Scorched

by Laura Griffin

  “Let me take you.”

  The smile disappeared. “Thanks, but I’ll pass. Have a safe trip home.”

  • • •

  Gage had spent most of his career trying to avoid ending up in a body bag, and the reality was even worse than he’d imagined.

  He’d always figured if he ever ended up in this situation, he wouldn’t really be aware of his environment. At the moment, he was not only aware of it, but pretty damn creeped out by it. He couldn’t stop thinking about the stale air surrounding him, the utter darkness, the smell of hot plastic. The fact that he was on his way to get tossed into a shallow grave wasn’t helping.

  “Are we there yet?”

  “Quiet!” Kelsey snapped from the front seat. “We’re approaching the gate.”

  From the cargo space of the Explorer, Gage heard the window buzz down, followed by Kelsey’s muffled voice as she exchanged pleasantries with the guard. Gage held his breath. This was the moment of truth. If the guard decided to check out her cargo, they were blown. If the guard decided to give her crap about her vehicle—which lacked a Delphi Center parking tag—they were blown. If the guard happened to know she was wanted for questioning by the FBI, they were blown.

  There were at least a dozen different ways today’s little covert op could get blown to hell, but Gage had been willing to risk all of them. Kelsey felt adamant that the evidence in her possession would not only clarify what was going on, but exonerate Gage of Blake’s murder.

  And Gage felt adamant that he wasn’t letting Kelsey out of his sight right now, which meant she wasn’t going anywhere—even her own workplace—without him.

  And so here they were, sneaking into a crime lab, with Kelsey playing the role of herself and Gage playing the role of a donated cadaver. Gage hoped that because it was Sunday they stood a better chance of getting away with this crazy scheme.

  The SUV moved forward, and Gage waited a good thirty seconds before opening his mouth again.

  “Did it work?”

  “I told you it would,” she said. “They’re accustomed to seeing me come and go with bulky deliveries. They used to check everything, but they got burned once, so now they pretty much wave me through.”

  “Burned?”

  “What’s that?”

  He lifted the corner of the tarp Kelsey had meticulously folded and taped around him to resemble a body bag. She’d even stenciled the initials of the local ME’s office down the front to make it look authentic.

  “How’d they get burned?” he asked.

  “Well . . . you probably don’t want to hear this. It’s a bit macabre.”

  “I’ve spent the last forty minutes impersonating a stiff, Kelsey.”

  “Well, I would have thought the skeletons would gross them out. I bring them in from time to time after I do recoveries. But that didn’t seem to bother them much. I guess they figured it was part of what they signed on for when they applied to work here. I mean, we’re a full-service forensic lab, but locals know us best as a body farm. Anyway, it was the fingerprint workshop that did it.”

  They hit a bump and Gage’s head knocked against the side of the SUV.

  “Sorry. You okay?”

  “Tell me about the fingerprints.”

  “I was driving up from the ME’s office and our fingerprint expert asked me to bring up some samples she needed for a training workshop. So I loaded them up in the cooler.”

  “You’re talking severed hands?”

  “Three of them. I tried to warn the guard, but I think he thought I was kidding. He lost his lunch right there on the sidewalk.”

  “I don’t blame him.”

  “I think it was the number that freaked him out. You know—three instead of two or four.”

  “Yeah, I doubt that’s what did it.”

  “Well, I don’t know. Maybe I’m wrong about that, but he hardly even talks to me anymore, just waves me through. Okay, we’re here.”

  She rolled to a stop and Gage waited for her to open the cargo door and give him the all clear.

  Patience, he told himself. His patience had been stretched thin since yesterday, and getting almost no sleep and even less sex in the past twenty-four hours had done nothing to improve his mood. They’d spent all of last night on the road.

  The door squeaked open. “Looks like we’re clear. Hold still, though—I don’t want to cut you.”

