The Scarlett Bell FBI Series

by Dan Padavona

“Hit the gym, read.”

  “Yeah, and it’s only dudes at your gym. Come on, Gardy. You’re a good-looking guy. Fun to be around. For the most part.”

  “For the most part?”

  “It was a joke.”

  “No, tell me. You don’t think I’ve been fun to be around lately.”

  Bell exhaled. She wasn’t ready for this conversation.

  “Listen, I get it. The shooting in California affected you. It would anybody. But you can’t let it define who you are. You can talk to me, you know?”

  His back to her, Gardy moved further down the joists. It took effort to keep up, and she kept losing her balance.

  “I made a mistake. If I’d positioned myself properly—”

  “Then the bullet would have passed over your head and hit me instead. You took a bullet for me, Gardy. Did you ever consider that?”

  A sneaker-sized indentation marked a strip of insulation. Gardy bent to examine it. He kept his face averted, and Bell got the distinct impression he was crying.

  “He tried to walk across the joists and stepped on a bag of insulation,” Gardy said. “That’s a tough balancing act.”

  Bell pictured the maniac walking a tightrope across the thin piece of board through the darkness, Lori Tannehill downstairs and unaware. Her own struggles confirmed it was impossible to walk along the joists without stumbling. Instinctively, she reached up and held the upper joists for support. Her fingertips were gritty with cobwebs and ages of dust. Gardy stood and reached for the ceiling.

  “Don’t touch anything.”

  Confusion crossed his face.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “It’s like you said. A tough balancing act. I bet he grabbed the ceiling to keep from falling. And it’s nothing but grime and dust.”

  Gardy snapped his fingers.

  “So there should be a fingerprint.”

  “Damn straight.”

  He wore a smile now, his eyes lost in the shadows. Gardy straightened and aimed the beam along the ceiling. He almost tripped, and Bell hurried to reach him.

  “Here,” she said, one knee on the board, her shoulder offered for support.

  “Should I hum a bar from Lean on Me?”

  “Just get on with it. This board is killing my knee.”

  He had one hand on her shoulder, the other moving the flashlight along the dusty ceiling. The grit and insulation played havoc with her sinuses as if tiny spiders crawled in-and-out of her nostrils. She sneezed into the crook of her arm, and he lost his footing and fell. Gardy’s upper body sloped across her back, his arms wrapped around her shoulders. In the awkward silence, he steadied himself.

  “Sorry about that.”

  “I didn’t know you cared,” she said, smirking.

  “You’re full of it tonight.”

  As Gardy climbed to his feet, Bell thought about Lucas and ached with guilt again. Nothing had happened, but in a matter of hours she’d be sleeping a few steps away from Gardy, and she couldn’t ignore how she felt right now with the agent’s arms around her. It felt right, comforting. She shook the thought from her head and braced herself as he placed his hand on her shoulder. She’d turned off her own flashlight, and her eyes started to adjust to the dim light when Gardy whistled.

  “I’ll be damned. He left a thumbprint.”

  That was when something thumped against the sliding glass door.

  CHAPTER NINETY-SIX

  Bell edged down the staircase behind Gardy. The agents moved on cats’ paws, not making a sound as they descended from the second-floor landing. The wall shielded them, but when they rounded the banister, they’d be exposed to whoever snooped outside the house.

  It was then Bell recalled the shadowed figure watching from across the street and thought of the killer. Had he returned to relive the crime so soon? She slipped the Glock-22 off her hip.

  A scraping noise came from behind the house. It sounded like someone bumped into a patio chair and nudged it across concrete.

  Gardy held up his hand and brought them to a stop. He pointed at the wall switch at the bottom of the stairway. Throwing it would plunge the lower floor into darkness and make them invisible, allowing the agents to see outside. His gun was in his hand as Gardy reached along the wall and flicked the switch. It was as if night swallowed the downstairs.

  They waited several seconds for their eyes to adjust, listening. For all Bell knew, it might have been a raccoon pawing at the glass and waddling around the patio, but she didn’t think so. The hairs on the back of her neck told her she was being watched.

