He watched the girl as she lay in a drugged stupor on the cot where he had placed her. She was pretty. That was a shame. And she'd been trying to improve her lot in life, working hard in school, doing her best to keep her lush of a mother from driving drunk or burning down the house.
Definitely a shame.
But there was nothing he could do to change things.
He hoped Lynet would understand that.
Saturday, January 8
"So when're the feds due in?" Alex asked Miranda. They stood near the top of the hill and watched as half a dozen small boats slowly crisscrossed the lake down in the hollow. The last light of day was shining just over the mountains and painting the lake shimmering silver; another few minutes and they'd have to put up floodlights or stop the search for the night.
"Any time now."
Alex turned to her. "So how come you're out here instead of back at the office waiting for them? Dragging the lake is a good idea — anonymous tip or not — since we haven't found a trace of the Grainger girl anywhere else in the area, but I can call in if we find anything."
Miranda's shoulders moved in an irritable shrug. "They'll have to drive in from Nashville, so it could be late tonight. Anyway, I left Brady on duty at the office with instructions to send them out here if they arrive before I get back."
"Do you have any idea how many are coming? I mean, isn't this crack new unit of theirs supposed to be made up of a dozen or more agents?"
"I don't know for sure. There isn't much information available, even for law enforcement officials. We'll get what we get, I guess." She sounded restless, uneasy.
Alex was about to ask another question when he saw Miranda stiffen. He wasn't sure how he knew, but looking at her he was certain that all her attention, all her being, was suddenly focused elsewhere. She no longer saw the lake or the people below, and wasn't even aware of him standing beside her.
Then he saw her eyes shift to one side, as if she was suddenly, intensely aware of some sound, some thing, behind her and didn't want to turn her head to look.
"Randy?"
She didn't respond, didn't seem to hear him.
Alex looked behind them. At first, all he saw was the hilltop flooded with light because the sun had not yet set. Then there was an abrupt, curiously fluid shifting of the light, and the silhouette of a tall man appeared.
Alex blinked, startled because he hadn't heard a sound. Two more silhouettes appeared on either side of the first, another man and a woman. They paused on the crest of the hill, looking at the activity below, then lost the blinding halo of light as they moved down the slope toward Alex and Miranda.
The man on the left was about six feet tall. He was maybe thirty, on the thin side, with nondescript brown hair. The woman was likely the same age, medium height, slender, and blond. Both were casually dressed in dark pants and bulky sweaters.
But it was the man in the center who caught and held Alex's attention. Dressed as casually as the other two in jeans and a black leather jacket, he was a striking figure, over six feet tall and very dark. His black hair gleamed in the last of the day's light, and a distinct widow's peak crowned his high forehead. He was wide shouldered and moved with the ease and grace of a trained athlete, navigating the rock-strewn slope with far more dexterity than his slipping and sliding companions. As he neared them, Alex saw a vivid scar on the left side of his coldly handsome face.
Liz's dark stranger, Alex thought, with a lack of surprise that would have surprised her.
He looked back at Miranda and saw that her gaze was fixed once more on the lake below. But her breath came quickly through parted, trembling lips, and her face was pale and strained. He was astonished at how vulnerable she looked. For a moment. Just a moment.
Then she closed her eyes, and when she opened them a moment later all the strain was gone. She looked perfectly calm, indifferent even.
Quietly, he said, "Randy, I think the feds are here."
"Are they?" She sounded only mildly interested. She slid her hands into the front pockets of her jeans. "They're early."
"Guess they had a fast car."
"Guess so."
Intrigued, but willing to await events, Alex returned his attention to the approaching agents. When they were close, the tall man in the center spoke, his voice deep and cool but with an undercurrent of tension that was audible.
"Sheriff Knight?" It wasn't quite a question, and his pale, oddly reflective eyes were already fixed on Miranda.
She turned to face the newcomers. "Hello, Bishop."
Bishop's companions didn't seem surprised that this small-town sheriff knew him, so it was left to Alex to ask, "You two know each other?"
"We've met," Miranda said. She introduced Alex, and just as calmly Bishop introduced Special Agents Anthony Harte and Dr. Sharon Edwards. Nobody offered to shake hands, possibly because Miranda and Bishop kept their hands in their pockets the entire time.
"I'm the forensic pathologist you requested," Edwards said cheerfully. Alex thought that Doc Shepherd was about to meet a kindred spirit.
"My specialty is interpretation of data," Harte explained when Miranda's gaze turned questioningly toward him.
"Good," she said. "We have some puzzling data for you to interpret. In the meantime, just to catch you up on events, we're following a tip that our missing teenager might be found here in the lake."
"A tip from whom, Sheriff Knight?" Bishop asked.
"An anonymous tip."
"Phoned in to your office?"
"That's right."
"Male or female?"
Her hesitation was almost unnoticeable. "Female."
"Interesting," he said.
His voice held no accusation, hers no defensiveness, but Alex felt both existed and was even more puzzled. Then he realized something else. "Hey, you're both chess pieces. Knight and Bishop."
Miranda looked at him, one brow rising. "How about that," she said dryly.
Alex cleared his throat. "Well, anyway. We're losing the light down on the lake, Sheriff. Want to call off the search for the day?"
"Might as well." She glanced at the agents. "If you'll excuse me for a few minutes?" Without waiting for a response, she made her way down to the shore where the boats were gathering.
Bishop never took his eyes off Miranda. Alex was curious enough to be nosy, but something in Bishop's face made him stick to professional inquiries. "So what's your specialty, Agent Bishop?"
"Profiler. Who took the anonymous call, Deputy Mayse?"
Alex wasn't sure he liked the question but answered it anyway. "Sheriff Knight." Then he found himself defending where Miranda had refused to. "That's not at all unusual, in case you think it is. The sheriff makes a point of being accessible, so lots of people call her directly if they have information or questions."
Those cool, pale eyes turned to him at last, and Bishop said almost indifferently, "Typical of small towns, in my experience. Tell me, has this area been searched?"
"No. Until we got the tip about the lake, there was no reason to think the Grainger girl would be this far out of town."
"And do you think she's here?"
"The sheriff thinks there's a chance. That's good enough for me."
Bishop continued to gaze at him for a long moment, making Alex uncomfortable. Then the agent nodded, exchanged glances with his two companions, and moved several yards away to a rocky outcropping. From there he could see most of the hollow, the lake, and the surrounding hills.
"What's he doing?" Alex asked, keeping his voice low.
Sharon Edwards answered. "Getting the lay of the land, I guess you'd call it. Looking for ... signs."
"Signs? It's nearly dark already, especially down there; what can he possibly see?"