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

by Calle J. Brookes

  The Masterson County Sheriff’s Office was probably the tiniest office she had ever worked out of. But they were making do. They were PAVAD—adaptability was one of their hallmarks, after all. Maybe it was a hallmark Jac struggled with—she liked routine and order and a plan—but she didn’t let that stop her from doing her job.

  “What do you have?” Carrie asked.

  “Lesley was really heavy into cars. And he didn’t care if the parts he used to refurbish were…less than ethically supplied. He had a small charge on his juvenile record that wasn’t sealed. It happened two weeks before they disappeared, so he had a warrant with his name on it for failure to appear in court. It’s long past the statute of limitations, but it’s still visible.”

  “How does this help us locate him?” Clint asked.

  “Car parts. There were only so many suppliers for the car he drove back then. And the car disappeared the night the family did.” Jac handed Clint the papers nearest to her.

  “Keep going. I’m listening.”

  “Well, it was a rare car—an overseas model from the seventies. I went over your files and those from fourteen years ago. Lesley Beise’s car wasn’t mentioned anywhere.”

  “I had no records of any of the Beise kids owning cars in their names.”

  “Well, there aren’t very many of these cars in the region. And it was actually in his grandmother’s name. Not Helen. The Beise grandmother. And only one junkyard that supplied parts for it. Lesley Beise ordered an alternator from the junkyard a month before the family’s social media presence ceased. He picked up the part a week later.”

  “How do you know?” Clint asked.

  “I called. Got a sheriff’s deputy in Della County, Wyoming. He headed to the junkyard and asked if anyone still purchased parts for that make and model of car. The junkyard has two wrecked cars that have similar parts. They’ve sold a total of twenty-three vintage parts to one man in thirteen years.”

  “How do you know it’s the same man?” Carrie asked.

  “I’m not one hundred percent certain, but the guy who ordered the parts is named Lesley Meynard. So I did a check on all the Lesley Meynards in this part of the country. Three of them. But only one is below sixty. He lives on the outskirts of Della, Wyoming. Fifteen miles from Pauline. And his date of birth is the same as Lesley Beise’s, according to credit card statements. I pulled his driver’s license photo. Carrie’s going to compare it to the one we have for Lesley Beise as soon as she gets the system booted up. But I’m 95 percent certain Lesley Meynard and Lesley Beise are the same guy.” Jac clicked a button on her laptop, sending a photo of a driver’s license onto the projector screen Carrie had insisted on setting up against the back of the holding tank they currently occupied.

  “Then someone needs to go down to Della and meet him,” Clint said. “While the remainder of the team stays here and looks for the rest of Luther and Pauline’s children.”

  “Miranda should be the one to interview him,” a male voice said from behind Clint. Jac forced herself to not stiffen. Max was back, then.

  He stepped up next to Clint. They were both big men, tall, strong, hard, and dangerous-looking.

  “Why?” Jac asked.

  “Simple. Seeing her will throw him off. Maybe shake something free.” Max was a great profiler, one of the best in her experience. People trusted him when he spoke. Jac took a quick look at him. Max had a white bandage over his arm.

  She refused to feel concern. Nothing more than she’d feel for any teammate; that was it. Her days of worrying over Maddox James Jones were done. “Where is she?”

  “She and Knight are just starting with Pauline—in Della. Another reason she and Knight should handle Lesley. Expediency. They are already down there. If nothing else, he knows where the others are—and why they left so suddenly,” Max added in that deep baritone of his.

  Jac still heard that voice whispering her name. She trusted him on every professional level possible. It was the personal she flipped out over.

  She shivered. She was an idiot through and through.

  “It’s a start,” Jac said.

  “Call Miranda, give her the address. They should have time to catch this guy at his place of employment.”

  30

  Miranda had always hated the smell of engine grease. Probably because of the man they were there to see. She’d known Jac would come through and find the Beise children. Jac had.

