Serial Games (Virginia Justice Book One) (8 page)

“Well, if you were, you’d be the most beautiful one I’ve ever had.”

Maggie’s eyes cut up to see his smile. He wasn’t teasing. Heat rose slowly from her neck and pooled into her cheeks.

“Come on, tell me I’m wrong. What did your boss say?”

This time Maggie took a long sip of her soda. “No, you’re not wrong. My boss was just stressing to me the importance of catching this guy.”

“Is your career on the line or something?”

“Perceptive” wasn’t a strong enough word. He had a sixth sense.

She avoided his gaze. Maggie’s eyes followed the droplet of condensation as it traveled the length of her glass. “I really haven’t had a challenge since the Burrows case. So, I kind of feel as if…”

“It was a fluke.”

Maggie nodded.

“Why do you doubt yourself?”

“I’ve always been a bit competitive.”

Brandon leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes narrowed. Maggie twisted the napkin in her lap. “So, let me do a little profile workup on you. You’re the baby of the family, hence your competitiveness. You always have something to prove, even though your talent speaks for itself and no one doubts your abilities.” He paused as a malicious glint shone in his eyes. “And I’d say your sister is your biggest competition.”

“You done?” Maggie’s chair made a heavy sound against the wooden floor as she scooted back. He was on his feet in a second and blocked her way.

“Maggie, I’m sorry. If I offended you, I apologize.”

The regretful look in his eye caused her shoulders to slump slightly. She opened her mouth to apologize for being too sensitive but someone called Brandon’s name. He turned to the bar where a server placed a large bag on the counter. “Those are the sandwiches I ordered for the others back at the hotel.” He went to the counter to retrieve the order.

After he paid for a dozen or more sandwiches, they proceeded back to the hotel, in silence. What had just happened? Why did Brandon’s assessment unsettle her?
Because he was right
? No. It scared her how he was able to read her. Wasn’t she the profiler?

As they entered the conference room-turned command center, an older, husky marshal, with a heavy mustache, approached them. “Ah, you must be the lovely Agent Weston.”

Maggie’s cheeks flushed. “Yes, I’m Maggie Weston.” She took his hand. Had she been described as lovely?

“Yeah, um, this is Marshal Bernie Erin,” Brandon said dryly.

Maggie caught a mischievous glimmer in Bernie’s eyes as they looked to Brandon, who stood behind her. She resisted the urge to turn around, although she was eager to understand the look between them. Instead, she behaved as if she hadn’t noticed Bernie’s all too obvious approval.

“What do you have for me, Bernie?” Brandon walked forward quickly, not giving Maggie a chance to observe his profile. His voice held a slight warning: a clear desire to get down to business.

“We have an unconfirmed sighting down by Kelly’s Ford.”

“That’s right off Route 672,” Maggie breathed, excited over the news.

Brandon set the sandwiches on a nearby table while Bernie walked toward the wall where area maps were hung. Maggie followed, careful not to get in the way. The room bustled with activity. Hotline phones rang and were answered, and notes were passed and transcribed on dry erase boards. Maggie overheard one marshal in a conversation on the phone, confirming Brandon’s meeting tomorrow at ten in the morning. Brandon placed a bulky handheld radio transmitter into an empty charging case, and then joined Bernie in front of the map. Brandon stood with hands on his hips as Bernie pointed out a location to him.

****

Maggie’s floral scent drifted to Brandon’s nostrils and his body reacted to her close presence. She walked up beside them, her eyes fixed on the location Bernie indicated earlier. For a moment, his mind lingered on her pleasant scent. His eyes drifted to her full mouth, the bottom lip unfortunately pinned by a couple of front teeth.

“What are the particulars?” she asked.

Bernie answered. “The man wasn’t sure, but he thought he saw a young man, in dark pants and a dark jacket, cut across his field. He was out working on the harvest when his dog’s bark alerted him.”

Brandon scowled. He was so focused on Maggie’s voice he barely heard a word Bernie had said.

“He’s ditched his jumpsuit. And that farm is on the outskirts, in the opposite direction of the Burrowses’ residence,” Maggie offered.

“Could he be attempting to make his way back to his house?” Brandon interjected, willing his mind to focus on the task at hand.

