“Well, this just got interesting,” Liza commented.
“I wouldn’t call it that, Agent … ?”
“Bartholomew. And why’s that?”
Hamilton shifted his weight to his right leg and crossed his arms. “Because, this ain’t normal for my county.”
Boyce tapped Liza’s shoulder. She glanced at him, and when she registered his “let me take the lead” expression, she stepped back.
“Sheriff Hamilton, if it’s okay with you, I’d like to come along. Agent Bartholomew can assist Deputy Jennings with the scene here.”
Hamilton’s eyes narrowed. The former bronc rider’s stare was as cold as the snow blowing around outside. “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea.”
Boyce pulled out the good-ole-boy charm. “At this point in our acquaintance, Deputy Rivers and myself have come to a mutual ‘let’s agree to disagree’ understanding.”
Hamilton glanced at the stone-faced Jennings, who managed to crack a smile. When Hamilton’s gaze returned to Boyce, amusement filled his weathered features. “Whatever you say, Agent Hunt. It’s not like you won’t find out later.”
“Find out what?”
• • •
Turns out Deputy Rivers was Deputy Cassandra Rivers, and not her mouthy sister. Boyce had to remind himself not to gape at the vexing blonde, who had replaced her sister on the McIntire County department force.
Now they were all going to have one happy reunion, if Cassy didn’t shoot Boyce on sight.
Traipsing through the deepening snow, Boyce was thankful Cassy hadn’t noticed him yet. The closer he could get to another person—the tall, African-American man in a deputy uniform next to her, for instance—the lower the chance she’d want to take a swing at him. The last time he’d seen her, Cassy was recovering from being drugged and kidnapped. A near-miss to her head shot by her now brother-in-law had left her with a long scar on her left cheek. Boyce had done what came naturally to him: used his job as an excuse and bailed. Just like the first time, he’d left her to deal with the fallout alone while he sought solace in his career and getting one step closer to seeing his mother brought down.
Cassy looked different in uniform. She’d taken a step down becoming a deputy after serving as a plainclothes detective in Coralville, Iowa. Whatever had occurred out here in the middle of the woods would demand her investigative skills once more.
Cassy had always worn her hair medium-length or short, but this time there was a long, blond braid trailing out from under her stocking cap. Cassy turned, allowing the headlights to spotlight her face, making the scar stand out.
The scar was a symbol of his worst and best heartbeat, that second he’d stood frozen, watching a drugged Cassy shoot her sister and then fly backward, blood spraying the air above and behind her. Boyce swore his heart had failed and he’d died right there with her, until Cassy let out a distressed scream and rolled to her side.
“Why in the hell is he here?”
Her caustic demand jerked Boyce out of his memories, yet he didn’t hesitate to walk up to her. “Seems we can’t avoid meeting like this, Deputy Rivers.”
“Hamilton, I’m not working with him.”
“Hold your horses, Rivers, no one said he was working with anyone. I still don’t know why he’s even here.”
Boyce’s gaze slid to the other deputy, and he thrust out his hand. “Agent Boyce Hunt, FBI.”
The man flashed his teeth, taking Boyce’s hand. “Deacon Nash.”
“You worked alongside Deputy Rivers long?”
“Since she took this post. I was her sister’s partner for a time.”
“Ahh, and how did you enjoy working with the infamous Nicolette Rivers?”
“A gem. A real gem.”
“Are you two through with the small talk?” Cassy cut in.
If he could read her mind—and he usually was good at it—she was trying to figure out what he was doing. Buddying up to her coworker meant keeping her off-kilter, and frankly, that’s what he wanted. To get under her skin.
“Lead the way, Deputy,” Boyce said.
With a shake of her head, she turned and trudged through the deep snow toward the wooded area and the victim, leading them past the mangled truck that was draped with a tarp to keep the snow from damaging any evidence. The beams from the four flashlights revealed the faint traces of tracks making a path.
“We found drag marks and blood as we came this way, but as you can see, they’re long gone with the snow,” Deputy Nash pointed out.
“How did you protect the body?” Boyce asked.
