Buried Secrets Page 3

  He turned back to her. She’d removed her shades, revealing those clear hazel eyes that had captured him earlier when she’d shed the glasses the first time. They held a touch of contrition.

  Extracting the card he’d meant to hand over earlier, before she’d lost her balance, he walked back to her and held it out. “Not a problem. If you change your mind, or need anything before I touch base again, don’t hesitate to call.”

  She accepted the card, holding it up as she gave it a quick read. She had pretty hands. Graceful, with slender fingers.

  Strange.

  He couldn’t remember ever noticing a woman’s hands.

  “Lisa . . . would you mind dropping the flap on the other side of the canopy? The sun’s hitting me in the eye.”

  “Sure.”

  Huh. She and the anthropologist were on a first-name basis? Must have happened while he was on the phone.

  Maybe he could join that cozy club.

  “I’ll be in touch, Chief Grant.” He reached up to tighten the tie he’d loosened as the temperature climbed. “And just call me Mac from now on. I’m not into formalities.”

  “Okay.”

  No reciprocal sentiment.

  Swallowing past his surprisingly strong disappointment, he secured the knot at his throat. Then, with a dip of his head, he turned and trekked toward his car.

  Once behind the wheel, he started the engine and cranked up the air. The tinted windows gave him a chance to study Lisa Grant unobserved, and he took full advantage of the opportunity.

  She’d moved to the shade of a nearby tree, but her attention remained fixed on the ground under the canopy as she paced and talked on the phone. Was she trying to line up reinforcements for the late shift? If so, would she succeed—or would she take one of the spots herself, forgoing sleep for another night and losing the color she’d regained after her nap?

  More to the point—why should he care?

  He didn’t have a clue.

  Shifting the car into drive, he eased down the bumpy construction road. He ought to put the independent police chief out of his mind and worry more about the job at hand. An armed robbery deserved his full attention, no matter the victim’s status in the community.

  Nevertheless, he found himself stealing a final glance at the slender woman in the distance.

  And looking forward to seeing her again—sooner rather than later.

  “I think we may have a full skeleton here.”

  As Barbara called out that update, Lisa left the shade of a towering oak tree and approached the edge of the excavation area. The anthropologist had been hard at work since Mac McGregor left four hours ago, and given that she seemed to prefer the feed coming through her ear buds to conversation, Lisa had kept her distance. Having people watch over your shoulder as you worked was no fun. Been there, done that.

  She’d passed that same instruction on to Craig when he’d come to relieve her while she interviewed the previous owners of the property.

  Besides, the woman was a pro, moving back and forth between excavation and photography, documenting every step she was taking. No reason to get in her way.

  Barbara rose from her kneeling position and arched her back as Lisa peered at the ground under the canopy. The woman had rearranged a fair amount of dirt—but it all looked like plain dirt to her.

  “You’re obviously seeing something I’m not.”

  “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.” The woman flashed her a smile, then lowered herself back to her knees and pointed a gloved finger at an area about eighteen inches below the skull. “That’s a rib poking up through the tree roots.”

  If she squinted, Lisa could make out an arched, dirt-darkened object protruding above a fibrous root. Sort of.

  “Yeah. I see it—I think.”

  “It’s there. Trust me. Even though the skull is out of position, the relationship is close enough to suggest we may have an intact skeleton. I don’t usually get this lucky.”

  “Can you tell anything else yet?”

  Barbara lifted her arm and wiped her forehead on the sleeve of her T-shirt. “I don’t like to make conjectures in the field; lab and X-ray results are much more reliable.”

  “I won’t hold you to anything.”

  The woman considered her. “And I’ll hold you to that.” She stood again, once more stretching her back and swiveling her head. “First observation: based on cranial development and rib morphology, you have an adult. Second observation: as I was working around the skull I noticed a depressed area in the right parietal bone.”

  “Blunt force trauma.”

  “Yes.”

  Adding blunt force trauma to the wooded location and shallow grave gave credence to her earlier conclusion.

  This was a crime scene.

  “I had a feeling you’d find something like that.”

  “There could be more once I get into the lab and give these bones a thorough cleaning.” Barbara stepped back from her work site and motioned toward a small cooler as she removed her surgical mask. “I’m going to break for a soda. Can I offer you one?”

  Lisa hefted her bottle of water. “I’ll stick with this, thanks. But I’ll keep you company, if you like.” And maybe ask a few questions about a certain detective named McGregor. The one with the bare ring finger.

  Yeah, yeah, she’d noticed.

  But a ring-check was standard operating procedure for most single women when they met a good-looking guy, after all. And McGregor was more than good-looking.

  How had a man who appeared to be in his thirties, with all his obvious assets, managed to escape a walk down the aisle?

  There had to be a story there, and the detective in her wanted to know—as did the woman, much as she hated to admit it. Mixing business and pleasure had always been a no-no. Still was.

  But what could it hurt to ask a few questions?

  “Some company would be nice. I prefer music while I work unless I’ve got an intern with me, but I like to exercise my vocal cords on breaks since my clients don’t talk much.”

  Lisa’s lips flexed. Cute. No doubt it paid to have a sense of humor in the type of work Barbara did. “There are days I wish I had that problem.”

