Summary:
In the hottest summer on record, Iron Lake reservoir is emptying, revealing secrets that were intended to stay hidden beneath the water.
Best-selling horror writer Chris Lassiter struggles for inspiration and he's close to never writing again. His life has become an endless loop of nothing but empty pages, personal appearances, and a marketing machine that is systematically destroying his muse. In a desperate attempt to force Chris to complete unfinished manuscripts his agent buys a remote cabin. All Chris has to do is hide away and write, but he's lost his muse, and not even he can make stories appear from thin air.
Sawyer Wiseman left town for Chicago, chasing the excitement and potential of being a big city cop, rising the ranks, and making his mark. A case gone horribly wrong draws him back to Lancaster Falls. Working for the tiny police department in the town he'd been running from, digging into cold cases and police corruption, he spends his day's healing, and his nights hoping the nightmares of his last case leave him alone.
Without a Trace by RJ Scott
Summary:Lancaster Falls Trilogy #2
When long-buried secrets are exposed, and the search for truth becomes a race to save a life, how can two men ever hope to find real love?
Losing his brother has shaped Drew to become the man he is today—heartbroken, alone, but determined to make a difference in the world. Joining the military, fighting battles in places that he’s never even heard of, is his attempt to make amends for telling his brother to go to hell. After his brother disappeared, he’d clung to the hope Casey was out there living his life. Of course, he’d be furious at Drew, and probably hate his brother, but at least in Drew’s head, Casey was safe.
One call changes everything. Casey’s body has been found, and the hope that had fueled Drew’s constant search for the truth is destroyed. Coming home to Lancaster Falls to bury his brother and face his mom’s anguish and accusations, is a nightmare made real, and he has nowhere to run from the pain.
Logan has made a home in Lancaster Falls. As a police officer, he plays by the rules, and he would never think of working off-the-grid. All that changes when an anonymous tip crosses his desk, and he is thrust headlong into solving a hundred-year mystery that could be connected with the modern day death of Casey McGuire. Fighting an attraction to Casey’s brother is hard enough, but the infuriating man is there at Logan’s every turn, interfering with the case, breaking the rules, and demanding that Casey’s story be heard.
Losing his brother has shaped Drew to become the man he is today—heartbroken, alone, but determined to make a difference in the world. Joining the military, fighting battles in places that he’s never even heard of, is his attempt to make amends for telling his brother to go to hell. After his brother disappeared, he’d clung to the hope Casey was out there living his life. Of course, he’d be furious at Drew, and probably hate his brother, but at least in Drew’s head, Casey was safe.
One call changes everything. Casey’s body has been found, and the hope that had fueled Drew’s constant search for the truth is destroyed. Coming home to Lancaster Falls to bury his brother and face his mom’s anguish and accusations, is a nightmare made real, and he has nowhere to run from the pain.
Logan has made a home in Lancaster Falls. As a police officer, he plays by the rules, and he would never think of working off-the-grid. All that changes when an anonymous tip crosses his desk, and he is thrust headlong into solving a hundred-year mystery that could be connected with the modern day death of Casey McGuire. Fighting an attraction to Casey’s brother is hard enough, but the infuriating man is there at Logan’s every turn, interfering with the case, breaking the rules, and demanding that Casey’s story be heard.
All That Remains #3
Summary:Federal Agent Lucas Beaumont has an agenda — get himself assigned to the case of the apparent serial murders at Lancaster Falls, find out who the murderer is, and then lay the ghosts that haunt his grandfather to rest. In the midst of a horrific murder investigation, the only peace he gets is from simple moments in a warm kitchen, talking to hotel owner, Josh. Attraction to the easygoing man is something he didn’t expect; in doing so, he opens himself to hurt, but at the same time, he begins to fall in love.
Josh is struggling to keep the Falls Hotel, even with every cent he has invested in its upkeep. The one thing keeping him above water is the not entirely legal work he does on the side—a steady income that not even his son knows about. When the FBI takes over his hotel for the duration of the Hell’s Gate serial killer case, Josh is faced with the real possibility that Lucas will not only discover his secret but also steal his heart.
When tragedy hits Josh and his son, and when it seems all hope is lost, can Lucas rescue them both?
Audiobook Review November 2019:
Yet another audiobook listened to in the same year as my original reading, not something I often do but as 2019 seems to be my year for audio I thought "Why not another one?". So in I went. Even listening so closely after reading, What Lies Beneath is still amazing and brilliant and has left me even more eager for book 2. As I said in my original review, mystery may not be RJ Scott's goto genre but when she includes suspense and mayhem in her story it makes the experience that much better. As for Sean Crisden's narration? Well it's a no brainer that he is spot on with both Chris & Sawyer. The characters Miss Scott has created is a great combination of fiction and reality, when read by Mr. Crisden they come across as not only realistic but also as your next door neighbor. Just an all around great reading package.
Original ebook Review July 2019:
RJ Scott doing mystery . . . when I heard her newest release was going to be a mystery I just knew I had to read. Yes, I know it's an RJ Scott book so that alone made this a must for me but a mystery? That was like adding another layer of icing on top of an already chocolate frosted cake. Mystery may not be her most-visited genre but whenever she's had it within her stories it has always been extra yummy. What Lies Beneath, the first part of her new Lancaster Falls Trilogy, is nothing short of brilliant.
Before I delve into the story I should mention that though I wouldn't label the ending a cliffhanger it does continue into the next entry and as Lancaster Falls is a trilogy I'm going to go out on a limb and say the second one will continue into the third one(that's just my guess). I'm only mentioning this because not everyone likes the waiting period between continued storylines so if that is you then you might want to hold off reading these till the trilogy is complete but trust me you will definitely want to read it so be sure and mark it towards the top of your TBR list.
Now on to Beneath. Talk about a perfect set up: an author having trouble beginning the finale to his trilogy so his agent finds him the perfect place to buckle down and create, he goes for walk with his dog, finds a skull, meets a cop, and eventually stumbles into a new direction for his already established trilogy. What's not to love? Chris the author and Sawyer the cop are not exactly what I would call opposites but their not two peas in a pod either.
Chris may have internal struggles with his writer's block but his sort-of carefree attitude has a lot more to do with his rambunctious dog, Kota, and his determination to have a drink with Sawyer the cop. There's only a few scenes between Chris and his agent on the phone but its enough to get a feel for their relationship and I don't know if either would call the other a friend but I think it reads as a definite friendship which doesn't always come when a book has author/agent scenes, more times than not its contentious bordering on contract-tearing-up so this was a nice aspect to be added to Chris' character. When he starts doing a little research on his own in regards to the case and tidbits he's heard in the small-town-grapevine I was afraid of where it might lead but once again Miss Scott didn't go where I thought and it was a pleasant change of pace.
As for Sawyer, well its pretty obvious something bad happened with his time as a cop in Chicago that helped him come home. Small towns often mean small crimes which as someone who grew up in a small town can be perfectly true but that also means when a skull is found its big news. A skull found anywhere should be big news but lets face it, in larger cities its really only a blip that will most likely fall into the hands of the cold case division. With Sawyer he's been in the big city so he's able to deal with it better than most would but everything that goes with the big cases have made his already existing nightmares bigger and more personal. Watching the pair navigate the newness with the mystery and their individual struggles really adds to their likability and the realism of the characters.
As for the mystery, I won't say any more than it starts with a skull, some bones, and the possibility of who they might belong to. If you want to more, and you definitely will, you'll have to read for yourself because this is a spoiler-free zone. Chris and Sawyer are a delight and I know that sounds odd to say in a murder mystery and it'll sound even odder when I use the word "fun" to describe how much I loved What Lies Beneath but it is fun and entertaining with just enough dark and disturbing mixed with romance and heat to make this an all-around reading gem. I have my theories and I can't wait to get a hold of book two to see if my theories are on track or if I have to come up with completely new ones.
One last thing I need to add and thank RJ Scott for: I loved the size and feel of Lancaster Falls. I can't say all books because obviously I haven't read every book out there but in my personal reading experience, when an author writes about small towns they tend to go either the route of less than 500 or about 5000, yes both those populations are small towns but I grew up in a town that until the 1990 census was only a village, despite the fact that we were the county seat it took hitting 2500 that made a village into a town. I don't recall a population number actually given(I could be wrong, I might have just missed/forgotten it) but Lancaster Falls reads more like where I grew up and for that I thank you, RJ because it just made the story more real for me.