  Gardy swung around the wall first, and Bell followed with her weapon aimed into the living room. The concrete patio was visible beyond the glass, one chair pushed at an angle. The front door was locked, no face at the window.

  “You don’t think it’s PD snooping around,” Bell whispered.

  “No reason to. Not unless someone wanted to keep an eye on us, and I can’t see Jay—”

  Another thump, this time along the back of the house.

  Gardy slipped toward the glass and motioned Bell toward the front door. She nodded, knowing she was to circle around the house and cut off the intruder after Gardy swept him out of hiding. A clicking noise came from behind the house. Damn, it sounded like someone cocked a gun.

  She moved outside into the warm Florida night. Shrubs lined the bungalow’s perimeter. Too many hiding places.

  Bell rounded the house and crept toward the backyard, using the wall as a shield. The clicking sound came again, and her heart jumped into her throat.

  Then Gardy shouted, “FBI, freeze!”

  Running footsteps. Whoever was out there, she’d meet him at the corner of the house.

  The shadow figure crashed into view.

  “FBI!” The man’s face came up in alarm. “Stay where you are. Hands above your head where I can see them.”

  She turned her flashlight on the figure, a middle-aged, balding, dumpy man with glasses. Gavin Hayward, the lead reporter for The Informer.

  “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot. I’m unarmed.”

  “Hold still.”

  She kept the gun fixed on the reporter, his eyes rolling like marbles as Gardy patted him down.

  “He’s clean.”

  Bell harrumphed.

  “Jesus, Hayward. What the hell are you doing out here?”

  “Pictures, just pictures,” he said, raising the camera.

  The camera hung from a strap around his neck. The zoom lens looked like a miniature telescope. Bell guessed he could have photographed the house from a few hundred feet away if he had a clear sight line.

  Gardy reached for the camera, and Hayward snatched it away.

  “You can’t take my camera. I know my rights.”

  “You’re trespassing on private property,” said Gardy, gripping the reporter by the arm.

  “Who will press charges? Lori Tannehill is dead.”

  “Don’t give me that shit, Hayward. Trespassing is trespassing.”

  “Good luck getting the charges to stick. Wait until you hear from our lawyers.”

  “Yeah, yeah. It’s out of our hands now. You’ll have to sic your big city lawyers on the Palm Dunes Police Department.”

  Gardy reached for his phone.

  “Is that necessary? Come on, guys.”

  But Gardy was already speaking to dispatch, one eye fixed on Hayward. The reporter shuffled his feet.

  “Stay where you are, Hayward,” Bell said. “The police will want to talk to you.”

  “Listen, Agent Bell, it was just a few pictures. Nobody got hurt. I didn’t try to go inside the house.”

  “Quiet.”

  “We can work something out, you and me. I came here for you.”

  “Excuse me?”

  Hayward grinned. One of his top incisors was fake. It looked silver in the moonlight.

  “Don’t you get it? You’re a star, Agent Bell. Whatever the FBI pays you, we can double it. I’m talking an exclusive interview.”


  “You’re insane.”

  “Am I? The world is fascinated with serial killers and the agents who track them. Nobody captured more serial killers than you in the last year. Meeks, Hodge, Longo, for God’s sake, The Skinner.”

  Bell kept the light fixed on Hayward’s face. She nudged the beam until he squinted and shielded his eyes.

  “Not interested. The Informer is exploitative trash.”

  “Tell me about this guy. This new killer. Is he like Longo?” Bell sighed and shook her head. “Come on, Agent Bell. Give me something. One hand washes the other. I swear I’ll make this worth your while. Is it true Logan Wolf kidnapped you and you escaped? Christ, do you know how much that story is worth? Think of the book and movie rights. You’d be set for life. You could move your parents into—”

  “Don’t you go anywhere near my parents, Hayward,” she said, gesturing with the Glock.

  “Hey, hey. No need to get excited. I’m just saying Bealton, Virginia isn’t as safe as it was thirty years ago, so maybe if you allowed me to interview them—”

  “Say one more word and I’ll shut your trap permanently.”

