by LENA DIAZ,
The tightening around his eyes told her she’d said too much. She belatedly realized she’d just thrown her fellow agents under the proverbial armored car by admitting they knew she’d been working on the letters case—and hadn’t told him.
He crossed his arms over the back of his chair. “Wasting other agents’ time on this isn’t what I had in mind. I’m going to call a consultant, a local private investigator who specializes in working with law enforcement to solve cold cases. Then I want you to meet with him and explain the details of the case. Get him to agree to work on it with you. His name is Matt Buchanan.”
She blinked and tried to form words several times before they finally came out. “Pierce’s baby brother? You have to be kidding. He’s, what, sixteen, seventeen?”
Her boss’s knuckles whitened from clutching the back of the chair so hard.
Tessa immediately regretted her outburst, but her shock had driven all caution from her brain.
“I think he’s twenty-four, not that it matters,” Casey finally responded. “He’s a brilliant investigator who’s worked with several other agents in this office quite successfully. He holds master’s degrees in both criminology and advanced mathematics with a minor in computer science. More importantly, in only three years he’s helped close over thirty cold cases for seven different law-enforcement agencies, including ours. His solve ratio is eighty-five percent. What’s the solve ratio for our cold-case unit?”
“More like twenty percent,” she grudgingly admitted.
“Exactly.”
He waited, as if he expected her to thank him and tell him how excited she was to work with a child. She’d had to put up with Matt’s arrogant interference when he was still a college student, while Tessa was investigating Madison McKinley’s abduction three years ago—the same Madison who eventually married Pierce. Tolerating Matt because he was Pierce’s brother was one thing. But if Tessa was forced to actively work with him on an investigation, every day, for a solid week, she might as well go to jail right now.
Because she’d probably kill him.
Casey rapped one of his fists on the table. “Look, I know you have a problem with Matt, so I won’t force you to work with him.”
She cleared her throat, uncomfortable that her dislike of the man was so obvious. But she wasn’t going to deny it either.
“It’s your decision,” Casey said. “But Buchanan is part of the deal. Work with him to develop that lead by day seven. If you’re successful, this becomes an active investigation with my full support. No lead, the case is dead, and if I catch you even thinking about those letters again, your career is over.”
Chapter Two
* * *
TESSA WAS STILL smarting from Casey’s ultimatum. And as she carefully picked her way through the side yard of Madison Buchanan’s house on East Gaston Street, she was also regretting that she hadn’t gone directly home after work to change out of her heels.
She glanced around the property. Tall oak trees dotted the large double lot. Spanish moss dripped down toward the ground. But instead of the traditional southern landscaping giving a welcoming feel, all Tessa could sense was an oppressive malevolence, as if a killer was waiting behind one of those trees, ready to jump out at her.
She shook her head at her fanciful thoughts. She’d worked dozens of murder scenes through the years. That should have made her immune to their effects. But for some reason, knowing two bodies had been found buried behind Pierce and Madison’s enormous Victorian the last time she was here, she couldn’t shake the feeling of foreboding that swept over her.
Today, just like that day nearly three years ago, there were several white Buchanan & Buchanan Construction trucks out front, each with their bright red B&B lettering on the side. Hammers pounded, electric saws whined, telling her where the workers were—in the backyard, right where the bodies had once been discovered. She shivered, even though the bright summer sun gave her no reason to feel chilled.
“Tessa, hi!”
She turned to see a very pregnant Madison Buchanan, hurrying up the side yard from the front of the house. Tessa waited, not particularly thrilled to have to speak to Madison. It was a tad difficult to be friendly with a woman she’d once accused of staging her own abduction, let alone a woman who’d ended up marrying the man Tessa had hoped to build a future with herself.
Madison wobbled to a halt, resting one hand on her protruding belly, the other on her back, as if it pained her. She gave Tessa a warm, welcoming smile, making Tessa feel guilty for her resentment.
“How are you feeling these days, Madison?”
“Fat and cranky. And bored. I can’t wait until the baby comes. Pierce will hardly let me out of his sight, not even to check on how the playroom construction is going. He worries about every little thing.” She looked past Tessa and groaned. “Speak of the devil, here he comes. He’ll probably order me back inside to rest.”
Tessa turned to see Pierce striding toward them from the backyard, still wearing the dark blue suit and white dress shirt he’d worn to the office. He must have gone around back to check on the construction as soon as he got home. He hadn’t even bothered to remove his tie yet.
The sound of hammering continued, along with a beeping noise from some of the equipment. From Tessa’s angle in the side yard, all she could see was a small group of men at the corner of the house, holding up a wall of two-by-fours, nailing it in place.
Pierce shook Tessa’s hand in greeting. “Is something wrong?” He put his arm around Madison’s shoulders and tucked her against his side. “Does Casey need me back at the office?”
“Oh, no, nothing like that. Actually, I’m not here to see you. Casey asked Matt to consider consulting on a case I’m working. I found out he was here helping out, so I stopped by to set up a meeting.”
“The letters?” Pierce asked.
Tessa nodded.
