Chapter Five
Brooke hated being distracted at work. It was rare she couldn’t turn off her thoughts and focus on the task at hand—she’d always been good at losing herself in something to avoid her unpleasant reality.
It should have been easy. It wasn’t like she was alone in the cave. There was always a deputy or detective stationed with her, so she didn’t have to worry about her surroundings or being interrupted. She showed up, set out her tools, and got to work. They handled everything else until it was time for a break or time to quit.
Today, she couldn’t seem to turn off the outside. The tracker Zeke had found had shaken her up, and maybe she could have set that aside, but thoughts of the device meant also thoughts of Zeke.
She rolled her eyes. To be unsettled by a man as a threat was ridiculous and made her ashamed. She needed a new approach. Instead of denial, maybe she needed to try acceptance.
Zeke would be a problem until this was done, and she had a lot of work to do. Apparently, she couldn’t just ignore her reaction to him, even for a few hours.
But then, what was she supposed to do about him?
She rolled her shoulders and refocused on her current task.
She had battery-powered mobile lights set up carefully around the area she worked on. Luckily, she wasn’t bothered by enclosed spaces, because this was tight and dark and damp. Not the best conditions for any kind of anthropology, particularly forensic. It made the work challenging. Just the way she liked it.
She took pictures of the new segment she’d just moved to, documenting everything within an inch of its life. If she was right, and these bones were older—too old to be murders perpetrated by the current suspect—there was absolutely no room for error.
Certainly no room to be distracted by exes. Even if he was her one and only ex.
The more she excavated in the cave, the more space to bring in more and better light. And she’d certainly done her fair share of work so far. It was alarming and depressing how much work was left to do. Not because she minded the work, but because someone had used this place as their own personal body dumping grounds. But not just dumping. People had been carefully buried in secret here.
Brooke set the camera aside, got some tools to start excavating the next square. She crouched and started to work but noticed something kind of odd next to her foot.
She turned her head, so the lamp on her helmet focused in on it. Not bone. Not cave. It could be animal, but . . . She leaned in closer. It looked an awful lot like the corner of a book.
She reached out and touched it. Felt like a book too. It was shoved in between two rock formations. She was about to pull it out, but looked down and saw how dirty her gloves were. Not a problem with bones and remains buried deep in the cave floor, but paper . . .
It clearly hadn’t been there long because paper would have a lot more damage if it had been left there for years. Maybe it would be some kind of clue to incriminate Jen Rogers.
Or whoever else was killing people and burying them down here.
“Thomas?”
She was on a first-name basis with the detectives now that she’d spent so much time with them, and Thomas Hart happened to be her partner today. “Do you have a fresh set of gloves?”
Hers were by her equipment and she wanted to retrieve this book as carefully and quickly as possible.
“Sure.”
He held them out to her and she took them. She switched her gloves. Then, with caution, she pulled the book from the crevice it had been shoved into without tearing anything or dragging it in the wet sediment of the ground more than necessary.
Once freed, she looked at it, opened the cover. “It’s . . . a scrapbook.”
Thomas was by her side so fast that Brooke almost bobbled the book. Like the word scrapbook had jolted through him.
“Not just any scrapbook,”
he said, looking down over her shoulder. “I think that’s the scrapbook that was stolen from the police department last month when we first discovered the remains on the Brink property.”
Last month. She could tell this meant a lot to the detective, but it didn’t really mean anything to her investigation if it didn’t involve the potential for a second murderer . . . even if she was curious.
“I don’t have anything to pack up this kind of material carefully, but we need to be very gentle. If it’s been down here for a whole month in these kinds of conditions, that isn’t good for any of the material in a scrapbook. We should get it out of here and consult an archivist. Someone who would know how best to handle it, if it’s as old as it looks, and make sure we’re preserving it correctly.”
Hart looked at her with a slight frown. “Good point.”
Then he hesitated. Thomas was usually calm, but she could feel the tension the scrapbook brought out in him. It was part of his investigation and he wanted to look at it now rather than later.
“If you put some gloves on, you can take it back to the station right now. I’m fine on my own here for a bit.”
He shook his head. “Brooke, I wouldn’t leave anyone in a mass grave all by themselves, even if studying mass graves is your job.”
Well, mass graves hadn’t been her job before. This was a first. But she could detect the impatience waving off him and didn’t like to let other people’s uncomfortable feelings to linger. She’d learned a long time ago to make certain she wasn’t a burden to anyone else. A problem.
Life worked better that way.
“Why don’t we break for lunch? You can go back to the station and get that squared away, and I’ll grab something to eat and meet you there when I’m done.”