  He heard the tear of duct tape as Kelsey sliced open the makeshift body bag with the box cutter she’d purchased this morning at Home Depot, along with the rest of their supplies. She had insisted on buying everything alone, while Gage waited—again, patiently—in the SUV. She didn’t believe it was smart for a man suspected of murder to be seen buying a box cutter, a tarp, and a roll of duct tape, and Gage had to admit she had a point.

  Now she peeled back the thick layer of plastic. Gage sat up and took a deep breath.

  “Damn, it smells worse out here.”

  “We’re in the bone yard.”

  He got out of the SUV and stretched his arms over his head as he looked around. They were on a dirt road in a wooded area. Through the trees he glimpsed the imposing Greek-style building he’d seen only in photographs. With its tall white columns, the Delphi Center looked impressive, but Gage knew from Kelsey that even its massive size was misleading. The center was actually twice as big as it looked because of underground levels that housed a ballistics lab, a microbiology research center, and Kelsey’s domain—the Bones Unit.

  “Here.” She handed him a pair of dirt-caked work gloves. “Put these on.”

  Gage followed directions as he glanced around. She’d pulled up to a ditch, which would account for the smell. He was pretty sure he could guess what had been unearthed from the hole there recently, probably using the various shovels and trowels he saw littered around the area.

  “Grab some equipment,” she said, picking up a spade and a tackle box that someone had left near the pit. “If anyone notices the security cam as we walk in the back door, they’ll assume we’ve been out here digging all morning.”

  “Long time no see.”

  They turned around. A man was leaning against a nearby tree.

  CHAPTER 14

  “Hi!” Kelsey was chipper. “How’s it going?”

  The man stepped into the sunlight, and Gage immediately recognized him. This was Kelsey’s lanky field assistant, Aaron. Gage had met him several summers ago, and he could tell that the guy’s opinion of him hadn’t improved.

  Gage stepped forward and nodded. “Aaron, good to see you again.”

  The guy looked him up and down, then turned to Kelsey. “Where have you been?”

  “Oh, you know. Around.” She was still doing cheerful. “What brings you in on a Sunday?”

  “Setting up a few things for a class tomorrow.” He eyed Gage suspiciously.

  “How long have you been standing there?” Kelsey asked him.

  “Long enough. Can I talk to you a minute?”

  Gage leaned against the SUV and watched silently as the guy led her a few feet away to have a private conversation, which he no doubt expected Gage to overhear.

  “A phone call would have been nice, Kelsey.”

  “I’m sorry.” She squeezed his arm and Gage’s gaze narrowed. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”

  “Yeah, well, you did. I’ve been taking my cues from Mia, though. She suddenly stopped worrying, so I figured you were okay.”

  “I’m fine. It’s just been crazy lately. A lot of unexpected travel.”

  “What’s with Lazarus Man?”

  Kelsey turned to look at Gage. “Nothing, he’s just visiting for a few days.”

  Aaron gave him a hostile look over Kelsey’s shoulder. Not for the first time, Gage wondered if they had a history together. The man didn’t strike him as Kelsey’s type, but he was around a lot, which was more than Gage could say.

  “Listen, I need to get going,” she said. “Do me a favor, would you? Don’t mention that you saw us here
.”

  “What if someone asks me? Such as Special Agent Lohman?”

  Kelsey froze. “Who?”

  “Trent Lohman, with the FBI? He was here twice last week looking for you. He gave me his business card.”

  Gage walked over. “You still have it?”

  Aaron looked at Kelsey. He took out his wallet and handed her the card.

  “Thanks, I’ll give him a call.” She glanced at Gage. “You ready?”

  He picked up a shovel and followed her up a narrow dirt path leading to the back of the building.

  “As insertions go, I’d say that was a bust.”

  She gave him an annoyed look. “Are you blaming me?”

  “Nope—that was my bad. I should have seen him there.” The fact that Gage hadn’t even though he’d checked made him think the guy had been hiding. Had Aaron spotted them coming and then ducked behind a tree to spy? The encounter didn’t sit well with Gage. Even though Kelsey trusted the people here, Gage had his doubts. With the exception of Kelsey, the only people Gage trusted right now were his SEAL teammates.

