Dead Shall Speak (An FBI/Romance Thriller Book 10) Page 9

  Yeah, maybe he could do this without Elizabeth. Only, it just wouldn’t be as much fun.

  Blackhawk’s mood was heading in the right direction as he dropped his sunglasses on and headed out to roust a cop.

  It was a decent day, if he did say so himself.

  * * *

  He didn't feel right.

  Since arriving there, Callen Whitefox felt like they were being watched. While he might not be as astute as Elizabeth or Ethan, he was pretty sure he could tell when someone was stalking him.

  Wherever he moved, Callen was certain eyes watched his every move. It was giving him the willies. He only wished he could figure out where they were coming from, so he could put a stop to it.

  It was making him edgy.

  As he stood guard over the three doctors in the grave, he could feel someone approaching his flank. At the touch to his arm, he actually jumped. While he knew he had company, he didn't think he’d be touched.

  Truth be told, Callen wasn’t one to like contact to his person in the first place, but never that close to his firearm. Turning fast, he surprised the woman beside him, and then had to apologize profusely when she gasped.

  “I’m sorry, miss, but you really shouldn’t sneak up on someone who’s carrying a gun,” he chided, glad to see that she was just one of the dig crew.

  “Are you really a Fed?” she asked, staring up at the large Native man. His dreamy brown eyes and straight hair was making it hard not to ogle him.

  “Yes, why?” he asked.

  There was a wave of uneasiness as she moved closer to his body. While he didn't mind having Elizabeth in his personal space, or his brother, Callen hated strangers being there.

  It freaked him out, especially after the run in he’d had with his mother’s old boyfriend. It dredged up memories he didn't like to dwell on.

  “I was just curious. I’m Valerie Joseph, and I’m in grad school here at the university. I’m also working the dig to help you out.”

  When she offered her hand, Callen took it, not sure what to expect. The woman was checking him out, and that made him nervous too.

  “I can’t believe we found remains with meat still on them. It’s a once in a lifetime thing,” she offered. “By the time I see a body, it’s all bones.”

  Callen relaxed.

  Maybe she was just being friendly. It was a sad testament to his life when a petite blonde could freak him out this much.

  God, he missed his woman and couldn’t wait to get her back at his side. He was completely screwed up in her absence.

  He felt like an idiot.

  “Yeah, well, when you work in the FBI, you get this kind of thing a lot. Our victims are generally fleshy or at least partially. I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing.”

  “Just watching your people, you can tell that they’re good at their job,” she stated, pointing into the grave and at the Feds who were steadily working.

  “We’re used to playing with corpses,” Callen stated, still staring down into the hole.

  “That’s sexy, and in fact, so are you. Want to get a drink with me tonight?” she asked.

  Callen was appalled but not by the invite. That he could brush off because it happened on a regular basis, but it was her very blatant ass grab which was a little too much for him to take. Reining it in, he tried to not lose it.

  “No thank you, Valerie,” he stated, moving his body away from the handsy woman. “While I appreciate your offer, I’m very happily married.”

  Callen hoped his voice remained even but stern. It was probably a good thing that Elizabeth wasn’t there. If she’d seen that full-handed squeeze, she would have gone shit nuts on the young girl. She liked to make sure the men in her life weren’t felt up by anyone but her.

  She was crazy like that.

  “Is your wife here?” she asked coyly, dramatically scanning the area.

  “No.”

  “Then who’s going to tell her? I’m talking a drink and maybe back to my room for some sex. That’s it. There’s no obligation in the morning. Doing it with a Fed is on my bucket list, and you’re hot.”

  Callen was obviously out of his league with this man-eater. While he’d lived his life much like the offer she was handing out, he wasn’t going to go there again.

  Not in a million years.

  His family wasn’t worth the risk. While the woman was pretty, and his body craved that intimacy of his woman’s touch, Callen wouldn’t cheat.

  Not now.

