Chilled (Bone Secrets, #2)(21)

“I got a phone call this morning from someone I thought was Whittenhall. But Whittenhall swears no one from his office called, and I believe him. You can’t fake shock like that. I’m thinking Kinton made the calls himself before he got here, clearing his way to get on my team and out to that plane.”

Liam turned toward the older marshal, who was finally slipping his phone into his pocket. “Hey!” Liam marched toward Whittenhall as Patrick grabbed his arm. Liam shook him off. “What’s the deal with the marshal who went out with the team?”

Whittenhall wiped at his forehead as he studied the younger man who’d aggressively stepped up in his face and fisted his hands at his sides. Whittenhall’s gaze stabbed at Patrick over Liam’s shoulder. Patrick shrugged. Maybe Liam could succeed where he hadn’t. The pilot had a directness about him that was hard to ignore. Liam said what he thought, rarely believed he was wrong, and could boss people around without their knowing it. Frankly, Patrick didn’t know how Brynn put up with him. Patrick could handle Liam’s company for only a few minutes at a time before Liam said something to piss him off.

“Alex Kinton is no longer a marshal.”

“Then why the hell is he out there?”

“I didn’t send him.”

“Who did?”

Whittenhall rubbed his lips together. “I don’t know. I don’t know how he found out about the plane wreck with this prisoner on board.”

“Darrin Besand?” Liam asked.

Whittenhall blinked in surprise and nodded. Annoyance and anger flashed across his face.

Score one for Liam. Patrick wanted to whistle.

“Why would Kinton care about that plane?” Liam was direct.

Whittenhall said nothing, pulling out his cell phone and ignoring the pilot. Liam stepped closer, and Patrick held his breath. Liam was getting more information out of the * than Patrick had so he’d let him push a few more buttons.

Whittenhall looked up at Liam. “This doesn’t concern you.” He scowled. “Who are you anyway?” He glanced over Liam’s shoulder again at Patrick, who kept his mouth shut and his arms crossed on his chest.

Liam’s chin shot up. “Major Liam Gentry, pilot, 304th Air Force Rescue Squadron. I would be flying air support today if the weather wasn’t so crappy. My girlfriend is on the Madison County SAR team, and if she’s in danger because of Kinton, I want to know about it.”

Patrick silently cheered.

Whittenhall got an odd look on his face. He opened his mouth twice to answer Liam, and then closed it. Finally, the marshal leaned toward the young man, his voice sharp.

“Kinton had a nervous breakdown a year ago and physically attacked one of his supervisors. Put the man in the hospital. Kinton was let go from the US Marshals because of it. He is obsessed with Darrin Besand and will stop at nothing to see him get a lethal injection. If Kinton’s out there with your girlfriend, she’s going to simply be a stepping-stone for him to get to Besand. He’ll trample anything in his path to get his hands around that murdering creep’s neck.” Whittenhall raised a brow at Patrick. “He blatantly lied to Collins to get to that plane. I believe he would’ve taken more drastic physical measures if Collins hadn’t cooperated.”

Patrick’s spine stiffened, and Liam’s head jerked back in shock.

Whittenhall looked intently at Liam. “There’re two dangerous men out there, Major Gentry. Not just one. I’d say your girlfriend’s in a shitload of danger.”

“Anyone see anything?”

A chorus of dejected no’s answered Jim. They’d been kicking the snow under the parachute for a good twenty minutes. Brynn had found a frayed piece of strapping. Nothing else. Alex stole a quick look at Brynn. She’d efficiently directed the group in a circular search pattern as if looking for human remains was something she did every day. Maybe she did.

Death was a big part of the woman’s life.

How does she sleep at night?

Five years ago, Alex had arrived on the scene of a freeway auto accident, and the sight had given him nightmares for weeks. One driver had been beheaded, his neck a bloody stump, his tie and suit jacket still neatly in place. Alex hadn’t looked to see where the guy’s head ended up. The other driver had been thrown from his car and hit by other cars. His legs had looked deflated with the skin resembling an empty balloon. The flesh from his legs spilled out in bloody red piles and smears on the pavement.

Alex hadn’t known the human body could look like that.

He swallowed the bile that surged in the back of his throat and concentrated on scanning the snow at his feet.

How did Brynn do it every day? She probably saw dead kids. Babies, even. Seniors who slipped and fell and weren’t found until neighbors called the police because the newspapers had piled up.

What kind of devastation would they find at the plane wreckage?

One corpse. That was all Alex needed to see. One very specific dead corpse. He didn’t care if the guy was beheaded or burned to a crisp with blackened flesh and stiffened limbs that looked like he was reaching out for help. Alex would sleep better for the rest of his life once he found out what happened to the plane.

Alex’s younger brother, Samuel, had been the only family member he’d seen after death. It had been on a table at the medical examiner’s office—after the ME had cleaned him up, but before he’d made that first Y incision. It had ached deep in Alex’s chest, allowing Samuel to be cut open like that, but the death had been highly suspicious, possibly suicide: an indication for autopsy.