Strings of Fate (Mistresses of Fate) (17 page)

“Okay,” Midaugh told the EMS workers, “let’s get out of here.”

“Where are they taking the body?” Chris asked Ryan, not knowing why she asked.

“The medical examiner at the GBI, the Georgia Bureau of Investigation, is handling all the forensic pathology for this case.”

“Why not the FBI?”

“We try to work with local agencies as much as possible. Most of the bodies found had already been handled by the GBI; it made sense that they continue.”

Chris nodded, not meeting his eyes. She couldn’t help but think of Summer. Had she ended up like this victim somewhere, only never found?

“Come on.” Ryan took her elbow. “Midaugh, I’m taking Ms. Pascal home.”

“Will you be back in the office tonight?”

Ryan seemed to think about that for a moment, glancing at Chris.

She shook her head. “You don’t have to stay with me. My friend Raquel is coming over.”

He ignored her, answering Midaugh, “I’ll have my cell. Call me if anything develops.”

Midaugh nodded, putting a comforting hand on Chris’s shoulder. “Thanks for taking a look, Ms. Pascal. You take care.”

Take care.
A pretty common saying in Georgia. But there was a look in Midaugh’s eyes that said he knew she was up to something and that she should
be careful
. Not quite the same thing.

20

RYAN FELT LIKE CRAP.
He hadn’t wanted her to see that. Shit,
he
hadn’t wanted to see that.

“That wasn’t your first body.”

She looked up at him with haunted eyes, and he felt, for the first time, that he was getting a glimpse of the real woman behind the attitude. She cared, he realized. She cared too much for her own good, too much for the work she did. If she didn’t protect herself better, she would drown in the endless waves of misery that came with working missing persons. There weren’t enough success stories to balance out the failures. Her stubbornness would only keep her up for so long, though he could be wrong. With the exception of his father, he’d never met anyone more stubborn. Damned if he wasn’t starting to like that about her.

The truth was, he liked her more than he should. He didn’t trust her, but she was brave, he’d give her that, and surprisingly intuitive.

He’d been surprised to see her piece things together as she’d done earlier at the station, drawing lines between people with the ease of someone who worked with bits of data constantly, pulling disparate pieces together into a coherent whole. She used her imagination to draw conclusions, not something that was generally encouraged, but it had given them somewhere to focus. He’d been impressed by her, impressed that, unconventional though she may be, she was remarkably good at what she did.

“No, it wasn’t,” she replied flatly, but after a moment she elaborated, her tone taking on the steady cadence of a procession.

“Some boys were jumping off the bridge into the river a few years back. One of them never resurfaced. The sheriff had Tavey search with her cadaver dogs and I helped her, I forget why, someone was sick, I think.”

She didn’t say anything more, but he was watching her closely out of the corner of his eye, and her lip quirked, just a little.

“What?” He struggled to pay attention to the road and not to the woman who was beginning to fascinate him.

“Nothing.” She tilted her head. “Just thinking about Tavey. She’s tougher than I am, I think. I search for people online, but she physically searches, and has probably seen more horrible things than I can imagine.”

She glanced up at him. “You, too.”

Ryan knew somehow that she was referring to the case in Texas, the one where he’d lost those girls to a crazy woman. Yeah, he’d seen enough awful shit to last a lifetime. That’s how he knew she needed to protect herself better.

THE RIDE BACK
to Fate began in silence. Chris tried to distract herself by imagining what Ryan’s hard body looked like naked, but she couldn’t quite clear the image of the dead boy’s face from her mind.

“I moved from Georgia because I got in a fight with my father,” Ryan said suddenly, as if no time had passed since she’d last asked.

Chris knew what he was doing; he was trying to make her forget what she’d seen, forget what could happen to her if she wasn’t careful. She knew, and yet . . . the man fished with interesting bait.

“Oh, yeah? Must have been some fight.” Probably on the same scale as the fights Christina had with her mother, with whom she had nothing in common. She didn’t fight with her father; it had been years since she’d even spoken with him.

He nodded. “Chief Branson Helmer didn’t approve of his youngest son joining the FBI.”

“Branson Helmer?” The name sounded familiar. Texas. Helmer.
Holy shit.
“Your dad is the chief of the
Texas Rangers
?”

He looked surprised, gray eyes focused on her face. “How did you know that?”

“I know some Rangers. They have an unsolved crimes investigation program. I know all the cold case programs.” She waited a beat. “I call them pretty often.”

“I imagine you do.” He sounded resigned, which made her smile a little, and flex her feet. He’d turned on the heater and her toes were now toasty warm.

“Now that I know you, just think of all the phone calls you can look forward to.”

“I can’t wait.” He was trying for sarcastic and almost made it. Chris figured she could be deluding herself, but she thought there might be just the slightest hint of sincerity in that statement.

“So, you left because he didn’t want you to join the FBI?”

“It’s a long story, but I’m one of four brothers. The oldest is a Ranger, like my dad. Two peas in a pod. Next in line is a musician—he’s the rebel, but he’s good at what he does. Brother three works in oil and gas as a petroleum engineer, and then there’s me. I wanted to work in law enforcement, but I just couldn’t do it with dad and big brother watching my every move.”

Chris nodded, slightly envious. The closest she’d come to siblings were Tavey, Raquel, and Summer, but she figured it wasn’t quite the same.

