Buried Secrets: PAVAD: FBI Case File #0005 (PAVAD: FBI Case Files)

by Calle J. Brookes

  “Who knows? Some of what I’m finding, Masterson, it’s not good. Just…if something happens to me, you make sure my baby girl is kept safe.”

  Gunderson had an infant daughter he was raising on his own. That he’d brought her into the conversation had Joel’s gut tightening.

  Gunderson might be bat-shit crazy, but he believed what he was saying. If he wasn’t off his rocker, then something more was brewing.

  “I know it’s a lot to ask. But there’re not a whole lot of people out there I still trust any longer. I know you’re honest. And you’ll do the right thing when needed. You make sure my baby girl stays with the woman who loves her the most. No matter what. The woman who loves her the most. You’ll know who that is, if the time comes.”

  Joel just nodded. Something about the look in the man’s eyes had his skin crawling. “You think whatever you have going on here is related to what we’ve found?”

  “I wouldn’t, except for the fact that Luther Beise was one of Clive’s old cronies, and there was more going on with that bastard than anyone ever expected. I’ll be paying for the sins of that man for a long, long time to come. Least I can do is make certain what he did isn’t still hurting people.”

  Joel just grunted. What Clint was saying was the truth—the entire town of Masterson had practically turned against Clint after what Clive had done to Perci and the rest of her family.

  It wasn’t right. Clint hadn’t done a damned thing to anyone that Joel knew about.

  Joel should probably make that known when he could. Show the town he had no hard feelings personally against the younger man.

  Clint just had the bad luck to be related to Clive.

  “We’ll do what we can. And if it comes time to call in the feds, I’ll make room for them without a problem. I don’t care who finds the killer—I just want the killer found.”

  Joel wouldn’t hold Clive’s actions against another man. Joel considered himself a better man than that. He would just keep reminding himself of that when the need arose.

  Clint was called away, leaving Joel to think about what the man had said.

  If this was related to Clive Gunderson, Joel wanted the outside eyes on things, too. He and Clint—they were too close to this, and with the history between their families, the objectivity would cover all their asses.

  The last thing they needed was a killer to get off because of the history between the Gundersons and the Mastersons.

  He looked up when his two dayshift deputies pulled in, Zach Lowell and his younger cousin, Sage—Joel’s newest hire and the lone female deputy for the county. He hoped they were ready.

  Solving a fourteen-year-old murder case was the last thing they needed to deal with now.

  What had happened there on Luther Beise’s ranch?

  3

  Nine Weeks Later

  Murder didn’t belong in small towns. Especially this one.

  Dr. Miranda Talley studied the idyllic little town and wondered what had changed since she had last been there.

  It was dinner time in Masterson. There were probably tables laden with Crock-Pots and Pyrex in just about every house on the small, tree-lined streets.

  Except one.

  It was at that one that she looked now.

  That 1920’s inn was the biggest building on Main Street, with thirty-eight bedrooms, a huge lobby, and a welcome desk that featured in Miranda’s first memory. It had been built on the original site where the first inn in Masterson had been built one hundred and thirty years ago. Those had been her people, too.

  Home.

  The Talley Inn had been her home since she’d been eleven years old.

  Her family didn’t have a clue she was coming. She’d grabbed the first plane she could when she’d been called in by her supervisor and had met the other FBI agent assigned to this case when she’d stepped onto the small jet.

  Miranda smiled, despite the seriousness of the situation.

  Home.

  “You have something to smile about now?” a harsh male voice asked from beside her. Miranda’s slight smile faded. She turned toward the man who was her unofficial partner on this new case. He’d been a silent lump on the plane—she thought he’d slept a little.

  Well. He was going to be a problem. She had no doubt about that.

  Allan Knight was glaring at her—from a long way up. Miranda wasn’t used to that. At nearly five eleven, she was used to meeting men eye to eye. Knight had a good seven inches on her.

  Tall, hot, and glowering. That was Agent Allan Knight.

  “Just a good memory or two. My grandmother’s inn is right there. My sisters and cousins live there with her in the private wing.”

  “I didn’t realize Masterson was your hometown.” If anything, the scowl on his handsome face darkened even more.

  “It is. My father was military. We moved around a bit. My sisters and I moved to Masterson permanently when I was eleven. My grandmother and aunt were already here. My family was one of the founding families of Masterson. An ancestress was a Masterson before she married a Talley. Her husband and her brother founded the county. They came here from Virginia before Wyoming was a state.”

  He just grunted. Miranda looked away. Ok, he wasn’t a big talker, then. Nor apparently a history buff.

  She didn’t know a thing about this guy. Other than the fact that like her, he was FBI.

  She wasn’t exactly certain why he was even with her. He wasn’t with the same division she was—he was out of the St. Louis field office. She was out of PAVAD—the Prevention & Analysis of Violent Acts division—which was located across the street from the field office.

  Their paths shouldn’t have crossed in Masterson, Wyoming.

  Not without something more going on behind the scenes that Miranda wasn’t privy to. Yet.

  She’d find out eventually.

  She’d only worked with him once before. That had been before he had been targeted by a serial killer and nearly killed, and she’d only been on the periphery of that case. They hadn’t exchanged more than a handful of words back then.

