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“Did I ever tell you what division of the FBI I worked for?” Allen asked conversationally.
Elle glanced up suspiciously from the passenger seat of the old Buick, licking the sweet sugar off her fingers. She’d really been enjoying her glazed fritter from Java’s, too.
“No,” she stated flatly, showing no curiosity in the least, hoping it would prevent him from the need to share. She had no such luck.
“It was a special unit there, very hush-hush, mind.”
“If it was a secret, you shouldn’t feel the need to share it with me—it’s totally unnecessary.”
Allen smiled slightly, glancing her way, his hands comfortable on the wheel as he drove. “Now see there, you’re making my point already. That lovely mind of yours has gone ahead and connected the dots. You already suspect what I’m going to say, don’t you?”
Elle shook her head, thrusting the last bite past her lips and biting down with more force than necessary, grateful her tongue hadn’t been in the way. “No,” she denied. She really had no clue what he was babbling about.
“It was a paranormal unit, dealing with various aspects of the supernatural and other psychic phenomena.”
“Hocus Pocus,” Elle snapped with more fervor than she probably should have.
Allen shrugged. “Some of it? Certainly. But to deny any of it exists is to laugh in the face of science. By any definition, magic is just an experiment that hasn’t proved out its hypothesis yet. There are certain abilities out there that some possess, and that can’t be explained away. I was in charge of helping those who possessed them to harness those abilities to become more effective in their field.”
Elle turned to face him and said flatly, “What are you getting at exactly? You said we were going to the precinct to question Mr. Michaels. That you thought I was right, and he was lying about his alibi. You mentioned none of this...whatever it is...that you’re talking about.”
“Of course I didn’t. You wouldn’t have come.”
Elle never blinked. “That’s right. I don’t deal with the clinically insane.”
Allen laughed, entering the outskirts of Veil Falls. “We need to know what he was lying about. I need you to see if you can get a sense of what it was that he was hiding.”
“You want me to beat him?”
Allen gave an exasperated sigh. “Whatever floats your boat. I’d like to see what you can find out in any way you want to question him.”
Elle turned to face the front, staring through the window, her heart thumping wildly in her chest, though she did her best to hide it from the watchful agent. What did he know about her? She’d heard about those wacky-dos who thought they were going to catch some crazy psychic and torture all her secrets away for their nefarious plans. Maybe she did need to cut down on the sci-fi channel.
“I’ll do my job like I always do,” she suggested as they pulled into the parking lot and shut off the car.
Allen looked frustrated. He sighed and nodded, getting out. He came around and opened the door, reaching in for her hand to help her out.
Instinctively, Elle reared back, unwilling to make that contact, to feel their combined emotions whirling out of control.
Allen smiled knowingly and stepped back out of the way, offering a slight bow as she scrambled out and sailed ahead of him.
“Sorry, my mistake,” he murmured into the frigid air at her back.
Her shoulders stiffened, and she walked faster.
#
INSIDE THE SMALL INTERROGATION room with Bobby Michaels, she looked around. Where were Jerry and his deputy sheriff, Anna? And why hadn’t Allen come with her? Was he really expecting her to do something crazy like flap her arms and shoot sparks from her fingers?
Bobby looked up when she came in, reclining uncomfortably in a hard back chair. He wasn’t handcuffed or detained. A still warm cup of fragrant coffee sat at his elbow. “About time you got here. I’ve been waiting for a good half hour. The pub doesn’t run itself, you know,” he grumbled.
Elle smiled, still irritated and trying to hide it. “Sorry about that. Roads aren’t very good, and Allen doesn’t have the greatest car for the living conditions here. I just wanted to talk to you about your alibi the other day.”
Immediately, he straightened, a small tic in his jaw the only sign that his heart had sped up. It was a clear indication that he was worried about something. She had a suspicion she knew what. “That’s right, your bridge game with the guys?”
He shrugged, rolling his eyes. “Are we back to that again? You know, playing bridge isn’t just for the ladies. Guys like it, too.”
Elle shook her head. “This isn’t about what you were doing, it’s about when.”
“Excuse me?” he protested indignantly.
Elle considered him, stiff and growing more hostile by the moment. “Can you tell me just one more time, for the record, when and where you were this past Tuesday evening through until Wednesday morning.”
