Chapter 2
Grant watched Shelly as they walked down the street. He was curious.
And, he had to admit, a little bit wary.
He knew Jackson Crow and many of the Krewe members from a previous case, one in which he’d been able to help.
He’d been glad of that, and he’d also known that Jackson had been considering him for what he referred to as an “extension” of his unique unit within the Bureau. But he assumed that others in the extension would be a bit different, as he was a bit different himself.
He’d known he was meeting a partner. He simply hadn’t expected this young woman with blazing blue eyes and deep red hair. She stood at about five eight or nine and had the fit look of most agents; it was imperative in their line of work to stay in shape.
You never knew what you might be up against, and there were times when it was too late to draw a weapon or even when drawing a weapon wasn’t the right move to make.
The old expression, “Dead men tell no tales,” wasn’t exactly true when it came to the agents working with the Krewe. But dead men didn’t always stick around. And yet therein lay his own unique talent.
What was hers?
He guessed he was about to find out.
So far, she seemed to be admiring the city.
He wasn’t sure why that should matter, except it was his lifelong home.
He’d traveled; he’d been a lucky kid with an archeologist for a father, and he’d been able to see far reaches of the world, along with most of Europe and South America.
But there was something incredibly special about St. Augustine for him.
From Spaniards to pirates, English rule, American territory, American state—the city’s history was rich with the changes of time, humanity, and the earth itself.
He lowered his head, smiling a little, mocking himself.
So far, she was doing okay. She seemed to be enjoying all she was seeing as they walked down Aviles Street, known as America’s oldest street.
“Bought a house on the street here not so long ago. We were using local law enforcement spaces, but then Adam decided we were winding up here so often we should have something of our own. And of course, Adam being Adam, he wanted a place right on Aviles,” Jackson said.
Grant knew that Adam Harrison had long been a power in the nation’s capital—first, because his philanthropy, not to any political party, but to those in need, to returning military veterans, orphaned children, and more, had made him a known entity.
Then, he’d helped out the Bureau many times with his tech companies and the simple fact that the man had a Midas touch.
Not in life, though. He’d lost his only son when a car accident had stolen his child’s life, but the boy’s best friend had held his hand as he died and something strange about the boy had passed into her …
and Adam had seen that. First, he’d just noted people and strange criminal circumstances across the country.
And that had turned into the special unit, the Krewe of Hunters, with an official title that had changed through the years and was currently known as the Special Circumstances Division.
All agents were drawn from the Bureau or sent through the academy to become part of the Bureau’s division. Every single one of them went through all the classes and training that were required to become agents. They had to be, or become, graduates of the academy.
Jackson Crow had been Adam Harrison’s first choice when he’d conceived the idea of forming a “special circumstances” unit.
And now Jackson managed a host of agents working within the country and even in a European division.
The plan had been to bring Shelly Mahoney here, where they could meet, where Jackson could explain all, where he and Shelly could get to know one another before plunging into a situation.
However, instead, this situation had precluded such a non-pressured first meeting.
Grant knew Jackson had watched him before making arrangements to have him transferred from his north Florida unit to Jackson’s unit.
In turn, he’d learned everything he could about the Krewe—and Jackson Crow. He had known the man; he’d been on a case before in which the Krewe had been involved.
And it had been impressive.
“Here we are,” Jackson said, pausing at a house on the street. He gave them a dry smile and added, “Known for being a great area for artists, something nice on a general walk. Of course, it claims the fame of being the oldest street in America.”
“A general walk would be great!” Shelly told him. “I was here once years ago when I was in high school. I loved seeing the Castillo de San Marcos and Fort Matanzas! And, of course, the Fountain of Youth.” She laughed softly. “My dad said the water didn’t take—he still got old.”
“Ah, that’s because he didn’t stay here. Way out West where you’re from, the air is dry. In Florida, the humidity here—” Grant began
“Is killer?” Jackson suggested.
