by Mary Stone
However she’d gotten there, Kayla had ended up in Harrisonburg, Virginia, more than five hundred miles away from home.
Winter turned her computer to face Noah, who looked up from his own laptop. “This is her.”
His eyes darkened as he looked over the face of the innocent young girl on her laptop screen. “She looks like a sweet kid. You’re sure?”
“I am. The timeline fits. It’s her. She was wearing a t-shirt with the logo of her private school on it, so if enough of it is left, they’ll be able to identify her pretty quickly. She was sixteen.”
Noah’s face hardened. “Email that to Miller.” He rattled off the chief’s email address. “Tell him you’ll send more as you find them. We probably should send over a few, just so it won’t look strange to hit the nail on the head the first time. Once the ME is done, though, it’ll be clear that this is our girl.”
Noah had a very deeply ingrained sense of right and wrong. Black and white. Crime and justice. It felt strange and wrong to provide their colleagues in law enforcement with even a couple of additional photos that they knew wouldn’t identify the correct girls, but Noah decided that Winter was on shaky enough ground already. She knew too much about the case that she shouldn’t know, and Chief Miller wasn’t stupid.
If she was right—and she hadn’t been wrong yet—the t-shirt Kayla Bennett wore would identify her as the runaway from Saratoga Springs. If not, there were dental records available and DNA. Meanwhile, they’d work with the extra knowledge they had. It made his head hurt a little, thinking about the logistics of running a parallel investigation, but he had to believe that everything would even out eventually.
“You ready to blow this popsicle stand?”
Winter closed her laptop almost gratefully, the smiling face of Kayla Bennett disappearing from view. “Going to do some rounds? Interview some former Disciples?”
“Actually, I think it’s time to head back to the Archer farm.”
“We don’t have a search warrant,” Winter reminded him, raising one dark, finely arched eyebrow. “Are we just going to walk up to the door and ask Rebekah if we can take a look around the farm for a rusty cage that may or may not have been used a couple of years ago to house a runaway whose body has been uncovered just south of her property?”
He gave her a half-smile. “No warrant, and my weak male brain hadn’t come up with that straightforward of a reason to go back. I was thinking instead that maybe I could flirt with the owner, get her to give us a tour.” He bobbed his eyebrows. “If you think you can control your jealousy this time.”
Her eyes glittered at him for a moment. “I’ll try to restrain myself from starting any catfights,” Winter deadpanned. “Are you sure you’re up to the task, Casanova?”
“I think so. I might need a little extra fortification first. Are you going to finish that blueberry scone?”
14
“I’m getting tired of restaurant food,” Noah complained from the passenger seat. “I’d even settle for my own cooking at this point. Do you know how to cook?”
“No,” Winter replied, keeping her eyes on the road ahead of her. The back of her neck was tingling. She had to consciously keep her focus on maintaining the speed limit. She had a feeling they were going to find something at the farm. Intuition or whatever it was that was prodding at her, it didn’t matter. She wanted to get there, and in a hurry.
“Didn’t your grandma teach you how to cook?”
She shook her head. “You ate literally twenty minutes ago. I don’t know how you’re still even thinking about food.”
“Hey, just making casual conversation. What about her meatloaf recipe? Did she give you that?”
“She’s shown me how to make some things, but I don’t have her creative talent. As far as the meatloaf recipe goes, she promised she was taking that one to the grave with her.”
“Beg her to leave it to you in her will,” Noah advised. “How are your grandparents doing, anyway?”
After his week-long stay with them, it seemed he thought of them as extended family. Which was fine because they’d certainly adored him. It appeared the feeling was mutual. “They’re doing well. Spending some time at their condo in Florida. Kind of a week-long test run to get them excited for when they go down for the winter. Grampa has gotten the hang of Skype, for the most part.”
“You’ll have to let me know next time you’re giving them a call. I wouldn’t mind saying hi.”
And he wouldn’t mind, either, she thought, glancing over at him. Noah was sprawled carelessly in the seat, the back lowered, his fingers laced across his flat belly and his eyes closed. Probably fantasizing about her grandma’s meatloaf.
