Chilled (A Bone Secrets Novel) (9 page)

After his arrest, the killer had become a media sensation when he’d started communicating with a Portland television reporter via mail. He’d made her his confidant, offering her exclusives in exchange for getting his stories on TV. Regan Simmons was young, beautiful, and searching for her big break to get out of the Portland television market and into something bigger, more glamorous, like LA or New York. The serial killer’s story had been huge, and Darrin Besand had offered her the opportunity for national exposure on a silver platter. She’d eagerly grabbed for it with both hands.

Turned out, Besand had been sending Regan Simmons mail for five years prior to his arrest. She’d kept the letters but brushed them off as coming from a nutcase who’d simply wanted attention. If only she’d taken his letters to the police back then… maybe there would have been fewer victims. Investigators had been furious to discover she’d had direct information from a killer with details about what he’d done to his victims, and she’d said nothing. She hadn’t believed they’d been true. Patrick slowly shook his head.
What had the woman been thinking?

“Where’d you hear Besand’s name?”

“The name’s flying around the media corral over there.” Liam jerked his head at the cameras.

Could it be true? Is Besand the prisoner on the plane?

No wonder Whittenhall was about to have a stroke. A serial killer in his custody let loose in the woods. Patrick caught his breath.

My team. When will I be able to update them?

Reid was in charge of maintaining contact with the team. All efforts at phone and radio contact had failed since an hour after the team had left, but that didn’t surprise Patrick one bit. That was to be expected in this forest.

Patrick tried to relax. Jim had his head on straight. They’d known there was a felon on board, possibly a murderer. The men were all law enforcement and appropriately armed. Jim would take every precaution out there. Patrick didn’t have a better team leader than Jim.

Patrick glared in Whittenhall’s direction, furious the press knew the prisoner’s identity before him. And he was in charge! Who’d leaked the name? Whittenhall had seemed determined not to let the prisoner’s name surface.

Patrick spotted Regan Simmons in the crowd of media, filming a piece for her news station, the bright light from the camera highlighting her hair, which swirled out artfully from under her hat. Even from this distance, Patrick swore he could see the greedy gleam in her eye. She was still hustling for that break into the big time. She’d ruined her chances after the Besand story broke about her withholding information and two married state senators had admitted to affairs with her. She’d lost her job due to an ethics clause but rebounded two weeks later with a less discerning television station.
Is she the one putting out Besand’s name?
She was the most likely suspect. She had the right contacts to know what was going on in Besand’s life.

“How many did he kill? Twenty-two? Twenty-three?”

Liam nodded. “Something like that. At least that’s how many the police suspect. So far, he’s only been prosecuted for one murder, but they gave him life in prison. I think he’s being tried in other states too.” “Shit.”

“Maybe this plane wreck is a good way to save the state some money. Save on room and board for the rest of the guy’s life.”

Patrick snorted. “But then why is Whittenhall so uptight?”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s got steaming high blood pressure because an ex-marshal of his is out there with my crew.” Patrick chewed his lip and studied the marshal across the clearing. A thought formed in his mind and he voiced it slowly. “The more I think about it, I don’t think it’s the prisoner who’s worrying him. It’s Kinton.”

Liam’s nose wrinkled. “You didn’t tell me anyone else went out with Brynn’s team. Who’s Kinton?”

“Alex Kinton used to be a marshal. I don’t know if they fired him or he quit or retired. But when I told Whittenhall that Kinton showed up this morning to go out with my team, Whittenhall nearly had a stroke at my feet.”

“There’s a guy out there impersonating a marshal? And you were told he was supposed to go?” Liam’s expression was getting darker by the second.

“I got a phone call this morning from someone I thought was Whittenhall. But Whittenhall swears no one from his office called, and I believe him. You can’t fake shock like that. I’m thinking Kinton made the calls himself before he got here, clearing his way to get on my team and out to that plane.”

Liam turned toward the older marshal, who was finally slipping his phone into his pocket. “Hey!” Liam marched toward
Whittenhall as Patrick grabbed his arm. Liam shook him off. “What’s the deal with the marshal who went out with the team?”

