The Forgotten

by Heather Graham

  But he didn’t want to wait. He didn’t want permits and word getting out and a big show.

  “Hey, I’m digging, too.”

  “There are three of us, and the ground will be soft,” Matt said.

  Diego shook his head and started walking to the car. “I know you,” he told Brett. “The shovels are in the car, right?”

  Brett grinned and nodded. “It pays to be prepared.”

  * * *

  That night, Brett, Matt and Diego traipsed into Lara’s duplex covered in mud that they’d tried to remove, though without much success.

  Matt and Diego took turns showering in the guest bathroom, Diego first, while Brett used the shower in Lara’s bathroom. He’d suggested that he and Diego could go home to clean up, then come back to discuss their day. Lara had been about to insist that was ridiculous, but Meg had beaten her to it, saying that she was anxious to share information and didn’t want to waste time. She’d pointed out that pizza and lasagna were already on the way, and that they could borrow clean clothes from Matt. That had turned out to be unnecessary, since both men kept a change of clothes in the car.

  Lara went upstairs to her room to leave a clean towel for Brett. She knocked, and when she didn’t get an answer she went in to leave it on the bed, only to discover that apparently he’d found one on his own.

  He was coming out of the bathroom in his jeans, his chest bare, drying his hair. She tried not to stare at that broad expanse of tanned flesh, feeling a rare moment of sympathy for “breast men,” the ones who couldn’t quite raise their gaze to meet a woman’s eyes.

  She forced herself to focus on his face, more than a little alarmed by the trembling she felt. She couldn’t help being suddenly plagued by the realization that it had been forever—it didn’t just seem like it, it was—since she’d been in a relationship, even a casual one. She had been so focused on her career that she’d hardly even noticed a man in a sexual way.

  And now...

  She wasn’t desperate, she assured herself. Brett Cody was damn close to perfect.

  “Sorry,” she murmured, feeling herself blush. “I was just...” She held up the towel in his direction.

  “Thanks. I’ll be down in a few. It’s been a productive day. We’ve located the grave we believe belongs to Pierre’s brother, Antoine, and we have the paperwork to exhume him tomorrow,” he said. “It will really help Kinny to have a second victim. Makes me wonder how many others might have died. How many experiments there might have been.”

  She tried to pull her mind back from the place where it had gone. But he made that impossible as he moved closer to her, smiling and taking the towel.

  “I guess I used your towel. My apologies.”

  She shook her head, unable to speak. His sleek, still slightly damp chest was mere inches away.

  She was in very sad shape, she thought.

  “We had an interesting day, too,” she said.

  “Oh?”

  She backed away. She’d come on to him pretty strong the night before and he had walked away. She had to be careful here, keep herself under control.

  “Yeah, I’ll... I should wait and tell everyone all at once. I’d better get back downstairs. I think I heard a call from the gate. Meg’s probably brought in the food, and Diego’s probably done showering, maybe Matt, too...”

  She was babbling. She was a media expert. She never babbled.

  “See you downstairs,” she finished in a rush.

  She stared at him for another few seconds before she actually left. He was towel drying his hair, looking like anything but a tough-as-nails FBI. He looked like a male model.

  She turned and hurried down the stairs, almost crashing into Meg and Diego, who were heading to the family room with the food. “I’ll get plates,” she said.

  “Got more paper?” Meg asked.

  “We’ll use the real ones. I hate paper in my lasagna.”

  Brett and Matt appeared simultaneously a few minutes later.

  Brett was wearing a T-shirt featuring a band called Bastille. Lara loved the group and imagined he did, too. He had the T-shirt after all. She lowered her head, smiling, wondering what he was like at a concert. When she’d first met him, she would never have imagined that he ever listened to live music.

  “About time you got down here. I’m famished,” Diego said when the other men appeared. He looked at Meg and shook his head. “Brett never seems to care about eating, and you know as well as I do that regular meals are a job requirement.”

  As soon as they’d all filled their plates, they started talking about the day. The men began by talking about their trip to the historic cemetery.

  “So...all that digging and you found nothing,” Meg said, passing the lasagna around for seconds. “I mean, I know you didn’t expect to find Antoine’s body, but I hoped maybe there’d be evidence, a clue of some kind.”

  “No, nothing,” Brett said.

  “Are you sure you were in the right place? A cemetery like that, in the middle of nowhere, how would Boss Man or anyone else even know it existed?”

  “The gators seem to know it okay,” Matt said, reaching for a dinner roll. “We saw several.”

  “I don’t know how Boss Man knew, but he did, and Pierre confirmed it was the right place,” Diego said.

  “We found the gravesite. It was pretty obvious where the dirt had been dug up. But not only was the body gone, the coffin was, too. So...no prints, no scraps of fabric or strands of hair that might have gotten caught on it,” Matt said.

  “I want to get back out there and look around some more,” Brett said. “I think it might actually be a body dump for more of our forgotten citizens, and maybe for more of Boss Man’s experiments. We’ll bring dogs—maybe ground-penetrating radar—and see what we can find. But first, tomorrow we’re going to look for the body of Pierre’s brother where it was buried after his second—and final—death.” He turned to Lara. “You said you and Meg had an interesting day, too. What happened?”