  Kelsey swiped her ID badge and opened the door. Once inside, she flattened her palm against a biometric panel to open yet another door.

  “Maybe we’ll have better luck inside,” she said.

  “Let’s hope. We’re both risking our necks to be here, and if this doesn’t work, we’ll have to cut over to Plan B.”

  “Which is?” She led him down a short staircase and through yet another door into a frigid hallway.

  “Damn, it’s freezing in here.”

  “What’s Plan B?”

  “I don’t know,” Gage said. “I’ll keep you posted.”

  She stopped in front of a door and did another palm-press thing to open it.

  “Here we are. The Bones Unit.”

  He nodded at the little black pirate flag pinned up beside the door. “Cute.”

  “A little geek humor.”

  Gage stepped into the room as she switched on the light. Far from the high-tech laboratory he’d imagined, the room looked like any other shared office space. It was crammed with desks, computers, and bookshelves filled with clutter.

  “I just need to grab a few things.” She shrugged into a lab coat. Then she took a clip from her desk and eyed Gage suspiciously as she pulled her hair into a ponytail. “What’s that look?”

  “I ever tell you about my nurse fantasy?”

  She rolled her eyes and strode into the next room.

  “Doctor works, too.” He followed her. “I’m open-minded.”

  She crossed the room and opened a cabinet as Gage glanced around. The room contained several stainless steel tables. He noted the hanging scales, the sinks, the stove with the giant pot sitting on top of it.

  Gage turned away and noticed the bulletin board covered in color photographs. He read one of the labels and stepped closer.

  “These are from Basilan Island?”

  She glanced up from her work. She’d put on latex gloves and eye shields and was transferring the evidence she’d collected at Weber’s into glass vials.

  “That’s the skeleton I told you about. James Hanan.”

  Gage studied the bones. “The guy who started all this mess.”

  “Maybe,” she said. “We don’t know that for sure.”

  “I do. It’s too much of a coincidence that Blake was helping you on this case at the time he was killed, and now you’re being targeted. Plus we just bumped into one of Hanan’s comrades-in-arms out at Weber’s place.” Gage squinted at one of the photos. “What are these little pouches?”

  “Cheek implants. They were my first tip-off he’d had plastic surgery.” She came to stand beside him and pointed at a view of the skull. “Also, see the scratch marks on the mandible? And here, just above the eye orbit?”

  “I don’t see anything.”

  “Well, it’s very obvious under a microscope. He underwent extensive plastic surgery.”

  Gage looked at her standing there in her lab coat and eye shields and felt a wave of regret. This was a side of her he’d never really known, only glimpsed. How many times had she flown out to California to visit him on his turf? She’d met his friends, she’d been to his favorite hangouts, she’d toured the naval base. He’d only been to visit her in Texas twice, and she’d never brought him to see this place that was so important to her. Seeing her here made him realize she’d been right—he had been pretty focused on the sexual side of their relationship to the exclusion of everything else.

  And to top that off, he’d broken up with her. She was understandably gun shy.

  But she still cared, he knew. He could read her. The challenge was going to be getting her to admit it.

  She glanced up at him. “What’s that look?”

  “What look?”

  “I am not playing doctor with you, so just get that out of your head.”

  “Hey, I didn’t say anything.”

  “You were thinking it.” She pocketed the vials of evidence and led him back into her office, where she rummaged through a desk drawer. “Here’s a visitor’s badge. It’s old, but it should work.”

  Gage clipped the badge to the lapel of the shirt he’d been wearing for four straight days now to conceal his holster. He followed her out of her lab and to an elevator bank.

  “First stop, Spiderman—but I doubt he’ll be in on a Sunday.”

  “Spiderman?”

  “That’s what they call our entomologist—although the nickname is really a misnomer, because spiders aren’t actually insects.”

  Gage shuddered.

