by PJ Friel
“No, keep it. You’ll need it for the ride home.”
“You don’t have to stay. I can have one of the deputies take me home.”
“I don’t leave until my date is safely behind a locked door. Old-fashioned, remember?”
She shook her head. “We’re not on a date.”
“No, we’re not. We’re at the crime scene of someone’s son.” I reached out and took her hand. “It’s a terrible tragedy for a parent to lose a child. We should all mourn that loss. So, I’m going to stick around in case you need someone. Is that all right?”
“Yes. Thank you.” She squeezed my hand and a tiny smile curled her lips. In that moment, she looked so sweet and innocent. “But if you have to leave at some point, I understand. Okay?”
“Yep.”
“Ullman!” the sheriff called out. “Don’t have all night.”
“Coming.”
Bryn dropped my hand and squared her shoulders. The girl from a moment ago was replaced by a woman who would kick ass and not bother taking names. It just made me want her even more. If I was smart, I’d turn tail and ride my ass out of there at Mach 10.
No one ever called me a genius.
CHAPTER 12
BRYN
I rushed behind the sheriff, silently praying that I didn’t twist my ankle. If I was barefoot, a wrecking ball couldn’t knock me off my feet, but slap on three-inch spikes and I wobbled like a baby giraffe.
It didn’t help that my pulse still pounded after racing through the night, arms wrapped around Trygg’s waist, face pressed into his shoulder so I couldn’t see the darkness around us. Usually, I was in control of the motorcycle, and not riding passenger. I would have never made it here tonight if I’d been on my bike.
Even with the street lights blazing, being out in the open at night would have turned me into a hyperventilating ball of pure terror. Riding with Trygg had been...fun. I’d even laughed once when I felt the bike reach speeds that I knew were pushing a hundred.
The exhilaration of the ride was over now, though, and the only things distracting me from the encroaching darkness were the sorrow I felt for the unknown victim and Trygg, the six-foot-three walking beacon of safety following behind me.
Admitting he made me feel safe was like swallowing the Sahara. The truth of it burned and scraped until my throat was raw from choking back my feelings. Maybe later, at home and surrounded by light, I’d find a way to wash away the grit.
“The body was found approximately four hours ago. A couple was walking along the lake and saw something in the water,” Patterson said. “When they realized it was a body, the woman called 911 while the man jumped in and pulled it out.”
Patterson’s words drenched me in ice water. I had a job to do and worrying about my mental issues wasn’t part of it.
“Him out,” I said.
I wasn’t going to allow a wall between someone’s dead son and everyone searching for his killers, including me. It started by changing the language we used—it, the body, the deceased, or worst of all, the remains.
No. A teenage boy wasn’t any of those things. He was a son, a friend, someone’s loved one. We needed to remember that.
When we got to the crime scene tape, the CSI team was still gathering evidence and taking photos.
I looked over at Trygg. “I’ll be a little while.”
“Take as long as you need.”
“Thanks.” Sucking in a deep breath, I slipped under the tape—and froze.
Bad didn’t begin to describe this.
The boy’s face was completely caved in. I jerked my gaze down his torso, a mottled tapestry of purple and blue. Collarbone possibly broken. Ribs, too. Farther down, on his stomach, was a birthmark. The dark brown mark stood out against the bruises and ashen skin. I cocked my head. It looked like the state of Texas. Something about that niggled at me.
I shook my head and continued the examination. Fingers broken, nails ripped out. No chance of trace evidence there. His ankles had been hobbled. Jeez. Someone was sending a message, but I had no idea what.
The only thing for certain was this poor kid died hard—and he was part Outlander. The magic that hid what he was lingered, even after death, and it shimmered, icy blue and grass green. Jotun and human.
This could have easily been me after my birth father’s men were done with me. I looked away from the boy and clenched my fists to hide their trembling. Trygg’s gaze captured mine. I gasped at the connection. He was several feet away, but I felt him all the same. His strength and calm wrapped around me, grounded me, pulled me back from the abyss.
“You okay, Bryn?” the senior investigator asked, drawing my gaze from Trygg.
I nodded at her and returned my attention to the job.
I’d worry about the boy’s heritage later. Right now, I needed to focus on the scene. He hadn’t died here, but maybe the people who’d dumped him had left something behind. Circling around the outer edge of the taped-off area, I stayed out of everyone’s way as much as possible. They’d seen me at crime scenes more than once, and knew how I worked.
A couple of years ago, I’d been hired by the parents of an abducted child to help in the investigation and to be a liaison with the police. When I’d seemingly pulled a rabbit out of a hat and pointed the finger at the next-door-neighbor’s gardener, David Shelton, the detective leading the case, had been impressed enough to pull me in as a consultant after that, anytime a case stumped him.
No one knew how I was able to offer such outstanding insight at crime scenes. They thought it was my schooling, not some mystical gift. I planned on keeping it that way.
This time, though, I would be just as blind as they were. The boy was completely naked with no belongings around him. I had nothing to touch, which meant no visions.
Not for the first time, I wished that I was able to get readings from a dead person. Live people could show me their secrets with some carefully led questioning and a touch. Or completely unwillingly on both our parts, as I’d experienced tonight with Mist. But once the lifeforce left the flesh, people were a blank slate.