“What letters?” Madison asked, her tone curious.
“Shouldn’t you be inside resting?” Pierce frowned down at her.
“See, I told you.” Madison shot an irritated look at Tessa. “He fusses over me all the time. He’s become an old woman.”
“Someone has to make sure you take care of yourself,” he said. “If it were up to you, you’d be right in the middle of the construction, telling everyone what to do and getting in the way. Go on inside. I’ll catch up after I take Tessa to see Matt.”
Madison grumbled something beneath her breath, but Tessa didn’t think the woman really minded her husband’s protectiveness. Her eyes had lit with happiness from the moment he’d headed toward her. And when he put his arm around her shoulders, she positively glowed.
He gave her a quick kiss, then gave her a gentle push toward the front of the house. She gave them both a wave and waddled off.
“I’m surprised she gave in so easily.” Tessa walked beside Pierce toward the backyard.
“Trust me. She only gave in because she really is tired. She’s due in a couple of weeks and totally worn out most of the time.” He gave her a look out of the corner of his eye. “You sure everything’s okay back at work? Something’s bothering you.”
As usual, he was annoyingly perceptive.
“Everything’s fine.”
“Everything except that Casey asked you to work with Matt, and you’d rather do anything but work with him?”
Wonderful. Did everyone know how she felt about Matt?
They stopped by the fence at the rear of the property, well away from all the construction activity. She kept her back to the men working on the walls. She’d just as soon put off seeing Matt until absolutely necessary.
Pierce was still patiently waiting for her answer.
“Is it really that obvious?” she asked.
“To me, yes. And Casey, only because he was involved in the Simon Says Die investigation with us and saw how you and Matt interacted.”
She winced. “Sorry. I’m sure he’s a great brother and an all-around nice guy. There’s
just something about him that . . .”
“Irritates you?”
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Understandable.”
Her gaze shot to his. “It is?”
“Sure. When you met him, you were investigating the case of Madison’s stalker, and you had strong beliefs about the evidence that didn’t go in her favor. Then Matt comes in, basically just a college student to you—even though he’s got a genius-level IQ—and he second-guesses your conclusions. I can see where he would have seemed cocky and arrogant. If you’re worried that it bothers me that you and my brother are on less than friendly terms, don’t. I’m not offended in the least.” He grinned. “And it’s okay that you don’t like my wife either. She’s an acquired taste. All that matters is that I like her. And I happen to like her very much.”
Her face flushed hot, but she was saved from replying when he waved at someone behind her, motioning them over.
“Matt’s on his way. I’ll leave you two to discuss the case in private.”
“Okay, thanks.”
He strode back toward the front yard, obviously eager to get back to his wife.
Tessa’s visit to the Buchanan household had already proven as awkward as she’d expected. Now she had one more Buchanan to deal with before she could go home to her apartment. Why couldn’t the private investigator in the Buchanan family be Austin, Matt’s twin? Austin might be a smart-ass, but he had a wicked sense of humor and she got along with him just fine. After all, he’d never second-guessed her investigative skills in front of anyone else like Matt had. She squared her shoulders and turned around.
The sight of Matt Buchanan striding toward her, his sweat-slicked, golden chest naked to her gaze, sucked the air right out of her lungs. She grabbed the fence for support and focused on drawing a normal breath. When had he gotten so tall? And where had all those muscles come from?
He stopped in front of her, far too close, forcing her to crane her neck back to look him in the eyes—his very blue eyes, she noted—then cursed herself for noticing.
He quirked a dark brow. “You okay? You look flushed.”
Wonderful.
She forced herself to stand straight without clinging to the fence like a teenager in lust with the high-school quarterback. This was ridiculous. She was at least six years older than him. She shouldn’t notice how drool-worthy he’d suddenly become.
“What is it out here today, ninety degrees or something?” She fanned her warm cheeks, hoping he wouldn’t realize she was wearing a cool, linen suit. And of course, with a skirt on instead of pants, she really didn’t have a reason to be hot, but it was all she could think of to explain her blush.
Both brows rose this time. “I’m pretty sure it’s closer to eighty today, but I suppose . . . in a suit . . .” He shrugged and leaned against the fence, crossing his arms. That action made his biceps bulge under a perfect tan she totally envied. Her red hair had come with a milk-white complexion that tended to burn and freckle instead of turning golden like his.
She crossed her own arms, mimicking his pose. “If you want to grab a shirt, I can wait.” Maybe if he covered all that tantalizing skin she could focus on something other than the way his jean shorts hung low on his lean hips. The man was buff with a capital B, his abdominal muscles forming a mouthwatering vee that drew her gaze down in spite of her wishes. She swallowed, hard, and forced her gaze up to meet his.
“It doesn’t bother me, if it doesn’t bother you.” He gave her a knowing look.
Her fingers suddenly twitched with the urge to wrap around his throat and squeeze.
“Do your teachers know you’re ditching class today, Matthew?” She batted her lashes and put all the honeyed sweetness she could manage into her voice.
