by Kylie Brant
Abbie’s smile was sad. “I also said the perp might try to insert himself into the case, to try to keep tabs on our progress. But I sure never saw what was right in front of me.”
His arm grew tighter around her. “Neither of us did. He made a believable woman. He’s not a large guy. Might even have had electrolysis treatments on his face to help with the disguise.”
Expression hard, he looked at Raiker again. “I sure as hell hope they aren’t going to give Holden a plea bargain. We have more than enough to get life for Grant without his testimony. The bloodstains in Bradford’s apartment and in the Crown Vic tie him to her assault. And his DNA matched the CODIS files for two other sexual homicides in the last few years, one in New Jersey and another in Tampa.”
“Not to mention Amanda Richards’s hair in the bag you recovered.” Abbie shuddered, reminded again of just how easily Callie could have fallen victim to him. Had he trolled those bars for unwitting dupes, like Juarez? Or had he been looking for high-risk women to rough up, while he was in between attacks? With Callie’s pattern of self-destructive behavior, she must have seemed perfect.
And then there had been her unwise openness about her relationship with Abbie, the profiler on his case. And about their childhood. Arming Grant with that knowledge then unlocking Abbie’s bedroom window for him had almost sealed their fate.
Giving a hard smile, Raiker said, “I know the director in charge of Montana’s FBI office. I’ve let him know exactly how strong the case is against Grant already. Tracing that key you found in his place to the apartment he was using as a safe house was the final nail in his coffin. The DVDs documenting the rapes will be the most damning evidence against him.” He checked his watch. “And I’m going to be late.” With his usual disregard for formalities, he abruptly left them, angling toward his car.
Watching him, Ryne noted, “Well, he can’t be boring to work for.”
“No.” Abbie’s tone was rueful. “That’s an adjective that never comes to mind in relation to Adam Raiker.” But she’d spent as much time as she was willing to discussing her boss. The case. Or anything that didn’t directly relate to her and the man beside her. Their time together was always brief, and she could already feel the precious minutes ticking away. “Drive us back to my place. And then I’ll let you cook me some of your famous pasta.”
Dropping an arm around her shoulders, he steered her toward his car. “On the way here I started tallying how much time we spend on the road. Or in the air.”
Panic slicked down her spine. Was he already tired of the schedule they were keeping? Granted, it was chaotic with the demands of their jobs, coupled with the distance between them. But the time she got to spend with him made every sacrifice worthwhile.
“Maybe it’s time to rethink this whole thing.” Reaching the car, Ryne leaned against the driver’s door, surveying her soberly. “We could be making it too complicated.”
It took a moment for the meaning of his words to filter through her dismay. When it did, hope bloomed. “I could commute,” she suggested cautiously. “When I’m not on a job, we’re expected at headquarters three days a week for training. But maybe I could arrange those days all in a row, at the beginning of the week, or something.”
“I was thinking, too, there’s nothing tying me to Savannah. With my background, I could find something around DC.”
“You’d hate the politics.” But her mind was spinning, racing with possibilities. “Raiker’s serious about the job offer, too.”
He reached out and tugged on her hand, pulled her against him. “We don’t have to decide anything right away. But we have options, so let’s just start looking into them. Time spent traveling is less time we have together.” One corner of his mouth kicked up. “A good cop knows how to manage his time efficiently.”
Heart bursting, she linked her arms around his neck and smiled radiantly up at him. “Yep, that’s what I love about you. Your head for efficiency.”
Eyes glinting, he lowered his mouth to hers. Against her lips he whispered, “Know what I love about you? Damn near everything.”
Turn the page for a preview of
the second book in Kylie Brant’s
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WAKING EVIL
Available October 2009
from Berkley Sensation!
The helicopter landed in the clearing with a slight bounce before settling on the ground again for good. Ramsey Clark shouted her thanks to the pilot, shoved open the door, and jumped lightly to the ground, her lone bag slung over one shoulder. She ran in a crouch to avoid the rotors, heard the whop-whop-whop behind her indicating the pilot taking off.
