“He’s also unpredictable,” Heath countered. “The guy could just walk up and shoot you.”
“No,” she said, trying not to tremble. “He wouldn’t do that. He has a ritual, and he’ll have to follow it with me. But he might just walk up and shoot you.” Her chest ached at the thought.
“Great.” Heath parked outside the long brick building that held the FBI field office and Copper Killer Task Force before reaching for the printouts of the pictures and e-mail they’d just received. “We’ll talk it through later. For now, let’s go see what good ole Special Agent Fred Reese thinks about this. My guess?”
“He’ll try to put me into protective custody,” Anya said, her shoulders straightening. “It’s not going to happen.”
“Agreed.” Heath moved around the truck to open her door and then held out a hand for her. She took it without hesitation.
The FBI’s offices in Snowville were well protected behind several layers of security, which included cameras and armed agents. After going through the checks, Anya smoothed her hands over her jeans in a chilly conference room, complete with oil paintings of bison and deer. Heath sat quietly at her side, and Special Agent Reese sat across from her, no expression on his face and a stack of manila folders in front of him.
“Thanks for finally coming in,” Reese said, looking impeccable in a black suit with a shiny blue tie.
“Sorry about the delay,” Heath said smoothly. “Anya wanted to hurry here to Snowville and set herself up as bait.”
Anya barely kept from flinching at the rough words. “I chose Snowville because this is where you are stationed.” Where her sister had often visited and worked from as well. “I want to work with you, Reese.”
“I’m glad to hear that.” Reese turned his attention to Anya after having flipped through the pictures the killer had just sent to her. His jaw had hardened toward the end. “You have no idea who this guy is.”
“No.” Anya coughed, her mind reeling still. “I can’t believe he got this close so many times and I had no clue.”
“These types of psychos are good,” Reese said. He turned toward Heath. “How’s the engagement going?”
“Great,” Heath said.
Reese glanced at Anya’s hand on the table. “Don’t most engagements come with a ring these days?”
Anya stiffened.
“I’ve been looking for just the right one,” Heath countered easily.
Anya felt like she was in the middle of a tennis match. No, not tennis. Maybe a duel. Yeah. A duel with knives in the forest, surrounded by wild creatures. She shook her head to regain reality. What the heck was wrong with her brain? “I’m not a big jewelry-type girl,” she said quietly. What kind of ring would Heath buy, anyway? Not that she’d ever wear his ring, of course. Still. She wondered.
Reese tapped a file. “I have my techs looking into your background, Heath.”
“Fine by me.” Heath slid an arm across Anya’s shoulders, providing instant warmth and a sense of safety. “My life is an open book.”
He lied so well and so easily. Anya couldn’t help but relax into his solidness, even as her brain issued warning after warning. What kind of guy could lie easily to an FBI agent trained to detect such lies? She was so far in over her head it wasn’t funny. “Heath has been investigating the Copper Killer for months, Reese. He just wants to catch the guy.”
“As do I,” Reese said. “I’m doing you a favor out of respect to your sister by allowing you two to be questioned together. Please run me through your movements during the entire case, and then tell me everything you know, Heath.”
Anya leaned into Heath as he methodically recounted his agency’s work and movements with the case as well as his personal movements, sounding honest and factual. Damn, he was good.
Reese took careful notes and asked a question or two. “Why did you leave Cisco?”
“We were in Cisco just to trap the killer and figured Snowville would work better,” Heath said.
“Uh-huh,” Reese said, looking up from his notepad. “Why don’t you have an actual and permanent address or place of business?”
Heath shrugged. “We like to travel, and we get plenty of work via computer inquiries. These days I don’t think anybody needs a permanent address, you know?”
“No.” Reese studied Anya. “I believe plenty of people do need a permanent address.”
Heath didn’t so much as twitch.
Anya cleared her throat, her stomach hurting a little. “Is there anything else?”
“Yes.” Reese reached for a folder from the bottom of the stack. “When was the last time you saw Carl Sparks?”
Anya blinked. “Why?”
