Shadow of Vengeance

by Kristine Mason

  Seriously interesting. Most times when he offered his opinion, she’d somehow find a way to either dismiss him or cut him down.

  “When I get to Bola I plan to investigate my brother’s beating,” she continued. “I know where to start, and have already begun a list of the people I want to interview.”

  “Are you planning on running this investigation on behalf of CORE?” Ian asked.

  She tapped the pencil to her lips. “Are you okay with that? If not, I can—”

  Ian waved a hand. “Our resources are yours.”

  She tucked the pencil behind her ear. “Thank you. I have a feeling I’m going to need it. Sean’s beating…based on what the sheriff told me, I don’t think it was random.”

  “Why’s that?” Owen asked.

  “The sheriff said they found a note stuffed in Sean’s pocket. It said, ‘Welcome to Hell Week. You have seven days to find him.’”

  “But they obviously found your brother,” Owen countered.

  “Right. They found Sean. His roommate, Josh Conway, is missing.”

  “Could this roommate have gone home for the weekend?” he asked.

  “No. Sean told me his parents are overseas.”

  “Didn’t you tell me that Sean planned to join a fraternity?” Ian asked.

  “Yes. The Eta Tau Zetas”

  “Based on the Hell Week reference,” Ian began. “Is it possible that this could have been a hazing gone bad?”

  She nodded, and hugged herself. “I thought about that, only…”

  “What?” Owen asked.

  “The sheriff said that over the last twenty years, nine male students from Wexman University have gone missing. Josh makes ten. These students always disappear in January. And with every one of these missing boys, the same note was left behind.”

  Owen rubbed his jaw, both confused and disturbed. “You’re telling us that nine guys go missing, the same time of year, with the same message left behind…have any of the bodies been discovered?”

  “No.”

  “Does this sheriff realize he has a possible serial killer in his county?” he asked, surprised that Bola, Michigan’s local law enforcement, hell, even the university, hadn’t pieced the obvious together and asked for outside help.

  “He’s well aware.”

  Irritated at the sheriff’s ineptness, he leaned forward and asked, “Then why not bring in the Michigan State Police?”

  “The sheriff tried that route. I’m still confused as to what happened when they participated in the investigation.” She faced Ian. “I have vacation time, and you said I can use CORE’s resources. The sheriff can’t afford to pay us, but if it’s okay with you, I want to investigate what’s happening in Bola and find Sean’s roommate.”

  “Of course,” Ian said. “But there’s no need to worry about vacation time and fees. Not when family is involved. Besides, this is an interesting case.”

  “Very interesting,” Owen said. “A possible serial killer who targets victims at a certain time of year…strange, too.”

  Ian nodded, and removed the cold case file from the desk. “Agreed. This case can wait a few more weeks. Rachel has just handed you your next assignment.”

  Excitement pumped through Owen’s veins. He’d gladly take the case. What had and was happening in Bola sounded like a huge puzzle with a lot of missing pieces.

  “I didn’t hand him anything,” Rachel said. “And I told you I’d like to conduct this investigation.”

  “You can.” Ian smiled. “Only you’ll do it with Owen.”

  Chapter 2

  Rachel finished securing the El Camino’s truck bed cover as Owen approached.

  “We’ll take my car,” he said.

  “If Ian wants you tagging along with me, we go in my car.” Because she had zero field experience, she’d suspected Ian might want her to have assistance on this case. But did that assistance have to come from Owen? She didn’t have a problem dealing with his arrogance. Except for her, the entire CORE team was filled with cocky, alpha males and she’d grown accustomed to their ridiculous Neanderthal ways. Owen’s phony, syrupy charm? Now that drove her crazy. Dozens of guys like him, charming womanizers who liked to take advantage of a woman’s emotions, vulnerabilities and insecurities, had walked in and out of her mom’s life. They were the bottom feeders of the dating pool, and Owen swam with them.

  He shook his head. “There is no way in hell I’m driving six hours in that thing.”