Yet another audiobook listened to in the same year as my original reading, not something I often do but as 2019 seems to be my year for audio I thought "Why not another one?". So in I went. Even listening so closely after reading, What Lies Beneath is still amazing and brilliant and has left me even more eager for book 2. As I said in my original review, mystery may not be RJ Scott's goto genre but when she includes suspense and mayhem in her story it makes the experience that much better. As for Sean Crisden's narration? Well it's a no brainer that he is spot on with both Chris & Sawyer. The characters Miss Scott has created is a great combination of fiction and reality, when read by Mr. Crisden they come across as not only realistic but also as your next door neighbor. Just an all around great reading package.
Original ebook Review July 2019:
RJ Scott doing mystery . . . when I heard her newest release was going to be a mystery I just knew I had to read. Yes, I know it's an RJ Scott book so that alone made this a must for me but a mystery? That was like adding another layer of icing on top of an already chocolate frosted cake. Mystery may not be her most-visited genre but whenever she's had it within her stories it has always been extra yummy. What Lies Beneath, the first part of her new Lancaster Falls Trilogy, is nothing short of brilliant.
Before I delve into the story I should mention that though I wouldn't label the ending a cliffhanger it does continue into the next entry and as Lancaster Falls is a trilogy I'm going to go out on a limb and say the second one will continue into the third one(that's just my guess). I'm only mentioning this because not everyone likes the waiting period between continued storylines so if that is you then you might want to hold off reading these till the trilogy is complete but trust me you will definitely want to read it so be sure and mark it towards the top of your TBR list.
Now on to Beneath. Talk about a perfect set up: an author having trouble beginning the finale to his trilogy so his agent finds him the perfect place to buckle down and create, he goes for walk with his dog, finds a skull, meets a cop, and eventually stumbles into a new direction for his already established trilogy. What's not to love? Chris the author and Sawyer the cop are not exactly what I would call opposites but their not two peas in a pod either.
Chris may have internal struggles with his writer's block but his sort-of carefree attitude has a lot more to do with his rambunctious dog, Kota, and his determination to have a drink with Sawyer the cop. There's only a few scenes between Chris and his agent on the phone but its enough to get a feel for their relationship and I don't know if either would call the other a friend but I think it reads as a definite friendship which doesn't always come when a book has author/agent scenes, more times than not its contentious bordering on contract-tearing-up so this was a nice aspect to be added to Chris' character. When he starts doing a little research on his own in regards to the case and tidbits he's heard in the small-town-grapevine I was afraid of where it might lead but once again Miss Scott didn't go where I thought and it was a pleasant change of pace.
As for Sawyer, well its pretty obvious something bad happened with his time as a cop in Chicago that helped him come home. Small towns often mean small crimes which as someone who grew up in a small town can be perfectly true but that also means when a skull is found its big news. A skull found anywhere should be big news but lets face it, in larger cities its really only a blip that will most likely fall into the hands of the cold case division. With Sawyer he's been in the big city so he's able to deal with it better than most would but everything that goes with the big cases have made his already existing nightmares bigger and more personal. Watching the pair navigate the newness with the mystery and their individual struggles really adds to their likability and the realism of the characters.
As for the mystery, I won't say any more than it starts with a skull, some bones, and the possibility of who they might belong to. If you want to more, and you definitely will, you'll have to read for yourself because this is a spoiler-free zone. Chris and Sawyer are a delight and I know that sounds odd to say in a murder mystery and it'll sound even odder when I use the word "fun" to describe how much I loved What Lies Beneath but it is fun and entertaining with just enough dark and disturbing mixed with romance and heat to make this an all-around reading gem. I have my theories and I can't wait to get a hold of book two to see if my theories are on track or if I have to come up with completely new ones.
One last thing I need to add and thank RJ Scott for: I loved the size and feel of Lancaster Falls. I can't say all books because obviously I haven't read every book out there but in my personal reading experience, when an author writes about small towns they tend to go either the route of less than 500 or about 5000, yes both those populations are small towns but I grew up in a town that until the 1990 census was only a village, despite the fact that we were the county seat it took hitting 2500 that made a village into a town. I don't recall a population number actually given(I could be wrong, I might have just missed/forgotten it) but Lancaster Falls reads more like where I grew up and for that I thank you, RJ because it just made the story more real for me.
Without a Trace #2
Original Review March 2020:
There have been series where I was "late to the party" and started either when the series was over or nearly over so that I could just keep going from one entry to the next. There have been series that I started as it was written and the wait between entries was no big deal. Then there is Lancaster Falls. I've been on board from day one and have loved the characters, the mystery, the heat, the drama, it's an all-around great package. On one hand I wish I had waited because the waiting is excruciating but on the other hand I can't imagine not experiencing this expertly crafted journey of mayhem as it unfolds.
I'm not going to say much about the plot, the mystery, or the story in general as nothing is filler, everything is important and I don't want to give anything away. One thing I will say: there came a point where I said to myself "that's who did, I just know it, that's the dirty culprit". Then a chapter or two later I was saying "well, maybe it wasn't that one but I'm still sticking with that underhanded sneaky bugger"(yeah you got me I didn't say "bugger" but I'm trying to keep my review cleaner and more ladylike than my twisted brain😉) and by the time I reached the end "well crap! I don't know who it is. WHERE'S BOOK 3?!?!?!?!?!"
I've been watching mysteries of all sub-genres ever since I could sit in front of the television and I've been reading them ever since I was about 10 years old so there are very few mysteries that keep me guessing till the big reveal. I'm not boasting at my magnificent power of deduction, it's just after all that time I've seen/read just about every conceivable plot course of a who-done-it. Mystery might not be RJ Scott's go-to writing genre but boy does she know how to weave a tale of mayhem. I may have been screaming "WHERE'S BOOK 3?!?!?!?!?!" and "I NEED IT NOW!!!!!" but truth is, whether it takes her 3 days or 3 years to write and release it, I'll be first in line to gobble it up.
Now I haven't mentioned Drew and Logan, the main characters of Without a Trace but that's mainly because they and their journey(both solo and together) is so intricately intertwined into the plot I don't want to risk giving anything away. But I will say, as so often with Miss Scott's intriguing characters, I was equally divided between keeping them tightly wrapped in huge Mama Bear hugs and whacking them upside the head with a frying pan. It's that kind of deep emotional response that makes this story, these characters, and this trilogy such a winning gem.
There have been series where I was "late to the party" and started either when the series was over or nearly over so that I could just keep going from one entry to the next. There have been series that I started as it was written and the wait between entries was no big deal. Then there is Lancaster Falls. I've been on board from day one and have loved the characters, the mystery, the heat, the drama, it's an all-around great package. On one hand I wish I had waited because the waiting is excruciating but on the other hand I can't imagine not experiencing this expertly crafted journey of mayhem as it unfolds.
I'm not going to say much about the plot, the mystery, or the story in general as nothing is filler, everything is important and I don't want to give anything away. One thing I will say: there came a point where I said to myself "that's who did, I just know it, that's the dirty culprit". Then a chapter or two later I was saying "well, maybe it wasn't that one but I'm still sticking with that underhanded sneaky bugger"(yeah you got me I didn't say "bugger" but I'm trying to keep my review cleaner and more ladylike than my twisted brain😉) and by the time I reached the end "well crap! I don't know who it is. WHERE'S BOOK 3?!?!?!?!?!"
I've been watching mysteries of all sub-genres ever since I could sit in front of the television and I've been reading them ever since I was about 10 years old so there are very few mysteries that keep me guessing till the big reveal. I'm not boasting at my magnificent power of deduction, it's just after all that time I've seen/read just about every conceivable plot course of a who-done-it. Mystery might not be RJ Scott's go-to writing genre but boy does she know how to weave a tale of mayhem. I may have been screaming "WHERE'S BOOK 3?!?!?!?!?!" and "I NEED IT NOW!!!!!" but truth is, whether it takes her 3 days or 3 years to write and release it, I'll be first in line to gobble it up.
Now I haven't mentioned Drew and Logan, the main characters of Without a Trace but that's mainly because they and their journey(both solo and together) is so intricately intertwined into the plot I don't want to risk giving anything away. But I will say, as so often with Miss Scott's intriguing characters, I was equally divided between keeping them tightly wrapped in huge Mama Bear hugs and whacking them upside the head with a frying pan. It's that kind of deep emotional response that makes this story, these characters, and this trilogy such a winning gem.
All That Remains #3
Original Review July 2020:
HOLY HANNAH BATMAN! All that Remains and Lancaster Falls Trilogy as a whole is A-FREAKIN-MAZING!!!!! Mystery, romance, death, friendship, danger, chemistry, buried(or not so buried) secrets, camaraderie, mayhem, and plenty of heart. You'll find these and many other elements and emotions within the city limits of Lancaster Falls. All that Remains has it's own couple and their journey but as with any great trilogy the third act ties it all together.
