Chilled (A Bone Secrets Novel) (16 page)

He squeezed his eyes shut as his stomach churned.

Monica.

Why? Why would she not tell him? Did she think Samuel would forget by the following day? Or did she not want Alex running to the rescue and instead stay home with her?

Bile rose in his throat.

“Jesus Christ. He was the one to find the body? What happened to the woman?” Alex ran a hand through his hair.

“Samuel saw Rosa in the pool next door. Spotted her through the fence. I don’t know how she got over there. Our gate is locked, and the neighbors have always been so good about keeping their gate locked too. We’ve talked about it many times. And both gates were still locked when your brother spotted the body.”

“In the pool? He saw her in the pool?” Alex whispered as he stared at a scratch on the countertop. Icy chills were swirling around his spine. “Where was the dog?”

Kathy’s face fell. “It’s so sad. Hero was in the pool too. We don’t know if Rosa went in the pool to rescue him or if little Hero jumped in after Rosa. Either way it’s too sad to think about.”

“Who threw the dog in the pool?”

“What?” Confusion covered Kathy’s face, and she halted in the act of lifting cans of soup out of the sack.

“Samuel said the new guy threw Hero in the pool. Said he didn’t like dogs.”

“I never heard about Hero being deliberately thrown in the pool before. When was this?” She set down the cans, her tone bewildered.

Alex shrugged, meeting her eyes. Time was relative to Samuel. “Who didn’t like Hero?”

“Everybody liked Hero. He was the cutest little thing. I don’t usually allow dogs, but Hero barely qualified as a dog. Rosa carried him everywhere like a doll.”

“Who’s the new guy Samuel was talking about?”

“I don’t have any new residents…”

“You said you had a new assistant.”

“Oh, yes. Darrin. He’s been just wonderful. I don’t know how I got along without him. And he loved Rosa’s dog. He was always offering to hold Hero.”

Four days later Alex’s brother was dead.

Alex had sat silently in the pew after his brother’s funeral. It had been a small service. Kathy Maxwell had arranged for everyone from the group home to come, and most of the agents Alex worked with had shown up. But they’d come alone for the most part. A few brought their wives. No one from Monica’s side of the family came. He wondered if she’d even told her parents that her husband’s brother had died.

Alex’s family was simply him and his brother. Their parents were dead. No uncles, no aunts. It’d been just the two of them for a long time. Maybe that was why he’d tried so hard to
take care of Samuel. He was his only real family. Now Alex was alone.

Except for Monica.

He’d been furious after discovering she’d not told him about Samuel finding Rosa’s body. It’d developed into one of their hottest fights. She’d claimed she’d forgotten.

“How on earth could you have forgotten to tell me something like that? Who can forget a death? Especially one that Samuel discovered? He must have been going crazy unable to see me.”

The tendons in Alex’s neck felt like they were about to snap.

“I forgot! I tried to call you on your cell and couldn’t get through. And then I had to get ready for dinner! I just forgot!” Her spine stiffened, but he’d seen the fear in her eyes. She’d known she’d messed up.

He’d balled up his suit jacket and thrown it across the bedroom, wanting to throw something harder, heavier. “It just shows where your priorities lie.”

“Samuel is your priority, not mine!” she’d shouted, tears welling in her eyes. “He’s all you think about.”

“If you really loved me, he’d be your priority too.” His gaze had been fierce. He was giving her one last chance. It was an unfair chance, he knew that. He also knew exactly how she’d answer. Maybe it was his way of admitting he couldn’t fight for their marriage anymore.

She’d pressed her lips closed and stared helplessly at him. Then she’d spun into the bathroom and slammed the door.

It was the end.

When Samuel had drowned in the neighbor’s pool days later, the coincidence had been too much for Alex to handle, but all he had to go on was Samuel’s rambling statement about

Darrin being mean to the dog. The police were calling both deaths accidental, but Alex’s gut wouldn’t accept it. Alex picked up a cigarette of Darrin’s and took it to a friend at the Oregon State Police lab. That single cigarette yielded a DNA sample that eventually linked Darrin to the multistate deaths of six nursing home patients and four nurse rape/murder scenes.

Much later Besand confessed to a dozen more.

