Buried: A Bone Secrets Novel Part 10

Mason nodded. "Agreed. Obviously this guy isn't a g.a.n.g.b.a.n.ger, but the people who work with them are our tattoo experts. They'll know where to turn next. It's our best lead so far."

"Why would someone leave something so incriminating as pictures in that place?" Jamie asked. "You said you haven't found fingerprints anywhere, but you found photos? That doesn't sound like the same person. This"-Jamie paused, eyebrows narrowing-"crook...murderer...isn't being consistent if they're not leaving fingerprints but are leaving pictures."

"Agreed," Lusco said. "We might be dealing with more than one person."

"Someone else had to take the pictures," Brody added.

"One of the other kids could have been behind the camera." As Mason spoke, he saw Brody imperceptibly flinch. "Not willingly, of course," he added.

Jamie's face flushed. "I've seen a lot of child abuse in my position. I do what I do because I want to help kids better their lives. Nothing makes me sicker than a defenseless kid." She met Mason's gaze straight on. "My brother was horribly abused, and I've sat back, thinking I was letting him heal and doing the right thing by not pus.h.i.+ng for answers. It was how my parents handled him, and I continued it. Now I think it's time for him to actively help. The man who attacked me could still be hurting kids. I don't care if my brother claims he remembers nothing, I'm gonna drag him to every therapist and hypnotist in the country until he gives you something to help find who killed those children, before this person hurts more."

She turned to Brody. "I'm ready to go with you to find Chris."

It was evening by the time Jamie and Michael drove into the outskirts of the dry, beige town of Demming, Oregon. The trip east had taken six hours, and Michael drove the entire stretch. Jamie had offered to take a s.h.i.+ft, but he'd turned her down.

"I get antsy if I'm sitting in the pa.s.senger seat. Driving helps me focus."

Their conversation had been minimal. If Michael wasn't on the phone with an editor or co-worker, his music was blasting through the SUV. His taste was eclectic, ranging from traditional rap to the most heart-stirring cla.s.sical she'd ever heard. She'd relaxed and simply let him drive, taking the time to study his profile and the world outside.

The scenery changed as they moved east. Dryer, browner, flatter. Once they'd left the Portland metropolitan area and pa.s.sed through the Cascade Mountain Range, it was as if they'd entered a different state. More pickup trucks, longer stretches between towns, and less greenery. The fir trees were few and far between, while the cowboy hats grew in number. Gun racks started to appear in the back windows of the pickup trucks. b.u.mper stickers told politicians to keep their change to themselves and keep their laws off their guns.

They were now on the red side of the blue-voting state. By the square mile, the east side of the state was nearly twice as big as the west, but much lower in population and income. Oregon was a state divided in half by the Cascade Mountains, economics, and politics.

Jamie suddenly craved a handcrafted iced cappuccino and knew she wasn't going to find one. The self-service machines at 7-Eleven didn't count.

"The sheriff is expecting us, right?" she asked.

"Yes, but I didn't tell him exactly when we'd get in. We'll stop at his office in Demming, see if he's available to talk a bit. He wants to give me better directions out to your brother's. I guess it's hard to find. Also cautioned me to not sneak up on anyone. People in these remote areas have a tendency to shoot first, ask questions later."

"Chris wouldn't do that."

Michael raised a brow at her. "He's hiding from something. That's the only reason for a man to live like he does and not introduce his son to his sister."

Jamie looked out her window. The words stung deep. "He doesn't like to be around people. After he recovered...he avoided everyone. He has burn scars on his face."

"I've known plenty of people with disfigurations who operate just fine."

Jamie was silent for a few moments. "What were you doing that day?"

Michael didn't ask what day she meant.

She saw him swallow hard and then run a hand across his forehead. He kept his gaze forward on the road.

"I'd stayed home sick from school. I knew there was a field trip to the state capitol building scheduled that day, and to me nothing was more boring." He snorted. "Daniel was pumped. He had a freaky fascination with politics."

"Your father was a US senator at the time, right?"

"Yes, the junior senator. He'd just started his second term."

"Your father liked Daniel's interest?"

"He was thrilled. He had Daniel's political future mapped out."

"That's insane. What kind of pressure does that put on a kid?"

Michael laughed. "The Senator and Daniel used to talk about it for hours. Where he could go to law school, where was the best school for undergrad-"

"And you? What were your plans?"

"I had no plans." His voice went flat.

