Love Is The Bond: A Rowan Gant Investigation (17 page)

“Gods, I must have pissed someone off in a
past life,” I mumbled.

“Hmmm?” Felicity moaned.

“Nothing,” I returned. “What time is it?”

“Aye, I don’t know. Look at the clock, then,”
she instructed sleepily, following her words with an audible yawn.
I took notice that not only the normal lilting accent still ran
through her voice, but the heavy brogue was still intact, a good
sign that she hadn’t really rested.

With a sigh I disentangled myself from my
wife and rolled back toward the nightstand so that I could peer at
the clock. It read 11:45. Felicity kept it set ahead, however, so I
did the calculation and mumbled, “Eleven thirty.”

My wife immediately pushed herself
upward and asked with a mild note of panic, “
Cac
! Eleven-thirty? What day is it?”

“Hopefully Wednesday,” I replied.

“Cac
!” she spat
again, tossing back the blankets and swinging her legs over the
side.

“What’s wrong?”

“I’m supposed to have a lunch meeting with a
new client today,” she replied as she pulled on her robe.

“When?”

“In half an hour.”

“Ouch. Not good.”

“Aye, tell me about it,” she grumbled.

I had rolled out of the bed a few seconds
after her, so I was already up and pulling on a pair of pants when
the doorbell rang again, sending the dogs into another round of
barking.

“You get the door,” she ordered as she came
around to my side of the bed and snatched up the telephone. “I’ve
got to make a call to see if I can re-schedule.”

“Yeah, okay,” I said as I finished pulling a
t-shirt over my head. “What are you going to say?”

“I’ll think of something,” she told me then
gave me a shove. “Go on, then.”

“You can blame me if it will help,” I told
her.

“I probably will,” she replied. “It would be
the truth.”

“How do you figure,” I asked as I started
around the end of the bed.

She suddenly exclaimed, “Dammit!”

“What?!” I asked, surprised by the
outburst.

“I don’t have their number in here,” she
returned. “After you get the door, bring me my PDA. Make it
quick.”

“Yeah, okay,” I replied then added a
sarcastic, “Will there be anything else, your Highness?”

“Watch it. Don’t even think I’ve forgotten
about last night.”

“Of course not,” I mumbled as I headed out
the door.

* * * * *

“You look like hell, Rowan,” FBI Special
Agent Constance Mandalay said as she stepped across the
threshold.

I knew that her observation was dead on. I’d
had personal experience with the reflection that greeted me every
morning, and it was far from pretty.

Agent Drew, with whom we’d had the run-in at
the Wentworth crime scene, followed her into the house. He gave me
a nod but remained silent. I returned the mute gesture.

I didn’t say it out loud, but I was thankful
that I’d let the dogs out the back door before answering the front
because I doubted that they would like him any more than I did.

Mandalay was petite, with a thick crop of
shoulder-length brunette hair that was usually neatly styled but
now appeared slightly unkempt. On any other day, her soft features
would have made her look several years younger than her actual age,
not that she was necessarily what you would call old to begin with.
Today, however, there were obvious dark semi-circles beneath her
eyes, and her face sagged like a deflating balloon. Even her
stylish trench coat was rumpled and appeared like it could use a
rest.

Despite her playfully sarcastic greeting,
amid the obvious exhaustion, she was still carrying herself in a
businesslike posture and wearing a serious mask.

In contrast, Agent Drew didn’t appear to have
changed at all, still looking much like he had a few nights ago. In
fact, unless I missed my guess, he was wearing exactly the same
outfit he had been then—the stereotypical neatly pressed,
dark-suited look that visually screamed government agent. I
couldn’t help but wonder if he took that whole persona a bit too
seriously.

“Thanks, Constance,” I replied, turning back
to her. “But, you might want to check a mirror. You look a bit worn
around the edges yourself.”

“Actually, I am. I haven’t slept yet,” she
told me with a shake of her head. “In fact I just got into Saint
Louis a few hours ago on a redeye and hit the ground running. I
don’t think I’ve stopped since six a.m. yesterday.”

