by Karen Rose
Vartanian shook his head, although his eyes had softened to something approaching sympathy. “You can’t see her. She was badly beaten. She isn’t recognizable.”
“I’m a nurse, Agent Vartanian. I’ve seen dead bodies before. If it’s Bailey, I’ll know. Please. I need to know one way or the other.”
He hesitated, then finally nodded. “I’ll call the ME. She was supposed to start the examination at about ten, so we should be able to catch her before she begins.”
“Thank you.”
Monday, January 29, 9:45 a.m.
“This is our viewing room.” Dr. Felicity Berg stood aside as Daniel followed Alex Fallon through the door. “If you’d like to sit down, please do.”
Daniel watched Alex Fallon take in the room with a sweeping glance. Then she shook her head. “Thank you, but I’ll stand,” she said. “Is she ready?”
She was a cool one, Miss Alex Fallon. And she’d given him the shock of his life.
It’s her, was all he’d been able to think when she’d looked up into his face. He felt lucky he hadn’t embarrassed himself more than he had. When she’d said he looked like he’d seen a ghost, she’d hit the nail on the head. His heart was still unsteady when he looked at her, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself.
When he really looked at her, he could see she was different from the smiling photo of her sister. She was thirteen years older, but that wasn’t it. There was something different in her eyes. They were whiskey-colored, identical to her sister’s, of course. But the laughter he’d seen in Alicia Tremaine’s eyes was nonexistent in Alex Fallon’s.
She’d been through trauma, thirteen years ago and again now, so perhaps her eyes had once held mischief and fun. But now Alex Fallon was cool and collected. He’d witnessed brief spurts of emotion-fear, anger, relief, all quickly controlled. Watching her stand before the curtained window, he wondered what was going through her mind.
“I’ll go check,” Felicity said and closed the door behind her, leaving them alone.
Alex stood quietly, her arms at her sides. But her hands were clenched into fists and Daniel fought the urge to pry her fingers apart.
She was a beautiful woman, he thought, finally able to look at her without her watching him in return. Her eyes had rattled him, as if she’d seen more than he’d wanted her to. Her lips were full but unsmiling. She was slender, but her sensible black suit still hinted of curves beneath. Her hair was the same dark caramel color as her sister’s and it fell midway down her back in waves, thick and sleek.
Because the thought of touching her hair, of caressing her cheek… because the thought had actually entered his mind, Daniel shoved his hands into his pockets. She flinched when he moved. She’d been aware of him, even if she hadn’t been looking at him. “Where do you live, Miss Fallon?”
She turned, just enough so that she could see over her shoulder. “ Cincinnati.”
“Where you’re a nurse?”
“Yes. I work in the ER.”
“Tough job.”
“As is yours.”
“You don’t use the name Tremaine.”
A muscle moved in her throat as she swallowed. “No. I had it changed.”
“When you got married?” he asked and realized he was holding his breath.
“I’m not married. I was adopted by my aunt and uncle after my sister died.” Her tone dared him to push further, so he turned the conversation a different way.
She wasn’t married. It didn’t matter. But it did. Deep down, he knew that it mattered very much. “You said your stepsister has a child. You called her Hope.”
“Yes. Hope is four. Social Services found her hiding in a closet Friday morning.”
“The locals think Bailey abandoned her daughter?”
Her jaw tightened, as did her fists. Even in the dim light, he could see her knuckles whiten. “That’s what they think. Hope’s teachers said Bailey would never have left her.”
“So you came straight down to take care of the child?”
She did look at him then, straight and long, and he knew he wouldn’t have been able to look away if he’d tried. Alex Fallon had an inner strength, a purpose… whatever it was, it demanded his attention. “Yes. Until Bailey’s found. One way or another.”
He knew it was a bad idea, nevertheless he took her hand and uncurled her fingers. Her neat, unpolished nails had left deep gouges in the tender flesh of her palm. Gently he rubbed the creases with his thumbs. “And if Bailey’s never found?” he murmured.
