Buried: A Bone Secrets Novel Part 2

Mason stopped beside Michael on the wide wraparound porch and stared at Portland's skyline.

Stunning view.

What had it been like growing up in such wealth? Michael Brody came from some of the bluest blood in the state but didn't show it. The guy always needed a haircut and dressed like he spent his days at a beachside bar. Except for the watch. Mason knew s.h.i.+t about watches. All he cared about was if it worked, but Ray had once commented that Brody's watch probably cost a third of Mason's yearly salary. Gross salary.

Mason struggled to wrap his brain around that. His gaze went to the black Range Rover in the driveway. Oh yeah. And the vehicle. Another sign that Michael Brody wasn't the beach b.u.m he presented himself as. Not to mention the dual master's degrees in international studies and economics, the investigative articles Brody wrote about his year in a motorcycle gang, running with the d.a.m.ned bulls in Spain, and jumping out of anything that could fly.

"They aren't telling us everything," the imposter beach b.u.m stated.

Mason nodded. Brody's green eyes were narrowed in deep thought. The brain behind those eyes was one of the sharpest Mason had ever met. Too bad the guy had a problem with following the rules. Or listening to authority. Oregon State Police could have used someone like Brody. Or the CIA. But Brody liked to do things his own way.

"I agree," Mason said.

The men stood in silence until Mason glanced at his cheap watch. "I need to go." He moved down the steps, leaving Brody behind.

"Callahan."

Mason turned.

"I'm going to find out what happened to Daniel." Brody held his gaze.

Mason nodded, unsurprised. He believed Brody would do just that. Maybe even before he did.

Jamie hung her keys on the hook by her phone and, with a smile, dropped her purse on the counter. Summer rocked. It was nearly nine in the evening and it was still light out and toasty warm. As much as she liked seeing the kiddos crowding the halls at her elementary school, she especially liked the quiet and the half-days of work during the summer. The warm afternoons and evenings were hers. No meetings with parents, no lectures on not hitting other students, no complaining teachers. She placed her hands on the small of her back and stretched, inhaling the scent of fresh-cut gra.s.s from the fields across the street. Her favorite smell of summer. Right after barbequed steak.

Her mouth watered. Opening the fridge, she took out a Diet c.o.ke and frowned at the spa.r.s.e offerings on her shelves. Yogurt, cheese, and milk. Dairy group accounted for. Not much else. She snagged a lemon yogurt and kicked her flip-flops onto the mat by the door to the garage. Living alone was great, but sometimes she wished she had a reason to cook a big meal. Meat and pasta and crusty bread. Lots of it. Once a month she met with girlfriends for dinner and wine to catch up on each other's lives. The rest of the month she lived on protein bars, dry cereal, and fruit.

And yogurt, lots of yogurt.

She eyed the yellow, creamy substance. She needed a change. Work, eat, exercise, clean house, mow lawn. A solid and comforting schedule but rather boring. She glanced at the calendar. Next week she was off. She'd planned to paint two of her bedrooms, but maybe she should get out of town. Do something different, unplanned. Like...go to the beach and just read. Heather had been pestering her to visit her in Bend. Jamie could drive over the Cascades and sunbathe with Heather in the dry, baking heat of Central Oregon.

She rinsed out the empty yogurt container and placed it in the recycling. Her spoon went directly into the dishwasher. Who was she kidding? The numbers on the calendar taunted her. She would be painting next week. It needed to be done.

The doorbell jangled. Jamie strolled to the door and looked through the peephole. Male. Big. Don't know him. Her stomach stopped digesting her yogurt.

"May I help you?" She spoke through the door.

His left eyebrow rose, and he gave a half smile. Instantly charming. And hunky. Jamie felt a different sensation in her stomach.

"Michael Brody. I'm with the Oregonian." A laminated ID suddenly blocked her view.

Jamie wasn't impressed. Anyone could make an official-looking ID, and this guy looked anything but official in his cargo shorts and snug T-s.h.i.+rt. But the name on the ID was familiar...

"What do you want?" She wasn't about to open the door.

"I'm looking for your brother Chris." He lowered the ID and looked directly at the peephole.

Jamie froze. Not again. Every few years, reporters and cold case cops came out of the woodwork to hara.s.s her brother. Temper swirled in her chest.

"He doesn't live here."

The man's eyebrow rose further. "I know. Where can I find him?"

Jamie choked out a laugh. Did he think she was stupid?