  Not ever.

  The last few years had taught him control, self-worth, and value. Oh, he wanted sex in the worst way, but only one woman would do.

  His Elizabeth.

  As Valerie’s fingers stroked down his arm, across the burns that had once caused his shame, his heart began thundering in his chest. What he wanted to do was rush away. What he had to do was try and be strong.

  “Did you get burned?” she asked, her hand pausing on his arm.

  Callen was in full-blown freak out mode. The unwarranted touch and invasive question reminded him of so many childhood horrors.

  “First, that’s going to be a no thank you on the offer of sex. I don’t have one-night stands, and I don’t cheat on my wife. As for what happened to my arm, it’s really none of your business. Let’s keep this professional, if you don’t mind.”

  Laughter gushed out of her as she moved closer to his body.

  Callen fought the need to take a step back.

  “All men cheat, Mr. FBI.”

  That was a sad declaration from her and the types of relationship she was involved in. Callen had news for the woman.

  He didn't.

  He wouldn’t.

  She was definitely wrong on this one. Even before Elizabeth, he didn't cheat on anyone he was with. After having a father who did that, he wasn’t going there. Without thinking about it, his free hand spun the wedding band on his finger. It was a talisman when he was worried or scared.

  Now he was both.

  “Again, I say no. I need to focus on my work, so if you could head out of here, I’d appreciate it.”

  Not deterred by his blow off, she opted to walk away—temporarily.

  As soon as she was out of earshot, another person approached, and to Callen’s relief, it was Doctor Armstrong.

  “Are you okay?” she asked, keeping her voice low.

  “Yeah, just a little irritated,” he admitted. Maybe that wasn’t the correct word. Callen was freaked out.

  “The women on this dig are like piranhas. If it makes you feel better, Valerie hit on just about everyone here. She likes lots and lots of dick.”

  That made him laugh, because it was a no holds reply that Elizabeth would throw out. Callen relaxed as Jaxon tried to offer him calm. “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry, Doctor.”

  Callen only wished he believed his own declaration.

  At that moment, he wanted his wife by his side even more than ever.

  God, he missed Elizabeth.

  And the peace she gave him by just being at his side.

  * * *

  He was like a man heading into battle, and that was pretty close to the truth. Walking into the sheriff’s station was both exciting and stressful on so many levels.

  One of the reasons that he let his wife handle this area of their job was because of the reaction he often got. Being part Native American was a curse growing up, and finally, he’d come to terms with it. Yet, having Elizabeth there always added another buffer to the potential negativity that would come his way. Over the years, she’d added herself to the layer of protection for his heart. When she was around, Ethan knew that any barb thrown out would be blocked by her sheer will and depth of love.

  She was the sentry that no one could get past, and in all honesty, he’d taken it for granted.

  Until that very moment, as he was forced to be out there on his own.

  Truth be told, no one liked to be insulted, stared at like they were an oddity, or made to feel different. Etha
n Blackhawk was an American, just like everyone else in that building, but his heritage singled him out.

  Shit!

  Why was he so freaked out doing this? It wasn’t like he just became Native. This was a battle he’d been fighting all his life.

  Digging deep to find his nerve, Ethan headed inside to face his fears. Once in the door, he found the response to be exactly what he had expected. At the counter, all the deputies working stopped moving.

  In fact, they were staring at him as if he was an interloper in their part of the world.

  Other than the sharp angular cheekbones, the tan skin kissed by genetics—not the sun—and his blue-black eyes, Ethan believed he fit in.

  From the looks on their faces, he didn't.

  Old worries surfaced.

  Maybe they were just checking out his really expensive suit. There was always the possibility that he’d overdressed. Ethan was often one to dress to impress.

  “What can we get for you, boy?”

  With the nasty tone in the one deputy’s voice, he could tell that he’d been way off.

  Yeah, so much for it being about his suit. That was totally a pipe dream.

