“Signs?” Deacon asked, clearly confused. “Like, what kind of signs? You never mentioned any signs.”
“Something that would look like it was painted onto the wall is the best way to describe it, I guess.”
“Painted in what, Peter?”
“Sheep’s blood.”
Deacon gave a short, surprised bark of laughter, but Peter just looked at him with cold eyes.
“I’m not kidding,” Peter said after a moment.
His friend shook his head, his composure returned. “I think I’d remember something like that being found, don’t you?”
“You’d think so,” he replied, turning back to his search.
If this had been anything like his family farm, the symbol would be in here, where they’d left the mutilated bodies. He glanced over the remaining walls and thought he saw something. He pulled his trusty leatherman multitool from his pocket and whipped out the little knife at the end of the metal handle.
“What?” Deacon asked, his curiosity overtaking his previous reticence and finally pushing him into the room. He came up beside Peter as he began to scrape at the soot on the wall. “What the hell are you doing? This is a crime scene, you know.”
“And you can take all the credit for finding it,” Peter murmured to his buddy, flashing him a grim smile as he scraped off a layer of soot to produce a deep crimson streak.
“And that’s a bingo,” he said, peeling off more and bringing it to his nose for a small whiff. It was sheep’s blood, alright. No doubt about it.
“Peter,” Deacon whispered as he looked at the dried fleck of cooked blood his buddy had at the tip of his blade. “What is this shit? What are you involved in?” He glanced at Peter’s face, concerned and slightly fearful.
“Nothing good,” he replied grimly.
“Is this some kind of serial killer shit?”
“In a sense,” Peter replied. “But not anything the FBI or anyone is worried about. Believe me. They don’t even know this exists.”
“What then?”
“Wouldn’t believe me if I told you,” he replied, folding the blade closed and stuffing the tool away in his pocket.
“Try me,” Deacon said, crossing his arms.
Peter sighed and looked around almost conspiratorially. “Let’s get out of here first, okay? I still have a couple questions to ask you, but they can wait until we’re back out at the car.”
Frost and Deacon walked back through the burnt ruins of the house, careful not to disturb anything else as they passed. They didn’t speak again until they were back at Deacon’s car.
“Mind telling me what the fuck this is about now?”
Peter looked at him dead in the eye. He wasn’t sure if he could break it to him or not, that the world wasn’t quite as cut and dry as he’d thought it had been. But Deacon had always seemed to be a God-fearing sort, the guy who went to the chaplain for more than just guidance during the bad times. Out of all the soldiers he’d known, in fact, Deacon seemed to be the most religious, the most open to a world that was more spiritual and unexplainable than what science had led him to believe.
“One other question first,” Peter said. “Then I’ll tell you anything.”
Deacon folded his arms and leaned against the side of his car. “Shoot.”
“The girl. You said you found four bodies. As far as I could dig up, there was one missing. A teenage girl. Where is she?”
His friend sighed, made a face, and shook his head. “You know I can’t, Peter. There’s all sorts of confidentiality on that. Layers and layers of red tape, things I can’t even touch.”
“Come on,” he said. “I came all the way down here. Hell, I even found you a piece of evidence you might have missed.”
Deacon Portage looked away from him, back to the destroyed house. “Gonna be honest. I don’t know if you did me any favors by finding that sheep’s blood in there, and you know it. This whole thing gave ‘em the willies before, and now you done upgraded it all to heebie-jeebies.”
Peter shook his head. “Look,” he said, “I think I can help the girl. Maybe. But I’ve gotta know where she is. Did she go into the foster care system? A group home? Anything you can help me with? It’s important I meet her, find out more about her. But I can’t do that by myself, and you know it.”
“What do you want with her? She can’t help you find who did this, she was out all night with her boyfriend, and she’s barely said a word since. She didn’t see anything, Frost. The firefighters were here when she got home to find all this.”
