Under the Agent's Protection

by Jennifer D. Bokal

  * * *

  Back in Pleasant Pines, Everly stood on the sidewalk in front of a restaurant. The wind was turning the snow into projectiles that left the skin on her face raw. The lump at the back of her head thumped with each beat of her heart. “Pie?” she said, echoing Wyatt’s last word.

  “Yeah, pie. Flaky crust. Filling of choice.”

  A lock of hair blew across her face and she pulled it away. “Why pie?”

  Wyatt lifted one shoulder and let it drop. “I like pie,” he said. “It’s like a ritual. Helps me think.” Pulling open the glass door, he gestured for her to enter. “Come on. Let’s get out of the cold.”

  Everly stepped into Sally’s on Main. Half a dozen booths lined the wall by the door. Opposite was a counter with stools and in between sat several small tables. Aside from another couple in the back booth and a woman behind the counter, the restaurant was empty.

  Wyatt slid into a booth halfway back and Everly took the opposite seat. The woman from behind the counter approached with a pen and order pad in hand.

  “Hey, sugar,” the older woman said to Wyatt. “What can I get for you?”

  “Got some apple pie, Sally?”

  “Sure do,” she said. “You want that warmed and served with ice cream?”

  “Is there any other way?” asked Wyatt. “And a cup of coffee.”

  Sally turned to Everly. “What about you, hon?”

  “I’d love some apple pie, thanks.”

  The couple from the back of the restaurant stood and walked forward. The man, tall with a shaved head, nodded a greeting at Everly, then glanced at Wyatt and stopped abruptly. “Wyatt? Wyatt Thornton? I haven’t seen you in forever.”

  “Marcus?” Wyatt got to his feet and shook the other man’s hand. “Marcus Jones, it’s great to see you. What’re you doing in Pleasant Pines?”

  “I’m grabbing a late lunch with my friend Chloe Ryder. She’s the local district attorney.” He whistled through his teeth. “I honestly never thought I’d see you again. You disappeared after leaving the Bureau. What are you doing with yourself these days?”

  “I live in Pleasant Pines.”

  “Well, it’s great to see you. Wyatt, this is Chloe. Chloe, Wyatt.”

  Chloe, a tall brunette with a fringe of bangs, took Wyatt’s hand. “It’s a pleasure,” she said with a smile.

  “Nice to meet you, Chloe,” Wyatt said. “Ah, this is Everly Baker.” He paused, and she wondered how he was going to explain her to the duo. “She’s from Chicago.”

  Pleasantries were exchanged and then Wyatt asked, “How’s work? Are you still the special agent in charge in the Denver office?”

  “I left the Bureau, if you can believe that.”

  “Been there, done that, have the T-shirt.”

  Marcus laughed. “Anyway, I joined a private security group out of Denver and we’ve opened an office in Wyoming. What about you? Where are you working now?”

  “Me?” Wyatt shook his head. “I quit altogether after what happened in Las Vegas. A quiet life suits me just fine.”

  “Maybe you should stop by. You could be a great asset to the team.”

  “I’m not much into being a team player anymore,” said Wyatt.

  “You never know. Private security might suit you better than a quiet life.”

  “Private security,” Wyatt repeated. “What does that mean? Are you a private investigator? Do you find cheating spouses?”

  “We are so much more than that.” He took a pad of paper and a pen from his coat pocket and scribbled for a moment. “That’s my cell number. Call and I’ll give you the tour—tell you a few war stories. Hell, some of them might even be true.”

  “I’m not interested in work, but thanks.” Wyatt waved away the offered paper.

  “Take it,” said Marcus. “You never know when you might need a friend.”

  Wyatt folded the sheet of paper placing it in his back pocket.

  “Anyway,” said Marcus, “Chloe has to get back to work, and I’ll let you two get back to your date.”

  Date. The one word hung in the air, like smoke. It reminded Everly of how handsome Wyatt Thornton was and how very long it had been since she’d actually gone out on a date. “He seems nice,” said Everly once they were alone.

