Serial Games (Virginia Justice Book One) (11 page)

Maggie groaned. “Simon Baker? Really Mom?” She rolled her eyes.

“Don’t roll your eyes either. It’s disrespectful.”

Maggie couldn’t help smiling. How did she know? “Mother, I’m working a case.”

“Hmm, you didn’t say Denzel—”

“Mom.”

“Well…” She exaggerated.

Maggie sent her gaze heavenward. “Mom, I don’t need to be thinking about that right now,” Maggie pleaded.

“So, he’s white?”

“Mother.” Maggie tried not to shout. “Does it really matter if he’s white?” she hissed into the phone. What was keeping Brandon? She needed a reason to get off the phone. She jumped up from her seat, intent on marching to command and control to find Brandon when she nearly collided into his chest. She raised her eyes, and gulped.

“I don’t see why you have to keep it a secret. It’s not the 1950s. I’d still like to know who’s coming to dinner, though.” She laughed. “Maggie? Margaret? Are you still there? Is the man there with you? At least tell me if I got the right name—”

“Call you back, Mom.”

Click
.

“Who’s white?” His baritone voice hummed. Humor laced the question while his eyes twinkled.

Maggie blinked.
Oh Lord, please don’t let him guess what Mother and I were talking about
. She grappled for a way to change the subject, and regain some sense of composure, but his chest was at her eye level — his pectorals strained the fabric each time he inhaled.

Heat stole up her neck.

Maggie looked down and noticed the papers in his hands. “Um, are these the names of the escapees from your office?” She tried to take them from his hands, but he resisted. Her head came up. His lips twitched as he fought a smile. He let the papers go.

He knows
. But had the good grace to let the matter die.

“Yes. I made a quick copy, thinking you might want to see if you recognize any names.”

“Great, I’ll look these over on our way out to the scene.” Maggie spun on her heels and hurried out. She refused to look behind her this time.

The drive to the outskirts of Culpeper, where Burrows abandoned the vehicle, couldn’t have been more arduous. Maggie tried her best to read her documents but she ended up counting the number of times Brandon glanced at her. And it had been a lot. He asked whether she was okay, and she assured him, a little too cheerfully, everything was fine.

Everything was not fine.

The whole way over, Maggie mentally weighed the pros and cons of inviting him to the scene. She didn’t need him. He could be busy with other aspects of the manhunt instead of looking at a charbroiled car…a car not likely to have any clues to aid the investigation. Maggie ignored the obvious: Brandon had agreed to join her. The elation she felt earlier over his consent to come had since died, and now she wondered what had come over her.

She wouldn’t admit some primal form of jealousy had arisen in her when Deckker moved a little too close to Brandon. It was wrong of her, she knew, but in an effort to boost her own ego, she gave Brandon an opportunity to choose her over Deckker, to come with
her
to the scene of a barbeque and leave Deckker at the hotel.

He left the man-eater at the hotel.

Now what?

What could she do? Absolutely nothing. Maggie swallowed down the thick lump in her throat. Besides, he didn’t come along for the ride because of her, did he? He came for anything that could open up the investigation and lead to the capture of Burrows. He wanted her consulting skills. Nothing more. Maggie repeated this to herself. After a few minutes, she centered on one truth: she knew nothing about this man.

“I think this is it,” Brandon said.

Maggie glanced up as the car slowed. Halogen lamps and emergency markers lit the area. Rotating lights from the fire engines and police cruisers caused the unsuspecting eye to blink rapidly before focusing. The number of first responders on the scene was staggering for a vehicle fire. Three fire trucks and multiple law enforcement vehicles, including local and state police, had responded. Their vehicles acted as a buffer to outsiders not involved in the investigation.

Maggie glanced down at her lap. Papers were strewn everywhere. She searched for her pad to take notes. She ducked her head as she frantically searched; the small interior light cast very little glow at her feet. All the while, the car had stopped and she heard the open and shut sound of a door to her left. Then another door opened. She found her notebook and sat upright.

Brandon was at her door.

Her open door.

“Ready?” He appraised her disorganized state with raised brows. He reached up and placed a wayward lock of hair behind her ear.