She scanned the cluster of four people waiting nearby as she jogged toward them. The three men wearing suits each held a hand over his tie to prevent it from dancing in the breeze generated by the chopper’s rotors.
“Director Jeffries.” The hand she offered was engulfed in the older man’s pawlike grip and squeezed until she had to hide a wince. The chief of the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation hadn’t changed much in the years since she’d left its ranks. His craggy face might be a little ruddier. His mop of white hair a bit shorter. But his six-foot frame was still military straight and as lean as ever.
“Good to see you again, Clark. I hear you’ve been makin’ quite a name for yourself with Raiker Forensics.”
Since the director wasn’t prone to flattery, and since he could have heard it only from Adam Raiker himself, Ramsey allowed herself to feel a small glow of satisfaction. “Thank you, sir. I think I’ve learned a lot.”
Jeffries turned to the two men flanking him. “TBI agents Glenn Matthews and Warden Powell. You’ll be assigned to their team. If you need more manpower, give me a holler and I’ll talk to the boss.”
Ramsey nodded her appreciation. Jeffries had no superior at TBI, so they were being given carte blanche. Raiker had told her to expect as much.
The director turned to the man in the sheriff’s uniform on her right. “I believe you know Sheriff Rollins.”
Frowning, she was about to deny it. Ramsey knew no one in Buffalo Springs, Tennessee. But the sheriff was taking off his hat, and recognition struck her. “Mark Rollins?” She shook her former colleague’s hand with a sense of déjà vu. “I didn’t even know you’d left TBI.”
“Couple years ago now. Didn’t even realize I was interested in movin’ back home until the position of sheriff was open.” Rollins’s pleasantly homely face was somber. “Have to say, tonight’s the first time I’ve regretted it.”
“I assume you’ve looked at the case file.”
Ramsey’s attention shifted back to Jeffries at his comment. At her nod, he went on.
“Rollins has his hands full here calmin’ the local hysteria, and after a week, we aren’t progressin’ fast enough to suit the governor’s office. The area is attractin’ every national media team in the country, and the coverage is playin’ hell with his tourism industry expansion plans.” The director’s voice was heavy with irony.
“I understand.” And she did. Being brought in as a special consultant to the TBI pacified a politically motivated governor and diminished some of the scrutiny that would follow the department throughout the investigation. If the case drew to a quick close, the TBI reaped the positive press. If it didn’t . . . The alternative didn’t bother her. Ramsey had served as shit deflector many times in the past in her capacity as forensic consultant. If the investigation grew lengthy or remained unsolved, she would be served as sacrificial lamb to the clamoring public. Or to the state attorney’s office, if someone there decided to lay the blame on Jeffries.
“Raiker promised a mobile lab.”
“It’ll be here tomorrow,” she promised the director. “But for certain types of evidence, we may need access to the TBI facility on an expedited basis.”
“We’ll try to speed any tests through the Knoxville Regional Lab.” Jeffries beetled his brows. “Just help solve this thing, Clark. It’s cau
sin’ a crapstorm, and I don’t want a full-fledged shit tornado on my hands.”
Ramsey smiled. She’d always appreciated Jeffries’ plain spokenness. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
“Can’t recall a time that wasn’t good enough for me.” Clearly finished, he turned to his agents. “I’ll expect daily updates. And keep me abreast of any major developments.” Without waiting for the men’s nods, he turned and strode briskly toward a road about a quarter mile in the distance. Ramsey could make out two vehicles parked alongside it.
“I’m guessin’ you’d like to get on into town, drop your stuff off in the room we lined up for you,” Mark was saying.
Ramsey shook her head. “I want to see the crime scene first.” Since diplomacy was often an afterthought for her, she added belatedly, “If that’s okay.”
The sheriff raised a shoulder. “It’s all right with me. What about you fellas? Want to come along?”
