Grave Secrets_A Manhunters Novel

by Skye Jordan

  When no other heat signatures registered, Liam and Ian said, “Clear,” at the same time, then continued through the space, searching for signs of life.

  The barn was packed floor to ceiling with junk—computers, bicycles, appliances, every tool known to mankind. Just junk, junk, and more junk. And the funky, musty, moldy smell of age and disuse.

  On the opposite side of the barn, they found a staircase to a second story. Liam led the way up, he and Ian sweeping their weapons over the space, watching through their scopes.

  Finally, they lowered their weapons. “All clear,” Ian said, exhaling in relief. “At least of humans.”

  “You two take the loft,” Roman said. “We’ll look down here.”

  Ian and Liam pulled Maglites from their gear. With sweeps of halogen, they illuminated televisions, VCRs, and DVD players in one corner. Vacuums, table lamps, microwaves, toasters, hair dryers, and curling irons in another, all in a state of disrepair.

  “At least he kept things in some sort of order,” Liam muttered.

  Ian turned and found the G-man shining his light across a wall where hooks were heaped with electrical cords of all kinds. “Not enough order to find what we came for.” He made his way to the banister overlooking the lower part of the barn, testing the wood under his feet before he put his full weight down. “What have you got down there?”

  “Washers, dryers, refrigerators,” Sam said, “movie projectors, DVDs and VCR tapes, magazines, books…”

  The shuffle of paper and the knock of drawers skittered through the barn. Ian made his way down the stairs again. He found Roman in a corner of the barn, sifting through things on a mammoth desk that looked like it would crumble at any moment.

  “Anything?” Ian asked, turning to sweep his light over stacks of light fixtures, sewing machines, and space heaters, every appliance gutted for parts.

  “Nothing obvious,” Roman said on an exhale, abandoning his search of the desk and glancing around.

  “Misty just took off her apron,” Everly informed them over the com line. “She’s closing out her tickets.”

  “Going through here would take weeks,” Ian told Roman.

  “We leave in ten minutes,” Roman said. “Everyone take one last look around.”

  Ian wasn’t even sure what he was looking for anymore. He shone his light across the dirt floor, wondering if he’d heard Bishop wrong earlier. Maybe there was a deeper meaning to the threat he’d leveled at Misty, insinuating he’d leave something in the barn to frame her. That seemed to be his MO.

  “Sorry, boss,” Ian told Roman as his Maglite exposed pile after pile of newspapers in a dark corner of the barn. “Maybe I read too much into that conver—”

  His boot shuffled across something metal. Something that created a hollow echo underfoot. He angled his light down and found the corner of a metal plate. Turning a corner, Ian found himself in a three-sided box of decades-old newspapers and standing on something that looked a lot like a trapdoor.

  Excitement pulsed through his veins.

  He stepped back, crouched, and pulled on a metal ring. The door gave way with surprising ease. Ian’s gut tightened. He held the door open a few inches and shone his light into the space.

  “Found something.”

  Before Ian finished the last word, Roman was beside him. “What have you—”

  They both fell silent as Ian opened the door, exposing an opening framed in steel, a metal staircase leading into what looked like a large basement.

  “What the fuck?” Sam’s hands closed on Ian’s and Roman’s shoulders as he peered past them. “I didn’t see that comin’. I have to admit, I thought this was bullshit from the beginning.”

  “Your ‘wrong’ score is skyrocketing,” Everly teased.

  Ian glanced at Roman.

  “You found it,” Roman told him, “You get to go first.”

  “Pick up the pace, guys,” Everly told them. “Misty just clocked out. She’s on her way to her car.”

  Ian pulled the strap of his M4 over his head and handed the weapon off to Roman, then pulled his Glock nine from his thigh holster, used his other hand to guide the Maglite, and started down the stairs.

  At the bottom, Ian swept the light across the space. The floor was concrete, the walls cinder block. He found a light switch and flipped it on, flooding the basement with fluorescent light.

  “Holy shit.” He scanned the space, jaw unhinged. “Holy. Shit.”

