“Zac, this is Diane Larsen. She’s in charge of this investigation”—Casey gave her a knowing look—“for now. Sam here is with…who are you with now, Sam, since you left the taskforce?”
The fact was that Sam had been with no one since their friend Richard was wrongfully accused of murdering Dan McKenzie. Sam and Diane had worked around the clock to clear Richard’s name and investigate the murder themselves. Sam had since stepped away from the taskforce and had taken up private investigative work here and there, having taken a long hiatus to spend time with Marcie and their baby girl, Kyla, in their cabin on the island of Las Seta, across the water from Gardiner.
“Myself,” he said as he crossed his arms.
Diane could see the wheels turning in Casey’s head, but, to her credit, she said nothing and nodded. “Zac has just joined us here, and we’re happy to have his forensic expertise,” she said, pulling back the sheet and exposing the body of the young woman laid out on a cold steel slab.
Diane tried not to look, but her eyes went right to the Y incision. As Diane took another breath, she was relieved the sight didn’t have the effect she’d been worried about. She realized it was the girl’s dress that had unnerved her that night on the highway, with all that it symbolized from her own nightmare past. She breathed a sigh of relief before noticing the girl’s high forehead and sharp nose, features familiar to her childhood. She glanced up, nearly jumping from her skin when her eyes connected with Zac, who was watching her in a way that made her wonder whether he’d already discovered every one of her secrets. My God, she didn’t know how she’d last in the room with that guy.
“We put her age around fourteen. There are no signs of sexual assault. Her hymen is still intact. She has bruising around her trachea. Cause of death is strangulation,” Casey said, businesslike. “Zac, do you want to continue?”
He crossed his arms and stared at Diane, then Sam, but he held Diane’s gaze as he took a deep breath and said, “Since there was no sign of a struggle, the girl didn’t fight back. We assumed she was drugged or had a head injury, but there are no narcotics or traces of any sedative or other substance in her body that would shed some light on the unusual circumstances of this murder. No head trauma, but she has bruising on her face. She was struck by a large hand, and it’s fresh. It happened not long before she was murdered.”
“Back up a second. What do you mean, ‘unusual circumstances of this murder’?” It was Sam who asked, because Diane couldn’t get her tongue to move.
Zac cocked his head and stared at Diane as if daring her to speak.
She cleared her throat. “Yeah, what do you mean, ‘unusual’?”
“She didn’t fight back. At all. The body has a natural instinct of fight or flight. It’s built in, and normally what you’d see is skin under the fingernails, blood, scratches, far more trauma on the arms and legs as you fight back with everything you’ve got.”
“Maybe she was held down.” Diane didn’t know why she’d said that, because she knew deep down there would be no signs of any struggle.
Zac just shook his head, not turning from her at all. “No, we would have seen the signs on her body. The body doesn’t lie. She has bruising on her cheek and lower jaw where she was struck, maybe into submission.”
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” Casey interrupted. “It was as if she lay there willingly and allowed this to be done to her.”
“Was she killed where we found her?” Diane asked.
“No,” Zac said. “She was placed very carefully, arranged as a message.”
“A message to who?” Sam snapped, but Diane felt her blood run cold. No one knew she was here.
“Well, there was also the message pinned to her chest, ‘Keep sweet.’ I’d never heard of it before. It was Zac here who explained it to me,” Casey said.
Diane was positive her face flushed and her eyes widened. She had to look away because she was now convinced Zac knew something more about her than he was saying. The entire murder was a message that sent chills up and down Diane’s spine. She knew the code had been broken.
“This girl was from a polygamist community, maybe from across the border, maybe from down south. She was most likely to be someone’s wife sent to one of the sister colonies. She’s the perfect age,” Diane said. The message was clear to her because it had been hammered into her as a child. She knew and understood the silence, and this girl had been killed for it. Maybe she’d tried to get away. Diane hoped she had, on some level, though she knew without wanting to acknowledge it that the girl hadn’t, not really. Whatever it was she had or hadn’t done, Diane wasn’t sure she wanted to know.