  “Don’t tell me you’re afraid of spiders?” She smiled as she stepped onto the elevator.

  “Hate the damn things.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Nope.”

  “You’ll pit yourself against bombs and terrorists and soldiers who are trained to kill you, but you’re scared of arachnids?”

  “I understand bombs and terrorists and people who want to kill me. Arachnids freak me out.”

  The doors dinged opened and they stepped into a long carpeted corridor. Kelsey stopped at the first door and knocked. No one answered, and she used her palm print to gain access.

  “That work everywhere?” Gage asked.

  “Just the sections I frequent on a regular basis—Entomology, Serology, Osteology.” She flipped on the light and he found they were in a large room with a tall slate table in the center. On it were several microscopes.

  “Okay. Exhibit A.” She collected some items from a drawer and began preparing slides.

  Gage glanced around and immediately noticed the terrarium on the counter. The tarantula inside it was as big as his hand.

  “That’s Aragog,” Kelsey said. “Don’t worry, he’s friendly.”

  Gage stepped over to a computer station. On the wall behind it was a series of photographs, and he leaned closer for a better look.

  “Are these maggots?”

  She glanced up from the microscope. “Blowflies, in various stages of their life cycle. He keeps those on display as sort of a cheat sheet for when he’s out of the building. Here, tell me what you think.”

  He stepped up behind her and peered over her shoulder into the microscope.

  “These are pupal casings.”

  Gage glanced back at the photographs. “So, that’s the fifth stage, which he conveniently labeled for the rest of us poor saps who don’t have a doctorate in bugs.”

  “The presence of pupae indicate that the corpse is at least six days old. But did you notice how in several of these specimens, the end appears to be cut off? That tells us the flies have already emerged, which means time since death is longer.”

  “How much longer?”

  “A lot depends on conditions, but given what I saw of the body, plus the most likely weather conditions, I’m going to guess about eighteen days since death.” Kelsey sat down at a workstation and brought the computer to life with the tap of a mouse. “Let’s corroborate that
with the ADD software. That’s Accumulated Degree Days, which is something forensic anthropologists use to help determine postmortem interval.”

  Gage watched as she clicked on a skull and crossbones logo to open a new program. Several blank fields popped up, and she entered yesterday’s date and the zip code of Charles Weber’s property.

  “So, number of days times the average temperatures on each of those days in that zip code. The software factors in climate conditions such as moisture levels and translates that to a specific phase of decomp . . .” Her voice trailed off as the little hourglass turned in a circle on the screen. After a few moments, a line of text appeared.

  “‘Advanced putrefaction / mummification,’” Gage read.

  Kelsey’s shoulders slumped. She buried her head in her hands and looked to be on the verge of tears.

  Gage didn’t get it. What was she upset about?

  “So . . . mummification?” he asked.

  “The hot, dry air up there. The body showed some signs of heat desiccation. I was worried my time-of-death estimate might be off.”

  “But it’s what you thought, right?”

  She nodded.

  “So, what’s the problem?”

  “I just needed to confirm everything.” She stood up and squared her shoulders, and Gage understood. She’d needed proof of what she’d insisted on back in Utah—that Blake wasn’t there when the murder occurred. She’d needed proof that her ex wasn’t a cold-blooded killer.

  She collected the slides and dropped them into an envelope, then slipped them in her pocket. Tears glistened in her eyes, and he felt a fresh wave of jealousy over how much she’d obviously cared about a man Gage couldn’t stand.

  “So, we’ve established that Blake didn’t kill him,” she said crisply. “Now, let’s find out who did.”

  • • •

  Elizabeth stepped into the condo and smiled at Officer Resnik. “This shouldn’t take too long.”

  “I’ll wait right here. Holler if you need anything.”

  For the second time that week, Elizabeth stood on the square of butcher paper and traded her shoes for paper booties. For the second time, she pulled on latex gloves. For the second time, she walked into the foyer and gazed down at the spot where a fellow agent had died.