“Has there been a development in the Marian Harris case that I’m unaware of?”

“No, sir. Well, I don’t believe so.”

“You just emailed me this on a whim? Out of the blue? Why?”

“Well, because your name came up during a conversation I had with Special Agent Easton. I assured him that you had been notified when Marian Harris’s remains were discovered. Your contact info was on the last communiqué between the FBI and our department, so I had your email address.”

Rudkowski was seeing red, but it wasn’t the deputy’s fault, so he kept his voice as level as possible. “When did this conversation take place?”

“With Agent Easton? Yesterday.”

“Did he say what had prompted him to call your department?”

“He said that, like you, he specializes in missing persons cases.”

“Um-huh.”

“He was calling specifically about the missing person case in Lexington. I’m sure you’ve heard about it.”

“Over the weekend, I unplugged from the office and just now came in. I haven’t seen anything about it.”

“Well, Easton said there are similarities to Marian Harris. He wanted to compare the cases.”

“Of course.”

“He asked me to access the case file on Harris and give him an update. I asked for a few hours, because I had other stuff to do, but I had it all in front of me when he called back.”

“I’m sure he appreciated that.”

“I guess, but…I don’t think he knew her remains had been found. He seemed upset when I told him about her being buried alive and all. Y’all must not work that closely together, or else he would have known.”

“No, we don’t work closely together at all,” Rudkowski said, straining the words through his clenched teeth.

“He asked me to email him the picture. Later, I got to thinking that if he was investigating this new case, you might be in on it, too, being in the same state and all. That’s why I sent the picture to you.”

“Good thinking, deputy. Thank you. I’ll give Easton a call. Do you have his cell number in front of you?”

“It’s a private number, sir. Blocked. You know, because of all the classified and undercover work he does.”

Rudkowski closed his eyes and rubbed the sockets, which had begun to throb. “Of course. I forgot. Never mind. I’ve got his private number here in my data bank. I can look it up. Thanks again.”

“Sure.”

Rudkowski dropped the telephone receiver back into the cradle, picked up his cell phone, and pulled up the last cell number he had for Easton. He called it. Got his voice mail. No surprise there. The jackass wasn’t about to answer if he saw the name Rudkowski in the LED, especially if he was up to something.

Rudkowski pushed back his desk chair and marched to the door of his office, yanked it open, and barked to his assistant, “Call the SAC in Lexington.”

She raised her eyebrows and, under her breath, said, “Must be Easton.”

“Verify that they have a local missing person. Woman, probably middle-aged and well heeled. Then call Easton’s office. He’s not answering his cell, and I want to talk to him. Now. No excuses. If someone else there answers, have them drag him to the phone.”

He went back into his office and slammed the door.

He could hear his assistant’s muffled voice as she placed the ordered calls. He fumed. Maybe he should have told Easton about the gruesome discovery in Florida, but, dammit, this is precisely why he hadn’t. He’d known Easton wouldn’t leave it alone.

He’d been a thorn in Rudkowski’s side for years, ever since he’d shown up in Santa Barbara, uninvited and without sanction, and had poked his nose into Rudkowski’s investigation into a disappearance and probable kidnap case.

Easton had been young, idealistic, determined, clever, and passionate, as though designed to make Rudkowski appear old, jaded, lackadaisical, dumb, and indifferent.

To Rudkowski, Drex Easton didn’t represent a righteous crusader, but rather an accusatory finger pointing out his inadequacies. He was a recurring rash. A major pain in the ass.

Only once had Rudkowski gotten the best of him, but it had been an empty victory, which ultimately had made him look petty and Easton self-sacrificial.

His assistant opened the door, but only by a crack in which her face appeared, as though she feared he might throw something at her.

“No missing person case this week in or around Lexington, except for a man in his eighties. They put out a silver alert. He had sneaked out of his retirement home and was found a few hours later doing tequila shots and ogling the waitresses at a Hooters.”

Rudkowski had figured the missing person case was a hoax used by Easton to light a fire under the deputy in Florida. “You reach Easton?”

“He’s on vacation.”

“Excuse me?”

“He’s on—?”

“I heard you,” he barked. “Since when?”

“He cleared out midday last Friday.”

“For how long?”

“Two weeks.”

“Where did he go?”

“He didn’t say. Nobody knows.”

Chapter 7

Knock-knock?”

Talia came from the kitchen onto the enclosed porch, a dishtowel slung over one shoulder. She smiled at Drex, who stood on the step on the other side of the screen door. “Hi. You’re early.”

He looked at his watch. “I thought I was ten minutes late. Wasn’t the invitation for six?”

“Six-thirty.”

“Oh. Sorry. I’ll come back.”

“Don’t be silly. Come on in.” She went over and pushed the door open for him. “Jasper had to make a quick run to the store. I forgot to get buns.”

Drex knew Jasper wasn’t in the house, which is why he had arrived early. He’d already been showered and dressed when he saw Jasper backing his car out of their driveway. He’d pushed his bare feet into his docksiders, forewent grooming his hair, picked up the box of cupcakes he’d bought earlier at the bakery, dashed down the perilous stairs, and crossed the lawn in a gait that wasn’t quite a jog, but close.

As he stepped inside, he handed Talia the bakery box.

“What’s this?”

“I told Jasper I’d bring dessert.”

Jasper had come over in the early afternoon to extend the invitation. Drex had seen him coming, and, by the time Jasper had climbed the stairs, Drex appeared to be an absentminded writer, unaware of everything except his manuscript. He pretended to emerge from a creative fog and had accepted the invitation, but only on the condition that he provide the sweets.

Talia raised the box’s lid. “Cupcakes! Great! Dibs on one of the chocolate ones.”

“I’ll flip you for the second one.”

She smiled at him, her eyes shifting up to his hair. He scrubbed his knuckles across the crown of his head and gave an abashed grin. “Is it a mess? Sorry. Hazards of my trade.”

“Mussed hair and what else?”

“Forgetting my hair is mussed.”

She scrutinized him for a moment as though unsure what to make of him, then nodded toward the bar. “Help yourself. I’ll take these into the kitchen.”