“Meg hasn’t suggested that her friend was saying anything negative about Ian Walker. Then again, you never know.” Adam sighed. “She’s worried. And her friend and the two dead girls fit the same description. She might be this killer’s type.” Adam looked away for a minute. “I’m bringing her into the Krewe. She has...instincts. We’re going to help her find Lara.”
“But should we be chasing someone who might want to stay hidden? Whose disappearance might be entirely unconnected? Sir, we have the makings of a serial killing spree here. One more will make it three.”
“Yes, and her friend just might be the one to raise the body count to three,” Adam said. “I’m going to let Meg focus on this situation until it’s solved. And, Matthew, you’ll work with her. My office, first thing in the morning, if you will.”
* * *
Was she dead?
Lara Mayhew saw nothing but a world that was black. Maybe it was limbo, maybe it was purgatory.
If so, death came with all the pain of life. Her limbs hurt; her head pounded. Opening her eyes seemed to be a Herculean task.
Death. Did death come with thirst and hunger and cold, too?
No.
She wasn’t dead, but she was in hell. Hell on earth. She could smell the soil around her; she could feel a damp chill seeping into her.
Buried! she thought. Buried alive.
A sound escaped her lips and she knew that before death came the ability to feel fear. Terror. She tried to move and found that she could. She stretched out her arms and felt the hard dirt beneath her. Yes, buried alive.
She rose to her knees and felt around her.
Scream? Don’t scream? Was the killer nearby?
On her hands and knees, she crawled forward—until she struck hard rock. She felt the pain in her knuckles. Yes, that proved she was alive!
She backed up and started moving in a different direction, inch by inch.
And then she hit a wall. Earth, more earth. Earth all around her. And stone, and metal.
She began to scream and cry out.
She was buried underground, and the dirt walls seemed to swallow her screams.
She screamed and screamed...until she could scream no more.
* * *
Meg had spent her last four months living dorm-style on campus at Quantico with the rest of her class. She was lucky, however, to have a small room to herself. She’d had a roommate who’d dropped out after their first week. Glenda had thought she was up to it, that the academy was what she wanted. But the physical training, along with some of the graphic videos they’d seen, had changed her mind. Forensic art had been her forte; Glenda was going to leave and work as a consultant for her local police.
Arriving in her room at the complex, Meg switched on her iTunes and fell onto the bed, emotionally worn out and physically exhausted.
She was glad she’d made it through the most grueling part of the training already; she wasn’t sure she would’ve been up for it after seeing the girl on the gurney tonight.
She was still surprised that Adam Harrison could change things with the snap of his fingers—or so it seemed. She’d expected to start working for Supervisor Marshall Dunn on Monday of the following week. Tonight, with Adam, she learned that she’d been assigned to Jackson Crow’s unit by special request.
She’d never forgotten Adam, and she’d had her heart set on eventually working for one of his units. She certainly hadn’t imagined that he’d remember her.
Or that he’d instantly take her into the Krewe.
Or even that he’d believe that this situation with Lara could be important. An emergency!
While she was grateful, she wasn’t at all sure why she’d been assigned to work with a man who evidently believed she was an alarmist. Special Agent Matthew Bosworth. He was extremely attractive—and confident. But the man looked at her as if she were more than green. As if she were an outright burden.
And she was humiliated at the way she’d fallen apart, so relieved not to have seen Lara on that gurney, she’d nearly collapsed. Maybe if he hadn’t come across as the most seasoned and superior agent in the entire world, she wouldn’t have felt so...yes, green, when she’d fallen apart.
It doesn’t matter, she told herself. She wanted to find Lara. Regardless of what her friend had said, she wouldn’t just have disappeared without getting in touch with Meg again. Without a phone call, at least, to say she’d arrived safely.
Meg was seriously worried. Thank God that Adam believed her—and believed in her.
“I would’ve waited,” he said as she drove him home, “given you a chance to meet some of the Krewe. But I’m convinced we’re dealing with unusual circumstances. Tomorrow you’ll report to my office. You and Special Agent Bosworth will trace Lara’s movements, interview the people she was working with and talk to any other friends.” He paused. “I’ve followed you, you know. Your education, your career.”
And Meg was glad. It was like learning she’d had a guardian angel watching over her through the years. She grimaced as she recalled the unfortunate incident with Agent Bosworth—and the fact that she’d informed him she wouldn’t bother him again.
Adam must have more agents, many more! Why did she have to work with this one?
She’d deal with it. She had to.
The important thing was that now she didn’t have to drive herself insane wondering and worrying about Lara—and end up looking like the worst agent ever after doing so well. She would’ve spent all her time obsessing over Lara’s fate, her whereabouts, when she should’ve been giving her all to the new job. But now Lara was her new job.
Was it better to know the fate of a loved one? People always said it was. And yet it could also mean the end of hope.
Years ago, knowing that Mary Elizabeth was dead hadn’t eased the pain of her loss.