He stared at her for a long moment. As if coming to some kind of decision, he straightened away from the fence and hooked his thumbs in the belt loops on his shorts.
“I graduated college three years ago, Special Agent James, but you already know that. And I prefer Matt, not Matthew. But you know that too. I’m here today helping out the family business because they were a man short. But when I’m not here, I’m running my own successful business. I don’t have any teachers to report to.”
Score one for Matt.
Her boss didn’t realize Matt had asked her out—several times, right after the Simon Says Die investigation was closed—and that she’d given him quite a set down the last time, letting him know in explicit terms that she had no interest in dating a “boy.”
He’d never asked her out again, and she couldn’t think of a single reason why he’d want to work with her after the way she’d treated him. As soon as he realized that she was the agent he’d be working with on the assignment Casey had called him about, he would probably flatly decline to help. Which meant she needed to suck it up, hide her dislike of him, and somehow convince him to take the case anyway.
She reminded herself that she was here to stop a killer and save lives. Her personal likes or dislikes had no place in this conversation. She reached into her suit jacket pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper.
“Casey wanted me to show you this and give you some background on the letters case he mentioned on the phone. This is a copy of the first letter we received.”
He took the sheet of paper and studied it.
“The letter came through regular mail about three years ago,” she continued. “It was addressed specifically to the FBI office here in Savannah.”
“How many letters have there been total?”
“Twenty-three. The last one came about a month ago. I’ve searched every law-enforcement database I know of to see if any of the names on the letters match cases for either a missing person or a murder. Nothing panned out.”
“Looks like a printer was used, rather than an old-fashioned typewriter. But it’s hard to tell what type of printer, since this is a copy. Laser? Ink-jet?”
“Laser. I examined the metadata hidden in each page to determine the printer’s manufacturer. I figured out which superstore the printer was shipped to and confirmed it was purchased over five years ago in Columbus, Ohio. But the store doesn’t have detailed customer purchase records going back that far, and of course no surveillance footage that old either.”
He nodded, not looking surprised. “Postmarks?”
“From all over the South—Florida, Alabama, four in Georgia, three in Tennessee, a couple from the Carolinas. Only two were mailed from the same zip code, Miami, Florida, but they were mailed from different post offices.”
“He’s careful.”
“Very.”
“Fingerprints?”
“Latent partials on several of the letters, but none of them provided enough detail for a comparison.”
He handed the copy of the letter back to her.
“Casey’s convinced the letters are a hoax,” she said.
“And you aren’t?”
She shook her head and tucked the paper away. “I believe we have an extremely prolific serial killer on our hands. Casey gave me seven days, starting tomorrow, to prove the case is worth pursuing. But since our own cold-case unit couldn’t develop any leads, he called you. I’d be the lead on the investigation. You’d have to work for me, follow my instructions.”
His mouth quirked up in a half grin. “Are you trying to scare me away or make me want to help you? It’s hard to tell.”
She clenched her hands beside her. “We would sincerely appreciate your help on the case.” The words felt as if they’d been wrenched from her.
From the way Matt’s eyes widened, she didn’t guess she’d fooled him about her lack of enthusiasm for working with him.
She reminded herself again how critical it was to get his help. Without him, she’d have to drop the investigation or lose her job. Casey had been crystal clear on that point.
“Please,” she added, forcing a smile.
He extracted a white business card from his wallet. “That’s my address. I wo
rk out of my home office most of the time. Be there at eight tomorrow morning, and bring the other letters. All of them, including the envelopes. Originals if possible, but I understand if you can only bring copies.”
He turned away, but Tessa grabbed his arm, stopping him. “Wait, you’re taking the case?”
He looked at her over his shoulder. “Of course.”
She dropped her hand, confused and irritated by the pleasant feelings that had shot through her when she’d touched his skin.
Why would he agree to take the case when he knew she could barely stand to be around him?
When he fully turned around to face her again, she realized she’d spoken that last thought out loud.
Wonderful.
He leaned down, close enough that she could see the blue-green flecks around his pupils and smell the tantalizing masculine scent of aftershave and deodorant rising from his overheated body.
She had to force herself not to step back. That would make her look weak. Or worse, it might clue him in that what she really wanted to do was step closer. She wanted to slide her fingers over the thick muscles of his chest, up, higher, around his neck to play with the ends of his dark, slightly damp hair.
She dug her nails into her palms, using the pain to take her mind off her ridiculous, unwelcome, and totally unexpected fascination with Matt Buchanan.
“I was actually going to say no when you first showed me that letter,” he said. “I’m slammed with work right now, and it sounds like you’ve already done the kind of legwork I would recommend. There isn’t anything obvious I can point to that you should have done but didn’t. Which means this is going to be a damned difficult case.”
“But . . . then . . . wh . . . why?” Ugh. She couldn’t concentrate with him standing so close. In spite of her earlier resolve, she took a step back, then another. “Why did you change your mind?”
His lips curved in a grin, as if he knew exactly why she’d moved back. “I changed my mind,” he closed the distance between them again and leaned down, his lips dangerously close to her ear, “because you don’t want me to take the case.”