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For my son, Grayson, who teaches me something new every day about living a life full of courage and joy
Acknowledgments
I would like to express my heartfelt thanks to everyone who helped to make Buried happen. While writing is a solitary endeavor, publishing a book takes a team, and there is no way Buried would exist without the help and support of all these people.
Thank you to my agent and goddess of calm, Amy Tannenbaum. I am so grateful for her expert guidance and advice. Thanks also to Danielle Sickles and Meg Ruley. All of the people at the Jane Rotrosen Agency are both kick-ass and kind and I appreciate everything they do.
I’m also immensely grateful for my incomparable editor, Leslie Gelbman, who wields her experience and vision with kindness and humor. Thanks also to Hector DeJean, Joe Brosnan, Allison Ziegler, Paul Hochman, Tiffany Shelton, and Kelley Ragland. Everyone at St. Martin’s is a dynamo and I feel so lucky to have such an amazing team working on the Sayer series with me.
Endless thanks to Megan Coen for our long brainstorming lunches. I get to hammer out most of my best ideas talking to her, and she helps make everything so much creepier!
A special thank-you to my neighbors, Theresa Iantosca, who is the best beta reader and first editor out there, and to David Head for all of his encouragement.
Thank you also to Sarah Madwell, child-wrangler extraordinaire and social media consultant for when I can’t figure out how to work that new-fangled Instagram.
Much appreciation to all the experts I spoke with, including Anna Cordova, Michael Stowe, and Amiee Placas; thank you for lending me your time and expertise!
Thank you to my sensitivity readers, who wish to remain anonymous. And I raise a glass to the entire Curbside Crew, the best neighbors in the world, who regularly let me to talk to them about serial killers.
I would like to acknowledge the incredible people who volunteer to be bone marrow donors. Organizations like Be the Match are out there helping people connect with life-saving donors every day.
Finally, thank you to my family for their endless faith in me. To my parents, Bob and Judy, who taught me to be fearless while pursuing my dreams. To my sister, Shelley, and her family, Pat, Thomas, and Rowan, for being my biggest cheerleaders. To my son, Grayson, who is always so proud of my accomplishments.
And, as always, eternal thanks to Sean, my partner and best friend. His unyielding belief in me and my writing makes all the difference.
TURK GAP TRAIL, SHENANDOAH NATIONAL PARK, VA
Maxwell Cho enjoyed the hushed stillness of the Shenandoah Mountains. Even his wolfish dog, Kona, sensed the need to rein in her boundless energy as she walked quietly by his side. Max took a deep breath and leaned back to stare up at the thick canopy of copper and gold foliage in the cool morning sun.
“I think we’ve reached peak autumn, girl.” The off-duty FBI agent spoke softly, not wanting to break the spell. He’d been waiting months for a day off and could practically feel the stress melting away. He loved living in the vibrant grittiness of Washington, D.C., but he sure as hell missed the mountains sometimes.
Max was about to continue along the steep trail when Kona froze. She stood at full attention, nose working furiously in the air.
He froze as well. He knew damn well enough to trust his dog. Plus, there’d been a few bear sightings nearby.
“What is it, Kona?”
He scanned the rocky bluff rising above the treetops to the north. Along the thick woods to the east.
Nothing.
But then Kona barked. Not the deep ruff she was trained to use when they were on a live search, this was the sharp bark, tail straight out behind her, that she used when she scented a dead body.
Her human-cadaver alert.
“We’re not working. Let’s keep moving.” He waved the dog onward, but Kona alerted again, refusing to budge. As an FBI Human Remains Detection K9 Team, Max and Kona specialized in finding lost people, dead or alive. And she seemed firmly convinced that they were suddenly on duty.
Max stopped and sighed. So much for a late lunch with his mom after a long hike in the mountains. She was probably already cooking a banquet just for him and there would be hell to pay if he had to cancel.
“You really smell something?”
Kona barked again and then did something Max had never seen in their four years working together—she whimpered.
Apprehension tickled the nape of his neck.
“Hold up. Let me call this in before we go off on some wild-goose chase.”
Max pulled out his phone and dialed.
“Shenandoah National Park, how can I direct your call?” a woman asked with a deep Southern twang.
Max recognized the voice and paused for a long moment, rethinking his strategy. He knew practically everyone in the area, having grown up in Rockfish Gap, not twenty miles south of where he was. When he’d come back from Iraq, there was a damn good reason he joined the FBI rather than the local police force. But he couldn’t let old wounds get in the way of doing his job.
“Piper, it’s Max Cho.”
“Max! So great to hear your voice. How’ve you been? You in town visiting your mom?”
“Yeah, I was planning to see her later today, but I’m actually calling to report something. I’m up here hiking near Turk Mountain and my Human Remains Detection dog just alerted.”
“Aw, hell. Like one of those dogs that can smell dead people? You think there’s a body up there?”
“Could be. I’ve never seen her false-alert, and something’s definitely got her spooked. You have any missing folks in the area?”
