Born to Die

by Winter Austin

  He checked the screen. Sixteen messages. What the hell? “Why would they call me that many times?”

  “Apparently they’ve been trying all morning.”

  Cassy had mentioned there seemed to be a dead zone for cell and radio contact out here in the boonies. That would explain missing the calls in the last hour or so, but not all morning.

  “I’ll call them back. Thanks.”

  “Boyce, be careful. The head honcho sounded pissed.”

  Great. “Warning heeded.”

  Cassy returned with the camera and gloves as he ended the call.

  “Give me a few minutes. I need to return an important call, and this seems the only good spot for reception.”

  She blinked and frowned, her features gradually melding into suspicion. “We’ll be at the vehicles.” She gestured for Con and Mr. Campbell to go with her. From the center of the doorway, she looked back over her shoulder. That hardened expression socked Boyce in the gut. What was up with this woman?

  He moved to the door to make sure they had given him the proper amount of space to not eavesdrop on his conversation, closed the door, then returned to the exact same spot, and called HQ.

  “Agent Hunt, it’s about damn time.”

  “Sorry, sir, I’m in an area that is temperamental about reception.”

  The special agent in charge was usually an easygoing guy; it took a lot to rattle him. “Some of those calls aren’t from me. Your SAC in Memphis has been harassing me about getting in contact with you.”

  Boyce frowned. No. Not today. “About what?”

  “I don’t know the reason, but he was insistent you call him.”

  “I’ll get ahold of him.”

  “You do that. Agent Bartholomew has updated me on the current turn of events down there. I’ll be talking with the sheriff and the police chief here soon.”

  “Thank you, sir.”

  The SAC snorted. “Don’t thank me yet.”

  Boyce ended the call and scrubbed his face. This didn’t bode well for him. If the Memphis SAC was on the warpath, something had gone wrong. Horribly wrong. The churning in Boyce’s gut kicked up a notch as he pulled up the Memphis office number.

  He was transferred to the SAC’s office. The call was answered after the first ring.

  “Agent Hunt, sir.”

  Memphis SAC Keith Ulrich’s sigh carried a lot of weight. “Agent Hunt, we’ve had a very troubling development here with the Gladstone case.”

  Oh, God in heaven, what did she do now? “That would be?”

  “Ruby Jean Gladstone has contacted the agent working the case and demanded that you meet with her.”

  “What? Why? Sir, you know I can’t—”

  “Agent Hunt, I’m aware of the family drama between you and her and the fact that having you anywhere near her could jeopardize everything. But the U.S. Attorney, on the suggestion of the assistant attorney, thinks this might be beneficial to the case.”

  “How could meeting with that woman be beneficial? She’s manipulating all of you, trying to force your hand and see just what cards you hold against her. Using me is her best weapon. She’s already tried to discredit me by claiming I’ve been secretly helping her gain information. You cannot trust this woman.”

  “I don’t trust her; the agents working the case don’t trust her. Hell, the assistant attorney doesn’t, but she’s damn well determined to put an end to this. We’re this close to shutting Ruby Jean down and tearing her little empire to shreds.”

  “So leave me out of it.” All his adult life it had been Boyce’s hope to see his mother behind bars. Meeting with her at her demand—that would be disastrous, and she knew it. It would take one well-timed word, one reminder of who he was, and she could unravel him faster than a cat with a ball of yarn. “With all due respect, sir, I’m not doing it. As a matter of fact, I’m knee-deep in an investigation here in Eider. The bank robbery has escalated into a quadruple homicide.”

  “Let that Agent Bartholomew handle it. You’re due back this week.”

  “About that. I was going to ask for an extension.”

  SAC Ulrich cleared his throat. “Agent Hunt, I don’t see how that’s going to be possible. Let Cedar Rapids handle it.”

  A tap on the window jerked Boyce around. Cassy held up her hands as if to say “any day now.” Holy hell, he couldn’t leave her now.

  Maybe not ever.