Alex had led the police to a killer, but this particular DNA evidence didn’t link Darrin Besand to Samuel’s or Rosa’s murders. The police ruled the deaths accidental because there simply hadn’t been any evidence of foul play. Samuel had water in his lungs, indicating he’d died in the pool, but no bruising on his face or neck to indicate a struggle. Just like Rosa. Darrin Besand refused to admit he’d killed Alex’s brother and Rosa.

But Alex knew better.

Paul Whittenhall wandered too close to the media corral, and they stuck their microphones in his face.

“Sir, any word on survivors of the plane crash?”

“Have you heard from the search team?”

“I’m hearing that Darrin Besand is now confirmed to be on that plane. Do you care to comment, sir?”

Paul jerked at the last question and locked gazes with the female who’d thrown it at him. Regan Simmons. The television reporter from Channel 5. The rest of the media looked cold, tired, and irritated. Many of them had spent the night in their cars. But Regan looked energetic and raring to go. She and Paul had spent the night at the same hotel. He knew because she’d shared his room and bed.

He’d confirmed Besand’s presence to her last night with the understanding she’d keep it to herself until he gave the go-ahead
to release the information. Now she stared at him, microphone thrust forward, a knowing smile on her lips and a reckless challenge in her blue eyes.

Paul knew he’d been screwed.

Regan had attached herself to him in the bar last night. All perky boobs and shiny hair and perfect teeth. She’d laughed at his jokes and tossed their respective jobs out the window, whispering that she needed to blow off some steam and she thought he looked like he needed to do the same. She’d been right.

The talk had been kept to a minimum. She hadn’t pried into the case, and he’d only dropped Besand’s name as she got dressed to leave. For some odd reason he hadn’t wanted her to leave just yet and had offered her a lead if she’d agree to stay another hour. Under the condition of keeping it to herself for now.

Traitorous bitch.

Now in the freezing snow, she stretched out a smile, subtly licked her lips, and winked. Paul hated his body for responding. Her arched, perfectly plucked right eyebrow slowly rose in unison with his cock as she silently informed him she knew he was hard.

Yesterday he’d tried to quash the rumor of Besand. Giving the usual line of needing to inform family before press. He’d tried to point the media’s nose in a different direction, hinting that the plane had already made its transport and was simply returning home.

He’d only put off the inevitable. If Regan’s station ran the story, everyone else would do the same.

“Darrin Besand?” One reporter nearly swallowed his gum. “When we asked yesterday, you said that was a rumor.”

“Is there confirmation or not?”

“Did she say Besand? The serial killer? Is that true, sir?”

The pack erupted into a chorus of more eager questions, excitement in their eyes. Some broke away to make calls.

“No comment.”

Paul stomped away, crossing paths with Sheriff Collins. “You can answer their damned questions.”

Paul rubbed a hand across his cold face. He’d fucked up getting into bed with that female viper and needed to step more carefully. His thoughts turned to Stewart and Boyles, wondering if the two men would have any success. Surely Boyles was as good in the snow as any of the men the sheriff had sent out. The tiniest flicker of guilt touched him as he studied the tall firs at the trailhead. The trees were barely visible behind the sheets of falling snow. Maybe he should have sent one more man with them…

No.
Too many people already knew about Besand. And knew about Kinton. He should have locked Kinton up when he’d had the chance. But there’d been too many eyes on the marshal.

Paul’s shoulders twitched. He could still see the raw anger on Kinton’s face when he’d stormed into Paul’s office. Kinton had already been on leave several times, taking personal time to deal with the shrinking tatters of his marriage. Alex had been obsessed with Darrin Besand since he’d murdered his brother the year before. The police had been unable to prove that Besand killed Samuel, and that made Kinton furious.

Paul had tried to reason with him. “Besand’s been linked to several murders in three states. The guy is eventually gonna fry. Isn’t that good enough? You believe he killed your brother. Do you really need to hear it from Besand’s mouth? Can’t you see the guy is playing with you? He’s jacking off every time you talk to him. He loves jerking your chain and watching you blow a fuse. He’s never gonna admit to Samuel’s death because he’s having too much fun watching you get upset.”

