by RJ Scott
By the time we were back in town, there was very little else we could do. Logan and Drew were staying at the scene, but I’d organize a small team to relieve them as soon as I was back at the car. The investigation would pick up in the morning and, for now, I needed to talk logistics with Sawyer.
“Can we reconvene in the a.m.?” Sawyer asked outside the PD, exhaustion lining his face. “Are you staying at the hotel?”
“I am, and that’s fine.”
Then I was the only one left, standing on the sidewalk, and I sighed heavily. I'd expected to have time to set everything up, work a cold case, but landing right in the middle of a murder and corpse mutilation was a shock to the system. At the car, I placed a call to Bryan, recalling it was him, SSA Dupuis who’d warned me not to get too deeply involved. He’d meant because of my grandfather, not for a new case. Too late for avoiding getting involved, given I’d just rooted around the area to find limbs. My one job in this was to provide him with an assessment of whether the deathbed confession from Beverly Kirkland was enough to wrap up Casey McGuire’s case. Now we had Adam’s body in the undergrowth, and it wasn’t FBI jurisdiction, unlike the cold case of the women in the sinkhole. This new drama could well be a one-off, but I needed to hear Bryan’s level-headed assessment.
“Lucas? Are we closing it down?” Bryan asked without the usual civilities, but I hadn’t expected them, given he was currently wrapping up the Philly serial murder case.
“I don’t think so,” I said and wished I'd been certain in the way I’d talked, maybe used a confident tone, but my gut was telling me one thing, and my rational side was telling me something else.
“Why?”
“PD found a body today, a survivalist, shot, dismembered, and fed to the dogs.”
“And it’s connected to everything, how?” Bryan asked.
“The victim’s land spreads up to the sinkholes,” I began, but I know it sounded loose.
“All of which have been thoroughly searched, right?” he pointed out, and I couldn’t really argue with that.
“They have, I believe there is a connection.” It’s a gut feeling. That was all I had, and that was why even though my gut was telling me there was something here, my brain was arguing that the connection was thin. Tenuous even.
“And your rationale?”
“Murder-suicide in the church which in itself could be considered a one off, but some of the information that came from that rings alarm bells. Added to the remains in the sinkhole, and now a dismembered body on private land. We know something in this town isn’t right, and there may be a connection between it all.” I didn't add that I was good at reading people and that Sawyer and his team all had the same kind of instincts about everything facing us.
Bryan went quiet for a while. I’d learned not to push him or prompt him to answer before he'd concluded his thoughts.
“Okay,” he finally said. “You have the scene. I’ll divert Avery early. Set up a base and report all findings to me. I want every one of your instincts in writing, backed up with more than supposition. Meanwhile, play it safe, gather intel, work up your theories.”
“Sir, in addition, the PD is short-staffed, I need to request backup manpower to secure the scene and assist the coroner.”
“Approved. I’ll get them sent up to you as soon as possible. Meanwhile, Avery will be with you tomorrow. Bye.”
He ended the call, and after a moment's pause when I stared out over the town, contemplating what kind of secrets it held, then shook my head free of the thoughts. I needed to get moving now and I removed my vest, locked it in the trunk, my weapon in my lockbox, then collected my bags from the trunk. I moved the car back to the hotel, and headed in, hoping they still had the room I’d asked to book, because I wanted to stay in the center of all this. Not end up in a no-tell motel on the highway.
Might as well settle in and at least try and get some sleep.
I only made it twenty paces from the car when a man I recognized immediately stopped me in my tracks. Former Captain of Lancaster Falls PD, Peter Sandoval.
“And you are?” he asked, far too close to me, inside my personal space with his breath reeking of alcohol and his thinning gray hair sticking out at all angles. He was much older than the Captain Peter Sandoval pictures in the old files, but that had been forty years ago, when Grandpa Toby had done everything in his power to locate Carmen Kreuger.