Maggie bit her beautiful lip again. “You always return to the scene of a crime, but for Burrows, I wouldn’t think so. The risk of capture is too great.” Her voice trailed, and Brandon knew her mind went a mile a minute to try to determine any and all of Burrows’s possible future moves.

“I have the delta team out there right now examining the area. Let’s hope the dogs can pick up a scent,” Bernie offered.

Brandon shuffled a few papers on the table before he eyed the call sign roster. He snatched it up and scanned the list, confirming the delta team lead. “Okay, Bernie, I want you to go get some rest and take over for me at about midnight.”

Bernie faced Brandon, his thumbs hooked into his belt loops. “You sure?”

Brandon nodded. “I’ve got this shift. You can have the next one.” He wanted to be the first one called if the dogs did manage to sniff out Burrows.

“You’re the boss.” He turned and grinned at Maggie before he said goodbye. The paper in Brandon’s hand crumpled in his grip. Was Bernie deliberately trying to clue Maggie in?

Wait a minute. Clue her in on what? I don’t have feelings for her
. Before he could even react to his internal declaration, a colleague interrupted his thoughts and confirmed his meeting with the mayor tomorrow morning.

His mind instantly returned to Maggie and when he turned, he nearly collided with her.

Maggie gave him a small smile, but her eyes danced with laughter. He remembered how she tripped at the Town Hall. He also remembered the feel of her when he held her…how her hands gripped his arms, the feel of her figure against him.

“I just spoke with Agent Deckker and there’s a lead concerning Burrows’s neighbor I want to follow up on,” she said.

Brandon glanced over to the door at the skinny agent with blonde hair held tight in a ponytail. She stared openly at him. He returned his gaze to Maggie. “Anything we need to know about?”

“Concerning his whereabouts? I’m not sure yet, but I’ll keep you informed.”

Brandon nodded. It was late in the afternoon, and they still had a few hours of prime investigative time before businesses closed for the evening and people retired to their homes. He couldn’t deny the unmistakable urge to spend it with her. “How long do you think you’ll be? You feel up for doing a little surveillance later this evening?”

Her eyes brightened, whether over spending time with him or the surveillance he wasn’t sure.
Do I even care what she thinks of me?

“Absolutely. I don’t get to go out and conduct surveillance after being assigned to the profiling unit. Usually we have another group do that job.”

“Well, you get to use those perishable skills of yours now.”

“After this interview, I have a quick meeting with Sally. I’ll call you when I’m finished.” She grinned at him and then followed Deckker out the door. He watched her leave and wondered at the sudden weight on his heart.

Maggie flipped through Agent Deckker’s notes, her eyes keen on the information concerning Mr. Abram Collins. “So, this Abram Collins has essentially been the caretaker of the Burrows’s property.” That would explain why the electricity remained on in the house.

Agent Deckker nodded. “We’d have to confirm with Burrows’s attorney but according to the other neighbors Doug and I spoke to, since Burrows’s incarceration, neighbors have witnessed Mr. Collins on the Burrows land, checking the doors, trimming the hedges, mowing the lawn…”

Maggie wrinkled her brow. “Is he getting paid for this upkeep?” Maggie couldn’t recall whether or not the city controlled the Burrows property. Since time stood still at the home, it shouldn’t surprise her if Burrows or his attorney had since established a stewardship.

“I’m not sure. I’d assume yes. Although why anyone would bother is beyond me. I mean, does Burrows actually plan on returning home?” She snorted. “The guy is getting the chair. Did you see inside Burrows’s house yet?”

Maggie stared straight out the window. She had. The Burrows property was on the rural outskirts of the main part of the county. A small house at the end of a lane, with a tiny fenced-in backyard leading into thick woods, an ideal location for a private person such as Burrows. The house couldn’t be seen from the start of the lane, and the woods offered ample cover for anyone traveling around the city.

Maggie remembered the short, white picket fence enclosing the front lawn, the covered porch, and beneath it the wooden swing built to seat two. It possessed undeniable charm, if not for the evil that had existed there.

“Mr. Collins lives a few houses before you get to Burrows’s.” Deckker was still speaking. “I would kill to see inside that house.”

Maggie cut her a look at her choice of words.

“Doug was telling me earlier about the torture basement. Is it true? And no bodies? Not one in the ten years he committed the murders? Wow. It’s a good thing Sally Mayes survived her ordeal, or we would never know if he was just kidnapping, or what.”

