Buried (Bone Secrets, #3)(84)

“Shit, I drove to Salem yesterday. I don’t want to go again. And I haven’t f*cking slept.” Mason rubbed a hand over his face, pulling at his cheeks. It felt like the blood had left his skin; there was an odd numbness to his face. Lack of sleep.

About three times a year, there’d be a case that would keep him and Ray up all night. A case where they were so close to something big that neither man could sleep because the answer might be right around the corner. This damned tattoo man was just out of their reach. If they didn’t close their eyes, maybe they could sneak up on him.

“Let’s both go. Let’s just get in the car and head south. We’ll hit Starbucks and be waiting at the Salem airport when the senator gets there. He’ll have to take a few minutes to talk to us. Hell, he can catch a plane to Japan the following day if he needs to. Leave a message on his cell to call us back, saying we want to talk to him this morning. He’ll get the message when he wakes up.”

Ray was right. Standing around the office, staring at their phones wasn’t helping. They might as well put themselves in the senator’s path. At least it’d feel like they were doing something.

“You’re right. But damn, I wish I could take a shower first.” Mason discreetly sniffed at his armpits. “Christ! I reek.”

“I’ve got some extra shirts. Go wash up, and I’ll loan you one,” Ray offered.

Mason eyed the width of Ray’s weight-lifter chest. “Your stuff won’t fit me. I’ll look like an idiot.”

“You want to stink for the senator? Or just look like you don’t know your size? Your choice.”

“I’ll take the shirt.”



Thirty minutes later, Mason and Ray were headed south out of Portland. Two coffees in Mason’s sedan’s cup holders and a file from Lee Fielding’s murder trial on Ray’s lap.

Mason was wearing an orange polo shirt. It had the damned little horse on it and everything. He felt like he glowed. Ray had offered him three different polo shirts. Pastel stripes, solid yellow, or solid orange. He went with the lesser of three evils. The shirt wasn’t as baggy as he expected, probably because Ray had a tendency to wear them a little on the snug side.

Ray had referred to his shirt color as “tangerine.” Mason had stared at him.

“It’s orange.”

“No, I have an orange one at home. This one’s a little different.”

Holy shit.

“You buy this stuff or does your wife shop for you?”

Ray looked hurt. “I buy my own stuff. Jillian likes how I dress. She’d tell me if I looked like an idiot. What the hell’s your problem? There’s other clothing in the world besides button-down collared dress shirts. Other colors besides blue, gray, and white.”

“Drink your coffee.” Translation: I’m ending this stupid line of conversation.

Ray took a sip of his Venti black coffee and dug through the papers in his lap. He cleared his throat. “Since all the stuff from Gary Hinkes’s trial has vanished, I’m getting what references I can from Fielding’s case.”

“Right.”

“We’ve already been through the transcript. Now I’m just looking at all the letters sent between the DA’s office and Fielding’s attorney and the judge. I can’t believe how formal and longwinded all this crap is. It takes ten pages of letters to get everyone to agree on one little thing. It’s like that over and over. No wonder attorneys rake in the big bucks. They charge three hundred dollars an hour to write a letter. I could send a text in ten seconds that accomplishes the same thing.”

Mason grinned. “If only texts were nicely kept legal documents.”

“Anyway, they spend a lot of time arguing back and forth. Most of this shit doesn’t make any sense to me. I’m just looking for the Hinkes name. He’s in here quite a bit. The prosecutor reprimands Fielding’s attorney every time he mentions him. Says his case is separate and to keep his focus on Fielding only.”

“Fielding’s attorney was appointed, right?”

“Yeah, he couldn’t afford one. Same with Hinkes. Glad to know we paid for their trials.”

“Same guy from the DA’s office prosecuted both?”

“No…” Ray shuffled through papers. “I’d thought so at first, but there’s a reference somewhere for Fielding’s attorney to take some issue up with a different prosecutor…I’m looking for it.”

Ray sucked in a breath. “Well, I’ll be damned.”



Gerald jogged up the stairs from the parking area below the house. He’d let himself into the secured parking area and tapped the security code to disarm the house. He knew all the security; that was his job. He also knew that at five in the morning on a Saturday, his boss would still be asleep and the house empty of employees.

How was he going to be received? The boss wasn’t going to be happy that he hadn’t taken out Chris Jacobs. But he’d found some good bait to bring the man out into the open. Once Jacobs heard about his missing sister, he’d have a good idea who took her. And if the word about the pile of Twinkies got back to him, Jacobs would have no doubt.

Jamie had said she contacted her brother by leaving a phone message. He could get the number out of her and do the same if things didn’t move fast enough.