Buried Secrets: A Derek Reed Thriller, #2

CHAPTER ONE

Home run, he chuckled as the bat swooshed through the air, impacting the man’s skull. Droplets of blood spattered onto the wall; the pristine cream-colored paint now streaked with crimson red. Another blow, this time to the man’s legs. The crack of bone splintering echoed throughout the room.

I’m sorry, the man sobbed. I’m so sorry.

Derek stood frozen as the man’s screams pierced his ears. The lights in the library glowed against the dense haze of fog surrounding them. Squinting, he focused on the man with the bat. Outlines of a bookshelf and desk loomed in the shadows of the room. Derek’s skin prickled as the hair stood on end. Although he couldn’t see the victim’s face as he slumped forward in a chair, he seemed familiar, known to him.

Too late to be sorry now. The assailant lifted the bat over his head and laughed, his face obscured by a hooded sweatshirt.

Derek tried to move towards the victim. He had to save him and stop the brutal attack, but his legs wouldn’t budge. He looked down; his feet melded into the wood floors.

A high-pitched cackle filled the room. You couldn’t save Chrissy. You can’t save him.

Derek’s eyes bulged. He blinked, squeezing them shut. No. No. You’re dead. You’re not real. He muttered the mantra over and over.

You too scared to look up, boy? You didn’t think you could get rid of me that easy, did you?

Derek’s heart pounded, thumping like a jackhammer against concrete. The air in the room hung thickly, his chest constricted, making each breath a struggle. Lifting his gaze upward, his hands trembled as he reached for his gun. His fingers grazed an empty holster.

Josiah Craig removed the hood of the sweatshirt. One side of his face was eaten away by maggots, the other side partially caved in and unrecognizable. A warped smile greeted Derek. Roaches and beetles weaved their way through his rotten, blackened teeth.

You’re dead. You can’t do anything to me.

Oh, Derek. Are you sure about that?

Derek closed his eyes, grabbing the sides of his head. I left it at the grave. I left you at the grave.

A sickening howl bellowed out of Josiah. You’re as stupid as a bag of hair, son.

Derek took a deep breath, clinching his fists before he faced his demon. Not this time, Josiah. Or whoever you are. Not this time. He turned away as the man in the chair called out to him.

Stop him, or he will keep killing.

Josiah lifted his hand to his mouth. Oh my. Where are my manners? Derek, let me introduce you to someone.

As Josiah slowly turned the chair around, Derek trembled. He swallowed several times, trying to coat his dry, burning throat. As the man in the chair came into full view, Derek gasped. No. No. It can’t be.

Of course, it is. I told you, you can’t run from me.

The man sat in a pair of boxers. Blood oozed from his head wound. Both tibias had compound fractures. Derek’s stomach rolled as the sour taste of vomit hovered at the back of his throat. His legs shook under his weight. The last thing Derek saw was himself tied to the chair, with half his head bashed in.

CHAPTER TWO

Derek screamed as he hit the floor.

Lola jumped off the bed, darting towards him. Her head bobbed and weaved as she sniffed him. The boxer darted around the room, searching for intruders before returning to his side. She barked and nudged him until he acknowledged her.

Derek’s breathing came in short pants, as he sat up. Sweat beaded on his forehead, tiny droplets ran down his face. His hand shook as he reached for the brown boxer. Hey, girl. I’m okay.

Lola licked his face, nuzzling his chest. Her ears perked up as movement outside the sliding glass door caught her eye. Her huffing turned into loud barks as she went through the electronic doggy door.

What do you see, Lola? Hmm? Derek steadied himself, leaning on the bed as he got his legs under him. Staggering, he maneuvered towards the glass, sliding it open. The warm, fresh air filled his lungs. Phoenix in September was still hot. Even in the early mornings. He glanced at his new watch, 5:30 a.m. Groaning, he yawned. Fuck, I’m awake. I might as well stay awake.

