by Mary Stone
This time, Winter managed a slight nod.
The circle of illumination flicked from the floor to the walls as they stepped past the foyer. As soon as they were out of the bubble of fresh air, a pungent odor wafted past them as if it was desperate to escape out into the night.
Winter knew that smell. That was the smell of decay.
The smell of death.
Raising the neck of her t-shirt to cover her nose, Winter didn’t bother to acknowledge the cloying odor. Aside from wrinkling her nose, Autumn remained silent.
In the relative stillness of the night, the only sound was the gentle creak of the floorboards beneath their feet. Part of her thought she and Autumn were both afraid to speak. They were afraid they would bring their fears to life if they talked.
But as they approached the area that had once been a living room, Winter wondered what in the hell they expected to find.
A body? A crazed hermit living in the basement? A demon in the attic?
Winter clenched her jaw as she and Autumn stopped to stand in the center of the space. Autumn shone the flashlight over the musty drywall, and Winter glanced over her shoulder to the faint halo of orange light that spilled through the open doorway. Reflexively, she reached to the holster beneath her left arm.
She didn’t know what she expected to find, but she was prepared for the worst.
“What the actual hell?” Autumn’s voice was a little louder than a hiss, but the volume cut through to Winter like a thunderclap.
Following Autumn’s outstretched hand to the circle of white light on the blue-gray drywall, Winter took in a sharp breath.
Scrawled across the far wall in a reddish-brown substance was a line of neat handwriting she didn’t recognize. But she didn’t have to recognize the writing to know who had written it.
The hairs on the back of Winter’s neck abruptly stood on end. She didn’t know when it had happened, but her service weapon was in her hand.
Hey sis, you just missed me.
Justin. It had to be Justin. No one else would call her “sis.”
He’d even included the punctuation.
As for the substance in which the cryptic comment had been written, well…
“It’s blood.” The words rolled off Winter’s tongue before she could even contemplate the meaning.
“There’s nothing on the floor in here. I think that nasty smell is coming from upstairs.”
Upstairs. Where her parents had been killed.
Her stomach did a series of rolls and flips, but she swallowed the sudden bout of nausea.
We’re looking for clues, she reminded herself. This wouldn’t be a repeat of last time. She wouldn’t wake on the side of the street in a fog of uncertainty and despondency.
“Let’s go,” Winter said. “Stay behind me. I don’t think anyone or anything is here, but you never know.”
Jaw clenched, Autumn nodded.
With every creak of the wooden steps beneath their feet, Winter inwardly cringed. She had been truthful to Autumn—she didn’t think anyone was here. The house was so quiet, they would have heard the disturbance of another person as soon as they entered.
Still, she couldn’t shake the feeling that they were being watched. On the agonizingly slow trip up the stairs, she glanced to every nook and cranny in search of a hidden camera. It wouldn’t be the first time someone had installed a webcam to spy on her. During her and Noah’s first investigation together, Douglas Kilroy himself had snuck into her hotel room to place a camera behind a painting in the wall.
These walls were bare, though. Aside from cobwebs, the corners of the ceiling were empty. Nothing stirred in the shadows at the corner of her eyes.
As she and Autumn stepped onto the second-floor hall, she saw it. The door to the master bedroom.
Glancing over her shoulder to Autumn, Winter inclined her head in the direction of the closed door. When Autumn nodded, she returned her attention to the hall. Step by agonizing step, she neared the entrance to the veritable hell she’d discovered almost fourteen years ago.
She felt like she was moving in slow motion as she reached out for the door handle. When she turned the knob, she half-expected it to be locked. But when the hinges creaked, she raised the Glock. Staring down the sights of the weapon, she took the first step, and then the second.
Before she could make the third, a wall of the foul stench rose up to greet her. The air was viscous. All she could do was hold her breath.
Clasping one hand over her nose, Autumn raised the flashlight and swung the beam around the dark room. A faint sound emanated from a corner, and as soon as the area was lit up, Winter let out a string of four-letter words.
Flies buzzed around a feast that had been prepared for them days—maybe even a week—earlier. At least four rats of varying sizes were piled one on top of another, each disemboweled and decapitated.
The heads were nowhere to be found.
She didn’t know what had happened here, and she didn’t have time to sort through the possibilities before her attention snapped to the drywall beside the broken window.
See you soon.
The same neat handwriting. The same reddish-brown hue.
Justin. Her baby brother.
By this point in her career, Autumn was still impressed with her ability to remain calm in the face of an unsettling scene. And the heap of eviscerated headless rats in the corner of an old double murder site was more than unsettling. Even once she and Winter were back on the curb in front of the house, the surge of adrenaline in Autumn’s veins hadn’t abated.
Since she’d called the local crime scene unit in to sweep the premises, Winter hadn’t uttered a word.
A million and one thoughts were whipping through Autumn’s head, not the least of which was what kind of psychopath had left the gruesome message inside. But as each sentiment surfaced, she shoved it back down. She was here for a reason, to support her friend, and she wouldn’t let Winter down just because she’d gotten a little queasy at the scene of a fourteen-year-old double homicide and a quadruple rat murder.
