The Forgotten

by Heather Graham

  “Doesn’t matter,” he assured her.

  “I hope Brett’s call didn’t interrupt anything important.”

  He grinned. “No, it was fine.”

  She tilted her head and stared at him assessingly. “I meant a date.”

  He laughed. “No, I was just starting to see someone, but it wasn’t going to work out, and I knew it. My fault. I was intrigued, just...”

  “Just not intrigued enough?”

  “Just not intrigued enough,” he echoed. “Besides, with this thing going on... I don’t think any of us is really going to rest until we get to the bottom of it.”

  Lara hesitated, and then sat down on the platform. Diego followed suit. It was a beautiful night, crystal clear. The water stretched out before them, rippling in the moonlight. A pleasant breeze off the bay swept away the day’s heat. Palm trees bent gently, their fronds rustling in soft whispers.

  “Thank you,” Lara said again.

  He smiled at her. “No problem. It’s my job.”

  “I don’t think anyone is supposed to be on call twenty-four hours a day.”

  He shrugged. “This isn’t exactly your usual job. It’s kind of a passion, I guess.”

  “I guess. As long as I’ve known Meg, she’s wanted to be in law enforcement. She was so thrilled when she got into the academy.”

  He smiled at her. “I knew from the time I was a kid, too. I grew up in a nice, decent neighborhood, but it started getting rough when I was in my teens. I saw a little girl killed by a stray bullet in a gang shooting. The cop who came was a real dedicated guy. I still remember how when he questioned me, I knew he wasn’t going to stop until he caught the guy. And he did, too. I became a cop first, then went into the FBI.” Studying her, he said, “I still remember to stop and eat even when I’m on a case, though. Brett, well, he flat-out forgets half the time. Are you the type of woman who can live with that?”

  She flushed, looking away. “I wonder if I even know myself half the time, what type of person I really am. I know I...”

  She paused.

  “You what?”

  “I know that if he’ll let me, I want to hang around your partner for a very long time.”

  Diego grinned, set an arm around her shoulders and gave her a brotherly hug. “Just be careful. It won’t be easy.”

  “You speak as if you know.”

  “I’m divorced,” he said with a shrug.

  “I’m sorry.”

  “So am I.”

  “Her loss.”

  “We’ll go with that,” he teased. “She’s a great person. I’ve never fallen out of love with her. But if you see her, don’t tell her that.”

  “Will I see her?”

  “I doubt it. She moved to Colorado.”

  “Well, I still say it’s her loss.”

  “It’s a tough road. You have to be ready. You know what I’m saying?” he asked her. “You’re not mad?”

  “Hey, you’re trying to keep my girl Cocoa safe,” Lara said. “What’s not to like?”

  “Anyway, I suggest you go back inside and get some sleep—or whatever,” he teased. He glanced at his watch. “Brett is due to replace me here in less than three hours. Plenty of time for...whatever,” he said with a grin.

  Lara stood and grinned back. “All right, I’m off. And, Diego...”

  “Yeah?”

  “Thank you. For everything.”

  “My pleasure, mi amiga,” he said. “Now go.”

  Lara didn’t waste any more time but hurried down the path toward the offices. Along the way she paused for a minute. The breeze was rustling the tree branches; except for the auxiliary lights near the buildings, it was very dark here.

  She turned back toward the water. She could see the glow that was downtown Miami. It was a beautiful city at night, with multicolored lights from a dozen skyscrapers or more reflecting off the water.

  But here, where the shadows lurked...

  Anyone could be hiding, watching, waiting...

  She hurried along and saw that, as promised, Brett was waiting for her outside the building. She had the feeling that Diego had called him and said she was on her way. She smiled. And when he smiled back she knew that they were good.

  She hurried to his side.

  “Diego okay?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  He grinned. “Come on, then. We have a few hours before I need to relieve him.”

  She laughed softly. “Your partner suggested that would be more than enough time.”

  Brett grimaced. “Did he now? That boy may be in trouble one day. I do have a long memory. But...where are we headed? Matt and Meg took the break room sofa.”

  “They’re asleep?”

  “They sleep lightly, but yeah, they’re already catching their z’s.”

  “We’ll take the extra room in Grady’s apartment,” she told him. “I’m sure he won’t mind.”

  She led the way, aware that a feverish flush was already suffusing her skin.

  They made it up the stairs and into Grady’s guest room. Then they were tugging at each other’s clothes and trying to touch one another at the same time, their lips meeting, tearing apart, then meeting again. The only thing Brett paused for was setting his Glock on the bedside table, where it would be within easy reach at all times, she realized.

  Seconds later their clothes were strewn in a tangle on the floor and she was in his arms, savoring the feel of his naked flesh against hers. It amazed her how quickly she could forget everything but the feel of his lips against her skin, the movement of his body against hers...

  His fingers teased at her thighs; his mouth brushed over her breasts. She swept her hands down his back to his buttocks, feeling as if she was sinking in a strange world of molten lava and longing. They seemed to meld together, and yet she was also aware when he entered her, moving with her, filling her with sexual excitement and building fire.