Pete rocked back and forth on his heels in contemplation. “Okay. I’ll tell you what it’s all about, but you gotta promise to find a way for me to see the girl. I need to meet her.”
He eyed Peter warily, measuring up whether or not it was worth it. Peter wouldn’t have blamed him if he denied him access. He would have done the same thing in his friend’s shoes. How could he know how Peter was involved, or that he could help the girl? All he knew was that Peter had been asking around about information on a specific kind of crime, and had driven twelve practically straight hours to get there and investigate a morbid mass murder of a family butchered and burned in the night.
No, if Deacon didn’t want him in touch with the girl, he’d understand. It wouldn’t stop him from finding some other way, like using Lacy or another method, of course. But he’d still understand.
“Do I really want to know the answer?” Deacon asked after a long, pregnant pause.
“Want me to be honest?”
His old friend nodded.
“It’ll blow your mind and change your world.”
Deacon’s eyebrows raised a little.
“But, no, I wouldn’t want to know if I were you. I’d keep my mind intact, and my world unchanged given the choice. We already saw enough shit to question our world views overseas, Deacon, I wouldn’t add any more to the burden if I were in your shoes right now. And that’s a fact.”
Deacon Portage nodded.
Peter crossed his fingers that his old friend wouldn’t keep asking. Peter already knew Deacon had seen too much shit to count, too much shit to already process. A grown man would probably cry himself to sleep every night from just half of what was in Deacon’s head. Add the duties of his day job and the inhumanity of the civilized world to the things a soldier had to see and do in a warzone? That was more than twice what the average man could handle. And Deacon, for all his great points and strengths, was still just a man, plain and simple. A man with a family, a good job, and a home.
Deacon Portage shook his head. “You’re right, I don’t want to know. This is already creepy enough; I don’t really want to know the why of it. Do I?”
Peter shook his head. “Believe me, you don’t.”
“Good. Let’s keep it that way. You staying in town tonight, I’m guessing?”
Peter crossed his arms and nodded. “Down at the Motel 6 on the edge of town.”
“Coming up in the world, huh?”
“Better than the Bronco. This thing gets hot at night. And it’s even more uncomfortable than grabbing some sack time in the back of a Humvee, if you’ll believe that.”
Deacon winced. “Well, come by the house tomorrow. I got the day off, I’ll have the old ball and chain cook us up a feast fit for two old vets.”
“Before or after you tell me about the girl?” Peter asked.
“You just don’t let shit go, do you? Like a pitbull once you get your teeth in something, aren’t you?”
“Something like that. So, what’s the verdict? You gonna find out for me or not?”
He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Her name’s Mary. Mary Waynescott. And the foster system couldn’t get to her fast enough, so she’s been staying with me and my family.”
Peter’s breath hitched in his throat in shock and he rocked back on his heels again. “With you? And your family?”
“Look,” Deacon said seriously, looking Peter in the eyes, “I know about tragedy, alright? Not many ot
her guys on the force have families like I do, and not many people seen as much shit as me. Or you, for that matter. You’re probably one of the only ones in the country to see more. So, yeah, Mary’s staying with me till the state can figure out where we can put her.”
“And I can speak to her?”
“I mean, you can try. Poor kid’s barely said a word since it happened. So if you want to meet her, be my guest, but I don’t think you’ll get much more out of her than I did.”
“Alright,” Peter said with a nod. “What time?”
“Little before noon. Alice’ll be pissed if you get there any later. She’s worse than a drill sergeant.”
Frost grinned. “I’ll be there.”
They shook hands and went back to their respective cars. Peter climbed into the driver’s seat and breathed a sigh of victory, if that’s what it could be called. He’d found a survivor. He’d found someone left from the family.
Maybe, just maybe, he could help her.
Or she could give him a clue as to who he was actually searching for. Or what, rather, he was searching for.
