Anchored by Death (A Jo Oliver Thriller Book 3)

by Catherine Finger

  Amelia nodded for Hector to get up, all the while typing out orders into her iPhone.

  Hector stood up, shutting his laptop down, awaiting his master’s orders.

  “Much as I’d love to keep you here at the computer, Hector, I’ll send you with the chief to the scene in Hillsboro.” Hector looked at her, unable to keep the smile dancing in his eyes from spreading to his lips.

  “Trust me. You don’t want this one, Hector.” I started to object but thought better of it. Sending Nick with me would tip the killer off. Besides, while I knew how to blend in, there was no way to hide his Italian sophistication in the middle of all of those flannel shirts and open twelve-packs of Budweiser and Pabst Blue Ribbon. I sighed and turned to Hector. “Lucky you. This is undercover work of the nastiest sort. It’s definitely not for everyone. Ever ridden a horse before?” I looked over at Nick and winked.

  He stood next to me, rolling his foot against mine under the table. “Stay close to Chief Oliver. These are her people. She’ll know what to do. And for Pete’s sake, try not to say anything. Those hicks will suss you out faster ’n a summer strike of lightning.”

  Nick nudged my heel with his so suddenly I almost lost my balance. Heat rose up my neck, flushing my face. I’d broken in any number of detectives over my years on the force, and more than one had since graduated to a successful career as a special agent. But only one had ever come close to breaking me. And he wouldn’t be riding shotgun with me this time.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Agent Dixon finished the briefing and sent us all off in different directions. Hector and I would serve as an undercover advance team, scouting the area and reporting back from the road as quickly as possible. Amelia would coordinate all field efforts with other agencies while staying behind at headquarters, and Nick headed out to gather the troops as head of ground operations. Literally. Scores of well-trained men and women would soon be at our disposal as we made our way toward the Hillsboro area in what I was told would be a rusted-out Ford pickup of questionable condition. We should blend right in.

  “What should I expect from ‘your people’?” Hector grinned at me as we headed to the elevators together. “And what am I wearing to this redneck affair?”

  I looked him up and down, eyebrow raised. “Definitely not that.” The elevator opened. “How about a long-sleeved flannel shirt, off-brand jeans with a belt, and scuffed boots? And a seasoned baseball cap. Wardrobe gonna have anything close to that?”

  Hector stepped up to the panel and pressed the button labeled B. “We’ll see.”

  When the elevator door opened again, we’d been transported to a behind-the-scenes madhouse. Chain-link fence separated us from a wide open, windowless floor plan that must’ve run the length of the building. Florescent lights lent an artificial glow to a series of exposed rabbit dens containing unexpected vignettes.

  Agents and artists were grouped together as precisely as if seated in cookie-cutter cubicles. Most groupings contained what looked like one grumpy special agent being attended to by two flamboyant professionals wielding the tools of their trade—attempting to deliver faux tattoos, kicky new hairdos, and all manner of creative makeup enhancements.

  Hector nudged me. “You about ready to move on?”

  A navy-clad female agent had unlocked a door to the cage in front of us and stood waiting to usher us in. She had blunt-cut chestnut hair and might as well have been rolling her eyes at us.

  “Oh, I’m sorry. Are we keeping you from your appointment?” I leaned toward her, close enough to read her nametag. “Special Agent Lowry?”

  She snorted and shook her head. “Nope. I’ve got all the time in the world to wait for a hometown hero.”

  Her voice was a swath of light rolling back clouds in my mind, revealing a 1970 cherry-red Mach I Ford. She and I drinking sparkling cider, solving all our sixteen-year-old problems, sitting on its hood under a perfect summer sky, stars and moon colliding with our laughter.

  “Amy? So, you really are a brunette?” She’d been a blonde in high school.

  She snorted again. “That’s all you got, Oliver? I haven’t seen you in twenty years, and that’s the best you can do?” Amy stepped into my personal space, hands resting on hips.

  “You gonna hug me or deck me?” I grinned at her, wandering through memories that included stealing each other’s booze and the occasional boyfriend. I searched her eyes, wondering which kind of memory would surface last.

