Scene of the Crime: Return to Mystic Lake - Carla Cassidy Mills & Boon Intrigue

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      “We’ll keep you up to date,” Marjorie assured him.

      “Like hell we will,” Jackson said a few moments later when they were back in his car. “Right now John Merriweather is at the very top of my suspect list.”

      Marjorie shot him a look of surprise.

      “Think about it, Maggie. Who has the most to gain from Amberly and Cole disappearing? Max’s father, that’s who. He has a great motive for wanting them gone.”

      She didn’t want to even think about the fact that he’d just called her Maggie, something nobody else in her entire life had ever done. She didn’t intend to reprimand him now, as right now she was considering what he’d said about John Merriweather.

      “He might have a good motive to get rid of them in a sick sort of way, but he doesn’t have opportunity. He had his son with him all weekend long,” she replied.

      She pulled out of the Merriweather driveway and headed in the direction of the Kansas City field office where they would next be interviewing Amberly’s closest coworkers.

      “I saw a picture of Max and his dad on the bookcase. What is he...about six?” Jackson asked.

      “Seven,” Marjorie replied. “I think he’s going to be eight in a couple months.”

      “I don’t know about you but when I was seven my father could have tucked me into bed and then left the house, gone to a movie, slept with a woman and been back home again before I woke up the next morning.”

      She slid him a curious glance. “And where would your mother have been while your father was out through the night hours?”

      “Dead. She died when I was five, of cancer. But that really doesn’t matter now—my point is that John could have easily slipped outside the house while Max slept, driven to Mystic Lake and done something to Amberly and Cole and been back before Max awoke the next morning.”

      “So, supposing he made that midnight run to Mystic Lake, then where are Amberly and Cole? If he killed them, why not just leave the bodies in the house?”

      “Nobody said I had all the answers, darlin’. I just have theories.”

      “I think this one is kind of lame,” she replied.

      “Maybe,” he agreed, the laid-back agent once again present. “John mentioned something about the last time a man tried to kill Amberly. What was that all about?”

      “It’s actually the case that brought Amberly and Cole together. Somebody was killing young women in Mystic Lake and leaving dream catchers hanging over their bodies. The mayor of Mystic Lake asked for FBI help, and since Director Forbes thought Amberly was the perfect agent to assist, because of the Native American overtones, she was sent to Mystic Lake to work with Cole.”

      She paused to make the turn into the parking area of the field office, a three-story brick building in the downtown area. “The perp eventually went after Amberly and trapped her in a rented storage unit. It was John’s best friend and neighbor who had taken her.”

      She frowned in thought as she pulled into a parking place. “Ed...Ed Gershner was his name. He had some crazy notion that the only way John would be happy again was if Amberly was dead and John could finally forget her. Thankfully, Cole found Amberly, killed Ed and the rest, as they say, is history.”

      She turned off the engine and they both got out of the car. “Hopefully these interviews will go fairly quickly. It’s got to be getting close to lunchtime by now,” he said.

      Marjorie hurried after his long strides, successfully stifling the impulse to knock him upside his head.

      Chapter Three

      Amberly Nightsong Caldwell’s coworkers at the FBI field office had little to disclose about anyone who might want to harm her. She wasn’t currently assigned to any active case. Her director knew she was in the middle of a transitional time in moving Cole into her home, and so he’d given her desk duty pushing paperwork, and regular hours until she and Cole got things settled.

      Jackson had stepped back and allowed Marjorie to interview the players, since they were also her coworkers.

      He quickly noticed that while the people they spoke to all appeared to respect Marjorie, none of them seemed to be particularly close to her. She was apparently a loner who didn’t require friends.

      Jackson had tons of men he counted as close friends in past partners and at the Baton Rouge field office. Jackson wasn’t only considered a ladies’ man—he was a man’s man, as well.

      He was the first one to invite a crew over to his place for drinks and chips and dip during a football game, or get together a group to do some horseback riding at nearby stables or head to a firing range for a little impromptu competition.

      One thing had become increasingly clear to Jackson as the morning had gone on. Marjorie Clinton was one uptight woman. She smiled rarely and the few she sent his way were filled with either irritation or a strange curiosity, as if he were a species of animal she didn’t know and certainly didn’t trust.

      She intrigued him. He was interested to know her background, what made her who she was today. It was unusual for him to care enough to want to know that much about a woman.

      When they’d finally finished up with Amberly’s coworkers, he’d insisted they find a place where they could sit and eat lunch before beginning the next phase of interviews in Mystic Lake.

      “Don’t look so miserable,” he told her when they sat down across from each other in a booth in a nearby diner.

      “We could have just done drive-through on the way to Mystic Lake and saved some time,” she replied.

      Jackson opened a menu and shoved it toward her. “Mystic Lake will still be there whether we take ten minutes doing drive-through or half an hour actually sitting and eating.”

      “Don’t you feel any urgency?” she asked, leaning toward him, her green eyes shining brightly. Her lashes were long and dark brown and he noticed, not for the first time that day, that she smelled of the fresh scent of a fabric softener combined with a hint of wildflowers.

      “Ladybug, we’re past the point of urgency. Urgency should have happened Saturday or Sunday. I wonder how the burgers are here?” He shouldn’t be thinking about how good she smelled or the fact that he’d like to see a genuine smile from her directed at him.

      “Who cares? I have a case of two missing people, and a partner who only wants to know when his next meal is due.”

      “Do you have many friends?” he asked.

      She blinked twice and sat back. He knew she’d worked up a head of steam about taking the time out for lunch and probably was ticked off by the use of a pet name. His question had caught her off guard.

      Her cheeks dusted a beautiful pink. “Actually, no. I don’t have a lot of friends. I work all the overtime I can get and I spend my free time either sleeping or visiting with my mother.”

      “And your father?”

      She opened her menu and lowered her gaze. “He died when I was ten.”

      “I’m sorry. It must have been tough for you and your mother.”

      “We got by,” she replied, and still didn’t meet his gaze.

      “You’re more comfortable if we talk about the case?”

      He was rewarded with a flash of her eyes as she gazed up at him intently. “Yes,” she said. “Unfortunately I don’t think this is tied to anything Amberly was currently working on. Nobody we spoke to indicated she was having problems with anyone.”

      They were interrupted by the arrival of a blonde waitress with large breasts and a name tag that read June. “Hey, sweet June bug, how about you get us a couple of burgers and fries,”

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