She looked down at his hands holding hers, then back up to meet his eyes, and his nerves fired in a chain reaction that seemed to singe his skin. There was a connection here, a tie, an affinity that he’d never experienced before. “Then Hope will be my child and she’ll never be alone and afraid again,” she said quietly but resolutely, leaving no doubt in his mind that she would keep her promise.
And suddenly he was swallowing hard. “I hope you get closure, Miss Fallon.”
The grim line of her mouth softened, not a smile, but still softer. “Thank you.”
He held her hand another few seconds, then released her as Felicity came back in.
Felicity glanced from Daniel to Alex Fallon, her eyes narrowing slightly. “We’re ready, Miss Fallon. We won’t show you her face, all right?”
Alex Fallon nodded. “I understand.”
Felicity pulled the curtain about two-thirds of the way across. Malcolm Zuckerman was on the other side of the glass. Felicity leaned into the speaker. “Let’s begin.”
Malcolm pulled the sheet to the side, revealing the right side of the victim.
“Agent Vartanian said your stepsister had a tattoo,” Felicity said quietly. “I checked myself and saw no scarring. There’s no evidence there was ever a tattoo on that ankle.”
She nodded again. “Thank you. Can he show me the inside of her arm?”
“I didn’t see evidence of needle scarring, either,” Felicity said as Malcolm complied.
Her shoulders finally relaxed and she trembled visibly. “It’s not Bailey.” She met Daniel’s eyes and in hers he saw a raging combination of sympathy, regret, and relief. “You still have an unidentified victim, Agent Vartanian. I’m sorry about that.”
He smiled, but sadly. “I’m glad it’s not your stepsister.”
Felicity pulled the curtain back over the window. “I’ll be starting the autopsy in a few minutes, Daniel. Should I wait for you?”
“If you wouldn’t mind. Thanks, Doc.” He waited until Felicity was gone, then stood up and put his hands in his pockets. Alex Fallon still trembled and he was tempted to pull her against him and hold her until she put her public face back on. “Are you all right, Miss Fallon?”
She nodded unsteadily. “Yes. But Bailey’s still missing.”
He knew what she was asking. “I can’t help you find her.”
Her eyes flashed. “Why not?”
“Because the GBI doesn’t just take cases from the locals. We have to be invited.”
Her jaw tightened and her eyes went cold. “I see. Well, then, can you tell me how to get to Peachtree and Pine?”
Daniel blinked at her. “Excuse me?”
“I said Peachtree and Pine.” She enunciated it. “Sheriff Loomis, the Dutton sheriff, said that’s where I should look for her.”
Damn you, Frank, Daniel thought. That was insensitive and irresponsible. “I’d be glad to give you directions, but you might have more luck after dark, and that I wouldn’t recommend. You’re from out of town and don’t know the safe areas.”
She lifted her chin. “I don’t seem to have much choice. Sheriff Loomis won’t help me and you can’t.”
He didn’t think so, but chose to keep his opinions to himself. He looked down at his shoe, then back up at her. “If you can wait until seven, I’ll take you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Why?”
“Because I have a six o’clock meeting that’s not done till seven.”
She shook her head.
“Don’t play games with me, Vartanian. Why?”
He decided to tell her some small sliver of the truth. “Because that victim was found just like your sister, and on the same day my Jane Doe died, your stepsister disappeared. Whether I have a copycat killer or not, this is too much of a coincidence for me to ignore. And… you’re here, Miss Fallon. Has it occurred to you that you might be a target of a copycat killer, too?”
Her face paled. “No.”
“I don’t mean to scare you, but I’d rather see you scared than lying in there.”
She nodded shakily and he could see he’d made his point. “I appreciate it,” she murmured. “So where should I meet you at seven?”
“How about back here? Don’t wear that suit, okay? It’s too nice.”
“Okay.”
The need to put his arm around her swamped him again, but he shoved it away. “Come on, I’ll walk you up to the front.”
Monday, January 29, 10:45 a.m.
I’m still alive. She struggled to wake up and squinted, unable to open her eyes fully. But it didn’t matter, it was so dark that she couldn’t have seen anything anyway. It was daytime, but she knew that only because she could hear the birds.