Now as you are all well aware, there will be NO SPOILERS from me. No murder mystery should ever be spoiled because the reader has to discover and feel every hint, every surprise, every "can't put it down" high to fully appreciate the journey. Trust me, you do not want to let Lancaster Falls slip passed your reading radar.
Let's take a minute to look at our starring couple: Lucas and Josh. Lucas the FBI agent has come to Lancaster Falls on an agenda: solve a crime that will hopefully put his grandfather's mind to rest. Josh the single dad hotel owner who deals with some not-so legal computer issues to keep his head above water and to provide for his son. Their worlds collide when Lucas brings the feds to stay at the hotel while helping out with the Hell's Gate serial murder case. What could possibly go wrong(or right) there?😉😉
Lucas and Josh have an instant connection, physically and more, but considering their personal agendas will that connection lead to more? Will they let it? You know my answer: read the book to find out, again I say trust me you won't regret it. I just want to add that for those who don't care for insta-love/lust/connection, the chemistry may be instant but RJ Scott tells their journey in a way that you know the insta-bit can lead to something so much more, if fate lets it that is 😉😉.
As for Hell's Gate, each entry plays it's part in the case but All that Remains brings it all together and I'll be honest, I'm rarely snookered when it comes to mysteries, not because I'm some great detecting genius but because I've read/watched so many mysteries in my nearly 47 years on this Earth that very few twists are really all that twisty anymore. Well, RJ Scott had me guessing right to the reveal. Every time I thought I had it figured out, I'd turn the page and suddenly I was shaking my head "well, damn! there goes that theory".
This is a series not to be missed but it is also a series that must be read in order. Sure the starring couple may be different but the mystery is ongoing. I'll miss the heroes of this trilogy, I'll even miss the mayhem but I loved the way Miss Scott brings it all together and for me, the feelings of missing it is further proof how brilliant and attention grabbing the storytelling is. I'll just repeat my above statement: HOLY HANNAH BATMAN! All that Remains and Lancaster Falls Trilogy as a whole is A-FREAKIN-MAZING!!!!!
RATING:
All That Remains #3
Now as you are all well aware, there will be NO SPOILERS from me. No murder mystery should ever be spoiled because the reader has to discover and feel every hint, every surprise, every "can't put it down" high to fully appreciate the journey. Trust me, you do not want to let Lancaster Falls slip passed your reading radar.
Let's take a minute to look at our starring couple: Lucas and Josh. Lucas the FBI agent has come to Lancaster Falls on an agenda: solve a crime that will hopefully put his grandfather's mind to rest. Josh the single dad hotel owner who deals with some not-so legal computer issues to keep his head above water and to provide for his son. Their worlds collide when Lucas brings the feds to stay at the hotel while helping out with the Hell's Gate serial murder case. What could possibly go wrong(or right) there?😉😉
Lucas and Josh have an instant connection, physically and more, but considering their personal agendas will that connection lead to more? Will they let it? You know my answer: read the book to find out, again I say trust me you won't regret it. I just want to add that for those who don't care for insta-love/lust/connection, the chemistry may be instant but RJ Scott tells their journey in a way that you know the insta-bit can lead to something so much more, if fate lets it that is 😉😉.
As for Hell's Gate, each entry plays it's part in the case but All that Remains brings it all together and I'll be honest, I'm rarely snookered when it comes to mysteries, not because I'm some great detecting genius but because I've read/watched so many mysteries in my nearly 47 years on this Earth that very few twists are really all that twisty anymore. Well, RJ Scott had me guessing right to the reveal. Every time I thought I had it figured out, I'd turn the page and suddenly I was shaking my head "well, damn! there goes that theory".
This is a series not to be missed but it is also a series that must be read in order. Sure the starring couple may be different but the mystery is ongoing. I'll miss the heroes of this trilogy, I'll even miss the mayhem but I loved the way Miss Scott brings it all together and for me, the feelings of missing it is further proof how brilliant and attention grabbing the storytelling is. I'll just repeat my above statement: HOLY HANNAH BATMAN! All that Remains and Lancaster Falls Trilogy as a whole is A-FREAKIN-MAZING!!!!!
RATING:
What Lies Beneath #1
Chapter One
Sawyer
“I specifically told you not to waste our time looking into the nonsense at the youth center.”
Captain Sandoval waved his hands in that unique way of his that marked his annoyance with me. I was used to it; he wasn't my biggest fan. I was curious and forthright, and everything else he had no time for. What he wanted was a subordinate who agreed with what he said and never rocked the boat. That isn't me at all.
“I was off duty.”
That didn’t seem to count for much. “Kids drawing on walls is not—I repeat, not—the best use of police time.”
“With all due respect, sir, the message on the wall suggesting that the mayor is open to bribery is clear, and I don't believe children wrote it. I weighed it up and considered you would find that important information for me to chase up.”
Hatred simmering in his eyes. He hadn't thought much of me before I left town, he loathed me coming back, and now he certainly made it visible he didn't want me working under him, so this was nothing new. I didn't argue when he was handing me the crappy jobs, just bit my tongue, kept my head down, and did my work. In two short years, he'd be retired and out of my life. Or at least out of my work life; Lancaster Falls was a small town, maxing out at three thousand souls, and he'd still be part of the place I called home now, but I wouldn't have to answer to him.
He narrowed his eyes. “Remind me how bribery was spelled?”
“A spelling mistake doesn’t make it any less—”
“Clearly, it was a kid who doesn’t know what they are talking about drew that on youth center property. Let them deal with it. Do we understand each other?”
Our mutual dislike went back so far I'd forgotten how it'd started, although I'm sure it had something to do with the kind of trouble I'd gotten into as a kid, and the fact that my mom chose my dad over him. Yep. Small towns, gotta love 'em.
Of course, it didn’t help that I’d questioned him over alleged bribery concerns at the golf club, given the mayor was at the center of it all. Yesterday, I’d assisted in driving yet another nail into my coffin by suggesting that a recent spate of vandalism needed investigating. I decided to add it to the list of things I’d examine on my downtime. My reasoning was that if he said he didn’t want his cops involved, then he’d washed his hands of it, and off-duty me had a wide-open field to dig further.
Only, I think news of my visit to the school, where the latest graffiti had appeared, had gotten back to him, because today he’d cornered me by the water cooler, and I knew he’d have some shit job for me.
“You need to go up and check on the out-of-towner.”
There was only one person who fit that description: whoever was living in the old Dwyer cabin up the mountain. It was a hundred-degree day, the fiercest day in the already hottest summer on record, and just thinking about getting into the car, even with air conditioning, was enough to have me sweating.
“I think it would be better to check on the newcomer tonight.” When at least the sun won’t mercilessly attempt to fry the entirety of northern Pennsylvania.
“This is urgent police business.”
I opened my mouth to argue that it was almost noon, when no sane person attempted to handle outside life with efficiency unless they had to.
“Sir—”
“They could be doing anything up there, and you’re so worried about crime you should take your own advice and check it out.”
He had me there.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m away for the rest of the day on police business.”
A code word for meeting up in the air-conditioned country club bar with his buddy Mayor Stokes.
“Logan can cover the office. I want a full and detailed report of your visit to the stranger in the cabin.”
Of course, you do.
Driving up the mountain to the cabin was a nightmare, everywhere so dry that the edges of the dirt road had crumbled to nothing, and the potholes were huge. It wasn't even a real road, more a dirt track carved out over the years by hunters who used the cabin, and it showed.
Some company from New York had paid cash for the property, brought in out-of-towners to fix the place up in record time, and in so doing, they’d convinced everyone that the company would inevitably buy up the entire town. Before long, rumors of elaborate vacation villages sprang up, stories of how our reservoir, Iron Lake, would become a hub for watersports, and how every townsperson would be forced to leave or work for the man. It was one cabin, that was all, but this was how small towns worked, and I was used to it and ignored it, because if everyone calmed down and thought about it, who in their right mind would want to build a leisure complex here?
Lancaster Falls was too far from anywhere, but that didn’t stop the buzz about strangers taking over the old Dwyer place which had destroyed the ability of a local owning the cabin. Not that anyone local had ever wanted the cabin — another mess of gossip and fear that had gotten out of hand. There are good people in this isolated town, but they thrived on worrying about things that might never happen.