  Lesley Beise had probably frightened Miranda more as a teenager than she had ever been up to that point. His hands had hurt. He’d been a great deal bigger—she hadn’t hit her last growth spurt until she’d been seventeen and shot up five inches in three months—and she’d been alone.

  She’d never forgotten how vulnerable that had made her feel. How flat out unsafe in a world she’d always felt secure in before that day.

  Nor had she forgotten how she’d felt when Levi had driven up that day.

  Pouring rain, cold, late-March wind plastering her clothes to her skin, stumbling along the road in the approaching darkness. Crying and afraid.

  She hadn’t recognized Levi’s truck, at first. Had thought it was Lesley coming looking for her.

  That had been the first moment she’d realized just how vulnerable she really was to the world. That she couldn’t control everything and stay perfectly safe in her nice, little world. It had been her wake up call. And probably one of the defining moments that had led to her current position with the FBI.

  She’d wanted to defend the world against the bad guys—and from that moment on, Lesley Beise had been one of those bad guys.

  Someone she’d known since she had been nine years old, and he eleven.

  The bad guy in her backyard, practically.

  She sighed, probably more loudly than she intended.

  “You ok?” Knight asked, almost grudgingly.

  “Just remembering the last time I saw Lesley and how it made me feel.”

  “Care to elaborate?”

  “Mmm. Up to that point, I was used to going wherever I wanted in the county. It was probably the first moment I realized that the world I lived in wasn’t completely safe. I took up tae kwon do after that. I’m out of practice now, but martial arts helped. Until I learned how to fire my service weapon.”

  “It scared you.” He spoke near her ear so they wouldn’t be overheard. Having him that close made her very aware of his clean, almost mint-toned, aftershave. Knight smelled a thousand times better than the automotive shop around them. “Yeah. It’s safe to say that was a scary night. If Levi hadn’t been driving down the highway, I’m still not certain what would have happened. It was starting to storm, the shoulder of the road was almost nonexistent, and it was getting dark. When I finally made it home, Levi and I pulled off the road to talk for a while. He calmed me down; but if he had been any other kind of guy, it could have been extremely dangerous for me. I know that now. I thought Grandma was going to explode. Had Clive Gunderson—a good friend of Luther’s—not been the sheriff then, I think Grandma would have pressed charges. I had bruises up and down my arms after. Clive said I’d asked for it—I’d gotten in the car with Lesley, after all—and then got in the truck with Levi.”

  “Why didn’t she push charges?”

  “Clive Gunderson was always corrupt. Terrifying, really. After Levi and I ended our relationship—we dated for about nineteen months until he graduated high school after that—it was a few years later that I got involved with Clint. He wouldn’t allow me anywhere near his father. I didn’t exactly push it, either. Clive was…evil.”

  “I guess even Masterson isn’t the perfect place.”

  She heard the sarcasm—the ass—but chose to ignore it. “The world is an imperfect place, Knight. Why should Masterson be any different? Human nature plays out in both big megacities and in small little towns like mine. Human nature is human nature. Places like Masterson, though, people are often more willing to help one another, because the herd immunity and idea that ‘someone els
e will help’ is a lot less likely. We help each other here—because we are family. You have to admit, you can’t say the same about St. Louis.”

  “You live in St. Louis.”

  “I know; and I love it. But Masterson is my home, and I come up here every chance I possibly can. When I retire from the FBI in ten to fifteen years or so to write true crime accounts—that’s my plan, by the way—I fully intend to move right back here to be with my family.”

  “Planning to stay single this whole time?”

  “Not at all. I hope I’ll find someone who loves Masterson just the same as I do.”

  “So he’s just supposed to give up his career for you?”

  “Of course not. Marriage means compromise, Knight. As do all relationships.”

  “You are an idealist, Sunny.” Even more sarcasm now. “No doubt you have every moment of your future planned, complete with a biddable husband and two-point-four kids. White picket fence?”