Kinton hadn’t heard a word as he’d paced in Paul’s office and ranted. “Why is Besand being transported each time with only one agent as escort? The guy is solid muscle and smart, and he’s proved he’s dangerous. You know he’s gonna try to escape again. Haven’t you figured that out yet?” Kinton had pointed an accusing finger at Paul’s face. “Besand wants out and will use every opportunity to try. One agent isn’t enough for a psychotic prisoner like him. When we moved him to Salt Lake he nearly killed Cal Berry. Put another agent on him!”

“I’m trying,” Paul had answered. “We’re shorthanded right now. I’ve had to make some difficult staffing decisions of where to assign people. Besand hasn’t been as high a priority as some of our other transports.”

Paul had waved him off but had seen the suspicion in Kinton’s eyes as he stomped out of his office and slammed the door. It was SOP to put at least two agents with a transported prisoner and extra agents on the prisoners considered dangerous. Now Kinton had started to wonder why Paul always transported Darrin Besand with just one agent. Usually one of the newer agents, the smaller ones.

Damn you, Darrin.

Paul hadn’t dreamed the situation could blow up until Kinton had stabbed him with his own letter opener.

That sucker had been sharp.

To give Kinton credit, Paul didn’t believe he’d meant to stab him. Just intimidate him. Use the opener as an exclamation mark on his tirade.

Two days after the last rant, Kinton had shoved Paul’s office door open with his shoulder and raged into the room, primed for a new confrontation. “You fucking asshole.”

Paul had jumped up from his computer, where he’d been playing Angry Birds; he’d had enough wits about him to exit out of the computer screen. With the blinds closed and the office door shut, he hadn’t seen Kinton coming.
Jesus Christ.
Everyone knew to knock and wait when his door was shut. Only Kinton had the habit of knocking then walking in without a pause. This time he hadn’t even knocked.

“Why is Fitzpatrick the only agent on Besand today? First you move him with just Berry and nearly get the marshal killed, and then you moved him with just Danielson. At least Danielson kept Besand under control when he tried to grab at his gun.” Kinton’s shoulders were twitching in anger. “You need
at least
two people on this guy. Are you fucking stupid?”

“Watch your mouth.” Paul had shot a nervous look over Kinton’s shoulder. Two female office workers with dropped jaws were watching the scene through the open door.
Why don’t they call security?
Paul had reached for his phone.

“Don’t move!” Kinton had pounded a fist on the desk. “Answer my question! Why do you insist on transporting one of the deadliest serial killers we’ve ever had with a minimum amount of security? Even that idiot bank robber had three guards last time we moved him.”

“Steele shot four people during holdups. And I didn’t have the manpower to put another guy with Besand today.” Paul had pulled his hand back from his phone.

“Steele was stupid! He got lucky waving his gun around. Besand’s sharp! He can disarm someone as fast as lightning and have their throat cut before they can say ‘uncle.’” Kinton had leaned both hands on Whittenhall’s desk. Paul’s heart had stuttered for two beats and then started to race, his tongue drying up.

One of Kinton’s fists had tightened around the letter opener as he leaned. Paul eyes had widened and blinked fast as he caught the movement, but Kinton hadn’t seemed to notice what was in his hand. He’d raved on about Besand and numbers and death, but Paul no longer followed his words. He’d never seen Kinton so angry. Paul had always known a temper simmered under Kinton’s surface, but this was his first real look at it. Apparently, Kinton had a long fuse before his temper lit. That day it’d been on fire.

Paul had touched the button under the lip of his desk. He’d never used it before and hoped it worked. Kinton had continued to rage, pacing back and forth with the letter opener in his hand, slapping it from palm to palm, never looking at it.

Over Kinton’s shoulder, Paul had spotted two armed security guards step out of the elevator and scan the floor. The two office women had vanished and been replaced with a small group of staring marshals. Linus Carlson had stepped in the office behind Kinton.

“Alex. What the fuck…” Carlson had been the closest thing Kinton had to a friend left in the office. Since the death of his brother a year earlier, Kinton had successfully ostracized himself from the other agents.

“Stay out of this, Linus. Whittenhall has got some explaining to do and I’m not leaving until he says why Besand’s getting sloppy details. He’s doing it on purpose, and I want to know why.” Kinton hadn’t even turned around when Linus spoke.

Paul had pointed at Kinton. “He’s a raving lunatic, and I don’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. Linus, get out of the way before he stabs somebody with that thing.”