But perhaps seeing justice done did create what they called closure. Her aunt had known that her daughter’s suffering was over. That her killer was locked away. Actually, he wasn’t locked away anymore. He’d been killed in a prison brawl.
Her aunt had told her that the killer’s death shouldn’t have made anything better for her. But it had. Christian or not, she’d said, it had brought her some resolution. She hoped he’d suffered.
And now...
Now Lara was missing, after leaving a cryptic message.
Maybe she’d gone into deep hiding. But if she had, she’d done it for a reason. And the only way to find Lara was to find out what that reason could be.
Meg sat up, considering the possibilities, trying to sort out where Lara could be. Probably not in Richmond, or at least not at her aunt’s house. But Lara had a small house in Harpers Ferry, left to her by her parents when they’d passed away. She and Lara had often visited during their college years, both in love with hiking and tubing on the river. They hadn’t been in quite a while; she didn’t think Lara had been out there recently, but she’d hired a service to handle maintenance and security, and she even rented it out now and then.
Maybe she was there. It was a direction to pursue, at any rate.
After a minute, Meg rose and walked into the bathroom. Time to get ready for bed.
She liked to shower first thing in the morning. It seemed to start the day right, really wake her up. But since she’d begun training, she’d discovered she needed a night shower, too—in order to be able to sleep.
Tonight, the odor of the morgue seemed to linger on her. She didn’t just want a shower to sleep, she needed one.
She took a long shower, with very hot water and lots of soap and shampoo.
Wrapped in a towel, she got out her toothbrush and toothpaste. The mirror was heavily fogged, and she wiped it with the edge of her big beach towel.
She looked thin, she noted. Thin and haggard. Well, noth
ing she could do about that right now.
She studiously brushed her teeth, glanced in the mirror again—and froze.
The mirror was misty once more and yet she could see her own face. And another. Behind her.
Lara’s face.
Lara’s mouth worked; her eyes seemed filled with pain. No audible words came to her lips, and seconds later she began to fade away. And yet Meg thought she knew what Lara had tried to say.
Not help me, but find me. Find my remains.
Meg whirled around just in time to see the last vestige of her friend disappear into the soft swirl of fog left by her very hot shower.
* * *
“I met Margaret when she was a child,” Adam was saying to Matt. “The Krewe didn’t exist back then, but local law enforcement in West Virginia called me in. They knew I could find the right people to help us discover the truth. I was also friends with an agent working kidnapping cases for the FBI.” He sat behind his desk, a cup of coffee in front of him, his hands folded on the desk. He raised them as he said, “There was hope that it was a ransom case, that the missing girl would come home. But her little cousin knew. She told me, although she wouldn’t tell anyone else, that she saw Mary Elizabeth sitting at the foot of her bed. She was gone, Meg told me, and she could be found in the cemetery. It changed the case. We found the body before the ransom drop, and because of the forensic evidence at the scene, her killer was easily caught. So I’ve kept tabs on Meg. I was going to wait until she’d graduated and taken a position at the academy and then introduce her to Jackson and the Krewe, but...well, life intrudes and changes everything. Life—and death.”
Matt nodded, well aware of the truth of his words.
He looked out the window onto the beautiful old street. He loved their location in Alexandria, and he was glad the Krewe had left the modern building where they’d once had their offices. There was something about looking out at the old row houses that seemed good for the soul; history had marched through these streets. The houses had been there when the nation struggled for freedom. They’d continued to serve as homes during the bloody conflict of the Civil War. Alexandria was so close to Washington, DC—yet it had been part of the Confederate state of Virginia.
Of course, he loved the Capitol, too. He was no romantic when it came to war, but the history of his nation’s struggle was both powerful and heartbreaking to him. He was fascinated by the life of Abraham Lincoln. He was equally interested in the lives of men like Stonewall Jackson and Robert E. Lee.
When he was young, his parents had purchased an old tavern west of Richmond. In a roundabout way, it had been owned by Thomas Jefferson, who’d purchased the place for a cousin and been repaid over a period of years. Matt had dreamed that he could sneak into the parlor area at night—and find Jefferson sitting by the fireplace.
He never did see Jefferson. He did, however, encounter the spirit of his cousin, Josiah Thompkin. Thompkin had regaled him with tales of famous congressmen, battles, the Underground Railroad and more. Matt’s parents had thought he spent too much time with his books and that he—like many children—had an invisible friend.
One of his great-aunts had known, however, and when his mother had spoken to him about her concerns, Genevieve had winked at him and told him that “imaginary” friends could be the best. They mirrored the soul, she’d said, and furnished the mind with information.
Great-Aunt Genevieve was long gone now, but he always remembered her with a smile. She’d made it to ninety-five, full of laughter and vigor to the end.
She’d assured him she wasn’t coming back. She’d lived a long life—and she knew the light was waiting for her.
“You and Meg have similar pasts,” Adam said, returning Matt’s mind to the present.