  Rumor had it that if he hadn’t been so tall, the bullet would have struck him straight on and he would have been killed instantly.

  There were a lot of rumors about Agent Allan Knight going around in St. Louis now.

  She’d been called into her boss’s office that afternoon and told that there had been a request from the Wyoming Division of Criminal Investigation and the Masterson County Sheriff’s offices for PAVAD help.

  Hers, specifically. Adamantly.

  PAVAD’s unofficial policy was to send agents to regions of the country they may already be familiar with, for expediency’s sake.

  Miranda had been asked for by name, even though she worked for the Child Exploitation Prevention Division.

  It had been a favor that brought her home, mostly. A favor asked for by the first man she had ever truly loved with something more than girlish infatuation. When she’d been all of nineteen and he’d been twenty-six. She’d loved Clint so much back then. That love had shifted in the ten years since.

  “That’s why you’re here? PAVAD sent you home?”

  “Yes. Basically. And the requesting patrolman is…a friend.”

  Now Clint was widowed, with an infant daughter he was raising on his own. A daughter named Violet Miranda.

  Miranda wanted to check on him, make sure Clint was going to be all right. She wanted to hold her little goddaughter again, too.

  She just wanted to see him again, make sure he was doing ok.

  “I see.”

  “I don’t think you do. Clint Gunderson is my former…boyfriend. He is the DCI investigator on this case. He asked for my help, and I’m going to give it to him.”

  He grunted at her again. Miranda looked up at him. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and lean. Fit. Healthy. He was a gorgeous man, marred only by the jagged scar next to his left eye. And even that gave his face character.

  It was the dull, constant an
ger in his gaze that had her on edge.

  Allan Knight was beyond angry. It didn’t take her degree in abnormal psych for her to see that. That made him a wild card in the world of the FBI. Wild cards could be dangerous.

  “What hotel will we be staying at?”

  “Where else?” Miranda smiled again and pointed. No doubt he’d have something to say when he found out the answer to that question. “There. The Talley Inn. My home. My grandmother and family own and run it, as well as the only diner in town. I have my own small suite in the east wing. The far window on the third floor is mine, actually.”

  Steel gray eyes narrowed, and his lips thinned before he spoke. “Let me get this straight. We’re staying with your grandmother on a formal FBI investigation? What is this, Mayberry?”

  Miranda shot him a grin. He wasn’t going to get to her. Angry or not. She was with the best FBI division in the nation. Allan Knight wasn’t going to intimidate her. Especially not here.

  Miranda had always loved going home.

  “Oh, it’s worse than that. Welcome to Masterson County, Agent Knight. We have a murder to solve. I just hope you’re ready for it.”

  Cinnamon-colored hair blew in the late-September wind. His new partner on this case reached for it absently as she studied the town around them. Her coloring echoed that of the world around them. Everywhere he turned, the autumn colors practically hurt his eyes. He squinted. He’d had a little bit of trouble with photophobia since the shit had hit the fan a while back.

  The woman next to him bumped his shoulder as they walked, sending a small flutter of her perfume or shampoo in his direction. Floral and vanilla.

  Miranda Talley.

  He’d met her a few times; she’d been assigned to the St. Louis field office straight out of Quantico. When PAVAD had branched off, she’d been one of the few locals asked to transfer to PAVAD.

  One of the chosen.

  He wondered why her. He hadn’t been chosen. There had been questions why.

  The woman had faint freckles on her cheeks, an unhurried way of speaking, and big, bold green eyes behind glasses. Eyes that didn’t miss anything.

  She’d stared at him for a few brief moments on the plane.

  Knight had stared back.

  She was a beautiful woman, with the cinnamon hair that hung in curls everywhere, a long, lean body that had more curves than he had noticed before, and lips that were perfectly shaped and just made for kissing.

  He looked away from her now to study the inn she pointed at. It was at least three stories and looked to be a traditional 1920s building. Flowers were just now starting to die back in the beautifully landscaped front yard. There was even a little white picket fence surrounding the large property.

  He’d certainly stayed in worse.

  “Let’s get started then. I don’t want to hang out in Mayberry any longer than I have to.”

  The entire idea of small-town wholesomeness really pissed him off at the moment. No doubt, it would continue.

  “A word of advice, Agent Knight.” His new partner stepped directly into his path and faced him. Knight barely stopped in time to keep from knocking the fool woman down. “Play nice with the people of Masterson, especially the ones who will be responsible for feeding you. Nice. Especially with my family. I’d be happy to define nice for you, if you need it—anywhere along the way.”

  He bit back what he wanted to say. One thing he’d just learned about her—Miranda Talley wasn’t a pushover, despite her Wyoming-farm-girl appearance. She wouldn’t be afraid to challenge the devil in his own hellhole, he suspected.

  He had to decide if PAVAD was what he wanted. That was it. He circled around her and kept walking. “Noted. Let’s go.”

  She caught up with him within a few steps, her shoulder bumping him again. She was almost whistling. Knight’s teeth ground together.

  Sunny wholesome types had always grated on his nerves with their naiveté.

