Born to Die Read online

  “But what would that have to do with the Clydes? And in particular, Kendra?”

  “Has Jolie mentioned if Ian has or had a girlfriend lately?”

  Cassy shook her head. “If she has, it hasn’t been in front of me.”

  Covering his mouth with his hand, Con let his gaze sweep over the evidence boxes. “There’s a connection here, in all of this.”

  The door rattled open, and Cassy’s hand flashed to her hip. Agent Bartholomew came in with her hands up. “Whoa, Deputy, it’s just me. Do you want me to keep the door closed?”

  “Yes,” Cassy and Con said as one.

  Liza circled the table and stationed herself at what could be deemed the head. “Did I miss anything?”

  “Only the fact that Con is realizing what Boyce and I feared a few days ago. All of this”—Cassy gesture to the boxes—“is connected somehow.”

  “He said as much to me,” Liza said. “We need to start from the top and work our way through each of these cases. And that means bringing in all the convenience store robberies that have occurred in the last six months.”

  “Haven’t you been doing that?” Cassy asked.

  Liza sniffed. “I was trying to do that, but all these sudden murders have pushed things aside. Now, what were you discussing when I came in?”

  “Kendra Clyde,” Con said.

  “The missing girl?”

  “Woman—she’s nineteen or twenty,” Con said. “We asked for K-9 units from nearby counties to come in and aid us in locating her. But we had to wait for the folks at natural resources to ensure that all the hunters were out of the area. The one hunting accident with Mark Campbell’s horse was enough.”

  “I don’t think that was an accident.”

  “We still don’t know that for sure, Cass,” Con said. “We’re still waiting for DCI to examine the bullets from the Clyde house and the one the vet dug out of the horse’s body.”

  Exasperated, Cassy flopped down in the chair. “So in the meantime, we have a countywide manhunt for a woman who is missing.”

  “The others do the manhunt.” Con retrieved the Wallis file and returned it to his lap. “We’re going to analyze all of this evidence and the files just as Hamilton wanted. All we need now is a large pot of coffee and possibly some brain-fueling food.”

  “I’ll get those.” Cassy vacated her chair once again, ensuring the door shut behind her.

  Out in the bullpen, she found Jolie hunched over her station, her cell phone pressed to her ear. Dispatch was quiet, but Jolie seemed oblivious to all around her, save the conversation she was having. “ … not that simple. You need to … Why aren’t you listening to me?”

  Cassy tiptoed past the dispatch station to the coffeemaker.

  Jolie shook her head, sending the red tendrils swaying in her agitation. “Do you not understand what this … Tell me where … Don’t you … hang up.” She pulled the phone away from her ear and glared at the screen.

  Cassy deliberately rattled the metal carafe on the hot plate; Jolie jumped, her hand flying to her chest. “Deputy Rivers, you scared me.”

  Cassy pasted on a grimace. “Sorry about that. I didn’t want to interrupt your call.”

  A blush crept up the young woman’s neck into her cheeks. “Oh, you heard that?”

  “Well”—Cassy focused her attention on getting the coffee going—“only the end. Anything you need help with?”

  Jolie blanched, shrugging. “No, not really.”

  The dispatch phone rang, and while Jolie answered the call, Cassy rose up on her tiptoes and peered over Jolie’s shoulder to glimpse the cell phone screen. The clever woman had turned on a tracing app during the call. A light-blue bubble pointed out the area of the last call. It traced back to someone in the northwest quadrant of the county.

  Cassy squinted at the blown-up map of McIntire County hanging on the wall between the sheriff’s office and the break area. The northwest quadrant was about fifteen miles from Eider, near the town of Cornell. It was mostly timber and fields, and a small Amish community, one that still followed the old order and didn’t own phones or vehicles.

  “Deputy Rivers?”

  She turned to Jolie. “Yeah?”

  “The sheriff wants to talk to you.” Jolie held out the headset, which Cassy placed on her head.

  “Yeah, Sheriff?”

  “Before he left, Hunt said he was certain two people were responsible for the murders of the Clyde family.”

  “Yes.”

