Devil Smoke (4 page)

She stood. “I’m in.”

Burroughs hopped to his feet. “Great. Sarah’s waiting downstairs.”

“She’s here?”

“We didn’t want to waste any time. She’s anxious to get her life back,” Oshiro said. “You can understand that.”

“Besides, even if you said no, what’s she got to lose?” Burroughs added. “So she spends a morning with two handsome law enforcement professionals. Win/win, right?”

Lucy somehow managed to restrain an eye roll as he rocked back on his heels and puffed out his chest. “All right. But first, let me get my team on board.”

TOMMY PARKED HIS
Volvo wagon beside Lucy’s Subaru. He was running late but couldn’t resist the temptation to pause before entering the house.

Most people visiting the Beacon Group for the first time were fascinated by the sprawling Queen Anne mansion perched on the bluff overlooking the Monongahela River. The ancestral home of the Frazier clan, whose roots went back long before the American Revolution, it wasn’t the first house to stand sentry on this land, and it wouldn’t be the last.

Instead of focusing on the curved turrets and numerous gables, Tommy’s gaze settled, as it always did, on the eternal flame in its iron tripod guarding the edge of the bluff a hundred feet from the house. The current owner and leader of the Beacon Group, Valencia Frazier, had created the flame as a memorial to her murdered husband, as well as to the generations who’d come before, lighting bonfires each night to warn strangers of the treacherous waterfalls that lurked, invisible, around the sharp bend of the river.

As Tommy stared across the expanse of lawn, the flames barely visible with the sun directly behind them, he regretted never having the chance to bring Charlotte here. She would have loved the view over the river gorge, the wry idiosyncrasies of the house and its not-quite-random architecture, and the tranquil gardens. Sometimes, during the walk from his car to the house, he imagined her with him, her hand warm in his, the breeze fluttering her skirt against both of their legs, they were so closely in step with each other…

He walked up the path, as he did every day, up the porch steps, crossed below the gingerbread adornments and through the front entrance, closing the solid, handcrafted oak door, shutting memories and wistful thoughts behind him. Locking out Charlotte. Locking himself inside a facade of normality.

This morning he was surprised to find a woman standing in the small parlor that served as reception area. For a moment, the way the sun caught her hair, turning it copper-gold, he had the flitting feeling… Then she turned to him. No, he realized in dismay as he fought to cover his reaction. Not Charlotte.

She smiled at him, her expression worry free—unlike the vast majority of people who found their way to Beacon Falls, seeking help in solving old mysteries gone cold, seeking loved ones lost forever. She appeared to be in her late twenties. Her face was round with the slightest sprinkling of freckles, her hair was red—almost the same shade as Charlotte’s, which was what had confused his senses, ever on alert for any hint of his wife—and she wore a simple cotton blouse tucked into jeans under a lightweight fleece jacket.

“They told me to wait here,” she said. “I hope that’s okay?”

“Of course.” He should have kept going through the room to the staircase that would take him up to the second floor, where Lucy and the others would be waiting. But he couldn’t help himself. “Do you need anything?”

Her smile widened as if she was unaccustomed to small kindnesses. She shrugged, one shoulder rising. “A little prayer, if you’re so inclined. Or a bit of luck if you’re not.” She gave a nervous, self-deprecating laugh. “Sorry. Not sure exactly what the protocol is.”

“You’re waiting for—”

“Lucy, Lucy Guardino. They said she has a team who could, who might, be able to help.”

“I’m Tommy Worth.” He extended his hand. “I’m on Lucy’s team.”

She took his hand without hesitation, but there was a strange pause before she replied. “Sarah Brown.”

There was the faintest uptick in her voice, as if she was asking a question. Or maybe she was from California.

As he shook her hand, he was close enough to smell her. Almonds and cherry blossoms. He blinked against the memory that swamped him—it was the same shampoo Charlotte used. He couldn’t help himself—he dropped her hand and pulled away. “Nice to meet you, Sarah.”

He crossed the room and stumbled up the stairs. Halfway up, out of sight of the reception area, he sagged against the sturdy oak banister. For the first time in his professional career, he actually considered turning around and going home, calling in sick. But he wasn’t sick. He was… floundering.

Was it only a year ago when he’d known exactly who and what he was: husband, father, doctor, advocate?

