Buried: A Bone Secrets Novel Part 17

"No, you were thinking about Chris," he corrected. "Now you're thinking about last night because I can see your cheeks are pinker. And your eyes are glowing a bit. You don't fool me. You've got s.e.x on the brain again."

She laughed. She couldn't help it. His words were constantly unexpected and so refres.h.i.+ng. She'd never met anyone like him. His brain was quick and nimble, and his thoughts were always miles ahead of hers on different tangents. But it was all good. Sometimes, he slowed down and savored the moment. Like right now. He was still looking intently at her, and his attention made her feel beautiful.

He wasn't the type of guy to deliver a line, hoping to hook a woman. He simply said exactly what he was feeling and thinking. She'd been suspicious of his blunt talk before, but now she knew it for what it was. A man appreciating what was in front of him. She was even getting used to being called "princess." No one else could get away with it. Michael Brody could because he made it sound like pure tenderness.

"Are you excited to see your brother?"

"G.o.d, yes. I'm excited, worried, and nervous all together."

Michael looked at the house, his intensity s.h.i.+fting to the little building. "I totally understand. I've got some questions for your brother. And I plan to get some answers. Good answers. I'm not going to accept 'I don't remember.'"

"But he doesn't remember."

"Yes, he does. He knows something. That's why he's living in the middle of nowhere and impossible to find. I suspect he's avoiding the man who broke into your house."

What? "No, you don't under-"

"Your brother behaves like a man hiding," Michael said emphatically. "Not a man trying to avoid people. I've got neighbors I've never seen because they rarely come out of the house. That's how someone acts when they want to avoid people. They don't move to the middle of nowhere and keep their kids out of school. That's a man who is scared...protecting what's his. By keeping you out of the loop, he thought he was protecting you. Instead, you got the c.r.a.p beat out of you, and it could have been a lot worse. You bet I have some questions for him."

Jamie's mind spun. Did Chris remember? But why not tell someone? Why hide?

"Why hide the truth?" Her voice rose. "If he knows who killed all those kids, why isn't he telling?" She shook her head. "That makes no sense at all."

"I agree one hundred percent." He nodded. "No sense at all. I've thought this through backward and forward and inside out. But the only person who can tell us the truth is Chris or Mr. Tattoo." He squeezed her hand. "Let's go meet your nephew."

In his green gaze, she saw complete support. Michael might be there because he had questions for Chris, but he was also there for her. She squeezed his hand back and slipped out of the vehicle.

Michael pounded on the front door of the home. They waited. And he pounded again.

"Well, we've made enough noise to not be a surprise." He stepped to a window and cupped his hands to peek in.

"Michael-"

"Jamie, get back in the truck. Lock the doors." Michael ducked away from the window, keeping his back against the wall of the home.

She froze. "What-"

"Do it. Someone's trashed the house. Go, now!"

"But-"

"Now!" He turned a razor-sharp gaze her way, and she stumbled backward. Sweat instantly dampened under her arms, and she reached out a steadying hand to grip the rail to the steps.

He's here. The man with the tattoos. He's here.

She backed down the stairs, surprised to see a pistol had appeared in Michael's hands. Where had that come from?

"Move it," he hissed at her.

She turned and ran. Locking herself inside the SUV, she ducked behind the dash the best she could while keeping an eye on Michael.

Chris? Oh dear G.o.d. Is Brian hurt?

Tears streamed down her cheeks, and she could hear the tattooed man's voice in her head. G.o.dd.a.m.ned b.i.t.c.h! Her thighs quivered from the awkward position, and her torso started to shake.

Michael tried the doork.n.o.b to the house. Then opened the door.

No! Do NOT go in, Michael!

With his gun stretched out in front of him like a character on a cop show, he entered the house.

Jamie stopped breathing, her ears straining for any sound outside of the pounding of her heart. Her gaze stayed glued on the open door, occasionally darting to the sides of the house, checking for surprises. It felt like ten minutes, but it was probably thirty seconds before Michael reappeared, his stance relaxed. He scanned the outside of the home and surrounding brush, and then he waved her out of the vehicle.

"No one's here."

Legs shaking, she opened the door but simply sat in the pa.s.senger seat. She didn't trust her legs to carry her weight just yet. He came over, the gun tucked in his waistband, and reached out for both of her hands.

"Your hands feel like ice." He rubbed them between his. "I didn't mean to scare you. I just needed you out of harm's way."

"Yes, you scared the h.e.l.l out of me!" Jamie blew out a breath. "G.o.d d.a.m.n it. That's twice in two days I've been rattled like that." A full-body quiver shook her in the seat. "No one's here? What's inside?"

Michael's jaw tightened. "The place has been torn apart. But there's no sign that anyone was hurt. I think your brother split first."