  This was going to be a test of his patience.

  As Ethan approached the counter, it was hard to miss that the one deputy’s hand rested on the butt of his gun. That made him lean more toward worry than just paranoia. This was a small town, and he didn't doubt that any Natives had packed their shit and headed out a long time ago—for a very good reason.

  “My name in Director Ethan Blackhawk, and I work for the FBI. I’m here to talk to Sheriff Douglas Carlton.”

  There were murmurs, and he could swear he heard the word ‘Indian’ tossed around, and not in a complementary way. It was a good thing that his wife wasn’t with him, despite the need for her reassurance. Elizabeth would have vaulted the counter and kicked the shit out of each and every one of them.

  In a matter of seconds, they’d found and pushed what would have been her one hot button.

  “Why do you need him?” asked the one deputy suspiciously. “Are you in trouble?”

  It was hard to miss the good ol’ boy twang in his voice. It sang of prejudice and redneck tendencies. Obviously, as they stared at him, they weren’t paying attention to that three lettered word that should open all doors—FBI.

  “Well, boy?”

  God!

  He fucking loved the south like a hooker liked an STD.

  “That’s something that needs to be discussed privately, I’m afraid. If you wouldn’t mind, please get your boss,” Ethan stated authoritatively.

  Until that point, Ethan had remained incredibly calm, but he didn't think that the odds were in his favor. This was the south, and while not all white men there were hillbilly rednecks, the ones who were, liked to be front and center.

  Like now.

  There were more hillbillies than not in that room. It was like a damn convention. Had they not been armed, he might find this little adventure amusing. Thank God he made Callen stay at the dig site.

  Finally, a redheaded deputy popped up from his desk to offer Ethan some help.

  He was incredibly grateful.

  “I’ll get him for you, sir,” he offered, knocking on the one closed door.

  Ethan couldn’t hear what he said when he stuck his head in, but he did see the deputy glance back over his shoulder. There was more whispering and a pause before anyone spoke.

  “You can come in, Director. Would you like some coffee?”

  While he would, Ethan wasn’t sure it wouldn’t be spit in or poisoned. The reception was chilly enough, and he wasn’t crazy enough to risk it. He’d rather eat scorpions than go there.

  “No thank you, Deputy, but I appreciate your offer.”

  After entering the room, he took a seat when the man behind the desk pointed. He was definitely younger than quite a few of the men out in his bullpen. Blackhawk wondered if that would help or hinder the FBI. It made Ethan wonder what kind of lawman he would be.

  Would he be fair or a dick?

  “What can I do for you, Director of the FBI?”

  Ethan reintroduced himself.

  “Okay, and?”

  Yeah, it was chilly in the office. “We’ve been called in to work on the excavation site by the university,” he began.

  Immediately, the man relaxed. If anything, Ethan was good at picking up the subtle nuances in people. Sheriff Carlton’s body lost most of the stiffness.

  “Oh! I heard that the university dug up a treasure trove of bodies. Why didn't you just say so?”

  Uh, Ethan tried—a couple of times.

  Unfortunately, hillbilly-palooza had gotten in the way.

  “We were told the university was having it handled quietly, so what do you need my help for?”

  Ethan had played this game long enough to know the right and wrong way to approach it. He wasn’t a fool. He could tell right away that the man before him hadn’t found out about the newest victims, or he wouldn’t be asking that question.

  Blackhawk was going to work that angle.

  Hopefully, he could pull it off.

  “We need a location to call our home base. It has to be somewhere that has a cooler to hold the bodies.” If the man asked about them, he’d be forced to admit the truth. If Sheriff Carlton didn’t, he’d ride it out until the man figured it out on his own. The fact that he asked for a chiller should have been a dead giveaway that these weren’t just bones.

  Ethan crossed his fingers.

  Two could play the uncooperative asshole game.

  “Oh, are you talking about something like a morgue?”