I killed the engine of my police SUV and braced my hands on the steering wheel, getting the last of the freezing AC to wash over my skin before stepping out into the furnace. The door to the cabin opened as soon as my shoes hit the ground, and someone emerged from the shadows inside, stopping just on the threshold, leaning on the jamb.
Depending on who you spoke to in town, this person was a drug dealer or an escaped convict. Worst of all, they were an out-of-towner, and I assumed that was the final straw for the captain. No one knew their name or why the person was here. The holding company that'd bought the place was registered in New York, and that was it. I'd checked when the construction company had swarmed over the cabin and taken it from ghost house to habitable in the space of five days. I'd tried to find out who paid for the work, but they were all about discretion, and it wasn't as if I suspected a crime. Still, I researched. Utilities were in the name of the same company, but the contact was B. Smith, and hell, finding any Smith in New York was one bastard needle in a substantial freaking haystack.
I couldn’t accurately assess the features of the guy in the doorway. All I knew for sure was that it was a him. I rested my hand on my weapon and deliberately forced myself to relax. Then I headed directly to the door, my sunglasses at least lessening the glare from the sun on the sparkling windows. He straightened as I walked closer, and I got my first real look at him. He was nearly as tall as me, maybe around six foot, his hair was dark, long, and tied back from his face, errant strands falling across his forehead. He wore jean shorts and a purple T-shirt and was barefoot, with one hand on the collar of a large black dog, who strained at the hold, tail wagging so hard its whole body wriggled.
“Morning, Officer,” he acknowledged.
I held out my hand first to the excited dog, allowing it to sniff me, its tail still wagging. Then I extended the same hand to the man, which he took without hesitation. He was still in shadow, and I wished I could’ve seen his expression. I was unsure of a person until I saw their expression or the emotions reflected in their eyes.
We shook hands, and I introduced myself. “Lieutenant Sawyer Wiseman, Lancaster Falls PD.”
“Christian Lassiter. Call me Chris,” he said and held my hand a little longer than I expected before stepping back into the shadows. “And this is Dakota, Kota for short. He won’t hurt you, all growl and no bite.”
I gave Kota a quick stroke on his soft head. “I wouldn’t be telling anyone visiting that your dog isn’t a serious guard dog.”
He paused for a moment. “Is that official advice, Officer?”
“Sorry?” I blinked at him, catching the teasing in his tone and not entirely knowing how to handle it. He certainly wasn’t like everyone else in town, who took my guidance to heart.
He chuckled then, his laugh low and rumbling. “Come in. Get out of the heat.”
I didn't expect the inside of the old place to be cooler, but followed him in any way, my hand resting loosely on my weapon. Just in case this stranger was some drug dealer. If there was anything I'd learned in eight years of being a cop, six of which I spent in Chicago, it was that I should always expect the unexpected.
A fresh stream of air hit me, and as Kota bounced around me, I checked the inside of the cabin in one sweep. This was nothing as I remembered. Cold central air prickled my heated skin. There had to be a generator somewhere. Bliss. It was open plan, apart from the far side where there was a door to a bedroom. The compact kitchen was in one corner of the main room, a breakfast bar separating it from the living area that included a huge sofa and a desk placed in front of the window. There was a laptop on the desk, a pile of papers, and a can of soda. Kota sat his butt down at a soft whistle from Chris and then proceeded to whine under his breath.
The kids in town used to come up here on dares, spending the night to prove how brave they were. My gaze settled on the space where I’d slept overnight as a kid, along with my best friends Josh and Drew. Where we’d once huddled together pretending not to be scared in the unsafe structure, there was now a comfy chair and a small table.
“We haven’t seen many people,” Chris advised from the kitchen, pouring ice water into two glasses and then turning to face me. “And by that, I mean any people.”
He was gorgeous, and control of my faculties vanished in an instant. Was pretty a word I could use to describe a man? Stunning, maybe. He had cheekbones cut like diamonds, rough stubble that gave him an earthy edge, a full mouth, and incredible blue eyes. Not to mention a slim figure and legs that went on for days. I imagined him under me in an instant, because Jesus, he was one fine option for a lazy afternoon of fucking.
Get your head right. You’re at work. He’s probably not into guys. He’s a town resident. You are not desperate.
I coughed to clear my throat. “I’m just up here to check in with you, let you know where we are if you need us.”
He dimpled a smile. Goddamn dimples. Kill me now.
He might well have been a drug dealer or a criminal on the run, but Chris was the sexiest man I’d seen outside of the movies, standing in this cool room, right here in Lancaster Falls. In front of me.
Smiling at me.
“Thank you. We’re good up here. Aren’t we, Kota?”
The dog wagged his tail, then rolled onto his back, belly exposed for rubs. I couldn’t resist and went to a crouch next to him, scratching his belly, then behind his soft velvety ears.
“He loves attention,” Chris said.
“What breeds does he have in him? Lab?”
"I don't know, but the way he eats, I think he's half Lab. I inherited him from my sister, who was pregnant. It's a long story."
"He's a lovely dog." I glanced up at him and caught his gaze very firmly not on my face, but raking my body. When he saw I noticed, he grinned a little sheepishly. Appreciation was evident from both of us, and just like that, I knew he swung my way.
This makes things awkward.
“How can I help you, Officer?”
I didn't want him to change the subject. If the flare of interest in his eyes meant anything, then I might forget he was a potential drug-dealing crime lord billionaire recluse and proposition him.
You need to get yourself out there, get laid. Stop fantasizing over strangers.
I stood. “It’s standard procedure for our team to house visit.”
He nodded at me as if he was taking it all very seriously, and then he snorted a laugh and passed me the glass of water.
“I grew up in a small town, Officer Wiseman. I know how things work. Too many veiled comments about what the hell the weird guy is doing in a remote cabin and the cops have to check them out. I bet everyone and their wives have their backs up right now.”
I couldn’t help relaxing as he laughed. “Pretty much.”
“I guess you’d like the whole story, Officer.”
“Call me Sawyer.”
“That’s a cool name. I might use that in a book. Were you named for Tom?”
“Ray Sawyer, Doctor Hook, and how do you mean ‘use it’?”
“I’m a writer. CJ Ward?” He looked at me expectantly, like maybe he assumed I would recognize the name.
I wasn’t going to lie. “I’m sorry… I—”
He sketched a box in the air, although I wasn’t sure what that meant. “Horror? Fantasy? The Lake series? It's a film now. Well, two films. The third starts filming next year."
I shook my head, a little embarrassed that I’d not heard of the author or the books or seen the films. Not that horror was my thing, and our movie theater was small and permanently stuck in the fifties. Anyway, when I had downtime, I was much happier watching documentaries or reading biographies.
"That's a good thing," Chris said as if he meant it. "I'm fine staying under the radar, and if it's all the same with you, I'd rather the town didn't know that last bit about who I really am. I have a very short time to complete a manuscript, and I'm struggling."
His smile slipped a little, and he covered it by ruffling Kota's fur before looking back at me with another dimpled grin. I could really be attracted to an average guy who wasn't a criminal and smiled like he did.
“I doubt any sane person in town would make the journey up here, even if you were Stephen King.”
“Except you, clearly.”
I thought back to Captain Sandoval and his mission to piss me off. “Except me, yeah. So if there is anything you need help with, you know who to call.”
“I do have a question for you, well, two. I want to get down to town at some point. Where do out-of-towners eat? And two, where's the best place around here to go for a run?”
“Calabresi’s for food, Italian, and for running? I’d head up the mountain on some of the trails there. You have access to the lower valley from here, but avoid Iron Lake, the reservoir I mean. The ground is uneven, the bridges rotten, and a lot of it is cordoned off.”
His eyes widened with interest. “So avoid the reservoir because it’s one big scary mess? Got it.”
I saw curiosity in his expression, and my gut told me he wouldn't pay any attention to my warning. I had the feeling that Iron Lake was precisely where he would be heading, and I could imagine the 911 call now when he put a foot through the decaying bridge.
“I have one more question,” he began. “When I get into town, will you have a drink with me?” he asked and stopped me in my steps as I was just about to reiterate the dangers of the reservoir.
“Huh?” Coherency 1, Sawyer 0.
He pointed at himself, then me. “Us. Together. A drink.”
That was my cue to leave because as my grandmother once said, you don't shit on your own doorstep—or at least it was some saying like that. I looked at my watch, acted out a feigned surprise at the time, and opened the door, the wall of heat hitting me as if I’d opened an oven.
“Take care, Mr. Lassiter,” I said over my shoulder.
“Call me Chris.”
I pulled the door shut behind me and headed for the car before I changed my mind.
The last thing I needed was to go back and agree to a drink with the sexy man in the cabin.