“Because he also has ignored my directives to come in for an interview,” Reese said evenly, his gaze piercing. “Why do you think that is?”
She shifted in her seat, and Heath tightened his hold. Whether she wanted to feel protected or not, she did. His strong form next to her, bracketing her, gave her a sense of security she’d always wanted. “I don’t know why Carl is ignoring you. However, he does seem concerned with tracking me down and did so last night.”
Reese stilled. “Did he, now?”
She shivered from the tone. “Yes. Apparently he had a GPS tracker on my phone and found me in Snowville at a diner last night.” Should she tell the whole story? Something whispered throughout her brain that she’d already said too much.
“What happened then?” Reese asked.
She swallowed. “I confronted Carl and told him to leave me alone. Later Heath got rid of the tracker on my phone, and that’s about it.”
Reese lifted an eyebrow and glanced down at Heath’s bruised knuckles. “I’m thinking there was a bit of a discussion between your fiancé and your ex. Heath?”
Heath shrugged. “We had words.”
“Just words?” Reese asked.
“That’s all I’m willing to say,” Heath said evenly. “If you’re out of questions, then . . .”
“What time did you have words with Carl Sparks?” Reese persisted.
Heath sighed. “Around suppertime. Why?”
Reese flipped over the cover on the file to reveal a picture of Carl lying on red snow, his neck a bloody mess, his eyes open in death, aimed at the sky. “Because we found him early this morning with his throat slashed to his spine.”
CHAPTER
25
Heath finished beating the hell out of the punching bag Denver had strung up in a corner of the garage. His knuckles ached and his temples pounded. He finished unwinding the tape from his hands just as his phone rang. Tossing the tape aside, he grasped his phone to see who was calling.
He paused for a second and then pushed a button to allow for a video chat. “Hi, Shane.”
Shane Dean’s gray eyes narrowed. “Why are you all sweaty?”
“Was workin’ out.” Heath tapped the birthmark beneath his left ear—the same one that Shane had. He stared at his brother in Montana, the one he’d first met just weeks ago, and searched for words. “What’s up?”
Shane’s gray eyes narrowed. “You’re not okay. Why not?” The tone, full of concern and determination, was low.
Heath breathed out. “A lot going on, man.”
Shane nodded. “I get that. You need me?”
Yeah. Definitely. This new brother had already worked his way right into the small circle of people Heath trusted—which mainly consisted of his other brothers. He and Shane needed time to really get to know each other. Soon. “Not with this case.”
Shane studied him. “Got it. We can connect after the case. But if you need me, I’ll come. You get that, right?”
Heath nodded, his chest filling. Bonds mattered, and he knew it. So did Shane. “I get it. Ditto, by the way.”
“Yeah,” Shane said with a short nod. “For now, there’s a new Internet search on the dark web looking for the Gray brothers and the Lost boys, which is apparently your moniker now.” He shook his head. “Dr. Madison is getting de
sperate, I think. She listed our first names along with the stupid group names she gave us.”
Pinpricks set up along Heath’s skin. Madison called the Gray brothers that because of their gray eyes, and the Lost boys must be from the name of the orphanage, the Lost Springs Home for Boys. “We all knew she’d be coming for us.” Heath eyed the closed door in the far corner, his muscles tightening. “We’re deep into the Copper Killer case right now.”
“Yeah. We’re trying to trace Madison now, but no luck so far. You know, my wife lived in Snowville. That’s where I caught up to her.”
Heath didn’t bother asking how Shane knew where he was. Shane’s intel was probably better than the NSA’s. “Snowville’s a nice town. How is everybody in Montana?”
“Just fine, but I still wanted to contact you.” Shane sighed, his jaw hard even through the phone camera. “I had a dream the other night, and I don’t want to push you, but I’ve been kind of wondering about her. About our mother.”
Ah hell. Heath felt the question like a punch to the gut. “She was, ah, pretty. Bluish green eyes, blond hair, and kind of slender.”
“Yeah?” Shane asked softly. “Was she nice?”
