Crimson Lies

Chapter Two

Roseanne

Outside the front of FBI Charlotte Division a light dusting of snow clung to the sidewalk. "What do you mean you can't trace it?" I tugged on the small gold hoop in my ear as I looked through the window. "I thought you could trace anything."

"Not this." Mike Tanner specialized in communication systems. He was a super nice guy and everyone in the Bureau tried to exploit that fact. Ex-military, he'd helped design some of the software that used voice recognition to pick up suspected terrorists talking on cell phones during the Iraq war. "They bounced the signal off different servers and used a burner cell which has since been switched off and deactivated. I could possibly tell you where the call was made from-if I devoted the next six months to this one thing. Unfortunately, my boss will have other ideas."

Securing the phone handset with my shoulder, I checked her email. "What about voice analysis?"

"It was electronically disguised."

"So you've got nothing?"

"More specifically, you've got nothing."

"Ha. Thanks, Mike," I said it with enough humor that he laughed.

"Always a pleasure, Rosie."

I hung up as Lucas Randall came into the room. His black hair stood on end, a day's growth of beard darkened his jaw. He was a good-looking guy and I was aware of speculation that they were secretly a couple. Not true. We'd been friends for years. He'd always been like a big brother to me.

"What's going on?" I asked.

"Unit briefing in the conference room in fifteen minutes. Two BAU bigwigs in attendance." He pointed his finger at me. "Danbridge was pissed to see you making an appearance on The Post website."

"Like I planned that. Some journalist cornered me at the hospital, recognized me from my mother's yearly media circus and pounced. Believe me, I am not seeking any form of attention." I stood, stretched out my back, then followed him over to his desk. My fellow agents had been processing the Meacher residence non-stop for the last eighteen hours while I'd been chasing her tail, achieving nothing. The tight cast to Lucas's lips and added weight to his shoulders suggested the day had taken its toll. "Bad?" I asked.

I'd only been in the FBI for twenty-two months and was still on probation, but I'd already seen things I'd take to my grave. As much as I wanted to be involved in the Meacher investigation I knew dealing with this sort of evil took a toll. It was one thing to see crime scene photographs; quite another to be in the lair of a serial killer, uncovering victims.

"We're up to fifteen women," Lucas's voice was gruff. The dark circles under his eyes added a worn-out quality to his grim expression. He answered my silent question with a shake of his head. "I didn't see any kids and no one who looked like Payton."

I was torn between disappointment and relief.

"He kept more personal trophies in his bedroom. Whoever shot the sonofabitch did the world a favor." A flicker of unguarded emotion crossed his face. Then he buried it beneath six years' field experience and a flat cop stare. "You'll hear all the details at the briefing." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Lemme get a coffee and we'll head over together." He froze as a stranger wearing a visitor badge and carrying a laptop walked through the office doorway. "Lisa? What the-?"

"You missed the meeting, asshole." The woman's expression was fierce. "Thought I'd hunt you down and make you buy me a beer." Her gaze darted to me. "Looks like a bad time though."

"That was today?" Lucas palmed his forehead. "Jesus, you're right. I'm an asshole."

"I already covered that." The woman-Lisa-grinned, and I got a fierce blast of gorgeous.