  “Sir—”

  “Agent Hunt, I expect you on the next flight out and a receipt to the Bureau to prove it by the end of the day. If not … You know the consequences.”

  He was done. The moment he disobeyed orders, there would be a stigma attached to him, and the Bureau would forever be looking over his shoulder, waiting for him to rebel again so it could fire him. “I’ll send you the flight information as soon as I get it.”

  “I’ll watch for it.”

  Boyce let his hand fall to his side and stared at Cassy through the window. She was going to slit his throat this time.

  • • •

  The expression on Boyce’s face confirmed her worst fears, sealed her worries from earlier this morning.

  He was leaving her.

  With a flick of his wrist, he gestured for her to enter the cabin. She glanced at Con, who had been waiting with her to see what the bundle was hiding. They had left Mark Campbell with Nash.

  Con frowned. “What?”

  Of all the people in her life, Con was the only one who had never judged her harshly for her irrational behavior when it came to Boyce. A kindred spirit, Con knew what it was like to love someone who was quite possibly the most unlovable person on earth. But there was no way Cassy could tell him her suspicions, because he would say something to Nic, and then the “I told you sos” would come out.

  “He’s done.” She jerked open the door and stepped inside.

  Boyce didn’t look at her. He kept his gaze glued to the pack and fiddled with something in his coat pocket. “Make sure you get every angle and document every step.”

  “I know how to do it,” she snapped.

  Her response made him flinch. Good, maybe he’d realize trying to run off again was going to earn him a death warrant this time.

  Con waited for her to finish with the first set of photos, then, slowly, he lifted the old wool blanket that was wrapped around the mound. Once the blanket was free, the orange wrapper was completely exposed. Cassy took several shots of it before Con placed it in one of the evidence bags he’d taken from his vehicle. After sealing the bag, he handed it to Boyce, who studied the candy wrapper.

  “We’ll have to check if the batch number on this matches any from the gas station robbery,” he said.

  “I found a wrapper close to where Wallis was murdered and where they held the vigil,” Cassy said, finally getting Boyce to look at her. “It might match.”

  The pain in his eyes constricted her throat. She nearly took a step back; she couldn’t remember a point of time in their acquaintance when she had ever seen that particular emotion in him.

  “This is news to me.”

  “Because it was a long-shot hunch.” She focused the camera on the pile at her feet. “I was trying not to get my hopes up over nothing but garbage.” She snapped a few more pictures of the pile. “Have at it, Con.”

  Her brother-in-law began unraveling the wad, which they soon realized was balled up towels. Dark brown and black towels, some still damp from use. With each layer removed, the scent of decay increased.

  “Is it me, or does this smell like mold?” Con asked.

  Cassy continued to take pictures, her heart hammering against her ribs. “Do you—?”

  “Stop,” Boyce interrupted her and crouched down next to Con. With a gloved hand, he took a particularly wet towel Con held and laid it out. “This was recently used.”

  “I would think so, considering Cassy nearly stumbled over the people,” Con said.

  “Why leave the towels? Are they planning to come back?”

  Cassy
’s gaze swept the cabin. “Why the main living space? People typically leave wet towels in the bathroom or laundry area.”

  “Where is the bathroom?” Boyce asked, rising to his full height.

  Cassy pointed at a darkened corner behind the kitchenette and headed for it. The smell of bleach had been stronger here when she did her sweep earlier; she opened the door and was again assaulted by a wall of fumes. Coughing, she peered into the room, patting the wall for the light switch until her hand caught the edge of the plate. Turning on the light, she tucked her mouth and nose into her elbow.

  The place was spotless except for a pile of clothes in the shower—jeans and shirts bleached white and damaged where the chemical had eaten away at the fabric.

  “Someone wanted to make sure we couldn’t trace them back to something,” Boyce said.

  She took shallow breaths so as to not burn her nostrils and lungs any more than she had already. “Why bleach those and not the towels? Why leave any of it here if it means getting caught?”

