For the first time, Eric felt grateful that Justin was dead, reduced to a cardboard box full of unidentifiable bones. At least Father could no longer pull the two brothers apart, make them wage war against each other like he had with so many other family members. And, perhaps, just maybe, he had not had time to steal Justin’s soul. If that was true then Justin was, indeed, the lucky one.
CHAPTER 38
“You don’t know it’s the same Joseph Everett,” Tully said from the doorway, watching O’Dell’s fingers fly over her computer keyboard.
“Unlikely that there are two Reverend Joseph Everetts in the Virginia area,” she said without a glance, but he recognized that anxious tone in her voice, and he couldn’t help thinking, “Here we go again.”
He became a little nervous whenever O’Dell got that tone in her voice and a certain look in her eyes, like she was on a personal mission. The last time it happened, the two of them ended up in a burning house with O’Dell saving his life—after he took a bullet to his thigh.
He was relieved, however, that they might actually have some answers. And also relieved that Emma had gotten through the morning. O’Dell was right. Emma was an incredibly brave and smart girl. And before Agent LaPlatz volunteered to drive her back to Reston High, he embarrassed his brave, smart daughter with a hug and told her how proud he was of her.
Tully watched as O’Dell brought up some sort of document and began scrolling through it. He looked over at Dr. Patterson, who sat in the overstuffed lounge chair O’Dell had managed to squeeze into her small office. There had been several late nights when he had found his partner curled up and asleep in it. All of their offices in BSU were small, but O’Dell had a knack for organizing, using every inch of the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves and little cubbyholes to keep piles off chairs and off the floor, so that even with the lounge chair, her office looked cozy but not overcrowded. Not like his own, which reminded him some days of a storage closet with walking paths to his desk.
Dr. Patterson had removed her heels, and Tully watched absently as she made herself comfortable, tucking her legs underneath her. In doing so, she hiked up her skirt. She had great legs. Trim ankles. Firm, smooth thighs. Jeez! What the hell was wrong with him? He looked away as if caught doing something he shouldn’t.
Usually Gwen Patterson bugged the hell out of him. There seemed to be nothing they agreed on. The last time he and O’Dell were working late, they stopped at her huge Tudor in Newburgh Heights, where Dr. Patterson had been dog-sitting. The three of them decided to order takeout. If he remembered correctly, he and Patterson had gotten into an argument over Chinese or pizza, debating each food’s nonnutritional value. Of course, she was supposed to be the expert, being a so-called gourmet cook. Yeah, she irritated the hell out of him. Didn’t mean she couldn’t have great legs, though. Maybe thinking about Caroline over the weekend had simply reminded him—
“Here’s something.” O’Dell interrupted his rambling thoughts. “It’s a court document. It’s old—1975. That’s over twenty-five years ago. Everett would have been…what do you think…in his twenties?”
“We don’t even know yet if Everett is involved.”
“Cunningham must think so or he wouldn’t be sending you and Gwen to Boston to interview the lone survivor. And he didn’t hesitate when I asked to arrange a meeting with someone from Everett’s organization. Maybe even an ex-member. In fact, he told me he’d call Senator Brier and see if he had any connections.”
O’Dell kept her back to them while she read. Dr. Patterson was ignoring the two of them, rolling her shoulders and slowly massaging her temples—perhaps some relaxation routine she was used to doing to unwind. Tully found it distracting as hell. He finally gave in and came to O’Dell’s side to look at what she had found.
“Not like a trip to Boston will do much good,” Tully said. “The kid wasn’t willing to talk at the cabin when we had him scared out of his wits. I can’t imagine he’ll spill anything now after he’s had a nice warm place to sleep and three square meals.”
“What makes you think that fear can be the only motivating force to get a suspect to talk?” Dr. Patterson asked without disturbing her