A Warrior's Quest

by Calle J. Brookes

“He’s athletic,” she said when they took a short break. “Comfortable in this area.”

  “Local,” Hell added. It had been a tough climb for them, and he suspected it would get worse. The man they were searching for would have known that. And would not have attempted the climb if he hadn’t thought he’d be able to complete it. Confidence? Arrogance? Or just skilled? “Stanton, how much farther?”

  “The pit’s about another mile or so. Three or four decades back this area was mined for fill dirt. These pits scar the hills, most are overgrown now, most are filled with water. Terrain made it difficult to dig large holes around here, so there are quite a few smaller ones. Steep sided, and not very wide at the bottom. Made it easy for the guy to trap these kids and use them for his target practice. First body was found in a forty-foot hole. Cadaver dogs sniffed her out.”

  They hiked the rest of the way in silence. Hell ran a quick eye over his partner, making sure she was still with him. She looked fine, as if she’d barely broken a sweat. She looked better than fine, if Hell was being honest. She always did. Had he ever seen a woman look so put together when climbing through the mud-drenched woods? Only Georgia Dennis, princess of the division her father had created.

  The late April sun tangled in the dark brown curls poking out the back of the FBI issue cap she wore, distracting him for a moment. Dr. Dennis was an incredibly attractive woman; Hell couldn’t deny that. He had been aware of that from the moment they first met. Even when dressed in nondescript jeans and windbreaker like she was today, that small, exquisitely formed woman with pale skin and dark hair had a way of drawing male eyes. Had a way of tempting male hands to touch, to stroke. To tangle in that dark hair.

  Dammit; Hell shook off thoughts of his unwanted partner and refocused on the job at hand. He didn’t have time for the distraction that was Georgia Dennis.

  The crime scene was as the photos had portrayed and taped off with standard yellow police tape. They stepped up to the barrier and studied the forty-foot hole. Hell’s stomach clenched in reaction; he’d struggled with heights since the age of five when he’d fallen out second story window.

  Georgia suffered no such weakness. She fingered the crime tape and peered down into the pit with careless disregard that she was four stories above the bottom. “The hole’s what? Forty feet deep?”

  Both Stanton and Hell nodded.

  “Still, with the overgrowth on the sides, the grade’s about fifty to sixty degrees. The fall would injure, but probably not kill,” Stanton said. “We figure the guy used these pits as a type of holding pen.”

  “An organic cage, hard for his victims to escape, but not impossible,” Georgia said, her tone full of disgust and fury. Hell understood. He felt the same. “He likes to play games.”

  Hell itched to grab the handle of the black backpack she wore everywhere and yank her back to his side. And hold her there. Far away from that damned edge. She stepped back seconds before he acted on that impulse.

  She turned to Stanton. “How many miles from the other three crime scenes?”

  “Six miles. Is that important?” Stanton asked.

  “It may tell us something later. No detail is too insignificant at this point.” The nerves in Hell’s stomach loosened as Georgia took another step away from the edge.

  “Has anyone other than the search teams and the local M.E. and deputies been down there?” Georgia asked.

  “No, a spring snow came in on the heels of finding the first and second bodies. Then there was the race of keeping up with the body count. Last two victims went missing two days ago and yesterday. Both bodies were found yesterday evening, less than six hundred feet apart.” Stanton peered over the side once more. “Why?”

  “Because we need to go down there.” She didn’t ask or wait for Hell’s permission, ducking under the crime tape and disappearing from his view within seconds.

  Hell cursed before following. “Dennis—you could have waited for permission!”

  She moved quicker than a damned goat; the weeds, brambles, and mud slowing her only slightly. Hell stumbled the last few yards, then stopped a foot from his wayward agent and glared down at her. “Next time, Dr. Dennis, you wait for my orders before entering a sealed off area—especially one forty feet down! What if you’d fallen?”

  “Yes, sir. Next time you and I are at a crime scene together, I will be sure to ask your permission before entering.”

  Her words held something Hellbrook couldn’t quite identify. He glared. He didn’t need this problem, even if he currently needed her. “See that you do. I’d hate to have to explain to your father why I let you fall off a cliff.”

  She mumbled something under her breath that he swore was he’d assume you pushed me! Surely she hadn’t said that? Did she honestly think that? “Excuse me, Dr. Dennis? What was that?”

  “She could have climbed out, sir.” Georgia stepped away from him, then shielded her eyes from the sun. She stared up the side. “Why didn’t she?”

  Hell mimicked her actions, making a mental note to keep a closer eye on her if they remained partnered up for the investigation. Something in his gut told him he’d need to. Hell always trusted his gut. It had gotten him this far. “There were no drugs in her system—at least, according to the preliminary autopsy. Estimated time of death was mid-evening, day after disappearance.”

  “Question is—was she already dead when she entered the pit, or did he stone her while she was down there?” Georgia pulled on a pair of latex gloves as she spoke, handing him a second pair.

