Serial Games (Virginia Justice Book One) (20 page)

Warm hands encircled her upper arms. She lurched at his touch.

“Easy.” He gently squeezed her arms. “I’ll get it,” he breathed into her ear.

Maggie nodded. When his back blocked her view of the note, she sighed, the spell broken. She licked her lips, swallowed, and inhaled deeply.

“Lover’s spat?”

“What?” she cried. She surged forward. Brandon turned around with the note in his hand. Maggie snatched it from him. “‘Lover’s spat?’” The writing was in Burrows’s hand. The paper matched the two prior notes. She and Brandon were just arguing like…lovers. “Brandon…” She looked up from the page.

Brandon’s eyes darkened. “He was just here. The back door.” He sprinted for the kitchen.

“Brandon!” Maggie ran after him.

The back door was secure. He undid the lock and darted out into the yard.

“Brandon!”

He didn’t answer. She pushed to try to match his speed. With two hands on the top rung of the low-lying fence, Brandon leaped over it and continued to run into the woods. Maggie jumped up, one foot on the middle rung of the fence and both hands on top. She swung her legs over and landed solidly. Brandon pushed through the thick brush, several yards in front of her.

“Marshal, stop!”

He halted at her command. She covered the distance between them. “This could be a trap. He could be anywhere.” She scanned the dense forest. The shade of the canopy darkened the forest floor in the twilight, but the setting sun illuminated patches of brush with streams of orange and yellow hues.

“He’s not here.” He barely sounded out of breath.

“What? How do you know?” Maggie strained her ears for any sound indicating movement. Nothing.

“Look at the foliage.” He pointed to the green brush around them. “It hasn’t been disturbed recently. In fact, I saw no footsteps in the soil when I jumped the fence.”

Maggie looked back over her shoulder toward the fence. She retraced her steps. “Are you sure?”

“Positive,” he called to her.

She reached the fence. Two sets of footprints: one large sole, and a smaller one. Maggie squatted. The prints belonged to her and Brandon.

“You’re right,” she yelled.

“I know.”

Maggie blew at a few strands of hair that clung rebelliously to her moist forehead. She stood upright. She watched Brandon create a half circle in the woods around her. His gaze remained downward as he scanned the vegetation. “You see anything?”

“Nothing.”

Maggie looked at the house. If he wasn’t outside…

“I’m going to check the house.” She climbed the fence and jogged back to the back door. She slipped her gun from the holster.

“I’m right behind you.”

She felt his hand on her shoulder, giving it a squeeze. He was ready to back her up.

Maggie entered the house, her gun at the ready. She scanned the kitchen. Brandon made his way back toward the living room through the open dining area.

“Clear,” he called.

Maggie waited near the hallway. Brandon nodded, a signal for her to continue. She moved swiftly to the first room, the room of the late Mrs. Burrows. She called “clear” after checking the closet. She heard the same from Brandon, who took Burrows’s old bedroom. They stood in their respective doorways. Only the bathroom and a small bedroom remained at the end of the hall.

After checking the bathroom, Maggie stood in front of the door to the basement. Brandon entered the kitchen.

“The back bedroom is clear.”

She felt his gaze on her face.

“You think he went in there?”

Maggie shrugged. “I didn’t hear anything when I entered the house. I was a little … distracted.” She gave him a sheepish grin. “I didn’t even hear you enter so he could have slipped in there without my notice.”

“The back door was locked when I reached it.”

Maggie nodded. “I saw you unlock it. He could have locked it, though, and slipped away to a neighbor’s yard.”

“The houses on either side of him are a little bit of a distance away. We should’ve seen him running.” Brandon holstered his weapon and pulled out his cell. “I’m calling for backup. He has nowhere to go down there.”

Maggie reached for the doorknob. She twisted it but it didn’t give. “This door is locked,” she whispered.

He turned away and spoke into the phone. “This is Brandon. I need a team out here at the Burrows residence. Possible sighting of the suspect. Get the locals to cordon off the side streets. I want this area blocked off immediately.” He stood behind her. “What did you say? The door is locked?”

Maggie holstered her weapon and dug in her pants’ pocket for the ring that held the house keys. “It’s an old house. The door has to be locked with a key.” She fitted the key into the lock and turned it.

“That would mean there is another set of keys running around.”