A drink or something more.
Without a Trace #2
One
Drew
“Who killed my brother, Sawyer? Who killed Casey?” Adrenaline had gotten me through this door to ask that first question, but grief gripped my chest, and I bent at the waist, unable to find my breath. I thought I’d dealt with the brutal slam of pain, but chaos rushed through my thoughts, and when someone came close, I moved away, protecting myself.
“Drew, I’m so sorry,” Sawyer talked over the noise, reached for me, but I didn’t want to be touched. I didn’t want pity or meaningless words.
“He’s in shock!” The words were snapped out, staccato sharp, but it wasn’t Sawyer who spoke them.
Was I in shock? Was this what it felt like? My brother was dead. Really dead, not living a life and having a family…
Someone gripped my shoulders. “Breathe, soldier,” they said, but they didn’t shake me. They held me absolutely still and then encouraged me to stand. “That’s it. In. Out.”
“Do we need to call a paramedic?” Sawyer asked, caring, comforting Sawyer with his pretty words and thoughtful support.
“Last thing he needs,” the other person said, and I unbent myself, stood upright. “Steady, soldier.”
I blinked as I met green eyes then scanned the room. Sawyer was close, a man next to him had his hand on Sawyer’s arm. And now there was a third person, the one who’d called me soldier and held me up.
“Get off me,” I managed and wriggled free.
This new arrival stepped back and away, holding his hands up. I glanced at his name badge: Hennessy.
“Drew?” I caught Sawyer’s pained gaze, waiting for him to say something. Anything.
“Tell me,” I pleaded and hated the weakness in my tone.
Sawyer pushed past Hennessy and pulled me in for a hard hug, and for a brief moment, I sank into his hold, letting the grief overtake me. Then reality kicked me in the ass, and I fought the hold to step back and put some distance between us. Fuck if I was going to lose my shit again.
Sawyer glanced at who’d been holding his arm. He was dressed like a college student in board shorts and a T-shirt covered in diamanté.
“This is Chris, my partner,” he explained as if it mattered.
“I’m so sorry for your loss…” Chris extended a hand.
I didn’t take it. I didn’t care who he was or what he was doing here because I didn’t have the mental capacity for manners. I waited for Sawyer to tell him to leave, only Chris shuffled closer to Sawyer, and their hands brushed in an unconscious show of support, which made my heart hurt. The cop, Hennessy, stepped back and beyond my peripheral vision. I reacted automatically to move to the wall so I could see everyone. You can’t fight what you can’t see.
“We need to talk. They need to go.”
Sawyer stared at me. Then he bumped arms with Chris. “It’s okay. I’ll call you,” Sawyer murmured, and Chris sidestepped Hennessy to leave the room.
Chris spoke again as he left, but I was dizzy with questions, and I rubbed my chest to ease the hurt.
“Logan, you can leave us,” Sawyer added.
Next to me, Hennessy stiffened. This guy, all tall and muscled, wasn’t moving, and I immediately categorized him as dangerous. There was stubborn determination in the steady focus of his green-eyed gaze and the tilt of his chin. Finally, after he gave me a shit ton of nonverbal indications that he didn’t want me causing shit, including a narrowing of his eyes and a frown, he left.
“Does no one shut fucking doors around here?” I knocked the wood with one of my mud-covered boots until the handle clicked and we had privacy. “What happened?” No point in hanging around. I wanted to know who’d killed my brother and why.
“Would you like coffee? A cold drink?” Sawyer gestured to a chair this side of a wide desk.
I shook my head. “Just tell me.” Sitting was not an option. I had way too much nervous energy spiking in my system.
He nodded, and I saw him swallow and knew instinctively that this was going to be the worst kind of news. “Part of the investigation into remains found under Kissing Bridge led us to investigate the cave system, down the largest of the sinkholes.”
“Which one? Do you mean Hell’s Gate?” We’d called it that as kids, after a fire-and-brimstone sermon from Pastor Bill, given so that any Lancaster Falls kid would stay away from the dangers of disintegrating ground and sudden drops.
“Yes, that was where we found him.”
“And he’s been there all this time?” I coughed to clear the awful mix of pain and grief in my voice.
Sawyer hesitated and side-eyed the big board full of pictures and names and, curiously, several sheets of blank paper. He moved between me and the board as if he could stop me from seeing what I’d already observed and partially summarized in my head.
I’m black ops for a reason.
“Drew, you should sit down.” Sawyer wasn’t asking, but I couldn’t move. “In circumstances like these—”
“Don’t talk to me like I’m a stranger, Sawyer. I can handle whatever you have to say to me.” I was lying, but then, I’d gotten very good at that.
He hesitated a moment. “A lot of it is confidential—”
“But I’m his next of kin.”
“No, your mom—”
“Don’t bullshit me.”
“You have to trust me when I say that we’re doing our job—”
My temper flared then. “Since when have the cops in this town ever done their fucking jobs?” I waited for him to shout back after provoking him, and I wanted him to yell at me, but all he did was shake his head.
“I’m in charge here now.” Abruptly he sounded tired. “And you have to trust me,” he added, but there was caution in his words.
“Fuck’s sake, who put Casey in Hell’s Gate? Who are your suspects? What are the forensics telling you? Where do we start with this?”
“There’s nothing you can do. Nothing any of us can do. We’re waiting on extensive forensics, and hell, Drew, I wish I had more to tell you.”
“You should be out there interviewing people, interrogating those who saw him last, making arrests, so what the hell are you actually doing?” I knew the question had hit its mark when the nerve by Sawyer’s left eye twitched.
“I’ve talked to everyone. It’s ongoing, and there’s nothing else I can add.”
And there it was, stubborn-as-fuck Sawyer Wiseman, up in my face in Captain Sandoval’s old office as if doing that was going to make me back down. He was walking the line between compassionate friend and cop, and right now, I needed to talk to the cop because the other was of no use to me. There were no remnants of our teenage friendship. We were standing there as adults. Ten or more years had passed, and we all had different lives now.
“Show me what you’ve got so far,” I issued the ultimatum and waited. “Crime scene photos, autopsy information, witness statements, photographs.”
“We don’t have the full forensic analysis back yet—”
“Crime scene photos, then.”
“No. Shit, Drew. I can’t… you don’t want to see.”
“Let me see.” So I know this is true.
He sidestepped a little, revealing the top left corner of the board and Casey’s smiling face. “I can’t have it up there,” he explained, then reached for a folder on his desk and clutched it to his chest. “I shouldn’t show you any of this. Please don’t do this,” he begged.
“I need to see,” I lied. I didn’t need to see anything, but I had to know Casey being gone was real.
He pulled out a black-and-white photo and handed it to me. The inside of the cave, marks and numbers on the floor, and on a shallow shelf were the remains of a person, held together with scraps of fabric. Bile burned my throat, but I carefully passed the photo back to Sawyer.
“It’s definitely Casey?”
“Your mom… there were tests… and a watch. Yes, it’s Casey for sure.”
“And where’s… the body… his remains… where’s Casey now?”
Sawyer wouldn’t meet my eyes. “Still with the coroner. His body hasn’t been released for burial.” I didn’t need him hesitating and thinking things through right now. I needed him to talk with passion and truth and to tell me what he thought had happened to Casey.
Grief welled up again. Casey is dead. Casey is gone.
“He’s my brother.” I lowered my voice and gestured to the boards on Sawyer’s wall. I’d already seen way too much, but it hit me that there wasn’t much pinned up there about Casey aside from that photo of him smiling, the one they’d used in the newspapers and the missing person notices. Slightly blurred, it had been cut from a photo of him and me, and if I checked close enough, I could see the tip of my shoulder next to his. I’d read what I could on my phone whenever I had Wi-Fi and knew he’d been found in the vicinity of a heap of bones, but if a novice examined the board, it would’ve seemed that the main focus was on the unidentified remains of whomever was there with him.
“I know he’s your brother.” Sawyer’s tone was gentle, but I couldn’t let his sympathy unseat me.
“How did he end up in the sinkhole?”
“We don’t know.”
“But you have a working theory, right?” He winced again, and I pressed ahead. “How did he die?”
“As I said, we haven’t had the full forensics—”
“Was he shot? Knifed? Beaten?” Or worse, so much worse.
“We’re not in a position to speculate,” he evaded. “We’ll have to wait until we get the reports back.”
“Then what do you know?”
“Shit, Drew.” He appeared to be struggling with something, and I stopped talking for a moment to hear what he had to say. “There were abrasions and broken bones.” He cleared his throat. “Injuries that the coroner said, off the record, were consistent with blunt force trauma.” “Did he commit suicide?” My breath hitched.