"Maybe he trashed it to confuse people."

Michael shook his head. "Someone ripped up some kid's drawings and deliberately left them on the floor in the kitchen. It'd take a lot for a parent to act like that, I think. Only someone who was really p.i.s.sed that they didn't find what they wanted would do it. And there're no toothbrushes in the bathroom. Most people grab their toothbrushes when they leave."

"We need to call the police," Jamie said. Her mind reeled with images of the tattooed man hurting her nephew and brother. "Oh G.o.d. I hope they're safe."

"I've got Sheriff Spencer's number. I'll report it directly to him. And I'll let Callahan know that we've hit a dead end here."

"Did you see any pictures of Brian? Were there any pictures of the two of them?" Jamie was suddenly hit by an overwhelming urge to see her nephew's face.

Michael thought for a second. "No, I didn't see pictures. Wasn't looking for them."

She looked at the house. "Do you think I could go in? I won't touch anything. I just need to look..."

"Not a good idea, princess. There could be some evidence in there that'd lead the police to Mr. Tattoo. Let's not mess it up." Michael thumbed through his phone contacts.

"I'll just check the walls and look around. We're so close, it's killing me to be this close and not see them," she pleaded. "Pictures could help us identify Brian if we see him without Chris."

Michael held her gaze and then reached to softly touch her cheek. "I'd want to do the same. Okay, but touch nothing. Watch where you place every foot. Don't step on anything or s.h.i.+ft anything. No opening drawers or cupboards. And I'll be right behind you." He lifted the phone to his ear, and Jamie could hear a faint ring.

With unsteady legs, she made her way into the tiny house. Michael was right. It was trashed. And eerily reminiscent of the mess in her own home. Bile rose in the back of her throat and she forced it down, focusing on not stepping on the debris on the floor. As if from far away, she heard Michael talking to Sheriff Spencer. She continued her slow trek.

There were no pictures. She stood at the doorway to Brian's room. The room told a story of a boy who loved outer s.p.a.ce. Everywhere she looked there were science books on s.p.a.ce or fiction that took place in s.p.a.ce. There was a hanging model of the solar system and movie posters of s.p.a.ce movies. She smiled at the poster of the Muppets from Pigs in s.p.a.ce. Chris loved that segment of the old TV show. She had, too.

"There's something I haven't seen in forever. Pigs in s.p.a.ce." Michael spoke directly behind her. "My brother and I used to watch that."

"Me too." Jamie turned and tried to smile at him. "There's nothing here. I thought for certain there'd be pictures of Brian. Chris avoids pictures, but I don't know why he wouldn't take pictures of his son."

"Dunno." Michael frowned. "We need to head back to Demming."

Jamie didn't like the grim expression on his face. "What's happened?" She held her breath. Not Brian, please don't tell me something has happened.

"Spencer is at a murder in town. His first murder in eight years, and he says the victim's a friend of your brother."

Three sheriff's cruisers and one state police vehicle crowded the street in front of the town's bakery. It looked like a simple concrete block building. The only clue to its purpose was the sign that read BAKERY painted over the door. Locals scattered about the sidewalks, talking, pointing, and wiping at tears.

Michael glanced at his watch and felt it slide in the sweat on his arm. It was ten a.m. and over ninety degrees. Welcome to Eastern Oregon.

At least it's not humid.

For as many times as he'd heard that phrase, it should be the state's motto.

The locals avoided him and Jamie. He caught a few glances thrown their way, some curious, some unfriendly. No doubt a lot of the town had heard the two of them were looking for Chris. And now Chris's best buddy had been brutally murdered. "Best buddy" might be a stretch of the description. "The only person Chris talked to" was sounding more accurate.

The sheriff's men were giving them the stink eye, too, as they waited to talk to Spencer. Like he and Jamie were the ones who'd brought murder to their perfect town. Michael inwardly sighed and wrapped a tighter arm around Jamie's shoulders. She'd been looking over her shoulder since Michael had told her there'd been a murder. She'd asked few questions on the ride to town. Michael had few answers.

No sign of Chris and Brian.

No sign of the man who had done it.

Michael knew she was thinking the same thing as he.

Were we followed from Portland? Did we lead someone to Chris?

Sheriff Spencer stepped out of the bakery, took off his cowboy hat, and brushed his forehead with his sleeve. Close behind him was an officer in an Oregon State Police uniform. Michael wondered how many square hundreds of miles the OSP officer was responsible for. He'd heard they were spread pretty thin on this side of the state. Spencer caught Michael's eye and jerked his head. Michael moved in his direction, bringing Jamie with him.

"Brody. Ms. Jacobs. This is Sergeant Tim Hove with OSP." Spencer made introductions. Hove was cadaver thin with red hair and pale skin that must hate the intense sun of the east side of the state.