  She felt as if she’d been denied too long, and a hunger that eclipsed everything else rose and carried her to a searing—and shared—climax.

  Brett whispered against her ear, “My partner did warn you that I didn’t need much time.”

  “He did,” she said, laughing.

  “But that was only the first course, you know...the appetizer.”

  “In that case, I can’t wait for the entrée.”

  “You won’t be disappointed,” he promised. “You’ll want to taste, to savor. Every touch will be perfection.”

  “Do tell,” she murmured, the tip of her tongue teasing along his flesh. “Something like this...?”

  Time lost all meaning. Whether he felt challenged to prove a point or was simply so involved he couldn’t stop, Brett taught her a new definition of foreplay, and she hoped she returned the favor. She loved that he could laugh, that they could play and that lying with him seemed the most natural thing in the world. She was curled against him, half-asleep at last, when she heard him sigh as he eased away from her.

  “Three hours goes quickly,” he said. “As the cliché goes, time flies when you’re having fun.”

  “Wait for me. I’ll go with you.”

  “I’m accustomed to this, you’re not. Get some sleep,” he told her.

  She didn’t listen. She was already up and searching for her clothes. She intended to prove that she could be ready for anything in a matter of minutes, and she did it.

  He smiled, shaking his head as he looked at her. “Are you sure? This is what I do for a living,” he reminded her.

  “And Cocoa,” she said softly, “this place... They’re what I do for a living.”

  He nodded, and they headed downstairs together.

  Diego rose as they arrived. “Everything’s quiet in the lagoon,” he assured them.
“Your dolphin has been eyeing me suspiciously, though,” he told Lara.

  She smiled. “You can tell Cocoa from the others?”

  “We’ve been out with her several times,” he reminded her. “I know the darker coloration right on her nose and the little scar pattern above her eyes.”

  “I’m proud of you,” she said.

  He nodded and looked at Brett, then walked away, waving to the two of them. “I’ll be in the comfiest chair I can find,” he called. “Because I’m sure the other two are already hogging the sofa!”

  As it happened, the sunrise was on their shift. It wasn’t as glorious as the burst of color when the sun set in the west, but it was still beautiful. Pale yellow shards broke through the blue darkness, then began to grow, until finally the golden orb of the sun burst above the horizon.

  Cocoa made a stunning leap into the sky, a beautiful silhouette against the gleaming circle of the sun. And then she dropped into the water and swam over to Lara, who stroked her and apologized for not having any fish.

  Matt and Meg joined them on the platform a little while later.

  Soon the day would begin.

  And despite the “bloodied” and disarticulated doll on her desk, Lara thought that it was going to be a good one.

  Because she was grateful for all life had to offer. And she wasn’t afraid.

  14

  Brett and Diego started the morning by arranging a visit to Dr. Robert Treme. His receptionist informed them that no one saw Dr. Treme without an appointment, and that the next opening was weeks away.

  They flashed their badges and the woman reached for the phone. Brett smiled and said they would show themselves in. Then they walked past her down the hallway and into the doctor’s office.

  Treme looked thoroughly displeased by the interruption. He stood and glared at them for a moment, then sat back down suddenly as if his legs had given way. He looked like a beaten man.

  “You signed a death certificate for a living man,” Brett informed him. “Who was then stolen from a mortuary and went on to commit murder.”

  Dr. Treme went white. He was suddenly angry as he leaned over his desk. “Do you know how many lives I’ve saved? I wasn’t the only one there! The nurses saw that he was dead, his family saw that he was dead. By all medical standards, the man was dead!”

  “And you know nothing else about cause of death?” Brett demanded.

  “What?”

  “His heart didn’t kill him—poison did. Someone most likely gave him puffer fish toxin. The Haitian zombie toxin,” Diego said quietly.

  Treme sank back into his chair. He lifted his hands helplessly. “With his heart, I didn’t know if Nicholson would make it or not. I told his family that. Don’t you understand? There was no reason to test for poison or anything else. The man was dying when he came in, and then he died. Anyone could have gone in there before that point. He was in a hospital, not a prison. Don’t you men see what this is going to do to me? I’m good at what I do, but my practice could be ruined if this gets out. As it is, I’ll have to face the board. All my life...all the good I’ve done...gone. It’s a disaster.”

  Brett looked at Diego. Dr. Treme was guilty of accepting what seemed obvious without thorough testing. But neither of them thought he was responsible for what had happened or had even been aware of it. This visit had only confirmed that earlier impression.

  “It was a disaster for another man, too, Doctor,” he said quietly. “And that man is dead.” He and Diego turned to leave, ignoring the receptionist and her threat to call security on their way out.

  “We need to get someone looking into the hospital and everyone who treated Nicholson while he was there, every visitor,” Brett said.

  “Agreed,” Diego said. “I’ll call Matt and put him on it.”

  “Good idea,” Brett said as Diego took out his phone.

  Their next stop was the mortuary.

  Geneva Diaz looked as pleased to see them as if they were the CDC walking in to announce that bubonic plague had arrived.

  “What?” she demanded, standing at the door and blocking the entry. “You’ve already ruined our business. Neither my husband nor Mr. Douglas is here. I suggest you contact our attorneys.”