“Did he jump into Hell’s Gate?”
“He said they could be caused by a fall but that the distance of the fall wouldn’t support the extensive injuries. That was the extent of it, but no, I don’t think he jumped.”
I pressed a hand to my chest, willing my heart to keep beating. “If he didn’t die from the fall, then what else could have caused his death?”
“Maybe a car?" He said this as if it wasn’t one of his working theories and was just some random thing he’d thought of.
“Wait! Casey was hit by a car?”
“We don’t know that for sure—”
“It makes sense. The Kirklands saw him on the road—”
“They didn’t see anything but him leaving town. I wish I had more to tell you, Drew.” He sighed and glanced at the board. “There’s nothing you don’t already see here. It’s the same people on our lists that the PD interviewed when he first disappeared. We’re following procedure.”
I closed my eyes for a moment. “People back then were asked questions about a young guy who’d left town of his own accord, not about a man whose body was dumped into a sinkhole. You need to talk to all of them again.”
He leaned forward, his eyes glinting. “You have to trust me—”
“No, I don’t. The cops in this town do nothing for the likes of us, and you’re probably no better.”
“I know my job—”
“And what about his friends? Have you talked to them as well?”
“Of course we have. That was the first thing on my list.”
“And what did they say?”
His jaw tightened. “As I said, I’m working my way down the list—”
“Fuck you and fuck this town,” I snapped. “Fuck you all for not giving a shit about Casey—”
He rounded on me, standing toe to toe. It seemed as if compassion had vanished enough for him to distance himself.
“Get some air, Drew, and then visit with your mom.” He was talking to me as if I was a child.
Also, seeing Mom was the very last thing I wanted to do right now. “I’ll get cleaned up and be back in an hour.”
“Don’t come back today. I don’t want you here until you’ve calmed down.”
“I’m not sitting on my ass, doing nothing.”
He massaged his temples, actively attempting to rein in his reactions. “Are you staying with your mom?”
“No.”
“Okay, get a room at Josh’s hotel.”
“Yeah, that would go down well,” I snapped.
Compassion flashed in his eyes, but however hard he looked, he would only ever see anger in mine. “He’s been trying to get hold of you for a long time to talk to you about what happened. It was a different world then, and you were just as messed up as he was. Maybe you should think about him and realize you owe Josh time to—”
“I don’t owe anyone anything!” I shoved him. He crashed back against the desk. Years of pain overrode any friendship. He shoved me back, but I was convinced he’d never back down, and I was ready for him. I gripped his arm and shook him. “This is Casey’s body, and I need to know—”
The rest of my words were lost as the door flew open, and someone grabbed me from behind and face-planted me on the desk, twisting one of my arms behind my back. I tensed and tried to flip him off, but not even the moves I’d perfected over the years could shift whomever had me locked and pressed to the wood.
“Captain?” Hennessy snapped. “You okay?”
This Hennessy guy was clearly as strong as he looked. I kicked back at him but couldn’t find purchase.
“Get the fuck off me.” Hell, I wouldn’t have hurt Sawyer however much of an asshole of a cop he was, and something in my tone must have signaled I wouldn’t fight because Logan eased his hold. Rookie mistake. I was up in seconds and pushed Hennessy against the evidence board, my hand on his throat.
I was face-to-face with a soldier; it took one to know one. He was solid muscle under my hands, albeit lean, his green eyes glittering dangerously. He managed to land a blow to my stomach, and it stole my breath, but I didn’t let it stop me until he twisted in such a way that he had the upper hand once more, his thigh holding me in place. Another shove from me and I had him against the wall again, and this time his composure slipped, and temper edged into his expression.
“Logan! Fuck, Drew, stop! Enough!” Sawyer shouted and pushed his way between us, but not before this Logan guy, this emerald-eyed small-town cop, had evaded my hold with a sharp action that had me convinced I was right about him being trained. Sawyer separated us and held a hand to each of our chests. “Logan, back off. It’s okay.” He faced me head on. “Not like this, Drew. Come back when you’ve cooled down.”
Temper burned inside me. “This is some fucking bullshit.” My voice cracked with emotion. Sawyer’s eyes widened, and I swore the Logan guy growled. I held my hands up. “I’m done here,” I snapped before he saw through the anger to the acid that ate at me every day. I strode past the soldier-cop and headed through a maze of desks, passing the still openmouthed administrator, and finally reached the wall of oppressive heat outside. I tried to inhale fresh air, but there wasn’t anything like that out here. It felt as if a storm was brewing. The air was thick with electricity. It was sticky, hot, intense and endless pressure, and I didn’t want to be here.
I sensed someone was following me and assumed it was Sawyer and I reluctantly turned to face my childhood friend. Only it wasn’t him but Hennessy who’d followed me out. Him with the model looks and the lean muscles and the stance of a man who knew how to handle himself.
“What!” I demanded because if this asshole didn’t get out of my face, then I couldn’t be held responsible for what I did next.
“We both get how you’re feeling, okay?” he said evenly.
I wanted to punch him right there in the street, so much pent-up guilt, grief, and aggression spiraling inside me. “You have no fucking idea—”
“Sawyer knows. I know,” he repeated.
I stared at him, dumbfounded. No one shared the pain I had right now. No one could understand the temper that warred with the grief in a battle so hard that I felt drained.
I stepped toward him, but he didn’t flinch. In a last-minute change of mind, I turned away from him, stalked around the station and to the park, the weight of his gaze following me. I knew he couldn’t have spent the first twenty years of his life in this town. He’d arrived after I’d left, so what did he know about the real Lancaster Falls? Or me? Or Casey? Or the friendship that Sawyer and I had once had? He couldn’t know any of it and it was one more thing that didn’t fit with the brightly covered awnings on Main or the fragile ironwork around the park. What car could have hit my brother? How had he ended up in the sinkhole? Who’d put him there? Had he been in an accident and wandered into the trees?
No, the sinkhole is a long way from the road.
I dodged every person I saw, thankful for the heat that was keeping people indoors. Still, I bet word had already begun to spread. God knew where I was heading. Not to my mom’s, not to my old friends, just back to the car.
He’s back.
There was always something off with Drew McGuire, the way he left town like that.
His mom was heartbroken at losing both her sons.
And much worse than any character summary was the unspoken question every person in this damn town held inside.
Is it just me who thinks that it was all Drew’s fault?
Do you think he killed his brother?
All that Remains #3
One
Lucas
Lancaster Falls was much as I expected it to be. A grid of roads with neatly spaced houses and one main shopping street with storefronts and bright awnings on either side. The town had an air of disuse— probably due to the heat and drought— and like many other towns, it was also struggling financially. The council records, the mayor’s report, the addition of PD information, all painted an image of a town in transition. Kids had moved away, businesses closed, and the opening of a new road north of town had cut down drive-through traffic.
Lancaster Falls had once been a tourist trap for the nearby Pennsylvania Grand Canyon, but now it was on its way to being a ghost town. However, its one redeeming income earner was that it did have a regular Christmas festival, which began in November and went straight through to January. I wondered if that would ever replace the new title of Home to the Hell’s Gate Serial Killer, or the equally distressing title of Murder Town, PA.
It wasn’t the FBI’s job to help a town through a crisis, but we did have robust protocols for positive marketing that we ran alongside any case. Avery was good at that, and I hoped that Bryan would release her from the current case they were wrapping up in Philadelphia and send her over to work Lancaster Falls with me.
She’d be all “Sure there’s a serial killer, but whoa, look at that Grand Canyon and Christmas Event you got going on!”
Of course, it was always possible the town might aspire to play on the uncovered horrors with guided tours, hotels with themed rooms, and guest speakers. Although the very detailed three-page memo we’d received from one Mayor Stokes had told us that our presence was not to exacerbate the issue.
Because finding a killer, apparently, would make things much worse than bodies in a sinkhole.
My satellite navigation took me to the Falls Hotel, shabby but welcoming, with a tended front yard that was a mix of stones and planters. The front yard space meant it was set back from the road, and an antique sign proclaimed that this was Falls Hotel, Lancaster Falls, home of the Famous Christmas Festival.
I counted twelve windows at the front, including one on the left ground floor that was large enough for me to see through to reception, currently manned by a young boy who stared right back at me. This could well be my home for the foreseeable future, and the pressure in my chest was enough for me to rub there, as if that would help. Fear and nerves fought and itched under my skin. I picked up the ice water next to me and took a gulp. I’d been so nervous that I’d stopped at a gas station ten miles out of town, just to give myself an excuse to delay arrival.