Hands were shaken all around.

"Who exactly is the victim?" Michael asked.

The two police officers exchanged glances. Spencer spoke. "Juan Rios was sixty-eight and owned the bakery. He lived behind it, same as his father had done for decades. Lived alone. No known family." He took a deep breath, glanced at Jamie, and then returned his gaze to hold Michael's. "Someone broke in. The door lock was busted, weak-a.s.sed lock. Juan was tied up in a chair. He's got abrasions from head to toe, at least six broken fingers, and cigarette burns on his cheeks."

Jamie made a small sound in the back of her throat and moved closer beneath Michael's arm. He felt a small s.h.i.+ver speed through her shoulders. Rage reddened Michael's vision.

If I have the chance, I will kill Mr. Tattoo.

"Looks like the cause of death will be strangulation." He's still got the cord around his neck. We'll see what the medical examiner says.

"Juan may have had some overnight guests at some point. There's evidence that someone, possibly two people, slept in his upstairs room recently."

"Chris?" Jamie asked.

Sheriff Spencer shook his head. "I don't know. No one we've talked to said anyone was known to sleep here except for Juan. There are some crayons on the table. So one guest may have been a child, which makes your brother a possibility. Chris never talked to anyone else in town." He scowled. "I don't like that it appears your brother has left town, Ms. Jacobs."

Jamie stood taller. "You don't think Chris killed that man, do you? That's crazy. Why would he break in if you thought he was sleeping in the man's home?" She pushed Michael's arm off her shoulders, and she stepped closer to the sheriff. "Chris's home has been ripped up inside, just like mine was, and it was probably by the same guy who did this. And you said cigarette burns? How do you think Chris got those scars on his neck and face? You've seen them, right?"

The sheriff's face clouded, but he nodded.

"He was tortured as a kid by a sick pervert. And I think that pervert or someone close to him killed that old baker, trying to find Chris."

"But how did the killer know to go to the bakery?" asked Michael. "Someone had to have said something. Has anyone new around town been asking questions about Chris? I mean, anyone besides us?"

"I don't know yet," Spencer replied. "I've got a lot of people to talk to and questions to ask."

"We'll give you whatever support we can," Sergeant Hove offered.

"You need to talk with Detective Callahan in Major Crimes back in Portland," Michael said, turning his attention to the OSP officer. "He's looking for the man who ripped up Jamie's place in conjunction with some older murders. I think Jamie's hunch that this is the same guy is a good one. He is a cold-blooded killer. And has done the cigarette burns before."

Sheriff Spencer's face flooded red. "Wait a minute. Yesterday you never said anything about a murder. All you said was that you were looking for her brother. What the h.e.l.l have you been holding back?"

Michael shook his head. "I had no idea this guy was on your side of the state. I a.s.sumed that he was still in the Portland area where he'd attacked Jamie-"

"Wait a minute." Spencer reached out and gently moved Jamie's chin to the side so he could better see her bruised cheek. "Start from the beginning."

Michael did. He started twenty years back.

Both police officers were rubbing the backs of their necks and s.h.i.+fting their feet by the time he'd finished.

"Holy c.r.a.p," muttered Spencer. "We need to find Chris Jacobs before your tattoo man does."

"I wouldn't mind finding Mr. Tattoo first. I wouldn't mind that at all." Michael forced back the anger that tightened his throat.

"Do you think you were followed from the city? Obviously, someone found the house before you, but that's only because I told you to wait till this morning so you had some light. Do you remember seeing anyone?" Sheriff Spencer asked.

Michael shook his head and looked to Jamie. She looked ready to puke. He knew she was thinking they'd led a killer directly to her brother and his son.

"I've tried to find Chris through all the usual and unusual online searches. He doesn't exist on paper or in cybers.p.a.ce. I don't know how anyone else could have found him unless they were following us."

"Anyone else know you were headed over here? You tell anyone your plans?" Hove asked.

Michael shook his head. "Callahan at OSP knew we were following a pretty good lead, but I didn't give him any specifics, and he didn't ask." He smiled wryly. "Callahan knows I'd tell him if I had something concrete. And concrete means I've looked Chris in the eye and shook his hand to be certain he's real. I don't give out or print information unless I've checked and triple-checked it."

"Print?" Hove frowned.

Michael looked the red-haired officer in the eye. "I'm a reporter for the Oregonian. I'm not looking for a story. I'm looking for personal answers; I'm looking for my own brother."

He felt Jamie take his hand and give a small squeeze.

Hove's expression relaxed. A bit.

Michael was going to find Chris. And Chris would tell him what'd happened to Daniel.

Jamie didn't want to see the murdered old man. The description by the sheriff had been more than enough. She didn't need an actual look. And she knew she was right about who'd done the murder. It had to be the same man who'd attacked her.