Now who was he? Because he really wasn’t a husband anymore, was he? Not after losing Charlotte. A stupid way to put it, as if he’d misplaced his wife like a sock lost in the laundry. If only he could look under the dryer, clean out the lint filter, and find her again.

And single parent? Another stupid term. One parent to do everything, be everything. How could anyone ever hope to fill Charlotte’s place in Nellie’s life? It was a black hole, too vast to comprehend, sucking him dry.

Doctor? Advocate? Hell, most days lately he came home from work and didn’t even remember what he’d done all day. As if he were sleepwalking, needing Charlotte to kick him, nudge him, shake him free from the tendrils of this nightmare. If only…

He doubled over, his chest heaving as if he’d run up the stairs. Red spots danced in his vision as he fought to breathe. Just breathe. One breath in, one breath out. One foot up, then the next. This was his new life.

Days, hours, minutes… all meaningless compared to the Sisyphean task of existence. His heart was broken, but it was a stubborn organ and persisted in carrying on. A metronome he obeyed solely for Nellie’s sake.

LUCY SENT OSHIRO
and Burroughs to wait while she walked down the hall to the conference room—actually a former bedroom/sitting room suite outfitted to suit their needs—and her team’s weekly meeting. Having a squad performing actual live investigations as opposed to back-end research designed to assist law enforcement agencies was a new venture for the Beacon Group. Lucy still had her doubts about using civilians in investigatory roles, but so far things had gone well.

As she entered the conference room, she was surprised to see that their tech analyst, George Washington Gamble, was the only one present. Wash, as he liked to be called, was in his early twenties, the youngest of the team, paralyzed from the waist down, confined to a wheelchair, and had quickly proven himself essential.

“Tommy’s on his way,” Wash said before she could ask. He sat at the space at the head of the table, manning the computer and communications equipment set up level with his wheelchair. “I saw him drive up a few minutes ago. Don’t even ask me about TK, though—”

“Sorry I’m late,” Tommy said, banging in through the door. He caught his laptop bag on the handle and pulled up short to disentangle himself.

“You’re not. We’re still waiting for TK,” Lucy said.

“Nellie had another tantrum this morning.” Tommy sank into a chair with a sigh. “Not sure how much more I can take.”

Lucy glanced at the pediatrician. Tommy had worked in the ER at Three Rivers before leaving to join the team at Beacon Falls. He was usually the steadying force, balancing Wash’s juvenile humor and TK’s rambunctious hyperactivity, but today he seemed frazzled. More than that, exhausted.

“How was your weekend?”

He shook his head. “What weekend? Feel like I spent it in a blur. Never even got a chance to review the Olsenhauser case. Sorry.”

Before she could answer—she’d assigned the case review to him a week ago—the door banged open and a blond whirlwind breezed in.

“TK, why is it that you have the shortest commute of anyone here, yet you’re always late?” Lucy asked. TK O’Connor lived a few yards across the estate’s driveway in the gatehouse. In exchange for free room and board, the former Marine MP coordinated security for the Beacon Group.

TK didn’t take the bait. Instead she bounded around the table, beaming. “I’ve got a damn good reason. It’s official. David Ruiz’s father received his pardon, and as of today is a free man. Because of us.”

“Woohoo!” Wash gave a whistle and did a wheelie in his chair while Tommy gave TK a high-five. “Surprised Mr. Lovey-Dovey Investigative Reporter didn’t come in person to give you the good news.”

“He’s with his father in Texas, helping him with the transition,” TK said primly. “But he’s invited me down to Baltimore for the Memorial Day weekend.”

“Oh, the Inner Harbor,” Tommy said. “You’ll love the seafood there.”

“If they make it out of the bedroom.” Wash waggled his eyebrows suggestively.

“Hush. You’re just jealous.”

“Hunk like that? Damn right I am.”

“Okay,” Lucy said, “let’s get to work.”

Sometimes Lucy hated that at thirty-nine, she was the oldest on the team. Made it hard to feel like one of the guys when she constantly had to play mother hen. She’d never felt that way in the FBI, probably because Walden, her second in command, was not only older than her but had no problem playing the enforcer to her maverick. Here, the tables were turned: she found herself forced to rein in her younger team members.