The two agents looked at each other, and Powell shook his head. “We’ll head back into town.” He shifted his gaze to Ramsey. “We’re set up in the local motel on the outskirts of town. One room serves as our office. We got you a room there, too, when Jeffries told us you were comin’.”
And by not so much as a flicker of expression did he reveal his opinion on her being brought in on the case, Ramsey noted shrewdly. She’d have to tread carefully there, with both agents, until she was certain how her presence here affected them.
“I’ll check in with you when I get to town, and you can bring me up to date on your notes so far.”
When the agents headed in the same direction Jeffries had gone, she turned to Rollins.
“Let me get that for you.” He reached for her bag, but she deflected the gesture.
“I’ve got it, thanks.” She fell into step beside him as they walked toward the tan jeep emblazoned with SPRING COUNTY SHERIFF in black lettering on a green background. “Tell me about the case.”
“Same ol’ Ramsey.” A corner of Rollins’s mouth pulled up. “Always with the small talk. Chatter, chatter, chatter.” His voice hitched up a notch as he launched into a mock conversation. “Well, I’m just fine, Ms. Clark. And how have you been? How’s that new job of yours? The wife? Oh, she’s fine, too. Still adjustin’ to small-town life, but the two little ones keep her pretty busy. What? You’d like to see pictures? Well, it just so happens I have a couple in my wallet. Got them taken at the local Wal-Mart just last month . . .”
“I can play the game if I need to,” she replied, only half truthfully. “Didn’t figure I needed to with you.”
He stopped at the vehicle, his hand on the handle of the driver’s door, his face serious again. “No, you don’t gotta with me. Figure we go far ’nough back that we can just pick up. But you’ll find you’ll get further with some folks in these parts if you put forth the effort. I know you never had much patience for mindless chitchat, but the pace is slower ’round here.”
She was more familiar than he knew with the unwritten customs and tradition demanded by polite society in the rural south. Had, in fact, spent her adult life scrubbing away most of those memories with the same ruthless determination with which she’d eliminated her telltale drawl.
Rather than tell him that, she gave him a nod across the roof of the car. “I’ll keep it in mind.” She opened the back door and tossed her bag on the seat behind the wire mesh used to separate prisoners from the law enforcement personnel. Then she slid into the front passenger seat.
He folded his tall lanky form inside and started up the Jeep while she was buckling in. Several minutes later, he abruptly pulled off the road and began driving across a field. After the first couple of jolts, Ramsey braced herself with one hand on the dash and the other on the roof of the car.
“Sorry.” Rollins seemed to move seamlessly with each jar and bump. “It’d take half an hour for us to get there by road. The kids that found the body hiked across through the woods on the other side, but going in from this direction will be an easier walk, though I’m told it takes longer. Brought the body out this way.”
“Has the victim been ID’d yet?”
“Nope. White female, between the age of eighteen and twenty-five. Found nude, so no help with the clothing.” A muscle jumped in Mark’s jaw. “Not from these parts, is all I know. No hits from any of the national missin’ persons databases. The medical examiner took a DNA sample, and we submitted the results to the FBI’s system, but no luck.”
So a Jane Doe, at least for now. Ramsey felt a stab of sympathy for the unknown woman. Maybe she hadn’t even been reported missing. She’d died alone and away from home. Was that worse than being murdered in familiar surroundings? Somehow it seemed so.
“How valuable have the wits been?”
“What, the kids?” Mark shot her a look. “Told us what they knew, which didn’t turn out to be much. Both scared silly, of course. Spouting nonsense about red mist and screamin’ and dancin’ lights . . . Tell you what I think.” The Jeep hit a rut with a bone-jarring bounce that rattled Ramsey’s teeth. “I think half is fueled by that blasted legend folks ’round here insist on feedin’ regularly.”
“Legend?” The case file contained only facts of the case. But when facts were in short supply, other details took on more importance.
