Buried: A Bone Secrets Novel Part 21

Please let his sister be okay.

"Dad, I need to go to the bathroom," Brian spoke up.

Chris glanced at his watch. It was past lunchtime, and they needed to grab a bite to eat. "Okay. Next exit that has food."

"McDonald's?" Brian's eyes lit up. "Please?"

"We'll see." Every parent's fallback; every kid's most hated reply. "Depends what we find." Chris tried to stretch his legs in the truck. He was tired of driving. A place where he could sit back and relax for a bit would be nice. Preferably not McDonald's. He took the next exit, which promised Food, Gas, and Lodging.

"McDonald's!" Every kid's reaction to spotting the golden arches.

"Umm." Chris eyed the brick diner next to the fast-food restaurant. It looked cozy, like someone's grandma was the owner. "How about that place next door? It looks like the type of place that has grilled cheese on the menu." Brian's all-time favorite.

And beer.

"You think so?" Brian twisted up his mouth in deep consideration.

"Let's check their menu." If not, Chris would beg them to make one. Surely they'd throw one together for a kid.

They parked. Brian cast one wistful glance at the golden M and pushed open the door to the diner. Cool air rushed by them from the nearly empty dining room. Chris sighed. Perfect. A waitress with a coffeepot in one hand and two cups in the other scooted by them.

"Seat yourself. I'll be right with ya."

Chris steered Brian toward a large booth in the back, near the bar, and plopped down on the overstuffed bench. The other five people in the restaurant barely glanced their way, and the only sound came from the television screen behind the bar. Menus were on the table. Brian immediately found the kids' selections.

"Grilled cheese. And fries," he announced. He pulled crayons and a coloring book out of his backpack and focused on Iron Man, his current obsession.

Thank you, G.o.d.

Chris scanned the menu and stopped at a bacon and bleu cheeseburger. He set the menu down, leaned his head back, and briefly closed his eyes. Parenting was a twenty-four-hour job. A job he was thankful for, but he often wished he had help. After Elena's death, focusing on Brian had helped him get through her loss. At times, he'd considered moving back to Portland and enlisting Jamie's help with his son. But that would mean placing his son where he could be easily found.

Wasn't going to happen.

They were safest away from everyone. Away from society, crowds, reporters, sick men.

"What can I get for ya?"

Chris's head came up, his eyes flew open, and he double blinked. The waitress was darn cute. She couldn't have been much over twenty years old. She tilted her head and repeated her question, with a knowing smile that said she was used to second looks from men.

Chris pointed at Brian. "Grilled cheese, fries, and milk. I'll take the bleu burger and a Coors Light."

"Gotcha. Be right back." She bounced away, stopped behind the bar, poured his beer, grabbed Brian's milk, and was back to them in under a minute with a cheery smile. He sipped at the cold beer and appreciated the iciness on the back of his throat. Brian kept his head down, concentrating on his coloring. His son didn't talk continually like some kids. Like Chris had...before. He'd been one of those kids who gave a running commentary on everything he saw to anyone around him. After he came back, he spoke as little as possible. He still watched his surroundings closely but kept his words to himself.

"Bathroom?"

Brian was staring at his father, his hazel eyes confused, and Chris had the impression Brian had asked the question twice. Chris spotted the bathroom sign past the bar and stood up.

"I can go alone," Brian whined, but he stood and started to follow his father.

"I'll just walk you in." Chris pushed open the men's room door and checked the stalls. All empty. "I'll be back at the table. And wash your hands good."

Brian nodded.

Chris slid back into his booth. Sure his son could use a public restroom alone. After he checked the inside and watched the door after. That wasn't overprotective. That was smart parenting. He shuddered as he remembered how he used to run wild around his neighborhood when he was growing up. One dinner he'd been late and his father had been furious. Looking back now, his father hadn't been worried about Chris; he'd been upset that his mom had been worried.

His son being s.n.a.t.c.hed by a pedophile hadn't crossed his father's mind.

Chris didn't look away from the men's room door.

The waitress set a skinny basket of saltines on the table. "In case he's got the munchies," she said with a perky smile. Chris thanked her. And watched the door.

The door swung open, and Chris relaxed. He took a packet of cellophane-wrapped crackers and ripped it open, setting it on Brian's coloring book.

"Awesome!" Brian proceeded to munch down on the crumbliest crackers ever created. Chris never bought them. They required too much clean-up.

A word from the television caught his attention, and his focus swiveled toward the bar.

...murdered...

A female reporter was standing in a city Chris knew all too well, a serious look on her face. Across the bottom of the screen, it said, "Murder in Demming." He couldn't make out her words.

