When Shadows Fall

by J. T. Ellison

  Adrian leaned in, shouted in Doug’s ear, “Let’s get out of here. It’s too loud to think.”

  “Sure, okay. Let me get rid of this chick. I’ll meet you outside in ten.”

  It had been a night to remember. Drunk on beer and life and happiness at seeing his old friend, Doug was willing to talk honestly and openly about things Adrian never thought he would. Like his time overseas, about how he became disillusioned with the political agenda, saw where they were headed, right into another big war, and decided to come home and finish college. He thought being a cop would satisfy him. But there was something still missing from his life.

  And when Adrian told him about Eden, about the love and acceptance and journey he’d been on, Doug was genuinely happy for him. He hadn’t wanted to come home with Adrian, but said maybe another time.

  He certainly seemed open to the idea of being a part of Adrian’s world.

  Adrian knew how much Curtis needed Doug. To watch out for them. To cover their backs. They needed someone on the outside to run the operation. He had a flask in his pocket, which contained a fine single-barrel bourbon. And a little something extra.

  The kick that pushed him right over the edge. After swigging from the flask a few times, Doug was intoxicated enough to admit what was really the matter with him.

  What he was looking for. Who he was looking for.

  He was sloppy with it, the admission. And Adrian realized this was the opportunity he’d been waiting for.

  They found themselves alone in a gorgeous park, the night breeze scented with the last bit of summer jasmine and honeysuckle. They walked along the path into the darkness, and talked about loneliness, and when Doug stumbled, Adrian reached for his old friend, brought him into his arms and bent his head to his lips. Doug only resisted for a moment.

  * * *

  Adrian’s head jerked suddenly and he realized he’d almost driven off the road. Lost in the memory of that night, he’d started to drift to sleep. It was a happy memory, though it had turned ugly down the road, when Doug hadn’t wanted to be their man, and Adrian was forced to show him the pictures he’d taken that night.

  The photos were brutal, intimate and clearly showed Doug in the most compromising positions. When he saw them, he got right in line. He couldn’t afford for his life to be ruined, for his secret to get out. The police would drum him off the force if they knew. So Doug kept his head down, and worked hard to make the big leap into the FBI, the perfect place to cover all their asses.

  Doug was a part of Eden, whether he wanted it or not.

  What they weren’t prepared for was Doug being sent into Eden to investigate them. He sat down with Adrian and Curtis that first night and explained what was happening, how they were going to work it all out.

  Adrian and Curtis had their first true disagreement over Doug’s plans. Adrian was all for taking his old friend into the woods and permanently removing him from their lives. Curtis, levelheaded Curtis, knew she needed to keep Doug around, and vetoed Adrian’s proposal.

  Adrian had been right all along when he said they couldn’t trust Doug anymore.

  He flipped on the radio, knowing the music would help keep him awake. But his favorite station wasn’t playing music. They were talking about a missing girl, and a ghost, resurrected from his past.

  Kaylie Rousch was alive and on the run.

  He slammed his fists into the steering wheel and screamed. He let the anger course through him, felt his control slide back into place.

  Ten years ago, Doug had spent three months misleading them. He orchestrated the move to Texas, helped them with everything—everything!—and then he’d betrayed everyone by running away with the girl once she’d dropped her pod.

  His brother, his lover, his friend—had betrayed them all for an inconsequential girl.

  And now Doug was dead, the girl was alive and Adrian had to make this all right. He just wanted his old life back. The old rhythms, instilled by Curtis, based on centuries of belief and structure. The balance and harmony he’d grown accustomed to.

  And the only way to do that was to find and silence the only person left who knew everything. He had to rid the world of Kaylie Rousch, and all the people she’d been casually touching since she came out of hiding. Her poison must be stopped.

  And he knew just where to find her now. He knew she would be waiting for him. It was time for their decades-long dance to end, with her in the ground, where she belonged.

