Buried (Bone Secrets, #3)(11)

Mrs. Doubler had stared at the silver strands in the baggie and promptly burst into tears. Mason had swallowed hard. He’d known the shape of the pendant on the chain. His son had worn one for years after being diagnosed with juvenile diabetes.

Ray took a sip of his coffee. “Thank God, that was the last one.”

Mason said nothing. Ray was wrong. There had to be another body. One boy was missing, and Mason had already met his parents.

Dr. Brody was a tough woman. She knew her son wasn’t coming back, but Mason wasn’t certain about the senator. The senator had a look of denial that matched Mr. Doubler’s.

“Doesn’t feel right. Why would one body be in a completely different place? Why weren’t all the bodies found on that farm?” Ray asked.

Mason stirred his coffee. His thoughts exactly. His gut was telling him something wasn’t right.

They sat in silence for two minutes, letting the conversations of the other restaurant patrons flow around them.

“Went home and hugged my kids last night.” Ray had two preteens. A boy and a girl who creamed Mason at their video games every time he visited. Ray was looking him straight in the eye. Most cops would have mumbled the words into their coffee. Not Ray. The big guy was never afraid to show his emotions when it came to his kids or sexy wife.

Ray was looking at him expectantly.

“Yeah, I called Jake.” Mason fought the urge to look out the window instead of meeting Ray’s gaze. Jake had been his usual smart-assed self, making Mason struggle to get a complete sentence out of the teen’s mouth. Jake’s stepdad had originally answered the phone. Mason would rather talk to his urologist than the cheerful superdad. The man had done everything right in his life that Mason had done wrong. Now he had Mason’s wife and kid. Ex-wife.

All Mason had was frozen pizza and an empty bed.

Ray’s cell rang, and Mason exhaled in relief. He’d seen the look in Ray’s eye. The one that said his wife, Jill, had been talking about more blind dates for Mason. Jill tried to set him up several times a year, and Mason talked his way out of them. Not easy considering Jill had once been a trial lawyer.

“It’s where?” Ray’s voice raised an octave. “They think this is it? How far?”

Mason’s spine tingled as he watched Ray scribble in his ever-present notebook. Something big. Mason could feel it

“Oh f*ck. Oh f*ck!”

Mason froze. Ray rarely swore.

His eyes angry, Ray moved the phone from his mouth and whispered to Mason. “They think they found the place where the kids were kept. Before…”

Mason nodded. Before he killed them.



Jamie studied the calendar on her office computer, tapping her sandaled toe to the soft classical music from her speakers. Two more days. Then she was out of here for a week. Last night she’d painted a dozen paint samples on the bedroom walls, unable to sit still, trying to put all thoughts of the sad crime scene out of her head. She flipped open the color chart from the paint store. How many shades of beige were there? Cappuccino, wheat, sand, Hawaiian sand…

Her gaze lingered on the dark greens. Forest green really would be great with her wood floors and throw rugs. She flipped the brochure closed and buried it in her inbox. Too many choices. Why did she suck when it came to these types of decisions? She had the same problem at Baskin-Robbins. She had to read every flavor and study the look of every ice cream twice before making a choice. And she always ended up with chocolate chip mint.

A throat cleared, and her gaze flew to the tall figure at her door. Her heart stopped.

“Jesus Christ.” She glared at Michael Brody leaning insolently against her doorframe. “How long have you been standing there?”

Emerald eyes sparked at her. “Long enough to tell you can’t decide on paint.” A slow smile widened his mouth, and Jamie drew a deep breath. He was tan and tall, and his legs and arms were solid, lean muscle mass. She blinked as she caught herself staring and jerked her gaze up to his face. And found herself staring again. His light-brown hair had sun-bleached highlights that her friends paid hundreds for. Not fair that a man should have eyes of that rich color and freaking long black lashes to set them off. Jamie thought of all the tubes of black mascara she’d bought over the years.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m still looking for your brother.” He strolled closer and stopped, studying her perfectly organized desktop.

Jamie stood. Michael was using his height, looming over her desk. He probably had lots of physical tricks to get answers out of his victims, er…interviewees.

“I don’t need to tell you where my brother is. He doesn’t like press and just wants to be left alone.”

Michael pressed his lips together and leaned forward with his palms on her desk. “How much does he remember?”

“None,” she snapped and took a step back to lean against her office windowsill.

“Have you talked to the police?”

“They called last night.”

“Callahan?”

Jamie straightened. He knew the detective? Or was he messing with her head? “Yes.”

“Have you heard from him today?” His eyes were green ice as they studied her intently.

She shook her head and felt her stomach painfully knot. “What’s happened?”

“How much therapy did your brother have after he came back?”