Chapter Thirty-six – Richard
I woke up on the bed, still fully clothed, the overhead fan languidly spinning its blades. I fished my phone from my pocket and checked the time. It was just after midnight. I swung my legs over the side of the bed and wiggled my toes in my boots. I hadn’t been out for more than thirty minutes.
I wasn’t groggy, either, even with the brief nap. I’d always been a light sleeper, even as a pup. My mom would make a noise in the kitchen or my stepdad would belch too loudly in the living room, and I was up like a bomb had exploded. My time in the service had just honed my skill to a fine edge, making it razor sharp. Now I was liable to wake if a fly buzzed around the room.
Not that I was complaining or anything. It made me great for details like these, where I was expected to, at most, sleep lightly while I watched my client.
I got up from the bed and wandered out of the bedroom, carefully turning the knob, easing the latch back, and quietly stepping out into the hallway. I shut the door behind me just as silently as I’d opened it and crept toward the kitchen to get myself a glass of water. I stopped outside Jessica’s door, focused on listening to see if she was still awake. I heard a slow, easy breath from her. Not like one of deep sleep, but something lighter. I put my hand against the door and fought the urge to turn the knob or ask to enter.
No. That would be too much, too soon. And, besides, I had to focus on the misison.
Feeling a bit like an actual creeper and not a hired bodyguard, I continued past her door into the kitchen. I pulled a glass down from the cabinet and filled it from the tap. I leaned back against the cooking island and sipped my drink, my eyes staring out through the darkness into the moonlit world of the forest all around us. I hadn’t bothered to turn on the light because of my night vision being more than enough. Plus, I didn’t want to wake her unless I absolutely had to.
After all, she was paying for me to keep watch. Not so a bull in a china shop could wake her up every fifteen minutes.
As I took another sip of water, relishing the taste of the cool well water on my tongue, I stiffened at a noise. I quickly realized it was just Jessica shifting in her bed, though, and tried to relax.
I heard her shift on the mattress, pull the covers back and get out of bed, her feet bare. No, wait. Not bare. Fuzzy slippers, maybe?
She stopped at her door for a moment, then slowly and carefully opened it, and crept out into the hallway. “Richard?” she whispered to the dark cabin.
I debated standing stock still, waiting for her to come into the room before I said anything, but I quickly decided that wouldn’t be fair to the wildlife outside. Jessica struck me as a screamer when she was surprised, and I knew she’d send the deer running for miles around if I popped out of the shadows like I planned. Besides, I liked her, and as funny as pranks could be, right now wasn’t the time for them.
“In the kitchen,” I replied in a quiet voice as I turned around to face the opening to the hallway.
“Thank God,” she said more loudly than before, but not at any higher of a volume than I’d used. She came padding into the living room-kitchen combo, her feet barely making a sound on the hardwood as she practically glided across the floor like an angel in her fuzzy little slippers.
“Can’t sleep?” I asked as she came into the room wearing only a long night shirt that hung down to the middle of her thighs.
She shook her head. “How can you see anything in here?”
“I eat my carrots,” I lied. “Supposed to be great for the eyes.”
“You know that’s a myth, right?”
“Really? Guess I just have good genes, then. Did I wake you?”
She shook her head in the darkness as she felt her way through the unfamiliar room in the darkness. I heard a soft noise as she quietly yelped, “Ow!” after bumping into an end table. I fought the urge to laugh. “Can’t you turn on a light or something?”
I smiled. “Hold on,” I said, brushing past her, my hand reaching out to lightly touch her arm. I flicked the lightswitch over the sink, immediately bringing light to the room like a poor-man’s excuse for Genesis. “Let there be light,” I said.
She rolled her eyes and went to find a glass of water. “Figured I needed to drink some more water after I, you know, drank some more already.”
I chuckled. “Supposed to do that while you’re drinking, aren’t you?”
Jessica shrugged as she drew her own glass of water. She leaned back against the sink. “Why can’t you sleep?” she asked after two long, deep drinks.