  SUNDAY

  “What would your good do if evil didn’t exist, and what would the earth look like if all the shadows disappeared?”

  —Mikhail Bulgakov

  “Evil is the bane of the world, sayeth our Lord, the one truth we cannot escape. From the matter given by the stars on the day of our great birth to the dust it becomes as our bones rot in the ground, evil will be eradicated by love of the Mother. Do not fear your dark thoughts, my children. My love ensures that you will not succumb.”

  —Curtis Lott

  Chapter

  48

  Capitol Hill

  Near the Longworth Office Building

  FLETCHER WOKE TO the smell of coffee and bacon. Certain he was dreaming, or had simply caught a whiff of brunch from Bullfeathers, a nearby restaurant, he rolled over and tried to go back to sleep. Instead he fell off the couch onto the living-room floor with a thud.

  It all came rushing back—the very late night, the beer, the horrible revelations. The fruitless search in the files for more information about where Eden was holding the missing girls, his gallant offer of his bed to the young FBI agent, who, to his everlasting shock, had said yes, because she wasn’t about to drive home after three beers.

  He glanced down—yes, he was fully clothed. He gathered himself up from the floor and cracked his neck. He wasn’t dreaming. Someone was in his kitchen, cooking.

  A feminine voice called out, “Rise and shine.”

  He wandered into the kitchen, yawning.

  “What, no kiss?” She had on the same clothes from the night before, black pants and red silk top, but was missing the jacket, and her bra.

  His eyes must have gotten wide, because Jordan started to laugh. “You really need to lighten up, Detective.”

  “You’re in a good mood. Are you like the battery on my iPhone, just plug her in and she charges up in an hour?”

  “No, I’m younger than you, and don’t need as much sleep.”

  “Ouch.” But he smiled and so did she. Jesus, she was flirting with him. And he was flirting right back. Head in the game, Fletch. She was adorable, and smart, and driven in a way he totally respected, and he’d like to get to know her better. But they had a child to find, and he needed to keep that front and center.

  He realized something else was becoming front and center, and turned, busying himself in the refrigerator until he was decent again. He laughed at himself. Dirty old man.

  “I hope you’re hungry,” Jordan said, setting cutlery and a juice glass on the table.

  “To what do I owe the honor?”

  “I was starving, and unlike many a bachelor, you actually have food in your fridge. It didn’t seem fair to run out on you after you were kind enough to give up your bed last night. And I might have found something you’ll want to see.”

  “What’s that?”

  “Eat first. Then we’ll look.”

  “Look first, then eat.”

  “Oh, you’re no fun.” But she turned the heat off and grabbed a sheaf of papers from the counter next to her.

  “We’ve been looking at this all wrong. Matcliff was given a new code name.”

  “Saxon to Savage. Right. Why?”

  “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Who gave him the new code name?”

  “I’m betting it was someone who kne
w him.”

  “Thurber?”

  “Explains why he’s been so freaky about all this.”

  “So Thurber lied when he said he didn’t know the name Timothy Savage,” Fletcher said.

  She went back to the stove, flipped the eggs onto a plate, added the bacon and thrust it at him. “I wouldn’t characterize it as a lie, exactly. A bending of the truth. I think Rob might feel responsible, which is why he’s throwing up roadblocks and being such a jerk about this. It’s out of character. He’s always been a good, levelheaded guy. Of course, I’m newly partnered with him, so I don’t know everything about him. We’re still in the honeymoon phase.”

  “He’s an honest sort, though, right?”

  “Until an hour ago, I would have said yes. Now I don’t know.”

  She scooped eggs and bacon onto her own plate and joined him at the table. “Once the code name shifts, it’s a cat and mouse game. I think they were trying to get him to come in, and he wasn’t willing to take the chance. Before it all shuts down, he gives the location of the cult in 2006, near El Paso, Texas. So we can tie them physically to Emily Harper’s disappearance. It’s enough to get a warrant, assuming we’ve found where they are now.”