Everyone stared at her now. She swallowed, reached into her pocket, grabbed another stick of gum, and shoved it into her mouth. “Anything else?” she asked. She wanted to get the hell out of there—bolt, run. She was prepared to leave Sam standing there if she could just get some air and be alone to think.
“Well, since I don’t have to explain the community to you…” Zac muttered and lowered his gaze to the body on the table, pulling the sheet up and covering the girl. By the way he did it, respectfully, Diane wondered what his story was. “I’ve seen this before,” he continued. “There are many cultures that still believe in arranged marriage, with many wives, but here, in this country, with the girl’s dress, it’s definitely a sign of a polygamist community, a young girl given to an older man. He impregnates her, and she may be second, third, or fourth wife, et cetera.”
“We know they brainwash the kids, girls…” Sam started in, and Diane felt her breath tighten up into a big ball in the center of her gut.
“No, you’re not getting it.” Zac cut him off, and Diane sensed the confusion, the judgment, a whole room full of it, along with unspoken questions from Sam and Casey. Zac, though…when Diane looked up again and met his strong, secretive gaze, which lingered on her, he said, “It’s no different than any religious sect. You have followers of any religion, whether Christian, Muslim, Jewish, and parents raise their children according to those teachings. How about the Catholic parents who teach their girls to marry when they grow up, but only to a man of their faith? Then the church frowns on birth control, so the girl’s married and broke with eight mouths to feed, and she can never divorce or she’ll go to hell. You take any religious teaching or church, and there will always be members who believe their way, their religion, is the only one, the right one. If you put people from these many different religions together, some will argue to the death. I’ve seen wars started for less.”
“That’s not the same thing at all,” Sam started, and Diane glanced over at her friend, for the first time surprised by him. She looked back at Zac, stuck on what he’d said. The two of them were like dogs with a bone, about ready to go at each other’s throats. What the hell was the matter with Sam?
“In a way, Sam, Zac is right. It is the same,” she said. Sam stared at her with an expression of disbelief, as if she’d just chosen the side of the enemy. It was a feeling she knew from others but never from Sam.
“If you want to solve this murder, you need to take the personal judgment out of this,” Zac said. “First you need to understand this girl, her religion, her beliefs, and what was going on with her, in her head. If you can do that, take a step back from feelings, personal beliefs, and become an observer, looking at the facts”—Zac ripped off his gloves, his eyes lingering on Diane a little too long—“then you can solve this.”
No one said a word as Zac dumped his gloves in the trash. “Anything else?” he said. He waited maybe half a second before striding away on long legs, his eye-catching butt hugged by a pair of well-fitting black jeans. Diane watched his back, the way the thin t-shirt fell over his sculpted muscles and broad shoulders. Holy crap, the man was totally hot in an alpha, arrogant, cocky kind of way, and she was pretty sure, as he walked away and out the door, that this was his way of letting them know, without uttering a single word, that he was done. Or maybe he just wasn’t inter
ested in spending one second more in a cold, sterile room with any of them.
“Great guy. Communicates well, huh?” Sam asked Casey. Diane was still watching the door.
“Zac is great once you get used to him. He’s smart as hell and has instincts I’ve not seen before in forensics,” Casey responded, tucking her curly red hair behind her ears.
“What’s his story?” Sam asked. He wasn’t about to let anything drop with this guy. Diane picked up on it, and by the way Casey now frowned, Diane suspected she had noticed the head-butting, too. To her credit, she smiled, flashing brilliant white teeth.
“Well, he’s retired Army. Did a tour in Iraq as a trauma surgeon, right in the thick of it. Not sure of the whole story, but I know he was out of commission for a while with some injuries from transporting the wounded. Apparently, they took fire and he was injured.” Casey set her gloved hand on her slim hip. She was such a petite woman, and by the way she looked at Sam and then licked her lip, Diane realized she had the hots for him. Her eyes widened, but the two of them had their own conversation going on, with the body of the dead girl between them.
