not wanting to run into anyone. She needed a cup of coffee and a few minutes alone. Then maybe she’d be ready to face Loomis.
The large space had been set up with several cubicles, each containing a desk and a computer. Jodie bypassed the work area and stepped into a back room that had once been used for storage. Now it contained a long table and a locked file cabinet. A coffee machine sat on a small desk near the wall and Jodie plugged it in, grabbing a foam cup from a stack beside it and waiting impatiently for the coffee to brew.
She sipped the bitter liquid that finally resulted and walked into one of the cubicles, dropping her purse onto the desk and slipping out of her suit jacket. She might as well get to work while she was waiting. Accessing the local PD’s computer system was dicey, but she finally managed to get the password from a woman she’d known in high school and who had heard she worked for the FBI.
A search of the open missing persons’ cases gave her several possibilities for the identities of the deceased. She printed out a list, excitement thrumming through her as she imagined closing the file on cases that had been in the system for decades. Names for the victims. Faces. Closure for their families.
The thought spurred Jodie on, and she created a spreadsheet listing name, race, age and date missing of each victim.
The door opened, and she turned, smiling, expecting Sam. Instead, she met Harrison Cahill’s cool green gaze.
“Are you done at the scene already?”
“Already? It’s been almost three hours.” His gaze dropped from her face to the sheaf of papers she was holding in her hand, his lips quirking in a sardonic half smile that made her stiffen.
“I guess I lost track of time.”
“Hard at work, huh?”
“Isn’t that why we’re here?” She kept her voice even and refused to look away from his steady gaze. She’d met men like him before. Men who assumed that because she was young she couldn’t handle the job and that because she was new she was overly anxious to prove she could. They were wrong on both counts.
“Yeah, I guess it is, but in my experience, the younger the agent, the more anxious she is to show off what she can do.”
“Your bluntness is charming, Cahill. But, for the record, I’m not that new and I’m not that young. If my hard work makes you feel inadequate, I’m sorry, but I’m not going to dumb down for anyone.”
He blinked, then shook his head and chuckled, the sound as warm and rich as honey from a honeycomb. “Touché, Gilmore. And for the record, you’re not making me feel inadequate. You’re making me nervous.”
“Nervous?”
“Rookies do that to me. Lots of questions. Lots of energy. Lots of impatience. I want to focus on the job, not on walking someone through the process.”
“You won’t have to walk me through anything. I think I made that clear before.”
“I guess you did. So, now that we’ve both had our say, maybe we can start working together to find out who our victims are. What have you got?”
“Possibilities. I accessed the local PD’s missing persons’ files. Then I expanded it out to adjoining towns. This is the spreadsheet of open cases.” She handed him the printed pages.
“We can rule out more than half of them.” He scanned the list, his brow furrowed.
“You know that already?”
“Both victims were Caucasian. Late twenties to early thirties. Hand me a pen, will you?”
Jodie opened the desk drawer, found a pen and handed it to Harrison, her fingers brushing his, warmth shooting up her arm at the contact.
Surprised, she pulled back, watching as he crossed out name after name. “Those two were the correct race and age.”
“But not the correct time frame. Our victims were murdered more than two decades ago.” He glanced up as he spoke, his eyes the deep green of the bayou and as filled with secrets. “You’ve got a color printer here, right?”
“I—”
“Yep, you do. Good. You shared with me. Now I’ll share with you.” He set the marked pages on the desk and slipped a flash drive from his jacket pocket. “These are from my digital camera, downloaded to my laptop. Take a look.” He worked quickly, efficiently, with no hesitation. The exact opposite of the careful, meticulous efforts he’d taken at the scene.
Seconds later, photos appeared on the screen. “Here we go. A good pictorial record of what was found. Now I’ll print them and give you a copy for your files.”
“I appreciate it, but this isn’t really an FBI case.”
“So Sam told me. The problem is, he’s not sure the sheriff is going to investigate the way he should.” He lifted the printed photos and handed them to Jodie.
She scanned the photos, the muddy muted colors more a product of the dirt and the dust at the scene than of the quality of printer or camera. Two skulls. Both with visible fractures. Tufts of short dark hair. Longer, blond hair. A gold watch lying near a skeletal outstretched hand. A bracelet. Silver, with several charms attached.
Angel charms?
Her heart skipped a beat, and she squinted at the photo, trying to see more clearly. “Are those angels?”
“Looked that way at the scene. It’s not real clear in the picture, though, is it?” He leaned over her shoulder, looking at the photo, not touching Jodie, though she could feel his warmth through her cotton shirt.
She wanted to move away, put some distance between them. More than that, she wanted to know exactly what was on the charm bracelet. “Was there another charm on it? A mother holding a child? I can’t tell from the photo.”
“There might have been, but I didn’t examine it very closely. Sam brought the evidence to the sheriff. I’ll get a better look at it tomorrow and do a more detailed catalog then. Why do you ask?” He stepped away from her shoulder and leaned his hip against the desk, his gaze steady and searching as if he could read the truth in her eyes. See the fear that she didn’t dare speak out loud.
“It looks like something I’ve seen before.”
“Yeah? When?”
“I’m not sure.” But she was. She’d seen something like it in a picture of her mother that she’d found in a box when she was ten or eleven. The bracelet had been clearly visible, three angels and a mother-and-child charm.
“Then why do you look like you’ve seen a ghost?”
“What does a person who’s seen a ghost look like?” She tried to keep her voice light, but her heart was racing, her gaze drawn again and again to the photo.
“Pale. Shaken. Terrified.”
“I’m not terrified. And I’m naturally fair.”
“Which still leaves shaken.” He searched her eyes, and Jodie’s cheeks heated.
“Cahill,