She tried to move and groaned when pain streaked everywhere. She hurt so bad.
And she didn’t even know why. Well, technically she knew part of it, maybe even all of it, but she didn’t let herself acknowledge that she held the information in her brain. In her weaker moments she might tell him and then he’d kill her.
She didn’t want to die. I want to go home. I want my baby. She let herself think of Hope and winced as the tear burned on its way down her cheek. Please, God, take care of my baby. She prayed someone knew she was gone, that someone had come for Hope. That someone is looking for me. That she’d be important to someone.
Anyone. Please.
Footsteps approached and she drew a shallow breath. He was coming. God help me, he’s coming. Don’t let me be afraid. And she forced herself to go blank, to clear her mind of everything. Everything.
The door swung open and she winced at the dim light from the hall.
“Well, now,” he drawled. “Are you ready to tell me where it is?”
She gritted her teeth and prepared for the blow. Still she cried out when the end of his boot kicked her hip. She looked up into black eyes that she’d once trusted.
“Bailey, darlin’. You can’t win here. Tell me where the key is. Then I’ll let you go.”
Dutton, Monday, January 29, 11:15 a.m.
It was still there, Alex thought as she stared up at Bailey’s house from the street.
So go in. Check it out. Don’t be such a coward. But still she sat, staring, her heart beating hard and fast. Before she’d been afraid for Bailey. She’d been terrified of Bailey’s house. Now, thanks to Vartanian, she was afraid for herself, too.
He might be totally wrong, but if he was right… She needed protection. She needed a dog. A big dog. And a gun. She started up the rental car and was ready to pull away from the curb when a knock at her car window had her screaming.
Her gaze flew up to the window where a young man in a military uniform stood smiling. He hadn’t heard her scream. Nobody ever did. Her screams were only in her mind. Drawing an unsteady breath, she rolled down the window a crack. “Yes?”
“I’m sorry to bother you,” he said pleasantly. “I’m Captain Beardsley, U.S. Army. I’m looking for Bailey Crighton. I thought maybe you might know where I could find her.”
“Why are you looking for her?”
Again his smile was pleasant. “That’s between me and Miss Crighton. If you see her, could you tell her Reverend Beardsley stopped by?”
Alex frowned. “Are you a captain or a reverend?”
“Both. I’m an army chaplain.” He smiled. “Have a nice day.”
“Wait.” Alex grabbed her cell phone and dialed Meredith while the man stood outside her window. He did wear a cross on his lapel. Maybe he was really a chaplain.
And maybe he wasn’t. Vartanian had her paranoid. But then again, Bailey was missing and that woman was dead.
“Well?” Meredith demanded without preamble.
“It’s not Bailey.”
Meredith sighed. “I’m relieved and at the same time… not.”
“I know. Listen, I came by Bailey’s old house to see if I could find anything-”
“Alex. You promised to wait until I could go with you.”
“I didn’t go in. I just needed to see if I could.” She glanced at the house and her gut began to twist. “I can’t. But as I was sitting here on the street, this guy came up.”
“What guy?”
“Reverend Beardsley. He says he’s looking for Bailey. He’s an army chaplain.”
“An army chaplain is looking for Bailey? Why?”
“That’s what I’m going to find out. I just wanted someone to know I was talking to him. If I don’t call you in ten minutes, call 911, okay?”
“Alex, you’re scaring me.”
“Good. I was getting too full of fear myself. Need to spread it around. How’s Hope?”
“The same. We need to get her out of this hotel room, Alex.”
“I’ll see what I can do.” She hung up and got out of her car.
Captain Beardsley looked concerned. “Has something happened to Bailey?”
“Yes. She disappeared.”
Beardsley’s concern became shock. “When did Bailey disappear?”
“This past Thursday night, four days ago now.”
“Oh, dear. Who are you?”
“My name is Alex Fallon. I’m Bailey’s stepsister.”
His brows went up. “Alex Tremaine?”
