Turning, she made sure she caught the attention of each of the four agents. “I will want an itemized list of everything you take. You’re welcome to all of it—I want this guy caught—but I need to know what’s missing and what’s not when you leave.”
They nodded. From anyone else, it would sound weird and too strict, like she was hiding something. But she was a lawyer. They all had to know that they didn’t serve warrants on lawyers without getting the rundown.
Then she took a breath. “While we were documenting we re-checked everything. We weren’t looking for secret stashes before. I only found the jewelry box because the board was loose. But this time, we found this …”
She motioned their attention to the back of the closet and watched as Watson and Decker shone their lights and shoved their heads into the space.
Maggie talked them through. “We were checking all the closets and this panel was loose. Once we recognized it was cut, we popped it out. We haven't touched anything other than the panel itself.”
She watched as they shone the light up and down and she heard Watson's voice say, “Holy shit, Decker. Do you recognize that?”
Chapter Twenty-Seven
It was hours later that the FBI agents left. Sebastian was exhausted from dealing with them and Maggie had to be, too.
The agents checked the rest of the house and didn't find much that Maggie and Sebastian hadn't already pointed out. There were a few items in drawers that they thought might be interesting. They confiscated everything in the dresser from the room that had the jewelry box, but that wasn’t surprising.
Maggie hadn't protested at all, only asked again for her itemized list. Watson and Decker readily complied.
Though she was spouting legalese the whole time, Maggie was perfectly compliant. They took her aunt's box of records, but that was expected. Sebastian was grateful that Maggie had thought to photograph all of it so that she didn't lose the information. It probably would have been better to have her hands on the papers, but it would have looked suspicious if she hadn't let the FBI take it.
When the agents were gone, he turned back to the dining room, where he and Maggie had abandoned their meal. Though his own plate was mostly clean. Maggie's, on the other hand, had a quarter of the fish on it, and half a piece of bruschetta. He’d made the mistake of thinking they would welcome the agents inside, then sit back down and eat while the house got searched. It hadn't worked that way.
Maggie had wanted to trail them around, keep track of what they did and found. And Sebastian agreed—it was fascinating watching them. They searched in ways that the two of them hadn't.
Though Maggie had looked under the sofa for things that might be shoved under there—drugs, cash, who knew what? The feds also looked under every dresser and piece of furniture. They checked every floorboard and tapped at the ceiling of every closet looking for access upward.
“Do people hide things there?” Sebastian had asked.
Watson and Decker had both nodded in response. Decker added, “You’d be surprised. Also, in a lot of cases, they create links between the two rooms. This might go directly up to another closet. Old places like this—with a servant staircase?—there are a lot of hollow walls.”
The feds had found a hidey-hole next to the base of the servant staircase. It was Watson who pointed out that the cabinet there was too shallow and had to have something behind it. She pushed on the back of it until the whole thing popped out. Unfortunately, there was nothing back there.
When at last they were gone. Everything was still in one piece. They hadn’t slashed any of the upholstery, but every bit of furniture had been moved.
Turning to look at him, Maggie held her hands out toward the mess. “At least I didn’t lose anything I didn’t expect to.”
He nodded, wanting to take her into his arms and comfort her, but that wasn’t his role here. Besides, she’d just broken up with her boyfriend. So he filled the gap between what he wanted and what was appropriate. “They took longer photographing and removing the jewelry from the closet than I expected.”
“I watched, they didn’t touch anything. It was impressive.” They’d watched as special evidence bags were brought in and everything in the hidden compartment was removed with tweezers and gloves.
Though the sofa had been left in the middle of the room, Maggie plopped back onto it, making Sebastian wince. That was not a couch for flopping onto.
She curled her lip and reached around to her back. “The crick in my back from earlier has returned.” Her sigh was weary.
Sebastian held out a hand. “It's getting late.”
It was dark. And, though he’d been watching where he could, he hadn't seen the silver sedan she’d described. But who knew what they’d missed?
It was over for now. They both needed sleep and he needed to know she was safe. “Come stay with me tonight.”
Sebastian felt her fingers slide into his as he realized he might sound like he was offering more than … well, not more than he wanted, but more than she might want. “I've got a guestroom.”
An expression flickered across her features making him wonder if she wished for something more than the guest room. He pushed a little harder. “You need a good night's sleep somewhere you feel safe.”
But Maggie shook her head at him and pulled her fingers back. Damn.
“I need to stay here. I don't want to leave my home empty.”
If he went home, he didn’t doubt she’d have another night watching the window. She needed to rest. The nap had not been enough.
But he only nodded and didn’t argue. “Do you want me to stay here?”
The relief at him asking showed on her face and he wondered how stressed she actually was about staying here alone. She nodded quickly and asked, “Do you need to get anything?”
He laughed. “I do. I've managed to go through both changes of clothing I carry with me. Unless you want me wearing swim trunks and goggles in the morning, then yes.”