  “Aw, hell. I ain’t into massacres. C’mere.” She moved in, bringing both arms around me in a tight hug. Her arms were massive.

  I returned the hug, quickly pulling back and putting space between us. “How long have you been here?” It was awkward. But it beat going down any number of personal paths I couldn’t be sure about. I’d heard that the years and life, in general, had been unkind to her. But then, she’d probably heard the same thing about me. “And where are you living these days?”

  “Ten years and none of your business.” She crossed her arms and stepped back against the fencing, one foot propped up, nodding her head down the hall just beyond her.

  I raised my eyebrows and gave her my winningest smile as we walked past her. I had a pretty good idea of which remnant of our shared histories was sticking her in the ribs right now, but I wasn’t sure I was as responsible for the fallout as she remembered. Sure, I may have been a tad indiscreet in my youth. Ease up on me. I was only sixteen.

  Hector walked a few steps ahead of me all the way to the wardrobe closet lining the back wall of the pen. “You and GI Jane seemed none too friendly. What’d you do to her?”

  I snorted. “We don’t have that much time. Show me what you got in here instead.”

  My phone rang as I opened a door labeled with white stenciling. Wardrobe Locker. I checked the phone and hit Answer, smiling. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

  “Mija, there is always pain before the pleasure with you. Perhaps you will allow me to minimize the pain with an interesting little device that will round out your hunting gear.” Gino Rivera’s voice filled my ear.

  I stood in the locker room, exhaling a long breath. His voice was as potent as fresh-cut lavender. I closed my eyes and basked in the soothing image of Gino, my drop-dead gorgeous Cuban partner in crime and spiritual guide.

  I’d met Gino six months before Nick tornadoed into my world. It was Gino who’d helped me sort out my feelings for Nick, Gino who’d been there for me when I was in desperate need of salvation in every sense of the word. Solid as a big brother, better than dark chocolate, Gino was just what the doctor ordered. Too bad I ignored his pleadings not to marry Del.

  “What’ve you got?” I asked. I knew he’d have been fully briefed before calling. Fast work, even for Nick.

  “You are searching for a killer who seems to be baiting you, no?”

  “Yes.” I drew the word out long and slow, wondering what he could be up to.

  “And a killer who taunts you is a killer who is escalating, verdad?”

  “Yes.” What do you have up your sleeve? In addition to being one of my dearest friends in life, Gino was also a world-renowned designer of search, pursuit, capture, and restraint technologies. You’d never know it from his humble spirit.

  “So, he is a man begging to be lured, to be chased, to be captured. And I have just the thing for you.” Gino was a man of his word, and he knew his way around the criminal element. Given the confidence in his voice, I was dying to see what he had in mind.

  “I’m sold, G. When can we meet up?”

  Hector was staring at me, listening. I gave him the once-over, walked over to a rack of jeans and tossed a tattered pair at him.

  “As soon as you finish Hector’s makeover.” His deep voice chuckled into my ear, and then he was gone.

  I shook my head. Hector had disappeared into a changing room. My phone vibrated as a text came in from Gin
o. “Meet me in Reedsburg on your way to Hillsboro.”

  If it had been anybody but Gino, I’d be surprised. Maybe even a little creeped out. But Gino had enough connections to keep him in the know on everything from when the McRib was coming back on the market to the latest intel on pretty much all local investigations. He was a former Navy Seal and had more than one “brother” here in Madison’s FBI field office.

  Hector emerged, looking less like a federal agent and more like a rodeo wannabe. Still not a hundred percent local but better than he’d been in the dead-giveaway monkey suit. I sighed. He probably wouldn’t blend in all that well at the Amish auction house, but it’d have to do.

  “Let’s go.” I headed out of the cage.

  “That was Gino Rivera, I presume?” Hector walked a step behind me as we made our way back to the elevator.

  Special Agent Amy Lowry gave me the stink eye when we passed by her. She hadn’t moved an inch and had probably been watching us the whole time we shopped the wardrobe. I stepped into the elevator, smiling and waving at her as the doors slid shut.

