Hide and Seek

by Burton, Mary

  When she had heard Jerrod Ramsey’s profiling team had an opening, she had thrown her name into the hat. She had expected a quick no to her request but instead had received what amounted to a “Let’s talk.”

  Either returning from the dead had earned her points, or someone with juice was pulling strings. Whatever the reason, she hadn’t looked a gift horse in the mouth and had agreed to the meeting. Last night a courier had delivered a file from Ramsey. He’d instructed her to review the case and be prepared to discuss.

  Ramsey offered her one of the two seats in front of his desk. When she sat, he took the remaining one.

  “How do you like being back at work? Working with tech in the ViCAP unit must be a change,” he said.

  “It’s been great.” In truth, staring at the four walls of a cubicle and a computer screen sucked. But it was the price of readmission.

  He allowed the pause to linger, expecting her to fill in the silence with nervous chatter. It was a good trick. And one she used when she interviewed suspects.

  When she didn’t speak, he said, “I heard you’ve set a few recovery records.”

  “Queen of rehab,” she said with a smile. No agent wanted a weak partner. “Ready to rumble.”

  His eyes narrowed. Either he had decided she was too flippant, or he liked her moxie. Or maybe the pointed stare was supposed to make her second-guess and worry while he figured her out.

  She again absorbed the silence. What the hell. She was her own person and wouldn’t tone herself down for him or anyone else. Near death had a way of cutting through petty worries cluttering everyday life.

  He reached across his desk and retrieved a file. Her name was marked on the tab in precise block letters. She imagined he already knew her professional credentials and her Texas origin story. Reading the file now was for show.

  “Ten years with the bureau,” Ramsey said. “You worked in Denver, Kansas City, Seattle, and Quantico. Human trafficking is your specialty. You led several successful undercover operations.”

  “Blessed with a slight frame, and in the right light, I pass for a teenager.”

  He closed the file. “Why not go back to that?”

  “The miniskirts and halter tops don’t fit as well as they used to,” she quipped.

  “They’d also showcase your scars.”

  “Honestly, the scars would have added to my mystique on the streets. But with or without the red racing stripe running up my leg, my days of passing as a teenager are over.” Climbing back-alley fences was also no longer in the cards for her. “Time for a new challenge.”

  “I’ve heard good things about you,” Ramsey said. “Texas Rangers said you cracked a big case for them. ViCAP also likes having you.”

  “The Rangers solved the case in Texas. I just gave them the crowbar to pry open the cracks.”

  “Tell me about Texas.” Ramsey wasn’t going to make her return easy. No slam dunks in this room.

  Reciting the story wasn’t easy, despite lots of practice. “You have a reputation for being prepared. You must know as much as I do.”

  “I’m not interested in the facts in a report. I want to hear your version.”

  She shifted in her seat. “I returned to Texas when my father was murdered. Pop left a message for me. Basically, he said there was a grave in the desert. The grave belonged to my birth mother. Turns out there were three graves. All girls who’d been kidnapped, raped, and murdered after they gave birth.”

  “Did you know you were adopted?”

  “Hard to hide it. When both parents have black hair and brown skin, it’s difficult to pass a pale blond kid off as their own.” She shrugged. “They were always up front about the adoption. But they left out the part about my birth mother being murdered.”

  “That must have been a gut punch.”

  “Learning I’m a child of rape and that I’m half-monster wasn’t pleasant. Gut punch sums it up.”

  Her adoptive mother had once whispered that Macy had bad blood. When a girl in her third-grade class had been kidnapped and murdered, the other children had been afraid. Macy hadn’t. She had been fascinated by the cops, the cadaver-sniffing dogs, and the blue wave of law enforcement sweeping over their community.

  “No one but Macy dare goes near that alley,” her mother had whispered to her father. “It’s not normal.” Her mother hadn’t relaxed until the fourteen-year-old murderer had been arrested.

  The Texas trip had driven home the true meaning of bad blood. Since then, its full weight had rested heavily on Macy’s shoulders.