  “Mold is growing on the towels, so some of them have been like that for a while.” Boyce stepped into the bathroom, inspecting it. “You’d only bleach down everything if you were—”

  “Trying to destroy blood evidence and DNA traces.” Cassy pressed her back into the opposite wall, gaping at the bathroom and the man squatting down next to the toilet. “Someone used this cabin after doing something criminal.”

  Boyce looked up from his search, holding a small piece of tissue paper with a browned corner. “Perhaps after committing murder?”

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  By two p.m., everyone had retreated to their respective departments to decompress. By three thirty, Boyce had booked a flight leaving Cedar Rapids in the morning and getting him back to Memphis by afternoon. It was now after five, and everyone was talking about going home. Boyce leaned against the wall next to Hamilton’s office, staring at Cassy, who sat hunched over her desk, like she was catching a nap.

  He had no idea how to tell her that he had to leave so soon. He’d hoped to finish out his temporary leave here in Eider, see where this new turn in his relationship with Cassy would take them. Try to figure out a way to make his life work around hers and not screw it all up again. But if he wanted to keep his job, and his reputation intact, he had to go back to Memphis. Damn it, this was a shitty thing to do to her.

  Cassy looked like she’d gone ten rounds with Sugar Ray Leonard. Boyce checked the others still in the bullpen—hell, they all looked like that.

  Liza sidled up to him. “You’ve got that pensive look on your face. What are you thinking about?”

  Glancing at her, he sighed and pushed off the wall. “Take the car and go to the hotel. I’ll give you a call when I’m done with what I need to do.”

  “And what’s that?”

  “Hoping to live with myself,” he muttered then headed for Cassy.

  They hadn’t had a moment to eat a decent meal all day. From the second they’d left her home for the Clydes’ murder scene, it had been snatches of coffee, snacks, and at one point Jennings had brought in sub sandwiches they consumed on the go. The sheriff was doing public-relations control; the fallout over the Clydes’ deaths was tearing the community apart, and he was trying to alleviate their fears. The residents of McIntire County wanted answers about why it happened and where Kendra Clyde had gone, but there were no answers to give.

  Boyce approached Cassy cautiously, crouching down next her, but just out of arm’s reach in case she reacted with a swing of her fist. Tapping her on the shoulder made her jolt. She shook her head, blinked a few times, then peered at him.

  “What?” she asked groggily.

  “Come on, I’m taking you home.”

  “No.” She moved to get up. “I can drive myself.”

  Boyce gripped her elbow and steadied her as she wobbled. “Yes, I know you can, but right now you’re half-dead on your feet. Why don’t we just save the argument for some other day, and I’ll get you home safe and sound, okay?”

  “Fine.” She wiggled free of his grasp and wandered to the exit.

  With a parting nod to Liza, he hurried after Cassy, catching up as she stumbled through the glass doors. He trailed her closely, ensuring she didn’t slip and fall on the slick surface of the parking lot, then opened the truck door for her. She mumbled something incoherent as she climbed into the cab. After she buckled in, he shut the door and got in the driver’s seat.

  Cassy remained silent the entire drive to her home, which left him to his turbulent thoughts. By the time he parked in her driveway, she was more alert and bailed out of the cab before he turned off the engine. She was halfway up the sidewalk when he exited the truck, and she would have been in the house and locking him out if he hadn’t rushed after her and slapped a hand on the door.

  “You got me home, Boyce. Now go away.” Her dismissal smacked of finality and evasion.

  “Not until we talk.”

  She shoved into the house. “There’s no talking. Leave.” Her voice cracked on the final word.

  With an aching chest, he dragged her into his embrace. Cassy struggled at first, then, either because of exhaustion or in surrender, she stopped and allowed him to hold her. Inching inside the house, he managed to maneuver them both away from the door and close it.

  “You’re leaving me.” Her statement was muffled against his chest.

  Boyce sighed, smoothing down her hair and kissing her forehead, then stilled with his lips pressed to her skin. As he’d feared, she’d figured it out. But he had to find a way to tell her this wasn’t like the last two times.