A small stab of sorrow touched Jamie's heart. She'd seen too many kids in her school ignored by their parents. "That didn't mean he had no reason to love you."

Michael twisted up one side of his mouth. "I know my parents loved me. It just didn't feel like they liked me. I wasn't the type of kid they'd planned to have. I wasn't interested in school. I just wanted to skateboard and ski. I used to pay high school kids to take me along when they skipped school and went skiing. I got caught over and over, but I didn't care."

"How'd your parents know you went skiing?"

"You know what racc.o.o.n eyes are?"

Jamie laughed. "You didn't know to use sunscreen when skiing?"

"Naw, sunscreen was for wimps."

Was he trying to avoid her original question by distracting her? "So were you really sick that day?"

He shook his head. "Not at all."

"When did you find out?"

"Phone calls started coming in. Daniel wasn't home from school, the bus never returned to the school, no one could locate the bus driver. The Senator was in Was.h.i.+ngton DC and immediately flew home. My mother didn't go back to the hospital for three days. I'd never seen them so panicked."

"Of course they were. Their son was missing. They would have reacted the same way if you'd never come back from skiing."

The wry look on Michael's face said he doubted her words.

She sat straighter in the SUV's seat. "You think they would have simply brushed it off if you vanished? That's ridiculous. No parent reacts like that!"

Michael tried to control the expression on his face. The absolute indignation on Jamie's was killing him. His parents had never been the same after Daniel disappeared. Before DD-long ago Michael had divided up his life into Before DD and After DD-he'd simply thought his parents connected better with Daniel, as if they understood the chemical wiring in Daniel's brain versus the ricocheting impulses that bounced through Michael's.

At many points in a child's life, one wonders what it'd be like to be an only child. Michael had experienced that daydream often, a.s.suming all his parents' focus would be on him...as an adult he'd often thanked G.o.d that hadn't happened. He and his parents would have gone nuts if they'd tried to shape Michael into their own image. Looking back, he'd been grateful that Daniel had meshed so well with them and kept the focus off himself. Once Daniel was gone, the focus never s.h.i.+fted. It'd stayed on Daniel. And Michael had spread his wings. And spread. Usually to the point of risking his neck.

Mountain climbing, check. Run with the bulls in Spain, check. Crab boat trapping in the Bering Sea, check. Infiltrate a Los Angeles biker gang for an expose on crime, check. That one had nearly cost him his life. He still had the knife scars on his gut and an intense dislike of the harsh tequila that they'd all drunk by the gallon. No margaritas for him, thank you.

"I know my parents cared," he said. It felt like an over-spoken line in a play. Lifeless and meaningless. Deep down, he knew they'd cared, but for some twisted reason, they couldn't show it. A therapist had once theorized that they were afraid of the pain of losing another child, so they tried to keep their distance, protecting themselves if something happened to Michael. And perhaps that was why he thrived on risk. Trying to coax a reaction out of his parents.

Michael had stared at the therapist, pulled three hundred dollars out of his wallet, slapped it on the table, walked out, and never returned. Why pay money for what he already knew? What he wanted was someone to fix it. Fix them. Fix him. Give him the family he'd never had, the one that lived in movies and books. It existed; he just had to find it.

Lacey Campbell was the closest thing he had to family. She was the little sister who mothered him when he needed it, sent him to get a haircut, and stocked his fridge when it only held beer and three-day-old pizza. They'd tried romance, but it'd failed. Miserably. Friends.h.i.+p worked best. For a long time, he'd pretended the friends.h.i.+p was fine with him, believing that if he stuck close and waited, it'd evolve into more and it'd be right the second time around. That dream had crashed and burned with the presence of her fiance. He'd wanted to murder the man at first, but now...he accepted it.

Michael stopped his vehicle in front of a squat brick building in the small town, a large sheriff sign over the door. The town was quiet, one main drag through a row of storefronts, a couple of people moving from store to store. A few empty storefronts echoed the recession that'd stomped on the nation in the last few years. He killed the engine and rolled down his window, surprised that it wasn't as hot as he'd expected for the dry town in the middle of summer. The elevation must keep it a bit cooler. Jamie lowered her window, too.

"Most parents care in one way or another," stated Jamie. "But some just have a f.u.c.ked-up time showing it. I've seen parents who can never look their child in the eye but threaten to kick my a.s.s if their child flunks an a.s.signment." She rolled her eyes.