  “Violence is forged in my DNA,” Macy said. “Maybe it explains why I’m good at hunting monsters.” Modesty didn’t become her, so she didn’t bother with it. “I’m good at what I do, or I wouldn’t be here now.”

  “Do you think you’d have been injured in Texas if you’d had backup?” Ramsey asked.

  Macy refused to apologize or backpedal. “I take risks. It’s the secret sauce behind my high-profile arrests, and yes, it set me up for the HNR.”

  “HNR?”

  “Sorry, shorthand for hit-and-run. The incident has come up a few times, so I abbreviate it. Federal employees love acronyms.”

  Ramsey wasn’t amused. “Did your injury teach you any lessons?”

  “To be more careful. But I can’t promise. No agent really knows what they’ll encounter in the field or how they’ll react.”

  A muscle pulsed in his jaw. “How are you physically?”

  “Solid and better every day.” She could lie without blinking, thanks to the undercover work.

  If he didn’t buy her assessment, he didn’t give any hint. “Technically, you’re to remain on desk duty for another month.”

  She decoded the thoughts lurking behind his dark eyes. Instead of wondering, she asked, “Are you saying you want me on your team?”

  A smile tugged at the edge of his lips. “Do you want to be on it?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  “Why?”

  More silence settled between them as they played an invisible game of chicken. Would she stay silent? Or would she admit that catching monsters was how she justified her existence and eased her crushing sorrow for the brutalized girl who’d died giving birth to her in the desert?

  “All I can say is that I love the work,” she said.

  “Working on my team isn’t easy, Agent Crow.”

  Membership on his team meant long hours and unearthing evidence in horrific cases. Ramsey’s agents had a front-row seat to a brand of darkness that most law enforcement officers never saw.

  “No one outworks me,” she said. “I settled so many cases in Kansas City, Seattle, and Denver because I took risks and didn’t give up. I’m here now because I don’t give up. I’m the proverbial dog with a bone when I get my hooks into a case.”

  He didn’t speak for a moment. “In the weeks you’ve been with ViCAP, you’ve picked up on several patterns in cases around the country.”

  She wasn’t here for a pat on the back. “Are you going to ask me about the case file you sent me? The one I studied last night until one a.m.?”

  Intrigued, he sat back in his chair. “Tell me about the case.”

  She was relieved. They were sailing into the safe waters of murder. “Last week, the skeletal remains of Tobi Turner were discovered in a Shenandoah Valley barn. The teenage girl went missing fifteen years ago. Sheriff Mike Nevada, the new county sheriff and a former member of your team, requested the FBI’s assistance after DNA found on the girl’s backpack matched the DNA of an unknown serial rapist active in the summer of 2004, three months before Tobi vanished.”

  Ramsey didn’t look impressed. “Continue.”

  Macy carefully crossed and uncrossed her legs. “Unfortunately, this offender isn’t in the CODIS system.” CODIS, the Combined DNA Identification System, was a database of DNA collected from prisoners and arrestees. “Tobi Turner and the rape victims all had a similar look. Slender, dark hair, and petite.”

  “Anything else
?”

  “I did a data search of the Deep Run area in 2004. There was another girl who also vanished two weeks after Tobi. Her name was Cindy Shaw. She was mentioned in a two-paragraph article. The headline read ‘Second Girl Missing?’ There were no follow-ups to that article.”

  He frowned. “Cindy Shaw was not in the file I gave you.”

  “I always dig deeper than the file.”

  “Why is Cindy Shaw significant?”

  “Ms. Shaw may not be, but she attended Valley High School with Tobi Turner, she had long dark hair, and she vanished. No missing person report was filed on her behalf. Her last known address was a low-income trailer park. I suspect she was an at-risk kid, and when she disappeared, no one cared.”

  “Not all poor girls who go missing are kidnapped, raped, and murdered.”

  The reference alluded to her birth mother. And if it was meant to sting, it did. But a little more pain in an overflowing bucket didn’t really matter. “Every case surrounding the time period of Tobi Turner’s disappearance has to be questioned and examined.”

