Blind Faith (15 page)

"Chief Waverly said you found a body."

Sarah shivered. She'd washed her hands about half a dozen times, sanitized them with alcohol wipes, but she still felt the greasy slick of decomposition coating them. "It wasn't Sam."

"You thought it would be?"

The question surprised her. "Of course. There hasn't been anyone else reported missing on Snakehead. It had to be Sam—I was so certain..." Her voice trailed off. "I'm still not sure if I'm relieved or disappointed." She looked up. "Is that why you're here? Because of the body? But how did you know?"

"Did your husband, Sam, did he ever mention anyone by the name of Stan Diamontes? Or Grigory Korsakov?"

Sarah frowned at the unfamiliar names. "No. I've never heard of them before. Why? What's this all about?"

"How about Leo Richland? Does that name ring a bell?"

"No. Please tell me what these people have to do with Sam. Why are you really here?"

Caitlyn's fingers tightened over hers and Sarah pulled her hands away. Caitlyn grimaced, her lips creasing into a frown as she rubbed the base of her thumb with her other hand. "Sam may not have been alone up there," she finally said, her words emerging hesitantly.

"Of course he wasn't, Damian Wright was with him. And Josh." Sarah stared at the federal agent, trying to puzzle out her meaning. "You mean there was someone else, that Damian Wright had an accomplice? One of those men you mentioned?" Caitlyn said nothing. The silence tightened around them as shadows deepened the colors streaming through the window above them. "Leo Richland. LR. Those were the initials on the watch of the man I found today. LR."

Caitlyn straightened, poised to spring from the polished oak of the pew. "Really? Are you sure? Did he have any other identification?"

"I don't know. We just packaged him and Gerald, the coroner, took him to the funeral home. The State Police will probably be picking him up tomorrow, take him to their lab."

Caitlyn stood, turned to leave, but Sarah stopped her with a hand on her arm. "If it is Richland, what does that mean? Did he kill Sam instead of Wright? What about Josh? Please, I need to know what happened to my family."

Her voice broke like one of Sam's guitar strings wound too tight. A grating sound, high pitched, and too close to pleading for Sarah's comfort. She tightened her grip on Caitlyn's arm and stood to face her. "Please."

Caitlyn didn't move to release herself. She met Sarah's gaze. "As soon as I know anything, I'll let you know. I promise."

Sarah bit her lip before she could beg some more. She gave a small nod of her head and released Caitlyn. The FBI agent walked away, her shadow dancing between the stained glass reflections like a child playing hopscotch.

The door closed behind her with a solid thud that reverberated into Sarah's bones. She sagged against the end of the pew, her gaze centered on the image of the puny, mortal slaying a monster. She thought about Ahweyoh and her Thundergod, about Sam and the way she felt invincible when he wrapped his arms around her, about Josh and the trust he gave them, assuming his parents were omnipotent.

In the color-studded silence of the church, Sarah came close to tears. But what could she cry about? She now knew less than ever. She had no facts, no bodies to bury, no theories, just a bunch of meaningless names and the confession of a madman.

Most of all she had no hope. She couldn't let Caitlyn's questions stir any. That road led only to despair. Hope was her enemy, this she had learned.

Her breath echoed through her, rattling inside her chest like the ticking of a bomb ready to explode. Sarah pursed her lips at the memory. She'd felt this way before and she'd survived.

Just had to take it one day at a time, one step at a time, one breath at a time.

Hal Waverly had been finishing a greasy mound of French fries when Caitlyn returned to the Rockslide.

"Has your coroner determined the man's identity yet?" she asked, declining his offer of both a French fry and a seat beside him at the counter.

His laughter made him snort as he choked down a mouthful. The diner was filling with patrons and all eyes were once again on her, the stranger in their midst.

"Now that's the woman I remember," Hal said. "Barking out orders as she kneels in the mud, trying to photograph a crime scene that's turned into a freaking deluge. Thought then you were only trying to impress your boss, but I guess you're always like that."

"Like what?" Caitlyn demanded. Even standing beside him as he sat, he still was tall enough that she had to tilt her head to meet his gaze. "Competent? Hard-working? Knowledgeable?"

"Intense. Hyperactive." His gaze raked over her before coming to a stop on her lips. "Excitable."

"Don't give me any of your gee-shucks we're just a small town crap," she said, surprising herself. Usually she was the consummate diplomat, especially with smaller jurisdictions. Something about Waverly brought out the bitch in her. The man exuded sexuality, no problems there. But he also raised all sorts of alarms in her. "Give me directions to this so-called coroner of yours and I'll go myself."

He shook his head, stopped just short of rolling his eyes, and wiped his mouth. "Give me a minute to settle up here and I'll drive you myself."

The last thing Caitlyn needed was to be chauffeured. But it seemed a small concession after she'd just insulted him and his police force.

"See you tomorrow night, Colonel," Waverly said as he handed over a five-dollar bill. "You'll get the rest of the council there?"

"I'll start working on it right away, Hal. Eight o'clock."

"Sounds like a plan."

He held Caitlyn's elbow as they strolled outside to his GMC Jimmy parked in front of the post office. His touch was casual, not controlling or even flirting. The warm solidity of his hand cut through the fabric of her jacket. Although she wasn't entirely certain if she liked it or not, she didn't shrug it off.

He held the door open for her, offered a hand, which she declined, to help her climb up into the SUV's passenger seat. The car had seen much more use than his office, as evidenced by the multiple travel mugs, strewn ticket books, remnants of fast food meals, a spare set of clothes hanging from the rear window, wet suit and climbing gear arranged across the rear seat, and shaving mirror attached to the passenger sun visor.

"You got a house, Waverly?" she asked, shoving the detritus aside and fastening her seat belt.

