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She shrugged. “Whatever.” Her eyes twinkled at him. “Different points of view.”
“So they say.” He smiled at her, and drove her home.
His smile made her heart flutter. She wondered about it all the way to her bedroom, but she was asleep before she puzzled it out.
* * *
Meanwhile, Tom was working a new angle on the kidnapping case. If the young woman was fine with people she knew, and the kidnapper had been a stranger, why hadn’t she screamed for help? According to what he’d found out, there was a maid and a housekeeper who both lived in the home, and there was a security guard who was on duty outside after dark. He’d need to talk to all three of them.
He phoned the number at the Downing home and was told that Mr. Downing was too busy to come to the phone. This was after he heard Downing in the background saying hell would freeze over before he’d have anybody in law enforcement in his home, and the FBI agent could go to hell. Tom found that not only entertaining, but useful to know. As Mr. Downing would soon find out.
* * *
His first stop was Jeff Rawlings’s office.
“You’re out early.” Jeff chuckled. “Want coffee?”
“I just had a cup, thanks. I need you to do something for me.”
“Sure. What?”
“Pull Downing in for questioning in the death of his daughter.”
Jeff made a terrible face. “If I do that, he’ll sue me and the county and probably the governor. The man is nice, until something upsets him, but he has enough money and power to blow the pants off half the city council. He’s dangerous.”
“Is he, really?” Tom asked. He began to smile. “Okay, then. I’ll do it my way.”
Jeff was wary. “And what, exactly, is your way?” he asked worriedly.
Tom just smiled. It wasn’t a pleasant smile at all.
Chapter Two
Several hours later, in the company of a fellow senior agent of the FBI from Denver, Doug Reynolds, both men got in the Crown Victoria and drove straight to the Downing residence. It was in a gated community, so they had to show ID. They flashed their badges at the guard, using their most intimidating expressions, and drove right up to the front door.
They knocked. The maid came, saw the two men, and froze.
“FBI,” Tom said curtly, and showed his badge. His fellow agent did the same. They didn’t smile.
“We need to see Mr. Downing at once,” Tom added. He gave her the look again. It was intimidating.
“Come . . . come right this way. Mr. Downing and his, uh, May, his nurse are having dinner. They’re in the big dining room . . .”
“How nice.” Tom urged her ahead.
* * *
Downing was in his late forties, belligerent, without a hint of manners or courtesy. He yelled at the poor maid for interrupting his dinner and then glared at the newcomers while the older woman with him, May, went a pasty white. Tom decided he had to have an interview with her—but alone.
“Get back to work, Alice, and next time you ask me before you let anybody in that door at night!”
The maid, young and scared, agreed, glanced with a rueful smile at Tom, and went back to her chores.
Well, what do you want?” Downing demanded. “You’re interrupting my meal!”
“FBI,” Tom said, producing the badge again. His colleague did the same.
“FBI?” His eyes grew big with surprise. “You can’t just walk in here, without a warrant!”