Jaw clenched, she took a firm hold of herself and pulled her attention back to the present. “How are you hanging in?”
Finally, Winter dropped her gaze away from where she had been staring vacantly at the house across the street. Her countenance was grim, but there was a determined edge, a glint of fixation. A look Autumn knew well.
It was the same look her mother had worn when she set out to secure stolen valuables so she could sell them for drug money. It was the same look her father wore before he pulled on a ski mask to go hold up a gas station.
It was single-minded determination, and if it wasn’t curbed before it had a chance to take a firm hold, it would consume the Winter that Autumn had come to know and love.
But of all the people who could have accompanied Winter tonight, Autumn was glad she had chosen her. As much as she respected and adored Noah Dalton, this would have been uncharted territory for him.
For Autumn, aside from the grisly scene, it was just another day at the office.
Maybe I should have been a hostage negotiator.
Propping both elbows on her knees, Autumn glanced over to her friend. “You’re going to make me put on my psychologist hat if you don’t say something soon.”
“He was here.” Her voice was quiet but unwavering.
Autumn nodded. “It would seem so. I can tell from that look on your face that you’re planning something, or you’re thinking of planning something.”
As Winter opened her mouth to object, Autumn held up a hand.
“You can’t lie to me. You know that by now, right? Even Aiden can’t lie to me, and he’s a good liar.”
She could practically hear Winter’s teeth grind together. “Douglas Kilroy took Justin when he was six. I don’t know what happened after that, but I need to find him so I can know.”
“How are you going to find him?”
Straightforward questions were always Autumn�
��s preference. More often than not, to someone who was overanalyzing a situation, a straightforward inquiry would knock them on their figurative ass.
More teeth grating. As Winter’s eyes darted away, she shook her head. “There has to be something in there. Something that’ll point me in the right direction.”
“And you’re going to sift through all the potential evidence they collect in there?” Autumn lifted an eyebrow.
“No, I…” Winter pursed her lips together so hard they turned white for a few seconds. “We had to have missed something in the initial investigation. I’ll go back through it.”
“By yourself?”
“Yes…I mean, I wasn’t the only one who worked it, but…” Leaving the statement unfinished, she shrugged again. The glint of irritation behind her eyes told Autumn her technique was working.
“If you weren’t the only one who worked it in the first place, why would you solo it now?”
Winter gave her a flat stare. “I thought you said you weren’t going to put on your psychologist hat.”
With a grin, Autumn nodded. “I haven’t pulled out any pictures of gray blobs and asked you to tell me what you see yet, but don’t tempt me.”
As Winter rolled her eyes, much of her exasperation appeared to be feigned.
“Look, I get it. I understand the need to be in control of something that’s so important to you, and not wanting to let it out of your sight if there’s even a slight chance you can figure out a solution. Or, in this case, if there’s even a slight chance you can find your brother. And the ability to take charge like that can be a good quality, but after a certain point, it becomes self-destructive.”
Winter combed her fingers through the ends of her low ponytail. “I just can’t help but wonder if I missed something.”
Holding out her hands, Autumn offered her a hapless look and shrugged. “Honestly? You probably didn’t. And even if you did, I doubt Noah and Aiden did too. I could show you the math if you want me to, but suffice it to say, the odds of all three of you missing a piece of information that critical are slim to none.”
For a moment, Winter looked thoughtful. “I guess you’re right. Noah’s a hell of a lot sharper than he lets on, and Aiden, well. You’ve met him.”
With a laugh that was more of a snort than anything else, Autumn nodded. “Exactly. And they’re both your friends. They both care about you, and you know they won’t abandon you or let you down if they do find something. Maybe you felt alone when you started this journey, but you aren’t alone anymore. You’ve got me, you’ve got Bree and Shelby, Noah, Aiden. The FBI crime scene unit. Even your boss, Max Osbourne. He’s a good dude, and believe me, he’s got your back. It seemed more like he was your uncle than your boss.”
Winter let out a quiet chuckle. “He can be a hard-ass, but you’re right. He’s a good person.”
As she met Winter’s eyes, Autumn grew more serious. “I suppose what I’m getting at is this. I saw that look on your face just now, and I’ve seen it before. And let me tell you, none of the times I saw it were indicative of anything good. Not even close. Now, obviously you can throw yourself at this thing with abandon, and there’s nothing I can do to stop you.” Her lips bent into the smallest of grins. “Short of committing you to a psych ward for a seventy-two-hour hold, anyway.”
“Maybe that’s what I need. Three days in a padded room.”
“For real, though.” Autumn stretched out her legs. “That path, the one where you throw everyone who cares about you to the wayside so you can keep the control over something important to you, it doesn’t lead anywhere good. You won’t be more effective if you wear yourself down to the bone, but you will be more effective if you let the people who care about you help you.”
As Winter’s expression turned wistful, Autumn reached out to clasp her shoulder.
“I know it’s easier said than done. Trusting people is hard. I had to teach myself how to do it all over again, but the alternative? It might seem easier in the short-term, but if you push everyone away, you eventually look around, and no one’s there. We’re resources, you know. We’re resources, and we’re all here to help you.”