“Staked a tarp around it,” Cassy answered. “We preserved as much of it as we could, but this storm isn’t playing by the rules.”
And that swayed in the killer’s favor.
Silence hung between the four of them as they entered a thick stand of trees. Boyce narrowed his gaze at the ever-so-slight hesitation and stiff movements of Cassy as they left the brilliant glow of the squad cars’ lights and entered the deep darkness of the timber. Odd. The snow dampened the sound of their labored breathing. Their lights bounced along, creating a strobe effect that played havoc on Boyce’s eyes, which in turn gave him a headache. This was why he stayed far away from the Memphis nightclubs.
One beam landed on the edge of the blue tarp, and their group slowed. Cassy broke away to lift the tarp back and reveal the gruesome package underneath.
“My God, Wallis,” Hamilton said. “What were you doing out here?”
“Don’t know, sir.” Nash said. “He was barely alive when we found him.”
Boyce eased around to face the victim then squatted down to his level. If he had to take a guess, the man had been propped against the tree, shot to death, and left as is. The body had listed to the right, not sliding down into the snow. By the amount of blood, frozen to the body, and from what Boyce could make out, it appeared the killer might have emptied the gun on the victim. How he’d stayed alive long enough for the deputies to find him was a miracle. Boyce passed his light over the drooping head but didn’t notice any wounds there.
“A case of road rage gone bad?” he suggested.
“I don’t think so,” Cassy said.
Boyce straightened, turning to her. Her intuition was uncanny, and that’s what made her a good investigator. She’d been right about The Priest being the one behind the suicides; regretfully, she hadn’t paid attention to protecting herself in the process.
“Why do you say that, Deputy Rivers?” he asked.
“It might have the hallmarks of a road-rage killing, but why drag him all the way out here? Why not shoot him in the truck and be done with it? And there had to be at least two to drag him to this spot. The signs back at the truck suggest Wallis had been trying to get away from them, and he was injured badly. He must have struggled, because they dropped him at one point.”
“Do you think he knew his killers?” Boyce asked.
Cassy tapped her chin with a gloved finger. “Hard to say, but it might explain why he was forced off the road. Nash spotted the dents in the bumper. Whoever did it didn’t have to hit him hard, especially with the road conditions as they are, but they certainly had to be driving experts in order not to follow him into the ditch and get stuck.”
“The way you’re talking, Deputy, you think this was an incident of a personal nature,” Hamilton said.
Cassy’s hooded gaze focused on Boyce. It was too dark to read what her eyes were saying, and out of courtesy, he didn’t flash his light in her face, but he could decipher her stance. By her rigid posture, he guessed she was onto something. Her brain was probably moving at the speed of light, and she was throwing suggestions at them to hear herself think.
“I’m thinking it was spontaneous and a thrill for whoever did this. And I don’t think it’s over.”
Chapter Three
Cassy’s pants were saturated and she was freezing by the time the victim’s body had been moved to the hospital. The crash scene had been cleared away, with the
mangled truck on its way to a garage until the Division of Criminal Investigation could process it for evidence. Hamilton sent her and Nash home, advising them to come back to the department that afternoon. This new development called for all hands on deck. Relieved to finally get out of the woods, Cassy wanted nothing more than to soak in a hot bath and sleep. Instead, she found herself wrestling her quarter-ton truck up the long drive leading to her sister and brother-in-law’s home.
She needed to decompress before going to her place. The only person aware of her fear of the woods was Nic, because her intuitive sister had been fighting her own battles with PTSD and could spot the signs of fear. Cassy could trust Nic to keep her mouth shut; after all, Nic had gone years holding on to her own dark secrets. And with Boyce in town, things were about to get real ugly, and Cassy would need all the backup she could get to avoid being lured into his snare. He was crafty and had never failed to ply her with his con-man skills. Skills, she’d learned, his mother had taught him well.
Parking off to the side of the freshly plowed driveway, she killed the engine and exited the cab. Con would need to leave at some point, and she wasn’t blocking him in.
