Chapter 4

4

Special Agent Fallon Baxter

A n early evening mist glides over the water of Sugar Pine Lake as Jack and I pull up to the secluded cabin tucked in the woods.

The scene is already bustling with activity as the sheriff's department, CSI, and forensics team bustle about. There's an underlying tension in the air that always seems to accompany a crime scene.

Jack and I hop out, leaving the windows down for Buddy, who promptly curls up in a ball in the back seat, resigned to the fact he's not coming along for the murderous fun.

It's icy out and the sky is morphing into a pale shade of lavender. The sharp scent of pine mingles with the sharper odors from the police vehicles and the faint scent of forensic chemicals.

The cabin itself looks like something out of a wilderness magazine, tall and slightly rustic, comprised of dark logs and some brickwork. But whatever charm it may hold is now overshadowed by the yellow crime scene tape that lays over the dewy grass like a warning. The wooden structure stands solemn and foreboding against the backdrop of towering pines as it stares out at the misty lake below.

Jack glances back at the water and shakes his head. "Well, at least the view is nice. It's a shame about the company."

"Agree. Next time we head out this way, it should be for a picnic."

"It's a date." He nods my way and my mouth falls open.

"I was not inviting you out on a date."

"You sort of were," he says as he leads the way.

Men and women in blue jackets with the letters CSI emblazoned on them move about around the perimeter, meticulously snapping photos and collecting samples. Near the front porch, a small team of forensics experts huddles over what I'm hoping is a series of footprints.

The coroner's van is parked cockeyed in the driveway. I have no doubt they're huddled over the bodies, doing their thing as well, and soon enough we'll be right there with them.

We spot the sheriff speaking to a few deputies before they disperse and Jack and I make our way over to him, flashing our badges at the man simultaneously.

"Agents"—he nods our way—"Sheriff Hansen."

He's a stocky man with a weather-beaten face that tells of years in the field and his brows are furrowed with concern. "Glad you could make it. We've got a hell of a situation here. Two dead, one wounded, one missing. I spoke with the owner before they hauled him off to Sugar Pine General. His name is Damien Cole, the big writer?"

"We're aware," Jack says as we both nod.

"He says someone broke in last night"—the sheriff continues—"he heard gunshots and both he and his wife jumped out of bed. He confronted an intruder in the hall and they swung something at his arm and it jolted him. He says that's the last thing he remembers. EMTs saw signs of bruising around his temple. He was shot in the hand as well. He woke up this morning and couldn't find his wife. What he did find was two of his friends shot dead. He said he has no clue who could have done this or why." He gestures toward the cabin. "We've secured the area best we can. No sign of forced entry, but the windows on the ground floor were open. What do you think?"

Jack nods my way as if he'd like to know my thoughts on the matter.

"I think the attack was targeted, given the fact one of the victims is missing. You mind if we comb through the place?" I ask.

"Knock yourselves out," the sheriff says. "I'll be here if you need me. We're hoping your team can help make sense of this mess and quickly."

We press past him, stepping into the chaos of bodies buzzing to and fro. We get to the top of the porch and turn to inspect the arteries of entry that lead to the cabin.

The lake's surface looks like a boiling cauldron with the seeping fog and yet there's an eerie calm about it.

I blow out a breath. "At this time yesterday, there was a killer preparing for their big moment, hoping they'd get away with it."

"They won't," Jack says as he presses his hand to the small of my back and lets me step into the cabin first.

Inside, the air hangs heavy with the residue of tragedy as Jack and I methodically survey the living room. The coffee table is turned on its side and a few pictures have been knocked off the mantel. There's a trail of blood tracking across the light pine floors from the stairs to what looks to be the kitchen.

The cabin feels frozen in time, a dark snapshot of the night's horrors.

"Cell phone," Jack says, pointing to a phone discarded next to the fireplace, already cordoned off and marked.

"As soon as they release it, we're going in," I say. It could take hours or days before forensics releases it, and once they do, we'll pick it clean for all of the clues it can give us.

Jack leads the way upstairs and we bypass a veritable army on the way. We find a few men wearing jackets from the coroner's office inside one of the bedrooms, photographing the scene from every angle.

Jack flashes his badge and the men let us have at it as they step away and begin to chat amongst themselves.

The room is spacious and smells of must along with the metallic scent of blood.

The bed is a pool of crimson, and that's where we find an older man slumped to his side with his eyes still opened as he gazes off into nothingness.

Jack and I make our way around to the side where the coroner's office was documenting something on the floor, and that's where we find our female victim. Blonde, lying on her back, eyes opened, the front of her pale gown caked in blood.

"No struggle," he mutters, scanning the room for any disturbance. "They were taken by surprise. She took two shots," he says, scratching his neck. "One in the shoulder, one in the upper chest."

I glance back at the man on the bed.

"Two chest shots? Do you think our killer knows their way around a gun?"

"If they were smart, they honed up on the skill. Although they did get the owner in the hand."

"He's the one that heard the gunshots. That means the killer came here first. Damien was a moving target."

"Yes, but they incapacitated him pretty quickly."

"With what?" I shake my head. "EMTs said he had a blow to the head, but the sheriff didn't say he mentioned it."

"Whatever they struck him with got him good. Hale said he woke up that way. We'll catch up with the guy at the hospital. What about the wife? Why take her after making this mess?"

"My guess is she was the prize to begin with," I say. "That's pretty brazen, though. There were a lot of people in this house. There has got to be a better way to kidnap a person."

"Maybe our killer isn't so smart after all."

"They never are."