  “And what is so wrong with that?” Miranda stopped and turned to him. “Finding someone to spend my life with, someone who loves me as much as I love him—what could be so wrong with that? Life is a long time to spend alone, Knight. I want a family someday. I’m not ashamed of that. I never will be.”

  “Didn’t mean to insult you. Just trying to figure you out.”

  “Why bother? We obviously have nothing in common.” Miranda was only mildly irritated at him. Knight was who he was—it wasn’t her job to change him. And she had been around the block enough to know when someone was trying to bait her.

  Well, this little fishie didn’t have to fall for his wiggly worm. “I’m a planner, Knight. Sue me. I am already looking for property here in Masterson. I don’t want anything too big. I have no intention of doing anything more complicated than raising angora rabbits and children on it, while writing my books. Maybe I’ll teach a class or two online. Somewhat close to town; I’ll no doubt have to pull a shift or two a week at the inn and diner and don’t want too much of a commute. Other than that, I’m remarkably easy to please.”

  “You’d just give up the bureau and PAVAD? One of the most prestigious assignments in the FBI? To raise rabbits?”

  She just nodded and smiled at him as the supervisor finally approached the waiting room and was visible through the large windows. There was a man next to him in a set of hunter green coveralls. Miranda automatically tensed.

  Lesley Beise hadn’t changed all that much. Gotten taller.

  Bulkier.

  He was probably only three or four inches shorter than Knight, but, man, was he built like a tank, with arms that looked like tree trunks.

  This guy was the reason she’d taken up martial arts as a teenager.

  But even with her second-degree black belt, bringing Lesley Beise down would be a lot of work.

  A hard hand wrapped around her forearm, and Knight stepped closer. “Hey, you’re not a skinny kid any longer. You don’t have to be afraid of him now. You’re not facing him alone. I’ve got your back.”

  Miranda forced herself to take a deep breath and smile up at him. “You know something, Knight? You’re not half bad some of the time. Be careful I don’t set my sights on you. You might end up buying a ranch in Masterson County someday. Helping me pluck angora rabbits and chasing half a dozen little Knights around the front yard while the goats jump on the hoods of our cars.”

  He dropped her arm like she’d scalded him. Well, apparently, he didn’t like her that much, after all.

  The woman had played him. She shot him a far-too-sexy-for-his peace-of-mind little grin just as the door opened and Lesley Beise entered.

  Knight took a moment to study him. Brutish and arrogant were his first impressions. A total prick was his second, when he thought about a young Miranda walking down a mountain highway at night in the middle of a rainstorm. If she’d been his daughter, he would have hunted down the punk who had hurt and frightened her and probably beaten that asshole to within an inch of his life.

  Miranda was closest to the door, and, being a beautiful woman, she drew Lesley’s attention immediately.

  “Lesley?” she started. “Lesley Beise? We’re with the FBI—”

  The big burly jerk dove right at her with a bellow.

  31

  Lesley Beise jumped, his shoulder catching Miranda in the stomach. They went down in a tangle of limbs before Knight could react, sending plastic chairs everywhere.

  Miranda yelled out.

  Knight jumped in, ramming his own shoulder under Beise’s arm and shoving the man as far from Miranda as he could. Knight didn’t stop until he had Beise pinned against the lone cinderblock wall.

  His hand went around Beise’s neck in a choke hold. It took everything he had to dial back the rage. To not hurl the man through one of the three glass walls surrounding them. To make him pay for this—and pay for the teenager Miranda had been. “Don’t move, you son-of-a-bitch. Don’t move.”

  When he had the man secured, he risked a quick glance at Miranda. “You ok?”

  She had made it to her knees. She just nodded, still gasping for breath. Her hand was on her ribs. Her face was red—she was struggling to pull in a breath. “Air knocked…”

  “No kidding.” Knight hated how she looked right there. It took everything he had to battle back the fury and not slam Lesley Beise through the glass walls for daring to touch her. “You going to be ok?”

