by Val Tobin
Rachel’s breathing shallowed and her eyes welled up. A glance at Hound Dog showed him staring intently at the floor, his expression neutral. His face had gone pale, and his palms braced against his thighs. As she watched him, he bit his lip but released it when he raised his eyes and discovered her watching.
“I found their belongings. Most of them were scattered or gone, but a few items remained. I went in with a team of protectors.” Peter turned his gaze to Rachel. “You weren’t a protector yet. I think you were a cop then. This happened a year after I became a journalist. I hired a team to take me into the woods where Sylvia’s group had camped.”
“Couldn’t you track her phone?”
“I tried, but it didn’t work. It was probably destroyed in the attack or by the elements.”
“Are you sure it’s their gear you found?” she asked.
“I found her journal.” He scrubbed his face with his palms. “She wrote that they’d barely arrived at their camp when one of their party disappeared collecting firewood. That’s the last entry she made. I guess, after that, they fought for their lives. And lost.”
Peter’s final words lingered in the space between them. They’d all lost loved ones in those first horrifying months after the grendels appeared. Every person Rachel had met since then had lost someone. Hound Dog, too, had lost loved ones.
“Have you ever returned to Storm Lake?” Rachel asked. In all her forays with the protector teams, she’d never gone back there. Her father had paid to have the cottage maintained, sending in protectors to guard the maintenance people the two times per year he sent them out. Rachel had never been part of those teams. She never wanted to return to the place where her mother and her beloved pet dog had died.
“I did. Once. To see what was left of it,” Peter replied.
“What happened?”
“All the buildings I came across were abandoned, falling into disrepair. No one lives there anymore, which isn’t surprising. The small towns in the area have electric fences around them. They’ve cleared the trees away from them. You remember Ridley? The town closest to Storm Lake Marina?”
When she nodded, he said, “It’s gone. Wiped out.”
“The police station?”
“All of it. We’re lucky we didn’t stay. If anyone survived the attack, they left. The houses, the stores, the town are all abandoned.”
“Why do you want to return?” Hound Dog asked, frowning. “If nothing’s there, what do you hope to accomplish? Sounds like a suicide mission.” He glared at Peter. “You want to drag Rachel out there for what?”
“Not Rachel. A team. With Rachel.”
“That’s not what she told me.”
Peter shifted his body so he faced her directly. “What exactly did you tell him?”
“We’re going to Storm Lake. You and me.”
“Not alone, Rachel. I trust you, but we can’t go alone.”
“You want to explore the area—see what we can find about where the grendels appeared and how. We don’t need a huge team. It’s not a hunt.”
“It’ll turn into a hunt if you stumble across a nest. They’ll come after you,” Hound Dog insisted.
“Other teams have gone in. They’ve cleared nests from the surrounding forests. A team went through last month. My father sends teams in at least twice a year.”
“How long does it take them to repopulate once you’ve cleared them? The trees weren’t cut down,” Peter said.
“A couple months at least,” Rachel replied.
“Why the reluctance to call the rest of the team in on it, Frostbite?” Hound Dog gave her no chance to respond but turned to Peter. “You have the funds for a whole team? They don’t come cheap.”
“He doesn’t have to pay me. I want to do this for my sake. For Jeff’s sake,” Rachel said.
“I want to hire you, Rachel, and your team. I have money.”
“We’ll go together,” Hound Dog said. “Or not at all.”
She closed her eyes, and memories of the past twelve years flashed through her mind. Her mother’s remains were out there somewhere—probably in the lake since she’d been killed in a rowboat. They could visit the cottage, stay there. Her father had paid to put a metal roof on it, making it impenetrable to grendel invasion.
What would this do to her plans for Jeff’s funeral? She’d have to work around it. If she knew when they’d release his body, she could plan it for when they returned. They’d be gone at least three days, she estimated. That might give them enough time to see what there was to see.
Rachel opened her eyes. “Okay. But it’s my party. You follow my orders. Dog, you contact Foot-Long and Code Master. The weather’s not getting any warmer. We’ll leave the day after tomorrow.”
Chapter Thirteen
The three left Jeff’s house, Rachel locking it up securely behind them. Hound Dog dropped Rachel and Peter at Rachel’s place. Hound Dog pulled up on the road in front of the house and waited while Peter went to visitors’ parking to move his Mercedes into the driveway for the night. She got the impression her teammate was stalling and hesitated to leave her alone with the journalist.
She stepped from the vehicle and slammed the door. When Hound Dog rolled down the driver’s window and waved her over, she obeyed but said, “I trust him. You can quit hovering.”
“Yeah, no problem. I just want to verify a few details,” he replied. “To tell the guys,” he added hurriedly.
“Like what?”
The grin he flashed her looked sheepish. “Okay, fine. I want to make sure you know you can call me if he gets out of line.”
She laughed, making him scowl.
“I’m not laughing at you. Relax.”
“You’re not laughing with me. I’m not laughing.”
“He’ll sleep in my guest room. I’ll be up and out early in the morning. I have calls to make and errands to run to set things in motion for Jeff’s funeral.”
“Anything I can do to help?”