His mouth twitched at her laugh. "Are you Jamie Jacobs?"

Did he just bat his eyelashes? She swallowed another laugh. "No."

"Do I need to call the police because you're in her house?"

Jamie snorted.

The reporter's face turned serious. "They found the bus," he stated quietly.

Jamie pulled back from the door, heart in her throat. Oh s.h.i.+t. "What about the kids?" she whispered.

He heard her. "I'll tell you if you open the door. Do you know who I am now?"

His name echoed through her brain and hit its target. Brody. One of the other kids. She pressed her eye against the hole again. Michael Brody's face had lost all expression, and she instantly saw the resemblance to Oregon's Senator Brody.

This was the brother to the senator's missing son.

Jamie forced her lungs to pump air. She'd never really met Michael Brody. He'd been much older than her at the academy. She mainly knew his name as a byline in the newspaper. Her parents had pulled her out of school and then isolated her and Chris from all media coverage after her brother had returned.

With shaking fingers, she worked the two deadbolts and opened the door.

Michael exhaled as he heard the bolts start to slide. He'd wondered if she would talk to him. He'd dug up what he could on the woman. Her parents were dead, and all leads to her brother seemed to end at brick walls. She was Chris's only living relative. Jamie Jacobs had been nine when her brother vanished. Eleven when he returned. Now she was a princ.i.p.al at one of Portland's poorest elementary schools. Fair and sensible was the description he'd heard. Her students loved her and the teachers raved about her. Her yard was perfect. The hedges perfectly trimmed and the trees properly pruned. The gra.s.s was cut short and the flowers in a neat border. He eyed the border. Purple flower, yellow flower, purple, yellow. All the way around. Why hadn't she mixed it up a little? It looked...too perfect.

The door opened, and he turned back to face the woman.

Too perfect.

Eyes the color of pale green jade stared at him, fear and anxiety hovering behind them. Long black hair was caught back in a ponytail, with wavy sections escaping to frame her face. What a face. She reminded him of the old-time movie sirens. The ones who seized the screen with their n.o.ble aura the second they stepped on camera. The ones who played the roles of queens or empresses. Regal women. Like Sophia Loren...but with bright eyes. She was tall. Nearly as tall as he. He barely had to look down to meet her gaze, and he'd barely need to dip his head if he wanted...f.u.c.k. He blinked and watched wary s.h.i.+elds abruptly cover the anxiety in her eyes. Her black tank showed off toned arms that either spent a lot of time in the gym or working in her yard. She was buff, an interesting mix of athlete and contessa.

Every well-rehea.r.s.ed question in his brain evaporated.

Why hadn't his elementary school princ.i.p.al looked like this?

Her chin lifted the slightest bit, and he recognized a familiar stubbornness. Lacey looked just like that when she was about to chew him out.

"What about the kids?" she snapped. "What did they find? Where was it? Did you-"

"Hang on." He lifted his hands, unable to process the questions pouring from freaking gorgeous lips. "Can I come in?"

She clamped her mouth shut and blatantly a.s.sessed him from head to toe, like she was sizing him up for a round or two in a boxing ring. Her right hand slipped to her pocket, wrapping around something, and he watched the muscles flex in her forearm. What'd she have in there?

He took a half step back.

"Let me see that ID again. And your driver's license." Her voice was calmer but still held the punch of someone expecting to be obeyed. She must be a great princ.i.p.al.

He handed her the newspaper ID and dug in his pocket for his wallet. She snorted at the jam-packed piece of leather. He dug through the mess for thirty seconds.

Where the f.u.c.k was his license?

She reached out and deftly plucked the license from the stack of receipts and dog-eared business cards. Balancing both IDs in her left hand, she studied them carefully and then studied his face again. She handed them back, and he noticed her right hand slowly move from her pocket.

"Mind if I ask what you've got in your pocket?" He jerked his head at her hand as he fumbled to put his wallet in some semblance of order. She smiled and his heart skipped two beats. Christ! The woman was a knockout.

"Pepper spray," she said coolly.

His hands froze. "Would you have used that on me?"

"Yes." Another calm, regal smile. "If I'd needed to."

"Am I safe now?" He eyed her wide lips. Now she was a movie queen packing a weapon. His stomach tightened. In a good way. In a f.u.c.king awesome way.

"Maybe." Her fantastic eyes narrowed at him. "What exactly do you want from me?"