  Her arms, which were limp at her sides, snaked around his waist, and she nestled closer. “Will you at least say goodbye this time?”

  Grasping her shoulders, he drew her back to look her in the eye. “There isn’t going to be a goodbye.”

  She broke free of his hold and backpedaled. “So, you brought me home and barged in here to make your excuses and run?”

  “No. That’s not how this is going to happen.”

  “Really? Then how is this going to happen? You give me some vague bullshit reason about your job, and you’re so sorry, but the job always comes first?”

  Irritation licked at his mind. He had no one to blame for her reactions but himself, but for the love of God, she could refrain from making assumptions. “I’m an FBI agent, Cassy. I go where they tell me.”

  She snorted in derision, then jerked her coat off and threw it at him. He let it slap him and slide to the floor as he watched her stomp into the kitchen. Stepping over the coat, he followed her, catching her hand to spin her around.

  “Far be it for me to tell you how to act, but damn it, Cassy, you’re being childish.” This time he reacted quickly, blocking her attempt to slap him, and pinned her arms to her sides. “Be rational.”

  “Rational? You want me to be rational and not childish, when all you’ve ever done is tuck tail and run like a coward. Now suddenly you want to be an adult. Shit, Boyce, let’s dispense with the crap, and why don’t you get the hell out of my house? For that matter, my life, and don’t ever bother coming back. Ever!”

  Her words were like cuts to his soul and his heart. In the back of his mind, he knew he deserved her wrath. His past performances warranted everything she hurled at him. But he wasn’t that man anymore. Not this time. She’d done something to him this time around, something that shattered the brick and mortar he’d constructed around his emotions.

  He swallowed, releasing her arms, and stepped back. Drawing his coat around him, Boyce stared at her, memorizing her features, locking away every inch of her to pull up when the loneliness kicked in. Cassy stood before him, trembling, her eyes filling with tears. His gaze was drawn to the scar, the only tangible sign of his worst memory: seeing her head jerk back when the bullet hit her.

  “I don’t need your pity,” she hissed.

  “It’s not pity,” he countered. “It kills me every time I look at that and know what it co
st you. And it was my fault.”

  She stiffened, but the fury melted from her features as she gaped at him.

  “Yes, my fault. I let my zeal for adding another notch to my record put you at risk, and it left you with more than a physical scar.” Boyce drove his fingers through his hair. “Cassy, the Memphis SAC and the Assistant U.S Attorney is demanding I come back. I have no choice.”

  “There’s always a choice. You have to figure out which one is the right one.”

  The right one? He suppressed the urge to sniff at her statement. The right one was staring him in the face, but he couldn’t give up his long-time quest. Bringing Mother to her knees, destroying her and the world she created had been his goal for so long. How? How could he give that up?

  Did he relish the thought of facing Ruby Jean at the AUSA’s and SAC’s request and ruining years of a carefully built case? Hell, no. Only the realization that he might put the last nail in her coffin made it somewhat easier for him to leave. If he played his cards right, if he plied Mother’s own well-oiled tricks against her, he, Boyce, would watch her burn. As childish as it sounded, he would dance like a naked Indian around that campfire, letting out war whoops for the whole damn world to hear.

  Then he could move on with his life. And he hoped Cassy would remain a part of it. But that was her call. For now, her safety and keeping the knowledge of Cassy and her personal connection to him out of Mother’s grasp was paramount. Because the moment Mother learned he had an intimate relationship with anyone, she’d use that against him to destroy him.

  She had before.

  “My flight leaves midmorning,” he said.

  “What about leading the investigation into the Clyde murders?”

  “Liza is in charge. Cedar Rapids might send another agent down to assist her.”

  “The bank robbery?”

  “Liza.”

  Cassy chewed on her lip then gulped. “What about … last night?”

  His hands itched to caress her face, cradle it, and to hold her while he kissed her thoroughly, but he kept his arms at his sides. “It’s not over.”