Buried: A Bone Secrets Novel Part 6

"About seven or eight years old."

Jamie squeezed her eyes shut and brushed angrily at the tears. "He never told me."

"Yeah. I see that." Sympathy filled his voice. "I'm sorry."

"He's married? He never told me?" Why? Why hadn't Chris told her?

"Doesn't look like he was ever married. The mother died when the boy was one."

More tears streamed. Tears for a motherless baby and his lonely father. "She died? Who was she?"

"I have a name, not much else. Elena Padilla. She was twenty-two when she died."

Jamie looked down and saw she was holding both of Michael's hands in a death grip, her knuckles white. She released and her fingers felt like they'd been frozen in place. They fought to straighten. She shoved them between her knees and turned to look at him.

Concern wrinkled his forehead. He watched her like he expected her to crack in half.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, her tongue feeling numb. "It's just that...Chris is all..."

"He's the only family you have left. And now it turns out he was hiding more."

"What's his name? What's the boy's name?" she pleaded. Her mind wouldn't stop spinning. She had a nephew? And Chris never said a word?

"I don't know," Michael answered.

"Are you certain?" she asked again, searching his gaze. "Are you absolutely certain he has a son?"

"No doubts," he said softly.

She looked away, unable to face the pity in his eyes. "Do you know where he is?" She was done wondering how Michael dug up information or the accuracy of that information. Her instinct told her he didn't let words cross his lips unless his facts were triple-checked.

"I have a good idea. A good starting place anyway."

Jamie's heart clenched tight, overwhelmed with a need to see the faces of Chris and his son. "How do you know? How did you find out?"

Michael shrugged. "The phone call you made indicated a general area in Eastern Oregon. It's pretty spa.r.s.ely populated. I made some calls and got a hold of the sheriff in the area. He knows a Chris Jacobs who lives off the grid as far as possible. He says it's the type of area where people go to avoid the rest of the world. Sound like your brother?"

"Yes, unfortunately."

"The reason he remembers your brother is because of how Chris's wife-well, not his wife legally-died in a car accident. I can't find a record of a marriage, but I did find newspaper clippings about the accident. And it talks about the child. The information matches what the sheriff told me. It was pretty bad and sounds like a scene that would stick in your head for a long time."

"Don't tell me. Please," Jamie burst out, meeting his gaze. She didn't want the gruesome death of a young woman playing through her mind.

He nodded at her request. She could see a shadow in his eyes that hadn't been there before. From the description of the accident? How many horrific things had he witnessed or covered for the newspaper over the years?

"Now will you go find him with me? Your brother is more likely to talk to you than some stranger. Chris may not believe I'm not looking for a story. This is personal. I'm going because I need to know what happened to my brother."

An urge to see her own brother hit Jamie like a blow to the chest. It'd been so long...

But to-do lists flooded Jamie's brain. "Umm...I need to stop the paper and mail and talk to my neighbor about feeding my cat, and I'm supposed to meet with a parent late tomorrow..."

Even to her own ears, her excuses were weak.

"Christ, princess. Yes or no? I'm leaving tomorrow morning. It's a long drive. Some company would be nice."

She froze, unable to agree. "I need a few days." She couldn't make that type of immediate decision without thinking it through. For a trip, she had to have a plan before she began. After Chris had vanished, her parents no longer let her out of their sight. A simple afternoon to hang out at a friend's home involved a visit by her parents first. And a sleepover at a girlfriend's? Forget it. She'd been in college before she slept without her parents under the same roof.

It was a habit that was hard to break.

Michael glanced at his watch. "Fine. I get it." He stood and locked gazes with her, dark green eyes flashing.

Jamie blinked. His heated gaze didn't match the tone of his words. It said, I want you to come with me now. And he didn't want her simply for the convenience of speaking with her brother. He wanted her for...something else.

Heat flooded her belly. What would it be like to be alone with this man and his energy? Silent sparks erupted every time he was near her. He was dangerous.

Jamie avoided danger on principle. She rose to her feet and stepped away. "I can't. I can't leave on a moment's notice."