Michael snorted. "I know my parents cared," he repeated. Perhaps if he kept saying it out loud he'd really feel it. He s.h.i.+fted in his seat. He wasn't ready to go into the sheriff's office just yet. Jamie hadn't moved either. There was an aura of openness in the vehicle that he didn't want to lose. Jamie looked at the sign on the building, and her eyes softened.

"Luna County. I love the sound of that. The word Luna sounds so much prettier than moon. I wonder if the moon seems bigger out here. I went camping in Central Oregon once. The sky seemed so big, the stars brighter, and the moon closer."

Michael stared at her profile. He grabbed every available chance to study her features when she wasn't looking at him. The woman was gorgeous. Gorgeous in the way of fresh and healthy. Not because of makeup and hair product. She dressed minimally, shorts and tanks. Little makeup or fussing with her hair. She let the glow of her skin and toned muscles subtly grab attention. And her eyes...that color...outlined with the black lashes. He could stare forever. He'd memorized the outside, now he wanted to know what was inside. He didn't remember her from their private school. She had been several years behind him and too young to go on the field trip. Then her parents had yanked her out of school and homeschooled her after the children vanished.

"What did your parents do that day?" he asked.

Her gaze fell to her hands, playing with the hem of her shorts. "They were in shock. The school called and told my mother they were trying to find the bus. She simply sat by the phone for the rest of the day and stared into s.p.a.ce. I remember watching cartoons, thrilled that she didn't care how long I watched that day. Usually there was a strict time limit. That day she didn't care. She called my father, but he couldn't leave work. When he got home, he joined her...waiting at the table. I was the only one to eat dinner. They sat there and watched me eat. It felt weird, but I knew my brother would be home soon. I figured the bus was just lost." Jamie turned her face away, looking out her side window as her voice went quieter. "It was like they knew he wasn't coming. Looking back, I swear they had no hope at all."

"And the day Chris returned?" Michael felt a brief rush of jealousy at the survivor and his family. It faded rapidly as Jamie turned her green gaze to him.

"They didn't believe it. It wasn't until they actually saw him in the hospital that they let themselves believe. They'd lost all hope. Absolutely all hope. Those two years were so dark. I look at pictures from Christmas during those two years. I can see the despair in their eyes even as they smiled for the camera. My mother stayed in the hospital with Chris until he came home. She wouldn't leave."

"Wasn't he there for three months or so?"

Jamie nodded. "It seemed like forever. He was in a coma for a few weeks. I think the doctors induced it to allow his brain injuries to heal. He had five surgeries on his face and more on his right leg. I kept waiting for everything to return to normal, but his medical issues dragged on and on. It never was the same around our house. I thought joy would return. Instead, I still heard my mother cry at night and watched my father's liquor supply dwindle and refresh.

"Christmas pictures from then on weren't much different. My parents still had shadows in their eyes, and Chris would never look at the camera. The left side of his face was so bad, he always turned it away, hating his looks. My parents finally stopped taking pictures of him." Jamie frowned. "That seems so wrong now. But it wasn't because they were ashamed of him; it was what he wanted. He was so withdrawn. He acted like he didn't want the world to know he existed. When reporters would come around every few years, he wouldn't come out of his room for days. I think it was nearly a relief to my parents when he moved out."

"That's horrible."

"I agree," she nodded thoughtfully. "But the stress was hard on them. Of course, it was worse when he'd vanished, but living with the sh.e.l.l of the child who returned was difficult. Therapy went nowhere. He was only content being alone, working on his computer. It's hard to be a parent when your child is untouchable. When you want to help but nothing works."

Silence filled the vehicle. Not an uncomfortable silence. A commonality. A connection. Michael reached over and squeezed her hand. Jamie glanced down at the gesture, a small smile curving her lips, and then she met his gaze.

"I'm sorry," he said.

"You have nothing to be sorry for."

"Yes, I do. I hated your family for years. I hated your brother, I hated your parents, and I hated you for getting your brother back when I had nothing."

Jamie's face blanched.

"But I didn't get it," he added quickly. "I was a kid. It was my outlet. It was easy to hate faceless people. I just wanted my brother back. Still do. I think any shrink would say it was a pretty normal reaction."

Color slowly seeped back to her cheeks. "I understand. I probably would have been the same way."

He held tight to her hand and felt the pressure returned. Warmth spread through his chest, and she smiled. A real smile, not a fake I-don't-believe-a-word-you're-saying smile.