He leaned against the door frame, watching Lola run around his backyard. She occasionally stopped at the front door of the bungalow, at the back of his property.

His new resident, Agent Kyle Marcum, moved in a week ago. He needed a place to live, and it seemed like the perfect fit. The bungalow sat empty since his grandmother’s death when Derek moved into her home. He watched as Lola crept around the small residence, probably looking for her new best friend, Squeakers, the cat.

Lola, what are you going to do when Lizzy comes home and takes you back to her house? Derek clapped for the dog to return.

She bounded inside, excited for the day to begin.

Lola, if we could bottle your energy, I would make a killing. He slid the glass door shut.

The dog cocked her head to the side as if she understood.

You hungry? he asked her, grabbing his phone from the nightstand. Along with two pills from a prescription bottle.

Those two words were her cue. She took off running towards the kitchen.

Derek followed, turning on every light, pausing at each room before he passed the doorways. As he neared the archway leading into his spacious kitchen, he stopped, peeking around the edge before entering. He blew out the breath he held through taut lips. I must look like an idiot. He frowned at the dog as she sat ogling him, waiting for him to fill her dog bowl. What?

She barked at him, trying to rush him along.

I guess if you’re not seeing a boogeyman, it must be safe to enter. He placed the two pills on the counter and grabbed the dog food from one of the bottom cabinets.

Lola’s butt wiggled as her stubby tail shook at Mach speed.

My gosh, calm down, dog. He chuckled at the boxer. Once he filled her bowl, he made some breakfast, starting with a pot of coffee. Grabbing eggs and bacon from the refrigerator, he placed the pan on the stove just as his phone rang. Shit, this can’t be good, he said as he looked at the caller ID. Derek.

Derek, you sound awake, FBI Assistant Director Fretz said.

Well, you’re calling me at 6 a.m.

You sound more awake than usual. Why are you up?

Why are you calling me?

Ah, hell. I’m sorry. I’ve just woken up myself. There’s been a murder.

Um, okay. What does a murder have to do with me? Derek took a mug from the cabinet, filling it with coffee. He popped the two pills in his mouth, hoping they would settle his nerves.

I need your team to handle this one.

I thought the Legacy Unit handled cold case files? Why do you want us to handle a fresh body?

If you remember, I said you may handle a recent murder case once in a while. Well, this is one of those times. Plus, someone requested you.

Derek stiffened. Requested? By who?

Congressman Jackson.

Derek cringed. Lizzy’s—hell, he didn’t know what he was to her. Boyfriend or business partner. Why did he ask for me?

His friend is the murder victim. Billy Edmond. The good thing, Jackson has been in Washington these last few weeks. He isn’t on your suspect list.

Yeah, that’s great. Derek sipped his coffee. I’m guessing I need to get to the crime scene?

Yes. The local ME and the Crime Scene Unit are holding the scene. The guy has been dead for roughly five hours.

Who found him? Do you know how Jackson found out about the death?

Jackson received a call from the victim’s staff. The only reason we are aware of this case is that Jackson requested the FBI, and you specifically, to handle it. The victim lives alone. His wife died a long time ago. The AD paused.

Hello? Director? Is there something else? What are you not telling me?

Nothing. That’s all I got. How quick can you get there?

Derek glanced at the clock on the wall, double-checking the time on his watch. Where is the scene?

East Valley region, Ahwatukee.

Crap. Derek rubbed his temples. At least an hour. I can get Agent Marcum to head into the office, and he can get going on the research of our victim. He paced around his kitchen.

Is your entire team here?

I believe a few of them are in town. I’m not expecting anyone to report until Tuesday. Wait, maybe Wednesday. Anyway, why is this happening on a Sunday? Can’t I just enjoy the weekend?

Um, you know today is Monday, right? Assistant Director Fretz asked.

Shit. I lost a day somewhere. Derek placed his cup in the sink and headed towards his bedroom. Lola in tow. I’ll call them. I have enough agents to get going.