She slogged through the snow, squinting in the early-morning light. Christmas decorations adorned the house, reminding her she had eleven shopping days left. It was surreal to see the O’Hanlon house decked out. Nic had forever loathed the holiday, a festering wound thanks to their father’s decided lack of interest in Nic and an MIA Christmas spirit. But since her marriage to Con and the birth of their son, Nic’s attitude toward holidays, or family ties, or everything in general, had mellowed.
Cassy paused on the step and fingered the garland wrapped around the post. This would be the first of many Christmases the family of Officer Ethan Wallis would suffer through with the memory of his brutal death. Crushing the fake garland in her fist, she sucked in great gulps of air, resisting the desire to tear the beauty from the post. Why should anyone be happy and festive when the hearts of Wallis’s family were being ripped out? Cassy pried her hand away from the garland, taking along a few pieces trapped on her glove. She couldn’t let the tragedy affect her. Not in front of her nephew on his first Christmas.
Light glowed through the kitchen window. Her sister was up.
Tapping on the door, Cassy stepped back to wait for someone to open it. Her nephew’s faint sounds of wonderment reached her before the door swung inward. Eight-month-old Liam, bundled in red, footed pajamas, squealed with excitement at the sight of Aunt Cassy and reached for her.
“Hey, booger-face.” She took him, buried her cold nose and mouth in his warm cheek, and gave him a raspberry. Liam giggled and squirmed.
“Why are you here?” Nic asked as Cassy entered the tiny foyer that opened into the kitchen. It was a far more pleasant greeting than she would have received two years ago. Nic had come a long way from her days of suffering through PTSD and bitter anger and turning away her family. Cassy was welcome in her home, and it felt good.
“I need to talk to you,” she said.
Liam fisted her damp braid and played with it.
“Give him here, and you get your wet things off.” Nic freed Cassy’s hair from her son’s hand and took him in her arms despite Liam’s protests.
Cassy gave him a pouty face, stopping the tears before they were shed. A tepid smile appeared on his lips and then he stuck the collar of Nic’s T-shirt into his mouth.
“Coffee’s hot,” Nic said as she walked away.
The thought of that hot brew warming her chilled bones nearly made Cassy moan. She shed her wet boots and coat and then removed her bulky duty belt, dropping it in a heap next to the space heater Nic kept near the door for Con’s wet things. Her coat she hung across two empty pegs on the coat rack.
“Do you want dry pants?” Nic asked.
The thought was tempting, but Cassy needed to go home. “I’ll suffer.” She followed her sister into the kitchen.
The comforting smells of coffee, buttered toast, and eggs enveloped her. Her stomach growled, and a chuckle from her sister made Cassy glare.
“I made enough for an army. Help yourself.” Nic set Liam in his high chair, buckling him in before handing him a sippy cup.
Cassy grabbed a plate from the cupboard and dished up breakfast.
“Nic, have you seen my wallet?” Con asked as he stepped into the kitchen. “I swear I put it on my dresser.” He was fully dressed in his uniform, minus the belt. “Oy, g’morning to you, Cassy.”
“Mornin’, Con.”
“Your wallet is probably in your pants from yesterday,” Nic said.
“Perhaps.” He frowned at Cassy. “Were you at the accident last night?”
She nodded, swallowing against the sudden tightness in her throat. Damn it, she had to keep it together in front of Liam.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
Con’s face turned solemn. As an Irishman, he’d always been the cheerful one, charming and downright annoying with his upbeat personality. Even with his job as a detective in the Eider Police Department, he still held on to his optimism.
“We’ll pull through,” he answered and squeezed her shoulder.
“You need to hurry up,” Nic said impatiently.
“Yes, my love.” He disappeared into their bedroom.
Cassy took her plate and mug of coffee and sat at the table next to Liam. The little guy was reaching for the spoon loaded with baby yogurt that Nic was trying to feed him. He was more interested in playing with his food than eating it.
“Found it,” Con called from the bedroom. His holler was answered with a bark from their retired military dog, Cadno.
“Are you okay?” Nic asked.