“No worse than the DC area,” Grant reminded him. “The thing is, humidity is good for the skin, keeping wrinkles away. Maybe that’s where the idea of the place being a ‘fountain of youth’ came from. And, hey, sir!” he told Jackson, indicating their accommodations during the case. “This is … great!”
He was telling the truth. The old house was great.
It wasn’t from the earliest days of discovery.
Aviles had been given the title “oldest street” because archeologists had discovered pottery and tools beneath the ground that dated back to the early days of the Spanish colonization.
The architecture appeared to be late 1700s, but thankfully, as they arrived, Grant saw that it had also been given a very modern alarm system with a coded entry that included a fingerprint pad after the numbers.
Nice. That kind of system allowed for sleep at night.
Jackson punched in the codes that allowed them to be good to go on their own; they both tried the codes and set their fingerprints. Then they were in the house and
Jackson directed them to take seats in the parlor area, while he headed into the kitchen and returned with bottles of water to toss to them.
“Usual protocol,” Jackson said. “Kitchen should be stocked with necessities. But it’s not the time to be hanging around here anyway.
I need to head back in a few hours, and I’d like to have a meeting with George Maynard’s fiancée, Ainsley, before leaving.
It’s most likely that this all has to do with someone Maynard blew the whistle on, but the curse tablet—like that found in Rome, Grant—adds a disturbing dimension to this.
So, it’s important you know one another’s strengths.
The basics. Grant, Shelly can wield her Glock with an expertise that puts many of our best to shame.
She’s also trained in several methods of self-defense.
Shelly, Grant was a sharpshooter in the military, served as a sharpshooter with the US Navy for two deployments.
But as you’re both aware, guns sure as hell don’t solve everything.
In fact, they aren’t much use when you’re investigating records and determining time, place, and motive for suspects. Now, as to the other …”
“I’m afraid that my particular talent was useless today,” Grant said dryly, shaking his head.
“Why? And I’m not sure when or how to try mine,” Shelly said, frowning as she looked at him.
“You can’t hold someone’s hand when they’re down to a pile of ashes,” Grant said.
“What?” Shelly asked.
“When someone is recently deceased, Grant can take one of their hands, hold it, and know what they knew in the last moments of their lives,” Jackson explained.
“Oh,” Shelly said, frowning. “And that really—”
“Works, yes,” Jackson told her. “Pretty amazing. There have been a few occasions when he’s been able to identify a killer.
” Jackson looked over at Grant with a shrug.
“Yes, I’ve studied previous assignments of both you and Shelly.
But when the victim knows what happened, in that strange, strange place between life and death—for the majority of human beings who do move on, Grant can converse with the soul even if that soul doesn’t remain on earth. ”
“That doesn’t always mean we have the proof,” Grant reminded him. “Our legal system is based on proof, something for which I’m grateful, even when I’m frustrated. No one should ever be convicted on a ‘he said’ or ‘she said’ basis.”
“Of course not,” Jackson said quietly. “You’ll be meeting a few other agents along the way here.
Zach Erickson and Skye McMahon. They’ll be joining you along the way, but they started with a case in Salem, and well, we all know what went on at the infamous 1692 Salem witch trials.
Neighbor turned on neighbor, and ‘spectral’ evidence was used against many innocent people.
Someone was using the old concept of witches, along with modern ideas and what we’ve seen in movies and books.
Here again, we’re looking at something different, but,” he said, looking at Grant, “apparently drawn from even more ancient but strange beliefs as well.”
“Strange beliefs—or new ways to hire hit men,” Grant said.
“Well, if we just had more than ashes, we might know who to follow—and who to investigate until we do get the proof,” Jackson said.
He smiled at Shelly. “Twice, in my experience, Grant has worked his magic, and the killers were so stunned, they tripped over themselves when talking and wound up giving law enforcement confessions.”
“Wow,” Shelly murmured, nodding and studying Grant.