  “What?” Everly said, excitement edging her voice. “What did you find?”

  “Comin’ down,” Roman said before skipping the steps and dropping to the floor beside Ian. He took one look and broke into excited laughter. “Holy shit is right.”

  “What?” she asked again. “What is it?”

  Liam and Sam pushed their way into the basement, and together, the team scanned the space with shock and awe. Fully finished and meticulously clean and organized, the room was an upscale, state-of-the-art workspace, complete with three industrial printers, half a dozen computers, and twice as many monitors set up around two huge commercial desks. Shelves and workbenches lined the walls holding equipment, paper, plates, ink, and other supplies.

  “A top-of-the-line counterfeiting setup,” Roman answered Everly, sauntering toward a line of presses and steel printing plates. “That’s what.”

  Misty would be going away for a very long time. Which meant Savannah was going to lose her best and only friend.

  And if she had aided Misty in any way, Savannah would be criminally responsible under the aiding and abetting laws. And that would land her in federal prison. She could kiss Jamison goodbye—literally.

  The excitement coursing through Ian’s veins cooled. He picked up a bottle of ink from the dozens lining the shelves.

  “What have you got there?” Sam asked.

  “Thermochromic and optically variable security ink,” Ian said.

  “I’ve seen my share of counterfeit material,” Liam said. “But never anything this sophisticated.” He picked up a piece of paper from a stack sitting beside a commercial printer and took a close look, tilting it back and forth under the light. “She’s using intaglio methods.”

  “English, please,” Everly complained.

  “It’s an ancient printing technique still used for passports today,” Liam said. “Complex, twisting patterns on the inside pages of a passport created using multiple plates and presses.”

  “Hologram plates too,” Sam said, picking up one of dozens of engraved steel plates. “Look at the detail.” He huffed a laugh as he ran his gloved fingers over the metal. “This is intense.”

  Ian picked up a piece of dark blue plastic used for passport covers. “I thought she might have picked up some passports on the darknet, doctored them, and passed them on to Bishop, but this…” He shook his head. “I never imagined she was capable of this.”

  Which made him second-guess what he believed Savannah capable of—including covering up her friend’s illegal activity.

  “You either need to contemplate all this elsewhere,” Everly said. “Or you’d better get ready to take her down. She’s going to pull into the ranch in about fifteen minutes.”

  “If we arrest Misty now, we’ll tip off Hank and Lyle. There’s no telling whether Misty kept a record of the passports she’s created, but we know Lyle did.”

  “Hotfoot it, boys,” Roman said. “We’ll come back for this once we have the ledger. Ian, fix that chain so she doesn’t know we were here.”

  The men filed up the stairs. Sam mulled over an old desk in the corner. At the door, Ian waited as the other’s exited. Before Roman passed through the door, he planted a hand on Ian’s shoulder.

  “You need to prep Savannah for what’s coming,” he told Ian. “We’re going to need her cooperation.”

  His gut clenched, but he nodded as if he had everything under control. “We’ll have it. Sam, get your ass out before I lock you in.”

  Once Sam cleared the barn, Ian removed the bro
ken link in the chain and locked up the door, then followed his teammates toward their vehicles parked on the main road.

  This was a no-win situation for Savannah. She didn’t know it yet, but her life just took another turn in its downward spiral.

  Savannah slid her hand over Jamison’s brow and pushed his hair off his forehead, then leaned down to kiss him there. She breathed in his fresh-from-the-bath scent and smiled.

  Easing back, she took in every detail of his sleeping face, from the freckles across his nose to the way his lips twitched as he dreamt. She’d never imagined she could love this way—so deeply, so completely, so unconditionally.

  She would—without any doubt—do anything she had to do to keep Jamison from being ruined by Hank and Lyle. Her love for Jamison was all-encompassing, making her understand the concept of giving her life to save someone else.

  Her phone chimed, and Savannah sat back, pulling it from her pocket.

  As she suspected, it was from Ian. I’m home.