  “Probably waited until she was down here. Either rolled her, carried her, or simply pushed her over the edge. The growth would have slowed her enough to not kill her outright.” Hell pulled on his gloves. He examined the disturbed spot where fourteen-year-old Hailey Ann Michaels’ body had landed for the final time. That poor child hadn’t deserved to be tossed aside like a man’s trash. Hell would find him and render him as insignificant as garbage. Hailey Ann deserved that much and so much more. “When she was awake and aware enough he began pelting her with these.”

  He motioned to the palm—sized stones that littered the area. He grabbed one and examined it.

  “Still, why couldn’t she have hidden until he grew tired and left? Or did he out-wait her? There’s several places a girl her size could have hidden. Maybe he waited until she’d almost made it out and then pushed her down? That demonstrates an extreme amount of patience.” Georgia mimicked him, grabbing another stone. Her brown eyes narrowed as she eyed him. Her hand clenched on the rock. “Go back up...sir.”

  He considered, wondering if she planned to heave the rock at him. Her eyes were cool, her face a mask of professionalism. But there was something in her eyes. Hell mentally shrugged, then nodded. He wasn’t familiar enough with her style while in the field to know what she was thinking.

  He’d never had her out in the field, either with him or any of the other CCU members. Not once since she’d been transferred to his team. She’d not been in the field with him since the afternoon they’d been with Agents Brockman and McLaughlin on a Seattle rooftop, working a joint case just days after they’d met. A sniper they’d been chasing had put a round through Georgia’s right shoulder. He’d never forgotten—still had nightmares—about her blood staining his favorite leather jacket, of how pale and small she’d been as he’d used his body as a human shield between her and the shooter. Had she not turned at the last second, she’d be dead. He’d also never forgotten how she’d trembled against him as he’d carried her to the waiting ambulance ten stories below. How light and insubstantial she’d felt as she’d clung to him, her arm clenched around his neck. How she’d not made a single sound.

  He shifted almost unconsciously, putting his body between hers and the top of the pit as he climbed. He hated having her out here, exposed.

  He was silent as he climbed the incline. It wasn’t an easy climb for him—and he made every effort to keep his body in optimum physical shape. The job demanded it. It would not have
been an easy climb for a petite and terrified teenage girl.

  He turned back and looked down at his agent. She looked even smaller than he knew her to be, and she was no bigger than any of their victims. “Now what, doctor?”

  “Can you see me here?” she yelled back at him before moving to various places in the pit. It was only about thirty feet in width, but the overgrowth—even beaten down by the last remnants of melting snow—would have provided some potential covering. Georgia stepped behind the largest copse of weeds and brambles. All he could see of her was the black ball cap.

  “Now what?” he yelled.

  “Stand back!” She let the first stone fly. It missed him and Stanton by three yards.

  Hell cursed, “Dammit, Dennis!”

  He may have imagined it, but he heard a wicked feminine laugh come from the pit. He and Stanton moved back several dozen feet.

  “Try it again!” he yelled and she pelted more stones over the edge. She did this for a good five minutes before he called a halt. “All right, that’s enough! You’ve proven your point, now get back up here!”

  “Yes, sir!”

  Hell moved back to the rim, watching each move she made. She had more time to deliberate than the victims would have had, and she had the benefit of being an adult in prime physical shape—and she was armed. Those facts gave her an edge the girls wouldn’t have had. The terror the girls would have experienced was missing, but Hell watched Georgia’s body movements, the way she had to stretch to grab exposed roots and rocks that may have provided Hailey Ann with handholds had the girl climbed the incline.

  Georgia misjudged, missing the exposed root she’d grabbed for. Hell tensed. She slid, and he bit back another curse. She took the next ten feet more carefully, then reached for another root near the top. Both he and the shorter Stanton leaned down to offer her a hand up. Stanton was too short to be much help, so Hell stretched out a little farther, trying not to think of the drop behind her. The muddy edge crumbled beneath her as Hell’s hand met hers.

  He cursed again; he used his hold on her hand to pull her the last few feet—clearing the rim and jerking them both away from the edge, taking the yellow crime tape with them. His arm rested around her waist and her head was tucked beneath his chin. They both breathed hard. Her front was pressed against his chest and her feet dangled several inches from the muddy ground.

  “Agent Hellbrook?” Her voice wobbled a bit. She pulled against his hold. He lowered her, sliding her body against his larger one, letting her feet hit the grass. “Why didn’t she hide—or fight back? She could have. How did he stop her? Or was she just too damned terrified to resist?”

  “That’s a question the autopsy and forensics team may be able to answer,” Hell said as she replaced her bag over her shoulders.

  She wouldn’t meet his eyes. “We need those autopsy results as soon as possible.”

  “Yes, I think we’ve gotten all we are going to get here. Let’s go. We’ll head into town and meet up with the medical examiner.” Hell motioned her down the path in front of him and behind Stanton. It was going to be a long hike back.

  Visit www.callejbrookes.com to read more about the Dardanos, Co. paranormal romance series, and about Calle J.’s

  PAVAD: FBI Romantic Suspense series.