Keep me posted. I want to stay in the loop at all times. I’m texting you the address. Assistant Director Fretz hung up.

His phone pinged as he walked into his bedroom. Damn, damn, damn. Derek opened the glass door, heading for the bungalow. Knocking on the door, he waited. He lifted his hand, ready to rap on the door one more time when he heard muffled noises on the other side.

The door flew open; Kyle stood wrapped in a towel. Yo, boss. What’s up?

We got a case.

Agent Marcum scratched his head. You mean like a new dead body case?

Yup. Special request for the Legacy Unit to handle it. I need you to go to the office. Make sure the computers are up and running, then run Billy Edmond’s financials. That’s our victim. Do as much as you can without crossing any lines. Find out if his money played a part in his murder.

Okay. I got it. I’ll leave in thirty, Kyle said, nodding.

One more thing. This stays between us.

Kyle nodded again.

I need you to tell me what connection he has to Congressman Jackson.

Do you suspect the congressman?

No, but he asked for us to investigate. I have my suspicions why, but I would like to know his connection. It seems the staff called him first.

Oh. No worries. I got you covered.

Great. I’ll touch base with you later. Derek turned to leave, then spun around. Our secretary may or may not show up. I don’t know who the AD is giving us or how soon. But, if she doesn’t arrive before I do, I need you to call Agents Pillard, Finch, and Peterson. They’re slated to be here tomorrow. Ask if they can get in today. It’s okay if they can’t. Don’t worry about Mackle. He isn’t coming until next week.

No problem. Kyle closed his door as Derek walked away.

Lola ran around the yard doing her business. Derek entered his bedroom, sliding the door closed, locking it. Then scrolling through his contacts, he found Agent Felicia Rogers and Agent Kelly Warden’s numbers, and texted them the address.

Back in the kitchen, he fixed the eggs and bacon he had set out earlier. The minute he sat down to eat, he heard the electronic doggy door open, letting Lola inside. Her nails clicked on the tile floor as she ran down the hallway, sliding to a stop at his feet. Really? You must have a sixth sense when it comes to food.

She pawed his leg, begging for a bite. He shared his breakfast. Eating quickly, he locked up and left. As he waited for his garage door to open, he wondered about the shit storm about to unfold.

CHAPTER THREE

Monday 8 a.m.

Derek drove past an elaborate electronic key pad outside an open iron security gate. A Tudor house in vibrant colors of red masonry and robust dark wood sat at the end a long driveway edged with dark green hedges. From his car he could see three large chimneys. He wondered how many chimneys one house needed.

Exiting his vehicle, he blocked out the noise from several cops and crime scene techs milling around. He glanced back, letting his eyes scan the three-acre property. There had to be more security than one gate and keypad. If he let in the killer, did he know the killer? Did the killer know who would be home? What about the staff? The questions rattled around Derek’s head.

Police officers congregated at the entrance, trampling anything of use outside the front door. He tilted his head towards the men, but didn’t remove his badge from the back pocket of his jeans.

How you doing? Derek asked as he walked up the steps leading to the front of the house. No one asked for his identification. He shrugged. Maybe he looked like an FBI agent.

Standing at the edge of a long wrap-around veranda, he counted the number of wooden loungers lining the length of the structure. Eight, do we really need that many? Small tables between the loungers created intimate conversation areas. Something told him the wife did the decorating. He reached out and twisted the brass knob in the center of a wooden door. Stepping into the foyer, he let out a low-tone whistle.

Several chandeliers hung at various heights from a twenty-foot ceiling. Rich warm glows of amber light filled the entryway. A wide staircase curved as it rose to the second floor. It drew the eye upward to a large round window. A huge vase of pastel-colored flowers filled the frame.

Walking through the foyer, he stepped into a vast, open living room. A solid wall of glass spanned the entire length of the room framing the perfectly manicured backyard. Standing in the center of the space, he glanced around. A massive kitchen sat off to the right. To the left stood a double-sided fireplace. It broke the large area into two spaces.