  Excitement and dread warred. She exhaled, forcing herself to accept Ian at face value. He might not be all that he seemed, might turn out to be too good to be true after all, might have done unscrupulous things in his past, but he was her only lifeline at the moment. And she liked to think she could still give a man the benefit of the doubt.

  Jamison is asleep. Back door is unlocked.

  Savannah glanced at Jamison one last time before she closed the bedroom door, then stopped in the bathroom to look at her reflection. The woman staring back looked so much more together than she felt. So much more vibrant and hopeful.

  The back door whined open. She turned off the bathroom light and moved across the kitchen soundlessly in her stocking feet. Ian appeared as a looming shadow in the laundry room. Savannah had a sudden, clear image of what he must have looked like to those he’d killed just before he’d ended their lives, and her stomach dropped.

  How many homes or offices had he infiltrated just as easily as he’d walked in her back door? How many people had he terrified? How many had he killed? In cold blood? Had there been women? Children?

  He stepped into the doorway between the rooms. The moonlight illuminated his outstretched hand, offering his phone. Savannah shook off the nerves and closed the distance. His free hand curled around her wrist and drew her close. Savannah’s heart rate spiked, and chills shivered down her spine.

  He leaned close and whispered, “Put this on your coffee table. It will block the wavelength for the listening devices.”

  She did as he said and turned from the living room to find him right behind her. Her heart skipped; her stomach jumped. She stepped back, an automatic reaction she regretted when his expression registered concern.

  Savannah swallowed her unease, stepped close, and rested a hand against his chest. His clean scent filled Savannah’s head with citrus and man. “How is your tooth? Were they able to fix it?”

  “They were.” The low vibration of his voice slipped over her, creating another shiver in her belly. This one pleasant. “But my mouth has been missing yours.”

  He lowered his head and kissed her, wrapping his arms around her at the same time. As soon as she was in his arms with his heat warming her body, all her apprehension melted away. All her doubts evaporated. She leaned into him, and he was there, his strength supporting her. And when she kissed him back, Savannah found emotional bedrock.

  Ian broke the kiss, hugging her close. “You’re making me want to skip to the fun stuff.”

  She would have supported that idea wholeheartedly if she didn’t have a piano hanging over her head on fraying rope. She was anxious to see if Ian could find solid evidence she could use to keep Hank at bay.

  “The sooner we get the dirt out of the way, the sooner we get to the fun stuff.” She stepped away and turned for the hallway. “I just need to pull everything together.”

  When Ian followed her into the bedroom, Savannah realized he was going to see her hiding place. As she opened the closet and removed the floorboards to expose the space beneath, she wondered if she should find a new cubbyhole to stash her dirt. Then hated herself—and even Misty a little—for this new doubt creeping through her head.

  “Wow,” he said, standing behind her as she dragged up the shoebox holding the papers and CDs she’d collected over the years. “That’s quite a stash.”

  Savannah handed him one box and pulled out another. “I know the CD’s are antiquated, and I have the recordings saved to the cloud, but the way Hank operates, I felt like I needed a hard copy too. I hope there’s something in here to cut Hank off at the knees.” She pushed to her feet, realizing how bad that sounded, and turned to face Ian. “I don’t really mean—”

  He cupped her face, but his brow was creased with worry. “I know, baby. I know.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  He shook his head and turned toward the bed, setting the box on her coverlet. “Just hoping for the same.”

  He was so sincere. So authentically concerned for both her and Jamison. Savannah would never have investigated his background the way Misty had. She would never have questioned anything he told her. Yet because of Misty’s suspicions, Savannah had already uncovered him in a lie. And that made her feel both vulnerable and angry. She didn’t care where he’d really gone this afternoon. She only cared that he’d lied about it.

  Jamison.

  She had to focus on Jamison. And at this point, she couldn’t be concerned with how she did that, who helped her or why. After she was sure she’d never lose Jamison, she could worry about Ian and a relationship—if they ever got that far.

  At the headboard, she crossed her legs and pulled one of the boxes into her lap. “Okay, let’s do this.”