  “I’ll bet.” Barbara extracted a Coke from the cooler.

  “So what kind of music do you listen to?”

  “Would you believe Grateful Dead?”

  Lisa eyed her. Was that a joke?

  “I’m not kidding. Weird, isn’t it? Kind of like an exterminator listening to the Beatles or a carpenter listening to—who else?—the Carpenters. What can I say? But I also throw in a little Garth Brooks to mix things up. Here’s to the oldies but goodies.” She lifted her can in salute, then motioned toward the shady base of the oak tree where Lisa had spent the past couple of hours. “That spot has my name on it.”

  Lisa followed her over, propping a shoulder against an idle Bobcat while Barbara sat with her back braced against the trunk of the tree and downed half the soda in several long gulps.

  “Mmm. That hit the spot.” She stretched out her legs and crossed her ankles. “I love my job, but summer fieldwork in St. Louis can be brutal—as I’m sure you know.”

  “I grew up here. I’m used to the heat. But I’ll admit it took me a while to readjust after a decade in Chicago.”

  “Nice town, Chicago.”

  “It has its good points—not that I saw many of them in my work.”

  “Mac said the same about Norfolk.”

  The perfect opening.

  “He mentioned earlier that’s where he’s from.” She tried for a shoot-the-breeze tone.

  “I don’t know about from, as in born there, but that’s where he spent the past two years.”

  A short-termer with the Norfolk PD. Interesting. Once cops landed a spot in a big-city department, they tended to stay put and move up through the ranks.

  Of course, she’d been the exception to that rule too.

  “I didn’t realize he was there such a short
time.” She swiped at a bead of sweat on her temple.

  “Apparently one of his SEAL buddies on the force here convinced him to jump ship and relocate to our fair city last month.”

  Mac was an ex–Navy SEAL?

  Impressive.

  “He seems like a good guy.” Barbara took another swig of soda, watching her.

  Was that an amused glint in her eyes?

  Lisa slipped her sunglasses back on. “That wouldn’t surprise me. From what I’ve seen, County hires the best. I can’t comment on McGregor, though. We just met today.”

  “Same here. But I got positive vibes.”

  Plus a whole lot more information than she had.

  Then again, she hadn’t exactly been Miss Congeniality.

  “Well, back to work for me.” Barbara drained the can and stood. “I’m going to take advantage of the dry weather and stick with this until about seven. The forecast calls for rain tomorrow afternoon, so I’d like to wrap up by noon.”

  “Let me know if I can assist in any way.”

  “I’ve got an intern coming tomorrow to help remove and package the bones, and that will speed things up. As long as you keep this spot secure, I’ll be happy.”

  “My number one priority.”

  With a nod, Barbara returned to the canopy. After slipping the mask back on, she popped the buds in her ears and retook her place next to the emerging skeleton with her trowel and brushes and the other tools of her trade.

  Lisa’s cell began to vibrate, and she shifted into a more comfortable position against the Bobcat, reading the display before putting the phone to her ear. “Hi, Mom.”

  “Hi to you too. Guess who I saw on the noon news?”

  Great.

  “We had a bit of excitement out here.”

  “Sounds like it. You looked pale.”

  Her mother wanted to talk about her, not the bones—surprise, surprise.

  Not.

  “I’m fine. Just a little shy on sleep.”

  “You need to take care of yourself.”

  “I do.” Usually.

  “Did you eat lunch?”

  “Next on my agenda.” The minute Craig got here to relieve her.

  “Don’t skip meals.”

  “I know the drill.”

  “You work too hard.”

  “Not as hard as I used to.”

  “Considering the hours you put in now, I don’t even want to think about your schedule in Chicago.” A sigh came over the line. “I worry about you, you know.”

  “I know. But there’s no need. Spend your worry on those darling babies in the neonatal ward.”

  “They get lots of TLC—but I always have enough to spare for you and your sister.”

  Lisa watched a robin swoop onto the branch of a nearby pine tree as several hatchlings craned their necks for lunch.

  “I appreciate that, Mom. Why do you think I came home instead of taking that job in Kentucky?”

  “Trust me, I love having you close at hand—even though I still don’t see all that much of you. I wouldn’t mind if I thought you spent a few hours each week socializing with people your own age, but near as I can tell, that’s not happening. How do you ever expect to find Mr. Right if you don’t look?”

  An image of Mac McGregor flashed through her mind.

  Frowning, she erased it.

  “I lead a busy life, and finding the right guy takes time. It’ll happen if it’s supposed to. I’ve put it in God’s hands.”

  “You can’t expect him to do all the work, honey. God helps those who help themselves and all that.”

  “I think I’ve heard that once or twice.”

  “Then I won’t repeat it again—at least not today. So what’s happening with these bones you found? Sounds macabre.”

  “Not really.” She glanced toward Barbara, who was once more bent over her task. “They’ve been in the ground a while, as far as I can tell. It’s definitely not a body that’s only a week or two old.”

  “I am not going to visualize what that would look like.”

  “Smart move.”

  “Have you been there all day?”

