She wants back in the game.
3
“What do you think, Cate?”
Cate paused, her phone against her ear. She had called Phillip, her former supervisor at the FBI, after she’d returned home from the excavation. Phillip had held a different position in the Seattle office when she’d worked on the case of the murdered women.
“I think it’s too big of a coincidence,” she said slowly. “I’m positive there are two other graves nearby. All three line up neatly. The locket. The photo. That’s too many similarities.”
“I’ve been reviewing the case since your county sheriff’s office called. There’s no hint in the notes that Jeff Lamb buried victims on an island . . . or killed more women than we found.”
“I know. But he wasn’t one to volunteer information. He was incredibly cocky even after we arrested him. During our interviews I always had to fight off the feeling that he was the teacher and I was an inept student. He always asserted that it was pure luck that we’d caught him.”
“So it’s possible these bodies are more of his.”
“It’s possible.”
“What about a copycat?”
“That’s possible too,” she admitted. “It has to be one or the other. We kept tabs on everything that was said by the media. The lockets were never mentioned, but that doesn’t mean the word didn’t get out another way.”
“You know Les Mallin passed away a year ago, right?” Phillip asked.
“Yes.” Les had been the lead investigator on the Lamb murders. A quiet and hardworking agent, he’d taught Cate many things during the case, and she had wept bitterly at the loss of her friend.
“That makes you the person with the most experience on Jeff Lamb.”
“It’s a moot point. I’m not with the FBI—and anyone can read the files to catch up.” Her pulse quickened. The thought of delving back into the Lamb murder case nauseated her.
And excited her. “I’m a business owner and baker now.”
“Bullshit. You bored out of your mind yet?”
“I appreciate the lack of stress.”
“That’s not an answer.”
Before finding the burial location, Cate would have staunchly defended her statement. But she couldn’t deny the appeal of the mental stimulation surrounding the mysterious grave. Something inside her had woken that morning. Something she’d suppressed.
“I’m sending Mike Scarn to the island to handle the investigation,” Phillip told her.
Cate was silent.
Phillip continued. “He knows the Lamb case pretty well, and he’s available.”
Mike did know the case. And he knew Cate very well. They’d dated for six months until it had simply fizzled out. There was no one to blame, but it had made working in the same building a bit awkward. Cate wasn’t sure if Phillip was aware of the relationship; she and Mike had kept it quiet.
“He does know the investigation,” she agreed. Mike hadn’t been as involved in the Lamb murders as she had been, but he was the logical choice since she and Les weren’t available. Besides, she and Mike had ended their relationship five years ago.
It’s no big deal.
Last year he’d visited her in the hospital when she’d been shot. She’d been too drugged to interact, but she remembered his concerned face. They hadn’t crossed paths since.
“Officially you’re still on sabbatical,” Phillip said. “Say the word, and I’ll get you back to work.”
“Phillip.” Exasperation filled her voice. “I’m done. I’m no longer an effective agent. You know this.”
“What I know is that you were—are—a damn good agent. Yes, there are situations that trigger panic attacks for you, but we can work around those.” He paused. “We miss you here.”
Cate was touched.
Then Henry’s face entered her mind.
Henry knew her official status was that she was on sabbatical. If he disliked that she’d left a back door open to return to the FBI, he didn’t mention it. But Cate knew it had to bother him on some level. Returning to the FBI would mean leaving the island.
Their relationship was strong; they’d just moved in together. The last six months had been some of the toughest but the best in Cate’s life, and that was primarily because of Henry.
She knew she belonged on Widow’s Island, and she felt it in her bones. She’d been born on the island, and her roots were deep, going back to the prominent Bishop family. A person couldn’t go anywhere on Widow’s without running into a business or park named in reference to the Bishops, who had left a murky legacy.
Some of the references were unkind, reflecting the scandalous relationship of Elias Bishop and his mistress, Ruby.
Cate’s ancestor.