  “I had my first dolphin swim,” Meg said. “And when it was over, Cocoa behaved very strangely.”

  Brett smiled at Lara. “She didn’t throw you over for Meg, did she?”

  “No, nothing like that,” Lara said. “She went over the fence.”

  “She wanted to escape?” Diego asked.

  “No, I think she wanted Lara to follow her,” Meg said. She hesitated, glancing at Lara, then addressing Brett. “She went out with you guys and Lara and Diego, and she found what you were looking for. I think she knows there’s more out there—and she may even know where.”

  “How could a dolphin know—” Diego began.

  “You had her looking for human remains before,” Meg said. “Dolphins are smart. If you rewarded her for finding body parts once and she knows more are out there—if she can smell them or whatever—why wouldn’t she think you’d reward her again for finding them?”

  “We could go out,” Brett said, and looked at Lara. “If you’re willing.”

  Was she willing? She didn’t know. She would never forget the discovery of Miguel Gomez’s head.

  Or the other pieces of him, for that matter.

  But, she realized, she was never going to feel right until they found out what was going on. She frowned, thinking about lunch the other day, and seeing Dr. Amory with Ely Taggerly, Grant Blackwood and Mason Martinez. She’d been instantly suspicious.

  And she would look at everyone, view any innocent meeting or association, with that same suspicion if this wasn’t solved.

  “I’m fine with going out again,” she said. “You’ll need to speak with Grady and Rick first, though. Rick will know what to do if it turns out that’s not what Cocoa wants.”

  “Great. I’ll do that. I have no idea if we’ll find a body at all, and even if we d
o, there’s no guarantee it will be Randy Nicholson’s.”

  “If you find anyone who had the same drug in him, won’t that help tell you what you need to know, even if you never find Randy’s?” Lara asked.

  “We need every piece of evidence we can find,” Brett said. “And then,” he added grimly, “we need to put all the pieces together and find out whose money is behind these murders.”

  “Money?” Lara asked.

  Brett nodded. “It takes money to pull off something like this. Despite Anthony Barillo making such an effort to tell me he’s not guilty, he’s got the bucks—and the muscle—to make things happen. Money to hire thugs. Money to create the drug they’re using. Money to hold funerals and steal bodies.”

  “Why do any of it, though?” Lara asked. “Even if he creates a whole army of zombies, what does he think he’ll do with it? And the victims so far were no threat to anyone. So...why?”

  “Knowing why would help a hell of a lot,” Diego said. “But knowing how will help, too. I keep hoping that Dr. Kinny will come up with something. That’s why it’s so important that we find the bodies.”

  “Here’s something that may or may not mean anything,” Lara said. “Talking to Sonia Larson today, we found out that she sees Dr. Treme. The same Dr. Treme who signed Randy Nicholson’s death certificate.”

  “He is one of the most highly regarded cardiologists in the area,” Diego said.

  “So maybe it’s nothing,” Lara said. “Just a coincidence.”

  “I’m not willing to accept anything as coincidence at this point. We have to check it out,” Brett said. “And we will.”

  “Should we worry about Sonia, then? Suggest she see a different doctor?” Meg asked.

  “Let’s not jump the gun,” Matt answered. “We’re pretty sure that puffer fish poison is being used, and chances are someone with medical knowledge is involved, but we don’t have any evidence that it’s Treme.” He looked thoughtful. “It’s almost unbelievable just how completely the poison mimics death.”

  “I tend to think Randy Nicholson was dying anyway, and someone simply took advantage of that fact,” Brett said. “Treme may be guilty of nothing more than too easily accepting that a patient’s known condition was what killed him.”

  * * *

  Diego made a vague excuse and left right after dinner. He hadn’t said anything, but Brett had a feeling his partner had met someone.

  After a while Brett began to feel he had worn out his own welcome. They’d hashed and rehashed the case, but without more evidence, there was nothing left to say.

  They’d also talked about other things. Matt was intrigued by the Everglades, and since he knew the area well, Brett had filled him in on all there was to do in the area: air-boating, visiting the Seminole and Miccosukee reservations, and checking out the museums at the Seminole Hard Rock in Hollywood, Florida, and in Big Cypress.

  He’d realized then that he’d been talking purely to fill time, and that it was after 1:00 a.m. and he needed to go. He rose, but once again Meg spoke up. “Unless you can’t sleep without your own pillow, it’s crazy for you to leave. We’ll only be heading out again in a few hours.”

  He thought about the emptiness of his place, something he hadn’t really even noticed until these past few days—with Lara. His life certainly wasn’t bad. He liked the people he worked with, and they all enjoyed a lot of the same things. Watching the local teams—the Heat, the Dolphins and the Marlins—play. Fishing. Boating. Diving. Camping in the Keys, the occasional weekend in the Bahamas.

  But there was really nothing for him at home. Ichabod probably only came over to give him a mercy meow or two.

