by Kylie Brant
And Cait had had to listen while her assistant crowed about being right regarding its composition. The hot springs that ran beneath the dirt floor of Paulsen’s shed erupted in only one space near the end of the property line. And the shed had, at one time, housed sheep in inclement weather.
“How long do you think it will take to ID the remaining set of bones?”
“As long as it takes you to dig up Jodie Paulsen’s body and get me a DNA sample.”
“What?” Even Raiker was regarding her with a skeptical look.
“I’ve spoken to every detective with a missing persons in the database that falls within the same general description. Have compared the remains to no fewer than a dozen reference samples. Zach said something about Paulsen’s father being in a nursing home in Portland, but we were unable to locate him in any of them. There was no contact information for such a place in Paulsen’s home, Mitch said.” She looked at the deputy. “I think his father might have been Paulsen’s first kill.”
Barnes scratched his head. Sometime during the last month he’d shaved his mustache. It was an improvement. “That’s going to be a tough one to get by Andrews.”
“It’s the only way she’s going to get an ID.” The other option was that the remains belonged to someone who hadn’t been reported missing. That was unlikely given that the other victims all had had substantial funds transferred from their accounts.
“I’ll talk to her,” Barnes said dubiously.
“Where is the esteemed sheriff?” Raiker said in a silky voice Cait immediately recognized. “Holding yet another press conference?”
The deputy shifted his gaze to a speck on the floor. “I couldn’t say.”
He didn’t have to say. Cait had long suspected that Andrews would use a successful resolution to this case and ride it into the governor’s mansion. From the positive publicity the woman had garnered from this case, it looked like she might be successful.
Mitch straightened. Looked at Cait. “How much longer you going to be around? I mean”—he smiled a little—“how much longer do I have to convince the sheriff to do an excavation?”
“A week.” Raiker’s voice was steely. “I want my investigator back.”
“It’ll be two before I get a medical release to return to work,” Cait said. But she avoided her boss’s searching gaze. And when Barnes said his good-byes and left the lab, her heart gave a bit of a leap as the door remained open to admit Zach.
She wondered how long it would be before he stopped regarding her with that hint of worry in his eyes. She’d assured him, repeatedly over the last month, that she was fine. Had proved it, again, just last night.
He smiled and she felt something inside her soften. Then started guiltily when she caught Raiker’s gaze on her, shrewd as a laser.
“Ohmygod.” He looked from her to Zach and back again, an expression of disgust on his face. “Why do I have the feeling that this son of a bitch is going to cost me one of my best investigators?”
“Zach Sharper, Adam Raiker.” She made the introduction mechanically. But she was focused on her employer’s words. “How come you only break out the sweet talk when you think you’re going to lose me?”
“A question that could be leveled to all men in your life, it appears.” Zach came farther into the room, a glint in his eye warning her. “This son of a bitch has an invested interest in keeping Cait around.”
“But I have a way guaranteed to make us all happy,” she interceded smoothly. The men looked like a couple of junk-yard dogs, squaring off. To her employer she asked, “Have you given any further consideration to our conversation last month about the mobile lab?”
His expression eased from fierce concern to general irritability. “I was planning to staff the labs with techs, not investigators.”
“I’d be mobile, too,” she said easily. Crossed the space to slip her arm through Zach’s arm. “How many jobs have you turned down on the west coast because they wanted private lab facilities as well as an investigator?”
“Not enough to bother keeping track of.”
“Well, now the answer would be none. And when I’m not on a case, I could fly to headquarters regularly for updated training.” Raiker was a taskmaster about continued schooling for his investigators and scientists.
“Spend all your damn time in the air,” he groused.
“Not all her time,” Zach said pointedly.
Raiker was silent for a moment, regarding her with a fierce look. Finally he said, “I’ll think about it.”
Something eased in Cait’s chest. But she knew better than to release the smile that threatened. “That’s all I ask.”
He walked toward the door, his limp pronounced even with the help of the cane. “Guess I’ll have to bodily drag Andrews out of whatever media frenzy she’s whipped up today to settle with her.” He gave Zach a nod as he went by him. “Sharper.”
“Good meeting you.” Watching the man until he went out the door, Zach turned to regard Cait quizzically. “Was that good news?”
“It was very good news.” The smile she’d suppressed earlier broke out. “He didn’t dismiss it out of hand. And I know he wants to place mobile labs in four or five spots across the country to improve our timeliness. I might have to become a contracted worker rather than be employed directly through the agency, but . . .” She shrugged. It was a trade-off she was willing to make. Especially if it meant she and Zach would have some time to see where their relationship was leading.
“Did you call your mother today?”
The question threatened to dim the quiet satisfaction she felt after Raiker’s—almost—capitulation. “She still won’t take my calls.” And from the guarded responses she got from Lydia’s doctor, she didn’t expect that to change anytime soon. Her mother’s path to emotional recovery looked like it might prove to be as slow as the disintegration of her mental health.