It didn’t help that only TK had any type of law enforcement experience. During her career as a Marine MP, TK had been assigned to a Female Engagement Team, which meant she’d been on the front lines with Special Forces during raids on villages, searching for insurgents. It wasn’t a traditional law enforcement background, and TK had never worked investigations, but Lucy had already grown to trust the younger woman—even if she didn’t always approve of her methods or attitude. She frowned at TK’s scuffed boots and ripped jeans. Or her idea of professional attire.

“We have a new case,” Lucy told them. She buzzed the receptionist to signal her to send up Burroughs, Oshiro, and Sarah Brown. “It’s a bit of an unusual twist on our usual.”

“Cold case?” Wash asked, fingers poised at the ready above his keyboard.

“Not really. Actually, it’s only a few days old, so I guess you’d call it a warm case.”

All three frowned. The Beacon Group’s mission was to help victims’ families find answers, and hopefully justice, for unsolved cold cases. The only time they were called in on a current investigation was to help with critical missing persons; those cases often overwhelmed law enforcement resources, so the Beacon Group assisted by providing support in the form of research, data entry, logistical coordination, ancillary administrative and organizational personnel, and of course the use of former law enforcement officers such as Lucy.

“Did I miss a report of a missing person?” TK asked.

“Not missing,” Burroughs said as he barreled through the door, holding it open for the woman who followed. “Found. Miss Sarah Brown, meet the team who’s going to help—” He stopped short, his gaze fixed on Tommy. “Dr. Worth. I’m surprised to see you here.”

Tommy’s glare in return was one of anger and distrust.

Lucy hurried to intervene. “Ms. Brown, nice to meet you. I’m Lucy Guardino. This is Wash, our cyber analyst, and TK, our—” She hesitated, stumbling over how to describe TK’s mixed pedigree.

“Girl Friday,” TK supplied with a grin. “I sort of fill in wherever.”

Sarah beamed and nodded.

“And this is Dr. Tommy Worth, specializing in forensic evaluations,” Lucy concluded.

Oshiro had somehow crowded his bulk into the room, nudging past Burroughs, who remained frozen in the doorway, still staring Tommy down as if he were a rabid dog.

Tommy stood. “Nice to meet you, officially. Before we go any further, Detective Burroughs probably wants to tell you how my wife went missing last year, and how, despite the fact that I was working in the ER at the time with dozens of witnesses and video to prove it, I was the main suspect—”

“
Am
, not was,” Burroughs corrected.

“Even though they’ve never determined that she didn’t leave voluntarily. In fact, the Pittsburgh police have all but closed her case. Which is why I left the ER to come here, in the hope that the Beacon Group could help me find her.”

“Not closed by me.” Burroughs’ eyes narrowed. “I think I know exactly who’s behind your wife’s disappearance, Dr. Worth.”

The temperature in the room dropped as everyone stared at Tommy. He flushed and pushed his chair back. His lips thinned with anger, but then he glanced at Sarah Brown and his expression softened, as if he’d realized the greater priority. “Happy to excuse myself if it will help.”

Lucy didn’t know all the details of Charlotte Worth’s case—she hadn’t been working with the Beacon Group long enough to get involved—but she did know that Valencia Frazier was personally overseeing the ongoing investigation, and that the police, FBI, and Valencia herself had all cleared Tommy.

Well, all of them except Burroughs, obviously.

“Gentlemen.” Oshiro broke the silence. “Please. We’re here to help Ms. Brown to find her past. She can’t remember anything since she was found wandering two days ago with a minor head injury.”

“Oshiro’s right,” Lucy said. “We should focus on the case at hand. And,” she turned her glare onto Burroughs, “I’ll decide who works any case my team handles.”

“It’s all right, Lucy,” Tommy muttered. “I get it. I’ll leave.”

“Wait.” Sarah Brown stepped away from Burroughs and toward Tommy’s side of the table. “Do I have a say? I’d like Dr. Worth to stay, please. I think his insights might be extremely helpful.” She turned to face the rest of them. “After all, he’s the only one here who really understands what I’m going through.”

“Then it’s settled.” Lucy nodded to Tommy, who sat back down. “Ms. Brown, can you tell us what little you do remember?”

Sarah settled herself into the chair across from Lucy, next to Tommy. “Only if you call me Sarah. Sarah feels right. More than Ms. or Miss. And ‘Mrs. Brown’ feels like you’re talking about my mother—which, I guess, maybe you are. Because I don’t feel married. At least, I don’t think I am. Hopefully, that’s what we’ll find out, right?”