Chapter 3
Special Agent Fallon Baxter
"Fallon Baxter? Is that really you?" he says with a laugh, and soon I'm ensconced in a rocking embrace by the first boy who pushed me out of a treehouse when we were twelve. Okay, so the only boy who attempted to send me to an early grave.
"Robby Reed." I pull back and examine him, same stark blue eyes, dimpled smile, and nefarious intent written on his face, albeit with more gray peppered in his hair and beard. He's clad in a navy uniform—not a surprise. I knew he was a deputy, but I spot that shiny badge on his chest and gasp. "Sheriff? Look at you go, Robby!"
"That's right," he says. "And it's just Rob now, and as far as this badge goes, you'd better watch your back."
"I guess I'll have to. Nice to know you've been moving up in the world since I've been away, Rob."
"You know me. I always have a plan B."
Something soft rubs up against my shin and I glance down with a start, half-ready to reach for my gun when I spot a fully grown, fully adorable yellow lab.
"Hey there, cutie. What are you doing here?" I ask, offering up a quick pat to his back.
"That's my buddy," Rob says. "Whose name just so happens to be Buddy."
"I see." I laugh as I give the powder-white cutie a scratch between the ears. "Creative," I tease.
Robby has always been the kind of friend that I can say anything to. He had his friends, and I had mine, but our social Venn diagrams crossed often enough for us to feel as if we ran in the same circles.
"What can I say? I needed a friend."
"You? Lonely?" I shake my head as we settle across from one another at the booth. "If memory serves correct, you always had a girl or two on your arms—scratch that, more like six. And if I really stretch my memory, I recall you liked them young—as in barely legal."
"Watch it," he says, pushing his pancakes my way and I pinch off a piece and pop it into my mouth.
"Oh man, these are as good as I remember." I glance to the counter where a few waitresses load up on plates brimming with breakfast offerings, but still no sign of my mother.
"So what brings you to town?" he asks, gripping his coffee and I'm suddenly wishing I could do the same. "What's it been, sixteen years?"
"Two," I say, kicking him from under the table. "And I'm here because Nevada got a little too hot for me." I'm not getting into the specifics right now. Maybe not ever. "Besides, my mother needs me."
"She's got Riley." He shrugs at the mention of my older, questionably wiser sister. "How's she doing, anyway?"
"Riley and her boyfriend own their own hauling business—Pick-It-Clean. Apparently, they're making enough to keep a roof over their heads, and right now that's plenty. I want everyone I care about to be warm, fed, and housed, including me."
"How was Quantico?" he asks as his demeanor sobers up. His eyes slide down my sweater before tracking up to meet my gaze once again.
"It was about as intense as I thought it'd be. You should have come when I threw out the invite."
"Still not interested. So they sent you to Nevada? I would have rather been buried alive."
"And had that happened, you might have ended up on my radar," I say with a laugh as Buddy hops up and sits right next to me. "Here you go," I say, pinching off another edge of the pancake and the hungry pooch eats it right out of my hand. "Don't worry," I say to Rob. "There weren't any blueberries in that bite. So what's happening with you now that you're the big man around here? I bet you have to fight them off with your nightstick. And I bet you enjoy it, too."
"Can't deny it." He waggles his brows and looks as cunning as he did as a kid. But we're not kids anymore. We've crested thirty without our permission, and here we are, two law enforcement officers vying over the affection of the world's cutest dog. It's sort of where I had envisioned us all along.
"So you're back for good?" he asks. "I thought you moved up north because they needed assistance."
"Two years' worth of assistance. What can I say? Turns out, I like to gamble. My gambling had much more to do with men than it did money, but it was an equally losing proposition. Not to mention that I helped to take down six serial killers, helped shut down a human trafficking ring, and participated in my very first drug bust."
"Sounds like someone is keeping score. I approve." His head bobs at the thought. "It means you're good, you're dedicated. Are you keeping score in any other department?" He glances down at my chest once again.