“So Ben called you then,” I said with an
understanding nod.

“Ben?” she replied in a mildly puzzled tone.
“Oh, do you mean Detective Storm?”

My first thought was to ask her what she had
been smoking, but my brain was still too sluggish to connect the
words with my mouth, so I stuttered, “Well, I don’t… I mean I just
figured that since you’re here…”

She shook her head and gave me a confused
frown as she rolled her eyes in the direction of Agent Drew.
“Rowan, what are you babbling about?”

It suddenly dawned on me that her and Ben’s
relationship was not really one for public record, especially when
it came to other law enforcement personnel. Not that they had been
able to keep their personal involvement a complete secret, far from
it in fact. Still, broadcasting it certainly wasn’t a good
idea.

I shook my head and played along. “I’m sorry,
I’m still half asleep. I was up late last night. I just assumed
that since you were here you had been called.”

She shrugged. “About what?”

“It might not really be my place to get into
it,” I replied.

“Is it something important? Something to do
with a current investigation?” she pressed.

Unfortunately, I had managed to not only
pique her curiosity, but I could feel a tangible sense of worry
starting to seep outward from her. If she wasn’t careful, she was
going to reveal the closeness of the relationship herself.

I sighed and shook my head.I was really
beginning to excel at letting my mouth get me into trouble, and now
I was dragging someone else along for the ride. If I kept it up, I
could probably turn pro. Seeing no reasonable way out, I simply
blurted, “Ben’s father is in the hospital.”

She creased her brow and cocked her head to
the side. “His who? But Ben’s father…”

I opened my mouth and started to cover for
her, but before I could get a word out, Agent Drew unceremoniously
interrupted us both.

“Look, Mandalay, I already know you’re dating
Detective Storm. Hell, everyone knows,” he said with a flat,
matter-of-fact tone. “You and Mister Gant can knock off the
charades.”

Mandalay shot an annoyed glance over her
shoulder then turned back to me and began allowing her concern to
show through. “Did I hear you correctly?”

“Yeah. His father,” I told her with a nod.
“See, that’s why I wanted to let him tell you.”

“But I thought…” She stopped herself. “Never
mind. So, is it serious? Is he going to be okay?”

“Actually, when I talked to Helen last night,
they weren’t expecting him to see morning.”

“Okay,” she replied, her outward expression
telling me that she was trying to process what I had just said,
treating it as simple fact and nothing more. “So, what about Ben?”
she asked. “How’s he handling it?”

I shook my head again. “That’s a whole
different story, Constance. But, we should probably talk about it
later.”

She glanced over at Agent Drew then back to
me and nodded. “Okay. Later.”

“My turn,” I declared. “If that’s not what
this is about, then what are you doing here? Ben said you weren’t
coming back until the end of the week.”

“I’m back early because of the Wentworth
case,” she replied. “The Saint Louis field office is short-staffed
because of the flu epidemic, just like everyone else. They wanted
more warm bodies on this, and I was pretty much finished in DC
anyway.”

“I thought the Major Case Squad had
jurisdiction on that case,” I mused aloud.

“Yes and no,” she explained. “They definitely
have jurisdiction, and they are exercising it to the fullest. But,
Wentworth was still a federal judge, so the FBI is launching its
own concurrent investigation. At least until we’ve ruled out a
professional hit, then who knows.”

My brain was starting to wake up and began
making various associations between this new data and the old.
Normally that would be a good thing. However, in this case those
connections were only producing a new question. “Okay, so why are
you standing in MY doorway?”

“From what I understand, Felicity acted as an
interim crime scene photographer because of the flue epidemic. This
is true?”

I nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. Actually, we
were both there.”

She fell instantly back into the no-nonsense
attitude. “Does she have copies of the crime scene photos?”

“No. Not that I’m aware of,” I told her.
“Why?”

“Have the flash memory cards Miz O’Brien
handed over to Detective Storm been returned yet?” Agent Drew
asked.

I shrugged. “I don’t think so, but I couldn’t
say for sure. Ben did stop by yesterday morning with some of the
printed photos to get our opinion, but I don’t remember seeing the
cards. What’s this about?”