If he was clothed, the intense emotional outburst of what he’d been through would have left imprints. It was like the energy released burned into the things around us. That was part of the reason I never bought used furniture or clothes or anything else secondhand.
I went over his body again, double checking for piercings, a piece of a weapon that might have broken off in his skin, anything at all that I could get a reading from. I couldn’t bear to focus on his face any longer than to ascertain that he didn’t have any dental work I could use.
“Can you turn him on his side for a moment?” I asked the two techs.
They did as I asked, but the results were the same. Nothing. The only thing I saw, other than massive bruising, was a broken ulna poking through the skin of his right arm.
I was useless tonight.
“Hey, Sheriff. Myers called me and said that you needed a consult on a murder scene?”
I looked up at the sound of a familiar voice—my friend David’s voice. He walked beside Myers, heading for the sheriff. The welcoming smile froze on my face as I suddenly remembered the significance of the birthmark on the boy’s stomach.
Oh, god.
I put it all together after that. Caucasian, dark hair, approximately six feet, solid build. I’d never met him, but I’d seen his picture and heard plenty of stories about him, including one about the birthmark.
The knowledge of who this boy was ripped the breath from my lungs and every hair on my arms stood straight up. I ducked under the tape and blocked David from the scene.
“Deputy Myers,” Sheriff Patterson’s voice whipped across the distance. “Go back to the station. I’ll deal with you later.”
“I’m not going anywhere until you tell him,” Myers said, chin jutting out.
“Bill, what the hell is going on?” David looked between the sheriff and Deputy. “Tim, what is he supposed to tell me?”
<
br /> Outside of a professional relationship, these men were also friends. It spoke of David’s unease that he’d addressed them by their first names in a work setting.
David shouldn’t be here. Not right now. I could kill Myers for calling him. “David, it’s best if you go.”
David looked at me, the whites of his eyes bright, his Adam’s apple bobbing. “Why? Bryn, what is going on?”
“Deputy Myers, you’re suspended.” Sheriff Patterson’s tone conveyed his disgust.
“I don’t give a shit what you do to me, Bill. Tell him, or I will.” Myers was belligerent.
“David, I need you to leave this scene,” Patterson said.
“Tell me what?” David’s voice rose, something that rarely happened.
I gripped David’s forearm and waited for him to look at me. “You don’t want to do this here.”
He shivered under my touch. “Bryn—”
“You deserve to know, David,” Myers persisted. “I’d want to know if it was my son.”
David’s gaze never left mine, but he did yank his arm away. “What does he mean ‘my son’?”
The sheriff nodded at me, tacit permission to answer David’s question.
My heart rattled in my chest and I had to clear the knot from my throat before I could speak. “I can’t be absolutely certain, but—”
David shoved me out of the way and bolted under the tape. I let him go. Less than a foot from his son’s body, he jerked to a stop and everyone froze. The only sound around us was the gentle lap of water against the shore. We all waited for the anguished cry, the failure of his legs to keep him standing, the question all parents ask. Why? Why would someone do this to my child?
Instead of weakening, David’s entire body went ramrod straight. “No.”
He stormed back to us, ducked under the tape, and punched Myers in the face. The deputy staggered backwards, but didn’t raise his fists. David’s face twisted with rage and he drew back his arm to punch Myers again. I grabbed his wrist, twisted it behind him, and wrapped my other arm around his waist.
He panted and shook in my arms, but didn’t try to pull away. “It’s not him, Bryn. It’s not Gideon.”
“David…”
“No, goddamn it. That is not my boy.” He struggled against me. “Let me go. I need to call him. Need to prove it to you.”
He needed to prove it to himself.
I released David and he pulled his cell phone out with trembling fingers. After several tries, he finally got it unlocked and made the call, putting it on speaker.
“Hello?” a young voice answered.
David visibly relaxed and smiled. “Hey, buddy. It’s Dad. Where are you?”
“Hah!” the voice on the phone said. “Like I’d actually answer my cell. Don’t leave a voicemail. Message me like a normal human being. Gideon out.”
“No.” David jammed his thumb on the end call button and started messaging.
We all waited, staring at David’s phone. With every second that passed, David’s chin dropped farther, until finally it hit his chest. A sob shattered the silence and David staggered on his feet.
I stepped into him, curled a hand around his neck, and pulled him to me. Foreheads resting together, I whispered, “I’m so sorry.”
The sheriff shoved Myers and I watched them walk back to the road. I hoped he fired that jerk.
David and I breathed together. The lake, surrounded by beautiful, multi-million dollar houses, should have been a peaceful place. For others, it probably was, but not for us, not tonight. There was nothing I could do to change that, but I could give my friend one small comfort.
“Don’t remember him like this, David.” I gripped his neck tighter and whispered, “Think about the good times.”
Doing this was risky, but I didn’t care. David needed something only I could give him—the chance to truly relive memories. I released the hold on my power and David gasped.