  “He and Agent Bartholomew also told us Officer Wallis was sent after the two gas station robbers. We’ve had two robbers hit the banks and convenience stores … ” Hamilton drifted off.

  “Sir, what are you getting at?” Cassy was pretty sure she knew where he was going—it’s what Boyce had been alluding to since the moment he arrived in Eider, and what Con was now realizing.

  “It’s the same two people. They got a taste of blood when they killed Wallis, and now they’re on a free-for-all.”

  “Say you’re right, sir; why take out a whole family? Wallis makes some sense; he was sent to stop them. But the Clydes were home, innocent. And why not kill the bank employees, or the clerks for that matter?”

  “That’s what makes it tricky to say this theory is 100 percent certain. All I can gather is that they were building up to something big—maybe it was taking out the Clydes. But they still don’t fit into this, other than Peter being the bank manager.”

  Cassy studied Jolie’s profile as the younger woman fiddled with her phone, acting like she wasn’t eavesdropping on this conversation. Northwest quadrant. Who was out there calling Jolie?

  “Sheriff, I’ll let O’Hanlon and Agent Bartholomew in on your suspicions. Maybe together we can come up with a solid answer.”

  “It’s probably more than I can do for the time being. So damn tired,” he muttered. “If you figure anything out, don’t hesitate to call me.”

  “Do our best.” She handed the headset back to Jolie and returned to the coffeemaker. It was the perfect cover for checking the map again without arousing suspicion.

  “Hey, Murdoch, could I get you to put in an order at Betty’s diner for some lunch? I’ll go pick it up when it’s ready.”

  “I can. Anything special you all want?”

  “Just the regular orders for Con and me, maybe get a special for Agent Bartholomew.”

  Jolie nodded.

  Grabbing three mugs, Cassy lugged them and the carafe to the conference room. Northwest quadrant … Damn it, that was going to nag at her.

  And it deserved some looking into.

  • • •

  At a quaint coffee shop that had become a popular spot for city and state officials, Boyce sat listening to SAC Ulrich and Assistant U.S. Attorney Elaine Danberry engage in small talk. Frankly, he was bored to tears. Being well versed in the art of political maneuvers didn’t mean he enjoyed it. He hadn’t met Elaine Danberry in person before—most of their interactions having been done through third parties—and he wasn’t impressed. She dressed and acted like most women caught up in the political trappings. Too much like Mother.

  He really was becoming disenchanted with his job.

  Redirecting his attention to the bustle around them, he absorbed the chatter of the patrons and the festive Christmas music. They all had their lives planned out—how they would spend their Christmas vacationing out west or abroad, what prestigious schools their kids attended, and how they would cash in on their ever-so-smart moves in the stock market. But the holiday babble stood out to Boyce. He dreaded this time of the year and everything that went with it.

  He sipped his cooling coffee.

  More than likely, Cassy was spending the holidays with her sister and her family, unless their father was going to be there. Then again, perhaps she’d chosen to take the Christmas Day shift at the sheriff’s department in order to avoid dealing with her father. The Rivers family gatherings probably held more excitement, especially during Nic’s rebellious years, t
han any Boyce had experienced.

  Every Christmas since he’d escaped Mother’s chains he’d spent alone, expanding the distance between his past and his future. He set the coffee mug down. It hadn’t bothered him before, skipping the holiday cheer. Oh, occasionally he’d be asked to join a colleague for a drink or a party, and, depending on his mood or caseload, he’d accept, but more times than not, he declined. Christmas carried jaded memories. It was a day that meant nothing to Mother, just another way to twist the knife deeper into Boyce’s heart.

  This year he wanted something different. And come to think of it, he had more than enough vacation days built up. Why not use them? Go back to Eider. And Cassy.

  “Agent Hunt? Care to join us?”

  The briefest play of the shadows outside the window behind Ulrich’s head made Boyce pause before he gave the assistant attorney a half smile. “I hope you enjoy your trip in the Smoky Mountains with your family, Madam Attorney.”

  She returned his flattering statement with a raised eyebrow. “I’ve heard you’re one to appear distracted but hear everything around you.”