  Knight was going to take her to the hospital for x rays as soon as he could. He yelled for help, hoping one of the sheriff’s deputies they’d followed to this mechanic’s shop off the beaten path would be close enough to lend them a hand. Beise struggled again. Knight leaned forward. “Don’t tempt me. Don’t tempt me to put your damned head through the wall. Concrete or not. Look at her. She’s half your size, you asshole. Is that what gets you off? Knocking smaller people around? What’s next, a kid or a puppy?”

  Oh, he wanted the man to react. He wanted him to fight. Knight wanted every logical excuse possible to make this jackass pay for knocking Miranda down.

  Miranda was up to her knees now. She still hadn’t said anything else. The door swung open, and the sheriff stormed in. A bunch of Lesley Beise’s coworkers gawked through the windows at them all. “What’s going on in here?”

  “He knocked her down. Check on her, would you?” Knight wasn’t about to take his hands off Beise until the man was contained. “You have cuffs?”

  “Never leave home without them.” The sheriff tossed him a pair of flex-cuffs. Knight cuffed Beise quickly, then shoved him into a chair. The sheriff could deal with Beise.

  Miranda was still not on her feet. Knight wrapped his hands around her waist before he thought it through. He lifted her to her feet, then guided her back to sit on the table currently covered with old shop magazines and a plastic plant. “Breathe. Take a deep breath.”

  “I’m…trying. It hurts.” She shot him a rueful look. There was just the tiniest bit of panic in her big green eyes. It had the anger boiling again. Knight shoved it back down. It wasn’t his place to worry about Miranda Talley. Not by a long shot. “He’s built like a brick wall.”

  “No kidding.” He had fifty pounds on Knight, though Beise was a good three inches shorter, at least. More than a hundred-twenty pounds on her. “Grab your bag.”

  He looked at the sheriff, who was reading Beise his rights. Knight’s hand fisted; he wanted to slug Beise. As hard as he possibly could. Pound him into that concrete wall. Instead, he forced himself to look at the woman next to him. There were tears in her eyes, but she hadn’t let them fall. No doubt from the burn of the pain.

  He had to get out of there. Now. Before he did something he’d regret. “Let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “To the ER. Get you checked out.”

  To his surprise, she didn’t argue. He would have expected her to argue, as obstinate as he suspected she could be. Knight grabbed her coat from where she’d sat it on the chair in the too-warm waiting room. He swung it around
her quickly, and she gingerly slipped her arms in. He buttoned it with efficient movements, not saying a word. She didn’t speak, either. Instead, she meekly went with him outside to the vet’s truck.

  That told him everything he needed to know.

  “Careful. I’ll help you in.” Knight unlocked the passenger door and wrapped his hands around her waist, the black material of her FBI-issue jacket crinkling beneath his hands. He lifted her into the truck as gently as he could.

  “Are you in?”

  She nodded. “I’m good, Knight. Just…damn, his shoulder was hard as granite.”

  “He probably cracked ribs or something.” That would be his inexpert opinion, anyway. She still held one hand to her left side. He swore again—it was one of his favorite habits, after all—and reached around her for the seat belt himself. He was an extra-tall man; the awkward position put them almost face-to-face. Close enough he could see the little gold freckles dusted over her cheeks. “Let’s get you checked out, then we’ll come back and try again.”

  “It’s a…deal.” She gave him a rueful smile. “Never dull in PAVAD. Better get prepared for that.”

  He was supposed to only be observing. Not getting involved.

  It was hard not to get drawn right in.

  Right into her. It was the sunshine that did it. Miranda Talley exuded damned sunshine right from her pores. It was fitting, the red hair and the freckles. The sunny smile that was just too much most of the time. Sunny.

  Screw sunny. He hated sunny. “Do you have to smile about everything?”

  “Mmmm. Probably…better than growling over everything, don’t you think?”

  He just grunted, then snapped her seatbelt into place, avoiding her hand when she tried to do it herself. “Keep your feet inside.”