“Why don't you go now? While there's still a little bit of daylight and I'll stay here and put the furniture back together.”
Sebastian refused. “Nope. The furniture can wait till tomorrow. I’m taking you out for a real meal.”
“I have to put the furniture back, I have a client tomorrow.”
Maybe she was too tired to look at it clearly? Sebastian shook his head. “Can you move your client?”
“I—”
He knew she needed the work, but … “You've slept only four hours in the last two days. Are you really going to be good for your client by morning?”
“I can be,” she said it as though she was trying to talk herself into it.
“I'm sure you can. But will you? How long is it going to take to put things back? We have to at least put back the foyer, the hallway, the living room, and your office.” He’d said we and he wondered if she’d caught it. “Can we do that and get you a good night's sleep and get you ready for your client by tomorrow morning?”
She sighed. “No. But maybe if I bump him till noon.”
He waited while she called and told the couple that she’d had a mild family issue. Sebastian felt the sigh of relief through his whole body as she said, “thank you,” and he knew it wasn’t going to be a mad dash or another sleepless night.
“Is it just the one client?”
“Unfortunately, just the one.”
This time when he took her hand, he didn’t let go. He pulled her out the front door and down the steps to the street and put her into the passenger side of his car. When he slid in across from her, he could see she was tired, but the half a meal she’d eaten in the early afternoon wasn’t enough. “The next question is, where do you want to have dinner?”
Maggie only shrugged.
“How about pasta?” he asked. Thinking about the kind of Italian food that could lull them both into a night’s sleep worthy of a carb-coma.
But there was something about the way she smiled at him that made him wish she
wasn't actually thinking about pasta. He would stay at her house tonight, but how long would he make it before he just blurted out what he really wanted to say?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
On Sunday morning, Maggie found herself alone again for the first time in two days. Sebastian had headed home early to shower, repack his bag, and show up for his shift. As a volunteer she wasn't due in every time A-shift was on duty.
Some how she’d managed to no blurt out her feelings the whole time, even though things stayed pretty low key. She wasn’t sure if she was proud of herself or ashamed.
When Sebastian asked, she told him that she was good by herself. It had been both the truth and a bald-faced lie.
She was good by herself. Maggie went to the grocery store—something needed after she and Sebastian had eaten everything she had. He ate twice as much as she did but feeding him was a small price for in-home security, especially from someone she enjoyed spending time with.
When the groceries were put away, she tackled her aunt's office, organizing what remained after the FBI confiscated everything useful. Maggie would have loved to use the office for herself, but she would have to sort everything to make the space usable. So she only lined up the remaining papers and put them in drawers.
Then she made herself a decent meal as if to prove to herself that when Sebastian wasn’t here she could cook for and feed herself.
Even when she’d finished eating, it still wasn’t noon yet. Knowing she wouldn't sleep well that night, she tried to nap. Though she managed to fall asleep and catch a few hours, she hadn't been able to stay asleep. She’d slept much better with Sebastian here the last two nights, but she was still running on a deficit. As the sky had grown dark that evening, she considered what to do with the long night in front of her.
She wasn’t going to sleep, that was certain.
She fielded texts from Sebastian and reassured him that she was fine. The real problem was that she was fine—fine enough to take advantage of some good internet and bad curiosity.
With the information the FBI had given her, Maggie began researching both the Blue River Killer and the La Vista Rapist. She poured over old reports, missing women and a few young men, bodies found, reports filed, basically anything that pinged when she searched. When that overwhelmed her, she found more scholarly articles on serial predators and how they operated.
Even what little she’d found was enough to convince her that the two perpetrators were separate people. Which made it even more concerning that both their trophies had wound up in her home … and in the same box.
She didn’t know yet what the closet meant.
Maggie had set up in her living room, ready to check the front window at each passing engine. She had her phone at the ready to take pictures and record the license plate if she saw the silver sedan again. But though she was several hours into the night, the only thing to go by had been the Raylan family’s minivan.
Next, she pulled up the picture files on her phone. She and Sebastian had messaged them to each other as a way to preserve the full trove in two different places. So she had copies of everything he had taken and he had hers.
She flipped through, looking for something unique about the victims, some thread. Not that she thought she’d find what the FBI hadn’t, but she wanted to know what had been here …
She pulled up pictures of the victims on her laptop, their faces large on the screen, smiling in family photos or senior yearbooks. It didn't get her very far, but it got her far enough. Another car passed by, revving its way down her street. Maggie fought a shudder, but she could already tell the engine was too loud to be the sedan. Sure enough, she’d pulled back the curtain to see the taillight of a motorcycle and she felt her stress drop back down from the spike.
Whoever it was who had killed these people and raped these young women was still out there. The smiling senior photo of one victim made Maggie’s heart drop: the necklace in the picture matched the necklace that they'd found in the back of the closet. The young woman was from Beatrice, a small nearby town just south of Lincoln.