“What else do we know about Collins?” Maggie changed the subject. She looked again at the notes in her lap. With only a few months on the team, Deckker’s greenhorn fascination with the work still showed. She was sharp, though, willing to put in the hours, and an impressive athlete. An all-around good agent.

Deckker let out a frustrated breath. “Not much. Doug and I put in a call to the sheriff’s office for any background, and he came up clean. No warning signals were given by any of his neighbors, either. Doug is back at the hotel trying to get Burrows’s attorney on the phone, as well as the district attorney assigned to Burrows’s trial. It would be a lot easier to access any financial records through the DA’s office.”

Maggie nodded in agreement. The DA pulled all financials prior to trial. Before Burrows was identified as the probable killer, the FBI had no financial records to review. Once targeted, the FBI wasted no time in securing Burrows and left the mundane task of studying his finances to the legal department. In her final report, Maggie only had a blurb about him owning the house and the photography shop. Those records were years old now, and since the trial, someone had clearly dipped into Burrows’s funds.

“So, all we know is Mr. Collins is a caretaker.” Maggie flipped open her notepad to a fresh sheet of paper.

“Yes. His schedule varies with the seasons, but he tends the lawn a couple of times a month. Once he was seen exiting the house, so he’s bound to have a key.”

Maggie groaned. How many people had access to the house? If someone had helped Burrows escape, could they have left evidence of their role in the house? Burrows could have written someone while in prison. Even though the mail basket in his home only held mail prior to the trial, someone could’ve removed any letters or documents from the home. Maggie made a mental note to check with the prison administrator for any correspondence to and from Burrows.

Maggie recalled the surveillance team, in place on the lane, prior to her and Brandon visiting the home earlier. If anyone was seen entering or exiting the Burrows home, either she or Brandon would be notified immediately. Everything appeared the same, except the absence of a heavy layer of dust that should’ve settled over the belongings in the home. Now they knew why the home was in good condition. Just how close were Burrows and Mr. Collins?

“He would have no reason to be inside the home,” Deckker said.

“Well, if only to check the water heater or other appliances at risk of wear and tear while a tenant was away.”

“But wouldn’t the utilities have been turned off?”

Maggie and Deckker looked at each other with uncertainty. “Both the electricity and the water were on when Brandon and I checked the house. We asked the same question but someone is obviously paying his bills to the city. We need to find out who it is. Everything else looked pretty clean as well, like the house was still in use. If Collins is being paid for the upkeep, perhaps he’s given an allowance for the utilities as well,” Maggie reasoned.

Deckker turned onto the lane and Maggie spotted the house that belonged to Abram Collins. Not much different from Burrows’s, but an impressive array of flowers planted in front of the porch would brighten the spirits of any guest to the home. A short time later, they pulled in front of the Collins residence. Maggie and Deckker exited the vehicle and cautiously approached the front door. Deckker hung back to get a better view of the property while Maggie stepped onto the porch and rang the doorbell.

A petite, apple-shaped woman with graying red hair answered the door on the third chime. She stood behind the screen. Flour streaked white as she wiped her hands on the front of her green apron. “Yes?”

“Mrs. Collins? I’m Special Agent Margaret Weston with the FBI.” She held up her badge. Deckker stepped onto the porch, and also flashed her badge.

“Oh yes, come in.” She held open the screen to allow Maggie and Deckker to enter. “Please have a seat.” She gestured toward the floral print couch covered with plastic. “What can I do for you?”

The couch made loud, flatulent-sounding noises as Maggie and Deckker sat down. “Actually, Mrs. Collins, is your husband at home?” Deckker asked.

Mrs. Collins furrowed her brows. “Why, no, he’s at work. Are you looking for him?”

“Mrs. Collins, is it true your husband tends the Burrows’s lawn?” Maggie asked. She clicked her pen, ready to write the response.

Mrs. Collins planted herself in a hunter green armchair opposite the couch. “That’s right. He’s been tendin’ the place since Ms. Burrows’s, God rest her poor soul, evil boy got carted off by you folks.” Her chipper voice sullied and her rosy cheeks lightened. “I remember the day well. Just awful. All those poor missing women and we ain’t heard from them since.” She shook her head and rubbed a shaky hand on her forehead; a light trail of flour was left behind. “Is it true he’s back?” she whispered. She leaned forward, hand to her chest, eyes big as saucers.