Chapter 10
Avery woke from the deepest sleep she could remember—other than the coma, of course.
For the two years she’d been undercover, she’d slept lightly, waking at every noise, always wondering when someone in the syndicate would learn of her true identity and send a hitman out to take care of her betrayal.
Even after they’d exposed the Miami Elite for the criminal organization it was, jailing the key players and so many others within their ranks, Avery hadn’t been able to let go of that feeling of impending doom.
She suspected she had PTSD from living in that state for so long.
When she woke that morning in the hotel after spending the night with her ex-husband, she was surprised at how well-rested she felt.
Even so, she couldn’t get used to it. She’d divorced him and couldn’t expect to pick up where she’d left off before the divorce.
It wasn’t fair to Grant. He deserved someone who wouldn’t push him away.
Someone who would stand by him and be there for him every day.
Avery couldn’t be that woman. She’d chosen her work over their marriage. He’d never trust her after that.
But for the next few days, he was back in her life, and it felt good. Almost too good.
She turned toward his side of the bed, words to that effect poised on her lips.
He wasn’t there.
She sat up, her heart rate rocketing into overdrive.
“Grant?” Avery called out.
When she got no response, she flung the sheets aside, leaped out of the bed and grabbed a pair of jeans out of the drawer. The bathroom door stood open, and the room was empty.
She’d just zipped the jeans when something bumped against the door and the click of a lock sounded.
Avery’s knees bent, her muscles tensed. She spied the gun on the nightstand on her side of the bed and dove for it.
Gun in hand, she faced the door, the weapon pointed.
“Avery?” Grant’s voice sounded as the door eased open. “Don’t shoot. It’s just me.”
The tension eased out of Avery as the door opened wider.
Grant eased through the doorway backward. He glanced over his shoulder at her and grinned. “Oh, good. You found it. Glad to see your reflexes weren’t affected by your accident.”
Shaking her head, she lowered the pistol, surprised at how badly her hands trembled. “Where the hell were you?”
Once through the door, Grant turned with a tray loaded with two plates of food and two steaming paper cups.
The rich aroma of coffee filled the air. Avery drew in a thankful, steadying breath. “If that’s coffee, I forgive you for giving me a heart attack.”
“Then I’m forgiven. And it’s just the way you like it—black with one packet of sugar. No caramel or cream.”
Her lips curved, and her heart warmed, the beats returning to normal.
He’d remembered.
On the tail of that thought was the memory of Dan delivering coffee at the station.
Avery took the cup Grant indicated and held it in her hands, letting the heat warm her fingers. “I thought twins had similar tastes and preferences.” She took a sip of coffee and glanced up. “I still can’t wrap my head around the fact I have a twin.”
“I remember once you told me you wished you’d had siblings. That you felt like something was missing in your life as an only child.”
“It would’ve been nice to grow up with a sister.” Especially since her parents had been so much older than most. She would have had someone to share the grief with when her mother had been murdered. Shaking off the sadness, she dug into the food he’d brought up from the hotel’s dining room.
Avery had just finished eating when Grant’s phone pinged with an incoming text.
He glanced down at the screen. “Melissa is headed to the sheriff’s station. She’s following Bree’s SUV.”
Avery set aside her fork and downed the last of her coffee. “I’ll be ready as soon as I brush my teeth.”
“Same,” Grant said.
He beat her to the bathroom. After squirting toothpaste onto his brush, he held out the tube to her and filled her toothbrush with a line of paste.
As they brushed their teeth in silence, Avery couldn’t get over how natural it felt to do something so mundane and yet intimate with the man she’d divorced two years before.
She had to remind herself not to get used to it. He was on his own path in life, having left the FBI and returned to his home state of Montana. Once this case was resolved, he’d go back to Montana and she’d return to the San Antonio field office, ready to take on her next case.
They made the drive to the station in silence, Avery working through what little information they had so far, trying to find any piece of the puzzle they’d missed. Sadly, her mental refresher did nothing to get her closer to finding the killer.
Grant parked next to the SUV with the Nebraska license plates.
“Good to know she didn’t leave town,” Avery commented.
Grant turned off the engine and pushed his door open. “I had the distinct impression she was as determined to find the killer as any one of us.”
Avery got out of the car and met Grant at the entrance. “If the killer is after me, she’s in as much danger as I am. Like Melissa and Sheriff Taylor, he could easily have mistaken Bree for me.”