She was sure he was going to shut down, but then he gave a resigned sigh and reluctantly began to talk. He was halfway through the same explanation from before when Elle reached into her pocket and pulled out a white mint. “Hey there, you look nervous. Have one of these. They help calm me down really well.” He hesitated and then reached out. As he did, Elle’s fingers brushed over his. The nervous energy sliding over her skin made her want to gasp at the shock of it. Instead, she held her ground, and her expression. She sensed he was still telling the truth. He continued on, adding layers of information, starting with his arrival, the sharing of snacks and drinks with old friends. She sensed a certain camaraderie, but nothing suspicious. He talked about sitting down to play. “Did you win the first few hands?”
“I did. I won the first three of five. Everyone thought I was having crazy good luck that day.”
She held her hand out for the plastic film wrapper, coiling her fingers around it, his fingers sliding casually through hers. She gulped and squirmed uncomfortably at the shock of emotion that swarmed her. He’d been excited to win, and mad because he was sure the new guy on his right was cheating somehow. “How long did you stay?”
As she spoke, she popped the lid on a Sprite can she had at her elbow and held it out. He shook his head and waved it away. “I don’t do diet pop—bad for you. Thanks just the same.”
With a shudder of irritation, Elle leaned in closer, letting the words themselves wash over her person.
“I told you before. We were up late, staying ’til around three o’clock in the morning.”
Elle shuddered as the unpleasant sensation washed over her and bit her lip. “You’re lying about the time, Bobby.”
He jerked, his hands forming hard-knuckled fists on the tabletop before he forced them to relax. “What are you talking about? It’s the truth.”
More anger washed over her, and she forced herself to breathe slowly, letting it pass on. “We called one of the guys, Bobby. He confirmed you were there. But he also mentioned you won quick and early and then skated on them about eleven. He wasn’t happy about not having the chance to win his money back.”
Bobby’s eyes darkened, and his mouth went tight with fury as he looked away. The anger made the room close in around her, sweat popping free along her forehead. A headache of epic proportions was settling in to stay. She couldn’t maintain for much longer. “Tell me where you were, Bobby. Where did you go after you left your friend’s house?”
Bobby glared at her, thrumming thick fingers on the table in agitation. Finally, he gave a disgruntled sigh and blurted, “I can’t. It’s personal. What I can tell you is that I wasn’t traipsing around no woods in the middle of the night burying dead bodies.”
Elle reached up and massaged the edge of her temples, trying to work out the knot that throbbed there. Bobby looked at her curiously.
The pain intensified, the negative miasma of energy in the room throttling her ability to think and function. She barely held back a moan. She didn’t want him hunkering in a corner trying to escape, for fear she was contagious. “Do you hunt, Mr. Michaels?”
The question came out of left field on purpose, startling him. His eyes flew to hers, resentment sharp and stabbing into her temples as she waited for an answer. “I do. And if you’ve done your research, you know I spend a lot of time in the Little Hat Creek Preserve during hunting season.”
The pain in her head didn’t lighten up. On the other hand, his answer didn’t make it worse. She figured that one out as a perk. “What do you hunt?”
He shrugged, now twisting his fingers together in agitation. “Squirrel, rabbit. Mostly deer since they’re bigger and fill the freezer more.”
A faint coppery tang touched her tongue, and she slid her fingers into her lap, wrapping her hands around her wrists and digging her nails in until she felt the skin break. The pain grounded her just enough to clear her vision, making the spots at the corners recede for one last question before she had to get out of there. “Bobby, what do you hunt with?”
“Well, not a gun. I have a bad shoulder and the recoil hurts it. I love to bow hunt. It’s not as easy, you see, and I like the challenge required. It’s quite the skill set.” His voice droned on, the buzzing in her ears drowning it out. The rage slammed into her again unexpectedly, and her vision blurred to gray as she fought to take a breath. Only this time, it wasn’t his. It was hers.
She missed it entirely when he sprung to his feet and came around the table and caught her as she fell.
#
CONSCIOUSNESS FLIRTED at the edge of her awareness. She heard voices raised in concern, one of them Bobby Michaels’. She blinked and opened her eyes, grateful that the emotional overload had shut down her ability to feel what everyone else was feeling. It happened that way sometimes when she took in more than she could handle. She was grateful for the reprieve.