  “Nice to see my reputation precedes me.”

  Folding her hands on the tabletop, Elaine Danberry tilted her head to the side. “I know what we’re doing to close out the case against your mother is typically unheard of in the Bureau, but Ruby Jean Gladstone isn’t your typical organized-crime boss.”

  “No, no, she isn’t. But I didn’t join the FBI to be a pawn in her downfall, either. Has it been my intention to be there when she is finally arrested? Yes. But what you’re proposing”—he circled a finger between the three of them—“what we’re all doing, could very well blow up in our faces. Leading to her walking away, laughing at the ineptness.”

  AUSA Danberry glanced at Ulrich. “You have a penchant for flowery words,” she told Boyce.

  “That is what you took from this?”

  Her eyes darkened, and her smooth features went rigid. “What I took from that, Agent Hunt, is that when you’re agitated, you revert to a haughty attitude. SAC Ulrich explained to me your reluctance to leave Iowa. It was my understanding that you’ve been checking in with the agents running the investigation against Ruby Jean for a few years. We’ve been handed a golden opportunity, and you want to act the sullen child.”

  The defamation of his character shredded his soul. Boyce steeled his spine and narrowed his gaze. “Madam Attorney, you’ve crossed a line.”

  “It’s only a line if you want to make it one, Agent.”

  “I gave SAC Ulrich and the team leaders all the information they’ll need to end this operation. The dominoes are in place; once the meeting with my mother has concluded, the dominoes will fall, thus ending my involvement in this.”

  Ulrich frowned. “That’s not your call to make.”

  The shadow shifted to the left. Ah, finally. Boyce rose, grabbing his coat from the back of his chair. “You have what you need from me, and frankly, I found this meeting pointless. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I believe I’m done.” He slipped on his coat, removed two twenties from his wallet as he walked over to the baristas’ counter, and stuffed them in the tip jar. “Merry Christmas,” he said to the two college students working the bar.

  Once on the sidewalk, the dreary sky threatening to drop more freezing rain, he turned east, putting his back to the wind. Boyce had spotted the tail as AUSA Danberry was giving her spiel. Damn fools, dragging him out in public like this. Mother was pissed, so of course she’d find a way to get eyes on him. Maybe this was the ploy, dangling him like a juicy tidbit in front of the wolves.

  Well, if this was what they wanted, he’d risk his knight in this next chess move. Hunched inside his coat, he bowed his head, scanning for the perfect spot to lead the tail and hopefully the idiot would follow. A nice mom-and-pop diner decked out to the hilt for Christmas and bustling with activity was the prime place. Boyce veered off the sidewalk and inside the diner. He flashed a smile to the hostess, indicated he’d be back in a moment, then made a beeline for the restrooms at the back of the building. Opposite the men’s and women’s bathrooms was an employees-only door with an exit sign hanging above it. Checking to make sure no one saw him, he peeked inside and found it empty, save for loaded pantry shelves. The exit was at the back.

  Disappearing inside the storeroom, Boyce hurried to the door and stepped outside. The alley was open on both ends, one leading back to the sidewalk from which he’d come, the other going to the next street over. But he had no intention of running off. Letting the door glide shut, Boyce inched over and waited.

  Moments later, the door cracked open, and the tail eased out. Reacting fast, Boyce grabbed the man by his coat and yanked him outside; pivoting quickly, he slammed the man against the wall.

  “Big mistake,” Boyce spat, shaking the tail hard enough to make the man’s head smack against the brick wall.

  The man laughed, sneering at him. “She said you’d pull a stunt like this.”

  Boyce got in his face. “Did she? Did she also tell you I’d make you take me to her?”

  Eyes widening, the tail gaped at him. “And ruin your precious little vendetta?”

  “It’s what she wants, is it not? A little sit-down with the prodigal son?” Boyce adjusted his grip on the man’s coat. “What’s it going to be? Take me to her, or I show you just what kind of man she trained me to be.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Mother’s flamboyant tastes hadn’t changed one iota. The biggest house, with the most flare and the tightest security money could buy. So different from Cassy, who lived in a small, intimate house with a personal touch and her own moxie to protect her.

