When Riley awoke later, he was standing fully dressed by the window of his drab motel room. She came up behind him, pressing her full breasts against his back. His body responded immediately to her and he wanted to lean back, savor her touch, and go back to bed. But guilt shuddered through him as he glanced at his ring finger, which still bore the faint tan lines of the wedding band he’d worn for a decade.

Instead of loving Riley, he found himself resenting her vibrant health. She was full of life, and Karen was dead. And in the hours they’d been together, he’d forgotten about Karen and cared only about Riley and himself. How could he so easily abandon precious memories of a woman he’d cherished?

Unable to face Riley, he told her to leave. He had work, he said. He could sense the tension and confusion rippling through her body. She lingered another beat as if hoping she’d heard him wrong.

“Are you sure?” she whispered.

“Yeah.”

She drew away, detecting the cut underscoring the words. Without any discussion, she reached for her clothes. He heard the jerk of jeans sliding up over her long legs and her rooting for the shirt and boots.

“I don’t know why, but I thought this was more than a casual hookup.” Under the formal tone simmered sadness. “I thought we had something,” she said in a controlled, clear voice.

He dared a glance at her and saw raw pain glistening in her eyes. “I can’t do this.”

She didn’t beg, plead, or make a case for them. A shrug of her shoulders and she tugged on her boots. “Right.”

That was the last time he’d seen her until yesterday on the mountain.

Bowman wasn’t sure why he’d tracked Riley to her home. She sure didn’t need his help after the stunt he’d pulled at Quantico five years ago. She owned a home and had one hell of a job and a life. She had her shit together better than him.

And yet, here he stood in the shadows craving what he’d recklessly tossed away.

CHAPTER THREE

Tuesday, September 13, 2:00 p.m.

A body had been found in a field. Riley had received the radio call fifteen minutes ago. The dispatcher didn’t have much more information, noting the caller sounded distraught.

Her lights flashing, she nosed her state police SUV onto the shoulder behind an old red Chevy pickup truck. She was the first officer at the scene.

She glanced in the rearview mirror at an alert Cooper. “Ready?” He thumped his tail and barked. Yesterday’s chase had left her with slightly sunburned skin and briar scrapes, but she was good for duty today.

Out of the car, she glanced back toward the off-ramp leading from I-95. With no traffic approaching, she went to the passenger-side back door and hooked Cooper’s tracking line. “Come on, boy, let’s go to work.”

Pulling her shoulders back, she settled her cap on her head and searched the truck for signs of the man who called in the report. To leave fingerprints and physical proof of contact, she touched the tailgate and rooftop with her hand, then peered in the driver’s-side window. Seeing no signs of him, she and Cooper moved toward the scrub of trees bordering the roadside.

Beyond the trees was a field filled with tall grass. A flicker of plaid and denim flashed to her right and she turned, hand on her weapon. An older man with a thick shock of white hair moved toward her, his shoulders stooped and his eyes wide with worry. A short, scruffy beard covered his angled jaw.

“About time,” he said. “I called a half hour ago.”

“I’m Trooper Tatum. Can you tell me what you found?” Cooper sat next to her, staring with a keen gaze at the man.

“Like I told the lady on the phone,” he said, stealing looks at the dog, “I found a body. Jesus, scared the life out of me.”

She fished a small notebook and pencil from her back pocket. “What’s your name, sir?”

“Russell Hudson. I manage and own all the land on this stretch of road. I live off Route 602 about two miles from here.”

She recorded his name and address. “What were you doing out here today?”

“I’m leasing the field to a promoter. A music festival is coming to the area in two weeks. I was fixing to cut the field with my tractor, but wanted to walk the land first.”

“And that’s when you found a body?”

“Yeah. I saw a flicker of white by the trees over there and went to check it out. The dead girl is leaning against the tree trunk.” He pointed to a tall oak. “I can show you.”

She pressed the radio button mounted on her vest and relayed her position. Dispatch confirmed the sheriff’s deputy was en route. “Let’s have a look, Mr. Hudson.”

They moved through the thick grass until they came to a tree centered in a small clearing. At the base of the tree was the body of a young woman. Her head was slumped forward, sending long dark hair cascading over her face and breasts. Her neatly manicured hands rested in her lap, making her look almost polite, demure.

“Shit, the sight of her still makes me sick. I’ll never forget this. I saw dead bodies when I was in the navy, but it was never a girl like this.”

“Have you touched her or moved her in any way?”

He held up bent hands. “Hell, no. I’m not going near that.”

“Stay here.”

“Suits me fine.”

Riley tugged on latex gloves, moving through the brush with Cooper. A sick, sweet scent wafted around her, a harbinger of the pungent scent of decomposition.

She knelt and touched the girl’s wrist. Cold, stiff, and no pulse. By her looks she was young, not more than twenty. Faded jeans skimmed over slim hips and a peasant blouse clung to full breasts. There were no signs of trauma to the body, but as much as Riley wanted to tip back the cascade of hair and search for a cause of death, she’d leave that for the forensic team.

Rising, she clicked her radio on. “This is Trooper Tatum. I have visual on a young female victim. You can check with county, but I’m sure they’ll need the state lab to do the forensic collection.” She patrolled in a small rural county policed by a handful of deputies. They had the capability of collecting some forensic data, but a case like this would require more support.

She and Cooper walked back toward Mr. Hudson. “Do you have any idea who this girl might be?”

“Never saw her.”

“Have you seen anyone else in this area since you arrived?”

“Nope, just me.”

“When’s the last time you were on the land?”

Hudson scratched his gray beard on his chin. “Two or three days ago, and I didn’t see her.”

“You’re sure?”

“Damn straight. I wouldn’t miss that.” He rubbed his eyes as if trying to erase the girl’s image. “This is the last problem I expected.”

“Have you noticed any unfamiliar cars in the area?”

“No. Business as usual.”

Long stretches of desolate country road didn’t mean traffic went unnoticed. Someone usually saw something.

He pulled a handkerchief and wiped his brow with fingers bent of age and arthritis. “Do you mind if I get out of here? Seeing her gives me the creeps.”

“Mr. Hudson, I’d like you to wait in your truck for a little bit longer. The local deputies might have questions for you.”

“I’ve got work.” He shook his head. “I’m counting on the money from the lease of the land. This contract will settle a lot of bills.”

“Yes, sir, I understand. But you need to wait.”

“How long do you think it’ll be before I can cut this grass?”

“I don’t know, sir, but you need to wait.”

He shook his head again. “Jesus H. Christ. What a mess.”

“Yes, sir.”

As he slid into his truck, a sheriff’s deputy arrived, nudging behind her SUV.

The responding deputy rose out of his car and settled his hat on his head. Riley recognized Deputy Harris DuPont’s tall, lanky frame. They’d crossed paths over the years, and each time he made it clear he

didn’t like outsiders in his jurisdiction.

DuPont paused at the red truck to talk to Mr. Hudson. He laughed, touched the brim of his hat before settling his gaze on Riley.

As DuPont approached her, she adjusted her sunglasses, determined to make nice. “Harris, been a while. Molly and the baby doing well?”

He cleared his throat, his gaze skimming over her. A shake of his head betrayed disapproval. “They’re both fine.”

“Good to hear.”

“Saw you and your dog on the news. You’re the popular one.” An edge lurked under his tone.

Absently, she tapped her finger on her gun belt. “Won’t be long before we’re yesterday’s news.”

Tags: Mary Burton The Forgotten Files Thriller
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