“That’s quite the leap, isn’t it, Casey, from trauma surgeon to forensics?” Sam was still stuck on Zac. Didn’t he have any idea the woman was hitting on him? Probably not, but then, the entire time she’d worked with him on the narcotics team, he’d always had woman falling at his feet. Not that he seemed to notice. But, for the first time, this bothered her.
“Sam, we should go,” she interrupted.
Sam started to say something to her, but she shot him her I’m going to kick your ass, you idiot look, and he gave her an odd expression and said nothing.
“Well, Sam, it’s not that uncommon to make a change in specialties. We all go to medical school; I know he did a two-year residency in forensics after his injuries, which was quite a step back for him, from what I understand. He knows his stuff. I think I overheard as well that he’s pursuing further studies in forensic science and possibly criminalistics, but don’t quote me on that last part.” Casey was still talking, and she stepped to the head of the table, closer to Sam.
Diane nudged Sam again because she knew Casey was working up something to keep him there and keep him talking.
“You interested in maybe going for coffee? We could talk some more about the case.” Casey flashed another bright smile his way, completely ignoring Diane.
“What time is Marcie coming over, Sam? And is she bringing Kyla, your daughter?” Diane blurted as she leaned over and stared into Sam’s face, which now held an expression that let her know he had just figured out that Casey was interested in something more than a casual conversation. “Marcie is Sam’s wife—well, not quite his wife yet,” Diane blurted again, this time to Casey, who instantly lowered her gaze as if getting the message. Diane felt bad. She liked Casey and was embarrassed for her, and now she wanted to kick Sam’s ass.
Sam’s jaw tightened. He was irritated, and Diane knew it would probably take him a few minutes before he’d say one word to her. Great, the silent treatment.
“Well, Sam, time to go, shall we? Casey, thank you. Let me know if there’s anything else that comes up.” Diane poked Sam in the side, and, thankfully, he moved toward the door.
“Thank you, Casey,” Sam said politely, his southern drawl just a little more pronounced, so unlike him.
Chapter 5
“What the hell was that about, Sam?” she said as soon as she had climbed in his truck and he was behind the wheel.
“I could say the same thing to you, Diane. Don’t remember ever seeing you so lost that you were almost drooling over some guy,” Sam snapped. She couldn’t remember the last time Sam had talked to her that way. He never had, come to think of it.
“Wow, Sam, thanks for that. What’s with the asshole routine?” She was loving this verbal sparring; it was actually helping clear her head and focus her energy away from her fear and the murder, which had brought her childhood crashing in.
He said nothing but shook his head.
“What’s going on with you and Marcie?” she asked, because one thing she had figured out was that something wasn’t quite right. Sam was the most loyal guy there was. He didn’t flirt. Hell, with his late first wife, he’d gone above and beyond sainthood, avoiding involvement with any woman until he met Marcie. Even then, he’d felt guilty.
She was watching him drive, shoulder check, signal and change lanes. He was going slow and steady, the ultimate in driving safety, and that was definitely unlike him. “Sam,” she prodded.
“Marcie’s pregnant again,” he finally said, offering a forced smile before setting his gaze back on the road.
“So that’s not good news, then? I thought you wanted kids. You love Kyla. What’s going on?” She was ranting.
“Sure. Yes, I love kids. There’s just…”
With the way he said it and then stopped, she had to take another breath and allow her mind to settle. Sam and Marcie were it, the ones, together forever. Marcie was the love of his life, so what the hell was this? He had walked through hell for her. Or was that the problem? “Sam, you’re sounding cryptic as all hell, and I’m not liking what I’m picking up. She’s your everything, right? Come on, help me out here. What’s going on?”