He smiled at her. “I appreciate it. Want to leave this all set up? I’ll have one of the guys park here while we’re gone.”
Brooke looked around. She’d had a solid two hours of work, but she was definitely in the middle of things. Still, it would be good to take a break, get her head on straight.
She grabbed a few of the evidence bags and boxes she’d filled. “That’ll be fine. I’ll send these back to the lab while we’re at it.”
It was still work, and maybe some fresh air would help her refocus.
They worked in a comfortable quiet to turn off the lights and then take what she needed out into the bright light of day. Hart was definitely distracted by the discovery of the scrapbook, and Brooke was well aware the whole case wasn’t her business. Her business was to uncover the remains, study them, test them, identify and form conclusions about them.
Still . . .
“This scrapbook . . . It belonged to Jen Rogers?”
Thomas shook his head as she carefully placed the book in his patrol car. “No. It’s kind of a long story. You know Chloe Brink, right?”
Chloe was a police officer, and it had been on her and her brother’s property the first skeletal remains had been found. Brooke had met her a few times, since she was involved with the Hudsons. “Yes.”
“It was a Brink family scrapbook, discovered by Chloe while we were investigating the first two bodies. She brought it in to us, and then . . .”
He trailed off, as if searching for the right words. “Well, I had it. It was stolen from me when . . .”
Brooke had been around enough to know the story. Feigning a call for help, Jen Rogers and the women who’d been working with her had knocked Thomas unconscious and then dropped him in the middle of the forest preserve where the cave was located. It was why he still had a faint pink scar from the stitches he’d had to get along the side of his face.
“When they took me . . .”
he finally said, clearly still not over that. “It was all a ruse to get their hands on this scrapbook. We never could figure out why. Particularly since Jen was only connected to the Brink family through marriage and it was a Brink family scrapbook. But we’ll look through it again with what we know, and we’ll consult Chloe and see if we can find some answers. Hopefully implicate Jen even more.”
No doubt it would, if it was in the cave. But Brooke couldn’t help but wonder if it might connect to what else she was thinking. She’d need a look at the scrapbook though. “If she doesn’t have any clear-cut answers, would I be able to take a look through it?”
Thomas raised an eyebrow at her. “Why?”
Brooke shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. It’s just . . . it has to connect some way, right? To those remains, if she stole it during the investigation into the Hudson murder. Maybe something would . . . jump out to me as a connection.”
Thomas seemed to give this some thought. “Possibly. I’ll run it by Laurel, and Chloe, for that matter.”
“Sure,”
Brooke agreed, fully believing she’d never see the inside of that scrapbook. But she couldn’t focus on that because a trickle of unease crept up her spine, tightening her shoulders. She looked around the bright daylight as Thomas got in his patrol car.
“You okay?” he asked.
Brooke nodded, forced herself to look away from the scenery and to Hart. “Of course. I’ll meet you at the station once I’ve eaten.”
“Sounds good.”
He closed his door, but she knew he’d wait for her to get into her car and drive out first. He’d follow her to the highway. And then he’d go his own way and she would go hers, because he didn’t know someone might be following her.
But Zeke did, and she would just have to trust that he would take care of it.
Zeke appreciated that it was Hart with Brooke today. He knew a few of the deputies at Bent County, and for the most part he trusted Bent to do their job, but over the past few months he’d actually become friends with Thomas Hart. He’d do a good job looking after Brooke.
She’d definitely sensed Zeke watching her, though he’d stayed out of sight. He didn’t know if that’s because her instincts were that good, or because he was losing his touch. He didn’t love the thought he was rusty, but he was getting older. He’d been out of the following game for a while now, so his skills could have deteriorated.
On top of that, he wasn’t sure what to make of their early break for lunch. Brooke had only been in there working for about two hours.
It didn’t really matter, he supposed. No matter what she did, he was going to be there.
Zeke followed her throughout the rest of her day, and not once did he see any sign of a silver sedan. Following her or him in his truck with the tracker now attached.
He wasn’t sure what to do with that. Did they know someone had moved their tracker? Had they given up because she’d stayed with him last night?
Were they better stalkers than he was?
That was a concerning question. Not one he’d let rattle him though. He’d find a way to protect Brooke no matter what. And she clearly needed protecting from something if someone was trying to track her—regardless of the whys.
Track, follow, but not approach. Not threaten. He didn’t know why, but that made him far more uncomfortable than a direct threat. He knew what to do with threats—stop them in their tracks.
What did whoever was following her want from her if there was no threat? Without motivation, it was going to be harder to get to the bottom of who.