  Ramsey looked almost impressed. “What do you suggest I do?”

  So there it was. Her shot.

  Discipline kept her from scooting to the edge of her seat. “I’d like to go to Deep Run and look into all these cases. I’m a fresh set of eyes, and as you’ve already suggested, I have a knack for detail and pattern.”

  Ramsey regarded her for several beats before he said, “I’ll send you to Deep Run for five days. I want to see what you come up with.”

  The green light warranted a fist pump, but she resisted. This was a test. Ramsey didn’t care about a personnel manual’s BS questions or boxes that needed checking. The field would tell him.

  “Should I check in with my superior downstairs?” she asked.

  “No. I’ll clear it with him,” Ramsey said.

  “You won’t be disappointed,” she said.

  He raised an index finger. “I’m not looking for a cowgirl who’s going to ride into town, shoot it up, or get herself killed. I want you to dig up solid intel, and then you’ll debrief the team at Quantico next Monday. I still don’t know if you’ll make the cut,” Ramsey warned.

  She hadn’t scored, but she had the ball. Time to take her best shot. “Like I said, you won’t be disappointed.”

  “I saw just the slightest limp as you crossed the parking lot. You do a hell of a job hiding it.”

  She glanced out his window, which overlooked the lot. “I qualified for the mile run time and retained my expert status at the shooting range.”

  “Both scores have dropped since the attack.”

  “I can hold my own.” She would not apologize or make excuses. She was done talking.

  He studied her. “Hell, I can’t think of many people who would come back after what happened to you.”

  “That’s ancient history. All that matters now is this case and me proving I belong on your team.”

  “Glad you feel that way, because I can’t cut you any slack. Five days, Special Agent Crow. We’ll both know if you make the grade.”

  She resisted the urge to uncross her legs and relieve the pressure on her nerves. Instead, she grinned. “I’m up to the challenge.”

  “You’ll be working with Sheriff Mike Nevada.”

  “I assumed as much.”

  “Didn’t you work with Nevada when he was with the bureau?”

  “Our paths crossed in Kansas City. He was searching for a serial killer who preyed on prostitutes trafficked along I-35. I was trying to catch the man pimping the girls. Turned out we were hunting the same guy.”

  Crossing paths with Nevada. It was a nice euphuism for sex between two commitment-phobic agents. They had ended whatever it was they’d had on good terms, but walking away from him had been the only time she’d resented the job. “Nevada was a first-rate FBI agent, and I imagine he’s just as good a sheriff.”

  “I’ll let him know you’re on your way. Stay in contact,” Ramsey said.

  She rubbed her hand over her right thigh. “When do I leave?”

  “Today. Pack your bag and hit the road.”

  She checked her watch. “Will do.”

  Ramsey’s smile was polite, but he clearly had his doubts.

  Nevada stood in the sheriff’s office staring at the bare walls marked by the outlines of dozens of pictures that had belonged to the former sheriff. Outside his office, a painter opened a fresh drop cloth, and soon all traces of the last sheriff would be gone. It was now his turn to leave his mark on the community. Moving down to the conference room, he reached for the conference-room phone and dialed Jerrod Ramsey’s number.

  Ramsey picked up on the first ring. “Agent Crow just left my office.”

  “Is she coming to Deep Run?”

  “She’s on her way. Should be there by one.”

  “And she knows she’s working with me?” He never made small talk.

  Jerrod paused a moment. “Why wouldn’t she want to work with you?”

  He selected his words carefully. “We disagreed on investigative methods in Kansas City.” They’d also slept together.

  “Can you work with her?”

  “Yes.”

  A beat of silence pulsed through the phone.

  “That’s all that matters,” Ramsey said.

  “How is she since the accident?” Nevada asked.

  “I’m not going to lie, the accident changed her. She’s lost weight, and there’s a limp.”

  Heaviness coiled around him. “She’s meeting me at the barn where the body was found, correct?”

