The Girl and the Hunt (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery Book 6)

by A J Rivers

  "Let's just say after my stint in the military, there's a reason I became a private investigator and didn't go into law enforcement," he says.

  "You were in the military?" I ask.

  He nods. "Army. Delta Force."

  "Wow. That's impressive," I raise an eyebrow. Admittedly, it didn’t fit my early impression of the man.

  "I didn't really have anywhere to go or anything to do after I graduated high school. A recruiter had come to the school to talk up the Army, and after graduation, I decided to go talk to him. It was somewhere to go, something to do. The military would pay for my education. And for a person with no roots and a bleak past, the structure and unity were nice. I ended up loving it, and it just went from there," he says.

  "But you're still so young," I point out. "Why did you decide to leave?"

  He lets out a softly pained, mirthless laugh.

  "I didn't decide. The Army decided for me." I look at him questioningly. "I was involved in a secretive operation that didn't go exactly as we planned. I came out of alive, but just barely. The injuries combined with the length of my career already made them decide it was time for me to get my patriotic thank you and head on down the road."

  "Oh," I say. "I'm sorry that happened to you."

  Dean shrugs that off. "No reason to be sorry. I found my way." A nostalgic smile bends his lips just slightly before he continues on in a louder, stronger voice. "What's next?"

  "I think I'm going to pack everything up and bring it to the hotel. Then we keep heading through the looking glass and find Alice," I tell him.

  Dean helps me pack the rest of what I have in the cabin and put it in the car. He climbs in with me, and I drive him in a loop out of Feathered Nest and to the spot at the train tracks where a gap in the trees leads to the path through the woods. Being there again brings me right back to standing there more than a year ago, comparing the crime scene photographs of Cristela Jordan's body with the area around me. The blood and other remnants of her had long since been washed away, but there were still evidence markers and broken tree limbs to show the lingering aftermath. That's how I pieced together what happened to her. That she ran from the trees and was hit by the train rather than having been thrown in front of it as was the original theory.

  It meant she was a survivor. Even though her life ended that night, she managed to escape from Jake's clutches and not become a piece of the grotesque museum to human suffering and misery in his basement.

  Dean's car is sitting almost in the same spot I'd parked mine when I came here. He gets in, and we wind our way through the back roads to the hotel. Mirna pops out from behind the desk when we walk into the lobby.

  "You found her," she says, looking at Dean.

  "You asked about me?" I ask.

  "I noticed your car here yesterday and thought you'd come by. But Mirna here was nice enough to let me know you checked in," he says.

  "Did Sheriff Johnson already leave?" Mirna asks.

  I nod. "This morning. He texted me a little bit ago to let me know he'd gotten home safely."

  "That's a good man."

  "I think so. Well, I'm going to go ahead and get this stuff up to my room. More work to be done," I say.

  "Before you go, I have something for you," she says, heading back for the desk.

  "Oh?"

  "You got some mail."

  "I got mail?" I frown.

  She nods, sifting through a stack on her desk and pulling something out. She eyes it, then looks at me.

  "Yep. It's postmarked yesterday. Must have gotten it in right in time," she says.

  I take the postcard from her hand and look down at it.

  "Thank you," I manage and head for the elevator.

  Dean follows me into my room.

  "What is it?" he asks.

  I show him the postcard.

  "The whale exhibit in the Smithsonian," I tell him.

  "Is there anything written on it?" he asks.

  I flip the card over. "It's good to be home. Come for a visit? Catch me if you can, Emma.” A shiver rolls down my neck. “Son of a bitch.”

  Dean looks at the card and points to a printed label affixed to the bottom of the card.

  "That's an access link," he says.

  "To what?" I ask.

  He takes out his phone and opens a browser.

  "Let's find out."

  He types the code in, and a few seconds later, a video stream appears. It's from an angle as if the camera is positioned in the upper corner of a room.

  "Oh, god," I gasp.

  "That's a hospital room," Dean says.

  "That's Greg," I tell him. "And he's alone."

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Greg

  Five months ago…

  “Are you absolutely sure you can't come with me?” Finn asked. “If there's anybody who should be getting out to do these things, it should be you.”

  “I know, but I can't,” Greg said. “Not now. He's been watching me like a hawk. There's no way I would have enough time alone without him noticing. He's angry after what happened to Emma. It offended him that a cult would think they would deserve her.”

  The words came out of his mouth bitter and slimy. They were so much a contradiction; there was so much irony to hear Lotan rage about the immorality and horror of the Society for the Betterment of the Future, the cult Emma found herself tangled up in during her most recent investigation. The more they found out about what she faced, the angrier and more indignant he became. It was impossible to understand how he didn't see the parallels of what was happening.

  The cult was led by a man who believed himself above every mere human who walked the planet. Indeed, he thought of himself as a God. He truly believed he was the embodiment of the divine represented on Earth, a direct connection between the chosen members of his organization and the intangible spiritual realm so many hungrily sought after.

  But there was a very distinctive difference between the two groups. What Lotan and Leviathan destroyed on a large scale mostly impacted random people, the Society did it to precise individuals. Their evil was focused intently and unwaveringly on the specific people chosen for their leader’s spiraling realms of hell.