Sam rubbed his chin with his index finger as if deciding on what he wanted to say. “No, I do love her. It’s just…she’s hiding something.”
“What do you mean, she’s hiding something?” Diane was starting to think maybe Sam had been cooped up on that island for too long and was becoming paranoid. He needed civilization, people, normal people.
“I don’t know what it is, Diane. You just know when someone’s hiding something from you. It’s a feeling you have. When you’re with someone, you connect, and she’s been holding something back for a while.”
“Define ‘a while,’ Sam.” Diane didn’t know what to think. She liked Marcie a lot.
“Since after Richard was cleared of Dan’s murder. For a while, I thought it was because of Dan and their past. I mean, she was in love with the unscrupulous bastard at one time. Maybe it dredged up all kinds of memories she hadn’t reconciled, you know?” He glanced at her again.
This time, as she watched, she realized he really, truly believed Marcie still had some feelings for Dan. “Have you talked to her about this?”
“I lost my temper about Dan after I asked her to marry me.…”
“You finally asked her to marry you?” She cut him off.
“‘Asked’ is the keyword, Diane. She turned me down.”
“What do you mean, she turned you down? How could she turn you down?”
“Are you going to keep questioning everything I say? I’ve got to tell you, it’s getting damn annoying.” Sam shot her another irrational glance, which always told Diane there was way more going on than met the eye. Diane realized she might need to have her own chat with Marcie.
“So is that why you were flirting with Casey? Because I’ve got to tell you, Sam, that was so not cool. Casey’s nice, I like her, and I like Marcie. Don’t make my life messy.” She wanted to reach over and smack him upside the head, but he was driving, and she didn’t like the lost look he still had.
“I don’t know what that was.” Sam didn’t look at her when he spoke. He gripped the wheel and flicked the signal light, turning onto the road leading to her acreage. “But back to you and Army boy, don’t think I didn’t notice you couldn’t keep your eyes off him. If a guy had been ogling you the way you were ogling him, that guy would probably get his face slapped.”
Diane’s jaw slackened, and she felt her face burn again. “Sam, I wasn’t eyeing him up.”
“Yes, you were.”
He was right, but she sure as hell didn’t want to admit it. “I’m just rattled. Did you notice the way he understood that girl?”
“Yeah, that was just weird,” Sam said as he parked in her driveway, behind her SUV.
“Well, no, it’s not weird. He’s good, really g
ood. He’s done his homework, and he was right about taking the personal out of it.” Diane stared out the front windshield at her neat and tidy two-story house.
“So what are you going to do?” Sam said as he rested his hand on the steering wheel.
“I’m going to do my job: find out what happened, who killed her. I’m going to find out her story.”
Chapter 6
Diane dropped the damp yellow sponge in the double sink of her spotless kitchen. The white cupboards and the open island in the center of the kitchen shone against the stainless steel fridge and propane stove. The peach walls and cream wainscoting appeared tired to her. Maybe she could paint again, redo her kitchen. How about a deep green, something dark, different? Yes, she definitely needed a change. Maybe she could scrub the windows that overlooked her large backyard and the old fir trees that dotted the perimeter backing onto the state park. It was breathtaking, and it should have been giving her a peaceful, easy feeling, except she couldn’t stop pacing or shake the agitation winding up her gut so tight that she ached. If she stopped, her head would keep on going a million miles a minute, dragging her back to thoughts she didn’t want to think. No, she needed to do something to focus, to get her head back in the game.
Her arm muscles burned as she leaned on the counter. She’d scrubbed every room, the floors, the sinks, until there wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. But those flashes of memory kept coming from a home she prayed to forget. Along with them came all the hurt she’d swallowed over and over as a child. No one had known who she was inside, as she’d had no voice. It was the same for this girl, murdered and left on a highway less than ten miles from where Diane lived. Her past was being laid to rest on her doorstep, and she didn’t like it one bit.
Bounty (Walk the Right Road) Page 3