“I am so grateful you found the man. And as for the kids... no problem,” Mary told them. “I love them, you know that. And I love being useful.”

  “Tomorrow will likely be another tough day,” Angela said.

  “And the day before Halloween, too,” Mary said. “I just hope... well, I know you were planning a nice holiday event at headquarters for those in town. And you want to take the kids trick-or-treating. I mean, a party is no big deal, but I know how you love your children.”

  “We have amazing kids, but, yes, we try to keep them out of cases as much as we can,” Jackson said. “Though we did meet and adopt Corby because of a strange case, and we’re damn lucky to have him as our son because of it. But, anyway. Mary—”

  “No matter what, I will see that the children get to wear their costumes, get to their school and daycare parties, and go trick-or-treating. Though I hope you’re able to do it with them. Of course, you do employ many great agents. Still...” She paused, then looked at Angela. “This is your case.” She shook her head. “It’s remarkable that you found a man in a tree.”

  “All of us accomplished a lot today,” Angela said.

  “And while we all know that cases can take days, weeks, and even months,” Jackson said, “we’re grateful to be moving forward. And so grateful we have you.”

  “We’re all lucky. I’m lucky, too,” Mary said.

  She left them, and Jackson suddenly realized that he was starving. “Hm. Think we have anything to eat in the kitchen?” he asked Angela.

  “I don’t know. What do possums eat?” she teased. “Or vampires. Yuck. Never mind. Let’s go back to possums.”

  “Let’s go back to people,” he said.

  “Right. Except I’m too tired to—”

  “Peanut butter sandwiches?” Jackson said and enveloped her in a hug.

  “Now there’s a plan.” She smiled and kissed him on the cheek.

  They had peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and some chips. A meal quickly prepared, eaten even faster, and filling enough for the night.

  “I wonder,” Angela said, glancing his way and pretending to be serious as she set one of their glasses in the dish drainer.

  “Yes?”

  “Are possums monogamous? Do they have loving relationships?”

  Jackson raised a brow and shrugged. “I don’t really know. We’d have to look that one up. I’m surprised you don’t already know.” He winked. “I do know one thing, though. At least about vampires.”

  “What’s that?”

  “They love to bite necks.” He prowled her way. “I mean, I guess loving vampires bite necks gently, but...”

  “No biting until the shower.” She started to back up.

  He grinned and kept stalking toward her, picking up his pace.

  “I’ll beat you in tonight.” She started toward their room.

  He ran ahead, stripping as he went, but stopped quickly to lock up his weapon.

  She was right behind him and caught hold of his waist, pushing him back and then hurrying ahead of him. He laughed, catching up as she shed the last of her clothing, secured her weapon, and stepped into the shower, turning the water on to a delightful downpour of muscle-soothing heat.

  He hopped in behind her.

  She turned to him, laughing.

  “I won.”

  “You cheated.”

  “What?”

  “Less clothing.”

  “You’re just a sore loser.”

  “You think? Just for that, I am going to bite your neck.”

  She laughed and was quickly in his arms. He teasingly nipped at her neck, then half-bit and half-kissed her shoulder. Then their mouths were all but glued together as they stood beneath the hot spray, letting the heat and the water work out the tension of the day and the soreness in them, allowing them to forget. And to want nothing more than each other.

  Jackson knew he was lucky.

  He had intense days.

  But he also had these times when love and the beauty of the night cleared the soul of the evil men could do.

  Chapter 9

  Angela knew Jackson was watching her as they drove to the hospital the following morning.

  “You’re feeling guilty about the kids?” he asked.

  “Yes, and no. I can’t help but feel that this case, this particular one, needs us. And I know we have Mary, and the kids will have a great time no matter what. It just seems to be something, somewhere, every Halloween.”