“Federal Agent Lucas Beaumont,” I introduced myself and held out a hand, which he didn’t shake.
“I knew the feds would get here soon enough.”
I tensed because if he had a problem with the FBI being in town, as many did, then I was ready to defend our position. Too many missing women and all their movements had crossed county lines, meaning we were involved now. I wasn’t there to take over the investigation, but I had every right to be here.
“If I can help you.” He thrust a card at me. Falls Golf Club—Peter Sandoval. Then, after a moment’s pause when he’d inspected my face as if he were searching for something, he cleared his throat. “I want to help.” I was used to people getting up in my face, but Sandoval’s eyes were bloodshot, his face gaunt, and there was a wildness in him that had me taking a step back. If I needed to get to my gun, then I required space between us, and he was a man on the edge. He waved the card. “Take this,” he demanded, then seemed as if he was going to cry. Jeez, that was a shock. “Let me help,” he pleaded. “Whatever people think I did in the past, it was always for the best, you know. I can help, and in return, you can keep me and my wife and children safe. My grandchildren…”
“Safe from what, Mr. Sandoval?”
“Safe,” he repeated.
“Have you considered offering your services to the town police to—?”
“They can’t help me. They won't,” he snapped. Then it was his turn to take a step back. “I mean, they can’t figure this out, but I can help you at a much higher level.” He glanced around him, and he was nervous. Any agent worth their salt could’ve seen that. Also, his first words that the PD couldn’t or wouldn’t help him? What did that mean? Why couldn’t Sawyer and his team help Sandoval? Or was it a case of not wanting to help him? Sawyer was a good guy on the surface, but I’d learned in my time with the FBI that some things could be hidden. Why didn’t Sandoval want the PD involved? Was it something to do with his retiring? He was on my list of people to talk to, but right now, I thought all I would get was paranoid ramblings from Peter Sandoval, borne to me on the sickly stench of whiskey.
I took the card, made a show of putting it in my pocket. “I'll keep you in mind,” I lied, then neatly sidestepped the disheveled Sandoval and continued to the hotel.
“Agent Beaumont?” he called, but I pretended not to hear him. “Please,” he pleaded, but by the time I got to the hotel door and glanced back, he’d gone. I’d add this weird-ass incident to my mental notes.
First, I hoped to hell that my instinct to stay at the Falls Hotel was a good one and that they had a room or two. Or hell, even all of them, depending on how much of the team was down here. I had a discretionary budget, enough to book out a hotel this size if I needed it, but I’d never actually had to decide this before.
Steeling myself for making all kinds of decisions for the first time, I pushed open the door, the welcoming chime of a bell alerting the man behind reception that he had a guest. I recognized him from the scene of the chopped hand, standing at the back with two younger boys, one of which was the very image of him. So much so that they had to be related.
Tall, with dark wavy hair, he was a breathtaking mix of a smooth, choppy-haired Henry Cavill and a stubbled Scott Eastwood. His deep chocolate eyes, day-old stubble, Hawaiian print shirt and welcoming smile made my chest tighten. Up close in such a stunning setting, all polished wood and gleaming mirrors, he was pretty, if that was even the word to use. Currently, he had arms full of ledgers, which he placed down when he glanced over as the bell rang. He was sexy, his jaw square, his smile wide, and so
mewhere inside me, where I thought was ice, lust began to stir, and my stomach twisted.
Gorgeous, my head said.
Mine, the rest of my body reacted.
Four
Josh
The news about a body part being found in town hit Twitter a little after eleven a.m., shared by someone with the handle of LFToday76, which when traced back, led straight to Nicky Farmer, who’d taken to sharing her gossip to a much wider audience after the finding of the first set of remains and becoming somewhat of a local celebrity.