Maggie scrunched up her nose at the damp, moldy smell of the basement. “Who would have a set? I don’t think Mr. Collins has another one.”

“Gilbert then.” Brandon coughed, possibly due to the stale air as they descended the staircase, deeper into the basement.

Maggie grabbed the string connected to the light bulb and pulled. The low wattage dimly lit the room. “That would be my guess. Look at the floor. Didn’t we leave the rug over the trap door?”

“Honestly, Maggie, I can’t remember.” Brandon squatted and pulled up the door. He shined a flashlight into the pitch dark. “I’ll go first.”

****

Maggie and Brandon stepped onto the porch. The headlights of the L.E. vehicles illuminated in the fading glow of the evening sun. Maggie spotted Doug and Deckker as they jogged up the front walk.

“Anything?” Doug asked.

Maggie shook her head. “The second basement was clear. No sign of him entering the woods behind the house.”

“Worth,” someone called Brandon’s name.

“Excuse me,” he said.

She nodded and watched him walk away.

“Doug and I will check with the neighbors, see if they saw anything.” Deckker spoke and pulled Maggie’s attention back to the conversation.

“Okay, thanks.” Maggie watched as they made their way back to the vehicle. She raised her eyes. A full moon the color of vomit loomed large in the sky. Even though the hustle of multiple L.E. agencies surrounded her, the shrill of grasshopper legs drowned them out. Maggie inhaled the sticky air of the humid summer and wiped the dewy sheen from her forehead. It was too much, remaining a step behind a serial killer.
We’re never going to catch him
.

****

The bell of the elevator chimed and the door opened. Maggie and Brandon stepped inside. Maggie first pushed the button to Brandon’s floor, and then pushed her own. The door creaked before it slammed closed. She glanced at Brandon. His usually light eyes shadowed.

Shame washed over her. Never mind what he had accused her of earlier on the porch. No matter how much she wanted him to relinquish his damaging hold on his anger and bitterness, she shouldn’t have allowed her emotions to dictate her actions. Maggie allowed her glance to catch a glimpse of him. He still watched her evenly.

He was right, though. She wanted him.

“Maggie.” His hoarse voice raised the temperature of her blood. She leaned against the opposite wall. “About what happened earlier, at the house—”

“Look, Brandon, I’m sorry. We should’ve kept things professional and I…I didn’t. I apologize for slapping you.”

Surprisingly, he chuckled. “I deserved it. I was acting like a jerk. You were just being the compassionate person you are, and I threw it back in your face.” His chin dropped to his chest. “Like I’ve done with so many other people.” He raised his head, his eyes full of contrition. “I’m sorry, Margaret.”

The last time he apologized he’d kissed her. That kiss kept her wondering, hoping…praying. She licked her lips and searched his eyes for any recognition of that event. He closed the distance between them. His gaze left her transfixed, her lips parting in anticipation. A large hand cupped the side of her cheek.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” he whispered roughly.

“Do what?”

“Let her go…” His gaze roamed her face before it settled on her lips. “Let you in.” The rough pad of his thumb grazed her lower lip. His head dipped slightly. “I want to…”

Her gaze dropped from his stormy eyes to his full lips. “Brandon,” she murmured.

His lips took hers roughly; his hands dragged her against him. She gasped for air when his mouth ravaged her throat before once again claiming her lips. He pushed her against the handrail, and then lifted her. Her rear could barely fit on the rail, but Brandon supported her weight by molding his body against her. He trapped her wandering hands in his and pinned them above her head. “Maggie…Maggie…” he repeated her name as his lips brushed along her jawline.

“Brandon…we shouldn’t.”

He silenced her lips with a kiss so demanding, her resistance was lost within the sounds of her pleasure.
I can’t…I can’t… He loves her. He’s thinking of Emily!
Her lips clung desperately to his, and ignored the pain of reality. Brandon might be attracted to her, but his heart still ached for the one who had it first.

The elevator came to an abrupt stop; the bell dinged. Brandon stepped back as the door opened. A couple of teenagers eyed them curiously before they entered. The door closed with a resounding thud. Maggie glanced at the two kids. Both looked from Brandon to her and back again. Maggie blushed. The elevator stopped on her floor and when the door opened, she hurried out without looking back.

“Maggie!”