The irony of fighting to be the one here, the point man, away from the safety of my desk, wasn’t lost on me when my chest tightened. I’d told my boss I was ready, that I wanted the liaison role, that I’d even take a damn pay cut if they needed me to. I’d said it was because I wanted the challenge, but therein lay the issue. I didn’t want or need a challenge, but I was desperate to be in the middle of this case, and Senior Special Agent Bryan Dupuis, my boss and friend, knew precisely why. From a professional point of view, at twenty-nine, with very little experience in the field I was nervous I wasn’t ready, but guiding information flow was one thing I could do, and this was just a cold case.
A cold case that meant everything to my grandfather, whose health was failing.
I’m ready to do this. I had to give up on being the one working behind the scenes— for Grandpa Toby. The safety of information-gathering and dissemination with the team in Washington, at my desk, helping to solve cases in different ways, was a real thing.
Only this case wasn’t easy; it was a cold case involving human remains discarded postmortem into a vast sinkhole. To date, they’d been identified as women, plus one unfortunate young man named Casey McGuire, but that had been a more recent find, and might not even be connected.
I was here to be on the front line to find out if the woman my grandpa had loved, Carmen Kreuger, was one of those sets of remains. The Carmen issue, as my grandpa referred to it, had only come to light after Grandma Louisa had passed away. Then it had all been revealed, how he’d loved another woman, had gotten involved in her life, how he’d nearly destroyed his marriage.
Carmen had last been seen, just a few days after her fortieth birthday, in West Falls, a town not more than a twenty-minutes’ drive from Lancaster Falls. She’d once taught at a college in West Falls, but hadn’t been back to town for years. That day, she’d been in a sedan driven by a man no one seemed to be able to identify. There was no evidence as to why she’d been driving through West Falls, but she’d never been seen again. Grandpa’s notes spoke of a corrupt system of officials in Lancaster Falls, a police department that wasn’t any help at all.
When I’d approached Bryan, to ask to be attached to the Lancaster Falls case, he had sighed, but he hadn’t dismissed my request to be assigned to the task force out of hand. I could recall his warning word for word.
"Your involvement in this is coming down from high, from people who knew Special Agent Tobias Ruskin and respected your grandfather for the kind of man he was. They want your input. They have the files Agent Ruskin created on the case, the same as you. This isn’t a trek into your family’s past. This is a multi-team operation with a potential serial killer.”
I wanted to find out what had happened to Carmen Kreuger, and in doing so, give Grandpa Toby some kind of peace.
I pulled myself back to the here and now and cut the engine. The air conditioning went silent, and the heat it had held at bay began to surge. I'd driven most of this journey through wicked thunderstorms, but even though they were meant to break the heat, they hadn't managed it yet. They’d been noise and flash with rain so heavy I’d had to pull over on two occasions, and when they’d finished, any evidence they'd even been there was gone as soon as the heat returned, rain dissipating in steam from the sidewalks in the towns I’d driven through drying in an instant.
I waved at the kid in the window who was tall and skinny, with dark hair. He appeared startled at the action, but then he grinned and waved back. He made a gesture to indicate a question as to whether I was coming in, and I gave him a thumbs-up, but I also tapped my watch to indicate later and then looked away.
I wasn’t ready to get out of the car yet. I'd always been the shy kid at school, the one who’d sat at the back of the class and never said boo to a goose. It had taken years of focus and work for me to emerge from my shell. I could work with others to the point where no one thought of me as anything other than confident. On my downtime, however, I was a person who craved peace and a good book, but I worked up my Special Agent persona to the best effect when it mattered.
Still, I could take comfort in the fact that I wasn’t the guy at the top of the food chain here. There would be other members assigned to the team, likely reporting to Bryan himself, starting with Avery. The FBI didn't do things by half, and this was a complicated burial site. Also, we had the issue that this case was already in the papers; the whole shitfest was journalist heaven.
I might not need to do much coordinating, so I didn’t know why I was sitting in my damn car, panicking that everything rested on my shoulders alone. There were two ways this could go. The wider team, plus any ancillary staff requested to attend, could connect the dots and finish everything. Or maybe they’d find out that the women identified through their remains had no connection at all. It could be that the sinkhole was merely a convenient place to dump bodies in this area, and they were individual unlinked crimes, the same as how a river might hold secrets of murders going back centuries. There’d been one single thing in the pathology to indicate a signature from the killer, one common finding that led us to think serial killer though. A blade of some sort had cut the victim’s necks, deeply through skin and muscle so they would have been dead before disposal— the only blessing in this whole fucked-up mess. With the church burned to the ground and potential witnesses in the pastor and his wife deceased, we would be starting with a blank canvas, and anything was possible.
I’d almost gotten to the point where I could leave my car, and I rolled my neck, nodded to myself, and had my hand on the handle to get out.
Something slammed on the roof, and I jumped so high I wrenched my back.
What the fuck?
I glanced left and saw the flash of color and uniform and pressed the button for the window, realizing belatedly that with the engine off, this car was nothing but a useless brick. So instead, I gestured that I would open the door, and I stepped out, making each movement evident so as not to alarm her into thinking I was reaching for a weapon.
“I’m sorry, sir, but you need to move your car.” The cop was a slim woman, steely hair in a tight bun, and she held herself with complete confidence, her hand on the butt of her weapon. I hadn’t seen any signs prohibiting parking, but maybe this space was traditionally only used by guests.
“It’s okay, Officer,” I said with a smile. “I’m staying at the hotel.”
“Sir, please, you have to move the car.”
I didn’t have to be a trained agent to hear the slight shift in her tone or the way she glanced behind her, and it gave me pause. I looked that way, and a crowd was gathering.
“Is everything okay, Officer?"
“I won’t ask again.”
I checked but could see nothing. “What’s happened?”
I could see her indecision, along with a flare of irritation.
“There will be a press conference for media at a time to be instructed, sir.” She added that last honorific with a touch of exhaustion in her tone.
“Media? I’m not a journalist. I'm a federal agent,” I said. “Let me show you my ID.”
She stiffened when I slowly reached into my pocket, her fingers twitching on her holster. I pulled out my ID, holding it up so she could see it, and her eyes widened fractionally.
“Special Agent Lucas Beaumont. Okay, we were expecting this. I’m Officer Heather Beiler,” she said. “However, Agent Beaumont, I’m still going to need you to move back one block for now.” She gestured to the opposite side of the road. “And then…” She gave a sigh and shook her head. “I guess there’s something you need to see.”
I moved the rental to where she’d indicated and straightened my jacket and tie as I locked the door. The heat was oppressive, my white shirt already damp with sweat, but I wasn’t ready to take off my armor against the world just yet. I was going to be efficient, calm, and in charge of whatever the hell had spooked Officer Beiler. I fell into step next to her as we rounded a corner, skirting a park with an empty fountain, then headed toward the group huddled together and talking in low voices. A tape barrier fluttered beyond them, and Officer Beiler lifted it so I could go under. Inside the hallowed circle was a smaller group. One of them broke away to stop me as I approached.
“Special Agent Lucas Beaumont, out of the Washington Field Office." I held out my hand, which he shook firmly.
It seemed as if he wanted to stare anywhere but at me. I understood that. I wasn’t there to take over or make his life hell, but I knew the feds had a reputation, not helped by popular media, of getting up in people’s faces and causing stress.
“Captain Sawyer Wiseman, Lancaster Falls PD,” he replied.
“Captain,” I swallowed my nerves, pulling out my best interested-in-everything FBI persona and hoping the nerves stayed hidden. “Want to bring me up to speed?”
“In what context?” he asked.
We made it a rule not to take control of a crime scene if it had already begun, and right now, whatever this was, some fight or something, didn't require our involvement. I was there for the cold case, the remains in the sinkhole. “I'm just here for consultation and assistance, not to take over, so catch me up on what we have here.” Two other men, one in uniform, one not, formed a protective formation behind Sawyer, blocking my view of whatever the issue was.
Sawyer frowned. “That's not my worry. If the feds leading this means we find a solution, then I’m good with that. I'm not precious, and this is my town to protect. I just wanted to know where you stood.”
“Ready to help with whatever you need.”
He paused a moment, and I wondered if he’d had issues with the FBI in a past case because he looked suspicious. I was having a hard time judging him as he glanced over his shoulder to where the other cop stood.
Hennessy, according to his name badge, began to explain. “A dog who belonged to Adam Gray, one of the town’s fringe residents, a survivalist, has turned up and dropped remains on the ground.” He faltered a moment, and like Officer Beiler, he acted as if someone had taken a bag of cement and belted him around the head.
