"Number six?" He heard Drew breathing behind him, his voice still shaky causing him to clear his throat. "Who? I haven't heard of anyone missing."
"More like number one, or maybe even number two." Nathan set the folder on the file cabinet beside the door. "Our boy is a few weeks raw. His ID still in his pocket, fingers and tongue gone, not as many carvings, a couple of the same, but it's hard to tell after two weeks of being animal chow. He came up missing in Georgia. He and another man. Georgia State Police found the other one last week. In Georgia."
"Shit." He heard Drew shuffle behind him, heard the sound of material shifting, followed by a footstep then a second.
"It's your case now. I don't want it anymore." Nathan turned the lock and let himself out into the hallway where he came face to face with his sister. The expression on her face almost made him laugh.
"I heard shouting," she said softly, her eyes shifting to the man behind him and then hurriedly back to him. "What's going on, Nathan?"
"I have to go, Nat. I've got something to take care of." He couldn't stop to reassure her. The look in her eyes said she knew. Shit, it was uncanny how she knew too much about him. She'd known about how Walker felt about him and kept it from him. She was his goddamned sister, he loved her, but right now he had to get away from her. He had to get away from Walker before he did something stupid. Like take him back into that office and give him what he wanted.
"Nathan?" It wasn't her voice. He stopped at the lobby door, and against his better judgment, he looked back. Drew leaned against the wall as if he couldn't support himself. The look in Drew's dark eyes nearly devastated him. "I'm sorry it turned out this way."
Nathan saw the workers standing in the hallway. He knew that Drew would never have their trust again. He'd cost him that. "I am too," he said, pushing the door open and stepping out into the bright sunlight. For some reason he didn't understand, he turned back to him. "Good hunting, Agent Walker."
"Good hunting, Captain Truman," came the reply.
"I won't need it. Quinn and I are leaving for the Keys tonight."
"Then this is goodbye."
"Yeah, I guess it is."
Nathan walked away, letting the door close behind him. The heat of the afternoon washed over him. God, he loved the summer. But a chill settled over him that banished the warmth and made him shiver. He shrugged it off. It was over. He couldn't change what happened. Yeah, how many times would he need to tell himself that to make it true?
How many lies would he tell himself before the cold in his soul vanished?
There weren't enough lies in the universe to save his damned soul.
Chapter Seven
Quinn Anders was a lucky, lucky man. His life was perfect: a career other people would kill for; he was financially secure for the rest of his life; hell, he was financially secure for the rest of his grandchildren's lives. And the thought that he would one day be a grandfather somehow thrilled him. Of course, that event was so far off in the future he couldn't even begin to imagine it. His baby was about to turn five. There was plenty of time left before he was rocking on the porch with his teeth in a jar and an old dog keeping his feet warm. He still had to survive her teen years. And that scared the hell out of him. Oh, Lord, Emma at sixteen-he could feel the gray hairs popping out just thinking about it.
The family that had more or less adopted him made him happy, the bickering siblings he never had. The loving parents he'd lost come alive once more in Nathan's family. God, and then there was Nathan himself. Nate. His Nate, his lover, his mate, his reason for being, all rolled into one huge package of quicksilver moods and incredible passion.
Quinn lingered on the edge of sleep, his body heavy, languid-so languid he was damn near paralyzed from a night of incredible lovemaking. Nate lay beside him, his body still warm, his breathing slow, almost too slow.
The day had started out with Nate leaving on an early call; another body had turned up in a drainage ditch behind the Cromwell's barn. The Cromwells weren't farmers; they were rich people from up north somewhere who, on a lark, decided to move to nowhere-Tennessee and start one of those mini-ranch things. But the work involved and the smell of animals that were so cute on television but not so much up close forced them to admit defeat; but they kept the property, visiting it every couple of months. At least that's what Nathan had told him as he dressed this morning. Short story: The Cromwells were back, and all was not well.