Chapter 12 BREE

Chapter 12

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Bree returned to her office after the FBI agent left the station.

She stopped at Todd's desk. He was reviewing reports on his computer. "Where's Juarez?"

"Out on patrol."

"I need to track down a tattoo." She showed him the photo forwarded from the ME's office. The fact that it was on a dead body wasn't apparent in the close-up. Despite the darkened skin, the tattoo details were clear.

Todd squinted at her phone screen. "Looks original."

"That's what I thought. Check NamUs, ViCAP, and NCIC for similar tats." Bree headed for her office.

Marge poked her head in the doorway. "I emailed you some articles about Agent Kilpatrick."

"General consensus?" Bree woke her computer.

"Seems like the real deal," Marge said. "I made some calls and double-checked her credentials."

Bree suppressed a smile. Of course she had. Marge trusted no one she didn't know personally, and she'd been working in the sheriff's office for more than three decades. She had more contacts than Bree did. Marge had worked for a corrupt sheriff. She wouldn't completely trust formal channels. She'd want a variety of sources to get beneath FBI reports, official statements, and bureau speak. Marge would want to know what wasn't on the record.

If Marge said Kilpatrick was the real deal, then she was.

Bree opened the first link. Kilpatrick had spent five years with the Portland FBI office, mostly working domestic terrorism cases. She was currently assigned to the Bend satellite office, where she'd been for a couple of years. She had an excellent closed-case percentage and had been awarded the FBI Medal of Valor for an undercover assignment at an off-the-grid militia compound, which had led to Agent Kilpatrick going missing for ten days. During that time she was held captive and severely beaten, and barely managed to escape with her life. More recently, Agent Kilpatrick had caught domestic terrorists targeting electrical substations, for which she had received a commendation.

The FBI didn't hand out commendations like participation trophies.

Bree read more articles. From all the information, it seemed Marge's assessment had been accurate. Kilpatrick was an intelligent and effective agent. Whether Bree liked her on a personal level was irrelevant—and to be determined—but there was nothing to suggest Kilpatrick was corrupt.

Bree closed her computer. The agent had offered FBI resources for the investigation. She might not have told Bree who she was looking for, but she'd shared the information about the nail polish, hair, and local area code. Bree sensed she was doing what she could to cooperate, and clearly someone ranked above her was the reason she was holding back. The lack of information irritated Bree, but she would try not to hold it against Kilpatrick. The agent hadn't seemed happy about the situation either.

"Headed home?" Todd asked.

"I'm going to stop and see what my tattoo guy says about this photo." Bree packed her messenger bag with reports and her laptop, then went to the locker room to change into jeans and a tank. She drove to Hardcore Ink, a tattoo parlor that squatted on the edge of Grey's Hollow. The bell sounded as she walked in the front door.

Carlos, the owner, got up from his stool behind the counter. He set aside a sketchpad and pencil. He was skinny, with droopy pants and a black T-shirt. She knew him to be nearly thirty, but with almost no facial hair and the pasty-white skin of a person who never went outdoors, he could have passed for a teenager. He tugged on his waistband. The toothpick between his teeth bobbed when he talked. "Bree! Let me see how that touch-up looks."

Bree turned to show him the back of her shoulder. The dragonfly tattoo was brilliantly colored in shades of green and blue that almost appeared iridescent. Every now and then, the colors needed refreshing.

Carlos whistled around the toothpick. "That is gorgeous."

Bree looked over her shoulder. "You did a great job deepening the greens."

"What do you need? Please tell me you want a new tat." He smiled and rubbed his hands together. Excitement rolled off him in palpable waves. "I would love to design something for you."

"No. Sorry."

"Well, shit." His face fell.

"I need your professional opinion on a case."

Carlos brightened. "Always happy to help."

She pulled out her phone and showed him the screen.

He tilted his head. "It's not my work." His tone was defensive.

"Does it look familiar?"

He shook his head. "It's not the most original design I've ever seen." He sounded almost snobbish. "Pretty ordinary for a bondage tat. Themes usually involve chain links, thorns, whips, things like that."

Bondage as a theme made sense considering the killer also liked ball gags.

He looked closer. "But the work itself is good."

"A professional, then."

"Definitely."

"Can you ask your friends if they've done anything like this?"

"I can. You're looking for someone local?"

She thought about the fact that Kilpatrick had traced her missing person to a burner phone with a local area code. "My hunch would be within a reasonable driving distance, but I don't know for sure." She was just guessing.

Carlos twisted the toothpick, then pulled it out of his mouth and gestured with it. "Here's an idea. I can put this out on social media. Instagram is a good place to look, and there are private Facebook groups for artists. That will be the most efficient way of tracking this down. Can I post this pic online?"

"Yes, and thank you."

"No worries. I got you, Sheriff."

"You'll let me know if anyone claims the ink?"

"Yep."

Bree drove home, turned the horses out, and spent the next hour mucking stalls. When she'd finished, she was soaked with sweat, but the physical exhaustion felt good. She showered, dressed in shorts and a tee, and paced around the empty, too-quiet house for a while before settling on the back porch with the dogs once again.

Her phone buzzed, and she pulled it from her pocket, stupidly excited when she saw Matt's name on the screen. He'd been gone for only two days. She rolled her eyes at herself. "Hey."

"Hey yourself." His deep voice made her warm inside. "It's good to talk to you."

"Same," she admitted. "How's the trip?"

"Great." Enthusiasm rang in his voice. "We rappelled with the dogs in harnesses today. Tomorrow, we have a mock hasty search."

"I've missed you," she said. Usually he said it first.

"I miss you too, but I haven't showered since I left, so ..."

She laughed. "Sounds awesome."

"What's going on there?"

She gave him a quick summary of the bodies found in the suitcases.

"This is bad timing. You need help?"

"Here's the thing. An FBI agent turned up out of the blue. Special Agent Kilpatrick."

"Huh?"

"Yeah," Bree said. "But she seems smart, so I'm going to use her."

"May as well."

"Right?"

"Kids are OK?" he asked.

"OK enough that I've only had one call from Kayla."

"That's great."

"I miss them too, though." Bree didn't say it was too quiet because she didn't want to jinx her life. Cops were ridiculously superstitious about their workloads.

"I miss you all." Matt's voice went husky. "But I'll see you next week."

The connection broke up, and they said hurried goodbyes. Bree lowered her phone. Sitting on her back porch with Matt at her side and the kids in bed would have seemed peaceful. Tonight, she was simply lonely.

Brody let out a long breath with a hint of whine.

"Seriously." Her hand trailed on Brody's thick ruff. "How did I live alone all those years?"

The big shepherd turned understanding brown eyes on her. At the sound of her voice, Ladybug bumped Bree's other hand, clearly jealous. Bree scratched behind her ears.

The answer was all too clear. In her single, childless previous life, she hadn't known what she'd been missing.