  Hayward opened his mouth to protest as the red and blue lights flashed curbside.

  “That was quick,” said Bell, lowering the flashlight.

  Rubbing the glare out of his eyes, Hayward gave her a desperate, defeated look.

  Gardy clutched Hayward’s arm.

  “Come with me. There are people who want to meet you.”

  CHAPTER NINETY-SEVEN

  Neither Phalen nor the crime scene techs seemed overjoyed to analyze the bungalow after nine, and Phalen was perturbed to see Gavin Hayward in the back of a cruiser. Regardless, the detective gave Gardy an atta-boy pat on the back for good police work.

  “Told you Hayward is a distraction.”

  “He’s all yours, Jay. Throw the book at him.”

  Phalen glanced over his shoulder at the cruiser and shrugged.

  “Not much we can do, to be honest. He didn’t damage the property. Best we can do is hit the louse with a fine, and even then The Informer will pay it. You have any idea what he photographed?”

  “I caught him taking shots behind the house. He tried to document how the killer climbed up to the attic.”

  “Scumbag.”

  “That’s the world we live in. Hold him as long as you can, Jay. Make him uncomfortable.”

  “The lawyers will spring him inside of an hour. I’ll put the fear of God into him, but I doubt it will do much good.” Phalen waved his finger at them. “No more distractions from Hayward. Keep him out of our hair.”

  “Easier said than done.”

  A crime scene tech wearing a white suit and dust mask shuffled up the front steps. Phalen cocked his head at him.

  “To hell with The Informer. Good work spotting the print. I don’t know how we missed it the first time.”

  “Don’t congratulate me. Bell was the one who figured out the killer grabbed the ceiling joist.”

  Phalen nodded and gave Bell a cautious, undecided smile.

  It was eleven when Bell and Gardy made it back to the Palm Dunes Garden Inn. Neither had eaten since the plane ride, and that meal had been a gnat-sized pack of honey-roasted peanuts. The poolside cabana was still serving food, and Bell grabbed a haddock sandwich, while Gardy chose a questionable looking barbecue meal. Bell cocked an eyebrow. She wouldn’t forgive him if he was up late with stomach issues.

  Two women, a blonde and a redhead, shared a stool at the end of the counter. The redhead dipped her straw into a fruity cocktail and gave Gardy a sly grin. She wore a sundress that kissed the tops of her tanned thighs.

  Bell elbowed Gardy.

  “What?”

  “You should go talk to her?”

  “Uh…”

  “Come on, she’s checking you out.”

  Gardy’s face turned crimson. He focused on his food, which consisted of ninety percent barbecue sauce and bread and ten percent mystery meat.

  “We should go—”

  “Too late. They’re coming over.”

  The blonde locked arms with the redhead who’d lost her sea legs. Gardy stood as they approached and backed against the counter. The redhead laid a hand on his chest and ran a finger to his navel.

  “You’re a cute one.”

  Bell turned her head and bit her cheek to keep from laughing.

  “I’d hit that in a second if I was into guys.”

  Then the two women kissed, and the redhead fell into the blonde laughing. A moment later, they stumbled together toward the resort. Gardy’s mouth hung agape. He shook his head as if clearing cobwebs.

  “Thanks a lot,” Gardy said, taking a monstrous bite out of his food.

  Bell raised her hands, a contrite smirk on her face.

  “Sorry. I thought she liked you.”

  “Yeah? Maybe she was looking at you.”

  Bell cut her laughter off, her cheeks rosy.

  They grabbed their food and found a bench on the boardwalk. The walkway remained active with walkers and bicyclists, the temperature comfortable despite the cool breeze. Bell couldn’t see the gulf, only the waves as they crested against the sand. Beyond that lay the deep of night and pure imagination, a darkness that swallowed the world.

  “Oh my God, this is so good,” Bell said, dabbing tartar sauce off the corner of her mouth. Given her famished state, a gas station hot dog would have tasted like nirvana.

  A roller skater cruised past, and Bell brought her legs in to give him room. A good looking man in cargo shorts sat cross-legged on another bench and sipped on a soda.

