His private cell went off and he checked the caller ID. FBI agent Hawk Bledsoe. He switched off the radio in his Escalade, so he didn’t inadvertently broadcast his conversation over the airwaves, and answered.
“McCall here.”
“Agent Bledsoe.”
“What’s up?” he asked, scanning the street as he pulled away from Main and toward the station.
“Just checking in. Any leads on the Johanna Tate case?” he asked.
Johanna Tate—Samuel Grayson’s main girlfriend up until she was found dead two months ago, eighty miles away outside Eden—was a case Ford couldn’t let go of, in spite of his boss’s less-than-supportive stance on the subject.
“No,” he answered darkly, hating that justice was being thwarted. “Nothing so far, especially when I’ve got Fargo blocking me at every turn. He doesn’t want me poking around, which tells me that’s exactly why I need to keep at it. Anything from the lab?”
The forensic evidence from beneath Johanna’s nails had been sent for testing to the FBI lab. They had far more resources, and if anything was going to show up, the FBI labs would find it.
“Not yet. These things move slow,” Hawk said. “Everyone knows Johanna was Samuel’s girl. There has to be someone who knows what happened to her. Keep asking around.”
“Why won’t you let me put some pressure on Samuel himself? He seems the most logical suspect,” Ford groused. “We need to lean on him, let him know that he’s not untouchable.”
“Not yet,” Hawk warned, pissing off Ford even more. He felt collared and neutered, tiptoeing around Samuel Grayson just because the FBI wanted to nail him with a bigger case than one murder. “Just keep doing what you’re doing. Besides, you start poking at Grayson and you’ll end up with a bullet sandwich for breakfast. Trust me in this. We’ll get him, but we have to do it right. We’ve only got one shot. We can’t blow it going off half-cocked just because we’re itching to nail the guy. Promise me you’ll keep a low profile.”
“Yeah,” Ford grumbled, pulling into the station. “I’m at the station. I’ll check in if I hear anything new.”
“Good man,” Hawk said and clicked off.
Ford returned the radio to its preset and shut down his cruiser to stalk inside.
His boss, Police Chief Bo Fargo, looked up from his desk with a scowl. Fresh scratches marred his face, which only made the ornery cuss uglier. He was probably the only unattractive man allowed in Grayson’s little cluster of goons. Ford wondered at the scratches but didn’t care enough to ask, not that Fargo would’ve shared; the boss wasn’t exactly a touchy-feely, hug-your-neighbor type of guy.
“Where you been?” Fargo barked. “Couldn’t raise you on the radio.”
“On patrol,” he answered, going straight to his desk. “Radio got switched off by accident. It was only off for a minute, though.”
“That seems to happen a lot,” Fargo said, narrowing his gaze. “Got a problem with your equipment?”
“No, sir. Just an accident.”
“See that you get a handle on it, Officer,” Fargo warned.
Ford gave a curt nod and focused on his notes about Johanna Tate.
The coroner had concluded that she’d been strangled due to the ugly bruising around her larynx that was consistent with finger placement around the neck. But there were other bruises, too, that suggested a struggle, which was why Ford had made the inroads with Hawk to have the fingernail scrapings sent to the FBI lab. She’d been clothed and the sexual-assault exam had revealed no findings. And when Ford had read Fargo’s report about his interview with Grayson when they’d discovered Johanna’s body, Ford had been incensed at the piss-poor quality of the report.
“Grayson doesn’t have an alibi,” Ford had pointed out, dropping the report on Fargo’s desk once Fargo had released his supplemental information. “We need to question him again. Why isn’t Eden pushing this?”
Fargo had leveled his watery stare at Ford and said, “We? I don’t recall there being a we on this case. I interviewed him and the man didn’t kill his favorite girl. Eden investigators agreed. Case closed.”
Ford longed to contradict his boss, but he kept his tongue in his head. “Anyone else gave us this kind of answer and we’d be digging for more information. Why not with him?”
“Samuel Grayson is a good man and he’s broken up about Johanna. Have some respect, McCall. Mr. Grayson is grieving. I’m not about to hound him during his time of mourning.”