Max held his hand up flat, signaling Kona to hold. She danced in place, desperate to hunt down whatever it was that she smelled.
“No one right now,” the park ranger said.
“Okay. I’ll let my dog search it out and will let you know if we find anything.”
“You want me to send a ranger out to help?”
Max watched Kona. She stood rigid, so focused on the scent she could barely hold her body still. “Nah, my dog’s about to come out of her skin, so I’m betting whatever it is, is close. Let me find it first so we know exactly what we’ve got here.”
As Max spoke, Kona’s hackles rose. Every alarm in Max’s body went off.
“Well, why don’t you at least tell me where you are so I can let someone know that they’ll need to head your way soon?”
Max read his coordinates from his phone and said softly, “I’ll call you when I find it.”
“You be careful out there in the big bad woods,” the park ranger gently teased.
Max clicked off and jumped slightly when Kona alerted again. He wondered when he’d lost the bravado of youth. Hell, he used to jump out of helicopters behind enemy lines. Here he was now, spooked by the thought of a dead body somewhere out here in the Virginia woods.
“Kona, go find!” He gave the sign, flinging his hand outward.
With a bark of excitem
ent, Kona shot off like a black comet.
In search mode, she made sweeping arcs back and forth, using the scent cone wafting on the air to guide her. Kona led Max up a steep incline, through a field of oat grass, and into a stand of maple trees. The sun moved higher, bringing a welcome bit of warmth to the crisp fall air. The scent of dew-damp soil filled Max’s nose as they moved farther and farther from the trail.
Kona’s arcs began to narrow, a sure sign they were nearing their target.
They climbed a rocky bluff and emerged at the top of an overlook with a view of the entire river valley. Max slowed to take in the sight of the lazy Shenandoah River meandering among the rolling mountains blanketed in fiery red and orange.
Up ahead, Kona growled. Then, without warning, she took off at full speed, careening down into the woods below.
Max sprinted to keep up. The foliage grew thicker as they dropped in elevation. Branches whipped his face while he blindly crashed through the underbrush.
“Hey!” he called. “Kona, stop!”
For the first time ever, Kona ignored his command.
Something was seriously wrong.
Unable to see her, Max frantically chased the sound of his hundred-pound dog hurtling through the woods like she was on the devil’s tail. He broke through the foliage into a clearing halfway down the mountain, where Kona ran in circles, alerting over and over. Max had never seen her act this way.
High trees shaded a large rocky area gently sloping down toward a drop-off. He moved slowly, scanning the ground for any sign of what had Kona so agitated.
“Go find!” he commanded, hoping she could narrow down her search.
Kona whimpered and sat, confused. A working dog to the core, Kona was upset that she couldn’t pinpoint the location of whatever she smelled.
Max carefully made his way across the craggy clearing until he stood next to Kona, who sat on a small boulder. No sign of anything other than rocks and a few patches of low grass. Nowhere to hide a body.
“What on earth? This your first false alarm, girl?” He reached out to give her an encouraging scratch.
As he leaned forward, the ground shifted.
Though it had been years, his old training kicked in and he dove to the side. But it was too late.
In a torrent of soil and stone, the ground gave way beneath him.
Limbs flailing, Max fell into the darkness below.
He torqued his legs around just in time to slam down onto his feet. He grunted in pain, knees buckling as they took the brunt of the impact.
Max covered his head and waited as loose dirt and crumbled rock rained down on him. Far above, Kona frantically barked at the sudden disappearance of her human.
When the cascade stopped, Max called up, “I’m okay, Kona. Everything’s okay.”
The sound of his voice calmed the dog a little and she shifted to a steady whine. Max stood, wiping a layer of grit from his face, and tried to figure out where the hell he was. As his eyes adjusted in the dim light, he could just make out a small cavern. The round chamber was no larger than his bedroom, and the only visible opening was a long horizontal slit along the opposite wall. The hole he fell through was a good twenty feet directly above him, too far to climb.
“Looks like I just fell in a damned sinkhole,” he said to no one in particular. He pulled out his phone, but no signal. “Hey, Kona,” he said in a calming voice. “I’m going to try to find another way out.” He squinted toward the low crack in the far wall of the cavern. He would have to lie down and scoot sideways up the narrow slot, but he thought he could see faint light filtering from the other side.
Kona still paced back and forth above him and Max worried she would jump. “You stay, Kona. Stay.”
The dog huffed with disapproval but plopped down on the rim of the opening to stare down.
Max took a step forward and heard a brittle snap underfoot. For the first time, he looked down at the ground.
A flash of pale bone jutted up among the recent rockfall. Holding his breath, he crouched down to get a better look. Under the thin layer of dirt from the cave-in, bones littered the cavern floor.
“Please don’t let this be a bear den,” he mumbled to himself, mouth dry. But there was no smell of recent animal activity. As he scanned the bones, the hair on his neck stood up just like Kona’s hackles. He lifted a rounded bone resting against his foot and turned it until he stared into the empty eye sockets of a human skull.