Allen helped her to her feet and offered her a glass of water. She sipped, buying herself time. “What happened?” Anna asked with concern.
Jerry spoke up. “Should we call an ambulance? Do you think it’s serious? Was it too hot, or too cold in there?”
Her eyes slid past his shoulder to where Allen Peabody stood next to Bobby Michaels. The owner of The Full Dresser looked normal, and maybe a bit worried. Whether it was for her health or for his lack of a provable alibi was the question. Allen’s expression was more difficult to read, and her eyes slid back to Jerry’s. She straightened away, waving them off. “Give me some space, please. I’m fine. I’ve been under the weather—and damn, guys! It’s hotter than Hades in here. Can’t you feel that?”
Jerry glanced at Anna in alarm. “Maybe we should call that ambulance.”
Elle hesitated. “Why? What are you talking about?” She thought about it. “What is the temperature in here anyhow?”
Anna met her eyes. “It’s seventy, Elle.”
Inwardly, she groaned. “Listen, I’m not dying, so stop it, all of you.”
“Would you mind if we talked in private?” Allen asked her quietly.
Elle pursed her lips. “Fine.”
He turned to Bobby. “Sorry to take up so much of your time. You’re free to go but do us a favor and don’t take any trips until we get some of this figured out.”
“Am I a suspect, then?”
Allen hesitated. “Everyone is, until we catch the killer. We’re just ruling all the misinformation out and gathering the facts that have merit.”
Looking less than satisfied with the answer, he turned and left.
“We have a small conference room down the way. We can discuss what just went down there,” Jerry said.
Allen shook his head, suddenly looking every bit the grim-faced FBI agent. “I’m afraid I meant just what I said. I’d like a word with her alone.”
“Now, just wait a minute...” Jerry started.
Elle held up a hand. “It’s okay. Actually, I prefer it that way this time. I don’t think my head can take an interrogation by more than one person today.”
A few minutes later, in a small room the size of an over-sized broom closet, the lights off, Allen sat down across from her. He settled a glass of water and several aspirins at her elbow.
Grateful, she swallowed them and drained the glass dry.
“Whatever you think you saw in there, you’re wrong,” she stated flatly.
“And what was that?” Allen asked curiously.
“I was questioning a suspect, that’s all. Apparently, as we suspected, he was lying about his alibi. It appears he just moved up the list of possibles since he now doesn’t have one.”
“Could be. Tell me, I’m interested. Did you get a sense of what he wasn’t telling us when he said he couldn’t share where he really was that night?”
Elle’s eyes narrowed. “No, I didn’t.”
“You know, we all saw the look on your face when he mentioned he was a bow hunter. It’s a common sport. It doesn’t mean he was your shooter from the other night.”
Elle glanced up at him sharply, the movement making a ribbon of pain slice across her temples. “It doesn’t mean he wasn’t either,” she snapped. “Can I go home now? I think I’m done for the day.”
Allen sat back and sent her shark-like smile. “I think that would be best. Take whatever time you need to recover from the flu.”
#
SUZY JIN BENT OVER the newest addition to her examination table. She looked up at Lyle, on the opposite side, her nose wrinkling. “I’m an osteoarcheologist, I study bones. This is a bit far from that, don’t you think? You’re the coroner, the pathologist who studies the newly dead.”
Lyle’s eyes crinkled at the corners, the only sign through the mask that he was smiling. “In part. It will broaden your horizons.”
She continued to breathe through her mouth behind the mask, which did almost nothing to dull the smell. “I still say I would be quite fine to just read the results when you finish.”
Lyle reached down and grabbed hold of the zipper, hesitating. “Bones hide their secrets. Hopefully, this will shed more light on who our killer is and what he...or she...is about.”
She gagged, snapping her mouth tight and pulling herself up. “Let’s get on with it, then,” she snapped.
#
AN HOUR LATER, THEY stepped back, and Lyle zipped the bag closed. “We’ll see about getting the samples sent off to Munising for toxicology. It’ll take a few days. We printed him earlier. I’ll let you know if we get a hit. If not, we’ll take a dental impression and start searching for missing persons from that end.”
