by Mary Stone
Even if he had, Autumn wouldn’t have staged a surprise visit for them to hash out their differences. She would have encouraged them to be honest with themselves and to communicate their feelings, as she often did, but she wouldn’t have tried to trick anyone into divulging information they didn’t wish to share.
“Hey,” Autumn greeted. Her voice snapped Winter away from her fixation on Noah, though the man’s gaze had already returned to Autumn.
“Hey,” he replied, his voice hushed. “Uh, is this a bad time?”
“What?” Autumn looked confused, wrinkling her nose as she waved the taller man into the hall. “Why would you say…” She trailed off as she and Noah stepped into the living room. “Oh.”
“It’s all right, I can go.” Noah held up his hands and took a step backward.
“Tell you what,” Autumn started, gesturing from Winter to Noah. “Clearly something’s going on right here, and something tells me it doesn’t involve me. Not directly, at least. Right?”
“Um.” Now it was Noah’s turn to look confused. “No, I guess not. Are you trying to read our minds or something?”
Autumn’s cheeks grew pink. “No, but I’m observant. Not that it takes an observant person to see that the tension in here is so thick I could spread it on a piece of toast. You know what, Toad probably wants to go for a walk. You two stay here, figure out whatever the hell is going on. As much as I like toast, I’m not a big fan of the air in here right now.”
Brushing off the front of her loose-fitting t-shirt, Autumn stepped into a pair of moccasins and retrieved a retractable leash. With an excited snort, Toad leapt off the couch and ran over to her.
Once the door latched closed, the room lapsed into silence.
Noah made no move to advance from where he stood beside a small end table, and Winter kept her gaze fixed on her hands.
“I didn’t know you’d be here. I thought you meant you two were going out…” His voice was strained and quiet, and she felt a stab of guilt at the dejected tone.
“I’m sorry.” Winter finally managed, the volume of the words scarcely above a whisper.
“Yeah.” As she glanced up at him, shadows shifted along his face as he clenched and unclenched his jaw.
“I’m sorry, Noah. I rushed to judgment, and I shouldn’t have done that.”
“It’s all right,” he replied with a slight shrug. The words sounded perfunctory.
“No, it’s not,” Winter said, shaking her head. “It’s just like, for all those years, ever since I was thirteen, my life’s had this singular purpose. All I’d been determined to do was either put Kilroy in a prison cell or put a bullet between his eyes. But then after that was done, it felt like I had all this unresolved shit to deal with, shit I’d just been pushing to the side, and I didn’t even know where to start.”
Compassion etched itself across Noah’s handsome features.
“Grampa wasn’t doing well…” Damn, the burn of emotion had her blinking hard. “And we didn’t know what was going on with him. At the time, it really felt like I might lose him, and that, that just broke something in my head, I think. I didn’t want to burden you with it, but more than that, I think I was ashamed of myself for it. For not knowing how to deal with it. I mean, that was the point I’d wanted to get to for my entire life, but once I was there, then what?”
With a tired sigh, he nodded his understanding as he moved to sit beside her on the arm of the couch. His expression was still strained, but the suspicion had vanished. “I get it. Look, I know I’ll never understand how it felt to lose your family like that, but that feeling you just described. Not knowing how you fit into anything anywhere after you’re finished with your task, I know how that feels.”
“You do?” Before he could respond, she held up a hand and shook her head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to sound like I doubted you. It’s just hard to picture you not fitting in, you know?”
His gaze fell to the cat, who’d chosen that moment to go batshit crazy and shoot across the room. “I guess. But yeah, I do. It wasn’t as bad for me as it was for some of the other guys I was overseas with. That’s one of the big problems a lot of combat vets have when they get back to the States. They’re used to being on high alert all the time. Their brains are tuned into that frequency, and some people have a harder time tuning out of it than others.”
She looked at him. Really looked at him. This was the first time he’d really talked about his experience in the military.