"I vaguely remember one." He adjusted his holster and radio in an automatic movement born of frequent repetition. Nestling into the seat as if it were a well-worn recliner, he stretched his long legs into the wheel-well in front of him. After placing his cell phone into the charger, he started the engine.

Caitlyn leaned forward as he placed his arm on the back of her seat, steering the SUV into a tight reverse turn. The police scanner on the dash crackled with chatter from various units. "County-wide dispatcher?"

"Only way we can afford it. Especially during tourist season. I've got three men and myself to cover over a hundred square miles and let's face it." He gave her a self-deprecating shrug. "Superman, I'm not. As you so aptly pointed out. Both times we've met."

Caitlyn sat in silence, staring at the quaint houses and shops they passed. The sun abruptly abandoned them as they entered the forest, the road turning into a corkscrew of twists and turns.

Driving it hadn't been so bad, but riding as a passenger with nothing to focus on, the winding road brought with it a wave of nausea that awakened the sleeping giant of her migraine. Not one like last night, she prayed, swallowing hard and trying to appear nonchalant as Waverly steered them from one bone-jostling curve into the next.

"It was nice that you apologized to Sarah," he said, oblivious to the stomach-roiling rollercoaster ride. "Hope you didn't upset her again during your little talk."

Caitlyn caught the edge to his voice. Don't mess with my people, it said loud and clear. "I don't think so."

"Mind telling me what's brought you all the way up here from Virigina?"

"There's a chance your corpse might be the body of a missing US Marshal," she answered, deciding to trust him with as little of the truth as possible. Not a hard choice given that she knew almost nothing of the truth herself. Everything she discovered, most of which weren't facts but mere speculation, seemed to make the whole mess more and more complicated.

"Hmpf. You have some kind of psychic premonition Sarah was going to find this guy? That's why you came in a private vehicle instead of one of your official FBI cars?"

She slanted a glance at him. His eyes were on the road but he wore another of those infuriating smirks. "Yep. Even us small town cops have eyes in our heads. And," he turned to give her a wide-eyed nod as if imparting news-breaking information, "we can tell time as well. C'mon, Agent Tierney, fess up. Why are you really here?"

Sarah stopped in front of her house, stood on one foot, rubbing one ankle against the back of the other. She'd scratched herself on some branches in the water while recovering the body and now was breaking out in a prickly-heat-like reaction.

She shifted her pack and continued walking. The Colonel's wife had made the expected disapproving clucks and pumped her for information after she'd returned to the Rockslide. Hal had left to take Caitlyn down to the funeral home and the Colonel was busy organizing the emergency village council meeting Hal had requested for tomorrow. He'd paused between phone calls to come out of the back room and ask if she wanted a ride home, but she'd declined.

She needed to walk, to do something normal, prove to herself that she could. It gave her time to think. Caitlyn had named three men—could there be more bodies on Snakehead? God, what had happened up there?

The mountain loomed over her, its secrets well hidden.

Damian Wright's confession had no mention of any accomplices. It was the tale of one man and his dark obsessions. He'd spoken of his fantasies about Josh, described in loving detail what he'd done to him, but had only given a vague admission that he'd killed Sam. The most the Texas Rangers got out of him was that he'd used a knife on Sam and moved the body so he could take his time with Josh.

It had been the stuff of nightmares, the evil Wright sowed with gleeful abandon. The evil he forced others to live with. Last summer Sarah had vomited after reading the transcript, retching her guts out in the claustrophobic cinder block police station restroom. When she'd returned to the motel in Huntsville, she'd showered repeatedly then stayed in bed the next day, drapes drawn, door barricaded against a world that created a man like Wright.

Now, for the first time she wondered if he had told the truth. If he had even known the truth. Why would he lie?

"Sarah." Alan's voice sounded eerily like the Colonel's wife as he called out from her front door. He held an empty saucepan in his hand and wore one of her aprons. She stepped past him, tossing her pack into the corner. "Look at you! You're dehydrated, exhausted, sunburned and is that poison ivy?"

Sarah glanced down at the welts on her ankle. "Nonsense. I've tramped through these woods all my life and never got poison ivy. Not once."

She reached down to itch the collection of red scratches and almost fell over as the world darkened and spun her around like a whirligig. Alan dropped the pot with a clatter and was immediately at her side.

"The Colonel told me what happened. You promised you'd take better care of yourself," he chided as his arms wrapped around her, hugging her to him.

"It wasn't my fault," she protested but she couldn't resist leaning back into his warmth. Her eyes were still closed and for a moment she imagined Sam's arms around her. "I'm not the one who put the body there."

"Or the cliff you jumped off of," he finished in a wry voice that was most definitely not Sam's.

Sarah startled, sat upright. The room swam around her for a moment before her vision cleared. This was the closest she'd been to a man in almost two years. Her heart revved into full throttle as a memory of Sam's hands spread flat against her belly flashed through her, reminding her how good a man could make her feel. How good Sam had made her feel.

Could she find that again with Alan? With any man?

Alan seemed to read her mind as he pulled her tight against him once more, squeezing her. He lay his chin on her shoulder, his breath rustling the sweaty tangles of her hair. "I don't know what I'd do if anything happened to you."

He released her before she could think of a reply or pull away. Some part of her body had responded to his touch, his warm whisper of comfort. It was as if part of her had been in a coma and was now fighting its way back to life, a stirring, a tingling that made her break out in a sweat. She caught her breath and allowed him to take her hand and pull her upright.

She wobbled slightly, but not too bad. Nothing that a few liters of water wouldn't cure. Then she looked at Alan again. Beneath her red-checkered apron, he wore his best suit, the blue one that made him look like he'd just stepped out of
GQ
. He held her hand still, staring at her with an expression of concern and...desire?