They’d adored him, all right. Noah had charmed Grandpa Jack by cheerfully losing at poker, and Grandma Beth was a sucker for servicemen with dimples. They’d hinted strongly over the past several months about how nice “that Noah” was, as they called him. Her grandma had even stopped trying to set her up on blind dates with friends’ grandsons, probably pinning all her hopes on “that Noah.”
If she were looking for a relationship, Winter admitted, he’d be the best candidate. He brought her out of her dark shell with his bright charisma. He made her remember to laugh. He got along with everyone effortlessly and was a natural leader. Plus, he was hot. She hadn’t been so out of it the night before that she didn’t notice how incredible he looked without a shirt on.
No fraternizing, she told herself, letting her lips curl into a grin.
She turned into the driveway of Rebekah Archer’s farm, and Noah’s eyes flew open as soon as the car started bumping over the rutted driveway. “Cool it, Don Juan,” she murmured as they came closer to the house. “It doesn’t look like the lady is home.”
The truck that had been parked outside of the house when they’d last visited wasn’t there.
He shrugged. “Might as well knock anyway.”
Winter let Noah take the lead. He headed up the steps ahead of her, the wooden stairs creaking under his weight. He knocked and waited a minute, then rang the doorbell. There was no response. “No shoes under the bench,” he noted, looking through the stained-glass style window into the foyer.
“Better luck tomorrow, I guess,” Winter said, tucking one of their cards in the frame of the screen door.
“I wasn’t exaggerating,” Noah said, checking out a couple of cows that had come up to the fence to watch them curiously. “Ms. Archer does have some nice cattle.”
“Yes.” Winter tucked her tongue firmly in cheek. “I noticed you checking out the heifer. I mean, heifers.”
He shot her an unrepentant grin and moved toward the fence. One of the cows—Winter really didn’t know a heifer from a Hereford—let out a low bawl when she saw him coming. “You have a way with all the ladies.”
“This one’s a gentleman.” He scratched the cow’s snout and the bovine drooled. “Technically. He’s a steer. Castrated,” he clarified in a helpful voice.
Casually glancing around, Noah started walking toward one of the barns at the back of the house.
“What are you doing?” She hurried to keep up with his long strides in the tall grass.
“Just being nosy.”
“Pretty sure that’s not okay as it pertains to warrantless searches of private property.”
He’d already reached the barn doors and was glancing inside. “I’m not going in,” he pointed out. “Just taking a quick look at her setup.”
Winter looked too. No large cages, just open pens. Still, electric tension raised the fine hairs on her arms. “Great. You looked. Satisfied your curiosity. Let’s go.”
“You see that?” Noah asked, pointing farther out into the field. A yurt-like structure squatted in the wide open space. It was round and low, with what looked like a tented top. “Wonder what’s in there?” He headed off in that direction.
“Seriously, Noah, come on. We’re already on the edge with Max. What’s it going to look like when we’re caught trespassing? We’ll get pulle
d off the case.” His response was to whistle a couple of bars of the old Kenny Rogers song, “The Gambler.”
Up close, the yurt looked old. The cream-colored walls were mottled with mildew on the outside. Grass had grown deep on all sides, and the semi-permanent decking that sat outside the front door was warped and weathered a grayish green. The door itself was made of thick wood and sounded securely locked when Noah jiggled the handle. He stepped down off the creaking deck and waded through the deep weeds to one of the windows set into the side of the canvas wall. The plastic was murky, yellowed with age, but he peeked in.
“Check it out,” he told her.
Winter had to go up on tiptoes, and the musty smell of the canvas tickled her nose, but she could make out a round room with benches ringing the walls, sitting on flooring made of the same decking material as the tiny front porch. In the center of the room sat a kind of podium, or altar, with a cross sitting on top. It was flanked by two tall candles.
“I wish we could get in and see how fresh that candlewax is. It’s hard to tell, but the place doesn’t look like it’s sat empty since old Wesley’s time.”