Whenever Cate left the island, something physical inside of her remained off balance until she returned, making her worry that going back to the FBI on the mainland was out of the question.
Why don’t I officially quit?
The job had been a part of her identity for a long time. She had struggled to accept her new identity of baker and bookstore owner, so it was difficult to say goodbye and close the FBI door for good.
“I miss you guys too,” Cate told him. “It’ll be good to see Mike again.”
I hope.
“How’s the doctor?” Phillip asked.
“Henry is great.”
“He put a ring on it yet?”
Cate snorted in amusement. “It’s only been six months.”
“When you know, you know.”
I do know.
“We’re progressing at a good pace. We’re very happy.” Her cheeks warmed as she remembered an amorous Henry waking her that morning. She had smiled all morning from the contentment and closeness. Until they’d arrived at the grave.
“I can hear it in your voice,” Phillip said. “Sorry I’m selfish, wanting you back.”
“It feels good to be wanted, but this is my home.”
“I understand.”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
He’s waiting for me to say I officially quit.
She couldn’t do it. Not yet.
“Mike should be there this afternoon,” Phillip said. “If you don’t mind, I’d like you to review the case with him. It can’t hurt for him to pick your brain a bit.”
“I assume he’ll interview Jeff Lamb in prison at some point?”
“Only if we think this is related to his case.”
Cate had no doubts. A brief shiver went up her spine as she recalled sitting across from Jeff Lamb. He had cold eyes and a sneer that turned her stomach. He could turn on the charm when he chose, looking nothing like the killer she knew him to be.
Did he kill more than the six women we found eight years ago?
Her senses silently screamed that he had.
“Here you go, Doc.” Inside Black Tail Bakery, Jane set Henry’s giant lavender iced tea on the counter as he checked his phone for the tenth time. Cate had texted him that she was minutes away, but he kept checking anyway.
Henry grabbed the cup, thanked Cate’s grandmother, and took a sip. Heaven. Somehow Jane had changed the iced tea recipe when Cate had bought the business, and she had made his favorite summer drink more addicting than ever.
Jane had smoothly stepped into her role as the bakery manager. It’d been a perfect fit. She’d been baking all her life and was the ultimate hostess. Business was brisk. The bakery’s much-needed face-lift had created one of the most welcoming spaces on the island, but Henry’s back might never forgive him for the amount of work he had done on the landmark shop. He and Cate had logged too many hours whipping the aging bakery into shape. Refinished floors, new paint, new decor, new tables, two big overstuffed couches, and several recliners had refreshed the tired store.
Since the weather had warmed, the uptick in tourists on the island had provided a constant stream of customers, and Henry was proud to see the results of his and Cate’s work. Jane’s cheerful, grandmotherly attit
ude kept people coming back. And returning for her pastries, of course.
In the back of the shop, Samantha opened an oven. The bakery had also been good for her. The job got Cate’s traumatized childhood friend out of the house. Held prisoner for twenty years by a madman on the mainland, she wasn’t comfortable interacting with the public, but Henry had seen her grow more confident every week. Cate had originally thought Samantha would enjoy working at Cheater’s Bookstore, her quiet business next door to the bakery, but even the small number of shoppers had been too stressful. Working as a baker was a much better fit for the nervous woman. Sam also made stunning jewelry for her mother’s store, Shiny Objects.
“Everything okay? Your drink right?” Jane asked him, her hands on her hips, her eyes studying him sharply from behind the counter.
He nodded. “I was watching Samantha,” he said quietly.
Jane’s face lit up. “I see more of her old self every day. I don’t think she’ll ever be the same, but she’s got lots of support. The island looks out for its own.”