Cassy delayed answering by shoveling a forkful of eggs into her mouth. She wanted Con out of the house before she told her sister anything.
Nic scowled. It must have taken some self-urging on her part to even ask, since Nic had never been the sympathetic type. Cassy mentally applauded Con every time her sister took a baby step toward being a whole woman. Having Liam had done wonders for her sister’s nature, as well, making her more nurturing than she’d ever been before.
Con returned to the kitchen, this time prepared to leave for the department, with Cadno at his side. The German Shepherd stationed himself next to Nic, staring at Liam’s high chair—probably waiting for any stray food to come flying in his direction.
“I’m going.” Con bent down and kissed Nic, then kissed the top of Liam’s head. He gave Cassy a nod before heading out the door.
Once the sound of Con’s truck faded away, Nic pounced. “What happened, and what aren’t you telling me?”
Suddenly, the eggs looked too much like the consistency of blood oozing from Ethan Wallis’s bullet-riddled body. She shoved her plate away and dragged the mug closer. “How much do you want to know?”
“As much as you can tell me. All Con said was that someone from his department was killed last night.”
“Murdered, actually.”
Nic froze at her blunt statement, which gave Liam the perfect chance to snatch the spoon from his mother.
“I don’t know what Hamilton told the chief,” Cassy continued, “or if the chief held back information from Con until he gets to the station. Officer Wallis was off duty when it happened. From what we can tell, he’d been forced off the road then dragged into the woods, where he was shot to death.”
“Son of a bitch,” Nic muttered then slapped a hand over her mouth. Cleaning up her language around Liam was going to be like shoring up a busted dam with Band-Aids. “I liked Wallis.”
“We all did. There’s going to be a manhunt to try to find the SOBs who did this.”
“More than one person did it?”
“Had to have. Wallis was every bit over 230 pounds and built like a rock. Nash and I found at least two sets of tracks going into the woods.”
“You went into the woods?”
Cassy gulped more coffee. “I didn’t have a choice.”
“Did you have a panic attack or something? Dang, li’l sister, you must be getting better about it.”
“A man died in there. I had no choice unless I wanted Nash to figure out my secret. I don’t think I’m getting better, I think it made it worse.”
Nic bowed her head, shaking it. Liam chucked his spoon to the floor and squealed with glee when Cadno rushed to get it.
“There’s more,” Cassy said.
Nic looked at her with furrowed brows.
Cassy dragged in a breath and let it out slowly. “Boyce is back.”
A darkened expression passed over Nic’s face. She carried a stronger dislike for Boyce Hunt than Cassy did herself. Mostly because it was Boyce’s fault that Cassy had been kidnapped by The Priest and given this nasty scar on her cheek when Con killed the twisted maniac.
“What is Agent Asshole doing back here?”
“Don’t know yet. He showed up at the accident scene and didn’t give out too many details. Jennings told me Boyce came to the gas station robbery with an Agent Bartholomew, whom I’m guessing is Boyce’s old partner, Liza.”
“I thought he went back to Memphis?”
“So did I.” Cassy sipped her cooling coffee, staring at Liam as he smeared yogurt across his tray.
“Maybe he’s here because of the bank robbery yesterday.”
“Probably.”
Silence hung between them as they watched Liam enjoy himself. Cassy cherished these times with her sister more than she cared to admit. From the time she moved out of her parents’ home, through college and the police academy, then living on her own while she made her way through the ranks to detective, Cassy hadn’t liked the sense of being alone and not belonging. She missed her sister, she missed her parents, and when Boyce had walked into her life, Cassy found herself wanting to be with him every chance the job afforded. But the day he told her he was taking a transfer to Memphis, he was cold, distant, matter of fact, and then he was gone, taking her heart with him.
Cassy had embraced her loneliness until she was allowed back into Nic’s life. Moving here to Eider felt right. The residents of McIntire County had welcomed Cassy, which was ironic since they hadn’t been as warm toward Nic when she’d moved here years before. Then again, they were sisters with two very different personalities; Nic wasn’t the warm and cuddly type.
Born to Die Page 2