Had Meg grown up with imaginary friends, as well? Unlike Meg and him and the rest of the Krewe, Adam’s background was somewhat different. His son, Josh, had been granted the gift—or the curse—of precognition; he’d known what might happen. He’d known what people were thinking. He’d been ill throughout his life, and he’d died young. There seemed to be no rhyme or reason when it came to paranormal ability. Matt felt sad that there were people worldwide who kept their secret, trying not to give themselves away in case the world considered them crazy.
There was a knock at the door. Agent Murray was certainly punctual.
Matt remained by the window, staring out as Adam invited her inside. He turned, curious about the young woman. She could be no more than midtwenties, but she carried herself with a grace and poise that belied her age. Her dark hair was pulled back and she seemed even more attractive than he had realized. Today she was wearing a medium-length business skirt and matching jacket, and he couldn’t help noticing that her legs were wickedly long and well shaped. There was an unselfconsciousness about her, and he sensed that she had no idea of her own appeal.
“Meg, come in. I have a few more of our local Krewe working this. They’ll be getting onto research, credit card trails and the like. I think you and Matt should start at the source. Head over to Congressman Walker’s office. I’ve arranged that he’ll be ready for you at ten,” Adam said.
“She’s dead,” Meg told him.
“You know that?” Adam asked.
Meg nodded, glancing at Matt as if she didn’t want to speak in his presence.
“I know she must be dead, yes.”
“You saw her?” Adam asked.
Meg glanced at Matt again and lowered her head in a nod.
“It’s all right, Meg. You can speak freely. Don’t worry, Matt has friends around the city who only appear to him. I’m just so sorry that we won’t find your friend alive,” he said very softly.
She’d been crying, Matt saw. He felt a tug of sympathy.
It hurt so badly to lose people.
“You’re absolutely sure?” he heard himself say. He didn’t mean to doubt her; he sincerely hoped she’d been wrong. His voice sounded rougher than he’d intended.
She turned to him. “Agent Bosworth,” she said coldly. “I never say that someone is dead unless I believe it to be true.” He could tell he’d offended her. But that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing; anger helped dissipate pain.
“Until we find her, you can’t be certain,” he said, then asked, “You’ve never had a living person in desperate trouble try to reach you?”
“No,” she said, the one word like a cube of ice in the room.
“Did she speak to you, Meg?” Adam asked.
Meg hesitated. “She couldn’t quite manage to speak, but...I think she asked me to find her. And I—I believe she wants us to find her body.”
Matt felt that Meg Murray had no intention of giving his opinions any credence, but he didn’t feel the need to respond. He’d been around for a long time—as an agent and as one who knew the existence of a sixth sense. She’d learn.
The other agents arrived then.
Adam rose to make introductions. Jackson Crow had come in with Angela Hawkins, Will Chan and Katya Sokolov.
“Agent Murray will be joining this office,” Adam said. “This, as you can appreciate, is a difficult time for her. Meg, everyone’s been briefed on the situation with Lara Mayhew and the two murders. Agent Crow is your boss and I never interfere. Okay, I seldom interfere. Agent Hawkins sorts through our many requests and tries to send out the right people. Since we’re near Washington where everything seems a bit unusual, we’re quite busy here. That was a joke—or an attempt at a joke, anyway. Agent Sokolov is a medical examiner as well as an agent. She’ll visit Wong today and inspect the bodies.”
Meg solemnly shook hands with everyone. She asked Will Chan, “What’s your specialty?”
Will smiled. “I was an illusionist,” he told her.
“I see,” Meg said in a pleasant tone that nonetheless relayed her confusion.
Will’s smile grew wider. “My specialty is film, sound, cameras—and now and then, a bit of a performance if necessary. Although occasionally we all have to perform. In any case the team you see here will be working with you on this particular case.”
“Can you play the message your friend left?” Matt asked, not meaning to be churlish, but they weren’t at a getting-to-know-you cocktail party.
“Yes.”
She pulled her phone out of the black leather tote she carried and set it on speaker. They heard a woman’s voice.
One that sounded breathless—and scared.
“Meg, it’s me, Lara. I wanted to let you know I’m going home. Home, as in getting out of DC and heading for Richmond. I’m going as soon as it’s daylight. I’ll talk to you when I can. Love you. Don’t say anything to anyone else, okay? I have to get out of here. Talk soon.”
Meg played the message twice.
Jackson cleared his throat. “She did say she was leaving in the morning.”
“And I wanted to believe it,” Meg said.
There was an awkward silence. Matt wasn’t convinced, but Adam had faith in her conviction.
And they all had faith in Adam.
“So, you see,” Meg said, “something happened during the day or that night that made her want to...run.”
“And meet up with our killer?” Will murmured.
“Or another fate,” Matt replied.
“In other words, you think there might’ve been a different motive to get rid of Lara Mayhew—and she was killed by a different perp?” Angela asked.
“Entirely possible,” Matt said. “But Ian Walker isn’t known for being...”
“Slimy?” Kat supplied.