In the memory, I floated beside David, separate, but still tethered, feeling together. We sat beside his wife in a hospital room. In his arms, a beautiful baby boy slept, the infant’s tiny fists tucked under his chin, little bow mouth still puckered from nursing. We wondered at the sight of this precious gift the universe had given us, counted his fingers and toes together, and laughed because his face looked like a shrunken version of David’s.
We loved him. Unconditionally. Forever.
The scene shifted and little Gideon took his first steps, toddling across the room from his mother to us. Our joy lit up the room and our love for this little boy could heal the world. We snatched him up and blew raspberries on his tummy and his squealing giggles filled the house and our hearts to overflowing.
Scene after scene filled our minds.
Gideon riding a bike for the first time. Throwing a football back and forth in the backyard. David’s pride and joy running for a touchdown as we stood on the sidelines, watching, cheering, so amazed by this wondrous boy who called us Dad.
We are Dad.
We don’t know how to be anything else, but that.
I sensed a dark memory encroaching and pulled my power back, slid my hand off David’s neck to break the skin-to-skin contact.
“David, look at me.”
He swayed and blinked, tears flowed down his cheeks and dripped off his chin. My own gaze blurred and my chest ached from swallowing back my own pain. I took a shuddering breath. I needed to distract David from what had just happened, but I refused to murmur platitudes I didn’t believe.
This would never be okay.
He would never fully recover.
But one thing I knew for certain.
“I will find who did this and I will make them pay.”
David’s shoulders snapped back and he wiped his eyes with the back of his hand. “We’re going to find them.”
“Based on the details the sheriff just shared with me, this situation may be tied to a federal case, so you need to back off,” a voice interjected.
David and I jerked, startled by the intrusion. I’d let my guard down and the newcomer was about to pay for my mistake. I had no idea how he’d heard our conversation and I didn’t care. He wasn’t the boss of me. Although, he looked like someone’s boss in the tailored suit he wore. Had to be a fed.
He approached us with another suit, walking alongside Sheriff Patterson. Both the suits were human. The one who spoke had dirty-blond hair and was six-and-a-half feet of solid mountain. The other was reddish-blond, a few inches shorter than his buddy, and thin but wiry. Mount Everest and Strawberry Shortcake.
“The hell I will,” David said, getting into Mt. Everest’s face.
“You don’t have a say in this, Detective.”
David pushed Everest. “That’s my son over there. I have every say.”
Before I could take a step, Strawberry grabbed David by the throat. “Keep your hands off my partner.”
I advanced, fists clenched and fully ready to kick Strawberry in the head if he didn’t let go of David.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Everyone settle down here,” the sheriff said, his voice deeper than normal, but calm.
Strawberry eased up and Patterson grabbed David by the arm before he could retaliate.
Patterson gave him a nudge towards the street and his parked car. “You’re out of here, David. Go home.”
“You can’t do that.”
“I can and I am. I’ll personally oversee Gideon’s case, but you need to go home. Someone needs to tell Abby. It should come from you.”
David hung his head. “God, Bill, what do I even tell her?”
“As little of the truth as you can,” Patterson said.
“Let’s go, David,” I said. “I’m done here for now.”
“Who exactly are you?” Everest asked me.
I bristled under his hard stare. “I could ask the same of you.”
“I’m Agent Grimm Harbard. FBI.”
Nailed it.
He pointed at his partner. “Agent Harry Wat
son. You are?”
“Bryn Ullman with Simmons Investigations. I’m a private consultant for local law enforcement. Here at the sheriff’s request.” I pointed at Patterson. He backed me up.
“Your services are no longer required,” Agent Harbard snapped.
“Wait a minute. That’s not your call. This is a county case,” Patterson objected.
“For the moment it is. Until we can verify that it’s tied to ours. As a professional courtesy, I’m asking that the case remain closed to Veronica Mars. We can’t afford to have evidence thrown out because of screw ups.”
My face went hot.
Patterson must have seen the smackdown gearing up inside me, because he stepped in front of me and pointed. “Take David home, please.”
I clenched my jaw and narrowed my eyes.
“Please,” he said again. “Your friend on the motorcycle just left so you’re going to need a ride anyway.”
And just that quickly the wind went out of my sails. I glanced back to where Trygg had been standing a little while ago, and sure enough, he was gone. I shook my head. He didn’t even say goodbye. So much for walking me to my door. Instead of kissing him, I should have punched him in the mouth back in the garage and then stolen his bike.
“Let’s go, David. There’s nothing for us here.”
“Sheriff! We found a shirt,” a CSI tech called out, holding up a wet t-shirt.
“Take a look at it before you leave, David. Let us know if you think it’s Gideon’s.”
David nodded. In the scheme of things, a shirt that had been floating in the lake for hours wasn’t an exciting find for the police. Sure, there could be trace evidence on it, but it was doubtful. And that’s saying it was even part of this case. It could be from anyone.
For me, it could be the smoking gun I needed. I just had to get my hands on it.
“I’ll go get it and bring it over. Just stay here,” I said, taking off before anyone could argue.
The senior tech gave me a tight smile. “Helluva thing.”
“Yeah.” I shook my head. “Listen, I’ll take the t-shirt over to him. I don’t want David to have to walk over here and I know you’re busy…”
