by Debra Webb
“I’m fine but someone’s not. You should stop worrying about me and get over here, Billy.”
“I’m on my way.”
She ended the call. There had been no need for her to tell him precisely where she was at the lake. He would know. Rowan DuPont didn’t swim and she never came near the lake unless it was to visit her sister and she hadn’t done that in a very, very long time.
Strange, all those times Rowan had come to visit Raven, she’d never realized there was someone else here, too.
Barely fifteen minutes passed before Chief of Police Billy—Bill to those who hadn’t grown up with him—Brannigan was tearing nosily through the woods. Rowan pushed away from the tree she’d been leaning against and waved. He spotted her and altered his course.
“Burt’s on his way.” Billy stopped next to her and pushed his brown Stetson up his forehead. “You sure you’re okay?” He looked her up and down, his gaze pausing on the boots she wore. Pink, dotted with blue-and-yellow flowers. They were as old as dirt but she loved them. She’d had them since she was a teenager. Frankly, she couldn’t believe her father had kept them all those years.
Billy’s lips spread into a grin. “I like the boots.”
She rolled her eyes. “Thanks. And, yes, for the second time, I’m okay.” She pointed to the throng of bushes where she’d dropped her phone. “But the female hidden under those bushes is definitely not okay.”
He moved in the direction she indicated and crouched down to take a closer look. “You sure this is a female?”
Rowan squatted next to him. “You can see the pelvis.” She pointed to the exposed bones that were more or less in a pile. “Definitely female. I can’t determine the age, probably over fourteen. I tried not to disturb the positioning of the bones—other than the couple I pulled up before I recognized they were human remains.” She leaned in, studying the remains as best she could. “From what I see, it doesn’t appear the bones have been damaged by any larger animals.”
She indicated the smooth surfaces. “No visible teeth marks. Judging by the positioning, I’d say she was dumped here exactly the way you see. On her left side, knees bent toward her chest, arms flung forward. As tissue deteriorated, the bones settled into a sort of pile and the plant life swallowed them up.”
Billy held out his arms in front of him. “Like she was carried to this spot, one arm behind her back, one under her legs—the way a man might carry a woman—and dumped or placed on the ground in that same position.”
“That’s the way it looks,” Rowan agreed.
“You think she was dead when she was left here?”
She made a face, scrutinized what she could see of the skull. “It’s difficult to say. There’s no obvious indication of cause of death. No visible fractures to the skull or missing pieces, but there’s a lot of it I can’t see without disturbing the scene.”
He hummed a note of indecision. “How long you think she’s been here?”
“A while. Years.” Rowan shrugged. “Maybe decades. There’s a total lack of tissue. The bones I picked up are dry, almost flaky. If there was any clothing, it’s gone. To disappear so completely it would certainly have had to be an organic material of some sort. Maybe when they dig around they’ll find a zipper or buttons—something to suggest what she was wearing.” She looked to her old friend. “But I’m no medical examiner or anthropologist. I’m merely speculating based on a small amount of knowledge and a very preliminary examination.”
“I appreciate your insights.” Billy shook his head. “Damn. I can’t believe she’s been here that long and no one discovered her before now.”
“It’s a remote, overgrown area.” Rowan looked around. “No reason for anyone to come through here.” She kept the except me to herself. “I suppose it’s a good thing I dropped my phone.”
When she’d left the funeral home this morning she’d tucked her phone into the pocket of her jeans. She hadn’t bothered with her purse or even her driver’s license. Just her phone and, of course, the pepper spray she carried everywhere. The drive to the lake was only a few miles. She had a handgun but she hadn’t bothered with it this morning—not for coming here.
But then, she hadn’t expected to stumble upon human remains.
In fact, she hadn’t expected to see anyone. If she’d had any idea she would be running into Billy and the half a dozen official folks who would now descend on what was in all likelihood a crime scene she would have dressed more appropriately. She spent most of her free time in jeans and tees nowadays. The cotton material was breathable. Perfect for wearing under all that protective gear when working in the mortuary room and easy to launder afterward. She wouldn’t be winning any awards for her fashion sense but she was comfortable.
When working with the dead, it was always better to be as comfortable as possible.
Most of her time on the job in Nashville had been spent in heels and business suits. It was a nice perk not to have to dress up anymore. Since taking over the family business, she’d discovered that she preferred a ponytail to a French twist or a chignon any day of the week. And sneakers rather than heels were always a good thing.
Or maybe she’d grown lazy since returning home. She gave herself grace since she was still adjusting to the loss of her father. Of course, she dressed suitably for meeting the families of lost loved ones, for the viewings and the services. The business suits from her years with Metro came in handy for just those purposes. As her father always said, there were certain expectations when overseeing such a somber occasion.
“I’ll need an official statement from you.” Billy stood and offered his hand. “I can come by the funeral home later and take care of the statement if that works better for you.”
She took his hand and pushed to her feet. “That would be my preference, yes.” She glanced toward the road. “Does that mean I can go?” Rowan really did not want to be here when the media showed up. And the media would show up. As soon as word about finding human remains spread through the police department someone would give the local newspaper a heads-up. It was the natural course of things. The possibility of a homicide was a secret hardly anyone could keep. Rowan had endured enough of the spotlight after the release of her book, The Language of Death, and then the very public unmasking of her friend and colleague, Julian Addington, as a new breed of prolific serial killer.
Not to mention this was the second set of human bones to be found in Winchester in as many months. The other bones had been identified and the old case solved. Still, a steady stream of homicide cases was never a good thing for the chief of police.