Looking over his left shoulder, he cocked his head to the side. Voices drifted towards him, coming from the other end of the corridor. He followed the faint conversation.

He stopped outside an elf-like door. Leaning back, he glanced to his left. Another doorway just down from him blended seamlessly into the wall. His brow furrowed at the much darker wood of this door. His fingers followed the recessed design, studying the intricate details. The oak wood was smooth under his skin. He took a small step back, letting his eye follow the curve of the doorway.

He walked a few feet towards the end of the hallway. Two other doors on this corridor blended into the surroundings. Derek moved back to the odd door. This was your special place, wasn’t it? You set it apart from the rest of the house. A house your wife designed. But this was all yours. He reached out, pushing the L-shaped handled downward. Stooping, he held his breath as he stepped into the room. 

His eyes widened. A sudden heaviness expanded in his core. He blinked rapidly as he tried to process the scene from his nightmare. The man in the desk chair loomed in front of him. Derek’s breath hitched as he squeezed his hands into fists to stop them from shaking.

Ah, it’s about damn time you showed up, Agent. A deep voice filled the room. Personally, I can’t believe they let you stay on the force.

Derek didn’t avert his stare. Shut the hell up. You should talk. Where did you get your medical degree from? A discount medical school?

The other men stood in stunned silence as robust laughter boomed out. 

A pair of big burly arms wrapped around Derek’s waist, lifting him upward. Seriously, Doc? His feet thudded on the rich mahogany flooring as the doctor relinquished his hold.

Man, it’s good to see you! Dr. Rory Callahan said, patting the young agent’s face.

Derek couldn’t help but smile. It’s good to be back, Doc. Have you seen Ronald? I mean, Dr. Chelsea?

Dr. Callahan nodded. Played golf with him just the other day. He cheated.

Derek walked around the dead guy as he listened to the doc. Strapped to his office chair, the victim wore a pair of pink thong panties, another difference from his dream. His heart rate sped up just a bit as he glanced at the floor. Instead of a wooden bat like the one from his dream, a metal bat lay at his feet.

I don’t know why I play with him. Dr. Callahan watched the agent. He glanced at his head CST. Quincy, have you met Agent Reed yet?

No, sir. I have not. Quincy extended his hand when the agent looked up.

Derek eyeballed the gloves.

They’re clean. He smiled as he wiggled his fingers.

Derek took his hand. Nice to meet you. He turned towards the doc. Have you got anything, or are you just going to slough your work off on Quincy?

We had to wait for you. Assistant Director Fretz instructed us to touch nothing. We touched nothing. I performed a quick visual inspection, he said, replacing the gloves on his hands with fresh ones. He watched as Quincy did the same.

What do you have so far? Derek stepped to the side, letting the doc closer to the body.

Pointing to the garrote around the man’s neck. I think he died by strangulation.

For crying out loud. That’s all you got?

Dr. Callahan laughed. No, silly. Ultimately, the garrote killed him. He used the bat for pain. Although, he pointed to a few gashes on the head. These would have killed him had our killer not strangled him. The doctor pointed to the discoloration in the man’s limbs. I won’t know the time of death until I get him into autopsy, but livor mortis indicates he’s been in this position for some time.

Quincy took one step closer. They found our dead guy early this morning. According to what the cops told me, the employee spoke with the deceased around 8 p.m. last night.

I’d be willing to guess death occurred between 8 p.m. and sometime this morning. The doctor giggled, smiling.

Wow. You’re a genius for sure, Derek said, frowning.

What are you thinking, Agent? The doc asked.

If our killer started off beating the man to death, why would he stop and use a garrote on him? Also, he pointed to the bloody bat on the floor. The bat. How many people bring a bat to murder someone and then also bring a garrote? Derek glanced around. Walking to a shelving unit to the right of the desk, he examined one shelf. A photo of an older couple sat off to the side.