Yeah, Ford could see how deeply Grayson was grieving—by screwing every woman who would lift their skirts for him. “No one says you can’t be respectful in your questioning. I’d think that Grayson would want to answer our questions so we can satisfy our concerns about his involvement and move on to the next suspect. An innocent man has nothing to hide, right?”
“I cleared him. He is an innocent man.”
“What about Johanna? Doesn’t she deserve our full attention to her case?”
“Johanna, rest her soul, is gone. She doesn’t care what happens now. The fact of the matter is, we may never know what happened to her. You know that there are millions of unsolved cases in the world. Sad but true.”
“Not in Cold Plains,” Ford countered with a thread of steel.
“She didn’t die in Cold Plains, now, did she? My notes say she was found in Eden. That’s eighty miles away. And frankly, not our case. Johanna Tate’s case is Eden’s responsibility, not ours. The only reason we were brought in at all was because she was a Cold Plains resident. But as far as I’m concerned, Samuel Grayson isn’t a suspect and I’d better not find out that you’ve been harassing the man or I’ll have your badge.”
Ford had startled at the threat. Without ample cause, Fargo couldn’t strip him of his badge, but the very fact that he’d make the threat gave Ford pause. “You’re right. It’s in Eden’s court now,” Ford conceded, adding, “which is why I suggested that the FBI take a look at the forensics. They happily agreed. Whatever was under Johanna’s nails is now being tested with state-of-the-art technology. Something is bound to show up.”
Fargo stilled, his stare sharpening to a razor edge. Ford held his ground. If Grayson had nothing to hide, he’d come out smelling like a rose. “My, my…you’re a helpful guy, aren’t you?” Fargo nearly sneered.
“Just doing my job,” Ford stated evenly, refusing to let Fargo intimidate him like he bullied everyone else in this town. “I’m sure you can appreciate that, being an officer of the law yourself.”
They stared each other down, a standoff of sorts, but finally Fargo looked away first, but not before saying with a shrug, “Try to remember who you’re working for, son. You could go far if you do.”
“I know who I work for, Chief. The community of Cold Plains.” Not Samuel Grayson. Finished, Ford returned to his desk, his temper spiked but under control. He had to keep a cool head, or like Hawk said, he’d be munching on lead, and his case would be filed alongside Johanna’s as unsolved.
Chapter 11
True to his prediction, Rafe was summoned to Grayson’s office to chat the following day. Rafe canceled his patient load and gave Darcy the day off, then hurried to the community center where Grayson held court.
Rafe had been introduced to Samuel when he first arrived in town, as Samuel liked to personally greet anyone who was looking to become a permanent part of his community, but the meeting had hardly been memorable, at least on Samuel’s part.
Now Rafe could see keen interest light up Samuel’s eyes as he entered the office. He was probably wondering, was this a man who could benefit me somehow? Another doctor in his pocket would likely serve him well. Playing the game sickened Rafe, but he was willing to do whatever he had to to find his son.
“Please, take a seat,” Grayson said, gesturing to the seat opposite his expansive mahogany desk. Two tonic waters appeared, thanks to the helpful—and pretty—personal assistants Grayson kept flitting about for his business. And other things, he’d heard rumored. Rafe accepted a
water and cracked it with a dutiful swig. Grayson left his untouched but appeared pleased by Rafe’s actions. “I hear you want to help at the clinic? Virgil says you come highly qualified.”
“Thank you, sir,” Rafe said. “I’m honored that you would even consider me for service. I feel the need to do more for my community and I heard that the clinic is short staffed at the moment.”
“Happily, our population continues to grow with like-minded people, but that does put a strain on our resources at present,” Grayson admitted. “Our maternity ward is quite full at all times. Cold Plains is a place for families and we’re overjoyed at the fertile bounty. However, more hands would be a blessing.”
“Obstetrics and pediatrics aren’t exactly my forte, but I’d be happy to fill in wherever I’m needed.”