  “True. But sometimes, other agents, those without kids, get to handle the lunatics. I am the field head of this case, and I can—”

  “No, Jackson. We need to stay on it. I still can’t explain why I feel like I’m missing something at the cemetery, especially at the tomb. And even in the woods. The fellow who designed the tomb—Gervais Conte—was remarkable for his day. When he designed houses, they had primitive alarms, bells attached to doorways and windows. He had escape routes for those in mansions. Who knows what he might have built into that mausoleum?”

  “Well, we can either reach out to those with a higher paygrade and try to get a way to legally maneuver ripping up the place or try to get permission from Benjamin Robertson.”

  “We should start by asking. But I am bothered by all the bits and pieces we’re getting along this grisly trail of murder,” Angela said and turned to him. “Regardless, I think you’re right. I believe this involves drugs. Both our still-unidentified shooter in the woods and Officer Whittaker were dosed with fentanyl—either intentionally or not. Patrick was right on that, I’m certain.”

  Jackson nodded. He’d spoken with Patrick that morning. Officer Whittaker had been given an opiate laced with fentanyl. The killer—or killers—had probably assumed he would die from it and stuffed him into the trunk of the tree to rot there where no one could ever find his bones.

  “He’s come to a few times, but so far, he has no idea of what happened to him,” Jackson said. “Patrick believes as Whittaker recovers and the drugs get cleared from his system, he may start to remember. But he doesn’t know for sure. He said the last thing he remembers is watching his team on television. He has no recollection of anyone at the door or a window. He doesn’t recall hearing any noise, nothing. He was just there, and then he woke up in the hospital.”

  “What about our shooter?”

  “Still in a coma. I don’t think we’re going to be able to speak with him today, but we’ll go on in, look at both men, and make sure we’ve got agents tag-teaming to watch over them.”

  She nodded.

  He shook his head, then looked at her and smiled.

  “I remain amazed.”

  “About what?”

  “A tree. You found a man in a tree!”

  “Hey, I like documentaries. You learn all kinds of cool stuff. Oh, by the way, there’s also the internet. I did some quick reading this morning. The common ring-tailed possum is monogamous. They create their home together and look after their little ones as a couple. As for vampires, there are differing opinions, of course, but as far as I could find, and given what I’ve seen in the movies, vampires like to fool around.”

  “I guess we’re possums, then.”

  “Hm. You like to fool around.”

  “True. But only with you.”

  She grinned. “Good answer. But... I don’t know. It’s a tough call. The possums sound like loving little creatures—other than the fact that they eat insects. But they only live for a handful of years. Vampires, well, if you go by legend, they live forever.”

  “Until they get a stake in the heart.” He winked.

  An unexpected giggle escaped. “True,” Angela agreed as she smiled at him, appreciating her husband so much in times like this. Especially the levity he’d purposely brought to her worried mind.

  They reached the hospital and grew serious as they headed in. Patrick and Jordan were seated in a hallway, their position between Whittaker’s room and that of the still unknown shooter. There were police officers posted at both doors, too.

  Jordan’s head was on Patrick’s shoulder, but she seemed to shake herself awake as Jackson and Angela arrived. She stood to greet them, along with Patrick.

  “No change,” Patrick said. “But Bryan and Bruce McFadden are going to come in and relieve us. Brodie McFadden is doing a shift at the safe house now. We’ll take all the dogs back to the woods and see if we can find anything else there—or find any more of those trees that might be hiding something. The dogs will be especially helpful, though we’re all still amazed that Angela found Whittaker.”

  “Documentaries,” Jackson explained for her.

  “So I heard. Anyway, we’ll let the dogs use their expertise today. If that works with your plans, Jackson.”

  Jackson nodded. “Sounds excellent. Kat is working with our local MEs on the new victims discovered in the ground. And Will is working on identifications.” He shook his head. “Tomorrow is Halloween. I hope like hell...”

  “Yes, we all do.” Angela smiled at Jordan and then said to her and Patrick, “No matter what, you two need to get some sleep tonight. Otherwise, you’ll be worthless.”