Twenty-four hours in my bed. No. Forty-eight hours.

Where the h.e.l.l did that come from? He shook the thought out of his head.

"Just to talk."

"Uh-huh. I've heard that before." More suspicion darkened those green gems.

"No, seriously. I just want to-"

"I'm teasing." Her lips quirked, and she stepped back to allow him into her home.

Michael blew out a breath. He was seriously off-kilter. "Don't make me dance, princess," he muttered and stepped into the royal lair.

Jamie took a deep breath as the reporter moved past into her air-conditioned home. The scent of slightly sun-toasted male touched her nose, and her senses lit up. She gestured toward her kitchen, and he nodded, stepped into the cheery room, and then positioned himself against her counter in front of her microwave, arms crossing his chest, his dark green gaze on her.

She frowned. He was in her spot.

Her kitchen immediately felt smaller. Michael Brody wasn't a big, bulky guy. He was lean but tall with wide shoulders that seemed to take up too much s.p.a.ce. Waves of cool composure rolled off him, and frustration tightened her spine. She was being intimidated in her own kitchen. Her chin jerked up.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

He shook his head, and she reached for her Diet c.o.ke can, condensation running down its sides. She took a nervous sip and felt an icy drop land on her chest and start to roll beneath her tank. His gaze locked on the drop, tracing its path.

Jamie brushed at her chest, and Michael's gaze returned to hers. She glared and he blinked innocently.

"What's happened?" she asked.

His chest expanded and his face closed off as he spoke. She listened in horror at the events of the morning, her drink forgotten.

"One child's body is missing?" she whispered. All those bones. Buried all these years. Her eyes smarted.

Michael nodded grimly. "They didn't find my brother...well, there isn't a preliminary age match to my brother, and there should be one more...child's remains."

Jamie closed her eyes. What was he going through? No closure for his family.

"It's been so long-"

"Where is Chris?" Michael stopped her apology.

Jamie bit her lip. The last thing Chris would want was the media hounding him again. "I don't think he'll want to talk to the media."

Michael unfolded his arms and leaned toward her. "I'm not here as the media. I'm here as a brother who's got a lot of questions."

Jamie shook her head. "Chris doesn't remember much from back then. He had a pretty bad brain injury, and the doctors believe he blocked everything. He's never had any memory return."

"So he says."

Jamie slammed her can on the counter. "Get out."

Michael rubbed a hand across his forehead. "f.u.c.k. Sorry. I didn't mean that. I just need to hear it from him."

Seeing red, Jamie pointed at the door. "That way."

He locked gazes with her, and Jamie's stomach did a slow warm turn. Michael Brody exuded a h.e.l.l of a lot of testosterone that was hammering away at her hormones. She squared her shoulders. "I'm sorry about your brother. I'm certain it's just a matter of time before they find his body."

Michael's face blanked, and her heart contracted. She hadn't meant to speak like a b.i.t.c.h. The words had sounded better in her head.

He pushed away from the counter and brushed past her, avoiding her eyes and leaving that suns.h.i.+ne scent in his wake again. "Nice meeting you, Ms. Jacobs. I'm sure we'll cross paths again soon."

Jamie caught her breath and turned to follow, but he was already out her door and halfway down the walk. She stopped in the doorway, one hand on the frame, and watched Michael climb into a black Range Rover at the curb. His tires came just short of squealing as he pulled away.

Jamie exhaled and leaned against the frame.

Well. That went real smooth.

Michael pulled to a stop at the end of Jamie's street, out of sight of her home, and hit a b.u.t.ton on his cell to call his invaluable source at the phone company.

"Grace? Brody here. That address I gave you earlier? Any calls go out in the last few seconds?"

He scowled at his cell as he scribbled a number on the back of a napkin. "Where the f.u.c.k is that number from?" His writing slowed at her answer. "Really? Who'd want to live out there?"

No wonder he couldn't find Chris Jacobs. He was hiding out in one of the remotest parts of the state.

"Thanks. You're a doll. Dig up everything you can on this number for me, okay? I need to know just where I'm going. And I owe you a big one, Grace. Drinks are on me next time."

Michael felt adrenaline dump into his veins. Time for a trip.

Chris erased his phone message and sat in the evening light, his brain spinning. He'd always known the call would come. Now that it had, it was almost anticlimactic. He'd lived this moment a thousand times, dreamed it even more. The call had come and gone, and the world still went on, not stopping like it should.