I’ll have her to myself while Matt is in Pennsylvania for the next few days. I keep telling myself that’s enough for the moment. To have that time and her attention, but deep down I feel an ultimatum coming. If not from me, from Matt… or that creepy fuck X who has a connection to her. Caleb cares for her, but I wonder if it’s more friendship than attraction. Keir’s mental health may be insurmountable. Because as much as I want to imagine a way for us to live co-existing, I can’t quite picture it. Doesn’t she want to marry someone, have a family? How would that ever work?
Flushed face and an unmistakable glow radiate from Eden when I catch sight of her leaving her bedroom with a robe thrown on. “Were you talking to Caleb?” She bites at her lip and gives me a sheepish smile.
“Mhmm. Just doing the Lord’s work.” I wink at her. I’d love to tackle her where she stands, but I don’t want to come on too strong.
“He’s going back, isn’t he?” The smile drops from her face. “That scares me to death.” Her voice trembles towards the end of her statement. “You tried to talk him into coming here, right?”
I nod and walk to where she stands outside my room. She’s fucking intoxicating. Her blonde tresses are in a messy bun on her head, her face bare of any makeup, and that plump bottom lip being chewed on. It’s like a naughty carrot. I wrap my arms around her and lay my cheek on top of her head. She fits around me like we were made to hold each other. “It’s a no go. He’s determined to go back because he thinks he’s needed there. He prayed on it and everything.” I’m not trying to mock him, but the last bit is said that way.
“Well… then I’ve made up my mind. I’m not leaving the graduate study. If he has the courage to go back, I’m not running away.” Nope. I hate that idea with every ounce of me. In fact if I could encase her in bubble wrap and hide her away I would.
“Okkaayyy. Let me just point out that he has significantly impaired self-awareness. Always has. You on the other hand, know what evil some people are capable of, and you’ve had to live through that before. Why would you want to put yourself in danger that way?” The irony is that I know her self-awareness is lacking to a point, too. She was letting someone strangle her for a good time. She won’t listen to reason about her own mental health. Fuck, my argument is lacking on merit.
“B, I want to finish what I started. It’s just a couple more weeks. We can watch each other’s backs.” She runs her hand down my chest stopping right at my waistline. My impulse is to drag it lower, but this talk is too weighty to pull away from right now for pleasure.
“I want you to check in with me constantly. Don’t go anywhere with only one other person, stay in groups. Or if possible, keep Caleb in the vicinity. No opened drinks or food… Fuck, I hate this. I really do.” Her sweet kiss to my chest and her reassurances aren’t stopping that feeling of dread blanketing me. I came too close to losing her, and she is jumping right back into the fire.
17. LUKE/MATT
When Agent Anderson retired a few years ago, the Lassiter girls’ disappearances were filed away in the archives as a cold case. He told his field office partners it was the regret of his career, not finding answers for their parents. The Lassiter’s publicly ridiculed the FBI for mishandling the case, catering to the politically ambitious Hutton family. The problem that Anderson faced was the lack of cooperation. From everyone they tried to interview at the time. No one wanted to talk. Over two decades later, I’m hoping something has changed. Someone may want to be heard now.
Taking the opulent circular drive past multi-million-dollar homes that dot the landscape, I wind my way towards the Bradfords’ home. I’m hoping to find them still living at the address on file. Rafferty Bradford’s parents were willing to reconnect with Anderson after Rafferty killed himself, but for some reason that meeting never happened. Or was not documented. I’ve chewed more than a couple antacid tablets as my mind races with all the questions I have for them. These interviews are crucial. If I say the wrong thing, I won’t get any further than the original investigation did.
I park on the street and walk up the brick driveway to a more modest looking brick faced single level home with a well-kept yard. The sprinklers are on, and the garage door open with a Cadillac sedan and a BMW crossover SUV sitting inside. I take a deep breath and smooth my shirt down.
A blonde woman with graying hair and a deeply lined pleasant face comes to the door after the doorbell chimes ring out. She pauses looking through the ornate glass door at me, before slowly pulling the door open. “Can I help you?”
“I hope so. I’m Agent Scholl with the FBI.” I show her my badge and she twists at the kitchen towel in her hands. “I’m looking for Roger and Katherine Bradford.” She looks over her shoulder and then back down at the badge in my outstretched hand.
“Roger?!” the woman calls out behind her. She turns back to me. “The FBI?” She nods and says something under her breath. “Roger?” Still standing sentry at the door and I’m not sure if she’s going to let me inside.
A man about the same age as the woman shuffles up behind her with bifocals perched on his nose. “What Kath?” He notices me and gives me a questioning look.
“Look who’s finally made a visit.” Her tone slightly biting. “Almost sixteen years too late.” I blow out the breath I didn’t even realize I was holding. Roger shakes his head and frowns at me.
“We’ve reopened an investigation and I was hoping I might speak to both of you.” I clear my throat. “Do you have a few minutes to speak with me?”
“Oh, by all means,” Katherine Bradford says sarcastically as she holds the door open and waves her arm for me to enter. “Let’s chat.” I follow her through an immaculate home with a lived-in feeling. Pictures of family on the walls, house plants, comfortable barely worn furniture. Roger returns to his recliner and the baseball game he was watching.
I pull out one of the oversized oak dining room chairs with an upholstered seat and sit down. “Thank you.” I nod at her. “I’ll be recording this on my phone if that’s okay with you?”
Katherine pulls two coffee mugs out of a cupboard and without even asking pours me a cup. “Do you take anything with your coffee?” she asks me, continuing, “We don’t drink that fancy flavored stuff here.” I shake my head at her.
Roger shifts in his chair and says loudly, “Kath, we shouldn’t talk to them. Remember how well that went last time. Is this even legal? Them poking around again?”
“Well, it’d be illegalnotto talk to him. I have a lot to say.” She pulls a seat out in front of me and adjusts the light blue linen summer dress she’s wearing as she situates herself. “What case has been reopened?” Blowing on her hot coffee, she sets the towel that she’s been holding with a white knuckled grip down next to her.
I’m almost afraid to tell her. “The Lassiter girls’ disappearances.” Roger grunts behind me and Katherine’s hand slaps the table sloshing her coffee over the side.
“Oh, of course it is. Not the investigation into Rafferty’s murder.” Her lips thin as she looks at Roger. “It’s no use, is it?”
“Kath, I’ve told you over and over again. No one believes that Rafe was killed. That other Agent didn’t listen to a word we said on the matter.” Roger gets up and makes his way to the table to sit next to his agitated wife.
I take a beat. Murder? To my knowledge there was never a federal investigation into Rafferty Bradford’s death at all. “I can’t compel you to do this interview. If you’d like me to leave, I can do that.” This was what I was afraid of. I didn’t want to reopen old wounds, but that’s clearly what I’ve done.
Katherine wipes her coffee mess up and regards me with a resigned look. “You’re here. We may as well get on with it.” Roger curmudgeonly crosses his arms and fixes me with a less than thrilled look.
Starting the recorder on my phone, I take a sip of coffee and point the pen in my hand towards the portrait sized photograph on the mantle of Katherine and Roger with their three kids, Rafe, and an older and younger daughter. “You have two daughters?”