Suzy nodded, her eyes on the small silver pan and what resided along the inside of the concave surface, bits of tissue still clinging in places. “That makes two. It’s no longer an anomaly, but part of our killer’s game plan.”
Lyle used a pair of forceps and lifted the shiny piece of crumpled metal, the sharp edges blunted and twisted inward on one side. “The bone stopped it hard. It would have been quite painful.”
“You say that as if he was still alive when somebody shot him.”
Lyle looked up at her, one brow raising in question. “What do you think, Doctor?”
“Professor is more appropriate. And I’d agree based on the bruising alone.”
Lyle nodded approvingly. “See, not just a bone expert. That’s right. Bruising results from damaged blood vessels in the tissue—hard to have that once the blood stops flowing.”
“It didn’t kill him, though, did it?”
Lyle hesitated. “Unlikely. Eventually, left untended it might have, but otherwise no. And also, based on the other skeletal remains, didn’t the toxicology on them come back with a heavy presence of drugs in the bone tissue?”
Suzy nodded, removing her gloves and pitching them into the biohazard box. “That’s right, as near as we can tell anyway. Tissue is more reliable for that, though, so it makes me very interested in what the results will show in this case. This new one, it ups the game.”
“Elle and Allen were right. This guy isn’t finished,” Lyle remarked.
“Speaking of which, I’d probably better call them and tell them the results so far. They’ll both want to know.”
“I thought it was Allen’s case. Isn’t it unusual for that much authority to be given to someone who is acting more in a consult capacity, having the cadaver dog and all?”
“I think so, too. But Allen was very adamant that we keep her in the loop. Jerry deputized her as well. They are pretty short-staffed right now, and she has valuable experience.”
Lyle looked thoughtful, removing his personal protection equipment and disposing of it in the proper receptacles to prevent cross contamination. Suzy did the same with hers.
“I wonder why?” he said.
#
ELLE LOOKED AT THE picture on her phone, manipulating it with her fingers and zooming in close to get a better look at the silver arrowhead. It was in terrible shape, bent and twisted. She wondered how much of that damage had been done when they pried it loose from the hip bone it had been embedded in. What was that all about? She tapped the screen thoughtfully. They were missing something important. The steel arrowhead tip was significant. They needed to find out how.
The memory of her painful interview with Bobby Michaels came to mind, and the last thing he’d said. She hadn’t been prepared for his reaction, the zap of rage that slammed into her. It hadn’t been directed her way, but it had nearly undone her just the same. She wanted to talk to him again, and without everyone around watching and examining her every move. She thought about Allen Peabody. Nosy agent—he didn’t know squat about her. She planned to keep it that way. Some secrets were hers to keep.
Before she thought better of it, she opened the drawer to her bed stand and removed her gun. She retrieved her holster and put it on, strapping the little 9mm Ruger in place and pulling her loose T-shirt over the top and effectively concealing it. If she was going to pay Mr. Michaels a visit, she wasn’t going to be caught off-guard when she did.
#
BOBBY MICHAELS STARED down at her, his brows furrowing in irritation. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said, blocking the door with his enormous frame.
Elle looked up and plastered a smile on her face. “Surprise.”
He didn’t return it. He waved a massive arm in the air, something dark in his hand, and Elle cringed immediately, her hand reaching beneath her shirt until she realized it was a paintbrush. Which was when she realized he’d traded a stained apron for a paint-splattered T-shirt and old sweats.
“Lovely color,” she murmured, studying the light rose and wondering what room was receiving the delicate color.
He sighed and stepped back. “You might as well come on in. It’s too damned cold to stand around on the porch.”
Elle hesitated and then stepped over the threshold. He closed the door and turned, tossing over his shoulder as he moved down a hall, “Shoes, please. I’ll be right back. I’m going to cap the can and get rid of the brush just in case you’re feeling long-winded.” While he was gone, her eyes moved around the living room. It was a comfortable hodgepodge to include a love seat, a well-worn oversized recliner to accommodate his girth, and a huge, curved screen TV that took up most of one wall, a football game in progress. She squinted to see who the Braves were playing before moving on. Her eyes narrowed thoughtfully, taking in what was on the other walls, and what stood leaning in a corner that claimed all of her attention.