What you looking at? the doc asked.

This couple, and this. It looks like Billy played baseball. He pointed to a picture. The bat on the floor looks like the bat in the photo.

The couple are Billy’s parents. Doc Callahan turned towards his CSU team. Dust around the shelf. Let’s hope our killer left something behind.

You got it, Doc. Quincy motioned to one underling to start on the task.

Laughter drifted down the hallway, coming closer to the office door. All heads turned towards the fluttery sound.

The door opened, and Agents Felicia Rogers and Kelly Warden entered.

Derek noticed all eyes fell on Felicia right away. Although Agent Warden had an attractiveness to her, her features were not nearly as striking as Agent Rogers’. The two agents couldn’t be more opposite from one another.

Agents. Derek stepped closer. Dr. Callahan, these are members of my team. Agent Felicia Rogers and Agent Kelly Warden. Agents, meet the indubitable Dr. Rory Callahan, ME.

Agent Rogers, oblivious to the stares, smiled. Her straight, perfect white teeth blinded the doctor. He removed his gloves and shook her hand. Not wanting to be accused of a lewd thought, he spun his attention to the other agent, shaking her hand as well. Nice to meet you two. How did you get so lucky to be stuck with this guy? He pointed to Derek.

Really? We’re doing that? Derek moved to the back of the victim.

Dr. Callahan quickly introduced the rest of his team. He had to hide his amusement at Quincy’s reaction, who stared at Felicia. Quincy? Quincy?

The young CST turned towards the voice. Hmm? I mean, yes, doctor?

We need to get Mr. Edmond on the floor. The doctor put on another pair of gloves as he waited for his team to prepare to move the body. Make sure the bag is completely open. Don’t remove the garrote. I want everything in the bag. I will remove it when I get him back to the morgue. He glanced at the three agents. It is pretty tightly wound. I don’t want to lose any materials which may be inside the wound track.

Good thinking, Doc. I guess that’s why they pay you the big bucks. Derek winked at his agents. Did you have any trouble getting here?

Kelly shook her head. Not at all.

Derek liked both women for different reasons. They each held skills he needed. But where Felicia could go undercover as a model, Kelly couldn’t.

Kelly’s mousy brown hair sat at the nape of her neck, pulled into a tight bun. She wore dark business pants and a dark jacket. A simple white button-up shirt underneath. Her shoes were—sensible.

Felicia wore black jeans, riding boots, and a loosely fitted pink top. Not sexy in any way, but the way she wore it, she looked like she just stepped off the runway. Her jet-black hair was cut in a stylish bob. She wore light makeup, where Kelly wore none.

You two, go find the worker who found him. Derek turned towards the CST team, his brow wrinkled. Do you guys know who or where he is?

Quincy nodded. Yeah, it’s the house manager. He’s in the kitchen, or at least he was.

Perfect, Derek said. Find him. Have him explain the security and how it works. Our killer either knew the victim or knew how to get in.

The agents headed towards the doorway.

Also, if there are any security tapes, videos, or drives—whatever, make sure we get those over to Agent Marcum. Confirm when the house manager last spoke with the victim. Derek patted his jeans and his shirt pockets. Damn. Anyone got any gum?

Dr. Callahan sighed, removing one of his gloves. It’s your habit. Can’t you remember to bring it? He pulled a pack from his pants pocket and gave a piece to the agent.

Derek waved him off as he took two. The agents were almost out the door when he called out to Felicia. I want to know everything regarding this house. I need to know all the access points—any entrances, backdoors, or any way in or out, including pet doors. Find out the relationship between the house manager and the victim. See how close they were.

You got it, Felicia said, following Kelly out.

When they were out of earshot, the doctor leaned into Derek. Wow. They are two very different agents.

Derek smiled. Yes, they are. But don’t let Agent Rogers pretty looks fool you. Her hands are deadly weapons. She is a martial arts expert and an amateur boxer. And Kelly’s attention to detail, coupled with her ability to speak five languages, makes her a valuable asset. Derek knelt near the body studying the wounds before the tech’s zipped the bad shut. Quincy, can you throw me a pair of gloves?