  She eyed the El Camino she’d bought off of Hudson Patterson, a member of the CORE team, less than a year ago. From the moment she’d seen the car, all shiny black, with fire decals running along both sides, she wanted it. Having only two seats, the car had screamed impractical. But she hadn’t cared. Hudson had restored the car himself, and had not only given it a modern twist—CD player, optional satellite radio—he’d added those fire decals. Super cheesy, yet super cool. The same way Sean had always liked to describe her.

  She opened the passenger door. “We go in this car, or you don’t go at all.”

  “Ian said—”

  “Oh, but Ian said,” she mocked him, and held a hand over her heart. “I’m in no mood to deal with your insecurities. So either climb in, or go home.”

  He snorted. “Insecurities? How about impossibilities? For example, it would be impossible to transport you, me, and your brother from Bola to Chicago in a two-seater.”

  Crap, she hadn’t thought about that. “Well, then I guess you’ll have to find some other way home.”

  “Really? For a bright woman, you make no sense.”

  “Are you calling me stupid?”

  “Do I think taking this thing,” he started, and pointed at her car, “is a bright idea? No. I don’t. Do I think you’re stupid? No. Hostile and antagonistic…absolutely.”

  He really thought that about her? Good. She’d worried she had been too soft on him lately. Still, he had a point. The El Camino wouldn’t fit three people, and they were wasting time.

  “Fine,” she said. “We’ll take your car. Actually, it’s better this way. You can drive, while I do some research on my laptop.” She couldn’t let him think he’d won this battle or, even if true, that he was right. From the moment she’d met him, she had made it her mission to put him in his place and come out on top.

  Not true, her conscience reminded her as she switched her gear to the back of his white Lexus LX. At one time, she’d wanted him on top of her. Naked, pressing his thick arousal between her legs.

  Heat rushed to her face as she slammed the SUV’s gate. She would not, could not, allow herself to relive the humiliation and hope he’d caused last year. Not only did they have to work together, she had her brother to worry about and an investigation to run.

  She climbed into the passenger seat, then secured the seatbelt. When he didn’t start the ignition, she turned to him. “What?”

  “Unlike your tricked-out El Camino, this vehicle wasn’t built in 1969. It has all kinds of modern features. Here’s one I’d like you to take note of.” He pressed a button and the back gate began to rise. “Now watch this.” He pressed the same button and the gate closed. “Isn’t technology amazing?”

  “Was the show necessary? All you had to do was ask me not to slam the gate shut.” She faced the front window. “FYI, the only people I know who refer to their car as a vehicle are pompous douche bags. Oh wait, I guess you should call this thing a vehicle, after all.”

  He turned the ignition, then adjusted the temperature and seat warmers. Within seconds her butt was toasty warm, and the Lexus’s temperature a comfortable seventy degrees.

  As he shifted the gear, then wove the SUV through the parking garage, he said, “I thought you agreed not to call me a douche bag anymore.”

  “I didn’t actually call you a douche bag. If you recall, you asked me not to call you a DB.”

  “DB and douche bag are the same thing.”

  “No. DB could stand for dumb butt, dirt bag—”

 
; “Dream boat,” he interrupted with a smile that probably caught him more ass than a public toilet seat.

  “Hardly.” She glanced at his hair. “But ditzy blonde would work, or even Daily Bugle, the Berkeley DB, that’s a cross-platform embedded database library, defensive back—”

  “Defensive back?”

  “It’s a football term.”

  “I’m fully aware, but doubt you know what it means.”

  She folded her arms across her chest. Not into football, she had no idea what defensive back meant. “It’s the guy who defends the back,” she guessed anyway, hoping she could squeak by with the vague answer. Why didn’t she end this childish “DB” discussion with the Berkeley DB? Computer stuff she knew.

  “The back of what?”

  “Look, sorry I’m not Chicago Bears head coach, Mike Dicky, and can’t exactly explain every move a defensive back could possibly make…wait, why are you turning left? The freeway’s that way,” she said, and pointed out her window.

  “I need to stop at my condo.”