He slipped his arm around her waist for a hard hug. As she leaned against him, she realized with a note of surprise that it was becoming easier to accept his support. They regarded each other silently for a moment. “Unfamiliar territory,” he said finally.
“It is that.” For both of them.
“Fortunately guiding in foreign terrain is something I do have experience in. The first trick is to go in prepared.”
“Good advice, I suppose. If you know what to prepare for.” He wasn’t the only one who’d avoided long-term relationships like the plague.
“You don’t go in alone.” His hand slid down to caress her butt.
“Small chance of that.” Obeying his urging, she pressed closer, feeling a little of her trepidation leak away when his arms came around her.
“You trust your partner.”
She saw the flicker in his eyes. Knew he was thinking of the fight they’d had before she’d tracked down Paulsen. “Back atcha.”
“I’m a quick learner.” He reached up to toy with a strand of her hair, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “Last thing to remember is we’re in this together.”
Going up on her tiptoes, she nipped at his bottom lip. “I’m counting on that.”
“Then there’s no reason in the world that we shouldn’t expect a successful journey. Complete with enough thrills and adventure to satisfy us both.”
His lingering kiss stemmed the sound of agreement she would have made. There was nothing more to add, at any rate. Cait had a feeling that teaming up with Sharper was going to be the trip of a lifetime.
Turn the page for a preview of
the fourth book in Kylie Brant’s
exciting Mindhunters series
DEADLY FEAR
Coming soon
from Berkley Sensation!
Icy fingers of fear clawed through the fabric of sleep and brought Ellie Mulder instantly awake. Old habits had her keeping her muscles lax, her eyes still closed as she strained to identify what had alerted her. When she did, her blood ran as cold as the frigid Colorado wind beating
against the windows.
She could hear him breathing.
It was the same snuffle snort that warned her whenever he was coming for her. He’d returned, just like he’d threatened. He’d snatch her from her bed, from her home and this time, she’d never get away. Not ever.
Her eyes snapped open as a scream lodged in her throat. The old terrors were surging, fighting logic, fueled by memory. It took a moment to see through the veils of the past and notice her familiar surroundings.
She was home. In her room. In her bed. And Art Cooper wasn’t here. He would die in prison.
A long sigh of relief shuddered out of her. The bright illumination of the alarm clock on her bedside table said one-eighteen A.M. The sleep scene on her computer lit the corner of the room that held her desk. And the large aquarium on the opposite wall was awash in a dim glow. She often “forgot” to turn it off.
The items had been chosen because of the light they afforded. Her mom and dad had worried when she’d needed doors open and lights blazing to go to bed at night. But they’d been happy when she’d casually mentioned wanting a computer. Had expressed an interest in tropical fish. Had selected things to decorate her bedroom like the brightly lit alarm clock. Those things were normal, the psychologist said. And Ellie knew it was important that she seem normal. Even if it was a lie.
The slight noise sounded again and she tensed, her hand searching for the scissors she kept on the bedside table. But even as her fingers gripped the handle, her mind identified the sound. It was the gurgle of water in the overflow box for the aquarium. Not Cooper’s breathing.
The recognition relaxed her, but she didn’t replace the scissors. She kept them clutched in her hand and brought them close to her chest, the feel of the small weapon comforting. Learning their daughter slept with a knife under her pillow had made her parents cry. So Ellie had to pretend not to need that anymore. She had become very good at pretending.
So good that her mom and dad were thrilled about her new interest several months ago. She’d heard the psychologist tell them that the act of creating, of folding and cutting paper into pretty shapes would be very therapeutic for her. So there was never any fuss about the constant paper scraps on the floor. New supplies appeared on her desk without her ever having to request them.
Only she knew that the new hobby was an excuse to keep a sharp pair of scissors with her at all times. And the psychologist was right. That part, at least, was very therapeutic.
The initial flare of panic had ebbed. She listened to the blizzard howl outside the windows and found the sound oddly soothing. Bit by bit, she felt herself relax. Her eyelids drooped.
She had the half-formed thought that she needed to replace the scissors before her mom came in the next morning to check on her. But sleep was sucking her under, and her limbs were unresponsive.
It was then that he pounced.
The weight hit her body, jolting her from exhaustion back to alarm in the span of seconds. She felt the hand clamped over her mouth, the prick of a needle in her arm and fear lent her strength far beyond her years. Rearing up in bed, she flailed wildly, trying to wrest away, trying to strike out. She tasted the stickiness of tape over her lips. Felt a hood being pulled over her head.
There was a brief flare of triumph when the scissors met something solid, and a hiss of pain sounded in her ear. But then her hand was bent back, the weapon dropping from her fingers and a strange numbness started to slide over her body. She couldn’t move. The hood prevented her from seeing. A strange buzzing filled her head.
As she felt herself lifted and carried away, her only thought was she was being taken.
Again.