  “We could do that,” Brett told her, shrugging. “But if I speak with your attorneys, I’ll have to ask them why you let someone else into this place. And it was you, Mrs. Diaz. We know it.”

  Her face instantly gave her away, though she denied the accusation, stuttering, “I—I’m not guilty of...of killing anyone or stealing a corpse or...”

  She fell silent.

  “How about you talk to us? Do it now and we can make things go as easily as possible for you,” Diego said.

  “I don’t want to die,” she whispered, looking around as if someone could have slipped into the mortuary to attack her.

  “If you’re that afraid, you really need to talk to us so we can protect you,” Brett said.

  Her shoulders fell. Her perfect-hostess demeanor seemed to fall along with them.

  “My husband doesn’t know, and neither does Jonathan Douglas,” she said. She looked out at the street and then ushered them in. “My office,” she said, and added, “Please.”

  Her office was soothingly decorated, which made sense. After all, it was where people came when they were heartbroken by the loss of a loved one. There were tissue boxes on both corners of the desk; the chairs were beige and plush and comfortable.

  Diego and Brett both sat while she walked around behind her desk.

  “It was my nephew,” she said, not quite meeting their eyes. “My sister’s son. I swear to you, my husband is insisting he’s innocent because he is. And to be honest...I didn’t know what had happened, what had been done, until you came to us.” She was quiet for a few seconds. “Until we knew that Mr. Nicholson wasn’t in his grave.”

  “Could you give us some more details, please? Starting with your nephew’s name?” Brett asked.

  She sighed, still not meeting their eyes. “I knew that Pedro—Pedro Campesino—was in trouble. He started with drugs in college. Cocaine, an expensive habit. If I’d realized earlier...” She paused, shaking her head. “He’s in rehab now. He came to me when he was at his worst because he had no choice. My sister... She’s a single mother. Pedro’s father was in the army and was killed in Afghanistan. There was no way she could give him the money he needed, so I was his last resort. He owed so much money to the dealers. So much. I was trying to figure out a way to get it when...” At last she looked up at them. “When the man came to me.”

  “What man? Does he have a name?” Brett asked.

  “I’m sure he has one,” she said drily. “But he didn’t share it with me. I thought he’d come in about a funeral at first. I didn’t know until we were in this office that he was after something...wrong. He told me that he needed to make a copy of my key. He said he’d use it once, that it would have nothing to do with anything that would put me or my family in jeopardy and that if I just let him have my key, he’d see that Pedro was never bothered again. If not, Pedro...Pedro would be killed. So...I let him have my key. I had no choice. I didn’t know—I swear, I didn’t know—why he wanted it or what he was going to do. I didn’t know someone would be killed. Am I going to go to jail for this? No matter what happens to me, you have to know that my husband and Mr. Douglas are innocent.”

  “Mrs. Diaz, I believe you. And I believe that your intentions were good,” Brett said. “Your nephew is lucky to have you. But now we need your help, and I promise we’ll do our best to keep you out of real trouble. We need to figure out who this man is. I’d like you to work with a police sketch artist, and right now I also need you to give me your best description of this man.”

  She shuddered suddenly. “I don’t know. He was the kind of man who I thin
k can kill me far more easily than you could ever protect me,” she said flatly.

  “But if we can arrest him, you’re safe, aren’t you? Do you really want to live in fear for the rest of your life? What about your nephew?” Diego asked her.

  She lowered her head. “Middle-aged, Hispanic. I’m not sure from where, though. His accent wasn’t Cuban, but I’m not sure what it was. Dark hair, dark eyes. Medium height and build. That could be at least half the men in Miami, right?”

  There was a knock on the door. Geneva Diaz froze. Brett smiled at her. “It’s okay, be casual.”

  “Yes?” she said.

  The door opened and Carl Sage, the mortician, stuck his head in. He looked annoyed and was about to speak when he saw the agents and stiffened.

  “Excuse me. I didn’t know you were busy,” he said to Geneva.

  “What is it, Carl?” she asked.

  He looked acutely uncomfortable, then finally spoke. “There’s...a body. I have no instructions, no information regarding this man.”

  Geneva frowned. “I wasn’t expecting a delivery.”

  “It’s not a delivery. I walked in, and he was on the table.”

  Brett pushed past him and hurried back to the employees-only area, then burst into the embalming room.

  The man on the table appeared to be in his forties, medium height and a medium build. His looks suggested he was Hispanic.

  Diego, Geneva and Carl had followed Brett.

  Geneva let out a scream.

  He turned to look at her, certain that he was about to learn that this was the man who had approached her—the man who had demanded her key.

  He was also, Brett was certain from the pictures he had seen, Jose Acervo, the man who had hired Pierre and Antoine, and been responsible for Antoine’s death. Twice.

  Jose Acervo, a known associate of Anthony Barillo—and not the man Brett had seen with Barillo.

  “Mrs. Diaz,” Brett said, about to ask, though he was certain of the answer.

  He didn’t get a chance to voice the question, because Geneva Diaz slumped to the floor.