  “By the way,” Jordan said, “Debbie apparently asks for you anytime anyone goes to the safe house, Angela. I think she sees you as her lifeline now. Understandable, since you do have a great way with people. As for the sleep... your wish is our command.”

  “How cool. It’s great to command,” Jackson said.

  Patrick laughed. “Well, you are our field supervisor. So tonight it will be nice to heed the command of sleep.”

  “There’s Marie, the charge nurse. Come on. I’ll introduce you,” Patrick said.

  They met Marie. Their shooter still could not respond, though the doctors believed they could soon bring him out of his coma.

  Officer Whittaker was in and out, but at least his condition was stable.

  “He was lucky you found him when you did, and even luckier you had a medical man on your team,” Marie told them. “You are welcome to go on in. Of course, please do not upset my patient.”

  “We promise,” Angela murmured.

  Patrick and Jordan said their goodbyes and headed out. Jackson and Angela headed into Officer Whittaker’s room.

  His eyes were closed, and he appeared to be sleeping peacefully. Angela and Jackson quietly found another chair in the room and moved it closer to the bed, setting it by the one already there.

  They sat in silence to wait, but they didn’t wait long. Whittaker soon opened his eyes. When he saw them, he frowned but then smiled.

  “Oh. You two... thank you.”

  “No, thank you,” Angela told him quickly. “Thank you for always doing your duty. And for being a survivor.”

  “Well, I survived with a little help from my friends, as I understand it,” Whittaker said. “But I’m going a little nuts. I can’t remember what happened. I asked about Debbie, but they told me she’s fine. Said she was in a panic when she couldn’t find me, but that you or one of your people got to her before she could be attacked and possibly killed. She is such a sweet young woman. Guarding her was like the job from heaven. But I failed her.”

  “We know someone took you from the house and brought you into the woods in a stolen navy-colored SUV,” Jackson told him. “And one of the men who took you is the fellow being guarded in the next room. He started shooting in the cemetery. He was so high on fentanyl-laced opiates he luckily didn’t hit anything but dirt and stone. But we believe someone was with him. Someone drove that car to where we found it. And that person left his friend behind to kill, cause a commotion, and then die—or so we think they hoped.”

  “But he’s in a coma,” Whittaker said.

  Angela nodded.

  “Medically induced. Hopefully, they’ll bring him out of it by tomorrow. From what I’ve been led to believe, you are both lucky. Fentanyl-laced drugs kill.”

  “We’re very lucky,” Whittaker said and shook his head. “It was... it was all fine. I’m not trained in any way in that kind of stuff, but I thought if I just kept talking to Debbie, she might remember something. You know, something she didn’t tell anyone yet that might be helpful. We talked about Halloween, about the lunatics that get up to no good out there on the holiday. She described the costume the guy with the bloody knife who ran into the woods wore. I just kept thinking she might think of something else. That... talking was good. I kept feeling like I was missing something. But I didn’t want to press too hard, so I said it was fine. Told her she was welcome to go on up and get her laundry folded. That I was happy to watch the game. The last thing I remember was my team scoring and then... nothing. Until I woke up here.”

  Angela turned to look at Jackson. “I think we may need to speak to everyone again. We haven’t prowled around at the cemetery’s office much—”

  “Patrick went through all their security footage. The only people we saw going in and out of the office were those we know should be there: Benjamin Robertson, Debbie, and others who have family plots or mausoleums in the cemetery,” Jackson said.

  “Still, it can’t hurt to do some more talking and digging. And we should record everything, because many ears are better than two,” Angela said.

  “Agreed.” Jackson nodded. “Jordan was right. You do have a way with people. Maybe Debbie will come up with something and feel safer with you there.” He felt his phone vibrate and glanced at it, then looked at Angela. “Bruce and Bryan are downstairs and on their way up. Owen,” he said, addressing the officer where he lay on his bed, “you know the McFadden family. We’re leaving you in good hands.”