"Why not? You don't have family to arrange for. Just a cat. You're on summer break. It's time to move on impulse for once."

His words stung. She was well aware of the lack of spontaneity in her life, but she didn't need other people to point it out. It was understandable. It was her parents' reaction to the kidnapping of her brother. It'd created in her a sense of precaution and the need to think through every move she made. Sure, she'd sacrificed some impulsiveness. But there were worse habits to have.

Michael had highlighted her biggest shortcoming, and he barely knew her. She lifted her chin. "Call me if you find him. And his son. I want to know about my nephew."

Silence choked her living room.

A sad smile crossed his face. "I will." He turned and strode to her door. He opened it, looked over his shoulder at her, and vanished.

The sound of the closing door echoed in her empty house. Jamie exhaled and plopped back down on the couch. Would Michael find Chris? Chris had made it clear over the years he wanted to be left alone. He hadn't responded to the voice message she'd left yesterday. Maybe she should leave him another one? Warn him a reporter was looking for him?

She shook her head. Plenty of people had searched for Chris over the years. He knew how to stay hidden. As tenacious as Michael appeared to be, Chris knew how to avoid reporters. But, boy, her brother had some explaining to do about her nephew. When the publicity died down, she'd pressure him to let her meet the child.

But why did she feel that she'd just missed an interesting opportunity with Michael Brody?

The man was angry, pacing in his office.

"What the h.e.l.l were you thinking? What was that place? A torture chamber or s.e.x dungeon? I told you to get rid of them. Not keep them as personal slaves for your twisted l.u.s.ts. Jesus f.u.c.king Christ."

Gerald sat silently. He'd heard different versions of this lecture before. The man just needed to vent. What did he care?

"I can't believe you left that bunker full of c.r.a.p. Who knows what they'll find in there? These days, f.u.c.king forensics can trace you from a grain of rice you dropped. You left a treasure trove of kid junk for the police to sift through. Your fingerprints could be everywhere. And I know your fingerprints are in the system." The man halted his pacing to stare him in the eye.

"I never went in there without latex gloves," he said. That wasn't quite true. The gloves came off for certain things.

"Did you leave any gloves? They can get fingerprints off the insides of those d.a.m.ned things."

"Of course not."

His boss held his stare, and Gerald understood why people respected him. He could convey every emotion in a way that made the listener feel it deep in their gut. Right now he was telling Gerald that he didn't believe him.

He was pretty sure there were no gloves left inside. His last visit to the bunker had been over a decade ago, and he'd cleaned out any incriminating garbage. He'd left all the kids' stuff. It didn't point any fingers at him. It just showed that children had been there.

He'd eliminated most of the kids pretty fast. Girls first. Then the younger boys. The two oldest boys had appealed to him the most, so he'd kept them the longest.

For the millionth time, he wondered about Chris Jacobs. Did he really have no memory of those years? Or was he just covering his a.s.s? Gerald had made it clear to the boys what he could do to their families if they disobeyed. And he'd sent that reminder basket to the kid in the hospital. A strong message not to talk.

Either way, the kid had stayed silent for twenty years.

His boss was having the same train of thought. "That Jacobs kid might have some memories stirred up by all this publicity."

"He doesn't even live in the state anymore. At least, I can't find him. I look every now and then. He's put as much s.p.a.ce as possible between him and his past."

The boss gave a withering stare. "The f.u.c.king story has gone national. Maybe worldwide. Dead kids do that to the media."

Gerald shrugged. "He doesn't know who I am or where to find me."

"They could put out a description. You're a little distinctive looking." The man looked him up and down.

Gerald cringed inside. He'd done everything he could to look as normal as possible, but he constantly wondered if people were staring at him. He'd been a small child when he first realized he didn't look like the other kids. And kids were cruel. He'd read that some animals ostracize based on appearance. Society acted like those animals. He'd always been the outcast.

"The important witness died. Daniel," Gerald argued. "He's the one who could've done some damage. He could have messed things up real bad, if he'd survived."