  “I don’t think she liked you, Hector.”

  “Yeah. It was all about me, Chief. Alright if I call you Chief?” His voice cracked.

  “Fine by me.” I studied my phone, nodding at the guards as we made our way out of the building. The rumbling in my stomach suggested we should meet Gino at The Pleased Pig. By the time I finished texting this fact to Gino, Hector was standing by the passenger door of our new chariot. It was exactly what we’d asked for—a rusted-out Ford pickup, cream-colored with red pinstripes that may have been popular a few decades ago.

  “Looks like something you and your friend Ms. Lowry would be comfortable driving.” Hector grinned at me as he slid across the bench seat and buckled up.

  I rolled my eyes at him, hoping to shut him down. Talking about my colorful past was not on the agenda. Besides, I liked him a lot better when he kept his mouth shut.

  “We’re heading to a dive called The Pleased Pig in Reedsburg. That’s where we’ll meet up with Gino and get our cover stories straight.” I started the truck. It sounded tired.

  “I can’t believe I’m finally going to get a chance to meet and actually work with the legendary Gino Rivera. Amelia approved him carte blanche. Means he can do whatever it takes to assist in the investigation. I guess he defines ‘whatever it takes.’”

  I smiled at his boyish enthusiasm. “Yup. He’s earned it.”

  He nodded. “Rank does have its privileges.”

  “With any luck at all, we’ll catch these guys, and you’ll have something to take back to headquarters for show-and-tell.” I steered out of the parking garage into the streets.

  We were navigating through Madison on our way to the belt line before he spoke again. “So, you’re wearing what you’ve got on?”

  I frowned at him and glanced quickly down at the boot-cut jeans, well-worn black Ariats, and the Green Bay Packers’ vest I’d snatched from the FBI’s wardrobe locker to cover my favorite blue velour hoodie. I reached behind the seat, rummaging around until I found the dusty black cowboy hat I’d been promised, freshly delivered from the Bureau’s basement, and put it on. It was all Wisconsin, all the time. I gave myself a rapid once-over, right palm up and slicing through the air with authority. “Yup. Dressed for success.”

  “Are you taking CO for this part of the mission?” His use of police jargon was intentional. No doubt he didn’t like the idea of me being his commanding officer for the junket.

  “Yup.” I emphasized the P with a loud pop.

  “Then, you look mahvalous, Chief.”

  I raised an eyebrow in his direction. “I didn’t know they’d added a sense of humor to your make and model.”

  “Country upgrade. Goes with these fine DeeCee jeans, don’t you think?” So, Hector was carrying a slight grudge over my clothing choices for him. Good. Give him a little humility maybe.

  “Sure thing. Should be enough to drive the country girls and Amish maidens absolutely wild when they see you strutting your stuff in a few.” I pictured him attempting to charm the clientele we were about to encounter and very nearly laughed out loud.

  His olive skin turned autumnal red. I ground my hands into the steering wheel, stifling my enjoyment. “Something’s missing … Oh, I know. Don’t worry, gotcha covered.” I pulled over to the curb and put the truck in park, rummaging through the glove box until I found what no self-respecting truck owner would be without. “Heads up.”

  Hector flinched, catching the little round tin midair. “Redman?”

  I laughed out loud, watching him turn the palest of light browns. “Looks like this is your first rodeo, amigo.”

  Chapter Twenty

  It was just after one p.m. when we pulled into an angled parking space in front of The Pleased Pig, one of Gino’s favorite spots for reconnoitering.

  “So, this is where we meet your infamous Captain Amazing?” Hector unbuckled his seat belt.

  I searched the street for Gino’s Z28. “Yup. Don’t see his car anywhere though. I’m pretty sure he has no reason to fly under the radar.”

  “Wake me up when it’s over.” Hector sighed and crossed his arms.

  “No problem. In the meantime, you mind if I play cop and keep my eyes peeled for a serial killer?” I didn’t hide my annoyance.

  He stiffened. “You really think Bowtie Guy is lurking somewhere around here?”