“He wanted your opinion?” he pressed,
ignoring my question.

“I’ve been known to consult for the…” I
started to explain.

“I’m well aware of your history, Mister
Gant,” he cut me off. “Why did the detective need your
opinion?”

“Back off, Drew,” Mandalay snapped over her
shoulder then looked back to me with a questioning gaze. “Rowan,
are you saying there is an occult element to the murder?”

“Whoa, slow down,” I objected. “I’m not
saying anything of the sort. He just wanted us to look at something
we had noticed while we were on the scene.”

“And what was that?” Drew interjected
again.

“Some markings,” I replied. “A post mortem
mutilation that formed a pattern.”

“What kind of pattern?”

“Haven’t you looked at any of the evidence?”
I asked, befuddled by the line of questioning.

“What kind of pattern?” Mandalay echoed his
question, an astringent quality overtaking her voice.

I held up my hands and shook my head. “Okay,
stop. Time out. Back up. This is really starting to come off like
an interrogation, and I’ve got to be honest, I’m not comfortable
with it. Constance, I’m asking you as a friend… Is there some
reason I might need to call my attorney?”

She let out a tired sigh as she closed her
eyes and gave me a sorrowful nod. “You’re right, Rowan. I apologize
for all of this. And, no… You don’t need your attorney.”

“Okay then, so what’s going on?”

“Like I said,” she replied. “Major Case is
maintaining that the Wentworth homicide is their jurisdiction, and
we aren’t getting the level of cooperation we’d like.”

“So you’re asking about the crime scene
photos because…”

“We haven’t even seen them yet,” she finished
for me. “That’s right.”

“Didn’t you get any of your own?” I asked,
directing the question at Agent Drew.

“No.” His one word answer was laced with
chagrin.

“Well, either way, this doesn’t sound like
the MCS,” I mused. “They’re usually pretty cooperative, aren’t
they?”

“Usually,” Mandalay agreed. “Depending on who
is running the particular investigation. And with that in mind,
this particular directive is apparently coming from higher up.”

That was all she had to say for me to fit the
pieces together.

“Albright,” I muttered, contempt in my
voice.

She nodded. “What is it you and Storm always
say? Give the man a cigar.”

“Well, Ben told me she was going to end up in
the middle of it. I guess he was right.”

“So, now that you understand, would you be
willing to fill us in?” Mandalay asked.

“Not that I really know all that much about
it, but sure.” I gave her a nod. “Let me just…”

“Rowan!” Felicity’s demanding voice came from
the bedroom, cutting me off before I could finish.

I reached up and rubbed my throbbing forehead
then motioned for the two of them to come farther into the room and
swung the front door closed in their wake.

I pointed back down the hallway and finished
my prematurely truncated thought. “…Go take care of that. Why don’t
you two have a seat in the kitchen, and we’ll be right there.”

Felicity had taken the opportunity to freshen
up while she was waiting and was standing in front of her closet
debating what to wear when I entered the room.

“Here’s your PDA,” I said as I handed over
the device.

She took it from me absently and didn’t even
bother to utter a thank you. After a moment she glanced at me and
asked, “So, who was at the door?”

Her tone made the question sound like a regal
demand.

“Constance and Agent Drew.”

The name got her attention, and she turned
toward me. “Constance?”

I nodded. “Yeah, she’s back in town. Look,
they need to talk to us about the Wentworth crime scene.”

“Why us?”

I gave her a quick rundown of what I’d been
told thus far, and as I expected she closely mimicked my own
reaction.

“I told them we’d try to help,” I
confessed.

“Well, I don’t have the flash cards back
yet,” she told me as she made a decision and snagged an outfit from
the closet. Tossing it onto the bed, she flipped open her PDA and
began tapping the stylus across it as she strode toward the
phone.

“We can at least fill them in on what we
saw.”

She nodded. “Let me see how long I can delay
this lunch meeting. The account is too big to blow off.”

“I understand,” I replied. “Maybe we can set
something up with Constance for later.”