“No, thanks. My dad offered to have his assistant do the grunt work, and under the circumstances, I’ll let him. I want to make all the decisions, though.” She sighed. A great deal of work and stress loomed over her.
“Did Jeff have a girlfriend?”
“Kind of.” At the reminder she hadn’t contacted Isabelle Marie to tell her they’d found Jeff, Rachel’s shoulders slumped. “Oh, God, Jack, she’ll be devastated. I’ll call her when I get inside.”
“Sorry for your loss, Rachel.”
She stared at him, puzzled.
“I don’t think I said it before, but I am very sorry. Your brother and I never met, but you’ve talked about him often.” He reached out and raised her chin with a finger so their eyes met. “You’re tough, boss. It’ll be all right.” He dropped his hand, resting his arm along the ledge of the open window.
She grinned, unable to stop herself. “Who are you and what have you done with Hound Dog?”
“Yup. Just don’t hesitate to call me. Listen”—he leaned out the window, and at first, she thought he wanted to kiss her—“whoever killed Jeff might target you next. This might’ve had nothing to do with his research and everything to do with your father. Right?”
She nodded. “Don’t worry. No one will get the jump on me. I don’t care what it has to do with. I protect myself.”
“Stay on your toes.” He stared in the direction of the driveway where Peter exited his parked Mercedes. “Keep an eye on the civilian, too. He appears; Jeff dies. The two may be connected.”
She scowled and opened her mouth to vent her anger, but Hound Dog cut her off.
“Relax. I’m not accusing Peter of anything. I’m saying perhaps he brought the danger with him. What he’s investigating? Some might not want that information to get out. So, yeah.”
She hadn’t considered that angle. “All the more reason not to drag Coder and Foot-Long into this.”
“We have to. For safety. They’re tough too, and we’ll fill them in on the risks. They c
an decide if they want to participate.”
Peter arrived and stood beside Rachel.
Hound Dog said, “Gotta split. Stay paranoid.” He wagged his chin at Peter and then turned to Rachel. “All good?”
“Five by five, Dog.”
“All right, then.” He rolled up his window and drove away.
When he disappeared, Rachel turned to Peter. He had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder, and it looked stuffed.
“You have everything you need for tonight?” She grinned. “Or for the entire excursion?”
“Ha-ha. I got stuff I don’t want to leave in the car too long.”
“Right. Let’s go in. I’ll show you the guest room.”
***
Rachel ushered Peter into the house and showed him the spare room. He dropped his duffel bag on the floor and followed her back downstairs to the living room. When they realized neither had eaten dinner, they ordered a pizza. Rachel grabbed two beers from the fridge, and they sat in the living room to wait for the food.
“Hound Dog doesn’t trust me,” Peter said, accepting the bottle of beer Rachel held out to him.
“He’ll be fine. He’s being cautious.”
“And a knight in shining armour?”
“Don’t be ridiculous.” She chuckled. “He’s one of those guys who doesn’t understand how to deal with women in the workplace.” She paused and reconsidered. “Come to think of it, he might have improved on that front these last two years. He was kind of a dick when I met him—pulled a stupid prank on me.”
“I bet you’ve taught him appropriate behaviour.” Peter smiled at her with obvious affection. “You’ve always been a strong person, Rachel. You’re a leader, but you lead with finesse.”
Rachel laughed, recalling the fire ants. “Not always.”
His face sobered and he tilted his chin at the gun still strapped to her waist. “You having second thoughts about me too, or are you expecting an invasion?”
“Someone murdered Jeff. I don’t know what it related to, but Dog reminded me it might have something to do with either our family or your mission rather than his work. I’m not letting my guard down until I figure it out.” She leaned back in the recliner, pulling the lever to pop out the footrest. “Tell me about your investigation. This might be a good time to figure out if what happened relates to that.”
“You think someone killed Jeff because of me?” His eyes widened and horror laced his voice. “Who’d do that? Why?”
“I don’t know. What’ve you done and who else knows about it?”
“My editor at the newspaper knows. I’ve investigated grendel-related deaths in the past, have written features on protectors and hunting grendels …”
“What’s different about this story?”
“It’ll be more in-depth. I’ll dig into the origins of the creatures.”
“Who have you interviewed for it?”
“A few scientists.” He took a swig of his beer and gazed off into space. “Two from the university. I talked to a guy from your dad’s company, but he wasn’t too forthcoming, if you know what I mean.”
“Yeah. They play it close to the vest. Proprietary research, Dad calls it. They sign confidentiality agreements. Since it’s a privately owned corporation, they can keep things from the public and call it a matter of national security or trade secrets.”
“The university lab could use the national security excuse, too, but they don’t. At least, they haven’t so far.”
The doorbell chimed then, and Rachel stood. Peter jumped up to stop her, reaching into his pocket for his wallet.
“I’ll get it. I owe you.”
“Okay,” she said, “but wait for me to verify it’s the pizza guy.” She strode to the door, gun drawn, and peeked through the peephole. She glimpsed the orange cap and orange jacket all the delivery guys from this place wore.
