Colby Conspiracy. Debra WebbЧитать онлайн книгу.
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.