  “Did he happen to say what they were doing with the girls?”

  “No. Nothing new there.”

  “Good work, Special Agent.”

  They ate in silence for a few minutes. Fletcher tried to wrap his head around it, knew they were still missing something. Why in the world would the FBI shut down their own channel into the cult? Especially when their agent had presumably gone missing within that same organization—after telling them there were more girls being brought in?

  Every time they found an answer, two more questions cropped up.

  Fletcher heard a noise, paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. Jordan heard it, too. Her eyes met his. They both jumped to their feet and inched to the back door. Fletcher was still wearing his backup gun. He pulled it from his ankle holster and muttered, “You loaded?”

  Her Glock was out, already pointed at the noise. “I’m an FBI agent, Detective, not a Girl Scout. Of course I am.”

  He resisted the urge to laugh, signaled the count—one, two, three—then threw open the door to his meager little deck.

  “Don’t shoot, don’t shoot!”

  He dropped his weapon. Lisa Schumann, The Washington Post reporter he’d blown off a couple of days ago, was hanging over the railing of his deck, preparing to drop down to the alley below.

  He grabbed her arm and hauled her back over the edge. She landed in a heap at his feet.

  “Ow! Gee, thanks for nothing, Detective. That hurt.”

  “Talk. Right now. Or I swear to God I’ll shoot you. What the hell are you doing out here?”

  Her chin rose an inch. She had guts; he’d give her that.

  “What do you think I’m doing? I’m trying to drum up a lead on the Rachel Stevens case.”

  “By spying on me?”

  She looked down and didn’t answer.

  “Not acceptable. Get the hell out of here. And don’t even think about making a sympathy play. I’m calling your boss, and he’s going to have your head. You’re lucky I’m not taking it to him.”

  Jordan’s phone rang. She holstered her Glock and went inside.

  “But, Detective—or should I call you Lieutenant now?”

  His stomach hitched. “How do you know about that?”

  A coy little smile. “I do have sources, despite what you think. And my sources tell me Kaylie Rousch is back from the dead. True?”

  “Go away, Lisa.”

  “If you won’t give me anything, maybe you’ll listen. Twenty years ago, around the same time Kaylie Rousch disappeared, another little girl went missing. She was the daughter of one of the homeless from down under Whitehurst Freeway. No one ever did anything about it because she was a black girl in an orphanage, and no one cared enough to look for her.”

  He shook his head. “You are so off base. If we’d known about it, we would have investigated it. What sort of cops do you think we are?”

  “The kind the homeless didn’t trust enough to tell you the truth, I suppose. Her name was Jennifer Harvey. That’s who you dug up when you thought you’d found Kaylie Rousch.”

  Fletcher sighed. “Where did you find this?”

  “I’ve been working on an enterprise piece about the inequalities in criminal investigations and the media exposure. White Girl Syndrome. I talked to a lot of people down in Anacostia. They all mentioned this little girl who’d disappeared and no one ever did anything about it. Kaylie Rousch disappeared, and every media outlet spent weeks on the coverage. Jennifer Harvey goes missing, and no one even knows her name. It’s a shame.”

  “Well, I thank you for the tip, and I’ll certainly follow it up. Now leave.”

  “That’s it? Come on, Lieutenant. Don’t you want to know who did it?”

  “You think you know who did?”

  “I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

  Fletcher gritted his teeth together. Jordan looked out the window, ran two fingers in a circle. Wrap it up, her look said.

  “Lisa, you are trying my patience. If you have information on a criminal case, spill it, right now. I won’t give you speculation in return, but I will tell the brass you gave us the lead, and will keep you in the loop on the investigation. Deal?”

  She smiled widely. “Deal. Look for a guy named Big Tommy. He ran heroin out of Anacostia. Word is Jennifer was one of his corner runners, and she got caught up in a dispute between him and another dealer. That’s all I’ve got so far.”