  “Marcus Jones is as good as they come.”

  Sally returned with their pie and coffee. The conversation stalled as she set everything on the table. Everly took a bite, chewing slowly. The crust was light and buttery, the apples inside sweet, with just a touch of spice. She sighed. “You’re right,” she said. “Best pie ever.”

  Wyatt smiled. “I’m glad you like it, but let’s get back to why we’re here to begin with. First, do you know what your brother was supposed to photograph?”

  “A wolf-pack migration, I think,” she said. She bit her lip. “I can’t recall the magazine he was on assignment for, but I can find out.”

  “Do you think he was targeted because of his work?”

  She took a sip of coffee, which was surprisingly good for a diner in Nowheresville, USA. “No way. My brother was a good person and could charm the hell out of anyone. And he was good at what he did, the best photographer I’ve seen. Everyone loved Axl.”

  Wyatt scooped a bite of pie into his mouth. “What else?”

  Everly’s mind had been so full of possibilities, but now it was empty. Then she remembered. “The sheriff gave me a list of all Axl’s possessions.” She dug through her purse and found the folded note.

  Flattening the sheet on the table, she read aloud. “Shirt, shoes, socks, wallet, three credit cards in the name of Axl James Baker. One hundred and twenty dollars in twenty-dollar bills and half of a two-dollar bill.”

  “Wait,” said Wyatt. “Go back. Read the last line again, the one about the money.”

  “One hundred and twenty dollars in twenty-dollar bills and half of a two-dollar bill.”

  “The last case I worked.” He paused.

  “The serial killer in Las Vegas,” Everly offered.

  “He left a calling card of sorts on each of the victims. To avoid copycat killers, we never shared that fact with the media.” Wyatt paused and took a drink of coffee. “It was half of a two-dollar bill.”

  Everly began to tremble. She grasped her hands together and asked with a whisper, “Are you saying...? Did a serial killer murder my brother?”

  “It’s worse than that,” said Wyatt.

  Everly couldn’t imagine what might be worse. “Really? How is that possible?”

  “Not only was your brother murdered, but the killer is on the loose in Pleasant Pines. As that bump on your head proves, he knows exactly who you are—and you could very well be the next victim.”

  * * *

  The stench of antiseptic hung in the air and Carl Haak’s eyes watered. He leaned against the stainless steel counter and concentrated on the feeling of cold metal against his hip. The corpse of Axl Baker was laid out on a table, a cloth pulled up to his chest.

  “My initial finding,” said Doctor Lambert, “is that the deceased had a blood-alcohol content of point-one-five.”

  “That’s good and drunk,” said the sheriff, “and well above the legal limit, but not enough to cause death.”

  Doctor Lambert was a slight man with gray hair and a pointy beard. The combination always put Carl in the mind of a billy goat. Doc Lambert stroked the end of his beard for a moment. “I don’t think so, either.”

  “Then why do we have a corpse?”

  “My best guess? Our Mr. Baker drank too much, got lost and either laid down to sleep it off or he passed out in the old schoolhouse. The alcohol would’ve slowed his circulation, making it easier for hypothermia to set in. He simply never woke up.”

  “Are you willing to put that as the cause on a death certificate?”

  Doctor
Lambert stroked his beard again. “There’s no other explanation. No other trauma. No bruising anywhere. No signs of cardiac arrest. Nothing.” With a nod, he moved to the counter next to Carl and a tablet computer. After typing in a few notes, he said, “I’m calling it. Cause of death is accidental exposure. I’ll file the paperwork with the county office and the body will be ready for transport first thing in the morning.”

  Carl quickly thanked the doctor and pushed open the door. He took in deep, gulping breaths as he strode down the basement hallway. A set of stairs led to the hospital’s ground floor. He avoided the main entrance and emergency room, sneaking out a side door instead.

  A cold wind hit him in the face and blew away the remaining odor from the morgue. He pulled up the collar of his coat and shouldered his way through the gathering snow. Only two weeks, Carl reminded himself, and he’d be done with the bitter cold. Done with this job. Until then, a few things remained to be done.