For a long moment, a silence settled in on them. Winter’s face was thoughtful, her gaze back on the house across the street.
After what might have been thirty seconds or five minutes, Winter’s eyes flicked back to Autumn. “You’re right. I know I’ve told you a little about the Kilroy investigation, and I’m sure Noah’s told you some too. It was a pretty dark time for me, and I did some shit I’m not proud of. I did my damnedest to push away the people, or the person, who cared about me, all because I thought it’d get me closer to Kilroy. But like you said…” She shrugged, tucking a stray hair behind her ear.
“They helped you get there,” Autumn finished for her.
Winter’s expression brightened a little. “I couldn’t have done it without them.”
As Autumn squeezed her friend’s hand, she kept her thoughts about Justin Black to herself.
Months earlier, Aiden Parrish had come to ask her a theoretical question about what would happen if a young kid was taken and raised by a sociopath. Her outlook for the hypothetical kid was bleak. No matter how resilient, no matter his genetic makeup, even if he came from a long line of literal saints, the kid’s prospects for normal mental and emotional functioning were bleak.
Gazing back at the house, Autumn now knew who that hypothetical child was.
8
When Bree met with Winter that morning to discuss their approach to the investigation for the day, she half-expected to see Noah seated at her side. Instead, Winter was the only occupant of the conference room.
Winter’s bright eyes flicked up from the screen of her laptop as she lifted a distracted hand. “Morning.”
“Good morning.” Bree returned the pleasant look and pulled out a chair to sit across the circular table from her friend and fellow agent. “So, anything new about this whole Eric Dalton thing?”
With a sigh, Winter pushed back in her seat, stretching her arms above her head. “No. I heard back from the agents in Baltimore, and they said nothing seems out of the ordinary. They can’t find Natalie or her husband, but they got ahold of Jon’s boss. Sounds like Natalie had a couple days off work, and she and Jon were going on a trip up to New York. They haven’t answered any phone calls, but that doesn’t seem all that out of the ordinary for a couple on vacation.”
“No, not really. But…I don’t know.” Thinking everything through, Bree drummed her fingers against the polished surface.
Winter leaned forward. “What is it?”
“I worked in organized crime for a while. I didn’t deal with the Russians, but I’ve got a pretty good idea of how organized crime works. There are many parts of Eric Dalton’s story that just don’t make sense when you look at them from an organized crime angle.”
Winter closed her laptop and turned her curious stare to Bree. “Which parts?”
Bree laughed. “Honestly? Just about all of it. Okay, maybe not quite all of it, but a lot of it.”
Winter pulled over a notepad to make some notes. “Do you think he’s just making it all up? I don’t know why, maybe Munchausen syndrome or something? Something where he’s just desperate for attention.”
“No, I don’t think so.” Bree slid one of the folders across the table for Winter to review. “We saw all the hospital statements and the doctor bills. That part of it is real, there’s no doubt about that. What I don’t understand is how he convinced them to give him that much money. Even to the Russians, half a million dollars isn’t chump change.”
Winter whistled as she leafed through the hospital bills. “What about his life insurance policy? If he’s got a one-million-dollar policy, wouldn’t they turn a profit if they had to kill him?”
“They would, yeah.” Bree nodded. “Even then, it’s a stretch. Not only would they have to kill Eric, but they’d have to go through the effort to collect the payout. He sai
d that was his collateral, but I don’t know. I can’t explain it, but it just doesn’t seem right.”
“Yeah.” Winter tapped a pensive finger against her cheek. “I don’t know. I agree with you, though. There’s something going on here that we’re missing.”
“I’ve got a friend who works in the Baltimore field office.” Bree tapped the other folder she’d brought into the room with her. “That’s what I was going to bring to you today. I plan to talk to Max once we’re out of here, and with his approval, I’m going to head up to Baltimore and pick my friend’s brain.”
“That’s fantastic.”
Bree nodded, hoping she was doing the right thing. “He’s worked in organized crime since he got out of Quantico fifteen years ago, so he knows his shit. None of us here know all that much about how the Russians work, but my friend has spent time undercover, so I believe he’ll have some insight for us. No doubt about it.”
Whether the news would be good or not, Bree was less sure.
When Aiden received an email update about recent evidence collected in the kidnapping case of Justin Black, he rubbed his thumbs into his tired eyes before squinting at the computer monitor. To the best of his knowledge, there were no agents actively assigned to Justin’s case. Much of the Violent Crimes Division’s focus was on Eric Dalton and the mess he’d gotten himself into, and the remaining agents were looking into a multitude of other cases.
He opened the digital record of the Justin Black case, and sure enough, there was no one actively assigned to work the investigation.
Why, then, had the Harrisonburg PD sent a handful of trace evidence to the Richmond FBI office for analysis?
His suspicions fell solidly on Winter. He hadn’t talked to her much over the last couple weeks, but he was fairly certain he would have gotten word if she had gone rogue to look after her brother’s disappearance. She was assigned to the Eric Dalton case, and at the beginning stage of the investigation, Aiden doubted Max Osbourne would sanction a side project into Justin’s disappearance unless there was a damn good reason.