  “Except for a couple of hours. It’s a crime scene until we rule out foul play.” Which wasn’t going to happen, based on the facts so far.

  “Are you still coming over Wednesday?”

  Right. Their standing dinner date.

  “Shouldn’t be a problem. The anthropologist hopes to finish by tomorrow.”

  “I’ll let you get back to work then. Do you think you’ll be able to identify that poor soul you found?”

  “Depends on what kind of clues the anthropologist unearths and the insights the ME offers. But I intend to give it my best shot.”

  “That means more twelve hour days, I bet.”

  “Nope. That was in my workaholic days.”

  “Past tense?”

  “Hey, I’m getting there. Now that I’ve settled into the job, I do have a life away from the office.”

  “A solo one.”

  They were back to that.

  “I hate to run, but work is calling. We’ll talk Wednesday.”

  “Not about this, I bet.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about at the moment—but when there is, I promise you’ll be the first to know. Gotta run.”

  Ending the call, Lisa let out a slow breath. She loved her mother. Stephanie Grant was a kind, caring, nurturing woman who’d always put the welfare of her family above her own needs. Who’d waited until her children had grown and her husband had passed away to go back to the nursing career she loved. She was selflessness incarnate.

  And that was the problem. No matter how hard she tried, Lisa knew she could never live up to that example. She wasn’t wired the same as her mother. The homemaker-supreme gene had gone to her sister, with her perfect husband, perfect son and daughter, and home-based sewing business. Like their mother, she’d arranged her life to put family first.

  But how did you do that when you had a career in law enforcement? Crime didn’t stop just because it was someone’s birthday or dance recital or soccer tournament. Her sister could defer a sewing project; she couldn’t defer a robbery or assault investigation.

  Lisa sighed. Someday, if fate was kind, perhaps her juggling act would include a husband and children. But finding a man who was willing to work with her to create a life that encompassed both the demanding career she’d chosen and a family was a challenge.

  As the phone vibrated again and Craig’s name popped up on the screen, her thoughts once more strayed to Mac McGregor. If anyone could figure out how to deal with multiple priorities, it was a Navy SEAL.

  And what in the world did that have to do with anything?

  You know what it has to do with, Lisa. The guy’s attractive, appealing . . . and single.

  She blew out a breath and jabbed at the talk button. Fine. But even if the idea of getting to know him did hold some appeal, he was a colleague. Off-limits.

  Yet as she greeted Craig, she couldn’t quell the surge of longing that swept over her—nor the wish that she’d met the tall detective under different circumstances.

  Because Barbara was right.

  He seemed like a good guy.

  3

  It’s about time you got here.” Mac shot Mitch Morgan a disgruntled look as his fellow detective joined him in the backyard of the upscale house where the armed robbery had occurred.

  “Sorry. I got redirected to a possible kidnapping while I was on my way here. All ended well, though. The kid just wandered off.” He surveyed the impeccably landscaped yard that featured a slate terrace, swimming pool, and waterfall. “This cost some big bucks.”

  “And big bucks were what our guy was after.”

  “What happened?”

  “The owner was sunbathing over there.” Mac pointed toward a lounge chair. “A masked guy came out of nowhere, aimed a gun at her, forced her inside, made her open the safe, and took off with an estimated quarter of a million dollars in
jewelry.”

  Mitch let out a low whistle. “Big bucks is right. Was there an assault?”

  “No.”

  “One plus, at least.” He inspected the corners of the house and yard. Zeroed in on a security camera attached to a tree.

  “I already asked.” Mac spoke before his colleague could voice the question. “She turned it off before she came outside. Didn’t want anyone watching her sunbathe.”

  “Too bad. That would have made our job a whole lot easier. I assume you already spoke to the victim?”

  “I had plenty of time while I waited for you.”

  “Hey—I just follow orders. What did she have to say?”

  Mac filled him in, using the rapid-fire briefing style they’d both perfected as SEALs. Once he finished and they’d divvied up next steps, he closed his notebook and moved to the next item on his agenda. “I had an interesting experience earlier today.”

  “Yeah?” Mitch was giving the yard another once-over.

  “When I mentioned my assignment after I ran into you in the parking lot this morning, you neglected to offer a few pertinent details. One in particular.”

  Mitch smirked at him. “You met Chief Grant.”

  “Yes. Chief Lisa Grant. Might have been nice to be prepared for that.”

  “You have a bias against women police chiefs?”

  “That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

  “Then what’s the problem?”

  Mac folded his arms. “Can the innocent act. It doesn’t suit you.”

  “Let’s see . . .” Mitch pretended to consider. “Could you be referring to the fact that she’s hot?”

  “That’s one way to put it.”

  “Can you think of a better way?”

  At his colleague’s unrepentant grin, Mac narrowed his eyes. “I bet Alison wouldn’t appreciate that assessment. She’s practically still a bride.”

  “Chief Grant is hot; Alison sizzles. Trust me, my wife knows that her place in my life—and my heart—is secure. But a guy would have to be blind not to notice Lisa Grant’s assets. A normal guy, anyway. Congratulations. You passed the test.”

  “Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Mac fiddled with the cell on his belt, preparing to fish. “She seems capable.”