CHAPTER 4
Rachel was sitting at the dining table, and had already downed a glass of orange juice, when Bailey came storming up.
"Have you seen John this morning?" he demanded, and she looked at him in surprise.
"No," she replied. "But I've only been here about 20 minutes or so."
"He didn't come back to the room last night," said Bailey angrily. "And he is not answering his phone. I thought he'd be a little bit more responsible this time. If he is not back by the time the plane leaves, I am prepared to leave him here."
"Sit down, Bails," said Rachel soothingly. "Have a coffee. He'll turn up; he's done this before. Probably picked up some bimbo last night, and is on his way back here now." She grimaced as she said it, feeling a little hurt inside, but not really understanding why.
"I expect my agents to act with a little more decorum," said Bailey angrily. George joined them, raising his eyebrows at Rachel behind Bailey's back.
"Decorum and John have never been introduced," said George. "We have an hour before the plane leaves. Otherwise, he's flying back on the commercial flight."
Bailey poured himself a cup of coffee. "The only thing is he has left his wallet in the motel room," he said. "So he would be walking back, and it's a bloody long walk!"
"Maybe he ran into that blonde again," said Rachel, "And decided to try and make up!"
George sniggered a little, at the memory, and poured his own coffee.
"Well, I need to go to the police station on the way to the airport," said Bailey, "And check up on some paperwork. I hope John realizes that he can meet us there, if he misses us here. And he knows the rules about turning his phone off!"
"He's a big boy Bailey," said George. "Don't worry about him. I'm sure he'll work it out."
But even George was looking a little worried by the time they had finished their breakfast, and John had not showed up.
Bailey's mood gradually deteriorated, while they packed up the motel rooms, and checked out. There was still no sign of John, and George threw his belongings into his backpack, while Bailey fumed.
They climbed into the car that had been provided for them, and drove to the police station, with Bailey beginning to get worried and consequently angrier with each minute that passed.
At Police Headquarters, Bailey and the investigating detective headed off to exchange paperwork, while Rachel and George made themselves coffee, and lounged inconspicuously against a wall, trying to stay out of the way of the busy comings and goings of the local police.
Rachel looked out of the window, sipping her coffee and began wondering why John's absence was causing her to worry, and what exactly he was doing, when she heard George swear, and looked over to see John walking out of one of the side rooms with another detective.
As she looked, Bailey came out of the office he had been working in, and saw John also. The three of them converged on him in an instant.
"Where on earth did he find time to change his clothes, and get a haircut?" whispered George to her as they reached Bailey, who had planted himself in John's path, in a very aggressive manner.
"What the hell do you think you're playing at?" he demanded. "Where the hell have you been?"
"I beg your pardon?" came the unexpected reply, accompanied with a sarcastic lift of one eyebrow.
Rachel stared at him in amazement; he looked older, harder, and much more confident, he seemed to carry himself differently, almost arrogantly.
Bailey ground his teeth. "John, I don't need this today. You've let the team down again! George has your bag, get in the car."
The crystal blue eyes darkened. "I have no idea what you are talking about, and what's more, I don't care. I haven't got time to play kiddy's games this morning; I'm due in surgery in an hour. Please excuse me." And he turned his back to walk away, leaving the three VCTF people staring after him in mute silence. Bailey began striding after him, when one of the local detectives came towards him on the other side.
"Dr. Troy?" he called out, and the man they thought was John stopped and turned back.
"Yes?" he said, ignoring Bailey and looking at the detective.
"We will let you know if we find anything out about your partner," said the detective, stepping back to allow Bailey to pass in front of him. "You will let us know if he gets in touch with you?"
Christian Troy nodded, and turned to leave, without wasting another glance on the three FBI agents. Bailey once more stepped around to block his path.
Rachel joined them quickly, putting one hand on Bailey's arm to calm him down. "Dr Troy?" she asked, tentatively.
The man who looked so much like her colleague and friend turned his smoldering blue gaze on her, looking at her assessingly for a moment, before nodding.
"Do I know you?" he asked, frowning a little.
"No," replied Rachel, staring back at him in amazement. "But I have heard of you. And you won't believe this, but you look exactly like someone we are looking for."
"Well that's all very interesting," he said, implying that it was anything but. "I do have to get back to the clinic though, I am operating shortly, and unless I can find my partner very soon, I'll be looking for an assistant, so please excuse me."
He walked away from them without a backwards glance, leaving them staring at his immaculately clothed back, in surprise and shock.
George shook his head for a moment, then turned to Rachel and Bailey, still disbelieving.
"I don't believe it," he said, totally shocked. "I don't believe it!"
"It's very strange," said Bailey frowning. "The whole thing is weird."
Rachel nodded. "The resemblance between the two men is uncanny," she said. "I wonder what he meant about finding his partner?"
As one, they turned back to question the detective that had been talking to Troy, all thoughts of returning to Atlanta vanishing. Bailey phoned the pilot of their plane, and told him to stand down till further notice.
"Well his partner's car was found, unlocked and with one door open, in a 10 minute parking zone, only a couple of blocks from his clinic," began the detective. "He hasn't been answering his cell or his pager. He is fairly well known around here, as one of the city's finer surgeons, he and his partner run a very successful clinic."
"Has there been any sign of trouble at all? What was the partner's name?" asked Rachel, still watching out of the window, the upright figure of Christian Troy stride through the car park.
"Sean McNamara," replied the detective. "Never heard a whisper about him. I'm told he's an excellent surgeon with a very solid reputation. Doesn't seem the type to just vanish without letting someone know where he is. Still, its early in the day – he hasn't been officially listed as missing yet, just that a patrol found his car like that – and we called his partner to see if he knew why."
Bailey looked over at Rachel. "What do you think?" he asked her, and she dragged her gaze back to stare at him in bewilderment.
"I don't know," she replied. "We need to figure out what is happening here. And somehow, I have a strange feeling that Doctor Troy's partner's disappearance is connected to John's."
Bailey made his mind up with his usual precision.
"George, you are going back to Atlanta, Rachel and I will stay here for at least the rest of today, and possibly tomorrow, to try and find where John has disappeared to. We will also investigate the two doctors as well – Rachel's right, that is way too much of a coincidence. Maybe John's disappearance is connected, maybe not, but we will check out what we can. I'll have a car take you to the airport. Let Marcus know we should be back tomorrow – and keep me informed of anything important."
Rachel went with George to the airport, then took the police car back to the motel where they had stayed the previous night, and rebooked the two rooms, one for her and one for Bailey, and then began walking back towards the restaurant, and the last place they had seen John.
She was convinced that John's disappearance was somehow tied up with his amazing likeness to Christian Troy, and she intended to go and talk to the surgeon at his clinic, but first she wanted to see if she could sense something, anything, that would give her a clue as to what had happened to John. She would also find out who the blonde woman was, and talk to her. Feeling a little better, with a course of action to follow, she walked along the pavement, trying to imagine the path that John would have taken last night.
She reached the doors of the restaurant, which was closed at this hour, and stood there for a moment, then turned around and slowly retraced her steps.
Half way along the path, she turned once more, and looked over at the beach, closing her eyes a little, and breathing in the warm air; then continued back towards the motel, and her borrowed car. Something in the gutter caught her eye, and she bent down to pick it up. Dread curled up through her body, as she found she was holding a syringe, attached to a dart. It might not have anything to do with John, but she hurried back to get it tested.