It was true. The Widow’s Island locals were protective. They were polite to the tourists—their income relied on good tourism—but there was an invisible barrier between the islanders and the tourists. It took a lot of time and vetting before a newcomer was accepted into the inner circles of the island’s full-time residents. Henry had battled their suspicion when he’d bought the medical practice. If Jane hadn’t quickly put her stamp of approval on him, he’d probably have still been on the outside. It also helped that he and Cate had become a couple. The locals had been pleased when Cate had returned to the island last fall after being gone for a decade.
On Widow’s everyone knew everybody else’s business. The gossip train ran hot and fast.
Most of it was well intentioned.
Most.
“Her mother, Marsha, is doing better too,” Jane said in a low voice. “I think having Samantha and Mickey move in with her made a huge difference. People need other people to care about.”
“Having a daughter missing for that long would affect anyone’s mental health. I’m glad she’s embraced her role as a grandmother.”
“Mickey’s a great kid,” Jane said. “Having that sort of energy at home will put a spring in anyone’s step.”
“It’d exhaust me.” Henry waved at Jane and headed out of the shop. He’d spotted an open Adirondack chair on the bakery’s porch. A rarity during tourist season. He dropped into it, waiting for Cate. She and Tessa had gone to the ferry to pick up the FBI agent assigned to investigate the graves on the island.
The mild warmth of the day was rapidly evaporating. Henry loved how it stayed lighter into the early evening hours, and apparently the tourists did too. Families and couples filled the sidewalks of North Sound. Most wore shorts and flip-flops—an optimistic mindset in the unpredictability of the Pacific Northwest weather.
Henry loved the island. It was far off the western coast of Washington, set in blue waters among smaller forested islands. On a sunny day, there was no place more beautiful on earth. He wasn’t sure what had guided him to the remote island last year. Jane claimed the island had called him all the way from Southern California. He didn’t believe in some of her mystical theories, but when he’d stepped on the island, he’d known he was meant to stay.
“Hi, Henry.” Emma Dean and her daughter, Abby, approached. Emma was newer to the island than he was and had also been embraced by the locals. Last fall Abby had briefly been kidnapped by Emma’s former boss as he’d tried to avoid arrest. Emma had bounced back from that traumatic experience, shown the gumption that locals appreciated, and carved out a life for the two of them.
“Hey, you two,” Henry said. He winked at Abby, who gave him a gappy smile.
“Abby, why don’t you go tell Jane what we want?” Emma gave her eight-year-old daughter some cash, and the girl darted indoors. Emma watched to make certain she was out of earshot and then turned to Henry. “What’s this I hear about a body in Bishop State Park?”
Yes, Emma had truly become a resident of Widow’s. She hadn’t flinched as she flat-out asked for gossip.
“Better talk to Tessa about that.” Henry knew when to keep his mouth shut.
Disappointment flashed in her face.
“Come on. Tell me something. I don’t want to ask Jerry Hooper. I can’t trust anything he says.”
“It’s an investigation,” Henry said. “And I’m not starting gossip.” His gaze went past her. “Here come Tessa and Cate. You can ask the deputy now.”
“That’s okay,” Emma quickly said. “I need to check on Abby.” She gave him a small wave and went in the bakery.
Henry grinned. He’d figured she wouldn’t ask Tessa. They both knew the county deputy wouldn’t part with information. He stood as the two women approached. A tall dark-haired man in a suit was on their heels. The suit gave Henry a start. He hadn’t seen anyone wear one in months. Island life was too casual.
Cate’s eyes lit up as his gaze met hers, and she gave him a peck on the lips. “Henry, this is Mike Scarn.”
The men shook hands, and Henry noticed how closely Mike scrutinized him.
Must come with the job.
Cate had been like that when they’d first met. She’d held herself distant, her gaze and questions probing. But he’d caught glimpses of a woman in pain under her FBI exterior, and he’d been intrigued.
No pain was visible in Special Agent Scarn’s gaze. Just curiosity.
“Welcome to Widow’s,” Henry said, slipping an arm around Cate’s waist. She stiffened slightly instead of leaning into him like usual. Mike had watched the movement, and Henry suddenly felt he’d done something wrong.