  “Yes,” Ramsey said. “I need a team player, Nevada. You know better than anyone that the members of my team are called upon to work as a unit. They need to know each has the other’s back.”

  “Crow’s independent as hell.”

  “So I’ve gathered. We’ll talk next week, and you can tell me if I should hire her or not.”

  Nevada watched as the paint crew moved into his office. A good word from him would land Macy a spot on Ramsey’s team. But he knew better than anyone that the job would take a piece of her soul. “Will do.”

  CHAPTER FIVE

  Monday, November 18, 8:20 a.m.

  Macy concentrated on her gait. One step. Two step. Ramsey was watching and no doubt second-guessing his decision to give her a try.

  When she pushed through the doors of her building, her shoulders relaxed, and she took a deep breath. She passed through security and walked to her office in the basement.

  She hated the windowless space. It was a reminder of her Texas screwup and a glimpse into her future if she didn’t crack the case in Deep Run. The possibility of doing real work was exhilarating, and she was anxious to grab what she needed and get the hell out into the field.

  “Macy, have a look at this.”

  Macy turned to the young woman sitting in front of a computer screen. Andrea Jamison, or Andy to the basement dwellers, was a pleasant young woman who never minded hours in front of a computer screen double-checking or inputting data. Slightly round with brown hair and thick-framed glasses, Andy had a wicked sense of humor and, in a showdown of bar shots last weekend, had handily beaten Macy.

  “What do you have?” Macy’s tone was unusually abrupt.

  “Don’t we sound testy,” Andy said. “Did the boss man on the mountain reject your request to work with his team?”

  Andy’s cubical was filled with pictures of her mom and dad and three older sisters who were all tall, slim, and married. There was also a collection of Star Trek figurines, which Andy had divided into the Originals, the Next Generation, and whatever nonsense incarnations had followed. Macy ignored Andy’s odd obsession with science fiction because she’d turned out to be pretty cool and dedicated to a job she did very well.

  “He’s sending me to a small town called Deep Run,” Macy deadpanned.

  Andy’s charm bracelet rattled as she swiveled around in her chair and folded her hands primly on her desk. “Do tell.”


  Macy recapped the case details. “Now all I have to do is crack the case.”

  “Just in time for the holidays?”

  Macy glanced toward a paper turkey someone had pinned on a central bulletin board. “We agreed not to discuss the holidays.”

  “Turkey time means family, which equals drama.” Andy turned toward her screen and typed in “Deep Run.” “I don’t have anything in my system from their sheriff’s department.”

  “Not surprising, given the DNA wasn’t tested until a few weeks ago.”

  “When you get down there and you’ve gone through the case files, fill out a ViCAP form and send it to me. I’ll have a look around. Serial offenders rarely stop unless they’re dead, injured, or imprisoned. And we know your guy isn’t in prison.”

  A year ago, if someone had said she’d be filling out forms to catch bad guys, she’d have laughed. She still had her doubts, but she wouldn’t turn her nose up at more help. “Will do.”

  “I’m serious, Macy. Get me the info. Police work isn’t all Serpico shit and dark alleys.”

  “Serpico? Have you been streaming old movies again?”

  Andy shrugged. “I’ve got a thing for the seventies right now. But I’m serious, Macy. Send me the stats.”

  “I really will.” Macy turned to her desk and grabbed extra yellow legal pads, pens, and the picture she’d taken with her sisters before she’d left Texas. She hefted the backpack onto her shoulder. “I’ll see you next week.”

  “No cowboy shit. Don’t forget your leg stretches. Be safe.”

  “Roger, Mom.”

  Nevada stood in front of the county board of supervisors panel in his uniform. His starched collar rubbed his skin and fueled his impatience as he stood beside six eager, fresh-faced kids from Valley High School’s National Honor Society. As a photographer snapped pictures, he forced a smile and held up the school’s newly awarded antilitter certificate.

  As the kids smiled, Nevada’s thoughts drifted back to his visit to the Turner home yesterday. The purpose of the visit had been to notify Jeb Turner that the medical examiner had identified his daughter’s remains.