  “For?”

  “The clothes in my suitcase are intended for Florida weather. Don’t worry, it won’t take me long to grab a few things. We’ll be on the freeway in less than twenty.” He paused, then said, “And it’s Ditka.”

  What was he talking about? “Come again?”

  “It’s not Mike Dicky, but Mike Ditka, and he hasn’t been head coach for the Bears in more than twenty years.”

  Yep. Should have stuck with the Berkeley DB. “Dicky…Ditka, whatever. You still knew what I meant.”

  Minutes later, Owen parked the Lexus, and left the engine running while he went inside his condo to repack his suitcase. As she waited in the car, she had to admit his vehicle was a definite badass ride. Definite badass, there was another DB phrase. Based on the stories she’d heard about him, definite badass would fit Owen. Not that she’d know from personal experience. Until today, she’d never been given the chance to work side-by-side in the field with Owen or any of CORE’s agents. For years Ian had told her he needed her in the office, that her computer skills were invaluable to the agents on assignment.

  While she knew Ian was right, that she didn’t have any experience with physically tracking down criminals or interviewing suspects, she’d wanted the chance to try. She wanted to prove she was more than a computer geek. After spending her childhood stuck in a crappy apartment while her mom searched for her next husband, then her teen years raising her brother, she had wanted action and adventure.

  With a full academic ride, she’d enrolled in the University of Chicago’s Computer Science Program. An overachiever, she had graduated in three years, then had enlisted in the United States Army’s Military Intelligence Corps where she’d thought for sure she’d find the adventure and travel she had craved. She’d learned all too quickly, while training at Fort Huachuca, Arizona, that the chances of her seeing the world were slim to none. This realization came to fruition after her training had ended and her career had begun at Fort Belvoir, Virginia, the Army Major Intelligence Command Center, where she’d spent her days tied to a desk.

  Six years later, her mom ran off with an aging, hippy musician, leaving Rachel responsible for Sean. Because she’d served six of her eight-year commitment to the Army, she’d been placed in the inactive Reserves. While she’d been able to move back to Chicago and take care of her teenage brother, she had still longed for action and adventure. She’d thought applying to the Chicago Police Department might give her what she had wanted, but unfortunately, she—who’d graduated Summa Cum Laude from Chicago University and had been a U.S. Military Intelligence Officer—couldn’t pass, of all things, their stupid psychological test.

  Now might be her one chance to prove to Ian that she was more than a desk jockey. She hated that the opportunity had been spawned from her brother’s beating, and his roommate’s disappearance. But loved the chance to be able to make the person who had hurt Sean pay for his crimes, find Josh, and discover the reasons behind the missing persons Bola and Wexman University had experienced for the past twenty years.

  “Twenty years,” she said out loud, just as the Lexus’s back gate opened.

  After Owen dropped his suitcase inside and closed the gate, he opened the driver’s door, then climbed inside. “Do you always talk to yourself?”

  “It’s a sign of intelligence.” Rather than engage in another round of juvenile banter, she added, “I was reminding myself that this year marks twenty years of abductions from Wexman University.”

  He pulled the Lexus out of the parking garage and onto the street. “Yeah, the sheriff told you nine boys in twenty years.”

  “Sean’s roommate makes ten.”

  “You’re repeating yourself.”

  Ignoring Owen, she opened up her laptop, searched the Lexus’s control panel until she found a power source, then plugged in the cord. “Each one of these missing fraternity kids are taken during January, and are never seen again.”

  “Still repeating yourself.”

  She reigned in her irritation. “This year marks twenty.”

  “Repeat. And unless the kidnapper left some china behind in the kid’s dorm room, I don’t see your point.”

  He actually knew china was the standard twentieth anniversary gift? In her experience—make that her mom’s—most men could hardly remember their anniversary, let alone what to buy. “Maybe I don’t have a point.” She reached in her computer bag for a pencil. “Maybe I think…forget it.”

  “No. As much as I know you probably don’t want to hear this—”

  “Then please keep it to yourself. In case you haven’t noticed, I’m not having the best morning.”