  Leviathan aimed at creating mass chaos and destruction that forced those people who happened to be caught up in it to find a way to cope if they survived at all. The Society aimed at isolating themselves away from the outside world and focusing only within, so those special few could enjoy the spoils. The destruction and pain was done within their walls.

  But there were similarities. Each of the people chosen for its ranks were selected and groomed. They were carefully identified from among the masses and drawn in with careful promises. Either to destroy or to be destroyed. It's what the Society tried to do to Emma. It's what Leviathan did to Greg.

  But he understood what was happening now. He wasn't going to let it continue. Lotan might have thought he had Greg firmly in his grasp, but he hadn't broken him. Greg could have chosen a different path. When Lotan had first brought him into the organization, he’d showed Greg so much favor. He was one of the honored few, high in the ranks even from the very beginning. He didn't have to earn his way or prove his devotion. Who he was and his association with Emma was enough to grant him a place by Lotan's side. He could have accepted that. He could have been enticed by the power and spoils offered to him. The world was being held out in front of him. Lotan had made it very clear he could do and have and be whatever he wanted.

  All a reward for being one of the movement. A turning gear in the machine of chaos. It would have been so easy. There wasn't a fiber of Greg's being that didn't believe there were plenty of people who wouldn't have hesitated for a second. As soon as they saw the power Lotan wielded and heard what he was capable of offering them, they would have been seduced. Even people he considered friends, good men he trusted, and who had done amazing things for many people, would have crumbled.

  If there was one thing Greg would learn from wh
at he was facing now, it was to be more cautious with who he trusted. It seemed like such a simplistic concept, but it meant something deeper. He would no longer be able to see the world in the same way, both for good and for ill.

  He continued to fight. Even when it would be easier not to. Even when it would be easier to think only about himself, he had to keep his mind strong. He couldn't let Lotan win. But that was much more difficult now. He was no longer honored, no longer considered among the most valued and important. Instead, he was a tool, a device being used in gradual slow doses to get Lotan to what he truly wanted. Emma. He had a plan for her, one that would destroy her and everything in her life. A plan crafted under the guise of love.

  But the love of a twisted mind and tainted soul was as unstable as it was misled. The stronger it got, the more intense it got, and the closer it got to detonation.

  Greg couldn't stop it. Not from where he was, under the constant watch of the piercing, increasingly wild eyes that checked in on him regularly. But he could slow it down. He could maintain enough control to let Emma unravel the tangled web of her past, so she could preserve her future.

  So, he couldn't escape. He couldn't take Finn up on his offer. He was desperate to leave Lotan’s clutches. Every bit of him cried out to not be here anymore. His body was damaged, his mind warped. He ached to be back in the world he knew and the life he had before any of this happened. But that was gone now. That possibility disappeared the night he walked away from that life. Lotan had beaten him down time and time again. All he could do was rise up.

  But he had to do it from here. He had to force himself to watch Finn leave, to take the last remaining hope of escape. Because if he escaped, there would be no filter for Lotan's blind devotion and no way for Emma to get out of his grasp. Greg had to stay where he was and pull the threads for her one at a time. He'd tried at the bus station, but a bombing that wasn't supposed to happen meant his message would never get to her. He'd had to watch the television reports about her and know he hadn't reached her.

  Watching those reports was one of the hardest things he had to do, and yet he wouldn't skip them. Even on the rare occasions he wasn't forced by Lotan to sit with him and answer questions he believed Greg could answer, he would still watch them. They were his connection to her, his way to know she was still alright, to see a glimpse of the world without the haze of blood. But it also forced him to see the pain she was enduring. He could only hope he could help take little bits away. And maybe he would survive to see it.

  Tonight, he had that chance.

  "You remember what I told you?" Greg asked.

  Finn nodded.

  "Yes."

  "When you're at the funeral home, try to get as much information as you can about Mariya Presnyakov’s funeral. Don't be surprised if they don't give you much. The most important thing is to write the name I told you in the guestbook. Make sure they will remember you were there," he said.

  "How can you be sure she'll find it?" Finn asked.

  "I can't be. All I can do is make sure it's there to be found."

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  I have no idea what's in my suitcase. I threw everything in there together so fast I didn't pay attention. It's entirely possible I have nothing but underwear and t-shirts, but that doesn’t matter right now. I'm already on the road, leaving the cabin and Feathered Nest in my rearview mirror. Dean is still there. He will look into my mother's medical records and be there as my stead if something else comes up in the investigation. Nicolas isn't happy about it. He tried to keep me in town, but there's nothing that can stop me. I'm not a suspect. I'm not being held or detained in any way. I'm the one who asked to be part of the investigation. The crimes revolve around me, but that doesn't mean I have to be locked in place. Until there's a legal reason for it, they can't stop me.

  And even if they did have a legal reason, I can't be sure I'd pay attention to it. Not now. Not when the live stream of Greg's hospital room is still ticking away on the screen of my phone, and no one is there with him. In the half an hour since I first watched the video, I've called both Bellamy and Eric at least five times each. Neither of them have answered, and I haven't gotten any response from my messages.