“Me? Never been able to, really. Ever since basic training, I’ve always woken up at a pin drop. What about you? New place?”
She shrugged again. “Maybe. Just, you know, had a lot on my mind. All this going on.”
I nodded, glancing down at my empty glass. I walked over to the sink and reached past her to draw some more. This close to her, her smell was almost intoxicating. Just something about her made me crave her touch again, to take her into my arms, press my lips to hers once more, and to never let go.
“One other thing, too,” she said as I leaned back against the sink beside her. “Something I was wondering about…something you said earlier.”
“About dinner?” I asked, immediately worried. “Because, I don’t know, we don’t–”
Jessica cut me off with a laugh and a hip bump. “No, not dinner,” she said. “You’re not getting out of our date that easily.”
I playfully bumped her back, sending her stumbling a little. She just giggled instead of getting mad, though. “What then?” I asked.
“You mentioned something about investing in the Curious Turtle before we, you know, kissed.”
“Yeah?” I asked. I remembered. I’d said it half-jokingly, but I had quickly realized I’d been serious as a heart attack about the offer. I didn’t have anything else to spend the money on anyways. “Who wouldn’t want to be a part owner of an art gallery? Hell, even crazy bikers want to.”
She smiled and took another drink of water before setting her glass down on the kitchen island across from us. “So you were serious, then? Because I think I’d say yes to that.”
“How much money are you talking?”
“Oh, I don’t really know yet. Sheila’s my finance person,” she admitted as she turned to me and wrapped her arms around my neck. “She knows how much it would take. But if you’re really interested, I’d be more than open to it.”
I nearly had to catch my breath as I looked down into her eyes. I set my own glass of water aside without breaking our gaze. God, she was beautiful, especially with the way the moon streamed in through the kitchen window and hit those gorgeous green eyes of hers. “Well,” I whispered, leaning my lips down to meet hers, “you put your people in touch with mine, and we’ll see if we can’t make a deal.”
“Don’t lie,” she whispered, her eyes half closed, her lips parted. “You don�
��t have people.”
My lips stopped just before they reached hers, my ears metaphorically perking up. I glanced toward the front window.
Jessica opened her eyes, those gorgeous greens going suddenly from bedroom invitations to confused and worried. “Richard?”
“Go,” I whispered, shoving her as gently as possible towards the hallway and the bedroom beyond. “Get dressed, Jessica. Now.”
“Richard?” she asked, trying to fight me at first. “What’s going on?”
I looked her dead in the face. “Someone is coming up the road, and I don’t know who it is. You need to get dressed because we might have trouble.”
“Trouble?”
I nodded. “Don’t freeze up on me now, Jess. Go into the bedroom and get dressed. Okay?”
She nodded. “Okay.” Jessica turned and quickly moved down the hall, throwing open the bedroom door and heading inside.
Crouching down low to keep myself out of sight, I moved across the living room and up to one of the windows to peer out from behind the blinds. Whoever they were, they had their headlights on, which meant they weren’t trying to be stealthy. I could just barely see the corona of their lights as they came up the slight incline through the trees.
I went to the little coat closet and pulled up the false bottom, revealing a stash of already filled 9mm clips and various boxes of ammunition. I cursed myself for not having done this earlier, for being too focused on this damned domestic bliss crap, and not the mission. But what was done was done. If I was lucky, I’d have plenty of time to get everything set. Fortunately, we were as meticulous with storing our weapons and keeping them clean as any soldier alive. I pulled the ammo box from the hiding spot, set it behind me, then stood and brushed aside the coats and other winter gear that hung there. Behind them were the long arms we kept, specifically the shotguns and rifles.
I pulled down one of each, a combat shotgun and an AR-15, and carried them over to the coffee table, laid them out, then went back for the ammo cache and another handgun. I wouldn’t need the extra sidearm, but Jessica might, especially if things got really dicey and I had to send her out into the surrounding woods.
Frost Security: The Complete 5 Books Series Page 18