Chris stood up, moving toward the bar, his gaze fixed on the screen. The waitress crossed his path with two plates.

"Your lunch is ready."

He gestured in the direction of the table, attention on the television. Suddenly, he wasn't hungry. Closer, he could make out the reporter's words.

"...deceased is the owner of the bakery, Juan Rios, who was killed during a break-in of the bakery overnight..."

Juan. Chris's knees wobbled. He reached the bar and rested his hands on it, leaning heavily.

"Police haven't revealed the exact cause of death but say it appears to be a result of homicidal violence."

Juan.

What if Chris hadn't been watching his house and hadn't seen the Ghostman and decided to leave? Would she be reporting three deaths?

How had the Ghostman gone from his house to Juan's?

He had no doubt who'd killed Juan. Chris thought hard. There'd been no evidence at his home that could have led anyone to Juan. But people knew he often visited old Juan. People knew he took Brian to play with Juan's dog. The Ghostman must have talked to someone in town who mentioned his habits.

He glanced over his shoulder at Brian, who was busy devouring his grilled cheese. The boy hadn't noticed the television story.

"...so far no suspects..."

Of course not. He's a ghost.

The camera switched views to Juan's bakery, a group of cops and onlookers milling outside. Chris recognized Sheriff Spencer from a distance. The cop was okay. He'd kept out of Chris's business for the most part and had delivered the news of Elena's death with a lot of tact and concern. The camera zoomed closer, and the back of a woman with long black hair caught Chris's attention.

Elena.

He immediately shook that thought from his head. Elena was dead. The instant confusion happened frequently to him. Eastern Oregon had a large percentage of Native American and Hispanic women, many of whom wore their hair long like Elena had. From the back, they often resembled his dead wife, making him catch his breath and his heart stop. The woman turned to the tall man at her side, exposing her profile.

Jamie.

What the h.e.l.l? His sister, who he'd been worried sick over, was standing on the street in his town? Christ. Chris blew out a breath. Holy c.r.a.p. First Juan and now a glimpse of Jamie. He wanted to cry and laugh in relief at the same time.

The camera shot moved in on the group, and Chris soaked up the sight of his sister, healthy and whole. The stress he'd held in about her safety evaporated, giving him a release-activated, instant throbbing headache in his skull. He rubbed at a spot near his temple. Jamie spoke to the man at her side, and Chris felt his heart skip a beat. The man turned his head to the side the tiniest bit.

Chris stared.

The man turned more, and Chris felt all the veins in his skull swell.

Michael Brody. The man placed his arm about Jamie's shoulders. Chris's world shuddered, spun off kilter, and he grabbed at the bar. This wasn't happening.

Why in the h.e.l.l was Michael Brody with his sister?

Jamie flopped on the bed at the bed-and-breakfast. It had to be twenty degrees warmer in their room than the first floor. She'd felt the temperature rise as they'd climbed the old stairs. The bed-and-breakfast was charmingly quaint, but there were times when quaint didn't cut it and you wanted modern hotel results. Like instant cold air, immediate coffee, and fast room service with cheesecake. "I'm beat," she said. "And it's too d.a.m.ned hot in here."

"Trying to avoid s.e.x with me already?" Michael asked as he cranked up the air-conditioning. "I thought that didn't come till later in a relationship. Isn't this where you say you have a headache?"

A deep laugh bubbled out of Jamie. She couldn't help it. He was so d.a.m.ned frank. "To tell you the truth, knowing two people were just killed has my mind on other things right now. I really don't know how I'm supposed to be feeling. Chris and Brian are missing. There are two people dead...possibly by the same man who attacked me yesterday. Should I be terrified, worried, or angry?"

"You need to be told how to feel right now? I think every one of those emotions is right on ticket with what you've been through. You don't need to pick one, you know. Or write in your planner how many minutes to spend on each one."

Choking on her laughter, Jamie wiped tears from her eyes. He was right. And he'd nailed exactly how she handled stress. "You are very good for me. Did you know that?"

"Of course. I took one look at you and thought, 'There's a woman who needs more laughter and adventure in her life.' I made it my personal goal to help you be spontaneous. Not everything in life needs to be planned."

"I like order. I like to know what will happen next. I'm not fond of surprises. Even surprise birthday parties upset me as a kid."

Michael's head jerked in surprise. "Who doesn't like surprise parties?"

"Me!" She was dead serious. "They made me want to hide. Still do. I don't like being the center of attention. Especially if I'm not expecting it."

"But you deserve to be the center of attention. All the time."

Michael did an expert belly flop onto the bed next to her. He reached over and pulled her tight into his arms and simply held her. She inhaled deeply, seeking his scent to calm her. He smelled like sunshine; his usual smell. With a tint of sweaty, salty male included that made her hormones wake up and stretch. He nuzzled against her cheek.

