Scene of the Crime: Return to Mystic Lake

She followed Jackson’s gaze as it traveled around the room, taking in the oversize pillows on the floor in front of a coffee table that held two half-empty wineglasses and a platter of hardened, too-yellow cheddar cheese, crackers, and grapes starting to wither and emanate a slightly spoiled scent.

Jackson picked up one of the long-stem glasses and sniffed the contents. “Fruity... I smell a touch of cherry and plum and a faint dash of damp leather. Pinot noir would be my guess.” He set the glass back on the table as Marjorie stared at him in astonishment.

“There’s a bottle of pinot noir open on the kitchen counter,” she replied in surprise.

Jackson nodded. “Like a good Southern gentleman, I know my wines, although I definitely prefer a good glass of bourbon or brandy, and preferably with a lovely lady by my side.”

“But, of course,” she replied dryly.

He frowned at the coffee table. “So, it appears our two missing souls were seated here sharing what appears to be cocktail time together.”

“And something happened to interrupt their intimate little party,” Marjorie said.

“So it seems.” Jackson turned away from the coffee table and his gaze swept around the room. “No sign of a struggle. What have we here?” Nearly hidden at the edge of one of the pillows was a small black purse. He opened it and pulled out a cell phone, a wallet and a tube of lipstick.

Marjorie’s heart tumbled a little lower in her chest as she watched him open up the slender wallet. Inside was Amberly’s identification, thirty-two dollars and two credit cards.

“If somebody came in here to confront the two, it wasn’t anybody with robbery on their mind,” he said, his voice that low Southern drawl that Marjorie found both irritating and evocatively inviting at the same time.

He placed the items back in the purse. “We’ll take that phone to your techies at the bureau and see if they can find anything useful. Maybe somebody called and the two of them rushed out of here on an emergency.”

“Amberly would have let John know,” Marjorie replied with conviction.

He walked from the coffee table toward the kitchen area, his footsteps surprisingly heavy for a man who appeared so physically fit and agile.

She followed him into the kitchen, where she knew he would find nothing suspicious, nothing that might indicate what exactly had happened to Cole and Amberly.

She leaned a slender hip against the cabinet and watched as he checked the back door, opened drawers and cabinets that were mostly empty. He pulled a small notepad and pen from the pocket of his pristine white shirt and took some notes.

He might be an arrogant, smooth-talking pain in her butt, but he also appeared to be thorough and detail driven, and that was the only thing important to her in this case. Nothing else mattered, as long as he was as good at his job as he looked in his expensive white shirt and the tailored black slacks that fit him to perfection. He wore his gun and holster on a sleek leather belt around his waist, looking both lethal and sexy at the same time.

From the minute she had joined the FBI, nothing had mattered but the job and caretaking for her mother. This particular case hit too close to home, with a fellow FBI agent gone missing.

“Let’s take a look at the rest of the house,” he finally said when he’d finished checking out the kitchen.

“There isn’t much here. Two bedrooms have already been emptied of all the furniture, and there’s just a bed and a dresser left in the master suite.”

His footsteps thundered down the hallway, and he peeked into each room as they passed, finally stopping just inside the master bedroom.

“Smart man,” he said as he gazed at the bed with the navy bedspread. “He’s moved most of the furniture out but left a spot for foreplay in the family room and the bed to complete the night.” He turned to look at Marjorie and she was horrified to feel a warmth steal into her cheeks. Thank goodness he didn’t mention it.

“So, Amberly and Cole came here Friday night to pack things away, and Monday afternoon she didn’t show up to pick up her kid from school,” he continued. “Do you know if anyone spoke to either of them between those times?” he asked.

“When I left here to pick you up at the airport I had a couple of deputies and another FBI agent canvassing the neighborhood to find out the last time either of them was seen.”

She pulled her cell phone out of her pocket and punched in a number. “Adam. Any news?” She listened to the report, acutely aware of Jackson’s gaze taking her in from head to toe.