  He needed to meet with Axl Baker’s sister. And he was dreading the conversation.

  Figuring she’d have checked into the Pleasant Pines Inn—since it was the only lodging in town—he headed in that direction. Walking down Main Street, he glanced in the window of Sally’s and stumbled. There, in one of the middle booths, sat Everly Baker along with Wyatt Thornton. No time like the present, he thought, so he pushed open the door and entered the restaurant.

  Everly looked up and Carl lifted a hand in greeting. As he approached the booth, he said, “I saw you from outside and decided to stop. I hope you don’t mind, but I have news.”

  Wyatt moved over in his seat, making room for Carl. “I’m glad you’re here, Sheriff. We have something for you, too.”

  Carl didn’t exactly ignore the comment, but he didn’t want to be distracted. “I just spoke to the medical examiner. It seems your brother had a good bit of alcohol in his system. It decreases circulation and the cold and exposure likely affected his body temperature as well, no matter how good an outdoorsman you tell us he was.” He removed his hat, set it on the table and sat. “I’m sorry, Ms. Baker, but your brother’s death has been ruled as accidental.”

  Everly’s cheeks reddened. “That’s impossible.”

  “I know this is a shock and not what you’d hoped we’d find.” He wasn’t sure how to proceed and be delicate at the same time. “I am sorry for your loss.”

  “It’s impossible,” she said again. “We have proof that he was murdered.”

  Carl leaned back in the booth, looking skeptical. “Proof? What kind of proof.”

  Wyatt spoke then. “When I was with the FBI, I investigated a string of killings. All the victims were white males and each body was left with half of a two-dollar bill in their pocket or wallet.”

  “So?”

  Wyatt pushed a sheet of paper in front of Carl. The sheriff recognized the list of Axl Baker’s belongings. Pointing to a line on the page, Wyatt said, “See...here—a two-dollar bill, and only half of it found with the body.”

  “And this is your proof? That doesn’t mean anything. He could’ve gotten that money anywhere.”

  “Tell me if I’m wrong but isn’t it odd to find only half a bill?” asked Everly.

  “You’re wrong,” said Carl. “All you have is circumstantial evidence. You’re playing guessing games.”

  “All the victims in Las Vegas had very high blood-alcohol content and had been left for dead.”

  “Let me get this straight—you’re telling me that a murderer was killing people with booze? I’ve been a police officer for a long time. Too much drink will make you sick long before it’ll kill you. It’d be a tough way to murder someone.”

  “Once we made the connection between the two-dollar bills, we also discovered that the victims had high levels of anti-nausea medicine in their bodies. It was enough to knock them out and let the alcohol poison them.”

  Carl didn’t have anything to counter that claim, not yet at least.

  He did have another idea, though. “Well, let’s just figure that Axl was killed. Who should I suspect, Wyatt? You? The deceased was found by you on your land, after all. Most of the information I have is from you, too.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” said Wyatt. “If I killed him, why would I link it to my previous case?”

  “It’s no more ridiculous than you telling me that there’s a serial killer in Pleasant Pines.”

  “That brings up an interesting point,” said Everly. “How many accidental deaths are there in the county each year? How many men go missing while hunting or skiing or hiking in the area?”

  Carl poked the table with his finger. “This is my town. How dare you insinuate that I can’t keep my own people safe.”

  She continued, “I didn’t mean to suggest anything, it’s just that there’s a connection that needs to be explored.”

  “Your brother’s death has been ruled as accidental. End of story. His body will be ready for transport back to Illinois first thing tomorrow. When that happens, I want you gone, Ms. Baker. There’s nothing for you to suss out here in Pleasant Pines.”

  Carl stood and shoved his hat onto his head. He stalked out of the restaurant and into the soft afternoon light.

  Chapter 4

  Everly gaped at the retreating sheriff. Her shock at the thought that her brother might have been the victim of a serial killer mixed with incredulity over how Sheriff Haak acted. Or was it overreacted? She wanted to scream or cry or throw something. Instead, she just stared after him, numb.