The sound of rapidly swishing grass behind them caught their attention at the same time someone yelled, “Hey! This is private property!”
Rebekah Archer was struggling toward them through the field with a small child on her hip. Her face was red with exertion and fury.
“She looks like she’d be immune to your charms right about now,” Winter whispered.
Noah lifted a welcoming hand to the irate woman. “Just smile, and try not to look jealous, darlin’.”
When he plastered a big, nonthreatening grin on his face, Winter had to admit, if he turned that wattage on her, she’d be inclined to forgive a little casual trespassing.
“What are you doing here?” Rebekah demanded, her voice hard. “I saw your card in the door. It’s illegal for you two to be running around on my private property without my express permission.”
“I’m sorry,” Noah said, his voice as smooth as fresh-churned butter. “Agent Black, Winter, told me the same thing.” He shrugged, looking almost boyish. “I’m afraid when I saw your cattle out there, it got me homesick, and I wanted to get out here and take a look at your spread. From a purely curious perspective, of course.”
Rebekah’s eyes narrowed, and she set down the child she held, holding the little girl’s hand tightly. “Don’t feed me any of that down-home bullsh—”
Noah cleared his throat, drowning out the last word. He hunkered down into a crouch and gave one of his winning smiles to the little girl beside Rebekah. Winter didn’t know much about children. She avoided them, usually, as painful reminders of the brother she’d lost. But this one was gorgeous.
She looked to be about three years old, plump and sturdy. She had long, dark brown hair pulled up into a ponytail at the back of her head, held in place with a little red bow that matched her red and white checkered dress. Her face was like a porcelain doll, smooth and perfect, with rosebud lips and large blue eyes ringed with dark lashes.
“Mama,” she whispered, tugging on Rebekah’s hand. “That man ith pretty.”
Noah chuckled. “You’re pretty, too, sweetheart.”
“But you hath denth in your cheekth,” she lisped seriously. “Right here.” She pointed one finger to the side of her mouth.
Rebekah’s face softened as she looked down at the little girl. “Jenna, it’s time to go up to the house now. Remember? We were going to make cookies this afternoon.”
“Can tha pretty man come with uth, Mama?”
“He’ll walk back with us, kiddo, but he has to leave now. Right?” She gave them both a pointed look, her eyes still dark with anger.
Jenna tugged free of Rebekah’s hold and walked to Noah. She held out one hand, as regally as a tiny princess, and he straightened and took it with due deference. Jenna pulled him to where Winter stood and held another hand out for her, looking up. “You can come with uth too.”
“Thank you,” Winter replied with the same level of seriousness. She took the little girl’s other hand. It was warm, and Jenna squeezed her fingers tightly.
“You’re pretty too. Like Thnow White.” Jenna blinked up at her owlishly. “Don’t eat applth, jutht in case.”
That startled a laugh out of Winter. Even Rebekah smiled a little. The kid was unquestionably adorable. They made their way through the long grass, Noah carrying on an animated conversation with Jenna about fairy tale characters.
“Your daughter is charming,” Winter said to Rebekah, who walked silently beside her, watching Jenna like the two of them were going to steal her away.
“So’s your partner,” Rebekah answered wryly, looking at Winter squarely. “Did he honestly think I was going to fall for that good ol’ boy act and ignore the fact that you were both searching my property without a warrant?”
Instead of angry, Rebekah just looked exasperated now. Winter still didn’t like her or trust her, but she gave her a small smile. “He didn’t lie. He started out by petting one of your cows. It mooed at him.”
Rebekah just shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Next time, make him wait until I’m home to go poking around. It’s an invasion of privacy.”
Winter studied her closely, but Rebekah’s face gave nothing away except irritation. Either she was a good actress, or she really had nothing to hide. She didn’t want to push her luck, but the other woman seemed resigned to the fact that she’d caught them snooping. “I don’t suppose we could get a real tour?” she asked lightly. “I promise not to bat my eyelashes at you.”