  “Go out there and get these creeps,” Whittaker said and smiled. “I’m doing better every minute. They are even going to let my wife and kids up later, or so the doctor promised.”

  “That will be great,” Angela said. “There is no better cure than the love of our families.”

  Jackson and Angela left the room, pausing just outside until the relief agents arrived. As they headed down to the car, Angela said, “Divide and conquer?”

  “No, no, no. You’re not crawling around a tomb alone—”

  “I’m not. Patrick and the others—along with the dogs—are in the woods. You need to speak with Benjamin Robertson again and then that writer. Patrick said that when he listened to interviews, he thought those we talked to first seemed a little sketchy, as if they knew something they might not have known they knew. I’m going to let you feel all good and warm and cozy about me because I’m heading to the safe house. At least, let’s start this way. They may find something in the woods, you may get something from Robertson or Jefferson Moore. And when we’ve both had some time to talk, we’ll meet up again and figure out where to go from wherever we are then.”

  Jackson nodded. “Sounds good. I’ll drop you at the safe house. And I think I’ll ask Robertson and Moore to meet me out at the tomb. Maybe putting them together will help. Then, we’ll call someone else in, and you and I can get moving in whatever direction we find we need to go.”

  She smiled and nodded.

  He was glad to see Angela walk into the safe house, using the code and her fingerprint. As she arrived, the door cracked, and then opened. He saw that Brodie was in the house, as he’d been told. He came out, greeting Angela as she arrived, listening to her, shrugging, then heading toward the gate. He keyed himself out, reset the alarm, and walked over to Jackson.

  “Hey. She said she wanted to be alone with Debbie for an hour or so. I’ll come back, but if Angela wants to be with her, knowing Angela, I’m sure she’s after something,” Brodie said.

  “All right. If you want to come with me, I’m headed to the cemetery. I’m going to try to get Benjamin Robertson and the writer, Jefferson Moore, out there.”

  “Sure. I’ll come with you. Fresh eyes. I haven’t been out there yet. Then you can drop me off back here. I’ll take the watch until tomorrow morning.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “And Halloween’s tomorrow,” Brodie said wearily. He shook his head. “I loved Halloween when I was as kid.”

  “I’m hoping we’ll all still love it this year.”

  “We can always hope. But this is one hell of a tangle we have going here. We think we’re looking for a drug runner with special knowledge of the Robertson tomb. And we don’t think Benjamin Robertson is involved?”

  “The man puts on a good act, if that’s what this is. But that’s why I’d like to get him to the tomb with the writer.”

  “You think the author can draw out the truth about Robertson? He is supposedly an investigative journalist.”

  “Maybe. I’ll make the calls,” Jackson told him. “Patrick says every interview we’ve done has seemed a bit sketchy—either legit, or because people don’t know what they know. Anyway, he and his team have the dogs out in the woods. We’ll see what we can do at the tomb. And Angela will see if she can get anything more from Debbie.”

  “Hopefully. She didn’t seem much interested in me. She left me in the living room with the television and told me to make myself at home. Just asked me to please leave her be. Oh, but she did ask me if Angela was coming. I told her I didn’t know, but if she really wanted to see her, I was sure Angela would come by. Anyway, let’s give the others a go,” Brodie said. He angled his head thoughtfully as Jackson made his calls.

  Speaking with Robertson, Jackson made it clear that they would be looking into his family’s tomb further, with or without his permission. And that it would be extremely helpful if he came out to possibly save a lot of disruption to the tomb.

  Jackson heard the man swearing at him before the call ended.

  Calling Jefferson Moore was a bit different.

  “I can’t wait to get back in that tomb!” the man told him. “So cool.”

  “Great guy,” Brodie said sarcastically after Jackson ended the call. “Murders are taking place, but visiting a tomb sounds like great fun.”

  Jackson looked over at him. “Whatever gets him there.”

  * * * *

  “Oh, my God. You’re here! I’m so glad to see you.” Debbie Nolan hugged Angela as if she were a long lost and beloved relative.