  Once, he would have wanted to make her smile. Back then. When he had worked hard for the FBI and played just as hard outside of it. Would have done what he could to see how deep that sunny disposition actually went, or if it was all a front.

  He still worked hard, but the play time was well over.

  She turned toward him, an almost beckoning expression on her face. No doubt, this woman had lured a few unsuspecting men to their doom in her time. Confidence like that could be extremely attractive.

  In another lifetime, he wouldn’t have been immune.

  But things had changed for him. A bullet to the skull made quite an impact. Literally. He hadn’t had much use for people since that day. Even women like this one.

  Especially women like this one.

  Almost dying had given him too many things to still figure out.

  “We’ll get our stuff inside, then head by my grandmother’s diner. Get a feel for what’s going on around here lately.”

  “And the sheriff and the requesting officer?” Her ex-boyfriend. Knight would admit it—he felt a small bit of curiosity about the man.

  He bet the man would be quiet, soft-spoken, and artistic. One who’d been content to let this woman take charge. He suspected she liked to be the one in charge.

  Probably had control issues, this woman. It would be interesting to find out. He’d have her pegged by the time they hit the jet for the return flight to St. Louis. Figured out and then forgotten.

  “They’re going to meet us at the diner. Clint texted me already. We’ll walk to the sheriff’s office after we eat.”

  “Why not right away?”

  She shook her head. “Cooperation, Knight. That’s the way PAVAD works. The sheriff has asked that we not make too many waves in the town. Everything’s been in an uproar since the body was found, and the local boys in blue refused to release the identity. We’re here to consult, I think. Clint wasn’t exactly too clear on the request. He never has been extremely descriptive, and I heard about it from Director Dennis. I’m just following along here.”

  He just grunted. “I don’t play games, Agent Talley.”

  “Doctor.”

  “What?”

  “It’s doctor. I earned my degree a year ago.”

  “Congratulations.” He had his own PhD in sociological studies. Knight knew the amount of work that entailed. And she’d been doing it around her FBI schedule, apparently. That was no small feat.

  “I’m a psychologist, actually. In abnormal psych. I’ve always been interested in human behavior. It came in handy around my family.”

  “Are you always this chatty?” And did she expect him to answer every time? Knight knew that wasn’t going to happen.

  “Hmm. No. But you don’t talk at all. I figured I’d fill the gap, balance us out a bit until we get the ball on this case rolling. What does it hurt to talk, to get to know each other? You’re considering PAVAD?”

  “Something like that.”

  “What division?”

  “Cold Case.”

  She shot him a questioning look from those green eyes of hers. “We don’t have a cold-case division.”

  “Yet. I’ve been asked to consider heading a new one.” As a personal favor to Ed Dennis. Knight didn’t know what he thought of that yet. Half the time he thought he should just pack up and transfer as far away from St. Louis as possible. Start over. Put what had happened behind him. “Keep that to yourself, though. Director’s orders.”

  “I’m sure it’ll be needed. Answers from the past…they’re needed.” His companion had turned suddenly serious. As if there were memories she wanted to suppress.

  “Even here in Mayberry?”

  “I am afraid we’re about to find out. Somebody put that body in Luther Beise’s barn. I’m going to find out who—and why.” She stopped walking for a moment and looked back toward the town. “Murders don’t happen in Masterson County.”

  “Don’t be naive, Dr. Talley. Murders happen everywhere. Even in Mayberry.”

  4

  Jim was sweat
ing, and he knew it. But he didn’t let anyone see how what he’d just overheard was getting to him.

  That damned Clint Gunderson had called in the FBI about the ranch case. About Helen. The FBI.

  They had a lot more ways of finding the truth than Joel Masterson.

  Jim hadn’t really thought out what would happen next. He’d just figured Clint would try to find the rest of Luther’s family and then just give up and move on. Like his old man had. Jim had explained to Clive that Helen had kicked them out before she’d moved in with a lover three counties over. Clive had bought it. Never bothered to follow up with that lover, either.

  He’d trusted Jim’s word. Just like Jim had known he would.

  But Clint wasn’t a thing like his old man. Far from it. That had been one thing Clint had made clear from the beginning. First time he’d met Clint had been in the academy. He’d put it together quick who Clint was. Tried to make a connection, using the other man’s father.

  Clint had shot him down hard. Stated that no friend of Clive’s would ever be a friend of his.

  Pretty soon, Clint had risen to the top of the class. Too easily. Jim had struggled with the classroom portion of things.

  He’d always resented Clint for how easy he’d had it.

  Clive hadn’t done anything to grease the wheels for Clint, though. Jim would give Clint that much. Jim had always wondered about that. He supposed there had been bad blood between them or something. That had made sense when Clive had been arrested for what he’d done.

  No doubt, the other man had just had a rough patch. His younger son had died, Jim had heard. Around the same time. Everyone had been talking about how things had happened.

  Grief could make men do some stupid things. Jim had gotten involved in drugs when he’d lost his own father.

  His cousin Luther had stepped into that role for him, though.

  Guilt had him almost sick to his stomach when he thought about what he’d done to repay Luther for his kindness.

  Jim liked to think he’d grown into a better man than that.