Being seen as a person who knew things was hardwired into her DNA, but the hashtags, #GrislyRemains and #LancasterFalls had begun to get noticed, and there wasn’t a lot anyone could do about it. She had a following of fellow gossip collectors with some more avid ones egging her on, asking if there was blood, what was the condition of the hand, did anyone know who it belonged to? Moving into September, with the heat still crucifying the town, I’d hoped so much that everything would break. The heat would dissipate, we might get an actual fall with leaves turning, and a chill in the air. The bones would be ID’d and the case closed. Then I would check my bank balance, which was actually in the black due to the visiting journalists and random weirdos with their drones and their Instagram stories, and then I could carry on with my important job of being a dad.
Which is why, when the bell rang over the door and a potential guest arrived, I pasted a smile on my face and prepared to not react to the crazy.
Only my breath caught in my throat.
This was the special agent from earlier, Lucas something. His styled hair hadn’t survived the heat or all that heavy rain, falling flat on his forehead and feathering out in tiny fluffy spikes everywhere else. He was in a full-on suit, but the fabric had wilted a long time ago, and he looked exhausted.
“Welcome to Falls Hotel.” I braced my hands on the counter.
He threw a small smile my way. “I have a reservation. Well, I called last week, and a young man suggested that there could be a vacancy.”
“It’s quiet right now,” I admitted. Although it wouldn’t be when the journalists landed in town as soon as the grisly find was deemed important enough to be featured in news bulletins. The agent took the few steps to end up in front of me, placing his bags onto the floor and readjusting the laptop bag over his shoulder. When the special agent moved, I saw the glimpse of an empty holster, and I had one rule here that he wasn’t going to like.
“I’m sorry, no weapons here,” I stated firmly.
He blinked at me, long lashes framing unfathomable light gray eyes. Then he reached into his pocket and pulled out his ID. “Special Agent Lucas Beaumont,” he announced as if that made a difference.
I extended a hand to him, which he shook. “Josh Baker. I know who you are, but there is a no weapons rule in this hotel.”
He looked adorably confused for a moment but then appeared to have a eureka moment. “I have a lockbox. Is it possible that you have safes in your rooms?”
“We have one behind here, that you can set a code into.” Bolted into the floor and with units built around it. “Or smaller ones in your room.”
He brightened then. “Problem solved. We can simply lock it safely away down here.”
That was so damn amenable that I was instantly mistrustful. “This isn’t a joke. My son lives here with me, and I won’t have firearms on my premises.”
He stared at me as if he was trying to work out who I was and how he could solve the puzzle that was Josh Baker, dad and hotel owner, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him. Whether that was because he was an armed federal agent and I was worried about Harry or because the man in the stained and limp suit was determination with a splash of sexy, I didn’t know. He was serious, frowning, and then he did this whole biting his lip thing, and I couldn’t take my eyes off the pink of the bitten lip.
I wish he’d stop doing something like that in front of me. Didn’t he know I haven’t been naked with a man in three months now?
He cleared his throat. “I apologize. I was simply suggesting the most expedient way of dealing with the situation. There was no joke implied.”
Oh god, the way he talks, all clipped and precise, with those eyes, and the plump lips. Kill me now.
“Okay, then.”
I took details: Lucas Beaumont, an office address in Washington, and his status as a federal agent. Then I swiped an innocuous card to secure the room, which could well have been linked to any and all government agencies, but at least it was in his name.
“Do you know how long you’re staying with us, Mr. Beaumont?”
He smiled at me, and I swore I started to get hard as a flash of lust sparked inside me. Down, boy.
He appeared to consider the question carefully. “Call me Lucas, please, and as to time, I have no idea at present. We can call it two weeks to start, and I could give you a more precise number as the case here progresses. Are there other hotels in town?”
“There’s a Marriot on the highway, but they won’t like firearms either.”
He shook his head. “That wasn’t why I was asking. It just informs my plans, is all.”
I swallowed because he smiled again, cautious and cute, and I was melting.
“I’m guessing you’re here for the lake and the church fire and the hand?” I blurted because this guy was really messing with my libido right now. Who would have thought that a slim blond in a disheveled sweat-soaked suit would get my motor running? Maybe it was just the three month drought because typically I went for brunets with dark eyes.
