Mitch stood to the side of the property with Meg and Hans. It was Sunday morning, dawn, and the evidence response team was getting to work on a grisly project. It reminded the three of their shared past. Only, this was somehow worse.
They had already identified seventeen possible grave sites. They excavated the most recent: The girl, sixteen or so, had been dead only a couple days. She had dark hair and fair skin.
Like Claire.
“It’s come full circle, hasn’t it?” Meg whispered. “Our first case together.”
“Kosovo,” Hans and Mitch said simultaneously. Thirteen years had passed since their horrifying weeks in Kosovo unearthing mass graves to identify human remains after the brutal civil war tore apart Yugoslavia. It still haunted all three of them.
“What do I say to her?” Mitch asked quietly. They had been upstairs and had put together what Bruce Langstrom had done. The young girl’s room where evidence of a struggle told them Claire had been inside. The worn bear, her name on the door, the photo of a young Claire and her friend on the wall-it didn’t take a rocket scientist to surmise the room was a replica of Claire’s childhood room.
The blood in the hallway where he’d shot her in the leg to prevent her from escaping. Her cut clothes in the bathroom, which matched up with the marks on her body when Mitch found her.
But it was the disk playing in a loop in the bedroom that had Mitch and even the seasoned, unflappable Hans Vigo speechless.
That bastard had been watching her for years. Filming her in the privacy of her own bedroom. Mitch wanted to kill him again-with his bare hands-for putting Claire through hell. For forcing her to watch her most intimate and private moments. Why? Some sick mind game? To demoralize her?
“Tell her you love her,” Hans said.
“It’s not going to be that easy.”
“Nothing worth having is easy.”
“How is she going to live knowing that he-”
“She will because she’s a fighter,” Hans said.
“And,” Meg added, “she has you.”
Mitch watched their evidence response team bring up another body and lay it on a bright yellow tarp. How do they stop monsters like Langstrom? So many victims. Innocent. Maybe he was supposed to be a cop. But the rules that favored killers like Langstrom would always be stacked against them. He didn’t want to go back to a desk, more concerned with paperwork than criminals.
“I want the disk,” he said.
“I can’t-” Meg said.
“Just stop with the rules. I don’t care if it’s evidence. He’s dead! I have to protect Claire. If that gets out, it’ll destroy her.”
“I’ll do it,” Hans said.
“I can’t ask you to-”
“You didn’t. Trust me, Mitch. No one else will see it. Ever.”
Hans turned and walked toward the house.
“Go back to the hospital,” Meg said as they watched Hans enter Langstrom’s house. “You’ll want to be there when Claire wakes up.”
“You need me here,” Mitch said.
“Scram. Claire needs you more,” Meg said.
“Thanks.”
“By the way, a friend of mine called. He’d heard about you, might have a job you’re interested in.”
Mitch stared at her. “Am I fired?” Did he sound hopeful?
“No. I want you to stay. But-” Meg glanced down, then back at Mitch. “You’ve never been happy in the FBI. I saw it, but never addressed it, because I didn’t want to lose you from my team. You’re a great agent. But I want you to do something you really want to do, not what anyone else wants for you.”
“I guess you know me better than I thought.”
“You don’t have to take it. And your job is safe, if you want to stay. Just give this guy a call and listen to what he has to say.”
Mitch took the card Meg held out.
J. T. CARUSO
ROGAN-CARUSO PROTECTIVE SERVICES
“I’ll listen,” he said and walked to his car, leaving the dead, and the past, behind him.
Claire woke to soft voices. Her eyes opened halfway. She breathed as deeply as she could and smelled hospital.
She’d made it. Somehow, she got out of her grave and made it.
Memories of sound, voices, filtered in. Being buried with dirt. Screaming. Begging for her life. Then nothing but warmth. Being rocked. Someone holding her.
Don’t die on me. Don’t do it.
I need you.
I love you.
Mitch had been there. Claire had heard him, felt him.
“Mitch.” Her throat was thick and raw.
“Honey.”
It was her dad. She turned, saw Tom O’Brien sitting with Nelia Kincaid in her hospital room. He wore a bathrobe, but her dad was sitting up. Alive and well.
“Daddy?”
“You’re okay.” He took Claire’s hand.
Nelia said, “I’ll be right back.” She left.
“Oh, Daddy, I don’t know where to begin.”
He fed her water through a straw.
“You don’t have to say anything.”
“He killed Mom.”
“I know.”
“He was in my room. He took my bear. He-”
“Shh. Don’t.”
Claire breathed deeply. “How’d they find out?”
“Mitch and the FBI put the information together, and they gave Don Collier a deal for Langstrom’s name.”
“Langstrom?”
“Phil Palmer’s real name was Bruce Langstrom. He was an assassin, for lack of a better word. The FBI is going through countless records of Judge Drake, Richard Mancini, and Congressman Riordan. They’re putting together a conspiracy going back nearly three decades. Political corruption, illegal land deals. Murder.”