“More remains from the sinkhole?” It wasn't unheard of for animals to retrieve parts or eat them, or other horrible ends to what used to be human.
“No, this is…” He cleared his throat and then made a visible effort to pull himself together. “Unconfirmed, but we have reason to believe, from tattoos, that the remains belong to the survivalist. To Adam Gray.”
I’d seen a case like this before. A man had died in his apartment and hadn’t been found for two months and had been half-eaten by his pets, not a scene I ever wanted to witness again.
“Have you ascertained—?”
“We found the dog and the hand ten minutes ago,” Sawyer interrupted whatever I was about to ask, and I blinked at him. “The dog wouldn’t let anyone near it, apart from Officer Hennessy. Animal control is on their way, but we’ve managed to leash it.”
I fixed on one thing. “I’m sorry. Did you say ten minutes?” My head spun. “You should be shutting down the—”
“We’ve photographed the remains, the…” He stopped talking and stepped aside, so I got my first look at the hand, expecting it to be chewed and raw. I crouched down, and the sleeping dog who now didn't seem all that bothered by anyone’s presence lifted his head and panted. His muzzle was bloody, and his fur matted with both blood and dirt.
“Nothing to worry about,” someone said loudly behind me, and I saw Sawyer’s jaw tense.
“Mr. Sandoval,” Sawyer snapped. “I’d ask that you leave the scene.”
I didn’t turn. Former Captain Peter Sandoval wasn’t on my to-do list just yet. I heard Sandoval muttered a curse under his breath, but he stayed quiet, or left the scene, and I returned my attention to the hand.
This hand hadn’t been bitten and chewed on. It was nearly a surgical cut and horror washed over me— was this a fresh murder? Was it connected to the sinkhole remains? God. If it was, and this was a new murder, then we were facing a whole different ball game in the potential serial murder stakes.
There’s nothing to suggest there is a connection. There might never be a connection. This could be some random ax murderer. And since when was that an option I was pinning hopes on? A current murder, linked to historical deaths, and we’d arrived slap bang into the realm of copycats or even a resurgence of a dormant perpetrator.
“What the hell is going on?” A strident voice broke into our quiet assessment, and I turned to see an older man, all bluster and swagger, in a golf shirt that was way too tight across his stomach and checked trousers that made my eyes water. “Let me through!” the man demanded.
I was closest to him, blocking his way. “You have to stay behind the tape, sir.”
“And you are?”
“Special Agent Lucas Beaumont.” I held up my badge.
“Do you know who I am?” the man snapped. “I’m the mayor of Lancaster Falls, Gerald Stokes.”
He stepped toward the cordon, staring at the hand and the dog and the police. I pressed a hand to his chest. “Stay that side of the tape, sir.”
“I could have your badge for this disrespect.”
I doubt that, you pompous prick. “You can speak to my field office to register any complaints.”
He huffed a little, but behind me, Sawyer was issuing orders “Heather, you have the scene. The coroner will be here in thirty, animal control ten. Logan, you’re with me." He turned to me then. “Mayor.” He acknowledged and dismissed in the same breath. “Agent, we're heading to Adam’s property. Are you armed? We don’t know what we’re facing.” He didn't wait for me to say whether I was going with them, and I wasn’t there to take over what was happening in town. I wasn’t the big guns. I was the scout, the liaison, the logistics expert. I sprinted back to my car and slipped on the bulletproof vest and removed my weapon from its lock box, then pulled on my suit jacket to cover it all.
By the time I got back, all I could see was the back of the mayor as he walked away, his posture rigid, and he was on the phone.
Maybe he’s ringing the local field office. Oh, to be a fly on that particular wall.
As soon as I was at Sawyer’s side, we headed out, and I fell into a jog with them, wishing I’d not bothered to cover up my vest or holster with the jacket or at least taken off my damn tie. I was melting in this heat, and it was scratchy and uncomfortable around my neck.
“I assume you didn’t expect to be dumped straight into a crime scene, Special Agent Beaumont?” Sawyer asked as we neared what looked like a parking area, with the requisite sign displaying a map of the reservoir that filled the dip of the flooded valley. I knew the topography of this town and the larger West Falls some twenty minutes away from studying Grandpa Toby’s notes, although the reservoir hadn’t been the focus of his research back in the eighties. Or sinkholes. His attention had been on police corruption and their reluctance to talk to him or entertain any of his suggestions that Carmen Kreuger could have been in Lancaster Falls. He’d called the PD an incompetent group of jackasses. I just hoped to hell that had changed since then, but meanwhile, I would keep my wits about me.
“Not really, but please call me Lucas,” I managed between breaths. I was a fit guy, but too many years behind a desk was challenging my ability to keep up with these guys.
“Call me Sawyer,” he replied. “This is Officer Logan Hennessy.”
“Logan,” the man said. My research before I’d come here told me he was a former Army Ranger.
I waited expectantly for the fourth man who seemed as determined and focused to say something. “Drew,” he barked and then strode ahead with us quickening our pace to catch up.
“Drew McGuire?” I murmured to Sawyer.
“Yes.” He side-eyed me as if he expected me to argue with him, and I should’ve been saying that whatever we were heading for was not the place for a civilian, but I saw a flash of something in Sawyer’s expression and backed off. I could only hope my reaction demonstrated that I wasn’t here to mess with Sawyer or his decision-making process, even while holding the thought of the 80’ s corruption and hoping I wasn’t making a huge mistake. We jogged in silence a little while longer and came to Keep Out notices and more tape that had been torn to one side and coiled on the ground. One of the signs had been shot at, and the other had words crossed out. I heard Sawyer’s sharp intake of breath as he stopped by the first and traced the bullet holes with a finger. “Christ, it’s been used for fucking target practice.”
“Does anyone around here actually follow these no entry rules?” I asked and winced at what passed for passive aggression, which was number twenty-three on the list of things in my head that I needed to avoid. Say what you think. Comment. Don’t suggest. “Apologies. What I mean is, it has to be hard to cordon an area so wild.” Sawyer nodded and allowed Logan and Drew through, then me, before tying the cordon back. I heard sirens behind us and assumed it was paramedics called to the scene, or maybe the coroner was faster than light up here?
“We can’t get a vehicle any closer than this parking lot, but the Gray place is about a quarter mile from here.” Sawyer broke into a jog and gave a running commentary about land ownership, and then he gestured at the ground. “This was one of the original trails out of town down to the rail tracks, but the creation of the reservoir, Iron Lake, truncated it, and the whole area fell into disrepair. Now the only person who would need to use it is Adam Gray himself.”
“The possible owner of the hand,” I murmured.
He nodded. We reached a gate, and I could see that there was a fence in the undergrowth, a lot of it obscured by tangled climbing weeds. It had the look of something out of The Walking Dead, makeshift barriers reinforced with lengths of sharp barbed wire, and behind that was a solid metal gate.
“What are we expecting?” Logan shifted his medical bag on his broad shoulders. He was a big man, capable, with a focus I admired. I imagined he was very much the action hero I expected an Army Ranger to be. And yes, I had dossiers on all the cops in the town, as well as the key characters from my grandpa's research and the extra I’d done myself. I knew all about Sawyer becoming captain after the former chief, Peter Sandoval, had retired, a cop who had been part of that group my grandpa called corrupt; Sandoval had been one of the newest of the team but had risen through the ranks quickly as people died or moved on.
I held a private theory that Sawyer Wiseman was the best thing to happen to Lancaster Falls PD, based on what I’d gleaned from research. Inevitably, I’d form more fact-based conclusions as the days wore on.
The gate was wide open, a yawning hole in the otherwise solid, barbed wire-tipped metal fence. Sawyer took a deep breath and glanced at me. I considered that maybe he was waiting for me to instruct him on what happened at the scene, but he would know it wasn’t me who was in charge. This wasn’t my case.
Yet.
After a pause, he spoke. “We take this slow. We assume the other dogs are in here somewhere, not all friendly. I want your body-cam on Logan. We take photos where we can, and we’re cautious. Got it?”
I nodded along with Logan.
Cautious was my middle name.
Author Bio:
RJ Scott is a USA TODAY bestselling author of over 140 romance and suspense novels. From bodyguards to hockey stars, princes to millionaires, cowboys to military heroes to every-day heroes, she believes that love is love and every man deserves a happy ending.
BOOKBUB / KOBO / SMASHWORDS
EMAIL: rj@rjscott.co.uk
What Lies Beneath #1
Without a Trace #2
All That Remains #3
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