Stomach clenching, he picked up a long bone. Definitely human.
“Well, you sure did find us a cadaver, didn’t you, Kona?” Max whispered.
With steady hands he moved aside more dirt, revealing two more human skulls and at least three more limb bones, rib bones, a clavicle. Though their flesh was long gone, Max could make out a few rotting scraps of tattered red and gold cloth.
For a brief second he feared that there was no other way out and he was about to die here.
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he said to himself. “Piper knows you’re out here. She’ll send someone to come find you when you don’t check in.”
The sound of his voice reined in the irrational spike of fear.
Max ran through his training—take a calm breath, assess the situation, take action.
He turned on his phone’s flashlight and roved it in a wide circle. In the bright light, the jumble of bones scattered across the ground cast sharp shadows that danced along the cavern floor.
He tried to take a delicate step forward, but another bone snapped beneath his foot like a dry twig. Max swallowed and fought the chill gripping his chest.
These were definitely not lost hikers or victims of a bear mauling. Someone had murdered all of these people. Unwilling to disturb the crime scene further, he pressed his mouth into a thin line. A park ranger would be here soon and Kona would know to alert when they got close. He would be found soon enough.
“Settle, girl,” he called up to Kona again. “We might be here awhile.”
Kona let out a short bark, acknowledging his command.
Surrounded by the dead, Maxwell Cho crouched down to wait.
SAYER ALTAIR’S TOWN HOUSE, ALEXANDRIA, VA
FBI neuroscientist Sayer Altair woke with a start, chest constricting. The sensation of being shot sent a wave of panic through her and she reached for the gun on her bedside table.
Instead of wrapping around metal, her hand connected with something cold and wet.
She startled fully awake to the sight of her gangly three-legged dog sitting on top of her, wet nose nuzzling her for a scratch.
“Dammit, Vesper, I was trying to sleep in for a few more minutes.”
The silvery beast completely ignored her, nudging her hand again, tongue lolling out with a goofy smile.
She felt a flash of annoyance, heart still pounding from the nightmare, but it was impossible to stay angry in the face of such pure silliness.
“All right, all right, you spoiled beast. What’re you going to do when I go back to the field?”
In a few days she would finally be allowed back on field duty after six long months stuck behind a desk. Vesper had definitely gotten used to her being on a schedule.
At the sound of her happy voice, he flopped over onto his back and Sayer playfully rubbed his belly.
The bullet wound on her left shoulder no longer screamed with pain every time she moved her arm. Even with the wriggling dog on her lap, the scar felt like nothing more than a dull pull deep in her shoulder.
After getting over the initial shock and pain of being shot, Sayer had actually relished the downtime to work on her research. As a neurobiologist with the FBI’s National Center for the Analysis of Violent Crime, she studied serial killers’ brains. While completing her mandatory psych evals and endless physical therapy, Sayer had taken the chance to conclude her latest project and write up reports so she could start on the next phase of her research—interviews with and brain scans of noncriminal psychopaths. She wanted to figure out why some psyc
hopaths became surgeons or lawyers, while others became serial killers.
During her downtime she had also tried to look into the mysterious death of her fiancé, Jake, but that hit a brick wall. All she knew was that he’d been killed in the line of duty, and that the official FBI story was a lie.
Despite excitement about the next step in her research, Sayer had missed being out with her unit heading up serial-killer investigations.
“Sayer, you up?” Adi called from the living room. Sayer started at her voice. Even though it had been a few months since Sayer had taken in the eighteen-year-old, she still sometimes forgot that she had someone living with her. “You’re on TV again,” Adi said with clear amusement.
“Dammit.” Sayer extracted herself from underneath Vesper, pushed aside the stack of files about Jake’s death, and stumbled out to the living room.
Adi Stephanopolis lay sprawled on the futon couch, twirling a fading pink curl with one hand, coffee balanced in the other. She had a massive textbook on her lap. Her lidded brown eyes hid what Sayer knew was a tempest of teenage emotions.
On the television a perky blond reporter flashed perfect white teeth. “FBI Agent Sayer Altair might have uncovered the corruption at the FBI, but I’m not so sure she’s one of the good guys.”
A lantern-jawed human suit next to her nodded vigorously. “I agree, Bethany. Is Agent Altair a hero, or is she emblematic of the very culture of corruption that she exposed?”
Sayer stalked over and slammed off the TV.
“Hey!” Adi half sat up.
“Enough of that.”
“But they were about to talk about you punching that reporter a million years ago.” Adi gave Sayer a teasing half smile.
Adi didn’t take any of their questions seriously because she knew better than anyone what Sayer had been through. And she knew that Sayer had almost died saving her life.
Six months ago, Sayer had uncovered a prolific serial killer inside the FBI. A murderer who had kidnapped Adi and shot both Sayer and her dog. Now Congress was organizing hearings and seeking scapegoats. After finding a killer in their midst, the entire FBI was being dragged through the mud and half of Quantico was shut down as an independent investigator combed through hundreds of their past cases.
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