  “Tell me that didn’t just happen,” she said, after a moment.

  “It happened.”

  “I can’t believe that Sheriff Haak would dismiss our evidence so quickly.”

  Wyatt took a sip of his coffee and then scraped up the last bit of pie. He lifted the fork to his mouth and stopped. “He’s too territorial for his own good,” he said, and then took a bite. After chewing and swallowing, he informed her, “He’s retiring soon, and he thinks that having a serial killer in his town would say a lot about the job he’s done.”

  “Well, it would,” said Everly.

  “I’m not saying he’s right or that you’re wrong. But I’ve seen this before—for him it’s personal. Then again...” He paused. “It’s always that way with cops and a homicide.”

  It didn’t take much for Everly to realize that Wyatt was talking about himself and the case from Las Vegas. “So you’re saying that even though there’s evidence potentially linking Axl’s death to a serial killer, there’s nothing I can do, because the sheriff might feel bad? That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

  Wyatt’s gaze met hers. “Lower your voice,” he whispered.

  Everly didn’t realize that she’d been yelling, and in truth she really didn’t care. All the same, she cast a glance toward the counter and found it empty. Most likely, Sally was in the kitchen. “It doesn’t matter how loud I am, or what tone I use,” she said, matching Wyatt’s whisper with a hiss of her own. “My brother is dead, and the sheriff is willing to sweep all the evidence under the rug.”

  Wyatt looked outside, his reflection trapped in the window. “I’m in.” Turning, he met her gaze. “I’ll help you figure out what happened to your brother.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Do you want my help or not?”

  “Of course. It’s just...until now, you were just so certain that you wanted nothing to do with this case.”

  Wyatt sighed. “This is my mess that I failed to clean up in Las Vegas.”

  “I just want justice for Axl.”

  Wyatt picked up his cup and took a long drink. “You’ll get it, but first we have to keep you safe. Since the killer knows you’re in town, you can’t keep staying at the Pleasant Pines Inn. Especially since someone already attacked you there.”

  “It’s the only hotel in town. What am I supposed to do? Sleep in my re
ntal car?” Everly asked. At the same time, she knew Wyatt was right. She couldn’t stay in the hotel—not alone and with a murderer on the loose.

  “I was thinking,” said Wyatt. He lifted his eyes to hers.

  His eyes were more than brown—there was dark gray woven in, as well. It reminded her of the sky as a storm rolled in from Lake Michigan. He had a cleft in his chin that she hadn’t noticed before. She reached for her fork and twirled it through her fingers.

  “I was thinking,” he repeated. “You could stay at my place.”

  “I could?” Dear God, had she just squeaked? Clearing her throat, she tried again. “It’s a nice offer, but I’m not sure I should accept.”

  “The way I see it, you really don’t have a choice. Besides, this is for your own protection.”

  Everly felt drawn to Wyatt even more. She’d seen how isolated he was—rather than warning her off, there was something almost...alluring, about him. As if he was a puzzle to be solved.

  She’d have to be careful not to become too attached. The reclusive ex-agent wasn’t her ideal partner, that’s for sure. And yet, there was something undeniably intriguing about him.

  “So,” she said, “what do we do now?”

  “We’ll need to get your things from the hotel. Then when we get back to my place, I’ll look through my old case file. There might be something in there that can help me.”

  “Us,” she said. “You mean help us.”

  Wyatt rose to his feet and withdrew his wallet from the back pocket of his jeans. He threw several bills on the table. “In all honesty, I work better alone. I always have.”

  Everly got to her feet, as well. “It’s too bad then, because this time you have a partner.”

  * * *

  Wyatt pulled into a parking space in front of the Pleasant Pines Inn and turned off the ignition. Was he really going to bring Everly to his house? His home was a sanctuary and to allow another person inside would taint the sacredness of his space. Then again, what he said earlier had been true. She couldn’t stay at the hotel, not with a serial killer out there, somewhere. She needed protection.