Maggie hadn’t known about the predators because she didn't live here. It had been a number of years since she'd spent a summer with Aunt Abbie. But the locals understood what the killer was doing and, according to the news, they were afraid.
Maggie knew it was well past time to stop reading. She reassured herself that the FBI was checking on her. And she reiterated the words they'd given her: they didn't think he would be back.
The FBI had very openly and visibly searched her house and confiscated everything they could find. Whatever her prowler had been looking for, it wasn't here anymore. That should be obvious to anyone watching the place.
She told herself that if the FBI was confident, she was confident. But it was another lie.
Still, she pulled up another article and reached into the big bowl of popcorn she’d made. This was not popcorn kind of entertainment, Maggie just needed something to eat that would help her stay awake. It turned out it wasn't the popcorn, but what she read that was doing an excellent job of it.
The Blue River Killer was called that because he left his victims in shallow water. The first had been found in the Blue River, though the Platte River closer to her had also seen a few. It didn't take long to find more journal articles written on him. Maggie also found the locations where he'd killed. The pattern to his killings began to make a disturbing amount of sense. Her own home wasn’t dead center, but it was certainly an option. The feds had to have been searching for him near here long before now.
They simply hadn't gotten to checking out Aunt Abbie’s boarders … or they had and, for whatever reason, dismissed them.
Maggie’s eyes felt bloodshot. Her brain was stuffed full and her heart hurt for the victims left in these predators’ wakes. She’d had enough for one night. Looking up at the clock, she saw it was just after two a.m. Sebastian hadn't texted for a while and she was getting sleepy.
Closing up her computer, she headed upstairs to comb through Abbie's remaining records. But, an hour later, it was clear the FBI had taken everything of value. Maggie was left with a stack of papers on her desk that resembled trash more than anything else: receipts for restaurant dinners, dry cleaning tabs from a decade ago, old flyers for a county fair. Maggie almost swept if off the desk and into the trash can. But she couldn’t. Abbie had saved it.
It sure looked like trash and Maggie wondered how much she owed Aunt Abbie … The woman had left her a house that, despite the dire need for modernization was more than serviceable and worth far more money than any of Maggie’s cousins had received. She left the crap on the desk. She would have to decide what to do with it—probably toss it—but she wouldn’t decide in the middle of the night.
Back at the couch, she wished she had a cat to curl up with her. Could she do that? Abbie had often had a house cat or at least a feral one that she fed. Maggie sighed, she was getting tired or bored. Her mind was wandering. Since she wasn’t getting a cat in the middle of the night, she pulled up the pictures of Abbie's records on her computer.
This was hard to research, too. Abbie’s paperwork was as much a mess as everything else. Nothing was in order. Rental contracts from thirty years ago were filed with one from last December.
It might have been the last one she wrote, Maggie thought, but she pushed the nostalgia aside and pulled out a notepad and pen. She began keeping track of names and dates. As she plowed through the pictures, a few odd facts emerged.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Sebastian stood at the front of the house, the heat of the flames could still be felt through his thick gear. They lit up his view and a good part of the neighborhood.
Next to him, the chief stood surveying the damage, hands on his hips. He wasn’t happy. He also wasn’t in full gear but did have his mask on to breathe clean oxygen. The whole neighborhood was rolling with smoke and ash.
The two men watched as A-shift dampened the blaze. They didn't have to ta
lk.
House fires were rare. Abandoned buildings sometimes caught fire. Camp sites caught fire an inordinate amount of time when people failed to follow necessary protocol. Wildfires sometimes started with lightning strikes or fireworks run amok.
But this? Two house fires in a small town within a week was odd.
The first house had at least been empty when it had gone up. It had been for sale. That had triggered an investigation by the insurance company. Though, from everything Sebastian had gathered when he and the chief had gone back to check the place out, the family had lost money in the blaze. The area was relatively nice, though not one of the up and coming places in town, and the sale of the house would have been worth more than the insurance was paying out.
Sebastian had heard that the staging company was also going after the insurance to recover everything they'd lost. All the furniture and fake family pictures, kitchen supplies, everything they'd added to make the home look lived in and welcoming to prospective buyers had been destroyed, too.
This house though … it was smaller, more rundown, and lit up like a fucking firecracker.
Chief motioned him to move back and they stepped further down the street. Their comms would keep them in touch with the others, but this allowed them to take off their masks and speak a little more freely. They definitely had to watch out for neighbors listening in.
The street was overrun with lookie loos. They weren't drivebys gawking. They were neighbors, bringing water bottles to the family or treats for the family’s two dogs. One of the dogs had already been walked away to a neighbor's where he could be taken care of.
That was the kind of community Sebastian wanted for himself. His apartment building didn’t have it, but he hoped one day to get himself a fixer-upper.
“We won't know till we get inside …” the chief started, letting the phrase trail off.
Sebastian understood. They'd have to find evidence if it was or wasn’t arson.
Crash and Burn (Wildfire Hearts Book 1) Page 10