"You're f.u.c.king lucky Daniel's dead." His boss looked ready to pop a nut. "If I had known you were keeping those kids alive instead of getting rid of them, I would have strangled you with my bare hands back then.

"You've got some loose ends to tie up. Find Chris Jacobs now and get rid of him. You've put this off too long. I don't know why I've put up with it. You should have taken care of it the minute he appeared. You'd told me they were all dead. f.u.c.king lied to me that you were hanging on to some."

His boss was starting to repeat himself. His face was red, and his silver hair stuck out in places. Usually he was impeccably groomed, but the situation was wearing on him.

Gerald ran a hand through his own hair. "I've looked for him. Every few years, I look. I've done every computer search possible. Either he doesn't exist on paper or he's changed his name. My money is on him changing his name."

"He could still come forward. Maybe consent to be hypnotized to see if they can pick some s.h.i.t out of his brain."

"And what's he gonna say? I remember a guy with white hair and some tattoos? I lived in an underground can for two years with another boy? How can that lead back to us?"

"Daniel lived for a long time. Daniel could've told him what he knew." His boss wiped at the sweat on his temple.

"No one knew we were connected back then. A kid wouldn't have figured that out."

"Daniel was smart. Everyone said he was a f.u.c.king mini-genius."

"Even a genius can't add one and one together to come up with five," Gerald argued.

"What the h.e.l.l does that mean?"

"He didn't have enough facts to figure it out."

"You ask the sister where Chris Jacobs is?" his boss asked.

"Everyone has asked the sister. Police, media. She doesn't say s.h.i.t."

"She's got to have an idea of where her brother is. Start there. Finish the d.a.m.ned job. I don't know how I've trusted you with anything. Now get out."

Gerald hated him. "Yes, sir."

There was a very good reason his boss trusted him. And Gerald hoped one day he'd have the opportunity to ram that reason into his perfect face.

"I'm sorry I cut it short today, Lisa. You gonna keep going?" Balancing on one foot, Jamie pulled her other foot behind her until it touched her shorts, stretching the muscle in the front of the thigh. "I don't know why it's cramping so bad."

Lisa jogged in place. "I'll do another circuit. Want to try tomorrow?"

"Yes, I think it'll be fine. I'll see you tomorrow morning."

Lisa spun around and dashed off. "Alternate some heat and ice!" she yelled over her shoulder.

Jamie nodded and gingerly headed up the walkway to her front door. d.a.m.n. Her thigh was really sore. They'd only covered three miles. Half of what she and Lisa usually did several times a week. She'd dig out the heating pad and do some gentle stretching. Drink lots, too. She didn't think she was dehydrated, but the days had been getting ridiculously hot. It could happen.

Suddenly very thirsty, she pushed her front door open and made a beeline to the kitchen. And froze. Jesus Christ. Every drawer in her kitchen had been emptied onto the floor. Every cupboard was open. She slowly backed out of the room, eyes wide at the disaster.

Get out. Now.

"Don't move. Don't turn around," a male voice uttered behind her.

She didn't.

Something small and hard pressed against the back of her skull.

Her heart started to pound its way out of her chest, her mouth instantly dry, and her vision tunneled.

"I want you to slowly lie down on the floor. On your stomach and put your hands behind you."

He's going to rape me.

Jamie didn't move. If she got down on the floor, she wouldn't have a chance.

"Get down, now!" he growled.

She shook her head, unable to speak, unable to move her legs.

"f.u.c.king b.i.t.c.h." He rammed his hand into the small of her back and ground the gun into her neck. "Move it!"

Jamie fell to her knees and winced. He grabbed one of her arms and wrenched it behind her back, the gun still digging into her neck.

"Where's your brother?"

Chris? "What?" Her voice squeaked.

The gun dug deeper. "Where's that f.u.c.king brother of yours? The one with the pretty round scars down his face." He moved the gun around to her cheek and shoved it into her flesh. "You want some matching scars? I've got a pack of cigarettes handy."

Tears rolled down her cheeks. The gun hurt, but not as bad as the image of Chris's skin burning.