Alex swallowed. “That’s my old last name, yes. How do you know that?”
“Wade told me.”
“Wade?”
“Bailey’s older brother.”
“I know who Wade is. Why would he tell you about me?”
Beardsley tilted his head, studying her. “He’s dead.”
Alex blinked. “Dead?”
“Yes. I’m sorry. I assumed you’d been notified. Lieutenant Wade Crighton was killed in the line of duty in Iraq about a month ago.”
“We’re not really blood relations, so I guess the government wouldn’t have contacted me. Why are you looking for Bailey?”
“I sent her a letter her brother dictated to me just before he died. Lieutenant Crighton was injured in a raid on a village outside Baghdad. Some called it a suicide mission.”
A sense of satisfaction stole through Alex, making her ashamed. “Was the mission accomplished?” she asked very quietly.
“Partly. At any rate, Wade was hit by mortar fire. By the time the medics got to him, it was too late. He asked me to hear his confession.”
Alex’s brows knit. “Wade wasn’t Catholic.”
“Neither am I. I’m a Lutheran pastor. A lot of men who ask me to hear their final confessions aren’t Catholic, and clergy other than priests can hear them.”
“I’m sorry. I knew that. We have all kinds of clergy come through our ER. I was just surprised Wade would confess anything. Do you visit all the families of the deceased?”
“Not all. I was up for R &R and just came into Fort Benning. It was on my way, so I thought I’d stop on my way home. I still have one of Wade’s letters, you see. He asked that I write three letters, one to his sister, one to his father, and one to you.”
The screaming took up in her head and Alex closed her eyes. When she opened them Beardsley was watching her with a concern she ignored. “Wade wrote to me?”
“Yes. I mailed his letters to Bailey and his father to this address, but I didn’t know where to find you. I was looking for Alex Tremaine.” From the portfolio he carried under his arm, Beardsley pulled an envelope and his card. “Call me if you need to talk.”
Alex took the envelope and Beardsley started to walk away. “Wait. Wade sends Bailey a letter. She disappears, the same day a woman is
killed and left in a ditch.”
He blinked at her. “A woman was killed?”
“Yes. I thought it was Bailey, but it’s not.” She ripped open the envelope and scanned the letter Wade had dictated. She looked up. “There’s nothing in this letter that will tell me where Bailey’s gone. It’s just a letter asking for forgiveness. He doesn’t even say what he’s asking forgiveness for.” Although Alex was pretty sure she knew. Still, it wasn’t anything that Bailey would have been abducted over. “Did he tell you?”
“He didn’t say in the letter.”
Alex noticed the tightening of Beardsley’s jaw. “But he did say in his confession. Trust Wade to screw up. You won’t tell me what he said, will you?”
Beardsley shook his head. “I can’t. And don’t say I’m not Catholic. The sanctity of a confession is just as critical to me. I won’t tell you, Miss Fallon. I can’t.”
First Vartanian and now Beardsley. I can’t. “Bailey has a little girl. Hope.”
“I know. Wade told me about her. He loved that little girl.”
That Alex found hard to believe, but she didn’t argue with him. “Then tell me something that can help me get Hope’s mother back to her. Please. The police won’t help me. They say Bailey’s just a junkie and probably ran away. Did Wade say anything outside the confession?”
Beardsley looked down, then into her eyes. “ ‘Simon.’ ”
Alex shook her head in frustration. “Simon? What is that supposed to mean?”
“It’s a name. Just as he died he said, ‘I’ll see you in hell, Simon.’ I’m sorry, Miss Fallon. That’s going to have to be enough. I can’t tell you any more.”
Chapter Four
Atlanta , Monday, January 29, 12:15 p.m.
Dr. Felicity Berg looked up at Daniel through her goggles. She was standing on the other side of the autopsy table, bending over what remained of their Jane Doe. “You want the good news or the bad news first?”
Daniel had watched in silence as Felicity had taken Jane Doe apart with deliberate care. He’d watched her do autopsies more than a dozen times, but he never failed to wonder how she kept her hands so steady. “The bad news, I guess.”