“Uh, yeah,” Maggie responded sheepishly. She dumped the rest of the papers to the floor of the vehicle and hopped down. Brandon closed the door and the two walked toward the central area of the scene.

Well, he has manners. I know he has manners
.

Maggie waved a hand in front of her nose. Thick smoke surrounded her, and she inhaled the stinging smell of burnt metal. Maggie couldn’t distinguish the make and model of the torched vehicle, but by its size and shape, she guessed a late model, compact car.

A state trooper approached, along with one of Culpeper County’s uniformed officers.

“Marshal Worth.” Brandon produced his badge. The trooper extended his hand.

“Trooper Hardy. Nice to meet you.”

Brandon introduced Maggie. After holding out her own badge, she shook the trooper’s hand and greeted him.

“What do you have so far?” Brandon asked the trooper.

Trooper Hardy gave him a smirk and pointed to the car. “You have any dogs or s’mores on you?” He gave a short laugh and beckoned them to follow him. They came within a couple of yards of the wreckage. “Really, there’s nothing left. By the time the fire department arrived, most of the car’s interior was fried. I doubt there’s anything worth saving. No evidence of any bodies in the vehicle either, at least from what we can tell, and we haven’t been able to look inside the trunk yet.”

Another officer spoke. “We received a call from a passerby that this car was on fire. As of an hour ago, there were no reports of stolen vehicles in the local area and with Burrows on the loose and possibly nearby, we put two and two together.”

“We’re still monitoring airwaves for any stolen vehicle reports, but honestly, it could have come from any jurisdiction,” Hardy added.

“And without forensics, it will be difficult to pinpoint who this car belongs to,” Maggie said quietly.

“A forensic team is on the way. It’s possible they were just behind you in traffic,” the officer offered.

Maggie looked over toward the lanes. Traffic was backed up and getting worse by the minute. Waves of onlookers slowed down as much as possible to get a glimpse of the burning vehicle. Horns honked, and lights blared as cars slowly made their way through the bottleneck created by the emergency cordon. Maggie hadn’t noticed the traffic at all on the way to the scene. She peeked over at Brandon, who walked carefully around the vehicle. Maggie deduced Brandon must have driven on the shoulder as traffic increased, since their drive had been fairly smooth.
No telling when the forensic team would arrive
.

Maggie’s eyes narrowed as she watched the last of the smoke relent.
Why torch the vehicle?
A fireman turned a knob on the side of the fire engine and water from the hose slowed to a trickle. Maggie edged toward the car and ignored a gentle warning about the heat from the smoldering ruins. She and Brandon crossed paths.

“See anything?” he said low in her ear as he passed behind her.

Maggie shook her head. “We’re looking at a crisper.”

“Forensics is here,” Hardy announced.

Hardy moved to the forensic team. He assured them of her and Brandon’s identity and they introduced themselves. Brandon and Maggie were offered latex gloves. Maggie snapped the gloves on and a puff of white powder released. She wriggled her nose and sniffed.

A few people worked to pry open the trunk, while an officer opened the front passenger side door for Maggie. The thick smell initially repelled her. She coughed and gushed out the bad air she inhaled. Maggie turned her head away, filled her lungs with clean air, and then decided to walk the grounds around the car.

She shined her light on the scorched concrete that led to a grassy shoulder that dipped into a small ditch. Dew had just begun to wet the earth and the blades of grass sparkled when the light touched them. A weird pattern in a patch of dirt drew Maggie’s attention. She stooped near the spot and her mouth dropped.
A footprint?
“Anyone have plaster? I’ve got a footprint here” she called over her shoulder. Matching this impression with Burrows’s shoe size could place him here. As her light traveled beyond the print, she gasped.

“What is it?” Brandon called.

Her gaze locked on a small piece of yellow paper nestled in the grass. After she removed the rock it was underneath, Maggie stood with the paper in hand.

“Where did you find it?” Brandon asked Maggie.

“Just here, in the dirt. It was secured by this.” She angled her flashlight to illuminate a nearby rock.

“But, that’s just a sheet of paper,” the fire marshal said.

“Yeah, and where have we seen it before,” Brandon gritted. “Guess we can safely assume Burrows stole the vehicle and torched it.”