Whittenhall wiped at his forehead as he studied the younger man who’d aggressively stepped up in his face and fisted his hands at his sides. Whittenhall’s gaze stabbed at Patrick over Liam’s shoulder. Patrick shrugged. Maybe Liam could succeed where he hadn’t. The pilot had a directness about him that was hard to ignore. Liam said what he thought, rarely believed he was wrong, and could boss people around without their knowing it. Frankly, Patrick didn’t know how Brynn put up with him. Patrick could handle Liam’s company for only a few minutes at a time before Liam said something to piss him off.

“Alex Kinton is no longer a marshal.”

“Then why the hell is he out there?”

“I didn’t send him.”

“Who did?”

Whittenhall rubbed his lips together. “I don’t know. I don’t know how he found out about the plane wreck with this prisoner on board.”

“Darrin Besand?” Liam asked.

Whittenhall blinked in surprise and nodded. Annoyance and anger flashed across his face.

Score one for Liam.
Patrick wanted to whistle.

“Why would Kinton care about that plane?” Liam was direct.

Whittenhall said nothing, pulling out his cell phone and ignoring the pilot. Liam stepped closer, and Patrick held his breath. Liam was getting more information out of the asshole than Patrick had so he’d let him push a few more buttons.

Whittenhall looked up at Liam. “This doesn’t concern you.” He scowled. “Who are you anyway?” He glanced over Liam’s shoulder again at Patrick, who kept his mouth shut and his arms crossed on his chest.

Liam’s chin shot up. “Major Liam Gentry, pilot, 304th Air Force Rescue Squadron. I would be flying air support today if the weather wasn’t so crappy. My girlfriend is on the Madison County SAR team, and if she’s in danger because of Kinton, I want to know about it.”

Patrick silently cheered.

Whittenhall got an odd look on his face. He opened his mouth twice to answer Liam, and then closed it. Finally, the marshal leaned toward the young man, his voice sharp.

“Kinton had a nervous breakdown a year ago and physically attacked one of his supervisors. Put the man in the hospital. Kinton was let go from the US Marshals because of it. He is obsessed with Darrin Besand and will stop at nothing to see him get a lethal injection. If Kinton’s out there with your girlfriend, she’s going to simply be a stepping-stone for him to get to Besand. He’ll trample anything in his path to get his hands around that murdering creep’s neck.” Whittenhall raised a brow at Patrick. “He blatantly lied to Collins to get to that plane. I believe he would’ve taken more drastic physical measures if Collins hadn’t cooperated.”

Patrick’s spine stiffened, and Liam’s head jerked back in shock.

Whittenhall looked intently at Liam. “There’re two dangerous men out there,
Major
Gentry. Not just one. I’d say your girlfriend’s in a shitload of danger.”

“Anyone see anything?”

A chorus of dejected no’s answered Jim. They’d been kicking the snow under the parachute for a good twenty minutes. Brynn had found a frayed piece of strapping. Nothing else. Alex stole a quick look at Brynn. She’d efficiently directed the group in a circular search pattern as if looking for human remains was something she did every day. Maybe she did.

Death was a big part of the woman’s life.

How does she sleep at night?

Five years ago, Alex had arrived on the scene of a freeway auto accident, and the sight had given him nightmares for weeks. One driver had been beheaded, his neck a bloody stump, his tie and suit jacket still neatly in place. Alex hadn’t looked to see where the guy’s head ended up. The other driver had been thrown from his car and hit by other cars. His legs had looked deflated with the skin resembling an empty balloon. The flesh from his legs spilled out in bloody red piles and smears on the pavement.

Alex hadn’t known the human body could look like that.

He swallowed the bile that surged in the back of his throat and concentrated on scanning the snow at his feet.

How did Brynn do it every day? She probably saw dead kids. Babies, even. Seniors who slipped and fell and weren’t found until neighbors called the police because the newspapers had piled up.

What kind of devastation would they find at the plane wreckage?

One corpse. That was all Alex needed to see. One very specific dead corpse. He didn’t care if the guy was beheaded or burned to a crisp with blackened flesh and stiffened limbs that looked like he was reaching out for help. Alex would sleep better for the rest of his life once he found out what happened to the plane.

Alex’s younger brother, Samuel, had been the only family member he’d seen after death. It had been on a table at the medical examiner’s office—after the ME had cleaned him up, but before he’d made that first Y incision. It had ached deep in Alex’s chest, allowing Samuel to be cut open like that, but the death had been highly suspicious, possibly suicide: an indication for autopsy.