“Soft and nice,” Heath said, leaning against the door and watching the very quiet box covered with a blanket in the far corner by a space heater. “But she was scared and on the run. Now I know from whom.”
“Dr. Madison and the commander,” Shane said, his eyes going slate hard.
Heath rubbed the center of his chest. “She started taking drugs and went down the wrong path with the wrong men.” Damn, he wished there was another way to tell any of this to Shane. Just remembering those days hurt, and so did sharing them. “Died at the hands of one of her lovers—a man named Spyder, who got away before the police arrived. That’s all I know. We’ve been trying to track down Spyder for years without really knowing his name, and we can’t find him. He’s probably dead or in prison.” Heath waited a beat, failure rushing through him. If he’d been stronger or faster, then maybe Shane would’ve had a chance to meet his mom. “I’m sorry I let her die.”
Shane blinked. “Dude. You were a kid. Don’t take that on.”
“I know,” Heath said. But knowing and feeling were different.
“Let it go, brother. Trust me,” Shane said.
“I’m trying.”
“I’ll help,” Shane said. “That’s what happened to her. But I want to know her, you know?”
Heath scrubbed a hand across his jaw. “Yeah. I know. How about I finish this case up, and then we meet in person? Have a few bottles of Jack, and I’ll tell you everything I remember.” He just couldn’t dig deep right now. Not here. “I have no clue how she ended up being our mother or how Isobel Madison got her hands on her. More importantly, how our mother got away from Madison and ended up on the run. But I’ll tell you everything I do know when we sit down together.”
Shane nodded. “That’s a deal. Why don’t you come to Montana? You know we’re going to get you guys up here at some point. Might as well take a look around now.”
“We’ll see,” Heath said as the box moved and its occupant began to twitter.
“Call the second you need help. Or want to talk.”
“I promise, and you, too,” Heath said. “Later.”
“Later.” Shane clicked off.
Heath exhaled slowly.
“They’re persuasive, right?” Ryker asked from the shadows by the door. Heath barely kept himself from jumping in surprise. “I have a feeling when we go to visit we might just end up staying in Montana.”
“Yeah,” Heath said. “I didn’t hear you come in.”
“You were beating the shit out of the bag.” Ryker’s gaze went to the box. He moved that way and gingerly lifted the blanket draped over the top. “Is that a pigeon?”
Heath snorted. “No. It’s a mourning dove.”
Ryker leaned closer and stopped when the bird fluttered one brown wing. “Seriously?”
Denver walked in, papers in his hands. “Hey—” He stopped. “Is that a bird?”
“Yeah,” Heath said. “Found him outside earlier. He hit the window, and I was just keeping him warm until his head cleared.”
Ryker looked over his shoulder at Denver. “He actually brought in a bird with a broken wing. A real broken wing.”
Denver’s cheek creased. “Yep.”
Ryker shook his head. “I mean, we’ve had wounded dogs, scratched cats, a couple of dinged up squirrels—”
“Don’t forget that pig in Daytona,” Denver said dryly.
Heath sighed. “I found him outside, and he doesn’t have a broken wing. He’s fine.”
“Just in case.” Denver reached into his back pocket and drew out a folded piece of paper. “All local vets, Fish and Wildlife, and wildlife rehab centers.”
Heath looked at the yellow legal-size paper. His chest burned. “Numbers?” He looked up to meet Denver’s startling blue-gold eyes. “You looked up all the numbers for me?” Taking the paper, he slowly unfolded it.
Denver shrugged. “Always do when we hit a new town.”
Heath cleared his throat over the lump. Denver must’ve been carrying the paper around the whole time. “Thanks.” Who knew? That might come in handy.
“No prob,” Denver said.
Ryker moved in closer, his face losing all amusement. “Anya told us about Carl being dead. What is happening?”
Heath shook his head and shoved the paper into his back pocket. “Hell if I know. I’ve been going around it in my head, and I just don’t know.”
“Denver is doing a full background on Carl, his partners, his life. If there’s any clue in that, we’ll have it by tomorrow morning,” Ryker said, his eyes blazing. “I’ve got you covered here. I promise.”