She kicked her shoes but kept the coat. True to his word, he was back in a minute, beckoning her to follow him into what turned out to be a small kitchen with a convenient little breakfast nook in one corner. On an immaculate counter, a small crock-pot sat, steam covering the inside of the lid. Something smelled delicious.
He looked back at her. “I’m making me a quick cup of tea. Want one?” he asked less than graciously.
She took a seat, facing the door. “If it’s not too much of an inconvenience.”
He looked at her incredulously as he pushed the button on the microwave. “Everything about you is an inconvenience. John Reilly was relentless. You, lady, are a royal pain in my backside.”
She narrowed her eyes, not rising to the bait. “I’m thorough, there’s a difference.”
He rolled his eyes, grabbing tea bags from a small cannister on the back of the counter. When the microwave dinged, he brought their mugs to the small table and took a seat across from her, tossing her a tea bag and reaching for his own. He fiddled with the packet, his eyes never leaving her.
Dunking the bag, he asked, “So, to what do I owe this visit? Are you after a tissue sample? Should I say, ‘Aaah’? How about blood, do you want me to roll up a sleeve?”
Elle had the grace to blush, not going to admit she’d considered stealing his napkin when he wasn’t looking. “That won’t be necessary. I just wanted a minute of your time to clarify something from the other day. Who knows? Answer me right and I’ll remove you from my suspect list,” she joked.
He didn’t return her humor. “What do you want?”
“Answers,” she returned stiffly, cupping the mug with icy fingers. “The other day you said you like to hunt. That you are an avid bow hunter.”
“I’m sure you could replay the recording of that session to recall that bit. It was right before you hit the floor, as I recall.”
She blushed in embarrassment. “Yeah. So it was. In the living room, that’s quite the collection. Is there a significance to the shadow boxes on the wall?”
He shrugged, holding his tea bag against the edge of his mug to drain. “Sure. They were from my father when I was a boy. It was something we shared, a love of archery. We won several state championships together before the cancer took him. It helps me remember the good times.”
Elle nodded. “Sorry for your loss. The bow in the corner—is that what you hunt with?”
He nodded. “It is. Cost me plenty, too.”
“A crossbow, right?”
He blinked in surprise. “Not at all. It’s a Hoyt Carbon RX-7 compound bow with an eighty-pound pull and an ATN 4k Pro night scope for accuracy.”
Elle frowned in confusion. “There’s a difference between compound and crossbows?”
“Yeah, there is. Huge in fact.”
“Do you own a crossbow?”
“No. Remember that old shoulder injury I mentioned? Well, that same issue holds true with a crossbow. It requires a fair amount of physical strength to cock the thing. Oh, I could spend the money and get something specially made, but I’ve always been partial to a compound.”
Curious now, and realizing there was a gap in her education with the weapon, she asked, “You said an eighty-pound pull—how is that going to hurt any less when you draw it back?”
He nodded approvingly. “It would, except I shoot a compound bow left-handed. It’s my right shoulder that’s the issue. If you promise not to pull that piece you have tucked under your shirt on me, I can get it and show you.”
She didn’t bother asking how he knew. Obviously, she wasn’t as clever as she imagined. “I thought you didn’t want to spend any more time with me than you had to.”
He smirked, getting to his feet. “That’s right, I don’t. But I never miss an opportunity to show my bow off.”
Elle watched his back disappear through the doorway and down the hall towards the living room. She figured she had a matter of seconds before he returned. She reached out, cupping her fingers around the still warm mug where his fingers had rested a bare moment before.
Immediately, thick tendrils of ethereal energy pushed back, making her gasp and snatch her fingers away. She cataloged the emotions rolling over her. Irritation and impatience headed the pack. Fear, too. The man was scared, though he hid it well. What she got no sense of was the murderous rage of a killer. Unless he was a master of deception in concealing his emotions, he harbored nothing more nefarious than a boatload of irritation in her direction.
He returned through the doorway, holding the bow and a set of arrows in a quiver over his shoulder. He ran his saucer-sized hands lovingly over the handle of the bow. To Elle it looked like a stick with a crisscrossing network of strings and plastic, an expensive-looking scope mounted where she guessed the sight to be. She was much more of a gun girl.
He looked up and caught her eye with a small glint of satisfaction in his. “Now, let’s see about your education in the compound bows anatomy.”