“You don’t get along with them?”

“We get along fine,” he disagreed, “but my dad and older brother are of the opinion that the FBI is a puffed-up shill of the federal government and that if I’d wanted to go into law enforcement, I should have joined the best.”

“The Rangers?” Chris guessed.

Ryan made an affirmative noise.

“So why not join them?”

Ryan shrugged. “I just felt the need to do things my own way. My dad, while mostly a fair man, has no compunction about showing favoritism when it suits him, and his sons are his favorite people in the world.”

“So you chose Rome?”

He nodded. “For as long as my grandmother’s around.”

“What about your mom?”

“She’s back in Austin. She’s busy with charity work and museum openings, mostly.”

“I thought you were from Houston.”

He nodded. “They moved when my father became chief, but we still have a house in Houston.”

Chris heard the “we” and smiled a little to herself. As much as he’d separated himself from his family, he still thought of that house as his home. Unlike her family. She’d never really felt like she had a place. She supposed the closest thing to home was Raquel’s grandmother’s house, or Tavey’s house, but neither one really felt like her home.

They pulled onto Main Street, heading back toward her apartment, and Chris felt a twinge of regret that they’d already arrived. She’d been enjoying the conversation. He’d made her forget, for a moment, what it had felt like to see that body, physical proof that this nightmare was real. When it had been just an image on one of her boards or computer screens, she had been able to maintain some distance, but that barrier had shattered the moment she saw those empty eyes.

He turned, avoided the circle that led off Main, and crossed to the parking lot behind her building.

She started to say goodbye, but he parked and removed the keys from the ignition. “Come on,” he ordered. “I’m staying until your friend gets here.”

It was around five. Raquel would be headed back to Fate, but between the storm that was about to hit and the traffic, she wouldn’t get to Chris’s apartment before six-thirty. She hadn’t even called to say she was coming, though Chris hadn’t checked her phone. Odds were she had a text waiting for her.

“Okay,” she agreed, partly because she didn’t want to be alone, and partly because she was thrilled for an excuse to continue delving into his past, figuring out what made this guy tick.

Opening the door to the lobby, she waited for him to come inside before locking it behind her.

“This way.” She led the way up the stairs until they reached her door. He caught up to her and put a hand on her elbow, tugging her back gently.

“Let me go in first.” He drew his weapon from a holster inside his jacket, holding it in both hands, his body slightly in front of her.

She turned the key and stepped back, letting him go ahead of her, not truly believing that anyone was in her apartment, but happy to let him go through the motions. There was something hot about it, especially when he swept through her rooms while she waited in the doorway.

“Okay, we’re clear,” he called. She came into the living room as he was leaving her bedroom, holstering his weapon as he walked. She was surprised to feel that drop in her stomach again—the involuntary attraction that had her pulse fluttering in her neck.

“Great.” She nodded, tugging on her fingers to stretch them out. “I’m going to have a glass of wine. You want a Coke or something?”

“How long till your friend gets here?”

“Hang on.” She dug her phone out of her bag. Raquel had sent her a message:

On a case. Be there around 9. Have the wine ready.

“She won’t get here until later.”

“Do you have any food here?”

He sounded doubtful, but since he’d already seen her kitchen, she supposed she couldn’t blame him.

“Nope,” she informed him with a raised eyebrow, “but there’s a restaurant across the circle that’s pretty good if you like Italian.”

“I like Italian.” He seemed kind of at a loss, like he couldn’t quite believe he was here in her living room again, about to go to dinner with her.

She couldn’t quite believe it herself. She picked up her purse and keys again. “Don’t you need to call in to the office or something?”

“They’ll call me. I’ve already worked my shift. Midaugh gets touchy if you work too many hours without a break.”

Chris let him open the door for her, but she locked the door behind him.

“I can see that,” she continued, “but it must be difficult to stay away. I know, when I think I’m on to something, I can’t sleep. I just keep plugging away, even when nothing else develops.”

He nodded. “Sometimes, when things are really moving, we sleep at the office, but right now we’re just waiting. Might as well do that at dinner.”

When they reached the bottom, she pulled out her keys. “We can go through Dog, the storefront opens directly to the circle.”

“Dog?”

“Dog with Two Bones. A grooming salon Tavey owns.” She busied herself with the keys, pausing suddenly. “I didn’t even ask. You okay to walk? It’s just across the circle. We shouldn’t get too wet.”

He gave her a get-real look, shoving his hands in his jacket pockets, though he still seemed alert and watchful rather than relaxed. “Walking’s fine, but shouldn’t you change your shoes?” The expression on his face was a combination of thinly veiled disdain and reluctant amusement.

She looked down at her UGGs. “You don’t like my shoes?”

“No man on earth likes those shoes on a woman.”

Chris laughed. “I didn’t think men cared about things like that.”

“Most men probably don’t,” he agreed.

“Why do you?”

“I have no idea.”

“Uh-huh.” Sounded like an ex-girlfriend to Chris. Chris opened the door to Dog with Two Bones. It was dark and quiet inside, smelling faintly of dog hair and coconut shampoo. He waited in one of the aisles while she shut the interior door behind her and locked it.

“Come on.” She tugged him to the wall that held the alarm control, near the swinging doors to the salon. She entered the code quickly—Summer’s birth month and year, 0678.