  It was solid information. He knew all about Big Tommy, a ruthless son of a bitch who’d been in and out of prison for years. He had a sheet a mile long; Fletcher wouldn’t be terribly surprised to see murder added to the list.

  “All right. Quid pro quo. Kaylie Rousch is alive, and we are endeavoring to find her right now. There is a BOLO out for her.”

  “I know she’s alive, dummy. It’s all over the news. Is it a BOLO, or an arrest warrant? I heard she was armed and dangerous.”

  “We just want to talk to her. Last known was Georgetown, 2:30 a.m. She stole some clothes, money and jewelry from—never mind, that’s not relevant. But if a redhead comes into a pawnshop today with a TAG Heuer watch, you let me know.”

  She pulled herself up to the railing and said, “Thanks.”

  He leveled a finger at her. “Lisa. Hear me well. I ever catch you out here again, and you’re finished. You got me?”

  She nodded, then gave him a sly grin. “Your FBI agent friend is smoking hot. You should tap that.”

  He slammed the back door a little harder than necessary to drown out her laugh.

  Jordan had straightened up all the papers, was putting the dishes into the dishwasher.

  “Leave those, I’ll clean up later. You ready to head out?”

  “Yes. That reporter, she’s quite resourceful.”

  “She’s a gigantic pain in my ass is what she is. Always lurking around trying to drum up a story. I can’t believe she was foolish enough to peep in my windows. We arrest people for that shit.”

  He grabbed his cell phone to call the Post.

  “Don’t turn her in,” Jordan said. “She’s just trying to make a living. Use her instead.”

  “She’s not someone I trust.”

  “She’ll be more help if she’s out there digging things up.”

  “I can’t believe you’re defending her. “

  She tossed a dish towel onto the counter, put her hands on her hips. “I’m not. But I want every eye out for this little girl, even unscrupulous reporters. Unfortunately there’s no news out of headquarters. Let’s go talk to Rachel’s parents. It’s time we got the wh
ole story on her background, don’t you think?”

  Chapter

  49

  Georgetown

  SAM WOKE AT 6:30 a.m., the sun streaming in the window. Xander had never come to bed.

  She tiptoed downstairs, saw him asleep on the couch, shirtless, an arm thrown over his head, blocking the sun’s rays. Thor slept next to him, though he raised his head hopefully when he saw her. His people stirring meant food, and a walk.

  Sam used a hand signal and he came willingly. She snapped on his leash and started for the door.

  “What do you think you’re doing?”

  She jumped at Xander’s voice, turned around to see him standing in the foyer behind her, the top button of his jeans open, hair wild and tousled.

  “I was going to walk Thor.”

  “Negative. Take him out back.”

  Crap. Xander had gone operational on her, never a good sign.

  She crossed to the back doors and let Thor out into the yard. The pool took up almost all the grassy space, but there was a spot for him. She brought him back inside and locked the door, knowing if she didn’t Xander would instruct her to, anyway.

  “Are you hungry?”

  He gave her an amused look.

  “Right. When are you ever not hungry? Let me put something together and you can tell me what you found.”

  “What makes you think I found something?”

  “Xander, love, you look like you have a flagpole glued to your back. I suppose telling you to relax would be a moot suggestion?”

  “Coffee. Then we’ll talk.”

  He went into the kitchen to put together one of his infamous pots of coffee. It made her laugh. For all his attempts to be a laid-back mountain man, he was an absolute coffee snob. Before they’d gotten together, he ran his fly-fishing guide service out of a small coffee shop an hour down the mountain from his cabin. He swore it was one of the few places he could get a decent cup. He claimed it was army life that did it to him; being stationed all over the world, he’d been able to sample some of the best brews out there. She thought it might have been his upbringing, his commune-living parents who’d instilled a love of all things natural in him. Whatever it was, it was a skill and preference she benefitted from. She loved a good cup of coffee.