  Lara was looking at him with those eyes that seemed both as blue as the sky and as green as the sea. “I wish you would stay. I should say the more the merrier, but frankly, the more agents running around with guns, the safer I feel,” she said.

  She was trying to sound flip. Maybe she saw his hesitation.

  “I’ll get pillows and pull out the sofa,” she told him, taking the decision into her own hands.

  “No need. I’m fine with it the way it is,” he said.

  “Don’t argue with me,” she said with a smile. “It’s no trouble, and I want you to be comfortable.”

  “And honestly, I can be comfortable sitting in a chair,” he said.

  “Great, the kids are all in for the night. I’m going to bed,” Meg said.

  “Sounds good to me,” Matt said. “I’ll go make sure the gate’s locked, then I’m heading to bed, too. Good night, all.”

  Alone with Lara, Brett felt suddenly awkward. For several long, awkward moments they both sat without speaking.

  “Can I get you anything else?” Lara finally asked.

  “No, thank you.”

  “I guess we should get some sleep,” she said.

  “Yes, I guess we should.”

  But neither of them moved.

  “I think I owe you an apology,” Lara murmured.

  “Why’s that?” he asked.

  “I really didn’t want you to go,” she said. “But I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “Scare me?”

  She was wearing a light summer dress; her legs were bare and tucked beneath her, looking longer and sleeker than they had any right to be. Her hair played around her shoulders like spun gold in the lamplight.

  She smiled. “I kind of came on to you last night.”

  “Did you?” he asked. “I was taught never to assume.”

  “And what were you trying not to assume?”

  “What were you asking?”

  She flushed and looked away, picking up her glass, which held an inch of soda and some ice chips. He’d never seen anyone swirl a glass with more sensuality before.

  “Well, Agent Cody, call me crazy. I guess I’m the one making assumptions now, but I was thinking of sex.”

  “With me?”

  “Okay, now you’re being ridiculous. Yes. With you.”

  “You and me?” he asked.

  “Yes, I think that identifies the situation exactly.”

  He stood, walked over to her and took the glass from her hand. “I thought you’d never ask. It would be my most absolute and total pleasure.”

  He set the glass down and took her hands, then pulled her to her feet and into his arms.

  “Oh, Agent Cody, now you are assuming,” she said with a smile.

  “No, I’m quite positive I’ve got it right,” he assured her.

  He tightened his arms around her and brought his mouth down on hers. She seemed to melt into him, her body molding perfectly to his, sending a searing longing ripping through him. Their first kiss was hard, desperate, all liquid heat and dueling tongues. When they finally pulled apart he started to sweep her up in his arms, ready to carry her upstairs, knocking over everything in their path, completely forgetting for the moment that there were other people in the house.

  She remembered, though, and stepped back. “I’ll walk up the stairs under my own power—no, I’ll run!” And then she was gone.

  He was right on her heels.

  12

  Lara’s mind was racing almost as quickly as her heart as she reached her room and waited for Brett to join her.

  She couldn’t help thinking about the possible repercussions of what she was doing. Apparently she’d spent too much time in politics, where life was all about creating positive consequences and avoiding negative repercussions. Which was this going to lead to? She told herself she was crazy. They were in the middle of trying to solve a terrifying mystery, and he was the agent in charge; anyone in the world would say that this was the wrong time to get involved with someone, and the wrong time to get sexually involved with anyone, especially him. And while her walls were concrete block and
stucco, they weren’t alone in her house. She wouldn’t lie to Meg if she asked what was going on. For all she knew, Meg might already know how she felt.

  So what kind of spin should she put on this?

  Then Brett walked into the room behind her, and she suddenly realized that she didn’t have to analyze or explain herself. She wanted him, wanted this, wanted to be with him more than she had imagined ever wanting a man. She slipped into his arms again. They kissed, hot and delicious, as both of them struggled out of their clothes. Her dress was gone, along with her bra; his shirt followed and she felt her breasts press hard against the burning muscles of his chest. She ran her fingers over his shoulders and down his back. She felt the protrusion of the gun shoved into his waistband. He put his hand over hers, then removed the gun and stepped away to set it on the bedside table. He looked at her in the dim glow of the streetlights that filtered through her drapes. She ran to him and leaped into his arms, and they kissed again, wrapped around each other, half-naked. Finally they fell onto the bed, where she eased her fingers into his waistband, seeking the zipper of his jeans. He reached for it at the same time, and they struggled a little awkwardly, laughed and then he took off his jeans while she shimmied out of her panties. Finally they were together again.

  “My God,” he murmured, whispering against her ear, and he lowered himself over her, the whole of his body like a fire, a shimmering flame that danced across her sensitive skin. “I dreamed about you,” he whispered. “After diving...seeing you in a bathing suit.”

  “How very...male of you.”

  “Yes. And it wasn’t even that sexy a suit.”

  “Gee, thanks,” she said breathlessly.

  “Well, maybe it was on you.”

  She didn’t know what to say to that, so she only smiled.

  “Admit it. You dreamed about me, too.”

  “What an ego you have!”

  “Admit it,” he repeated, his mouth moving over her flesh. “You dreamed about me, too.”