But not impossible, Zeke assured himself as he stood next to his truck in the Bent County Sheriff’s Department parking lot, waiting for Brooke to appear after she’d gone inside with Hart at the end of their afternoon shift at the cave.
He didn’t know what her plans were, but he knew that the tracker had to have changed things for her. She had to understand even more fully just how much potential danger she was in.
Viola gave a soft whimper from her spot in the passenger seat, head leaning out the window. Zeke watched as Brooke and Hart walked out of the station, practically shoulder to shoulder. Brooke was smiling, and she said something that had Hart doing the same.
A surprisingly sharp bolt of jealousy landed hard, right at the center of Zeke’s chest. He didn’t want it, knew he had absolutely no right to it, and still it settled there like an intense, squeezing pain.
Brooke stopped in her tracks when she saw him standing there in between her car and his truck.
Hart’s eyebrows rose, but he didn’t stop walking, so when Brooke finally moved forward again, she had to walk quickly to catch up to the detective.
“Zeke,”
Hart greeted. His expression was way too close to amused. “Needing a detective?”
“No,”
Zeke returned. And refused to explain himself, even if Hart was a friend. Even if there was no reason to feel . . . competitive.
Hart gave the dog a pet then turned to Brooke with another smile. “See you tomorrow, Brooke.”
“Bye, Thomas.”
Her smile faded as she turned her attention to him. “Zeke, you didn’t need to be here.”
“And yet here I am.”
She sucked in a slow breath, and he refused to let her annoyance with him and her smiles at Thomas stir up his temper.
“No one’s been following me today and you removed that tracker, so they can’t again. I think it’s best if we go back to the way things were before. If I have concerns . . . I’ll let you know.”
She moved over to where Viola whimpered in the passenger seat and gave her a rubdown, whispering assuring words to the dog.
But Brooke was wrong. Someone had been following her today. The fact that it was him was neither here nor there. “Did it occur to you that no one’s been following you today because you involved me?”
She gave him a cool look. “Do you think your North Star reputation matters to anyone around here?”
He shrugged. “I’m a physically intimidating guy, Brooke. I don’t need a reputation to precede me.”
She rolled her eyes and he couldn’t help but smile. Because a little spot of color showed up on her cheeks. Like she was considering anything physical about him. Or maybe that was just wishful thinking.
Didn’t matter.
“Besides, trackers are easy and inconspicuous,”
he continued. “Someone could drop another one at any time.”
She stiffened at that. Maybe four years changed a person, but Zeke knew Brooke well enough to know her refusal wasn’t some misplaced bravado. It wasn’t that she wasn’t scared or didn’t have concerns. She just never wanted to be seen as a burden by anyone. Back then, she’d always been so scared that . . . whatever support she got was fleeting. That she needed to handle everything on her own or people would simply . . . kick her to the curb.
It was one of the few things he didn’t think she had any self-awareness about. She thought she was being independent, but what she really was, and always had been, was afraid to be a bother.
He understood, too well, where it stemmed from. Not just her awful childhood stuck in the middle of a Sons of the Badlands family, but then as a foster kid getting kicked around the system.
Knowing all that about her made him softer than he should allow himself to be when it came to her safety.
“If you really want to stay at your rental, I can drop Viola off at the Hudsons’ and crash on the couch or something. I can even sleep in the truck outside, if that bothers you.”
Her face took on a pinched look, but she continued to speak in that careful, detached kind of way. “That’s not the kind of alternative I’m looking for. Thank you.”
He almost smiled at the tacked-on “thank you,”
but this was too important to be amused by her. “It’s the only one you’re going to get, Brooke.”
Temper flashed in her blue eyes. “I didn’t tell you about this just so you’d swoop in and take over.”
“Didn’t you?”
Her mouth dropped open—not quite outrage. She wasn’t mean enough for outrage. Because something like hurt tinged in her expression and it made him feel about two inches tall. Enough that he had to fight the urge to reach forward by shoving his hands into his pockets. Enough that he gentled his words.
“Brooke. You’re possibly in some kind of danger. There’s no point in being stubborn about wanting and taking some protection. It’s not offered out of anything other than concern, so you shouldn’t feel badly about taking it.”
She inhaled. That slow, careful inhale that signaled she was trying so hard to be reasonable.
“You’re right,”
she agreed, somewhat surprisingly. She met his gaze with a cool, determined look. “We’ll discuss a fee.”
He frowned at her, not following. “A fee?”
“Like hiring a bodyguard. I’ll pay you a fee.”
He could not think of anything she might have said that could be any more insulting. “You’re not going to pay me,”
he growled.