“We came back from a warzone, from a place where we had to kill to survive, and everyone just expected us to fit right back in like we’d never left. Believe it or not, the skills you learn as an infantryman aren’t compatible with a lot of civilian jobs. Not with jobs that aren’t some entry level nonsense, anyway.”
He turned to face her, then reached for her hand. When he was only inches from touching her, he pulled away, rubbing his palms on his pants.
“You just got back from a combat zone, darlin’, and you don’t need to be ashamed of not knowing what to do next. It’s normal, and you’re not alone. I’m sorry I acted like a jackass. I knew you were going through some shit, and I just threw myself a pity party like some kind of butthurt teenager.”
Winter felt the corner of her mouth turn up in a smile. “Apology accepted. And I’m sorry I just took off without telling you anything about, well, about anything. That was a jerk move, and I don’t think you were the only one who threw yourself a pity party like a butthurt teenager.”
“I guess not.” He chuckled. As his eyes met hers, his wistful smile was more noticeable. “It’s all right to not be all right. I’m your friend, and I’ll never think any less of you because you’re not all right.”
She felt the telltale pinpricks in the corners of her eyes as she leaned over to wrap her arms around his shoulders.
“Thank you,” she murmured as she tightened her grasp.
“You know,” he said, breaking a spell of quiet. “If you keep doing this, keep hugging me, you’re going to have to change your mantra about not being a hugger.”
She chuckled softly as she glanced up at him. “Only for you, Noah.”
Had it not been for the metallic click of the door latch, Winter wasn’t sure what might have happened next. Part of her was glad for the interruption, and part of her was disappointed.
The creak of the front door was followed by the clatter of paws on the hardwood as Toad rushed over to greet them.
“Toad is happy to see you,” Autumn said.
Noah crouched down and straightened the pineapple print bandana around Toad’s neck before he scratched behind one fluffy ear.
“You know,” Autumn said, her green eyes flicking from Winter to Noah and then back. “It’s the first time you’ve both been over to hang out with me at the same time. Maybe that’s not exciting to you guys, but for me, it’s kind of a big deal. This is the most people that’ve been in my apartment at one time since I moved here two years ago. And if there was one more person here, that’d be an all-time high for me since I moved to Virginia.”
“Come to think of it,” Winter chuckled, “I think three other people in my apartment would be an all-time high for me too.”
“Same here,” Noah put in.
Autumn arched an eyebrow. “Really?”
“Why does everyone think that I’ve got like a hundred friends?” He threw his arms up and sighed in feigned exasperation.
Flashing him a smug look, Winter crossed her arms over her chest. “See, I’m not the only one.”
“I’ve only got ninety,” he huffed. “Get it straight, ladies. Autumn, where’s your cat?”
With a sarcastic grin, she raised the popcorn kernels to gesture to the short hallway to the side of the front door. “Pretty sure she’s on my bed.”
The open invitation to wander unaccompanied into their host’s bedroom might have struck Winter as odd if their host was anyone other than Autumn Trent. The woman’s level of tidiness surpassed even Aid
en’s, and it rivaled Bree’s.
For the first visit, Winter had felt like the place was so orderly that she should refrain from touching anything. When she returned home that day, she had cleaned her apartment from top to bottom.
“Are you a cat person, Noah?” Winter asked.
“I feel like there’s a lot of stereotyping going on here right now,” he replied as he made his way to the hall. “And I don’t appreciate it. Yes, Winter, I like cats. My Grandma Eileen has been fostering kittens since I was in grade school. Little dogs like Toad are cool, too, but big dogs, not so much. There were some dogs that hung around Grandma and Grandpa’s ranch, and those things were mean.”
Winter laughed. “Hard to believe you’re afraid of anything.”
He rolled his eyes. “Might be a little unconventional, but that’s when I learned to shoot a gun. Once we got rid of the mean-ass dogs, we started seeing feral cats around more often. Feral cats are a whole different story. They just run away from you and hiss if you get too close. Plus, they’d keep all the critters under control, mice and ground squirrels and shit. In a roundabout kind of way, the cats were great for Grandma and Grandpa’s garden. Grandma and I used to catch some of the cats and take them in to get them fixed and vaccinated.”