  He toed out of his boots and joined her on the bed. Leaning back against the headboard, he pulled the other box into his lap and turned his gaze on her. “Try not to worry. We’ll find something. He won’t take Jamison.”

  Right now, Savannah was happy Ian was on her side. She pulled the cover off her own box and scanned the CDs. Her stomach clenched. So much hate. So, so much hate.

  “What are those?” he asked, pulling out photocopies from his own box.

  “I transferred my—I guess you’d call them conversations, but they’re really arguments—with Hank from my phone to the CDs.” And suddenly, she wasn’t thrilled at the prospect of exposing the underbelly of her marriage to her new lover. She met his gaze. “I’ll warn you now, it’s not pretty. And if you don’t see me the same after you’ve heard and seen all this, I won’t blame you.”

  His expression softened, and a smile flickered over his lips. He reached out and squeezed her thigh. “Like I said before, I can guarantee I’ve seen worse.”

  If Misty’s information about the Manhunters was accurate, and if Ian was in fact a Manhunter, Savannah couldn’t begin to imagine what he’d seen. Or what he might have done.

  But right now, none of that mattered. Right now, he was on her side, and she forced herself not to think about what he’d be like as opposition.

  An hour later, Savannah finished sorting the paper documents while Ian listened to the last CD. After fifteen minutes of hearing the first recording, Savannah had given Ian earbuds and insisted he listen to them privately. Hearing the ugliness she’d already lived through made her sick to her stomach all over again. And over the last hour, the Ian she’d come to know transitioned into the man she feared he might be—his eyes dark, expression stern, anger vibrating off him in waves.

  She dropped back to the pillows, exhaling as she scanned a copy of Hank and Lyle’s bank statement. The document had turned out to be useless in a court run by Tim Baulder’s father.

  The opposition she faced came into sharp focus once again, and hopelessness edged in. She shouldn’t have gotten Ian caught up in this mess. She should have let him remain blissfully oblivious.

  Ian exhaled, pulled off the earbuds, and dropped his head back against the headboard, eyes closed. “I need a shower. Your ex is a
filthy excuse of a human being.”

  Hearing her worst fear verified by someone with the training and knowledge to know exactly what filth looked and sounded like felt like a knife in Savannah’s gut. She was ashamed she let the abuse happen in the first place. Mortified to look back and see just how long she’d let it go on. Feared how it would continue to affect Jamison as he grew up.

  “He threatened to kill you six times.” Ian opened his eyes and turned an intense look on her. “Six times.”

  “More like a dozen. I just didn’t get the other half on tape.”

  “Not funny. So not funny.”

  “Sorry,” she sighed. “If I don’t laugh, I’ll cry.”

  “Audrey should have gotten you a restraining order a long damn time ago. Didn’t she use this in your divorce hearing?”

  “Nothing detrimental to a Bishop would be admitted as evidence in a court system greased with Bishop Mining cash and power.”

  “You’re a Bishop,” he said, his voice tight with restraint.

  “By marriage, not blood.”

  “Fucking unbelievable.” His gaze went distant a long, quiet moment. Then he turned that intense stare on her again. “Why hasn’t he come through on the threats? Why didn’t he kill you a long time ago? It’s obvious he would get away with it.”

  That hit her as a bit harsh, but when she thought of his background, she realized talk of murder wasn’t unusual in his world—which made her second-guess the decision to let him into hers.

  “I’ve wondered the same thing in some of my darker moments,” she admitted.

  His hand closed over her thigh and squeezed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it the way it sounded.”

  She covered his hand with hers. “Honestly, I think he fully believed that I would come back to him. As time passed and his attempts to beg, bargain, threaten, and scare me back didn’t work…” She exhaled. “I think he gets closer and closer to following through on that threat every day. And there’s Jamison to consider. When Hank and I were at college, he told me that he wanted kids someday. As soon as Lyle got his hooks back into Hank, that changed. We were already on shaky ground when I got pregnant. Hank was so pissed.”