  I've tried to call the hospital, but they won't talk to me, either. I'm not family, and I'm not on the authorized list given to them by the Bureau. They are for all intents and purposes, his legal representatives at this point. He has no one else to advocate for him; no one else to ensure he gets through this in the best way possible.

  And no one to be there for him.

  Finally, my phone rings and I smash the button to answer it.

  “Why aren't you there?” I ask.

  “Emma? What's wrong?” Eric asks. “I'm sorry I missed all your calls. I had to go to a conference.”

  “Where is Bellamy?” I ask.

  “She's here with me,” he says. “What's going on?”

  “Nobody's there,” I tell him. “Nobody's at the hospital with Greg.”

  “How do you know that?” Eric asked. “Did they call you?”

  “No. I got a postcard from my creepy pen pal. He's apparently taking a road trip and stopped by the hospital to plant a security camera. He sent me the link. It's a live stream of Greg's hospital room, and there isn't anybody there with him.”

  “That's not right,” Eric says. “Jones and Calmati are supposed to be there today.”

  “You need to find out where they are and what's going on. This guy is there. I'm on my way. I'll be there in a few hours.”

  My next call is to Sam.

  “I got a postcard from Catch Me,” I tell him before he can even get a word in. “It had a link in it showing me a live stream of Greg's hospital room. Nobody's there with him. Apparently, Eric and Bellamy had a conference they had to go to, and they left two agents in charge, but they aren't there. I'm on my way to the hospital. I just wanted to let you know what was going on.”

  “Do you want me to come?” he asks.

  “No. I can't ask you to do that. You need to be there taking care of Sherwood. I will let you know if anything else happens,” I tell him.

  “Have you been able to find out anything else in Feathered Nest?” he asks.

  I already spoke to him earlier to fill him in on Dean and what was happening. There was a defensiveness in his voice when I told him that struck me as odd. I didn't get into it with him, but I sense some of it creeping back into his voice now.

  “Dean is going to find out what he can about the hospital and try to access my mother's medical records. He's also going to do as much digging around town as he can. He's a private investigator, so he should be able to get some ground covered.”

  “And you're sure you trust him?” Sam asks.

  “No,” I tell him honestly. “Of course I don't. But right now, I don't have the luxury of only having people around me who I trust. He's the closest thing I can get who's also willing and able to help me. I still don't know who he is, Sam. I don't know why our lives are connected the way they are. But what I do know is I'm more likely to find out the things I need with his help than I am without it. And I'm going to have to take that chance now. I put off going to the hospital to see Greg and now this is happening. I've got to get there,” I tell him.

  “Tell me when you're safe,” he says.

  “I will.”

  I drive at breakneck speed the rest of the way. It feels like the hours keep getting swallowed, and I'm not making any progress, but after long, agonizing hours of empty roads, I finally start recognizing the landmarks. I’m getting closer. I'm twenty minutes away from the hospital when I glance over at my phone again. Everything has been calm and steady up until now. Nothing's changed except for an orderly coming into the room to check Greg's vitals. But now I see movement on the screen. There's someone else there. I briefly have a moment of relief. Maybe one of the agents who was supposed to be there all day has finally arrived.

  But that feeling is short-lived. The figure walks u
p to the edge of the bed and leans over Greg, bringing his face to within inches of his. It takes only seconds for me to recognize him, just as he reaches out to touch Greg's IV.

  I snatch the phone off its holder to call Bellamy

  “You need to get somebody there now!” I scream. “He's there. The man from the picture is in the room with Greg. Get somebody to that hospital right now. Stop him!”

  I end the call and throw my phone into the passenger seat. If I don't, I'll continue to watch the screen. I need to be paying attention to the car and the traffic in front of me. My heart pounds so hard in my chest; I feel sick. My sweaty palms make it difficult to keep my grip on the wheel. I struggle through the last of the traffic and finally pull into the parking deck at the hospital. Throwing myself out of the car, I run inside.

  The twenty-minute ride has taken me almost half an hour because of traffic. It felt like an eternity. Anything could have happened in that time, and questions race through my mind as I run up the stairs to Greg's floor. A nurse stops me before I can get through the door.

  "I need to get in there," I tell her, gesturing toward the floor behind her.

  "I'm sorry. This floor is currently on lockdown. Access requires authorization."

  "My name is Emma Griffin. I'm with the FBI."

  She seems to contemplate this for a second, gauging if I'm telling her the truth. I pull my badge out of my pocket and show her.

  "Is Agent Martinez here?" I ask. "Get him."

  She disappears from the door for a moment, then returns with Eric. He immediately reaches for my hand as if to pull me through the door.

  "Let her in. She's authorized," he instructs.

  "Yes, sir," she agrees.

  She steps out of the way, and I barrel out of the stairwell. The first thing I see is Bellamy. I run for her, and she grabs me in a tight hug.

  “Did they get him?” I ask.

  She shakes her head as she steps back from our hug.

  “I'm sorry, Emma. I'm so sorry. By the time any of us could get here, there was no one in or out of the hospital that matched the description,” she says.