Rebekah made a snorting sound. “I don’t peg you as the eyelash-batting type. But today won’t work. Jenna’s got an art class later, and I promised her we’d bake cookies first. It’s her instructor’s birthday today.”
“Art?” Winter asked, genuinely curious about this woman and little girl.
“Painting.” Maternal pride shone in Rebekah’s grin. “She’s incredibly gifted.”
“You’re a lucky woman.” She looked down at Jenna. The girl was still gripping Winter’s hand tightly, but she was absorbed in an outlandish story Noah was telling about the time he met a dragon at a grocery store. In the produce section. It was a vegetarian dragon.
“I know,” Rebekah murmured, also looking at her daughter. “I’m thankful for Jenna every single day.”
“How about tomorrow?”
“Tomorrow?”
“For the tour.” Winter batted her eyelashes exaggeratedly.
She was rewarded by a quirking of Rebekah’s lips. “You’re persistent. And you’re really bad at that. You look like a gnat just flew into your eye.”
Winter laughed, and Noah glanced over at them in surprise.
Rebekah finally shrugged. “If it’ll convince you that my dad and this place had nothing to do with the bones on the hill, fine. Come back the day after tomorrow. Noon. Jenna goes down for her nap, and you guys can roam the place then and poke your nosy noses into all the corners you want. I’ll even give you a key to the dungeons.” She batted her lashes at Winter in return.
“Mama, we don’t have dungeonth,” the little girl pointed out.
“Thank you, Jenna. My mistake. Our old, spiderwebby basement, then. Now say goodbye to the FBI agents.”
They’d reached the front of the house.
Noah made Jenna giggle when he bowed formally. “It was a pleasure, Princess Jenna.”
She dropped a pretty impressive curtsy in return, and then turned around and gave Winter a tight hug around her thighs. The kid couldn’t reach her waist. Taken by surprise by the show of affection and the unexpectedly warm glow that came with it, Winter patted the girl’s silky hair awkwardly.
Jenna stepped back and looked up at her. “Thmile more,” she whispered soberly, her china-blue eyes shining in what looked like sympathy. “Your mama and daddy wouldn’t want you to be tho thad.”
Winter’s breath froze in her chest as she watched Jenna spin around,
sending her checkered skirt swirling around pudgy knees clad in white tights, speckled with grass seed from her walk through the field. Jenna grabbed Rebekah’s hand and led her up the stairs, crowing, “Cookieth!” like a normal kid.
“Winter? You all right?”
Noah was watching her, concerned. He was probably worried that she was about to have another one of her spells and crumple on the driveway of the Archer farm. But it was the bang of the screen door slapping shut behind Rebekah and her daughter that shook her out of her daze. Digging in her purse for the keys, she tossed them to him with hands that felt weak.
“I’m fine. It’s your turn to drive.”
He gave her a last, searching look. She climbed into the passenger’s seat to avoid answering his unspoken questions.
15
“Tommy, you’ve had enough.”
Tom Benton gripped the whiskey tumbler tighter in his right hand and scowled. “Don’t call me Tommy. I’m not a kid.” Even to him, his voice sounded whiny. That just pissed him off more.
“You need to go back to work tomorrow, and you don’t need to be hungover, either. The last thing we need right now is for you to lose your job.” Samantha moved around the den, picking up dirty plates and cups, and he wanted to yell at her to just go away.
He rubbed at his gut, the pony keg that used to be a six-pack. His ulcer was acting up again.
He sighed. Pitifully.
“It’s not my fault. It’s those stupid fucking Feebs.”
Getting Sam fired up right now wasn’t a good idea, but he couldn’t seem to help himself. He’d rather have her mad at Winter and Agent Dalton than seeing him for the pitiful excuse for a man he was feeling like right now.
It worked.
Sam straightened up, anger in her brown eyes. “Have they been giving you trouble? Talking to the chief about you behind your back?”
“Now, hon,” he placated, secretly enjoying her defense of him. “Don’t go getting all mad. You know you almost lost your job when you went after Agent Black at the restaurant the other day.”