Buried (A Bone Secrets Novel 03) (30 page)

Mason’s ears perked up.

“One stands for enlightenment—”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

“—the other is chaos.”

“That seems appropriate. The ass has been causing chaos for these families for decades. I don’t get the snooty enlightenment symbol. This isn’t a highbrow character we’re dealing with.”

“Ever watch that show on cable about people who hate their really bad tattoos? Some of the stories are hilarious. Usually at one point, the tattoo had seemed like a good idea and the image really spoke to them. Then later, they realize how stupid it looks.”

“After they sleep off the alcohol?”

Ray’s chuckle filled the line. “You’d be surprised how many of them are sober and let unknown artists mark them up
permanently. Now they’re paying through the nose to have it fixed. I’m thinking this is steering us away from the lead Cecilia Brody gave us about her Korean patient. I’m gonna keep Mr. Jeong on the back burner while we give this more priority.”

“Definitely. He’s looking less and less likely to be involved. So maybe Mr. Tattoo was trying to better himself with a classy message on his wrist? A message that showed in the pictures of those kids with his hands around their necks? That worked real well. Totally distracted me from the
sick prick’s intentions!
” Mason glanced at the cars nearby. Had anyone heard him yell at Ray? He blew out his steam and ran a hand over his head. “Sorry,” he muttered into the phone.

“You’re just saying what I’m thinking.”

The phone line was quiet for a few seconds as Mason tried to get those Polaroid images out of his brain. His Bluetooth did an odd double beep in his ear, and he glanced down at his phone screen in his console.

“Hey, Ray. I’ve got Michael Brody trying to call. Have you talked to him recently?”

“No, haven’t heard from him.”

“I’m gonna take this call and get back to you.”

“Okay. I’m going to return a call to the ME’s office. They’ve got something they want to run by us.”

Mason switched over the call. Brody was breathing heavily.
Oh shit.

“What happened?” Mason barked.

“Jamie’s gone. I left her in the hotel room for thirty minutes…not even that long…and I came back and she’s gone.” His words ran together. “No one has seen anything, she didn’t go to the store, her cell phone is still in the room.” He drew in a deep breath. “But a male called her room. Sounds like right after I
left. He must have said something that would make her leave. Damn it, Callahan, I think he’s got her.”

Silence.

“Fuck.”

“I talked to Spencer. They’re still processing the scene of that kid who was killed in the garage. Spencer thinks he was killed because he talked to Mr. Tattoo. Thinks that might be how he found Chris’s house and knew of his friendship with the baker. Jesus Christ! I’m pulling out my hair here, Callahan!”

“Calm down—”

“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down!”

“What’d Spencer say to do? Did you talk to Hove?” Mason thought hard. He was hours away from Brody’s position. As much as he wanted to jump into the scene boots first, he’d be too fucking late.
Damn it!

“He’s putting the word out and contacting Hove. I shouldn’t have left her alone! That sick asshole’s got her. He’s killed two people in the last twenty-four hours. Maybe more if he already got to her brother.”

“If he’s gotten to her brother, he wouldn’t have needed Jamie. Now concentrate, Brody! Did you see any vehicles by the hotel? Did you see anyone? Hear anything?” Usually the reporter was unflappable. This level of alarm from Brody was rattling Mason.

“Nothing! I’ve already gone through all that.”

“Where are you now?”

“I’m out in front of the bed-and-breakfast. Spencer is supposed to be sending someone over. I’ve checked the hotel room. It’s immaculate. No signs of a struggle at all.”

“So he probably did get her to leave.”

“Why would she leave her phone?”

“Maybe she thought she’d be right back. Like she was just going down to the lobby to meet someone or get something.”

“Shit.”

Mason heard the reporter exhale forcefully. “We’ll find her,” he said lamely.

“I know. I just need something to do. I’m stuck here with my hands tied because no one knows where to start—
what the hell?
” Brody’s tone shot up an octave.

“What?” asked Mason. He could hear a car engine through the line. Brody was silent, and Mason heard the vehicle shut off. “That someone from county?”

“What the fuck,” Brody stated. “I’ll call you back in a minute.”

“Wait! Is it Jamie? What happened?”

“No,” said Brody. “I think Chris Jacobs just pulled up.”

The phone call clicked silent.

Mason grabbed at his phone and stared at the end call screen. “Jesus fucking Christ, Brody!” He tossed the phone on the passenger seat and pounded both palms on his steering wheel. “You can’t do shit like that to me!”

Michael slid his phone in his pocket and studied the battered Ford pickup that’d pulled to the side of the road. The truck had been passing by, hit the brakes as the driver glanced at Michael, and then jerked the wheel to pull over. Through the back window of the truck’s cab, Michael could see an adult male and the top of a black-haired head of a child in the second-row seat.

Chris. And Brian.

Michael stood frozen, staring at the window.

Maybe Jamie was with them.

There wasn’t a third head visible, but his heart fervently made the wish. The adult turned to speak to the child, and then the driver’s door swung open. A long, lean man slid out. He was wearing fatigue-print cargo shorts and a black T-shirt. Attire similar to Michael’s everyday wardrobe. From twenty feet away, Michael stared at the scarred profile, pocked with large, pale scars down one side of his cheek and neck. Chris had clearly been battered at one point in his life. He turned and locked gazes with Michael, his crooked nose and jaw coming into view, and Michael felt a chill punctuate his spine. His ears started to ring.