  “You can’t think of one reason why our killer would be in Reedsburg.” Idiot. What did they teach these guys in special agent school anyway? “Anything come to mind? Like a dead body draped over the Welcome to Reedsburg sign?”

  “Fine.” He put his seat back and stretched out his legs. “How solid do you really believe the theory about this Hicksboro town is, anyway?”

  “You know, if I talked like that about where you grew up, you’d probably slap a discrimination suit on me.” I stretched my fingers one by one.

  “Probably. You were saying? About Hillsboro?”

  “Rock solid. That’s not what worries me.” I reviewed the killer’s map in my mind. “The vics. Where’s he find these guys? How does he know where to hunt?”

  Hector drummed his fingers lightly on the passenger door handle. “Where would you find five men of the same make and model, to quote you.”

  “Where indeed. Unless …” A theory was materializing and pushing past the fog in my brain.

  “What are you thinking?” He stopped drumming and looked over at me.

  “It’s a long shot, I think. But that lineup. It reminded me of a dating website. What if the meet-ups were online?”

  “It makes sense. It’d have to be a visual medium. Killer had to have access to fairly recent pix. Why not a dating website?” He pulled out his phone and texted someone.

  “Just like that, you’ve got another set of agents running this down? And you’re getting around privacy laws?”

  He nodded.

  “But you’re not illegally hacking?”

  He shrugged.

  I whistled. “Where’d you guys perfect your ability to blur the lines like that?”

  “Spy school.” He didn’t elaborate. But he did crane his neck as Gino’s black Z28 rumbled into the parking spot next to us.

  I jumped out of the truck. My smile spread involuntarily. Quality time with Gino Rivera always made me happy.

  Gino welcomed me into his arms, infusing me with warmth. The light that seemed to follow him lifted me from the inside. A sudden assurance that everything would be alright saturated my body at the cellular level. I pulled away from him, threw my shoulders back and took the arm he offered.

  We were headed into the restaurant when Gino jabbed his head in Hector’s direction. “Your Agent Newbie?”

  “Yup.” I didn’t break my stride.

  “Fed. With a solid track re
cord.” It wasn’t a question.

  “Yup.” I ducked under his arm and into The Pleased Pig. For a vegetarian joint, it sure smelled a lot like bacon.

  Gino held the door for Hector, and we settled into one of four booths. Five or six Formica tables rounded out the seating selection. I knew from experience we’d chosen the more comfortable option.

  A tall Amish man dressed in a long black duster walked in front of the diner’s window. A tall hat pulled low rendered his features indistinguishable. He glanced in, and for a moment he stared right at me. I’ve seen those eyes before. A wave of dizziness rolled over me, and images of tortured people in dark places zipped through my mind. Involuntary shivers raced up my body, and I shut my eyes, gave my head a slight shake and shrugged my shoulders up and down in an effort to find a reset from my fright. I’ve got to get more sleep.

  Gino turned around, following my eyes. “Jo?”

  I looked up at the window, my heart dropping into my boots. The man was gone. Between Gino using my real name and the dread shooting straight through me from the stranger’s eyes, something bad was in the air. Really bad. I breathed in deeply, centering myself, willing away the sense of foreboding that still clung to the edges of my mind. Shake it off, Oliver.

  I looked over at my wise friend. “Your supernatural senses tingling again?”

  “Sí, mija. You could call it hyperdrive. Let’s order our meal to go.”

  “Just in case,” I said to Hector, who shook his head.

  “The guys aren’t going to believe me when I tell them how you roll.”

  For the trip to Hillsboro, I surrendered the truck to Hector and rode shotgun with Gino. He drove the sports car with masterful precision, sliding around hairpin turns awash in the lime, chartreuse, and hunter greens of Wisconsin in all her springtime glory. I opened the passenger window, inhaling the luxuriously crisp air, bringing hints of rich soil and new possibilities into the car with us as we ate vegan burritos from paper wrappers. Gino was smiling. Tension siphoned off my shoulders, leaving me feeling much lighter.