“A whole family of cat people,” Winter remarked with a grin.
He returned the pleasant expression and nodded. “A whole family of cat people.”
At the look, at that perfect, disarming smile, she felt the start of an unfamiliar flutter in her stomach. But no matter her lack of experience with the sensation, she knew what it meant. Something between them had shifted, and the change was irreversible.
Whether the shift was good or bad, she wasn’t sure.
The main reason Ladwig turned on the news during dinner that night was to learn more about the thunderstorms that were slated for later in the week. Richmond wasn’t usually tornado territory, but Sue and Kiera had discussed tornadoes for the better part of the morning. He had been skeptical at first, but the weather app on his phone had supported the weather women’s observations.
White and blue light from the flickering screen glinted off the end of his metal chopsticks as he stuffed another pot sticker in his mouth.
Ladwig liked to cook, but as the years dragged on, he found the motivation to make a meal for no one but himself had all but vanished. So much time had passed, he assumed he would have to season his cast iron cookware all over again before he used any of it to prepare a meal.
“In what is still a developing story, authorities yesterday unearthed the remains of a man whose body had been sealed in a fifty-five-gallon drum.” The young man on the screen looked like he was merely reciting a recipe for marinara sauce. “Police have said that lye was used to speed up the decomposition process. We go now to our field reporter, Jenny Harris. Jenny?”
The screen flipped over to a dark-eyed woman who held a microphone in one hand as she nodded.
“Thanks, Clark. I’m just outside the city limits where workers are preparing to start the construction of some new homes. Yesterday, while they were digging out the basement for one of these houses, Brad Rathbun and Pete Timson came across a metal drum. According to the two men, the lid was still sealed, though the equipment used in the dig had dented the side of the barrel.
“Now, the county sheriff’s office has handed the investigation over to the Federal Bureau of Investigation. At this point, the victim’s identity remains unknown, but I did have a chance to talk to one of the deputies earlier today. According to the medical examiner, there are marks on the skull of the deceased that indicate they went through a series of surgeries not long before their death.”
Though the woman still spoke, all her words turned to dust before they had a chance to drift into Ladwig’s ears.
Lye. A sealed drum. Surgical marks on the skull.
And now the FBI was involved?
If the Feds had taken over the investigation, that meant they likely had another body. Surgical tools left distinctive marks on bone. They left precise marks.
Ladwig didn’t know the full extent of the weight behind Sandra Evans’ work, but he knew enough to understand that the men and women who called the shots held positions of considerable power. Maybe they could have dealt with a county or a city investigation, but he doubted any of them could contend with the resources of the Federal Bureau of Investigation.
His mouth had gone dry, and he knew the arid sensation wasn’t the result of the salty takeout he had picked up for dinner. With a desperate drink from his glass of water, he tried to sort through the litany of thoughts that flew through his mind.
Now that he was thinking more clearly, he knew he couldn’t just leave.
He’d dealt with Sandra Evans for seven years, but he’d opened his practice more than a decade ago. That practice, coupled with the years he’d spent as a physician and a psychiatrist in the military, had paid off not only his extensive student loans but the cost of the building out of which he worked.
That practice paid for him to live comfortably. That practice was his whole damn life, it was all he had left, and even though he’d been ready to flee a couple days ago…
Not now. He wanted to stay.
Sandra and her people had to have safeguards in place for an eventuality such as this. They’d be stupid not to, and if there was one thing Sandra Evans was not, it was stupid. He would let her and whoever in the hell employed her deal with the unidentified body in the barrel. This wasn’t Ladwig’s fight.
It had never been his fight.
As the television cut to an earlier interview of a sheriff’s deputy, Ladwig swore he felt his heart stop.
Before the scene could switch away, he snatched the television remote from the coffee table and pressed pause. Even though they were not in focus, the man and woman standing at the edge of the dig site were clearly visible thanks to the high resolution of Ladwig’s new television.
The afternoon sunlight glinted off the woman’s sunglasses as she pushed them to rest atop her head, and the man’s aviators had been clipped to the breast pocket of his black jacket. The sight of Winter wasn’t a surprise, but the man was a different story.
The man at Winter’s side was Brady fucking Lomond.
19
Max Osbourne was in a meeting about a different matter, and he had tasked Aiden with updating their little group about the John and Jane Doe cases. Behind the same podium from which he had announced Douglas Kilroy’s identity, from which he had effectively solved the case that had stumped them all for decades, he prepared to advise that same group of people of the scant evidence they had uncovered for their newest case.
All three agents—Bree, Noah, and Winter—were seated, but a flicker of movement at the doorway drew their attention as Dan Nguyen strode into the room. He wore his usual agreeable expression, and the casual smile was a far cry from the gravity of their most recent encounter.
“I think you all know Dr. Nguyen already,” Aiden started as the newcomer moved to stand at his side. Though Dan was an inch or two shorter than Aiden, he always forgot how tall the man was. During a typical interaction, Dan was either seated beside a body, behind a desk, or hunched over an exam table.
“Agents.” Dan offered Winter and Noah a quick smile. “Nice to see you again, even though I wish it was under better circumstances. I was in the area, so I figured I’d come by and make sense of what I’ve included in my report so far.”
Aiden nodded and stepped aside. “You’re the one with the medical degree. Go ahead.”
“Warm welcome as always, Mr. Parrish.” Dan chuckled, but his expression remained grim. “To start with, I’m sorry to say that we still don’t have any idea who John Doe is. All his teeth were pulled, and none of his skin was intact enough to pull any kind of print. We’ll be lucky if we can get DNA from any of the tissue that was left. Lye degrades DNA, and John Doe was doused with a hell of a lot of lye. We’ll test bone, of course, but even so, DNA only helps
us if he’s in the database. And, I’ll be honest, the odds aren’t in our favor there.”
“Any update on the cause of death?” Aiden asked.
“None. With the tissue as decayed as it is, we aren’t likely to get much from a tox screen, but we’re going to try to run one anyway. I’ve got a theory, but at this point, that’s all it is.”
“That’s about all we can ask for right now,” Aiden put in. “Let’s hear it.”
“There were some interesting marks on John Doe’s bones. Specifically, the bones here.” He paused to draw the shape of a Y over his black suit jacket. With his vintage hairstyle and pricey watch, Dan almost looked like he was in the employ of a marketing firm, not the medical examiner’s office.
“Like an autopsy.” Bree’s words were not a question.
“Exactly like an autopsy. And the tools that were used to make those marks weren’t just some set of knives in a psychopath’s garage. Those marks were made by precise surgical tools. They’re the same marks left behind after an autopsy. An autopsy performed by a professional, by someone with a medical degree and years of experience. And that’s not even the weirdest or worst part of it.”
“It’s not?” Noah furrowed his brows.
“Nope.” Bree sighed and leaned back in her chair.
“No, it’s not. John Doe’s head was split open like a coconut, and his brain was gone.” Dan’s dark eyes shifted from agent to agent as the shocking realization registered on their faces. “That’s still not it, though. There was a lot going on with John Doe’s head, as it turns out. He’d recently undergone a surgery that involved cutting open the back of his skull.”
“You’re saying someone performed brain surgery on him before he was killed?” Winter surmised. Her laser focus didn’t drift from Dr. Nguyen.
Even under the intense stare, Dan didn’t so much as miss a beat. “I can’t say with complete accuracy when it happened, but yes, more or less. The surgery is recent, within the last few months before he died, at least. Now, that was on the back of his skull, the parietal bone, but at the front, right in above the temporal bone on his left side, there was an old, healed injury. There were some marks to indicate that he’d undergone surgery for that injury too.”