"You are still the same dirty dog I left behind, aren't you? And no, I am most certainly not keeping score in that department." Mostly because it would be abysmal, but I keep that part to myself.
"Well, when the scoreboard lights up again, give me a chance to get on the roster, would you? How long do I have to wait to get in on that action?"
"How about we revisit the idea of you being buried alive?" I laugh right at him. "What's your scoreboard, and I'm not talking about women."
"A few felonies, mostly small-time stuff. Busted the mob and confiscated enough cyanide to kill the entire state. How's that for bragging rights?"
"Perfectly lethal," I say with a laugh. "Got any hot cases you can use a federal agent's assistance with?"
"No can do. I don't need the feds sniffing around, no matter how pretty they are." He shoots me with his fingers. "There's nothing I can't handle."
"Well, that's just a bald-faced lie if ever there was one," a familiar sweet female voice resonates from behind and I jump to my feet because it's one I know all too well.
"Mom." I pull her into a tight embrace and inhale her lilac scent as if it were the exact medicine I needed to cure what ails me. Heck, it most likely is. I pull back and examine her. We share the same dark hair, or we did. Hers is curled near her ears and well on its way to being completely gray and mine glides past my shoulders. Same pale gray eyes, same propensity to eat one cupcake too many, and our hips are quick to brag about the fact. "Oh, I've missed you."
"Now that's a lie straight from the pit," she says, giving my ribs a tweak. "If you missed me, you would have come back two years ago." She pulls back and gives Buddy a quick scratch. "Now let me get my apron on. I just stepped out to run to the bank."
"Ooh, the bank?" I say. "I'm glad to hear things are going well."
"They're going well enough." She nods to Rob. "Now you tell her the truth about the things that have been happening around here before another dead body all but falls from the ceiling." She hugs me once more. "It's been raining corpses around here." She takes off for the cash register and I fall back into my seat.
"Raining corpses?" I offer Rob a stern look. "Speak now, Reed, or I'll be forced to raid your case files."
"Four homicides in a year's time is hardly a need to invite the feds to the party. This is my party. My case, my rules. Besides, I've got a team on it."
"You've always been a touch too proud for your own good." I sigh as I stare him down. "You want to share the details? Or do I have to turn to the internet to fill in the blanks."
"I'll fill in the blanks if you fill in a few first," he says, leaning in. "What was the real reason you stayed in Nevada for so long?" He glares at me as if he took it as a personal slight. "You love your family too much to abandon them like that, especially with everything going on."
A lump forms in my throat and I swallow it down. "There was a sighting of Erin there while I was in Quantico, so I asked to be stationed up there. I thought I'd hang around and see if I could find her myself. I didn't."
Erin is my younger sister, younger by a year, and yet just as questionably intelligent as my older sister. Erin was a child prodigy when it came to academia. My parents always said she was too smart for her britches, and about three years ago I started to believe them. She's been missing for about that long. No foul play detected; she just wandered off and gave us the finger more or less—or at least the technological equivalent, a dear John letter to the family via text stating she needed some space. She wished us all a nice life.
Rob grunts as he considers it, "She's not in Nevada."
"What makes you so sure?"
"Someone spotted her at a liquor store out near Ironwood Springs about three months ago."
"What?" I hiss so loud, Buddy sits up straight. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"I'm telling you now. Besides, I wanted to be sure it was her. And after some digital analysis of the security footage, I'm pretty sure it was."
My heart thumps wildly. "Did you tell my mother?"
"I'm saving that for you."
My phone pings before I can pick up a menu, but with that news about Erin, I'm too amped up to eat anyway.
I glance at the screen and shake my head.
"It looks as if we won't need you to call the feds regarding those bodies you're racking up," I tell him. "My shiny new SAC just let me know they found a head up in Cheyenne—the rest of the body was located in a creek somewhere outside of Denver. I just got my own invite to the party."