Grant held the door for Avery. She entered to find Melissa, Bree and the sheriff standing near the front desk with Dan handing out coffee cups.
“Agent Hart, Mr. Hayes, you’re here,” he said. “I brought coffee as a thank you for last night.”
Bree shook her head. “I told him that we should be thanking him.”
Dan held out paper cups to Grant and Avery. “It’s black. I brought sugar and cream if you like.”
“Thank you.” Avery took the cup, set it on the desk and reached for a packet of sugar.
Dan took the last cup of coffee from the carrier tray. “I saw on the evening news that you found another victim yesterday.” He took a sip.
Sheriff Taylor nodded, his jaw tight. “Damned shame. Such a waste of life.”
Dan nodded. “Poor girls didn’t have a chance, did they? Tragic way to die... suffocation.”
Avery shot a glance toward Grant. “Why do you think they died of suffocation?” That fact was not public information.
Dan took another sip. “The M.E. is a friend of mine. I saw him at T.J.’s yesterday afternoon. I’ve seen cases like this when I worked with the Dallas Police Department. Hard to crack with little evidence left behind.”
Avery looked closer at Dan. “You worked with the Dallas Police Department?”
Dan nodded. “I did. I retired several years ago.”
“In what capacity?” Grant asked.
“I started as a street cop and worked my way up to detective.” He looked around the people in the office. “It’s been a while, but I’d be happy to help with the investigation.”
Sheriff Taylor nodded toward the tray Dan had brought coffee on. “You’ve already helped a lot, providing coffee. You’ll have to let us pay you for it.”
Dan held up a hand. “Not necessary. I consider it my contribution toward solving the crimes. Just know, if you need anything, you know where to find me. I’m only part-time at T.J.’s just to keep me busy in my retirement.”
“Thanks, Dan,” Sheriff Taylor said.
Dan left the sheriff’s office.
Sheriff Taylor waved a hand toward the hallway behind the reception desk. “Shall we adjourn to the conference room?”
They followed the sheriff down the hallway and into the conference room.
As soon as they were inside and seated, Avery glanced at the team working the murder case. “Anything new?”
Melissa leaned forward. “I ran a scan through the NCIC database looking for unsolved cases of female victims with black hair, murdered by asphyxiation and left in a bed of roses.” She shook her head.
“Nothing. I backed out of the bed of roses and looked for women with black hair who’d been suffocated. I found a hit.”
Avery tensed.
“Sorry, it was thirty years ago. A single woman out of Oklahoma City. She’d disappeared after a night out with friends. A one-off. Her killer was never found. No other matches came close. No trail of black-haired women to follow.”
“So, our killer has a fresh start with these three women.” Sheriff Taylor tapped his fingers on the tabletop. “We need something—anything—to go on. We can’t keep waiting for him to make a mistake. It’ll mean more victims.”
“I’ll check with the M.E. today and see if he has anything back from the labs on the postmortem toxicology,” Avery said.
The sheriff’s cell phone rang. The man glanced down at the screen. “It’s the M.E.,” he said, answering the call and touching a button on the screen. “This is Sheriff Taylor. You’re on speaker.”
“Sheriff, I got the toxicology report on the first two victims.”
Avery reached for Grant’s hand beneath the table.
His fingers curled around hers, reassuringly.
“Both victims had traces of benzodiazepines and haloperidol in their systems.”
“They were drugged,” Grant said.
Avery’s chest tightened. “Which would explain why they couldn’t fight back.”
“Based on my initial examination of the third victim, she appears to follow the pattern. I’ll send the samples off today, but I suspect she was drugged as well.”
“Thank you, Dr. Dutton.”
“I found two other things that might be of interest.”
“What’s that?” Sheriff Taylor asked.
“Both victims had barley seeds in their hair.”
Avery frowned. “Barley seeds?”
“Malted barley, to be exact,” the M.E. said.
“Is there a difference?” Agent Bradley asked.
Grant nodded. “Malted barley is used in beer or whiskey brewing.”
“You said two,” the sheriff prompted.
“Yes,” Dr. Dutton’s voice sounded over the phone. “There were also traces of efflorescence—a white, chalky powder found in places where there’s been water intrusion.”
“Water intrusion?” Avery shook her head.
“Where the water dried, leaving a deposit of salt,” Dr. Dutton said. “It indicates the presence of a basement.”
Avery frowned. “We’re in the south. There are very few basements in this area. I think of places in tornado alley like Oklahoma, Missouri, or Iowa when I think of basements.”