“That’s a fair guess.” He quirked a smile at me, and again, more instant lust. “I’d like to talk to you regarding the rooms in the hotel for other agency staff, which is a new situation that I find myself dealing with.”
“Sorry? Staff? How many staff?”
“Well, how many rooms do you have?”
“Ten, plus a stable conversion if you’d rather be away from the main hotel?”
“No, inside is fine. Do you have vacancies?”
“Yes.” All of them.
“And you offer food?”
“The kitchen is currently closed, but the diner offers breakfast. I can organize cereals and so on if needed, and guests are welcome to help themselves to drinks.”
“Okay, good. I know this is a long shot, but do you have the capacity for me to requisition any empty rooms for the team beginning tomorrow? In addition, do you have any large but private spaces where I could set up a desk?”
“I’m sorry, Mr. Beau—Lucas, I may well have all my rooms empty at this moment, but I can’t afford to have my place taken over by nonpaying government agents right now.”
He looked adorably confused again. “Oh no, we’d pay. Fixed-term to start, like I said, two weeks. At your normal rate, obviously, and if you have all ten rooms, we’ll take them. Although the outside room? We don’t need that for now.”
I thought about my currently empty hotel and held out a hand to shake the deal he’d just offered me before he could retract it. “I’ll draw up the paperwork.”
He held my hand for slightly longer than I’d expected him to, but then, I wasn’t letting go anytime soon. His confusion slipped into another smile. “Thank you.” He completed a three-sixty turn, checking for what I didn’t know, only he seemed satisfied with what he saw. “Of course there will be confidentiality papers that need signing on our side as well, as well as any family.”
“No wife or husband, just me and my son, Harry.” Why did I specifically mention the wife and husband thing? And why not just say partner? Because you wanted to check his reaction to the word husband. I certainly got a reaction from him, a slight widening of his eyes and a cautious once-over from his stunning gray gaze. Oh yeah, he’d caught the reference, and he was traveling on the same bus. How interesting was that after a three-month drought?
Do not even think of fucking the guests.
“So which room am I in?”
Shit. Had I been staring at him like so
meone who hadn’t eaten anything sweet in ages and was faced with a ton of chocolate cake?
“You’re in room seven, up the stairs and to the left. It’s the largest room in the hotel and has a desk and an extra sofa in it.”
“Let me get my lockbox, and my extra bags.” He turned smartly on his heel and left my space, which afforded me an interesting look at the man from behind. The suit was clearly expensive, although probably ruined, and I wished I could get a better look at his ass and thighs, because… well, what self-respecting guy who loved a nice ass, whether male or female, wouldn’t? I was still staring at the same spot when he returned, and he waited patiently at my side, and then cleared his throat.
Snapping out of thoughts that were rapidly declining to sex, I took him to the empty safe, and he placed the lockbox inside, and then I closed the door and let him set his own code. I’d get him to change it when he left the hotel, but for now he was the only one with access. It wasn’t as if I even used the safe, I wasn’t exactly stashing rolls of twenty dollar notes inside, or storing precious gems.
I led him upstairs. “Reception isn’t manned overnight, but if you ring the bell, I’m on-site. There are fire notices in each room, and fire exits are marked clearly.”
“Thank you, Mr. Baker.”
“Josh, call me Josh.” I opened his door for him and gestured inside. In any other instance, I’d have gone in with a guest to do a walk-through, but being in the same room as him, with a bed right there, and I could’ve been stupid enough to lose my head and get a hard-on, which would’ve been embarrassing in the loose cotton shorts I was wearing.
“Thank you, Josh.”
It was only after I came back down after showing him his room that something hit me, quite apart from lusting after a guest, I’d been focusing so much on the incredible news that the hotel would be full I’d forgotten that this meant it would be crawling with federal employees, and I was taking chances with the law right under their noses.