  “The barbecue is amazing, too.”

  “You sure? You can’t identify the ingredients.”

  “Pork, I think they said. And no, I’m not sure, but I’d maul a boar with a steak knife if one galloped down the boardwalk.”

  Bell was eating too fast. Fries came with the sandwich, a bad idea this late, but the salty, greasy treat tempted her with its delectable scents. In between bites, she took a breath and closed her eyes. She could have drifted into a peaceful sleep on the bench. She wondered if the nightmares would follow her to the boardwalk.

  “I’m not buying our sleeping arrangement, Gardy.”

  “Well, too bad, because I’m not changing my mind.”

  “We’re paying for two rooms in a luxury resort hotel and only using one. Talk about fleecing the American taxpayer.”

  “There’s no helping it. I can’t cancel your room without everyone thinking we…you know.”

  “What? You make it sound like we’re having an affair.”

  Gardy choked on his food.

  “Don’t even say that. The FBI will fire both of us. Point is it would look bad if anyone found out. I won’t risk leaving you alone. Not after what happened in Pronti.”

  A young couple walked past holding hands. The boardwalk traffic had thinned, the resort guests retiring to their rooms or wandering into seaside pubs.

  “You can’t guard me all the time, Gardy. You don’t hide in the bushes when I’m inside my apartment, do you? Wait, don’t answer that.”

  Gardy snickered.

  “I don’t need to. Remember, the FBI has round-the-clock detail outside your apartment when you’re home.”

  “Comforting,” she said.

  Logan Wolf and the overprotective FBI killed the quiet privacy of her beach apartment. Would they put Gardy’s house under constant surveillance if Wolf stalked him, or was this a male-female thing? She chewed her lip as the light from a distant ship pass across the horizon.

  “So here’s what I think about our unknown subject,” she said.

  “Go.”

  “He’s hedonistic but organized.”

  “What do you base that on?”

  “That he’s choosing a certain type points to him being a lust killer, yet all we have to go on is one fingerprint in a dusty attic.”

  “And the fingerprint won’t help us catch him,” Gardy said, dipping
a fry into the barbecue sauce. “Not unless he has a record. What else?”

  “He’s upscale enough to fit into both Tannehill’s and Morris’s neighborhoods. Otherwise, someone would have spotted him.”

  “A sad commentary on society, but I agree.”

  Bell drummed her fingers on her thigh.

  “It wasn’t the boyfriend, Doss.”

  “I can buy that.” A man in tattered clothing walked past holding a saxophone. Gardy dug into his wallet and handed the man a five-dollar bill. “But with the boyfriend’s history of violence, it wouldn’t be prudent to rule him out yet.”

  “I’m keeping my mind open,” she said. Gardy glanced at Bell, then looked away. “What?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Tell me. There’s tartar sauce on my face, isn’t there?”

  “No. It’s just that…” He groaned. “You realize you resemble both Morris and Tannehill, I hope.”

  “I’d hardly say I resemble them.”

  “Close enough. I won‘t preach, but with you in the limelight now, all thanks to our friend at The Informer, the killer will notice the FBI agent tasked with tracking him fits his type.”

  “So he’ll try to murder me next? Pretty brazen.”

  “He probably won’t. But it pays to keep our eyes open and for you to watch your back.”

  She studied Gardy from the corner of her eye.

  “Given any more thought to Wolf? He’s been unusually quiet, not a single sighting since Kansas.”

  “He’ll resurface soon, and when he does, I’ll be waiting.”

  She gave a noncommittal nod and picked the sandwich up from her lap.

  “You still believe he killed his wife?”

  “Absolutely, and I hope you do. The evidence points in his direction.”

  “But most of the evidence is circumstantial.”

  Gardy put his food on the bench and gave her a level stare.

  “Logan Wolf is a cold-blooded killer. We only know about the bodies we’ve found. Only God knows how many other’s he’s murdered. Wolf’s gotten inside your head, Bell. Recognize it before he takes up permanent residence.”

  Bell peered over the ocean. The ship, just a pinprick of light flickering in the distance, was almost out of sight.