  “What I was going to say…” He paused, and blew out a deep breath. “Okay, so the Miami case I just finished.”

  A shiver ran through her. “That guy was a total sicko.”

  “Yeah, a sicko you helped me catch.”

  She glanced at him. “You did the catching, all I did was—”

  “Lead me in the right direction after I told you about his second to last victim.”

  “Well, he was stupid. He’d left a credit card trail.”

  “A trail neither the Miami-Dade PD nor the FBI could find. Let’s not forget my other assignments, or how about what you did for John when he was working in Wisconsin, or Hudson back in November?”

  This was going to be the longest six hours of her life. She didn’t want compliments from Owen, and would rather deal with his insults. Compliments led to hope, which led to dreams, which, in her experience, led to disappointment. Although, now that she thought about it, other than the jabs about her pencil dependency, he didn’t sling the insults, she did. Maybe ditzy blonde would have been the perfect nickname for him. He either had no clue as to why she couldn’t stand being around him, or didn’t realize how much he’d hurt her. Not that she’d bring that embarrassing situation up to him. How would she even broach the subject? ‘Hey, Owen, remember the night you kissed me under the mistletoe, then turned around and left with the leggy Barbie doll?’ Yeah. Not going to happen. He probably didn’t even remember the kiss.

  But I do.

  Rubbing the knot at the base of her neck, she said, “What’s your point?”

  “I rely on you. Not only for the information you provide, but because you always have a way of coming up with new angles. So, if you’re having a ‘maybe’ moment, let’s hear it.”

  He relied on her? She glanced at the passing mile marker. This was really going to be the longest six hours of her life. His praise bothered the hell out of her. Sure, everything he’d said had been work related, and had nothing to do with her as a woman. A vital, somewhat attractive, yet somewhat geeky, under-sexed woman.

  Still, it was a compliment.

  A rather bland, boring compliment.

  Not that she wanted him to confess to being hypnotized by her smile, or tell her that looking into her eyes was like staring into deep pools of emeralds. She’d heard her moth
er’s past conquests spew that sort of flowery drivel enough to know empty compliments were worse than none at all. Hence the reason she preferred to date nerdy, nice guys who admired her intelligence and computer skills, and had no idea how to fake a relationship. Unfortunately, with those men foreplay would be pizza, wings, and maybe a discussion about the latest Mobile Ad Hoc Network they’d created. As for sex…discussing the Scalable Link Interface was usually more exciting. Regardless, she’d rather date bland and boring, than mix herself up with men like Owen.

  Too hot. Too confident. Too good of a kisser.

  Why was she even thinking about any of this? He’d admitted to relying on her skills and she’d turned that one, itty-bitty flattering remark into so much more.

  Remember he’s a bottom feeder. Stick to business. Think about Sean. Quit wandering into the past.

  “Okay,” she began, refocusing. “Maybe I think it’s odd that whoever is behind taking these frat boys hasn’t stopped. Not in twenty years. Or maybe…”

  “What? We’ll find the roommate on a china platter?” He glanced at her. “Sorry, bad joke.”

  “Very bad joke,” she said, and shook her head as another thought occurred to her. “Maybe Hell Week is the anniversary of…something.”

  He shrugged. “Yeah, like how about Hell Week? Did the sheriff mention how many years in between disappearances? Because the more I think about it, if the Hell Week note wasn’t left behind, one could consider these disappearances random rather than deliberate.”

  “The sheriff said he’d fill me in on everything when we meet. But you’re right, if it wasn’t for the note…”

  “And that the kids go missing in January. But doesn’t that seem too obvious? Twenty years of abductions, at the start of a weeklong fraternity ritual, and the local authorities haven’t come to the conclusion that whoever is behind this might harbor a grudge about Hell Week itself?”

  “Or it could be that the person behind this had been a victim of a Hell Week hazing,” she said, then began typing. “I’m going to find everything I can about Bola, Wexman University and the long list of missing persons.”