The plea in his voice urged her to turn around, but she didn’t stop until she reached her room. Not looking back as the sounds of the elevator doors closed, she swiped her key card and entered quickly. Maggie walked straight to the bed and fell back on it. She blinked her eyes rapidly, unable to stop the flow of tears. She was in love with a man who still loved his deceased fiancée. His kiss had spoken volumes: he was using her to forget Emily. Maggie didn’t blame him; she had never known his type of heartache — and his kiss was irresistible.
What am I supposed to do?
She couldn’t make him love her, and he wouldn’t until he was ready to let the past rest in peace.

Maggie groaned loudly at the buzz in her back pocket. Her sister’s name glowed on the screen. She considered letting the call go to voicemail, but then thought better of it. Patricia would undoubtedly call their mother, and Maggie would spend the rest of the night screening their calls. She clicked the Talk button. “Hi Patty. Look, I’ve had a long day and I’m not in the mood—”

“Maggie, I spoke with Mother,” she interrupted, her voice shaky. “At first I was mad you canceled babysitting Jaden at the last minute, but she told me about the case you’re working on. I know how important it is.”

“Um, yes, the case is…it’s really important.” Maggie rolled her eyes. Her sister typically put little stock in the significance of Maggie’s job. “I’m sorry about canceling, Patty.” Maggie hoped her sister would take the apology and say goodnight. She still had victim profiles to review…again. If Burrows wasn’t targeting the same type of woman, perhaps she overlooked a detail that would cause him to shift his focus.

“It’s not just that, Maggie. I…I’ve been taking advantage of you.”

Maggie’s jaw dropped.

“Can you blame me, though? I mean, you never date and you’re always free—”

“Is this you apologizing, Patty? Because I have files to review.”

“I’m sorry, Maggie. You’re right. You know me. I tend to be very direct.”

“Yes, I know you, Patty.”

“But Mother said you’re working with some cute marshal?”

“Okay, I gotta go, Patty.”

“You’re not going to tell me about him? I mean, how often do you have someone—”

“Patty! Look.” Maggie softened her tone. “I appreciate the apology. I’ll call you when I’m back in town, alright?”

Maggie knew her sister smiled. “Okay, Maggie. I’ll talk to you soon. Don’t screw this up.”

Maggie clicked the phone off and tossed it on the bed away from her. She couldn’t help but chuckle. Her sister may be unfiltered and insensitive, but she was loyal and Maggie loved her anyway.

Maggie stood and walked to the square table in the far corner of the room. She sat down, opened the portfolio, and rifled through several pages until she came to her clipped notes on Burrows’s victims. A clue eluded her, or so she thought. Pouring her energies into the puzzle would center her emotions on Burrows. Her phone rang again.

“Hey, Doug. What’s up?”

“Hey. Look, I was just calling to let you know the initial forensic report on the paper you and Brandon found near the torched car came back.”

Maggie kneaded the tight muscles in the back of her neck. Although she was confident Burrows wrote the message found in the ditch near the burnt vehicle, Maggie hoped some form of trace evidence would be detected.

“Anything we can use?”

She heard the answer in Doug’s sigh. “Unfortunately, no. We still have the message being matched with other handwriting exemplars, but I think you’re spot-on. That’s Burrows’s handwriting all right. At least we’ll be able to tie him to the arson.”

“What about at the house? Tell me Burrows slipped up and left some prints?”

“Is it ever that easy?”

Maggie yanked a hand through her hair. “What about the neighbors? Did they see anything? Or anyone?”

“Nothing.”

Maggie let out a long groan. “Thanks, Doug. Look, I want another shot at Happy Gilbert tomorrow. I think he’s our link.”

“My feelings exactly. I’ll review our notes and see you in the morning.”

“Thanks again, Doug. Have a good night.”

“You too, Maggie.”

After a couple of hours reviewing victim profiles, Maggie rubbed her sore eyes and called it quits. She shoved the papers back inside the flaps of the portfolio. She turned over a dated photograph and paused. A very young John Michael Burrows stood next to his mother. Maggie’s eyes narrowed on the picture. She hadn’t studied the picture in quite a while and didn’t recall keeping it in her folder of notes on the case. She peered at the lad with dark brown hair and a void expression on his face. “I could almost swear I’ve seen this face somewhere…” But she couldn’t place it. Her eyes focused on Maxine Burrows.
She was beautiful
. If Burrows had his mother’s body, and he wasn’t targeting any other women, then what was he after? She slipped the photo behind the flap and closed the file.