Icy needles of sleet pricked Macy Reid’s cheeks as she hurried across the tarmac at the Manassas Regional Airport. The sleek black private jet sat waiting, its motors idling. It looked impatient somehow, looming dark and silent in the shadows, as if it had somehow taken on the personality of the man waiting inside it. Adam Raiker, head of Raiker Forensics and her boss, had demanded she be there within the hour. Her home in Vienna, Virginia was nearly twenty miles from the airport. Since the usual D.C. traffic was light at four A.M., she’d made the trip in under forty-five minutes.
An attendant took her suitcases and stowed them for her as she wiped the frigid moisture from her cheeks and made her way up the steps to the aircraft. Her satisfaction at arriving early dissipated when she recognized the man seated in the roomy black leather seat next to her boss. Kellan Burke. Fellow forensic investigator and all-around pain-in-the-ass.
Her stomach gave one quick lurch before she ordered it to settle. She gave Raiker a nod. “Adam.” She barely glanced at the other man as she chose a seat on the other side of her boss and buckled in. “Burke.”
“The inimitable duchess Macy.” Kellan gave her a sleepy smile that she knew better than to trust. “Been awhile since we’ve been paired on an investigation. Miss me?”
“Like a case of foot rot.”
“A comeback,” he noted admiringly. “You’ve been practicing.”
She could feel a flush heating her cheeks and damned yet again the fair complexion that mirrored her emotions. Almost as much as she damned the man for being right. Experience had taught her that it paid to have a ready repertoire of witty replies if she was to spend any length of time in Burke’s presence. Unfortunately, those replies usually occurred several hours after they were required, leaving her at the crucial moment as tongue-tied and frustrated as an eight-year-old.
Adam pressed a button on his armrest that would alert the pilot to ready for takeoff. Then he sent them a look. “Any squabbling and you’ll ride in the luggage compartment. Both of you.” He leaned forward to withdraw two file folders from the pocket of his briefcase and handed one to each of them as the jet began its taxi down the runway. Macy seized it, grateful to have something else to focus on.
“Steven Mulder.” Burke was studying the first sheet inside the folder, his expression thoughtful. “Why is that name familiar?”
“Maybe because he’s the owner of the discount stores that bear his name.” Raiker’s voice was dry. “A quick Google check shows there are two thousand Mulders in the country with several hundred more operations in Europe, Asia, and South America.”
The name had also struck a chord of recognition with Macy, but not for the same reason. “Steven Mulder? His daughter was one of the girls rescued when you broke that child-swap ring a few years ago.” The case wasn’t one she was likely to forget. Her testimony in the case helped put one of the perpetrators behind bars. It was also what had brought her to Raiker’s attention.
“That’s right.” For Burke’s benefit he explained, “Ellie Mulder was seven when she was snatched while attending a friend’s birthday party. FBI took control of the case almost immediately. She was found incidentally when one of my cases overlapped a couple years later. I broke up a child auction and her kidnapper was among those looking for a trade-in. By that point she’d been missing twenty-seven months.”
Macy’s gaze had dropped to the opened folder in her lap, but she froze a moment later in the act of scanning the information he’d put together for them. “She’s been kidnapped . . . again?”
“Abducted sometime between eleven and two A.M. this morning.” Raiker’s expression was grim. “Denver was having a hellacious blizzard and Ellie’s mother went in to check on her. She discovered her missing from her bed and looked around the house. Woke up her husband when she didn’t find her and they searched the estate. He called me an hour after they discovered her gone.”
“But not the FBI,” Burke put in shrewdly.
Macy caught Raiker’s gaze on her and followed it to where her fingers laid against the folder. Her fingers were beating a familiar tattoo against the surface. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap-tap. Throat drying, she deliberately stilled them and refocused her thoughts.
“The feds failed her before.” She met Raiker’s stare, knew she was right. “They had over two years to fi
nd her the first time. But you’re the one responsible for bringing her home to them. So Mulder contacted you.”
Her employer inclined his head. “If the Mulders had their way, no law enforcement would be involved at all. They’re pretty devoid of respect for LEOs after the last incident. But I convinced Steven that he has no choice but to report Ellie’s disappearance. He has a personal relationship with the governor. With both Colorado U.S. Senators. He’ll use his influence to bring in the Colorado Bureau of Investigation as leads.”
“Elbowing aside the Denver PD,” Kellan muttered, still studying the contents of the file.
“The Mulder estate is located thirty minutes outside Denver. It actually falls under the jurisdiction of the Denver Sheriff’s office. This could turn into a territorial tug-of-war of monumental proportions.”
Macy considered the ramifications. Being hired by a family member rather than the investigating law enforcement entity made their appearance on the scene a bit more tenuous. In a case such as this, suspicion fell first on the family and those in closest proximity to the child. The LEO would worry that their allegiance to Mulder would take precedence over their commitment to teamwork. Without Raiker running interference, they could be shut out of the investigative end of things almost completely. He was going to have his plate full handling the politics of this one.
She glanced at Burke. Found him watching her through a pair of trendy framed glasses that were new since the last time she’d seen him. “They’re going to want to bring in their own people.”
“Of course. But it’s my job to convince them they don’t have anyone who can match the experience the two of you bring. Don’t make a liar out of me.”