Rollins looked pained. “Guess you’ll be hearin’ it from ’bout every person you talk to in town. I know I can count of you, out of anyone, not to be distracted by nonsense.” Still, it seemed to take him a few moments to choose his words. Or maybe he was saving his strength for wrestling the Jeep. Beneath the spread of grass, the terrain was wicked.
“We’ve got something of a local phenomena called the red mist. Someone else could explain it better, but it’s caused by some sort of reaction from certain plants in the area comin’ in contact with iron oxide in stagnant water, coupled with contaminants in the air. Once every blue moon, the fog in low-lying areas takes on a red tinge for a day or two. Nothing magical ’bout it of course, ’cept the way it makes folks ’round here take leave of their senses.”
“So the kids that found the body saw this red mist?”
“That’s what they’re sayin’. And I do have others in these parts that claim they saw the same thing, so might’ve been true. But local legend has it that whenever the red mist appears, death follows.”
The Jeep hit a rut then that had Ramsey rapping her head smartly on the ceiling of the vehicle. With a grim smile, she repositioned herself more securely in her seat and waited for her internal organs to settle back into place. Then she shot the man beside her a look. “Well, all nonsense aside, Sheriff, so far it appears, your local legend is more grounded in facts than you want to admit.”
Rollins brought the Jeep to a halt a few hundred yards shy of the first copse of trees. “Don’t even joke about that. My office is spendin’ too much of our time dealing with hysterical locals who set too much store by superstitious hogwash. The truth is, this is a quiet place. The crime we do have tends to be drunk and disorderlies after payday at the lumber mill, or the occasional domestic dispute. Once in a while we have a fire or a bad accident to respond to. But violent crime is a stranger here. And when it appears, people don’t understand it. They get scared, and when folks get scared, they search for meanin’. This legend is just their way of gettin’ a handle on how bad things can happen near their town.”
Ramsey got out of the car and stretched, avoiding, as long as possible, having to look at that expanse of woods ahead of them. “That’s downright philosophical, Mark. Didn’t learn that in the psych courses at TBI.”
He reached back into the car for the shotgun mounted above the dash, and then straightened to shut the door, a ghost of a smile playing across his mouth. “You’re right there. I understand these people. Lived here most of my life. I know how they think. How they react. Don’t always agree with ’em. But I can usually figure where they’re comin’ from.”
They headed for the woods, and Ramsey could feel her palms start to dam
pen. Her heart began to thud. The physical reaction annoyed her. It was just trees, for Godsakes. Each nothing but a mass of carbon dioxide. And she’d mastered this ridiculous fear—she had—years ago.
Deliberately, she quickened her step. “You hoping to go hunting while we’re here?” She cocked her head at the shotgun he carried.
“Not much of a hunter. But we do have some wildlife in these parts. Those kids were downright stupid to come in here at night. There’s feral pigs in these woods. An occasional bobcat. Seen enough copperheads ’round in my time to keep me wary.”
When her legs wanted to falter at his words, she kept them moving steadily forward. Felt the first cool shadows from the trees overhead slick over her skin like a demon’s kiss.
“Wish I could tell you there was much of a crime scene,” Mark was saying as he walked alongside her. “But apparently a bunch of kids dared each other to come into the woods and bring back proof they’d been here. First ones back to town got braggin’ rights, I ’spect. So they paired off and trooped out in this direction. Shortly after the two found the victim, a few others arrived. And then the whole thing became one big mess with tracks and prints all over the damn place.”
Ramsey felt a familiar surge of impatience. No one liked to have the scene contaminated, but one of the few down-sides to her job with Raiker Forensics was that she was rarely called to a fresh crime scene. By the time their services were requested, the crime could be days or weeks old. She had to satisfy herself with case files, pictures of the scene, and notes taken by the local law enforcement.
“The way Jeffries talked, you’ve gotten more than your share of unwanted media attention.” They stepped deeper into the woods now and the trees seemed to close in, sucking them into the shadowy interior. She resisted the urge to wipe her moist palms on her pant legs. “Seems odd for national news to be interested in a homicide in rural Tennessee.”