“Virgil said you had a good attitude. I see he was right. Tell me, have you become a Devotee to the Cold Plains way?” Grayson asked, putting Rafe on the spot.
Technically, he hadn’t pledged yet and this was likely something Grayson already knew but it all hinged on how he answered. Rafe went with a variation of the truth. “I support everything Cold Plains stands for, and I attend the meetings as I can. But I haven’t pledged just yet.”
“Any particular reason? What’s holding you back?” Grayson asked mildly as if he were merely curious, when in fact, Rafe knew he was being tested.
“Can I share a personal philosophy?” he said, sidestepping the question a little, to which Grayson nodded with curiosity. “There are people who get baptized and then do all manner of ungodly things because they think, well, hell, I’m in the clear because I’ve been forgiven. And then there are the people who never step foot in a church but are known by their good work. I’m a man of action, not words. I believe in the Cold Plains way. I think you’ve created a good thing here, but I don’t feel it’d be right for me to pledge just for the sake of doing it. Know me by my actions, not my words.”
Rafe held his breath, knowing he may have just shot himself in the foot. And the longer the pause went on, Rafe wished he’d just lied and said he was planning to pledge that week. But just when the tension grew to an unbearable level, Grayson broke into an amused grin, saying, “I like you. You’re honest. And we need honest men.” He straightened, getting to business. “But good character aside, when people pledge and become Devotees, it’s more about fostering community and becoming a stronger unit by encouraging conformity to the way we live.”
“Are you saying I need to pledge to volunteer at the clinic?” Rafe asked.
Grayson shrugged. “Of course not. You’ve proven yourself an honorable and valuable member of the community, but I’d like you to reconsider. You’d make an excellent ambassador. We need people like you on our side, promoting the Cold Plains lifestyle.”
“I’ll give it serious consideration,” Rafe said.
“See that you do,” Grayson said, looking up when an assistant appeared at the door.
“Your next appointment is here, Mr. Grayson,” the pert blonde said with an adoring smile.
“Thank you, Penny,” Grayson said. There was nothing in his voice to suggest impropriety, but maybe it was because Rafe had heard stories to the contrary that he couldn’t help but see Grayson’s gaze alight on the young woman’s supple and trim curves. Penny disappeared and Grayson returned his attention to Rafe, who had already stood to take his leave. “I like that you’re a straight shooter, Rafe Black. An honest man is a rarity these days. Virgil will be in touch. Thank you for coming in.”
“My pleasure, Mr. Grayson,” he murmured, accepting another perfunctory handshake before letting himself out. Before he walked out the front doors, he saw Penny slip into the office and heard the muffled click of the lock turning.
Disgusted, Rafe hurried from the building before he lost his lunch and blew the carefully cultivated act he’d orchestrated to dupe Grayson.
It was worth it, he reminded himself.
Anything was worth finding Devin.
Darcy caught wind of the fact that Rafe was interviewing for a volunteer position at the clinic. When they returned to the office the next day, she was full of questions that were probably none of her business, but it troubled her more than she wanted to admit, thinking that Rafe was on board with the Cold Plains cuckoos. She’d since discovered that the clinic was ground zero for the cultie sect.
“How was your meeting?” she asked, trying for nonchalant but likely failing. She’d never been much of an actress, but she supposed she’d better get skilled fast if she wanted to get anywhere here. Well, she’d get some practice with Rafe. “Everything go okay?”
“It went very well,” he answered with a smile. “Did you enjoy your day off?”
Ah, polite banter. That’s right. Cue the banal details of an otherwise uneventful day. “I went to the library, checked out a book or two—okay, twist my arm, it was three—and I met Officer McCall. Nice guy. Cute, too.” Now, why’d she add that? Maybe to gauge Rafe’s reaction.
At McCall’s name, Rafe looked at her sharply. “Oh? You like him?”
“He seems nice enough. I guess he’s a native. Born and raised right here in Cold Plains. Of course he said it used to be a lot different back in the day. In fact, things really started to change—for the better, of course—when Mr. Grayson decided to put down roots.”
“Yes, I’ve heard the town was much different before Samuel…even the street names.”