There’s a history between them.
Now he understood, and he bit back a laugh. The agent had no chance. Henry had complete faith in his relationship with Cate. He even felt a little sorry for the agent; Cate was a beautiful, intelligent woman. “You have a hotel?” he asked Mike.
“I do. But I want to go over some notes with Cate and Tessa first.”
“Henry’s input will be valuable,” said Cate. “He helped unearth the body and can make sense of the medical examiner’s old notes on the original case.”
“Sounds good,” Mike said, his tone flat. “Where do you want to work?”
4
Cate exhaled. The testosterone rolling off Mike and Henry was ridiculous, but she knew it’d subside in a few moments. It was simply a result of a meeting of two headstrong men.
When Mike had stepped off the ferry, she’d admitted he still looked good. But Henry was where her heart lived.
“I’ve got a quiet room in the back of the bookstore where we can work,” Cate said. “It has a good-size table.”
“Perfect,” said Tessa. She tipped her head at Mike for him to follow and led him around the side of the bakery toward the rear door of Cheater’s Bookstore.
Cate took Henry’s hand and went after them. He tightened his fingers around hers, and she glanced at him, her heart contracting at the affection in his eyes. “What?” she whispered.
“You’re beautiful.”
The simple words weakened her knees. Actually it wasn’t the words; it was his tone. It sounded adoring, stunned, and thankful in one short phrase.
“Thank you.” She drank him in, never tiring of studying his face.
“You and Mike dated in the past, yes?” he asked, curiosity in his eyes.
“Yes.” She wasn’t surprised that Henry had figured that out in under a minute. He knew how to read people and paid close attention to body language. “It fizzled out years ago. He’s a good guy.”
“I’m sure you only dated good guys.”
She laughed. “I wish.”
He let go of her hand and put his arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss into her hair. “Then it’s a good thing you’re done.”
Behind the bookstore, Tessa opened the door and led them to the room. As she entered, Cate inhaled, her heartbeat slowing and
her muscles relaxing at the smell of books. Her days were now a succession of amazing smells, from the books to the bakery. In the last few months she’d become acutely aware of how the pleasant scents made her days brighter.
The four of them took seats. Mike pulled out a laptop and files.
“I want to see the burial site tomorrow. I have a forensic anthropologist arriving in the morning, and he’ll organize the rest of the excavations,” he said. “But for now, the pictures you sent have me ninety-nine percent convinced that this is related to the Lamb murders.”
Cate silently agreed.
“But are we looking at a copycat or more of his victims?” Tessa asked.
“That’s the big question.” Mike opened his computer. He glanced past Cate, and his shoulders jerked as his gaze locked on something. “Christ. That startled me.”
Cate turned around, knowing what she’d see. Ghost perched in an empty spot on the dark bookshelf several feet behind her, the cat’s black fur blending with his surroundings and his golden eyes glowing. “That’s Ghost. The bookstore has been his home forever.”
Ghost meowed in agreement.
Mike shook his head and focused on the laptop.
“How was Jeff Lamb originally caught?” Tessa asked.
Cate forced herself to stay quiet and let Mike answer.
Not my investigation.
“We found a fingerprint on one of the lockets,” answered Mike. “A perfectly centered thumbprint.” He gave Cate a rueful look. “Remember that? We were positive he was being cocky or trying to mislead us. There’d been no prints on the others.”
“I assume his prints weren’t in any databases?” Henry asked.
“Nope. All it did was frustrate us for a long period of time. A tip from someone who used to own property near the bodies brought Jeff to our attention. She’d dated him a few years before, and they’d often hiked near the burial site. She said he’d been engrossed with—”
“The rock,” Cate choked out. “I’d forgotten that part.” She clapped a hand to her forehead. “I was sitting on a similar one this morning. I thought it’d be a great place to sunbathe.” She shuddered.
Below the Bones Page 2