The temperature inside the house was a comfortable one for the heat of the night, but as her new partner’s gaze slid down the length of her, she felt the atmosphere in the room climb at least ten degrees warmer.

“Thanks,” she said to FBI agent Adam Forest, and then hung up. “According to what the officers have been able to find out for now, the next-door neighbor, Charles Baker, saw Cole and Amberly arrive here just after five on Friday night. About seven that same night he saw Cole again when he mowed the lawn. Nobody saw either of them after that...at least that we’ve talked to so far.”

She watched him open the top drawer of the dresser. She hadn’t had a chance to check things out this thoroughly before leaving the scene earlier to pick him up at the airport.

“Unless Sheriff Cole Caldwell is an unusual man for a sheriff, he didn’t leave here of his own volition.” He pulled a handgun from the drawer, along with a gold badge. “No sheriff I know would take off without his weapon and the very thing that defines him.”

Every muscle in Marjorie’s body tensed at the sight of the items. She’d hoped that this was all some kind of a mistake, that little Max and his father had somehow misunderstood, and Cole and Amberly had gone off for a mini-honeymoon.

“So, is this like what you were working on in Bachelor Moon?” she asked Jackson.

“Too early for me to make that jump.” He left the bedroom and she hurried after him. He walked back into the great room and stared at the coffee table and the oversize pillows. “On the surface things look very similar to what I was working on in Bachelor Moon, but it would be a mistake for us to leap to any conclusions this early in the investigation.”

“I can take you to Amberly’s place now. I have a couple of officers sitting on it so that nothing is disturbed.”

Together they stepped outside, where they both removed their booties and gloves. “I’ll be honest with you—at the moment what I need is a good meal, a strong drink and a soft bed,” Jackson said.

“But we still need to go to Amberly’s,” Marjorie protested.

“That can wait until morning,” Jackson said. “Whatever happened to Sheriff Caldwell and his wife happened here, not at the house in Kansas City. We’ve got a lot of work ahead of us.”

“Exactly,” Marjorie replied. “And we need to work through the night if that’s what it takes to get to the bottom of this.”

“It’s going to take more than a single night to get to the bottom of this,” Jackson said as he headed for her car.

She hurried after him, irritated by his lack of work ethic. She didn’t know how they solved crime in Louisiana, but they sure as heck didn’t do it in Kansas City by eating a good steak and finding a soft bed.

“But you know how important the first forty-eight hours are right after a crime,” she said as they got into her car.

“I know, but as far as I can figure, we’ve already lost our first forty-eight-hour window. My gut says they disappeared from here sometime Friday night, and here we are on Tuesday night. Besides, at this point all we have is two people not where they said they would be...nothing to indicate that an actual crime took place at all.”

“Trust me, if Amberly told Max she’d pick him up at school yesterday, nothing would have kept her away except something terrible,” Marjorie replied. “Max always came first with her.”

“Have you checked the local hospitals? Maybe one of them got sick and hasn’t had a chance to call.” He obviously read on her face that it hadn’t been done yet.

“Then that’s something you can take care of after you drop me off at whatever place I’m staying while I’m here in town.”

“You aren’t staying here in Mystic Lake. The director set you up in a motel in Kansas City. Don’t worry, there’s a restaurant right next door where you can feed your face.” She started the engine, fighting a new blast of irritation directed at him.

FBI agents didn’t work normal business hours. When in the middle of a case they worked until they physically couldn’t work any longer.

To make matters worse, as she began the drive back toward the city, not only did Special Agent Jackson Revannaugh fall asleep, but the car filled with his faint, deep snores.

She was livid that she’d put off beginning the official investigation until this Louisiana man had arrived. She was ticked off that somehow her director thought he could potentially add a valuable perspective on the crime.

As if fate hadn’t already delivered enough painful hits in her life, it had now delivered up to her the partner from hell.

Chapter Two

Jackson shot straight up in bed, his heart beating frantically as early-morning light shone through the half-closed curtains on the nearby window. It took him several minutes to process the nightmares that had haunted his sleep and a little more time to realize exactly where he was.