CST Quincy Silas pulled an extra pair from his kit and tossed them to him. Here you go. What do you see?

The doctor stepped closer to Derek, snapping on a new glove. What is it, Derek?

Derek pulled on the gloves. I’m not sure. He angled his head, bending over. I think something is under him. Can you help me roll him?

The doctor motioned for the CSTs to open the body bag a little more, giving more room to roll the body. You ready? he asked Derek.

Yup.

Together, they rolled the victim over on his side. The pooling blood had caused the back of the thighs and buttocks to turn black.

Derek pointed to a piece of duct tape caught between the man’s butt cheeks. Ouch. That had to hurt. He and the doc rolled the man back to his original position. Please make sure you get everything off that piece of tape.

Yes, sir, the doctor said. Boys, zip him up. And let’s get everything from the scene. Dr. Callahan raised an eyebrow at his favorite agent. Are you done here? He waved his hand in a circle after removing both gloves.

Yeah. At least for now. I’ll tape off the scene in case we need to come back for any reason. He smiled at the man he loved like an uncle. Derek removed a roll of crime scene tape from the open CSU kit, setting it on the desk. Along with Dr. Chelsea, the two men were there for him at the oddest times. I really appreciate you holding the body for me. It really helps to see everything before it’s altered. It helps me see the killer and what he may have wanted.

My pleasure, Derek. You need to swing by the house.

Derek watched as the doctor’s mouth moved, but it wasn’t his voice he heard in his head.

You need to pay attention. Every detail counts.

Derek? The doctor snapped his fingers. Hello, Derek! Agent Reed?

Huh? Why are you yelling at me? Derek’s brow furrowed.

Dude, where did you go? Quincy asked as he stepped up next to the doc.

Derek looked at the CST; he flinched back, not understanding the question.

Dr. Callahan reached out, taking his shoulder in a tight grip. It hasn’t been long enough, Derek. Are you sure you’re okay to come back?

Derek shrugged, moving towards the door. Yeah. I am. Lost in my thoughts, that’s all. Call me when you have something from the autopsy.

The doctor saluted the agent. I will. Dr. Callahan watched him leave the room. Worried. It might be too soon for Agent Reed to return to work.

.

CHAPTER FOUR

Derek walked around the house. On the other side of the second living room, he found what might be the master suite. He opened one of the four closed doors in the room. It led to a walk-in closet. He stepped inside to find it circled around and exited into the bathroom.

Damn. This bathroom is almost as big as my living room, Derek said, spinning around in the large room. Glancing at his feet, he let out a whistle. This tile must have cost more than my house.

He got down on his hands and knees as he studied the pattern in what he guessed must be Italian marble. Etched swirly lines ran through the stone, not painted on. He rubbed his fingers in the grooves to verify his assumption. Very nice. Oblivious to the clicking shoes approaching him, Derek continued his inspection.

Ahem.

Derek didn’t look up or answer.

Agent Felicia Rogers smiled as she watched her boss crawl around the floor. He caressed the etching like a man might follow the curves of a woman. Her amusement grew as he stood, now enamored with the fabric-like wallpaper. Derek Reed wasn’t a drop-dead handsome fellow, but his wavy dark brown hair, along with his boyish looks, softened a very rugged square jawline, making him undeniably attractive. Um, hey, she finally said.

Derek didn’t look at her. Did you speak with the house manager? He caressed the raised pattern on the wallpaper.

Yes. Agent Warden is speaking with him in the kitchen. She’s—rigid. Likable, very likable. But very rigid. She sighed. I don’t mean to say anything bad about my team member.

Derek turned towards her. I don’t think what you said is bad. It’s your observation. Never hold back on your observations.

His emerald green eyes sparkled in the glare of the bright bathroom lights. She kept her expression void