He glanced around. “I don’t see any reason for you to stay.” He studied her a moment, those dark brown eyes of his searching hers. “If you’re sure you’re okay?”
Billy Brannigan was a true hometown hero, always had been. First on the football field and in the local charity rodeo circuit, then for more than a decade and a half as a cop, and eventually as the chief of police in Winchester. Folks swore Billy was born wearing a Stetson and cowboy boots. He was a year older than Rowan and he’d made it his mission to take her under his wing after her sister’s death. Rowan had been totally lost without her twin and at twelve she’d had enough insanity in her life with adolescence anyway. Billy had watched over her, threatened to pound anyone who wasn’t nice to her. And when her mother died only a few months after her sister, Billy had taken care of Rowan again. He was the only other person on the planet who knew her deepest, darkest secrets.
He and the bastard who murdered her father.
“I’m fine. Really. I’ll see you later.” The sound of traffic on the road warned that she needed to get moving.
“Hey.” His fingers curled around her upper arm when she would have walked past him. “Next time you come out here, bring that big old dog of yours and your handgun or ask me to come. You shouldn’t be in a remote area like this alone. We both know he is still out there.”
He. Rowan pushed the image of Julian Addington from
her head. She patted her other pocket. “I have my pepper spray.” She glanced around again. “And somewhere nearby there might even be a special agent from the FBI’s special joint task force keeping an eye on me to make sure I don’t aid and abet Julian.”
Though at this point the FBI had stopped surveilling her, the very idea made her feel ill. But the Bureau had its reasons in the beginning for suspecting her—all of which were circumstantial and utterly misleading—but nothing she said or did was going to change their minds completely. Her name and the possibilities of her involvement with Julian on a sexual level as well as the suggestion that she might have been part of his extracurricular activities had been smeared across every news channel, every newspaper and online news source. How could she be so close to the man and not see what he was? Particularly considering her formal education and training?
The taint of suspicion would likely follow her the rest of her life. This ugly reality no doubt pleased Julian immensely. At least the folks in her hometown had ignored the rampant rumors for the most part. Business hadn’t dropped off and no one looked at her any differently than they ever had. Then again, she’d always been considered strange.
Basically, not much had changed.
Billy nodded, a sad smile on his lips—lips she had fantasized about kissing when she was fourteen years old. So very long ago. A sigh slipped from her. Life would never again be that simple.
“The pepper spray is good, but you should bring your weapon next time,” he said, “and Freud, okay?”
She drew in a big breath and let it out dramatically to show him that she was indulging his protective instincts. “Okay, Billy, I will not go to any other remote locations alone and without my dog and my handgun. No matter that I’m a grown woman and completely capable of taking care of myself.”
For the past six weeks she had worked diligently at honing her self-defense skills. For the first time in her life she owned a handgun and, more important, she knew how to use it. Billy had insisted on giving her lessons. Maybe she was a fool, but she was not afraid of running into Julian. She was prepared for that encounter…looked forward to it actually. Killing him wasn’t her goal—at least not at first. She wanted answers. Then she wanted him to spend the rest of his days in solitary confinement being prodded and poked and tested by forensic psychiatrists.
Billy dipped his head in acknowledgement. “I’m aware, but do it for me.”
She rolled her eyes. “For you. Okay.”
She gave him a salute then moved cautiously through the dense bushes until she reached the road where she’d left her car. In truth, rather than acquiesce to his wishes, she would have loved to tell Billy he was overreacting, being overprotective. Overdoing the big brother thing. But that would be a lie. Julian had murdered all those people, some in ways so heinous that it shocked even seasoned homicide detectives. He had promised Rowan that before he was done, she would want to end the agony of living with all the guilt.
He wasn’t the sort of man to make idle threats.
But Rowan intended to see that he was the one who wanted the agony to end. She wasn’t the only one who had shared secrets during their lengthy friendship. It was true that she hadn’t suspected for a moment that he was a killer, but she did know many, many of his most personal thoughts. He had worries just like any other person. He had hopes and dreams. Obviously it was possible he had made up much of what he had told her. Psychopaths oftentimes lied when the truth would serve them better. Still, he was a mere human with human frailties.
She climbed into her car, started the engine. Let him come.
The sooner, the better.
She was ready to show him all she’d learned.
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About the Author
DEBRA WEBB is the USA Today bestselling author of more than 150 novels, including reader favorites the Faces of Evil, the Colby Agency and the Shades of Death series. She is the recipient of the prestigious Romantic Times Career Achievement Award for Romantic Suspense as well as numerous Reviewers Choice Awards. In 2012 Debra was honored as the first recipient of the esteemed L. A. Banks Warrior Woman Award for her courage, strength, and grace in the face of adversity. Recently Debra was awarded the distinguished Centennial Award for having achieved publication of her 100th novel. With this award Debra joined the ranks of a handful of authors like Nora Roberts and Carole Mortimer.
With more than four million books sold in numerous languages and countries, Debra’s love of storytelling goes back to her childhood when her mother bought her an old typewriter in a tag sale. Born in Alabama, Debra grew up on a farm and spent every available hour exploring the world around her and creating her stories. She wrote her first story at age nine and her first romance at thirteen. It wasn’t until she spent three years working for the Commanding General of the US Army in Berlin behind the Iron Curtain and a five-year stint in NASA’s Shuttle Program that she realized her true calling. A collision course between suspense and romance was set. Since then she has expanded her work into some of the darkest places the human psyche dares to go. Visit Debra at www.debrawebb.com.