"Just don't be throwing me any surprise parties, okay?"

"Agreed. I'll always check with you before I surprise you."

"Well, little surprises are okay. Like chocolate. You can bring me chocolate anytime."

"Noted." His face pressed against hers as he kissed his way up her jawbone to her ear.

He hasn't heard a word I said.

"I don't care if we're in the middle of Hicksville right now. Anywhere you are is where I want to be," he said, moving his lips to her mouth.

G.o.d, Michael knew how to kiss. His lips were strong and soft at the same time. His manner was authoritative and caring. He was impulsive but smart. The man was a walking contradiction in too many ways, and Jamie knew she was falling hard. He was so unlike the staid, steady men she'd dated in the past. Michael knew how to bring excitement and the unexpected into her life. But how long could that last?

Doesn't matter. Enjoy the ride.

"Speaking of chocolate, are you hungry?" he asked with his lips against the back of her neck. He'd found a place just below her hairline that was sending pleasant chills down her spine and cooling her off quicker than the old air-conditioning unit.

"Starving."

He pulled back. "Me too. I can't even think straight, I'm so hungry."

Jamie wanted his mouth back on her neck. "Eat first?"

He nodded reluctantly. "Sucks. But we'll be happier later. I don't want to get started on something and discover the d.a.m.ned town rolled up its sidewalks at sundown, leaving us to get food at the mini-mart."

Jamie's stomach growled. Noisily.

He chuckled. "My stomach's complaining, too. And it's not the only thing." He disentangled their limbs. "f.u.c.k. I don't want to move."

"Those enchiladas last night were heavenly," Jamie stated, blinking innocently.

"You are evil." Michael stood and then leaned over the bed, his hands resting on both sides of her face. "You relax. I'll go get you some food, and then you can take care of me, agreed?"

Jamie looked at the green eyes so close to her face and felt her heart expand two notches. This man was growing very dear to her. "You're not getting anything for you to eat?" she teased.

"I might get something for me since I'll be there anyway."

She stretched off the pillow to kiss him in response. "You're incredible, did you know that?"

"Yep. I'm awesome that way," he said, kissing her deeply.

Jamie's bones melted into the soft bed at the touch of his mouth.

He slowly pulled away, holding eye contact. "I'll be right back." Extreme reluctance to leave shone from his eyes. "Don't go anywhere."

Jamie watched the door close behind him. She sank back into the pillow and stared at the ceiling, and sighed. One of the bleakest moments of her life had brought this man to help her cope. Lord, she was getting in deep. Deep with a type of man she'd never known before. But she didn't care. It felt fabulous.

Michael inhaled as he strode back to the tiny bed-and-breakfast and felt his saliva try to drown him. The scents wafting from the food containers in his hands were incredible. Holy c.r.a.p, his stomach was complaining big time. He'd ordered the exact same thing they'd eaten the day before. Memories of melted cheese and spicy meat...and then the night spent with Jamie.

Jamie Jacobs was turning out to be that once-in-a-lifetime woman. He hadn't thought such a thing existed. He'd been head over heels for Lacey Campbell for years, but looking back now, it seemed like puppy love. He'd trotted around after her in total infatuation. She loved him, he knew that, but Lacey loved him like a brother. And that echoed his feelings for her now.

Then there'd been Sam. Actually, Samantha didn't live too far from Demming, he suddenly noted. Probably another hour or two away. They'd had a good run for a few weeks, but Sam had responsibilities with her business that sucked up all her time. She knew she'd never leave her small-town life. Michael knew he wasn't suited to live in a town with a single-screen movie theater that was only open on Fridays and Sat.u.r.days, showing six-month-old releases. Looking back, he realized Sam had been his rebound woman after discovering Lacey was in love with Jack Harper.

Now there was Jamie.

Smart, s.e.xy, and learning to come out of her sh.e.l.l. He was the one poking away at that sh.e.l.l, because he could see the woman underneath waiting to explode. He liked the b.u.t.toned-up Jamie, the strict school princ.i.p.al. If he saw her with her hair up in a librarian's bun, reading gla.s.ses, and a high-necked blouse, he'd want to tear into it, revealing the Jamie he'd seen before in that smoking thong and bra. Last night had been hormone and l.u.s.tdriven on both their parts. He suspected that wasn't something she gave in to very often, but d.a.m.n, he was glad she had. It'd totally opened her up to him, exposing soft parts that he'd suspected were under that princ.i.p.al sh.e.l.l. And s.e.xy, hot, roaring parts that a guy could only dream about.

Jamie Jacobs was a keeper.