LITMIR.BIZ

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      “You know all about me,” Dustin said. “Why are we meeting?”

      David looked at Jackson Crow and shrugged.

      “What do you know about the Krewes?” This time, it was Malachi Gordon who spoke. Dustin knew his name; he was a recent graduate of the academy. He’d come into the bureau after working a case in Savannah.

      Dustin leaned back. “I’ve read about what happened in Savannah,” he told Malachi. “You know I worked with David so, of course, the beautiful city of Savannah is near and dear to my heart. In fact, I was somewhat surprised that my unit wasn’t assigned to that case, but apparently, things were already being taken care of. And, to the best of my knowledge, that case has been cleared, the paperwork wrapped up and the feds are long gone from Savannah. Having worked there, I thought I might be of some help, but...”

      He paused and grinned sheepishly at David. “It seems like you all did just fine without me.”

      “I’m sure you would’ve been an asset,” Malachi murmured.

      Dustin looked curiously at the other man. “Thanks, but as I said—seems like you had it covered.”

      “That was then—and we did have it covered. However, although the Krewes are growing, there are never enough of us, and we’re always looking for the right people,” Crow told him. “Would you be interested in seeing how you work out with one of our units?”

      Dustin smiled. That was straightforward. “I initially asked about applying to one of your units. They told me there was no application process. You formed your own units.”

      “That’s true,” Crow said. “And I wish I’d known about you earlier. David was talking to Malachi about you, and then Malachi talked to me. So, yes, I looked you up and pulled strings to get all the information I could on you. Thus far, each recruit has worked out. We’re...careful in the people we approach. We have to be.”

      “Because you all have special talents, I take it?” Dustin asked. “And, of course, because all the other agents like to call the units ghost hunters and rib you all about it. But really, they’re all envious of your record.”

      “Detective Caswell has told us that working with you was like—”

      “Like working with me,” Malachi Gordon cut in. “David and I were together in New Orleans,” he explained.

      “I see,” Dustin said.

      “Are you a candidate, Mr. Blake?” Crow asked him.

      Dustin lowered his head, hiding a smile. He looked back at Crow. “Well, let me put it this way—if you haven’t met him yet, I’d be glad to introduce you to General Bixby. He’s sitting at the bar right now, next to the man in the jeans and Alice Cooper T-shirt.”

      That brought a grin to Crow’s face. Dustin hadn’t been sure the man was really capable of a smile.

      “We haven’t met formally, no, but we’ve been aware of his presence.”

      “I wasn’t sure if I was being tested or not.” Dustin leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table as he looked at Jackson Crow, then Dustin and finally the third man, Malachi Gordon.

      “Why now?” he asked.

      It was Gordon who answered him. “You’re from Nashville,” he said.

      Dustin thought quickly. He was privy to law-enforcement reports daily. He hadn’t heard anything about a kidnapping or murder in the city of Nashville.

      “I am from Nashville,” he said, frowning. “But I’ve been gone for a long time.”

      “You go back often enough, don’t you?”

      He did, except that he hadn’t been there in a while. His academic parents were living in London. His little sister, Rayna, had grown up to be a country music singer. But she’d been on tour for the past year. He’d caught up with her—and his folks—for a few days in London earlier in the summer.

      “Yes, but I haven’t been back in about a year,” he said.

      “That’s not too long,” David said. “Have you ever heard of a man named Marcus Danby?” Malachi Gordon asked him.

      “Marcus Danby.” Dustin repeated slowly. The name was familiar. “Of course. Yes,” he said. “He founded a therapy center. He brings in clients—patients—to work with horses. Or dogs, sometimes. He was the black sheep of a very elite family, wound up addicted to everything known to man. He did time, but he was the last living member of his family and inherited property. He also changed his ways. The Horse Farm is extremely well-respected.”

      “Danby is dead,” Gordon said abruptly.

      “I’m sorry to hear that. How did he die?”

      “Fell into a ravine,” Gordon told him. “He was buried two days ago but the autopsy report was just released. He had drugs in his system.”

      “That’s a pity. The man must’ve been clean for at least twenty years,” Dustin said. “What does this—”

      “Some people close to him don’t believe what they’re hearing. We’d like you to investigate,” Jackson Crow broke in.

      “You don’t believe it was a fall—or you don’t believe he was on drugs?”

      “Neither,” Malachi replied.

      “Are the police suspicious?” Dustin asked.

      “No.” Crow shook his head.

      “Then I don’t really understand—”

      “Special Agent Blake, we often find ourselves slipping in when local law enforcement doesn’t see an immediate problem,” Crow said.

      “I see.”

      Malachi Gordon told him, “We’d like you to go in as a patient.”

      “As a patient. You want me to go in as a patient and investigate an accident brought on by substance abuse when no one believes it might have been anything other than it appeared?”

      “We have more than a suspicion that he was murdered,” Malachi said bluntly.

      Dustin stared at him. “How? Why? I’m in the bureau. I know how it works. We’re usually called in when there’s a suspicion that a serial killer is at large or when a killer is crossing state lines.”

      “Agent Blake,” Jackson Crow began. “We move in on cases when we’re afraid the truth may never be known because of unusual circumstances. We don’t go barging in as a unit. We send one or two people and they assess the situation for us.”

      Dustin was surprised and, he had to admit, disappointed. This didn’t sound like a case that was worthy of the Krewe.

      The units had handled many truly unique cases. The sad demise of a man, even a black sheep who’d changed his own life and created a lifesaving enterprise—just didn’t sound like the kind of puzzle that desperately needed to be solved.

      He shook his head, baffled. “I need more than you’re giving me. Yes, I’m interested in working with a unit. As you’re well aware, a man can grow weary of finding excuses for knowing what he shouldn’t because he’s managed to have a conversation with someone who’s dead. And can I go in easily? Yes. The Horse Farm is about twenty miles outside the city, but I’d have to go in as myself because I do have friends in the area. But, God knows, that could be easy. Enough people in law enforcement crack—that’s a plausible reason. But I don’t understand how this even came to your attention.”

      “My cousin called me, Blake,” Malachi Gordon said. “She works at the Horse Farm and she’s convinced that Marcus Danby was murdered.”

      Great. Someone’s relative was upset.

      Still...

      It

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