The original theory was that Alex’s brother had been despondent over the death of a friend and decided to drown himself in the pool where she’d died.

But Alex had known it wasn’t suicide the moment the police called and told him they’d found his brother in the pool. Samuel wouldn’t kill himself. If only Alex had listened to Samuel’s sudden ramblings and complaints about one of his caretakers. If only Alex had followed up and double-checked Samuel’s statements with the owner of the facility where he’d lived. If only. If only.

Alex’s boot suddenly kicked something long and white out of the snow. His heart stopped and tried to leap up into his mouth. He halted his systematic tracking and stared, gaze immobile. Next to the white snow, the bone looked a dingy, old yellow.

“Brynn.” His voice came out as whisper, so he repeated with more strength, “Brynn!”

Everyone’s head jerked in his direction.

“Whatcha got?” Ryan bounded over in a flash, his interested eyes focused on the remains by Alex’s boot. Alex fought an impulse to cover up the bone, hide it from sight. Ryan’s eagerness seemed disrespectful. Almost wrong.

Ryan squatted, using his gloved hand to paw all the snow off the bone as the others walked up. They were silent, their quiet manner more appropriate for lost bones. Ryan snickered, and Alex wanted to kick him in the head.

“It’s a stick.” He lifted the
stick
and waved it at Alex. “You discovered a stick, dude. Nice job.”

Alex studied the pale stick that Ryan tossed to Brynn. It was smooth and as long as his thigh. Knobby on one end, but the other end showed a frayed break where it had clearly separated from a tree.

Brynn shot Alex a sympathetic glance as she tried to cover her amusement. “Reminds me of the human mandible you found one time, Ryan.” She tapped the stick against her palm and cast an assessing look at Ryan, a grin pulling at the corners of her lips.

Jim hooted and slung an arm around Ryan’s shoulders. “I remember that. Rocks can take amazing shapes. Alex’s stick looks a hell of a lot more human than your rock jaw did.” Ryan genuinely laughed, but he shoved Jim away. Jim winked at Brynn, who covered her mouth with a gloved hand.

“OK. I don’t think we’re going to find anything. Anything more, that is.” Brynn gave Alex a half smile. “Which way are we headed now? This way, right?” She gestured to the west.

“Only if you’re headed to the beach, darlin’.” Jim put his gloved hands on Brynn’s shoulders and turned her east. “This is the way. I thought you were going to have that problem looked at.”

Thomas snorted.

“What problem?” Alex watched Jim pat Brynn affectionately on the back.

“Brynn has no sense of direction. Even a compass or GPS can’t straighten her out.” Ryan hugged her and gave her a smacking kiss on one cheek. “But we love her anyway.”

Brynn blushed at the kiss and deftly stepped out of Ryan’s arms with a one-handed shove to his chest. Her brown eyes met Alex’s for the briefest second.

Had she pointed in the wrong direction to get the attention off his bone blunder?

Brynn was the mediator of the group. Always negotiating, getting between the others when the slightest argument started to surface. Like she couldn’t stand the littlest confrontation among the friends. But she definitely wasn’t scared to stand up for what she thought. She’d voiced her opinions without a qualm throughout the trip. But for some reason she didn’t like to see the men argue. Didn’t she know that was part of how men communicated?

“How much daylight do we have left?” she asked Thomas.

Thomas shrugged, squinting at the cloudy sky. “Three, four hours. Plenty of time to get in some yardage before looking for a place to sleep.”

Sleep? In the snow? Alex glanced around and shuddered. Tonight was clearly going to suck. “I don’t suppose you know of a Motel 6 up ahead?”

Thomas gave a short laugh, more like a bark. “Motel 6? Ha! Good one.” He flashed a rare grin.

“Motel 6 below,” Alex grumbled to himself at the next break. The temps were dropping along with the light. The sky had been slowly dimming for the past hour and he was starting to wonder where they’d make camp for the night. He used the break to take inventory of his borrowed pack. Along the hike, he hadn’t done more than locate the protein bars and water bottles. He stared into the pack and he realized he’d been a walking sporting goods store.

Thank you, Sheriff Collins.