“Why not? You’re offering a service, are you not?”
“Brooke.”
“Zeke.”
Maybe he’d forgotten some things about her because he surely didn’t remember this stubbornness of hers ever being directed at him. And it poked at an already frayed temper—not because of her, but because of everything confusing and challenging about this situation.
His feelings chief among them.
“I’m going to be there,”
he told her. Maybe a little too firmly, too seriously, too close. “Until we get to the bottom of this, or until the job is done. And I’m not taking a dime. The end.”
She looked up at him, blue eyes flashing and narrowing with her own temper. Close enough he could see the faint scar on her cheekbone that she used to try to hide with makeup. The one he knew her father had given her the night Family Services had finally intervened and she’d been taken away.
She’d told him that one day all those years ago, before he’d been assigned to protect her but after he’d met her. He’d teasingly asked about it, trying to flirt with the pretty woman working for Granger MacMillan. Because as seriously as he’d taken his place at North Star, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about her after that first meeting.
She’d recited the facts like they were rote historical events that didn’t concern her, and he’d been . . . even more fascinated. Because he didn’t know how someone so fresh and pretty, so gentle and soft seeming, could have come from as terrible a childhood as he had.
And that was before he’d known hers had been worse.
But this was now. He could tell by the anger in her eyes—because she used to not get angry at him. Just hurt by him. He could tell by the fact she didn’t respond to him in any way. At least, any verbal way.
She whirled around, started striding to her car, even as Viola whined.
Fine. She could get in that car and drive away, but he would follow. He hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d said he was in this until the job was done. She didn’t need to like it and he didn’t need her permission to keep her safe.
She stopped abruptly. She didn’t turn to face him, just stood there with ramrod-straight posture. When she spoke, it was quietly but with enough force he could hear.
“I have survived a clear, everyday threat. I grew up surviving that.”
“I know.”
And wished he didn’t. Because back then he’d really liked thinking no one could have experienced the childhood trauma he’d had. Abusive dad who’d eventually disappeared. Mother murdered in their apartment. A murder it had taken over a decade of danger and pain and frustration to solve. He’d had his share of sorrow and horrible things.
And she’d been raised by a violent psychopath in some kind of biker cult, and then somehow dealt with the fragile, uneasy life of a teenager in foster care.
But she hadn’t let any of her circumstances harden her. Sure, they’d messed her up. They all had scars left from what they’d grown up with—no one who got themselves mixed up with North Star didn’t—but she was one of the few he knew who was somehow still . . . soft.
Strong as hell, but penetrable.
Maybe it was wrong, pointless, not his place, or misguided. He didn’t care. In this moment, he’d been the one to bring her here. Walker’s brother-in-law had needed a forensic anthropologist and Zeke had known one. He’d pulled the strings. He was why Brooke was here.
He couldn’t and wouldn’t let anything hit that soft target.
“You shouldn’t have had to survive that childhood alone without anyone looking out for you, and you shouldn’t do this alone either. Whether you can or not.”
He watched her shoulders move. No doubt with those deep breaths she was forever taking. When she turned to face him, the anger in her expression was gone. But the sadness there instead wasn’t any better. If anything, it was worse.
“I think the problem with us, Zeke, is we do everything better alone.”
He wasn’t sure why that should land like some kind of slap. He’d always preferred working alone, being alone. It was who he was. Lone wolf, Carlyle used to throw at him, and he’d taken that as a badge of honor.
But the way Brooke said it made it sound sad, and the way she stood there looking alone made him feel sad.
That, he wouldn’t let himself marinate in. “Not this, Brooke. I’ll follow you to your rental. Let’s pack up your stuff. Stay with me until we get to the bottom of this. Someone is tracking you. You shouldn’t be alone. You know that. I know you know that.”
She stared at him for the longest time, like searching his face would give her the answer she needed.
But there was only one answer. Even if she didn’t like it. Even if he didn’t like it. She either had to tell the cops or she had to let him help.
“Fine,”
she agreed, clearly disgusted with the concession. But she’d made it. Still, she looked at him so seriously, spoke so damn seriously. “This isn’t the same as last time. It can’t be.”
Because last time had gone too far. Personally. Last time had been a mistake. And even now, four years on, that mistake still felt raw. And a little too close to regret.
Because he remembered every second with her. The way she’d felt in his arms. The way she’d tasted. He wanted to pretend he didn’t, but being with her was like wiping away all this past. So four years felt like nothing and the clawing, yearning need for everything she was existed right inside him.
Like it always had. Like it always would.
But it didn’t matter.
Because she wasn’t his. Never would be again.
So, he nodded. “I know.”