“Murder?”
“Seems they killed an old woman for her land. It’s what started this, at least for us. Frank Lowe ratted out Riordan to Chase Taverton as part of a plea agreement. Judge Drake found out about it and had them killed. It was just chance that Lydia was having an affair with Taverton. If not Lydia, it would have been some other woman who died, another husband or ex-boyfriend framed.”
Her dad held her hand.
“I’m so sorry,” she said.
“This isn’t your fault, or mine, or even your mother’s. Blame those selfish bastards. Be satisfied that their crimes are being exposed now that they’re dead.”
“The time we lost-”
“Honey, believe me, I could hate for a long time if I think about what I lost. That’s gone. I have you back, and that means more to me than anything in the world. I’ve regained my reputation. My innocence. My freedom. I can walk the streets again. And then there’s Nelia.”
His face softened and Claire squeezed his hand. “I’m glad you found someone who loves you.”
He nodded. “And I’m glad you found someone who loves you.”
“I-”
“Mitch told me everything last night after you were brought in.”
“Everything?”
“More or less. Honey, he’s a good man.”
“I know.” Her voice cracked. Mitch was more than just a good man. He was the love of her life.
The door opened and Mitch walked in. Nelia stood in the doorway. “Tom, you need to rest.”
“Yes, ma’am.” Tom leaned over and kissed Claire on the forehead. “Love you, Claire Beth.”
“Love you too, Daddy.”
Tom shuffled out arm in arm with Nelia.
Claire turned her head toward Mitch.
“You probably want to know what happened,” he said.
She nodded. “Yeah. I missed a lot.”
“Well, I guess I should start at the beginning.” He sat down where her father had been sitting. “Apparently, thirty years ago, Bruce Langstrom-”
“Did you go in the house?” she whispered.
Mitch nodded.
Claire closed her eyes, unable to squeeze back burning tears. She wanted to di
sappear, to run away where no one knew who she was. Soon everybody would know, everyone would see all her secrets exposed, watch her have sex. . oh, dear God, the Internet. It would be everywhere. .
“Claire, don’t do this to yourself.”
“How can I face my dad? Everyone I work with, my friends, Dave and Bill-”
“It’s gone. Destroyed. No one is going to see it. No one is going to talk about it.”
“But it’s evidence-”
“No it’s not.”
Claire looked at Mitch, saw that he spoke the truth. Her lips trembled. “I-Thank you.”
“Don’t do that. God, Claire, when I saw you in that grave, my life was over. I couldn’t imagine not being given another chance to explain why I lied, to ask for your forgiveness, to tell you I love you. To ask for time to prove it.”
She put her fingers to his lips. “I’m sorry, Mitch. I’m so sorry.”
“Sorry? Sorry for what? I’m sorry I couldn’t protect you. I’m sorry he hurt you. I would do anything to turn back time and stop it from happening.” Mitch reached out for Claire, hesitated.
She took his hand and squeezed it.
“I was so mad and hurt when I found out the truth about you,” she said.
“I know, and-”
“Let me finish, okay? I was hurt because I thought I had fallen in love with a lie, with someone who didn’t exist. But it’s you. Writer or damn FBI agent, it’s still you. I love you, Mitch.”
He let out a long breath, touched his head to hers. “I’ve been so worried. I need you, Claire. You showed me how lonely I was. How jaded. How miserable. When I’m with you, I see myself in a whole different light. I’ve been moving from job to job in the FBI-from Atlanta to Washington to Texas to Sacramento-never settling down, never happy, until I met you. I love you so much.”
He kissed her lightly.
She sighed. “Aren’t we a pair? I’d never have thought I could fall head over heels for someone like you, but now that I have, I couldn’t imagine loving anyone else.”
He smiled, touched her face.
“Can you do me a favor?”
“Anything.”
“Can you check on my dogs and Neelix? They haven’t eaten. They’re probably-”
“I’ve already done it. I went by last night, and decided to stay. They missed you, I think.”
She smiled. “They like you. They’re good judges of character.”
“I had a job offer.”
“What kind of job?”
“Something that challenges me, that speaks to my sense of justice and fair play.”
“Tell me.”
“J. T. Caruso offered me a position at Rogan-Caruso.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“You’re okay with us working together?”
She nodded. “Absolutely. We’d make a good team.”
“I agree. I won’t lie to you again, Claire. Just promise me you’ll trust me once more. I won’t let you down.”
“I trust you. No secrets, Mitch. You and me, no matter what, no secrets between us.”
“I promise.” He kissed her. “You won’t regret loving me.”
FB2 document info
Document ID: fbd-577eb4-8da6-a342-ce81-12ff-511d-8a784c
Document version: 1
Document creation date: 10.11.2012
Created using: calibre 0.9.5, Fiction Book Designer, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6.6 software
Document authors :
Allison Brennan
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Playing Dead pb-3 Page 37