Michael focused on the hazel eyes and the bearing of the head and shoulders. Cautious. Protective. Feet apart, hands and arms ready to defend his child. A man who had spent his life looking over his shoulder and preparing for the worst. He stood motionless, assessing Michael.

Michael rubbed a hand over his eyes. And looked again. Chris still hadn’t moved. Michael took two steps and halted, scanning the man from head to toe. Movement from the truck pulled his attention, and he looked at the small, chubby face studying him through the back window of the cab. Everything in his peripheral vision vanished. He saw Brian as if looking through a tube.

He looks like Daniel. Daniel as a child. Coloring is wrong…but…

“Michael,” said the man.

Not Chris Jacobs.

The man’s hair was buzzed short, Marine length.

“Make them look like Marines,” said The Senator to the barber.

Michael’s mental picture of his hefty younger brother morphed into the lean man standing before him. He blinked.

Daniel.

“Michael,” he said again. “I know—”

Michael
knew
that voice. It belonged to The Senator but was coming out of this man’s mouth. He focused on the young man. “
Holy shit!
”

Daniel. His brother was standing in front of him.
Joy and relief washed over him, and his knees shook. He took a stuttering step toward his brother, unable to take his gaze from that face.

Why didn’t he let us know he was alive?

Michael froze.

“What the fuck, Daniel? Why the hell—why haven’t you—
God damn it!
” Michael’s mind spun into a swirling mass of joy and anger. He didn’t know what to feel. He strode forward, a red haze tunneling his vision. “Why in the hell did you let us think you were
dead?
” he spit out. He stopped three feet from Daniel, his gaze drinking him in. He didn’t know whether to hit him or hug him.

Daniel subtly shifted into a defensive posture. “I can explain.”

“No,
you
can’t explain! There is no fucking reason to explain away twenty years of us wondering about you!” Michael expanded his lungs, searching for oxygen. His ears were still ringing. “
Thank God, you’re okay!
”

“I’m sorry, but—”

Michael made a cutting motion with his hands. “Save it! You have no idea—”

“
You
have no idea what my life—” Daniel leaned forward, voice rising.

“God damn you! Do you know what you’ve done to our parents? Couldn’t you have called? You forget which family you belonged to?”

“No, I’ve known—”

“Does Chris Jacobs even exist? Are both of you out here? Hiding from your families?”

“Chris didn’t make—”

“Does Jamie know you’re not Chris?”

Daniel’s shoulders slumped. “She thinks I’m Chris. I am Chris. To her. And everyone else.”

Pain shot up Michael’s spine. “Shit! I can’t find Jamie!”
How could he have forgotten her for even two seconds?
“I think he’s grabbed her. He’s been trying to get to
you
!”

Daniel straightened, his brows coming together. “What? When? I just saw you two on a news broadcast. Are you talking about the Ghostman? Who grabbed her?”

“The Ghostman? The tattooed freak?”

“Yeah, that’s him. We always called him the Ghostman because he was so fucking white.”

“Jesus Christ.
We?
”

“Us kids.”

Michael pulled out his cell phone. “You have a fucking lot of explaining to do, but right now we need the police.”

He punched Spencer’s contact and held his phone to his ear, staring at Daniel.

Daniel?

His hand touched wetness on his cheeks. He brushed at it and looked blankly at the evidence of tears on his hand. A lot of tears.

What the hell just happened?

I didn’t handle that well at all.

Chris watched Michael talk on his phone. He didn’t know what to do. When he’d seen Michael on the sidewalk as he drove through town, he’d simply reacted. He’d known he had to reveal himself to Michael and Jamie. That’s why he’d come back to town. Once he’d seen on TV that Jamie was safe, and that she’d linked up with his brother, he knew he had to make contact.

He was sick of hiding. And running.

Did the Ghostman have Jamie?

He closed his eyes. All the stress that had vanished after seeing her alive on TV came roaring back. One of his worst nightmares had just been confirmed by his brother.
His brother.
Chris
mouthed the words. For two decades, he hadn’t let himself think or say the phrase. He’d insisted in his brain that he no longer had a brother. It was the only way he’d been able to stay sane and function in Jamie’s family. He’d had to believe he was no longer a Brody to protect them.

The Ghostman had said he’d kill Michael and his parents if they ever found out that Daniel was still alive. During his captivity, the threats had been daily. Every day in that metal hole in the ground, the Ghostman had regaled Daniel and Chris with stories about what he would do to Daniel’s family.

Daniel never understood the focus on his family. Why the obsession with his family? Why not threaten Chris’s?

When Daniel managed to escape, he took on Chris’s identity. It wasn’t hard. After two years with Chris, he knew everything about him. The only activity to do in the bunker was talk and tell stories of their families and lives. And they were both walking skeletons by the time it was over. Their eye color was similar. His hair was lighter, but hair changes color. If Chris’s parents had ever doubted that Daniel wasn’t their son, they never said a word. Sometimes you overlook inconsistencies if you want something bad enough.

He was Chris Jacobs now. He’d been Chris for almost twice as long as he’d been Daniel.

The Ghostman wasn’t out to kill Chris’s family. Daniel had planned to just pretend to be Chris until he felt like it was safe. But after he’d received the Twinkies in the hospital…

No one was safe.