Chapter 3: Dangerous Attractions
FBI Agent Sarah Mitchell pushed through the glass doors of the Millbrook Police Department, her badge already in hand. Chief Bobby Mason looked up from his desk with the expression of a man who'd been expecting bad news.
"Agent Mitchell, FBI. I'm here about the cold cases we discussed on the phone."
"Right, the missing persons from the nineties." Mason's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Don't know what help I can be. Those cases went nowhere fast."
"That's exactly why I'm here. Sometimes fresh eyes help."
"After twenty-five years? Seems like a waste of federal resources."
Sarah sat down uninvited. "Three young women disappearing from the same location over three years isn't random, Chief. It's a pattern."
"Could be coincidence."
"Could be. Or it could be connected to your recent murder and arson cases."
Mason's jaw tightened. "Those cases are solved. We got the perpetrators."
"Really? Because from what I've read, your evidence is pretty thin."
"Thin enough for convictions."
"Is that what passes for justice in Millbrook?"
Mason stood up. "Agent Mitchell, I've been doing this job for thirty years. I don't need some federal agent coming in here telling me how to run my department."
"Then maybe you can explain why all three missing women were last seen near the textile mill, and why that same mill just happened to burn down a week after Emma Caldwell was murdered there."
"That mill's been trouble for decades. Always attracting the wrong kind of people."
"What kind of people?"
Mason's phone rang, saving him from answering. "We'll have to continue this later, Agent. I've got real police work to do."
Sarah found Marcus Kane at the courthouse, emerging from a meeting with the prosecutor. He was exactly what she'd expected from his reputation—expensive suit, confident stride, the kind of lawyer who probably charged more per hour than most people made in a week.
"Mr. Kane? Agent Sarah Mitchell, FBI."
Marcus turned, and Sarah felt an unexpected jolt of attraction. He was younger than she'd imagined, with dark eyes that seemed to see everything.
"FBI? What brings federal law enforcement to our little courthouse?"
"Cold cases. Missing persons from the nineties."
"And that involves me how?"
"Your clients, Danny Russo and Jake Thompson. Their cases might be connected to disappearances from twenty-five years ago."
Marcus studied her face. "You think someone's been killing people for twenty-five years?"
"I think someone's been very good at making people disappear. Until now."
"Why now?"
"Because Emma Caldwell started asking questions. And questions make killers nervous."
Marcus was quiet for a moment. "You know, Agent Mitchell, yesterday I was planning to take plea deals and go back to Atlanta."
"What changed your mind?"
"Someone called me last night. Told me to take those pleas and leave town."
"Did you recognize the voice?"
"No. But threats have a way of making me stubborn."
Sarah smiled despite herself. "Good. Because I could use a local lawyer who doesn't scare easily."
"Are you asking me to work with the FBI?"
"I'm asking you to help me find the truth. Your father was investigating these disappearances before he died."
Marcus's expression shifted. "How do you know that?"
"Because his name's all over my cold case files."
They sat in Marcus's father's study as evening shadows lengthened across the room. Case files covered every surface, creating a timeline of disappearance and death spanning decades.
"Lisa Martinez, nineteen. Jennifer Walsh, twenty. Maria Santos, eighteen." Sarah pointed to each photograph. "All mill workers. All vanished without a trace."
"And now Emma Caldwell, murdered at the same mill."
"Plus Jake Thompson charged with burning it down. Someone really doesn't want that place investigated."
Marcus poured bourbon into two glasses. "Why did you become an FBI agent?"
Sarah accepted the drink. "Personal reasons."
"Which are?"
She hesitated, then said, "My sister disappeared fifteen years ago. Similar circumstances. Young woman, worked late shifts, vanished one night."
"I'm sorry."
"The local police said she probably ran away. Case went cold within months."
"But you didn't believe it."
"Amy was twenty-two, engaged, planning her wedding. She didn't run away." Sarah's voice hardened. "She was taken."
Marcus reached across the desk, and their hands brushed as he touched the photograph of Maria Santos. The contact sent electricity through Sarah's arm.
"Why did you really leave Millbrook?" she asked.
"Because I discovered my father was involved in something I couldn't understand. Something that scared him."
"What kind of something?"
"I was twenty-two, fresh out of law school. Found some files in his office about missing women. When I asked about it, he told me to forget what I'd seen."
"Did you?"
"I tried. But when I kept pushing, he told me some secrets were too dangerous to know."
"So you left."
"I ran. Told myself I was taking a stand for justice, but really I was just a coward."
Sarah studied his face in the lamplight. "You came back."
"Someone has to stop this."
They worked in comfortable silence for another hour, occasionally brushing hands as they reached for files, the attraction between them building with each accidental touch.
"It's late," Sarah finally said, standing to leave.
Marcus caught her hand. "Sarah."
The kiss that followed was inevitable, hungry, desperate. All the tension of the day, the danger surrounding them, the recognition that they were both fighting the same fight—it all crystallized in that moment.
"This complicates things," Sarah whispered against his lips.
"Everything's already complicated."
They moved to the leather couch, years of loneliness and professional distance dissolving. Sarah had spent so long being the competent federal agent that she'd forgotten what it felt like to be vulnerable with someone.
"We shouldn't," she said, even as her hands found the buttons of his shirt.
"Probably not."
But they did anyway, finding solace in each other amid the dark secrets surrounding them. It was passionate but tender, two people recognizing in each other the same fierce determination to find justice, no matter the cost.
Afterward, they lay tangled together on the couch, case files scattered on the floor around them.
"What happens now?" Sarah asked.
"Now we find whoever killed those women. And we make them pay."
"And this? Us?"
Marcus traced patterns on her bare shoulder. "This is the best thing that's happened to me since I came back to this godforsaken town."
Marcus's phone rang at six AM, jarring him awake on the couch. Sarah stirred beside him as he fumbled for the device.
"Kane."
"Mr. Marcus, you need to get down here right away." Mrs. Rodriguez's voice was tight with worry.
"What's wrong?"
"The office has been broken into. They took your father's files."
Marcus sat up, fully awake. "All of them?"
"Just the ones from the safe. The missing persons cases. Everything about the mill."
Sarah was already reaching for her clothes. Her phone was buzzing with messages.
"Mrs. Rodriguez, call the police."
"Already did. They said they'd send someone when they could."
Marcus hung up and turned to Sarah. "Let me guess—your hotel room?"
"Tossed. Professional job. They even went through my luggage."
"Did they get anything important?"
"Copies of everything are in my car. You?"
"Same. Dad taught me never to keep only one copy of important documents."
Sarah finished dressing and holstered her weapon. "Someone's desperate."
"Desperate enough to break into FBI Agent's room and a lawyer's office in the same night."
"Which means we're getting close to something they don't want us to find."
Marcus pulled on his shirt. "Or someone wants us to think we're getting close."
"Either way, we've got their attention now."
"The question is, what are they planning to do about it?"
Sarah checked her weapon and gave him a look that was part professional, part personal. "Guess we'll find out."
As they left the study, neither noticed the black sedan parked across the street, or the telephoto lens pointed at the office windows.