His big brother had been covering him since the first day he’d arrived at the boys home. Heath wasn’t alone, and they’d figure this out together, like they always did. God had done him a solid by giving these men to him as brothers. He slid his phone into a pocket in his jeans and reached for the shirt he’d thrown to the ground earlier. “Any ideas?”
“None you’re gonna like,” Ryker said. He moved for the door and pulled a cooler into the room.
“Considering I’m the prime suspect right now, I’d like just about anything,” Heath muttered.
Ryker’s lip curled back. “That’s exactly the kind of attention we don’t need.”
Heath yanked on his shirt. “Yep.”
Ryker reached into the cooler and withdrew three beer bottles. He handed two over.
Heath took a deep pull of his. “Thanks.” Then he studied his brothers, who both were staring at him intently. “Oh. We’re having our feelings chat right now?”
Denver shrugged.
“Seemed like a good time,” Ryker said, taking a slug of his beer, amusement creasing his cheek. “Zara and Anya are trying on cocktail dresses for tonight. Zara had a bunch of them delivered early this morning. I have no clue how she does that.”
Heath winced. “I guess I need a suit.”
“She ordered a bunch of suits, too—all on credit, by the way.” Ryker shook his head. “Apparently she wants to attend, so we’ll be joining you.”
Heath turned toward Denver. “You coming?”
“Hell no.” Denver tipped back his head and almost downed the entire beer.
Ryker watched him and then turned back toward Heath. “One problem at a time. So you lost your mind last night, and now the guy is dead.”
“I didn’t kill him,” Heath burst out.
“No shit,” Ryker said, gesturing toward the brown bird watching them so intently. “Maybe Anya wasn’t the only woman he was stalking.”
“Good point,” Heath said thoughtfully. “There’s another possibility.”
Denver finished his beer. “The guy slept with a student, right?”
“Yeah,” Heath said, taking another swallow of the local brew. “I guess he could’ve pissed the wrong daddy off. But
this feels almost personal. Like somebody is fucking with us, you know?”
Ryker nodded. “Yeah, but who? If Madison or Cobb had found us, they wouldn’t mess around. They’d come at us head-on.”
“What about the Copper Killer?” Denver asked.
Heath thought the issue through. “Doesn’t make sense, either. The guy kills redheads and is obsessed with women. There’s no way Carl tracked him down or was any sort of a threat to him. Or them. Current thought is that there might be two killers.”
“Feels like one to me,” Ryker countered. “Somebody brilliant with fighting skills. Maybe ex-military?”
“Agreed,” Heath said. He played through the day in his head. “Do a search on FBI Special Agent Frederick Reese, too. He seems personally involved in this case.”
“His partner was killed,” Ryker said. “But that’s a good idea anyway. We need to know if there’s anything in his past we can use if necessary.” He cleared his throat. “You’re gonna have to talk to Anya about Carl. See if she has any clue who would want to kill him. Besides you, of course.”
“I know. Just wanted to work off energy before I did,” Heath said. The last thing he wanted to discuss with her was an ex-boyfriend who had cheated on her. “Shane called and wanted to know about our birth mother.” Heath finished his beer and let the bottle dangle between two of his fingers. “I don’t have much to tell him.”
Denver lifted a shoulder. “Just tell him what you remember. That’s all you have.”
Heath nodded. “Then I guess we’re good here?”
“No. Why don’t you tell us what happened last night?” Ryker asked quietly, determination threading through his tone.
Heath drew up short, and it took several seconds for him to realize Ryker was asking about the fight, not his sexual escapades. “Oh. Well, you already know. Carl was mean to Anya, it triggered memories of my mother, and I saw black.”
“It was different,” Denver said. He cleared his throat. “Different.”
Heath replayed the night in his head. His rage had felt personal . . . and painful. In the moment, all he could think about was protecting Anya from pain. Any pain. It wasn’t about women or bullies. It had all been about Anya. Only her. “Yeah, I guess it was. Anya is different.” He sighed.