Maggie nodded. Her gaze fixated on the triangle. She almost didn’t want to unfold the paper. She felt like a participant in a game where she had to gather all the clues in order to find the treasure. Only, there wouldn’t be any treasure at the end of this game. Despite her desire to have Burrows found and locked up again, opening the paper would mean she was playing his game. The thought weighed heavily on her, as did a strong sense of discouragement. But she had no other choice.

Maggie swallowed hard, the grit of smoke sticking in her throat. She carefully unfolded the paper.

Two words glowed in black on the piece of yellow paper. “Not yet,” Maggie read.

“Not yet?” Brandon leaned in close to look at the paper.

“Not yet,” Maggie repeated.

“Now, what in the world does that mean?” Hardy asked.

“It means,” Brandon’s voice was raw and thick, “we’re playing his game.”

“Pardon, but what kind of game?” Hardy asked with serious curiosity.

“I’m hoping our resident expert on all-things Burrows can help us out here.”

Maggie heard Brandon’s plea underneath frustrated sarcasm. “He’s never done anything like this. Never,” she breathed.

Brandon took the paper from her hands and called a uniform over. “Here, bag this. And get someone to take a mold of that footprint.”

They would catalog both into evidence, alongside the previous message Burrows left behind. The officer took the paper and placed it into a plastic evidence bag.

A strong hand enclosed Maggie’s elbow. Brandon dragged her away from the car and from the officers.

Brandon leaned in closely. “What’s going on, Maggie?” he hissed. “We have a killer on the loose who, according to you, doesn’t like to draw attention to himself.”

Even back-lit by the crime-scene lamps, Maggie could still make out the strained lines in his face, and the pulsating veins in his neck.

“Now, he’s leaving messages, running through cornfields, and setting cars ablaze on the side of the road. This is getting us nowhere,” he seethed. “What have you found that’s going to help me take this guy out?”

Maggie’s nerves pricked sharply. She could excuse his earlier sarcastic comment but this? “Are you saying the reason
you
haven’t captured him is my fault?” she whispered fiercely. She stepped closer to him. They were literally nose-to-nose, but their proximity was less than arousing. He was angry at the situation and it offended her he chose to take it out on her. She could kick herself for inviting him to tag along. “No one wants Burrows behind bars more than me.” Her voice trembled slightly with her own fury and frustration. “As I said in the beginning, since he’s escaped custody—”

“Oh, so this is my fault?”

“—we’re dealing with a new set of circumstances. A new way of thinking.”

“You’re the profiler.”

“And I’m doing my best!” Exasperated, Maggie shut her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. When she opened them again, he had taken a step back and threaded his long fingers through his hair.

His features softened a bit, his eyes apologetic. “Look, Maggie—”

“No, you look,” she decidedly cut him off, her tone quiet and professional. “This isn’t your fault or mine, even though you’re
supposed
to be the best tracker.” She couldn’t help the dig. She steeled herself against a retort but all that met her was his sly half-grin. She took a second to admire how gorgeous he looked in the shadows with that smirk. Then she remembered his accusation. “Profiling someone who has clearly changed his tactics since jail is like starting over. Which is what I said we needed to do. The life he had before his arrest may be all but gone. I won’t completely dismiss it, but I do believe this is a game to him.”

Brandon didn’t respond. He stood with one hand in his hair, the other on his hip, and his eyes full of remorse.

“Right now it’s clear he’s toying with us, yet for what reason I
don’t
know. What his end objective is? I
don’t
know. It could be simply playing this game until he gets caught again.” Maggie closed the gap, stared into his eyes and hoped he could read her sincerity. “Does he intend to kill again? I don’t know. But I’m going to solve this.” She gave him a brief smile. “You will have your man, Marshal. When?”

“You don’t know.” His answer held resignation.

“No.
Soon
. But,” Maggie looked over to the officer who held their evidence and waited for instructions, “not yet.”

After they decided they had salvaged everything they could from the wreck, Brandon and Maggie returned to their vehicle. Brandon unlocked the car and Maggie opened her door. The snap of a twig behind her caused her to stop, one leg in the vehicle. She cautiously looked over her shoulder into the thick darkness of the surrounding forest. She strained both ears and eyes. Her hand moved slowly to her service weapon.