The Unseen. Heather Graham
sobbing over the heap. And when she’d looked again, there had been no woman, but…
But there’d been the bones.
* * *
Logan shook his head, staring at Jackson Crow. “I don’t understand.”
“Don’t understand what? The gravity of the situation?” Crow inquired.
“No. I don’t understand what setting up a team with the FBI will accomplish that various law enforcement agencies working together won’t,” Logan said. “I don’t believe a ghost killed her.”
“I don’t, either,” Jackson said. “There are two possibilities, and since you’re a Texan, I should think either one would bother you. One, a killer is dressing up as a Texas hero to attack innocent women.”
“Or?”
“Dead Texas heroes remain…heroes. They’re still trying to save the lives of others, and warn them away. Because they recognize a killer when they see one.”
Logan wanted to argue with him; he even raised a hand to do so, but didn’t find the right words. He was suddenly reminded of the very strange experience with the birds that morning.
Strange, but certainly natural. A physical phenomenon.
And, of course, he knew that things could happen, things that didn’t always fall into the realm of natural physical phenomena.
“You don’t have to answer me now. My people are working on it. But,” Crow added wryly, “we’re being stretched far too thin.”
“I’m glad you’re not expecting an answer yet,” Logan said. “Because if you were, I’d have to say no.”
Crow shrugged. “We don’t expect anyone to just say, ‘Hey, I’ll jump on it.’ But I’ve studied law enforcement profiles, and I’d like to begin with you and Marshal O’Brien.” He sent Logan a quick smile. “I wasn’t keen on this when it first came up, either. I assumed I was receiving a major demotion. But you’d be astonished by what can be accomplished when you put the right network of people together.”
“When you have a good team, yes, it can work exceptionally well. But you don’t really know someone until you’ve met him. Or her. So, you study profiles. What happens if you meet someone you don’t like?” Logan asked.
“Then I don’t make the offer. Just so you know, I don’t work alone. A man named Adam Harrison started this…experiment, shall we say. He had friends, and he identified people around the country who had abilities. Instincts, if you prefer. He put my team together. Adam’s an interesting man, not particularly talented in this area, but he’s developed a sense for people with these uncanny skills. So far, he’s zeroed in perfectly every time.”
“Adam Harrison. The name’s familiar.”
“He’s done a great deal of good. He and his team have uncovered many charlatans, and found the truth behind their mist and mirrors. He watches people carefully. He knows who to approach for the Krewe.”
“I’m not trying to be argumentative,” Logan muttered, “but a lot of what you hear about Texans is true. We were our own country for a short while, and we’re still dedicated to being Texans.”
“Dedication is a good thing. But, like I said, you can think about it. And regardless of what you decide, you’re now apprised of this situation.” Crow indicated the pictures, then got to his feet. “I believe Marshal O’Brien has arrived.” He smiled, glancing at his watch. “Precisely on time.”
Logan stood, too. He saw a woman coming toward them. He noted first that she had a thick head of auburn hair that fell to her shoulders, and then he went on with his assessment. She moved with fluid confidence, and she was tall, about five-ten. Slim and well-built. She wasn’t wearing a badge, but there was a quality about her that spoke of law enforcement. He was pretty certain the bulge on her hip was a Glock.
As she came nearer, he realized that she had exceptionally fine features and might have graced a model’s runway rather than a crime scene. But before she reached them and offered each man a firm handshake as introductions were exchanged, he could tell that she wasn’t some kind of delicate hothouse flower. Her walk, her movements, the way she’d looked for them and found them instantly—they all registered authority and determination. Maybe she’d perfected her manner to offset her beauty, which was vivid and startling. When she removed her sunglasses, he saw that she had green eyes, their color almost as deep as a forest.
He also realized that she was as curious as he had been about the meeting. “Shall we order?” he suggested. “We’re all here now.”
He lifted his hand to summon their waitress. Crow was polite and friendly as he ordered his meal, and despite the fact that Kelsey O’Brien couldn’t have done more than glance at the menu, she ordered quickly. He did, as well, although he wasn’t hungry. Something about this meeting was causing his stomach to knot.
Jackson Crow began the new conversation casually. “How are you enjoying Texas, Marshal O’Brien?”
“It’s great,” she said. “San Antonio is beautiful.”
“Have you been able to see or do much yet?” Crow asked.
“I’m staying at the Longhorn, a historic saloon. I can see the Alamo from my window. Very poignant, really.”
“The Longhorn has quite a reputation,” Logan commented. Ridiculous! he told himself. For some reason, he’d just had to throw that out.
He was irritated at his own pleasure in thinking he might know something Agent Crow didn’t. This meeting was confusing him. He was usually willing to do whatever it took to stop crime, especially murder. But this…
It felt as if once he took a step, he’d fall into a pit, and he wasn’t sure he’d know how to maneuver his way out.
Maybe because he hadn’t known that there seemed to be a pattern of disappearances. It was true that the FBI could recognize the similarities between these crimes.
Maybe he was still off his stride because of what had happened on his way here—the scene with the birds.
Logan began to explain. “A murder took place there around the time of the Texas Revolution,” he said. “And about a year ago, a young woman disappeared from the ‘murder room.’ Local homicide detectives tore the room and half the hotel apart, and she was never discovered. The room looked like there’d been a bloodbath. I’m not sure if that fits with the cases you’ve been showing me.”
“Sounds like it does,” Jackson said. “What do you think, Marshal O’Brien?”
Logan studied the young woman he had so recently met.
She smiled awkwardly and looked around before answering. “We seem to be pretty casual here. Please call me Kelsey. And I’m sorry but I’m not up to speed. What cases?” she asked.
“One moment,” Crow murmured. “Our food is coming.”
Kelsey O’Brien had ordered salmon. Logan wondered if she avoided red meat and realized he’d ordered fish that afternoon, too. When their waitress left the table, Jackson launched into the story he’d already told Logan.
Logan sat back, listening, while Jackson Crow explained the FBI involvement. He waited until they had finished eating and then spread out the pictures to show her.
“Horrible,” she whispered.
“I do believe we’re looking for one killer. Although, as I told Raintree, it is possible that these murders and the unknown remains we’ve discovered aren’t all connected. We’re talking about a huge population here and, obviously, the larger the population, the easier it is for people to get lost in the crowd,” Crow said.
Logan saw that Marshal Kelsey O’Brien wasn’t turning away from the pictures, but neither was