“It’s fine.” She waved Peter over and stepped away from the doorway so he could open the door. He took the boxed pizza and bag of wings from the young man and handed them to Rachel, who holstered her gun and accepted them.
When Peter had paid for the meal and they’d served themselves, they sat in the living room again with a second beer.
“A little dramatic, don’t you think?” Peter said.
She threw him a puzzled glance, and he said, “The gun.”
She shrugged. “Just being careful.”
“Should we check the food for tampering?”
“Very funny. I know the guy. He’s my regular, so I’m sure the food’s fine, but you make a good point. We’ll have to be more careful.”
“You can’t be serious.”
“No. Yes. I don’t know. This is new territory for me. Someone wanted my brother dead. Until I know why …”
“Do you have an alarm system on your house?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll arm it when we go to bed?”
“Yes. Don’t worry. That’s a precaution I’ve always taken.”
“I notice your brother didn’t.”
She tilted her head, remembering. “Yeah, we had no problems going into his house.” After a pause, she said, “His shower stall was dry.”
“What’s that mean?”
“He’d told me he wanted to go home to shower and change. The shower was dry. He never used it.”
She set her plate aside, stood, and walked over to sit next to Peter. “I want you to look at something.”
“What?”
She took out her cell phone and found the pictures she’d taken in the forest. Before handing the phone to Peter, she said, “Are you all right to look at pictures of Jeff’s body? It’s not pleasant. His throat was ripped open and a chunk taken from his thigh, but I need you to tell me if he’s wearing the same clothes he had on when you saw him last.”
Her friend puffed out his cheeks and then released the breath in an audible huff. “Show me.”
She handed him the phone, and he swiped through four photos showing Jeff’s body in situ on the ground in the woods. He backtracked, swiping the photos in reverse and peering closely at the screen. Before she could take her phone from him, he swiped again, revealing a photo of the dead girl.
His face paled and he cursed.
“What?” Rachel asked, her stomach dropping.
“She’s a friend of Jeff’s.”
“How do you know?”
“Check his social media profiles. I friended her because she’s close to him and I wanted to interview her. She works at the university lab with him.”
“What’s her name?” She knew, but she had to hear him say it.
“Isabelle Marie Hodgkin.”
“Oh, God, Peter, what the hell is going on here?” And whom should she tell about it? No one yet. The police would have identified Isabelle Marie by now, and they’d tie her death to Jeff’s. Then they’d investigate both deaths as suspicious. All she had to do was wait for them to solve it.
“I don’t know. Can I see the pictures with the grendels?”
She considered a moment. He was here to investigate grendels, but an open investigation was associated with these photos. She shouldn’t show him, but then, he never should’ve seen the photo of the dead woman either.
For now, she’d keep the other photos to herself. The glimpse of Isabelle Marie’s body had been an accident, fortuitous though it had been. If she showed him the grendel photos, she’d be consciously going against protocol—and revealing the photos to a journalist, no less.
“I’m sorry. I can’t show you anything more. I only allowed you to see the photos of Jeff because you saw him before he died. So, was he wearing the clothes he had on when you left him after you bailed him out?”
“Yes. If he went home, he didn’t change, and I guess based on what you found at the house, he didn’t shower. You think he didn’t go home?”
“Correct. Whatever happened, happened before he had the chance. What was he doing when you left him?”
“Talking on his phone
, leaving a voicemail message. For Isabelle Marie.”
“Then he didn’t know she was already dead.” Whoever had wanted Jeff dead had gone after his friend first, but why? What had the couple known that someone didn’t want revealed, and was Peter somehow connected?
Rachel felt the reassuring touch of the gun holstered at her waist. She planned to keep it on her at all times even if she had to sleep with it.
Chapter Fourteen
As she’d told Hound Dog she would, Rachel rose early the next morning after an uneventful night. She put coffee on and, after her morning run, started packing for the pending foray into the forests around Storm Lake. A few hours later, she was showered and dressed, and most of her gear was packed. Peter was awake by then, and they had breakfast together.
Hound Dog hadn’t called, but he’d texted her a few times with questions and to let her know their other two teammates were on board. They planned to meet early the next morning at Rachel’s place and head out in her SUV together, leaving Peter’s car in her garage and the beater Code Master drove in her driveway.
As lunchtime drew near, the mail carrier’s truck arrived at the community mailbox down the street. After it left, Rachel walked outside to get the mail since she hadn’t picked it up the day before. She unlocked her mail compartment and peered inside. A thick, yellow envelope sat amidst the usual assortment of bills and flyers. She piled the rest of the mail together and checked the return address on the mysterious envelope. There wasn’t one.
Curious, she stacked it on top of her other mail and locked the compartment. Hurrying back to her house, she rushed inside and dropped all the mail except the mystery envelope on her kitchen table. She pulled a jackknife from her pants’ pocket and sliced open the envelope.
Inside, it contained a letter and a memory stick. She checked the postmark on the envelope. The stamp displayed the previous day’s date. Rachel opened the letter and scanned to the bottom where she found Jeff’s signature.
“Oh, my God.”
Jeff had sent her what? Information? Data? She stuck the memory stick in her pocket so she wouldn’t misplace it and read the letter. It was dated two months before:
