For All to See (Bureau Series Book 1)

by Megan Mitcham

  All the saliva in his mouth evaporated and his skin fit as though it had shrunk in the excessive temperatures. Yep, dehydration caused his delusional thoughts. He needed to clear this jungle, get the hell off this island and back to work. His fingers coasted over the stamped piece of metal that hung beneath his shirt. The unforgiving edges reminded him of the vow he’d taken.

  Renewed purpose quickened his steps. He shoved the paper back into his pack and scanned the dense undergrowth. Piercing yellow rays sliced through the forest canopy just ahead, adding to the suffocating sting in his lungs. Despite it, his steps propelled him in the direction of the thinned foliage. He shoved an armful of branches out of the way and stepped into a ten-foot circular clearing.

  His steps faltered. He still, after all these years, had to wrestle a wave of sickness. He slapped both hands on his nape and huffed a breath. His skin chilled despite the temperature.

  Like an arm shooting tall out of the ground with its fingers crinkled in every direction, the thick hardwood held the camouflage rope connected in a noose around Nichole Gallow’s broken neck. At least that part had been quick. Her toes dangled about three feet from the ground. Blood tarnished the greenery, stealing the beauty of nature and that of the woman.

  His gaze avoided her naked flesh, split chest, and splayed insides. He studied the rope and the small goat trail that led away from the body, down the mountain.

  “Finished ten,” Dick radioed.

  Nathan reached blindly for the device and pressed the button. “Call Williams. Tell him we need that team and we need them right now.”

  11

  Walking into Chief’s office, every hope Madelyn clung to had evaporated like ice on the surface of the sun. The solemn look on his face and the business-like persona radiating from Agent Brewer told her all she needed to know. Her friend was gone, never to return again.

  She sank onto the chair. “How…” She paused searching for courage. “How did she die?”

  “Well now, Maddy,” Chief began, “don’t trouble yourself with the details. That’s what we’re here for. You just need to take some time and grieve.”

  Nathan stepped from his wall post and leveled her gaze.

  Madelyn tightened every muscle in her body, bracing for the impact of his words. Because she knew he would tell her what she needed to hear. He would tell her the truth.

  In a surprisingly caring, yet firm, voice, he said, “Her death was quick, but before that she was raped repeatedly and beaten.”

  The news was a sucker-punch to the gut. Oxygen fled her lungs. Agony, instantaneous and fierce, radiated through her middle. Yet she hunched only slightly from its decimation.

  Both men gave her silence. If they expected the news to settle, they ought to think again. Madelyn knew her friend was gone, but she couldn’t make the reality fit into her brain. She’d seen Nichole alive, happy, and vibrant days ago. Damnit, she still had things to talk to her about.

  There were confessions of her heart and secrets to share that now had no recipient. There were drinks to be had and a lifetime of friendship’s memories to be made...that never would be.

  Someone ended Nichole’s life incomplete in its possibilities. She would never laugh or cry again. She would never feel her abdomen swell full with a child, something she’d always longed for. She would never come to terms with wrinkles, sagging boobs, or varicose veins, things she’d always dreaded.

  Dead at twenty-five. The notion paralyzed, but Madelyn wouldn’t remain immobile. She couldn’t. Not now. She straightened to her full height. Her head rose and her gaze found Agent Brewer’s. “I want to see her. I need to…say goodbye.”

  “You wouldn’t recognize her,” he said.

  Understanding seeped into her bones like a cancer, eroding every good memory, tainting her present, and destroying her future. But still. She needed closure. No matter how painful.

  Madelyn set her jaw and stared into the storm of Agent Brewer’s eyes.

  “She’s with forensics now. I’ll take you as soon as she’s ready.”

  Chief began again, “Maddie, I will be looking in to other possibilities, while Agent Brewer here chases his ghost.” Chief stubbornly continued even when his gaze met the agent’s stalling glare. “I believe Jim Gallow is a person of interest and should not be overlooked in this case. They have a history, as you pointed out.”

  “My team will look into every possibility, Inspector. You’re officially off the case. This is now a federal investigation.” With the calm of a lapping surf and the tumult of its unseen riptide, Nathan stole the man’s footing. Chief folded his arms and glowered, but gave no indication of his willingness to cooperate. Yet, she got the impression he would abide and not like it one darn bit.

  Madelyn’s gaze jumped back and forth between the two men. Then a light bulb exploded in her head. “What if Jim heard about the other murders and made Nichole’s murder out to look like the others. You know, to cover the murder?”

  As Agent Brewer inhaled to state his case a chirp stopped him. After a glance at the display he headed for the office door. “Let’s go, Ms. Garrett.”

  With her heart wedged between her ribs, Madelyn stood.

  “Madelyn, I don’t agree with this,” Chief gruffed. “You don’t know what you’re getting yourself into.”

  She inhaled a shallow breath. It hurt less. “I know what I’m doing.”

  He aimed a hammy finger toward her chest. “You may have seen a dead body at a funeral, but you haven’t seen one carved up. It’s a whole other deal.”

  “Actually, Chief,” she said, “I have.”

  12

  She turned on her heels and sauntered through the door Nathan held open as though she hadn’t just pulled the pin on a grenade. From the slack jaw and near cross-eyed expression on Chief’s face, he hadn’t seen that one coming either. Nathan shook himself and hurried to catch Madelyn.

  The bitch of a receptionist braced her large bosom and even larger mouth with her hands. Guess she’d caught the news too. His wingtips clacked on the tile floor. He increased the tempo to gain on her slapping sandals. The one who’d had the closest connection with the victim seemed the least affected by the recent exchange. And that troubled Nathan in more ways than one.

  “What did you mean by, ‘I have?’” His baritone echoed in the deserted hallway.

  “I meant I’d be fine in the presence of a dead body.” Her steps continued on toward the foyer where a big lump of fur waited in the dim light.

  “I gathered that.”

  “Then why’d you ask again?” She shoved through the glass doors. Deacon sprang to his feet with his ears pricked and his tail wagging.

  “You know why I asked,” Nathan growled.

  The dog’s ears slicked. His chest puffed.

  Madelyn ignored him and planted a hand on the heavy entrance door.

  Nathan’s arm shot out. His hand cemented hers to the cold metal, boxing her in the frame of his body. Her rigid heat brushed his side. The contact offset the chill and made the day in the jungles seem downright tepid in comparison.

  “Answer me,” he demanded.

  Her dark hair swayed under his breath, tickling his chin. And if touching her wasn’t enough to make him dumb, he’d blow a one-point-oh on a Breathalyzer from the intoxication of her scent.

  A quiet snarl reverberated in the tiny room.

  Though really Nathan wasn’t one hundred percent certain which of the two had given the warning, he shifted his gaze to meet Deacon’s. “Pipe down. This is for her own good.”

  The noise quieted and the dog sat.

  “How in the hell is this for my own good?” She whipped her head around and tried to bore a hole into him with her dark eyes.

  “If I don't know your story, how can I protect you?”

  “I don’t need protection. I need to see my friend.”

  His gaze dropped to her mouth, which was way too close for either of their own good. Luckily her supple lips formed a hard lin
e. He let his fingers slide over the smooth back of her hand. “Let’s go. Deacon, you’re in the back.”

  He started forward, but bumped into her stalled backside. “Sorry.”

  “I’m taking my own car.” She shoved through the door and angled for her Jeep.

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Because?”

  “High emotions and operating a nearly three-hundred-horsepower machine don’t mesh well.”

  “I’ll be fine.”

  “You keep saying that.”

  She opened the door, let Deacon load, and met his gaze. Absently, she rubbed her palm over the back of the hand he’d touched. “I keep saying it because one day it’ll be true.”

  13

  Grey clouds blotted the sun’s dying rays. Madelyn downshifted, an especially difficult task with a big blockhead in her lap. The moment she’d fastened her seatbelt he crawled over, straddling the console with his extra large body. He knew. Without her having to say a word, he knew something bad had happened. She stared at the road and followed the SUV around a curve to keep from thinking.

  All too soon they pulled in front of a massive green military-style tent in the center of an empty lot. Agent Brewer slid out of his rental. Its door groaned like an ancient relic as he heaved the door with a bit more force than necessary.

  Madelyn lifted Deacon’s head to her mouth and smacked a kiss between his brows. “I have to go for a few minutes. You can’t come with me. I’m sorry.” She scooted out the vehicle. He pulled the rest of his body over the hump and curled into the driver’s seat.

  “Are you sure you still want to do this?”

  He’d lost the coat, but his sleeves were still buttoned and his tie pulled tight. She’d wanted to yank him by it earlier and scream for him to mind his own damn business. But he’d found Nichole. One way or the other. Just like he’d said. So, she’d kept her hands to herself.

  “I’m not going to fall apart,” she said.

  “It’s okay if you do.”

  Experience wouldn’t allow her to lose her cool in front of anyone, except her dog.When she didn’t respond he frowned and walked ahead. “This way.” At the makeshift doorway he pulled the flap back and ushered her inside with a wave of his hand.

  Stale air infused with chemicals stung her nostrils. Mobile air conditioners at war with the heat and humidity hummed. A person covered hair-to-toe in a white hazmat-style suit shifted back and forth at a row of machines at the far end of the tent. Two agents—she guessed by the black T-shirts with the letters FBI stamped over the breast—talked quietly over a map.

  She followed Agent Brewer as he made his way toward the rear of the tent. Reaching a partition, he called out, “Artie.” Ten seconds later a short bald man appeared from behind the green canvas. Crow’s feet laced his kind blue eyes.

  The man reached out his hand. “You must be Madelyn Garrett. I am Artie Stergin, the team’s lead forensic analyst and coroner. I am very sorry for your loss. But you know you don’t have to do this. She has already been identified by Mr. Gallow.”

  Madelyn’s stomach rolled like a sailboat caught in a squall. She pictured Jim smiling over Nichole’s lifeless body. Identified by her killer. The sentiment was wrong in every way something could be wrong. Somehow, she didn’t give in to the urge to flee or vomit.

  “I am here...to say goodbye,” she whispered.

  “All right.” The old man nodded. “I’ve cleaned Mrs. Gallow up as much as possible. You can take all the time you need. Whenever you’re ready…”

  Scared that with more time she’d lose her nerve, she jumped in. “I’m ready.”

  Nichole’s body lay covered on a table in the center of the room. Tables filled with beakers, microscopes, evidence bags, and other analysis equipment lined the canvas walls of the room. Artie walked around the table and faced Madelyn, while Nathan stood a few feet back to her right.

  Artie canted his head. She nodded for him to proceed. The white sheet rolled gently back and her friend’s swollen and sallow face came into view.

  Madelyn wanted to scream and cover her own face. She wanted to turn and run. Forever. Instead, she looked more carefully. She blocked out the horrors in front of her and searched for her friend’s familiar features, the things she’d loved.

  She found the beauty mark just below Nichole’s left eye. She found the smile lines framing her friend’s lips. Nichole had called them ‘preemptive wrinkles.’ Those were the things she would remember. Those were the things she would miss.

  A weight heavier than the sea crushed Madelyn’s spirit. She didn’t want to say goodbye. She swallowed the tears threatening to escape.

  I’m sorry, Nichole. I wish I could have, no, I wish I would have done more to help you. I can’t change this, but I can make sure he doesn’t get away with it. I miss you already. I will miss you forever. Thank you for being my friend. I love you.

  A fissure formed in Madelyn’s stoic resolve. Sadness welled. She turned hoping to escape the tent and the torrent of emotions dogging her heels. Agent Brewer’s wide chest brought her and her seeping waterworks up short. Sometime in her goodbye he’d closed the gap between them. Only his firm grip on her shoulders kept her from crashing into him…or the ground, in an effort to add distance between them. Quite literally the man threw her off balance.

  His eyes were hooded with concern. Refusing to hold his gaze for fear her mental state would disintegrate, she dropped hers to his stubbled chin. The proximity and shadow of hair revealed a dip in the cleft of his firm jaw that she hadn’t noticed yesterday.

  Silently his hands dropped and he stepped back. Without a glance Madelyn bolted, retreating through the doors. When at last fresh air filled her lungs, the sky loomed as black as her heavy heart. Desperate to alleviate the stench of death she heaved several breaths.

  “Madelyn.” He hadn’t called her by name before. It resonated in his deep tones and raised a flush across her skin.

  She stopped walking only when she reached her Jeep, and then turned to face him. Her weak grip latched onto the door. The hunk of metal and Deacon’s mossy scent steadied her weak knees. “Thank you for letting me say goodbye.”

  Again he’d come closer than she expected. His shoulder nearly grazed the side mirror of her vehicle. And again his deep gaze yanked her under. Yes, sadness haunted his dark eyes, but the textured layers of intensity, lust, and sincerity made interesting textures. She needed the reprieve from reality. His gaze eased its crippling weight.

  “Madelyn, you need to go into protective custody.”

  Just like that, reality crushed her. That she remained upright after the blow only attested to her resolve not to reveal the storm raging inside. But she couldn’t hide her puzzlement. “What! Why?”

  “I think you could be his next victim.”

  “Jim won’t touch me.”

  “I don’t think its Jim.”

  “But you don’t have any proof that it’s not.”

  “Please, listen.” The striated muscles of his jaw flexed.

  Biting her lip to stave off the rain of tears, she did as he asked.

  “You’d be taken to a safe house until we get this guy. A couple of weeks max. We’re so close to getting this bastard. We would set up a decoy in your house and catch him when he makes his move.”

  “I’m not going to let anyone run me off again. So, Agent Brewer, you do what you need to do to catch whoever did this to my friend.”

  With that she retreated to the safety of her car. Agent Brewer stood like a statue of a Greek god, or perhaps a gargoyle, from the sneering expression on his face, and watched her leave. She wheeled onto the main road out of the agent’s sight and Deacon turned to face the back of the Jeep. He hung his head low and whined a pitiful song.

  14

  The clack of her bolt sliding into place shattered the last of her resolve. Waves of guilt and loss knocked Madelyn to her knees. The unforgiving impact of the tiles stung inconsequentially compared to t
he ache in her chest. Her purse slipped from her shoulder and crashed to the floor. Its contents scattered. A tube of lipstick she never wore pirouetted. Tears distorted the mess into marbled gobs.

  Her fists beat the cool floor until her breaths became so labored she splayed them on the burnt orange clay to keep from flattening her nose on them. A screech so animalistic it belonged in the wild pinged off the terra cotta. Wetness pooled beneath her fingers. When her tears ran out and fatigue dulled the rage she curled into a ball.

  A chill settled in her marrow. How had her neatly ordered life come crashing down around her? Why did hell’s hounds gnash at her heels? She knew the answer. Madelyn slammed her eyes shut in the dark house to block out the undeniable truth. Still it seeped in like the cold.

  Because you’re a murderer.

  The old wounds gaped as though never healed. And they weren’t. And they never would be.

  Silent and tearless sobs wracked her prone form. Just when the cold and solitude became too much to bear the quiet tap of paws shuffled her way. Humid breath coursed through her hair and onto her neck. Then, in a heap, Deacon piled himself against her knotted arms and legs.

  Relief from the cold came little by little, thawing her bones and stemming the hopelessness that was tomorrow. Her lids grew heavy. Her will to move faded. And so a dreamless sleep claimed her.

  Stiff lids opened to the break of day spilling in through the windows. Deacon’s big striped head lay a few inches from her nose. She tightened the arm she’d draped over the pup at some point in the night.

  “I don’t deserve you.”

  The words came out as a grumbled croak. Her throat burned as though she’d swallowed a cactus bulb and washed it down with acid. She nuzzled her face in the dog’s neck and held him close for as long as her screaming hip could stand. Rolling onto her back, she took in the wood ceiling, the underside of the bar, the scarred legs of the two-seater table across from it, and the tiny granules of sand that had migrated in from the beach only a couple of feet away.