“Excuse me?”
“Oh yeah. You know, this used to be Oak and Elm, now it’s Success Avenue and Principle Lane.”
“Boy, that kinda sucks for the locals who grew up with the streets the old way,” she murmured, flabbergasted that someone would move into town and then change the street names.
He shrugged. “No one seemed to complain too loudly.”
They were probably afraid to, thought Darcy. “So, you’re thinking of volunteering at the clinic? You’re already pretty busy.”
“It’s important to me,” he said.
“Why?” she asked.
“I…” he started, then frowned as if he’d been about to give away more than he was ready to impart. He finished with a smile. “It just is.”
“I get it, something personal. I’m sorry to have pressed. I just thought that the clinic might not be your style.” As in, I’d hoped you weren’t part of that group but apparently you are. She worked hard to conceal the sharp disappointment welling in her chest. “Well, I hope you find what you’re looking for.”
His stare narrowed and she wondered what she’d said wrong, but whatever it was disappeared in the next blink. “My first patient will be here soon. I need to go over my case notes,” he said, turning and disappearing into his office.
Darcy let out a shaky breath, wondering what sort of nerve she’d hit with her innocent comment. She’d give anything to have a peek inside that brain of his. There was a reason he pushed himself to the extreme and was now looking to volunteer at the clinic. Something didn’t add up—the looks, the quiet steel behind his eyes and now this sudden urge to spend every waking moment with the community of Cold Plains. If she didn’t know better, she’d say Rafe Black had something to hide, or maybe, he was looking for something, just like her.
She needed to spend more time with Rafe. But if he planned to spread himself so thin, how was she to carve any time out for her?
Leaning back in her chair, she fiddled with her bracelet, hoping inspiration would hit her. She needed a plan, something to put her closer to the man. The door opening interrupted her thoughts as Rafe’s first patient entered. Shelving her personal dilemma for the moment, she put on a smile and did her best to charm everyone who walked through the front door.
Bo had received a summons from Grayson five minutes before he was set to head home. He’d grumbled when he’d read the caller ID on his phone, but he hadn’t dared ignore the call, which was why, instead of enjoying a beer, he was listening to Grayson chastise him for being late with his delivery.
&
nbsp; “What’s the delay?” Grayson demanded, his patience growing thinner by each failed attempt to get Darcy Craven into Grayson’s office for a “meeting.”
“I can’t seem to catch her. She’s working a lot with Doc Black, and each time I’ve gone by her hotel room, she’s been out.”
“I’m starting to feel as if she isn’t interested in meeting me.”
“I’m sure that’s not it,” Bo assured Grayson, though it smacked of all kinds of wrong to be mollifying a grown man like a spoiled child, but in some ways, Bo had discovered Grayson could give kids a run for their money in the petulant department. “She’s just new to town and getting to know people, I guess. She’ll come around eventually.”
“I want to meet her now,” Grayson said, a dark thread weaving its way into his voice. “This is getting ridiculous.”
Looking to distract Grayson, Bo said, “What happened to Penny? Your new assistant…she seemed like a nice gal.”
“For a time. Speaking of, she’ll need some aftercare. Take her to the clinic tomorrow. Use the back entrance. I don’t need that officer of yours asking questions.”
Ah hell. That meant Penny was probably a mess. Sometimes Grayson got a little overzealous in his bed play, and cuts and bruises occurred.
“Where is she?” Bo asked.
Grayson gestured to the bedroom cleverly concealed behind a false wall in his office.
“Maybe I ought to take a look.”
“Be my guest. She’s finally stopped crying. It wasn’t even that vigorous. I hardly used the cat-o’-nine-tails.”
Bo winced. The cat-o’-nine was a vicious whip. He wouldn’t want that sucker striking on his butt, that was for sure. He pushed on the false wall and it swung open, revealing a young woman lying facedown on the bed, bloody welts and gashes lacing her exposed flesh. Bo rolled her over and bit back a few curses when he saw her fat lip and black eye. “Was that really necessary?” he asked, irritated at the mess he’d have to clean up.
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