashing Jim had endured for years could carry some sort of hidden event that would only surface when the right situation occurred was a possibility. The specialist whom Lucas Camp had brought in to research that aspect had suggested as much, but there had been no way to tell for sure. It was more or less a game of wait and see.

And now something had gone wrong.

An episode had occurred.

But before they could determine the cause, they had to find Jim. As Seth, he was a danger to himself and almost anyone else he encountered, including the people he loved most. Seth had no conscience and was ruthless.

Tasha thought of the baby again and prayed that Leberman would not enjoy one last victory. That bastard was dead and gone. Tasha had watched him die by the hand of the very monster he’d created. Seth had killed his maker. She shuddered at the memories.

She glanced around the room again. They needed Lucas. He was the foremost expert on Leberman, even more so than Victoria.

As if reading her mind, Victoria said, “I’ll get in touch with Lucas right away. He’s in D.C. and won’t be back until Friday but at least he can get in touch with the specialist who evaluated Jim before.”

And with that final announcement, the entire Colby Agency set to work to find and rescue one of its own before he crossed a line where even Lucas Camp wouldn’t be able to help him.

CHAPTER EIGHT

IT RAINED AGAIN on Thursday, the day Emily said a final goodbye to her father.

Thankfully, by the time those who’d come to pay their last respects to one of Chicago’s finest arrived at the church, the sun had poked through the clouds and brightened the somber afternoon.

Emily remembered the church from Sunday mornings as a child, a lifetime ago, it seemed, when her family had been a complete unit. Elaborate carvings and intricate stained-glass windows graced the interior of the limestone-and-brick chapel. With just enough pomp and circumstance, the service had provided a distinguished send-off for the man she had always loved but scarcely knew.

Emily had called her mother last night to give her one last opportunity to change her mind about attending the service, but she’d adamantly refused.

So Emily stood alone as hundreds upon hundreds of those who’d known her father passed, offering their condolences and shaking her hand. She had expressed her gratitude so many times the words now felt empty and forced. She felt numb and more exhausted than she ever had before.

She’d lost count of the police officers who’d assured her that nothing would stop them from solving her father’s murder. So many promises of support and offers of assistance had been given that her head was spinning. The whole concept that her father had been murdered still hadn’t penetrated as deeply as she knew it eventually would. It felt surreal…impossible. Her father had been one of the good guys…a cop.

But cops lost their lives every day in the line of duty.

“Miss Hastings, your father was a dear man,” the woman who took Emily’s hand next said. “Please contact me at the Colby Agency if you need anything at all.”

Colby.

Emily blinked. She stared in confusion at the woman. Middle-aged, attractive, dark hair tinged with silver. Did she know this woman? Where had she heard that name?

And then it hit her.

The letters.

“Excuse me,” Emily said, hanging on to the woman’s hand when she would have moved on. “Did you say Colby?”

The woman smiled. “Yes. I’m Victoria Colby-Camp. Your father was a good friend.”

“I have—” Emily hesitated. What difference did the letters make? The woman would probably just throw them away. After all, they were more than a decade old—almost two, in fact. But Emily’s father had kept them for some reason. Maybe she should have read one or two. “Are you acquainted with or related to a James Colby?”

“Why, yes.”

The woman’s attention had turned keen now. Emily moistened her lips, suddenly wondering if maybe she’d made a mistake. What the heck? She’d gone this far. “I have some papers.” She gave her head a little shake to clear it, forced herself to focus. “Some letters, actually, that I think might have belonged to you or some of your family.”

Dark eyes filled with confusion searched Emily’s.

The awkward moment stretched a few seconds more and Emily hastened to add, “Perhaps I could send them to your agency?” She shrugged. “I don’t know that they’re of any importance, but I found them in my father’s papers and…well…”

“How kind of you,” Victoria Colby-Camp said, saving Emily from having to find a way to make sense of her offer. “Perhaps I could drop by and pick them up.”

There were so many things for Emily to take care of tomorrow that pinning her to a time she might actually be available wouldn’t be easy. “I’ll be in and out so much. Why don’t I drop them by your office?”

The woman nodded. “That would be fine.” She smiled. “Please let me know if there’s anything you need, Miss Hastings.”

Emily watched her walk away. A woman of means, she decided. There was something about the way she spoke and moved. Understated elegance, extreme intelligence.

A shiver raced over Emily’s skin as she thought of the bundle of letters. Why had her father kept old letters belonging to another man?

Before she had time to worry about the question, more hands reached out to her, more faces offering their sympathy.

She just wanted this day to be over.

A LONG SOAK in the tub had done Emily a world of good after the exhausting afternoon.

She curled up on her father’s well-worn sofa and sipped her tea, glad the worst was behind her.

Last night, she’d lain in his bed and considered the time that had passed since she’d lived here, before she fell into a restless sleep.

It wasn’t as if they’d been close the past fourteen years, but that didn’t prevent her from feeling sad that he was gone. He had been her father. And though she’d only spent the first twelve years of her life under the same roof with him, those few years were brimming with good memories. Well, all but that last year. When her brother had died, everything had changed.

Before climbing into the tub to relax her tense muscles, she had combed through her father’s things yet again. The only pictures he had were those taken when their family had been together.

What kind of life had he lived since then? Had he found any sort of relationship with another woman? Her mother had married barely one year after the divorce, had lived happily since then. Had her father been able to find happiness again?

There certainly was no indication anywhere in his home. All that Emily found were a few articles he’d cut from newspapers about work. A couple of awards he’d received for going above and beyond the call of duty—something he’d always done. But there was nothing of a personal nature, other than clothing and hygiene products.

Not a single item that indicated any hobbies he might have enjoyed or friends he might have had.

Emily remembered her mother arguing that he was nothing but a workaholic. But that hadn’t been entirely true, at least not when she’d been a child. She recalled vividly doing lots of family things with her father—ball games, picnics, even camping trips.