  Ethan smiled, knowing that he could catch more flies with honey than vinegar, so he laid it on thick. “Yes. The university isn't able to house my team, and we need to pull forensics from each skeleton. You came highly recommended as being accommodating and friendly.” Ethan thought back to the accolades the concierge handed out regarding the sheriff.

  Douglas Carlton sat back. “We do have a morgue that’s shared with the fine folks in the next town over. There’s one ME, and he pops back and forth between them, depending on the situation. We didn’t have a whole lot of death here in town, until the bodies were discovered. Belleville is a pretty quiet place. Mostly, I’m babysitting drunken college kids and dealing with petty crimes.”

  Yeah, if the man only knew he had something far more sinister stalking them, he wouldn’t be so damn calm.

  “We have an ME and some anthropologists, so we just need the facility to house the victims.” Again, he didn't say what corpses were going there. Most of the original victims were already on their way to FBI West. Let the sheriff assume all he wanted.

  The man picked up his phone, buzzing the redheaded deputy. It didn't take long for him to run in. “Yes, sir?”

  “We need the keys to the morgue. Director Blackhawk is going to be renting it from us.”

  Ethan lifted a brow.

  Before he could speak, the man continued, “The price of rental is sharing of information. Is it a deal? I’m not asking to get in your face while you work, but I want open and honest communication.”

  Putting him on the spot, Ethan had noticed that he’d misjudged his adversary. Then again, two could play at that game.

  “Certainly, but I’ll only release it as the details are cleared. This is an ongoing case. When we wrap it up, you can have it all. Agreed?”

  They shook hands, working out a minor issue. Once the man found out the truth, the shit was going to hit the fan.

  Big time!

  “Deputy Weatherly, get the keys and directions for the director. He’s going need good ones, since the morgue is outside the town and more in the back woods of Belleville.”

  His maniacal laughter put Ethan on edge.

  Great.

  He was heading into the redneck haven. There was no way this could be construed as good. In his head, he pictured their team running loose in a hillbilly morgue.

  T
his was going to be a mess.

  Once out of the office, Ethan was glad it was over. He’d survived one more journey into the lion’s den, and now could get down to doing what he did best.

  Profiling.

  As he followed the deputy to his vehicle, Ethan could feel his sense of calm returning.

  “Sorry about all hating in there, sir. The boss isn't big on Feds,” the deputy stated. “In fact, he’s not real keen on anyone outside this town.”

  Yeah, Ethan could tell.

  “It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

  Again, more lies. He’d grown accustom to his wife keeping him safe.

  “Where is this place, Deputy? Is it really in the middle of the woods?”

  At that point, all Ethan really wanted was a place where they could avoid the sheriff and any uncomfortable conversations that might come up.

  The morgue would offer them a safe place to regroup, and a place for Ethan and Callen to do most of their work.

  He held out his hand before answering the questions. “I’m Davvy, sir. We’re not big on formal around here either. As for the morgue location, the sheriff wasn’t yanking your chain. It’s this tiny building in the middle of some trees. It’s a might creepy, if I do say so myself. I’d rather get caught skinny dipping with the mayor’s daughter than be stuck out there. All those dead people are some scary shit.”

  Yeah, tell him about it.

  It wasn’t like it mattered. In a concrete box, in the ground, or zipped up in a body bag, the dead were something that could make or break you.

  At this point, Ethan would take what he could get. He’d rather hang out with the dead than a bunch of bigoted cops with weapons.

  The dead couldn’t hurt you, but the living sure as hell could.

  After the friendly handshake, Davvy proceeded to give him instructions, all the while smiling. At the blank look on the man’s face, he changed his mind. “On second thought, I’ll take you out there, Director. I’m about to go on patrol, so it’s no big deal. I wouldn’t want you to get lost around here. Belleville is a nice town, but not if you don’t fit in.”

  Deputy Davvy Weatherly didn't have to say anything more. Ethan got the hint.