"G.o.d, you are gorgeous," he blurted.

Her eyes crinkled in mirth, and she chuckled. His heart double-thumped. If he'd thought she was beautiful before...

She pulled her hand from his and touched his cheek. "You're not so bad yourself, Brody." Her gaze moved from his eyes to his mouth, and the heat in his chest flared.

"Christ." He couldn't breathe.

She chuckled again and ran a finger across his upper lip. "Ready to go find that sheriff?"

Michael blinked. He'd completely forgotten their purpose. How did women s.h.i.+ft gears so fast? "Uh...sure." He didn't sound sure at all.

Jamie unbuckled her seatbelt and opened her door, swinging sleek legs out. Michael bit the inside of his cheek. She slammed her door and glanced at him through the open window. He hadn't moved.

"You coming?"

He felt glued to his seat. And it wasn't from the heat. Something about their conversation and the touch of her hand on his face had utterly undone him. His heart had moved into a foreign position, and he was clueless how to handle it. He swallowed hard, feeling like he was about to step out of a plane. With no parachute. He reached for his door handle.

"Always."

Michael looked like he didn't want to get out of the SUV, like he didn't want to break the connection they'd created. Jamie hadn't wanted it to stop, but she needed a breather. This reckless, impulsive man was pulling her close and opening her up in a way she'd never experienced. She'd never discussed Chris with anyone outside of her parents and Chris's psychiatrist. But she hadn't been talking about Chris; she'd been talking about herself.

Michael's emerald eyes had made her mouth keep moving and her breathing grow deeper. His face was all planes and angles, no softness. She'd felt the need to touch with her hand to add some softness to those hard surfaces. And the heat that'd erupted from his eyes at her touch had nearly unraveled her. She wasn't the only one feeling something. In those brief seconds, she'd known every thought in his mind. And they weren't about her brother.

She stepped up to the sidewalk in front of the sheriff's office and watched Michael emerge from the SUV. He moved with confidence, like every muscle had a supreme purpose, exuding a tightly coiled energy. He was the kind of man who drew a woman's eye, who made a woman wonder what it'd be like to be in owners.h.i.+p of that kind of male. But he was also the type of man who made a woman step back. He didn't expel the commitment pheromone most women sought. His pheromones screamed temporary...but what a temporary ride it would be.

Jamie didn't need temporary. Jamie didn't need excitement. Long ago, she'd decided she needed a man who offered security, stability, and solidity. She didn't see that in Michael.

But a tiny voice in her head kept telling her to consider the ride he was offering. And she was weakening. Once they'd figured out what was going on with Chris, she was going to take a hard look at the man Michael Brody was.

He stopped beside her on the sidewalk and tilted his head toward the door. She nodded and started to reach for the doork.n.o.b, only to see his hand grab it first and hold it open. She paused and then pa.s.sed through, acutely aware of the warm hand he'd placed on the small of her back. The dim coolness of the office helped her relax.

"Can I help you?" A small, fluttery bird of a woman smiled brightly at them from behind a large desk. She was in civilian clothes, a floral s.h.i.+rt and faded blue jeans that Jamie immediately labeled as "mom jeans." She wore way too much black mascara, but her smile was warm and open. Her name tag read "Sara."

"We're looking for Sheriff Spencer," Michael answered.

Sara's gaze took a quick measure of Michael, and Jamie could tell she liked what she saw. Too bad she was older than him by at least twenty-five years.

"He went down the street. He's grabbing some dinner at the diner. Might be stopping at the grocery, too. We're out of coffee." Sara focused more intently and tilted her head in a rapid way that reminded Jamie of a bird again. "You the reporter from Portland?"

"Yep. You think he'd mind if we wandered down to find him? We need to check in at the hotel, too."

Jamie stiffened. She hadn't thought about the sleeping situation. Until now. Too many images peppered her brain. Some very hot.

Separate rooms. No exceptions.

Sara abruptly pinned her focus on Jamie, blinking rapidly, and Jamie knew she'd picked up every nuance of her body language.

"Not at all. He'd probably like to have someone to gab with over dinner. You eat yet?"

Jamie couldn't remember eating at all.

"No," answered Michael. "Food good?"

"The best," Sara proclaimed proudly. "Try the enchiladas. And keep hitting the bell at the hotel desk if no one is right there. Chuck's a little hard of hearing."