Forbidden (Southern Comfort) by O'Neill, Clark (free ebook reader txt) 📗

might be tricky at first, after a while he’d have the kid believing whatever he wanted him to.  Kids his age were malleable.  Vulnerable.

Naïve.

Soon, his mother would be no more than a bad memory.  Especially after he told the kid she’d wanted him to be taken.

Oh yeah, he was familiar with the tactics.

A little brainwashing, a little love, a nifty little system of reward and punishment.  A few months, maybe less, and the kid would be totally his.

He laughed again, this time a little louder.  Whoever said revenge was sweet didn’t know the half of it.

CLAY fought a stomachache the entire way home.

It could have been the pound of grease he’d choked down several hours ago, in the form of a fried fish sandwich and homemade chips, dutifully chased by at least a gallon of sweet tea.  It could have been the fact that Kim volunteered to drive, and her Mario Andretti-blindfolded-and-hopped-up-on-speed style of piloting brought an entirely new dimension to motion sickness.

Of course, more likely, it was the fact that he’d just spent the past three or four hours watching tape after tape of scared, young girls being assaulted in the worst possible way.

It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen that kind of thing before.  But for some reason, watching William Wayne on tape – knowing that he’d seen the man with his own eyes, suspected that he was a predator, and hadn’t done a thing to stop Casey’s abduction from happening – made him feel like throwing up.

Oh sure, he understood, logically, that there was almost nothing he could have done.  He had no reason to approach the man, no evidence to suggest he was anything more than your run-of-the-mill pervert.  No possible way to foretell that he was going to all but snatch a girl from under his nose.

Almost literally under his nose.

Clay had been on the Ferris wheel with Max when that girl was taken.

It was like compounding what had happened in Topeka.

What the hell good was his degree, his extensive Bureau training, if kids continued to be victimized virtually in front of him and he couldn’t do a damn thing?

“You’re beating yourself up.”

Turning away from the darkened scenery flashing past his window, he slid a frown toward Kim.

“God, Clay, give yourself a break.  You’re a damn good agent, but contrary to popular belief, you’re not exactly a psychic.”

He winced.  She’d obviously been talking to Deputy Harding.

“There’s no way you could have known,” she continued, “that the man you saw at that carnival was involved in what we just watched.  You did not fail. In fact, we’re damn lucky that you noticed his fishy behavior in the first place.  If not, you wouldn’t have placed so much importance on Casey Rodriguez’s disappearance, and we wouldn’t be where we are now.”

“And where are we, exactly?” he asked mildly.  “Our main suspect is dead, there’s no sign of the girl, and I still don’t have enough to go on to get a firm handle on his partner.  I know he’s undergone a psychic break, and is more prone to taking chances, but I can’t say for sure whether he’s already fled the area.  Obviously, the area near the Collier crime scene needs to be canvassed, since Wayne was probably taking her to some sort of holding spot when he accidentally killed her.  But even if we find that place, it will probably be too little, too late.  He’ll be gone, the girl will be gone – either sold or killed because she’s been so much trouble.  That’s a very real possibility, you know.  He’s going to want to punish everyone he holds responsible.  He’s a big fan of passing the buck.”

“So we take what evidence we can gather, and follow the bastard’s trail.”

“A lot of good that does Casey Rodriguez.”

Kim’s deep blue eyes shone hot in the darkness.  “This is one of the main reasons I wanted to come down here.  I shouldn’t have to say this to you Clay, but you’ve been taking things way too personally.  I know you feel bad about this girl, feel a certain amount of responsibility because you were there, but she’s only part of the big picture.  William Wayne is dead, which means he won’t be hurting young girls any more.  And I need you to stay in the game here, friend, because you’re one of the best agents I’ve ever worked with.  I thought, at first, that you’d benefit from time away, but now I wonder if this case isn’t exactly what you needed.  It’s hard, and it sucks, but you will get through it, and you’ll realize that life goes on.  You’ll do the best you can, help rid society of another lowlife, and accept that it’s not up to you to singlehandedly save the world.”  She pulled into the parking lot of her hotel.  “Now please go home to your woman.  Remind yourself of what you’ve done right.  And tomorrow morning put your game face on, because we’re going to catch this bastard.”

Clay turned away from her to stare out at the parking lot.  Kim was right. He knew she was right, and there was no doubt he deserved the verbal face-slap.  There was no room in his line of work for this useless, pitiful moping.

And like she said, he should just go home to Tate, and remind himself of the goodness life had to offer.

“So I’ll pick you up same time tomorrow?” he asked, shifting back to face her.

“Sounds good.”  She dropped a quick kiss on his cheek, and slipped out the driver’s side door.  Tucking her jacket over her head to avoid the steadily increasing rain, she waggled her fingers and then disappeared into the hotel.

Clay played their conversation over in his mind as he drove through the rain-slicked streets.   Kim had all but accused him of having a hero complex, which might have some basis in truth.  He’d been a lifeguard through high school and on summer breaks during college, and had chosen both