Page 9 of Scarred By Sin

“She would have been around eighteen at the time. She chose to remain on the estate, and, as far as I understand, she's still there. Has been for the last thirty years.”

A decades-old case would almost certainly give the team a diversion.

“If the team is on board, I agree we should take it. Have Arden reach out to Jordan Miles about borrowing the plane. We'll head out in the morning after everyone's squared away. Make sure Bit and Sylvie update Arden on their cases. Status reports, pending actions, expected timelines.”

“Understood.” Theo had already begun to rise from the guest chair, the motion fluid and automatic. He hadn't taken a complete step when he stopped and turned back around. The lines around his mouth flattened into something that wasn't quite disapproval but lived in the same neighborhood.

“When you say we, do you mean...”

“Yes.” Brook had no interest in turning this into a discussion. “I'm pregnant, Theo. I'm not incoherent, unconscious, or dead.”

She probably shouldn't have tacked on that last part, given that Jacob would have preferred her six feet under, but her statement got the point across. And again, it certainly was not up for negotiation.

“If the medical examiner's first assumption is correct, then these remains have been in the ground for three decades.” Brook picked up her mug and held it between both hands. Her daily enjoyment was almost gone. “There's no active threat. There's no suspect in play. There's a crime scene that happened before one of our team members was even born, and a profile that needs to be built from whatever those bones and that soil can tell us. That's my job. That's what I do.”

Theo rubbed the back of his neck, a reliable indicator that he didn't have a solid argument against her reasoning. Just to be sure, she added to her previous point.

“And if anyone on this team,” Brook continued, her voice lowering just enough to indicate that she had reached the portion of this conversation that would not be revisited, “suggests that I am incapable of profiling an unsub from three decades ago because I happen to be eight months pregnant, they are fired. Every single one of them. Including you.”

His mouth twitched at the corners. Not quite a smile, but an acknowledgment that this hill was not worth the effort of climbing.

“Understood.”

“Good.” Brook brought the mug to her lips and took a deliberate sip. The macchiato had cooled slightly, but she would take any caffeine liquid pleasure that was left in the mug. “Go inform the others. I'd like a few minutes to enjoy my one, tiny indulgence before the day officially starts.”

4

Theo Neville

July 2026

Wednesday — 8:24 am

“Ihate to say it, but Boss is wrong.”

Theo glanced up from his tablet. He was seated on the opposite side of the plane’s aisle, his back somewhat to the window. He’d stretched his legs beneath a polished walnut table identical to the one where Bit and Sylvie sat facing each other. The interior of Jordan Miles’ private aircraft was a far cry from commercial travel. Cream-colored leather seats, soft cabin lighting, and enough legroom to make a person forget they were about to be thirty thousand feet in the air. Jordan owed Brook more favors than either of them probably kept count of, and lending the plane was the kind of gesture he never hesitated to make when needed.

“I wouldn’t tell her that,” Theo murmured in warning.

Bit’s grey knitted beanie was pulled low over his forehead, and a faded graphic tee hung loosely on his thin frame, wrinkled as if pulled from a laundry basket rather than a drawer. There was nothing small about the concern etched across his features, though.

“I’m just saying.” Bit crossed his arms in defiance. “I’ve done the math. If these bones have been in the ground for thirty years, the unsub would have probably been in his twenties when the killings took place. Even if he were slightly older, he would still be in his mid-fifties today, possibly in his sixties. Still mobile. Still capable. We don’t know if this person is dead, locked up, or sitting on his front porch watching the news coverage with a glass of lemonade.”

“Brook knows the odds of that, Bit,” Sylvie contended after sharing a knowing glance with Theo. “All too well.”

Her blonde hair was secured in its customary tight bun at the base of her neck, and her black-rimmed glasses were pushed high on the bridge of her nose. A navy blazer was folded on the seat beside her, neatly creased despite the flight's informal nature. While Bit brought a whirlwind of chaos, Sylvie embodied calm and order, bringing a sense of peace and stability to everything around her. The two of them had been best friends for years, and somehow the pairing worked.

“You need to trust that Brook understands her own limits, Bit,” Sylvie continued as she rested the tablet on the table in front of her. “It’s the reason we’re a team. She profiles, we execute. The arrangement has worked for years, and it isn’t going to fall apart because she’s eight months pregnant.”

Bit didn’t argue. He turned toward the window and stared out at the tarmac, but his expression spoke volumes. Theo understood the instinct. They were all protective of Brook in their own ways.

Believing that the conversation had ended, he returned his attention to the screen of his tablet. Brook had taken a phone call, presumably from Graham, before boarding the plane. She was still on the tarmac, and they were now merely waiting for her to board. In the meantime, Theo wanted to review the preliminary information Arden had compiled on the Ellinghams, including everything the Bureau had forwarded, as well as any public records and local news coverage he could find on the family.

Theo scrolled through a section on Gwenyth Ellingham.

The information was sparse, which in itself was telling. No social media accounts, no employment records, no tax filings in her name. The property taxes on the estate had gone unpaid for years, and the accumulation of debt was what had prompted Nestor’s older brother, Dale, to petition for guardianship over Gwenyth.

The man’s argument to the court was that his niece, a forty-eight-year-old woman, was mentally unfit to manage her own affairs, as well as the estate’s finances. His stated intention was to settle the outstanding tax debt by selling a portion of the property. With that in mind, he’d hired a landscaping crew to clear the overgrowth in preparation for a potential sale. The crew had been working in the greenhouse when they’d unearthed the first set of remains.