"Mary, come here." The twenty-three year old receptionist called for her boss to come over. Mary McCowen was forty-two, tall and the type of person who was kind but not intimidated at all. A Navy nurse for sixteen years, she started a daycare upon her separation from the Navy. She cared for her kids and the women she worked with. No stupid laws or ridiculous parents got in her way.
"What's up, Nina?" The younger woman handed her a printout from the computer.
"Check out that picture. Look familiar to you at all?" Mary looked at it.
"Yeah, that's the little girl that got kidnapped the other day. Some F.B.I. agent's daughter, right?" Nina nodded.
"Anything else stand out about her?" Mary looked at the picture before shaking her head.
"What's going on here, Nina?" The young brunette got up from her seat and walked into the area that housed the cribs and stuff for the very young children. She went to one of the occupied cribs. The whiteboard on the wall above it read "Susan/Rita," telling the staff that the baby was Susan and her mother was Rita.
Nina picked the baby up and held her out slightly to Mary. "Notice anything familiar now?" Mary looked between the baby and the picture still in her hand.
"Oh my word." She looked between the baby and the picture again. "Nina, get me the F.B.I. on the phone."
--
He was angry. No, angry did not cover it. He wasn't sure if furious, or any other word in the English language would sufficiently describe how irate he was. He'd returned from the store to find the house empty. No Rita. No baby. He'd told her not to leave the house while he was gone. With no idea where she'd gone, there was nothing he could do but wait for Rita to come back.
Three hours later he heard the door open. He waited until she was in the kitchen before he got up from his seat in the living room. His steps were silent as he walked up behind her, his hand retrieving the knife from his pocket. Rita stood at the counter completely oblivious to what was going on behind her. Swift movements found her left arm twisted up behind her back, his body pressing hers hard to the counter as his right arm brought the knife up to her neck. A startled gasp left her lips as his mouth moved in by her ear.
"Where did you go?" His voice was deep and sinister. He could feel her shaking beneath him, and when she didn't answer him he pressed the knife a little harder into her skin. "Answer me!"
"I, I- I went to the spa."
"Where's the baby?" She whimpered as the knife cut into her skin. "What did you do with the baby?" He was shouting now, twisting her arm more and eliciting a cry a pain from her lips.
"S-s-some d-dayc-c-care. B-b-busyb-b-bee's" He slammed her even harder against the counter and he was sure he heard bones cracking underneath her screams. "You left her at a daycare?! Where anybody might recognize her from the pictures plastered all over the news?! You idiot!" Without further thought his right arm pressed in as he brought it back towards him. When he stepped back her body fell at his feet, her hands moving to her neck. In a further fit of anger he brought the knife back down, forcefully driving it into her chest. Within seconds her movements stopped. He stood in the kitchen, arms at his sides, chest heaving. Shaking with rage, he began to trash the kitchen.
When the whole house looked as though a tornado had swept through it, he grabbed his laptop and duffel bag and left the house. He had to get to that daycare before someone realized the little girl they were taking care of belonged to an F.B.I. agent.
--
"Agent Booth, there's a phone call for you. Line two." Booth was in his office when a young agent knocked on the door. He picked up the phone.
"Booth."
"Agent Booth, this is Detective Hunt of the Metro PD. I've got a scene I think you should see."
"What's the address?" He wrote it down. "I'll be right there." He slammed the phone down on the receiver and grabbed his jacket.
Twenty minutes later he was at the address the officer had given him. Yellow crime scene tape surrounded the property and cop cars were positioned all around the street. Booth got out of his SUV as a man in a suit walked towards him.
"Agent Booth, I'm Detective Hunt. We spoke on the phone." They shook hands. "If you'll come with me, I'll take you inside the house."
They walked into the small house and maneuvered their way around the various crime scene techs and police officers. They finally got into the kitchen, where the majority of the damage had been done. A woman lay on the floor in a pool of blood. A knife was sticking out of her chest and her throat had been slit. The kitchen was a total mess, as was the rest of the house.
"Her name's Rita Toms. Driver's license says she's 22. The address has been scratched out, but I'd say she's been living here for a while. There's a lot of woman's stuff in the bedroom and bathroom."
Booth stood up from his crouched position by the body. "Any idea who did this?" Detective Hunt stood up as well.
"Probably the guy that rented this place. There's something else you need to see. This is why I called you." He led him to a side room. There was a battered crib, dresser and changing table. Stacks of diapers, wipes, formula cans and bottles lined the top of the dresser. The drawers contained a few outfits for a young girl.
Booth felt his heart rate speed up as his breathing increased. He froze when he saw the blanket in the crib. He picked it up, going against every instinct that reminded him he's not supposed to touch things at crime scenes. Detective Hunt must not have cared either because he made no attempt to stop the agent.
Booth held the blanket in his hands. Pink flowers were sown onto a green background, and yellow letters spelled out "Abigail Kalen Booth- A Father's Joy". Booth crushed the fabric to his face. After a few moments, he pulled it back.
"Angela made this when Abby was born. She was born around seven in the morning and Angela had the blanket finished by eight that night." He looked up at Hunt. "You said you think that woman's killer is whoever rented this house." Hunt nodded. "Who's that?"
The detective looked at his notebook. "Nicholas Graves." Booth froze. He slowly looked up at Hunt, his eyes wide and deadly.
"Say that again."
"House was rented to a Nicholas Graves." Booth's jaw clenched. His knuckles were white as he squeezed the blanket. He began to shake slightly.
"Agent Booth, are you okay?" Booth's heart and lungs were racing now.
"Nicholas Graves was a man I served with in the Army. We were captured together. He was tortured, but we were rescued before they got to me." Hunt stared at the agent before him.
"You think he took Abby as revenge?" Booth closed his eyes and rubbed his hand over them.
"I wouldn't put it past him. He's got Abby's blanket and everything's set up to take care of a baby. The question is, where is she now?"