  Boyce assumed the position for the pat-down, until the bodyguard came too close to copping a generous feel of his crotch. “If you value being able to use that hand again, you’ll remove it.”

  He got a glare as a response, but the guard backed away.

  “One can’t be too careful these days. Enemies will do just about anything to get their weapons through my doors.” Mother emerged from a side room, wearing an understated black dress with black heels, her still-blond tresses swept back in a stylish coif. Diamonds, as usual, glinted from her earlobes and neckline. This was a woman who couldn’t stand to be seen as not presentable—such a contrast to the functional and devil-may-care attire Cassy wore.

  Mother approached with a graceful walk, one she’d perfected in her youth. “Look at you. I see my tastes in finer clothing rubbed off on you.” She fingered the lapel of his suit jacket. “Good for you.”

  “I caved to your demands; you got me here. Now why was I summoned? For your amusement?”

  “I’m sorry, did you have more pressing matters to attend to in Iowa?” The evil gleam in her green eyes made Boyce’s stomach lurch.

  “As a matter of fact, I did. Unlike you, the murder of innocent people weighs heavily on my mind.”

  She flicked his lapel as she turned and sauntered into the room she’d vacated, beckoning for him to follow. “I assume the death of my third husband is one those murders that weighs on your mind?”

  Boyce trailed her, keeping his wits about him as he passed her other bodyguards. One word from her, and these blood-thirsty killers would shoot him. “Self-defense. Wasn’t my fault his silk tie became his noose.”

  As proper as any southern belle, Mother sat on a love seat, poured a cup of tea, and held it out for him.

  “I’ll pass.”

  “Your loss.” She sipped, eyeing the chair across from her. “Sit down, Boyce. Act like you want to be here.”

  As if. She was not the blond he wanted to be sociable with. Stiff as a board, he took the seat, his fingers digging into the seams of the fabric covering the armrest—his life might depend on his ability to get out of that chair quickly.

  After another drink of tea, Mother set the cup on a saucer, placed her hands in her lap, and met his gaze with her steely one. “I asked for this meeting to make one request: Cease this witch hunt at once.�
�

  Boyce smiled. “You’re asking me to tell the FBI to get off your ass?”

  “Vile language. Use your manners. You’ve made no secret of your desire to see me ruined. When you joined the FBI it was the blackest mark on my reputation. I lost business associates because of your misguided quest for justice.”

  “I’m supposed to feel awful for your predicament?”

  “You were supposed to be my heir.”

  Boyce laughed. “Your heir? My God, that’s the most ridiculous joke I’ve heard.” He sobered. “I am nothing more than an unwanted wart to you.”

  “I did my best by you. I endured hellholes, sleazebags, and roach-infested apartments. And the thanks I get? You turn on me the first chance you’re given.”

  “It wasn’t soon enough.”

  Mother’s schooled features were crumbling, her throat working to swallow her ire. She was usually the picture of cool detachment, but when it came to him, Boyce knew every button to push to piss her off. She licked her lips then sighed, once more becoming calm and relaxed. “That is neither here nor there. I’m asking you to convince the FBI there is nothing to find. I’ve stayed within the bounds of the law.”

  “Interesting, because you see, I can’t convince them. To be honest, I won’t convince them. You dug your grave years ago”—Boyce stood—“and now you’ll pay the piper.” He headed for the foyer. The deed was done; now to get the hell out of here before she decided this had been a mistake and ordered him dead. He was her worst enemy now, so his bullet-ridden body would go missing. His promise to return to Cassy would be null and void. She’d never know why and hate him for the rest of her life.

  He was now only inches away.

  “I found your father.”

  Coming to a halt, he stared at the open maw that beckoned with freedom.

  “It explains your outlandish fetish with Iowa.”

  Boyce cast his gaze to the floor; seeing his haggard appearance in the polished hardwood turned his stomach. Would he allow her to get to him? Not a chance in hell. He straightened his spine. “According to you, I never had a father.”