Dreaming Death (Krewe of Hunters #32) - Heather Graham Page 0,13
who sometimes works with his dead great-grandfather?” she asked.
He didn’t blink; he didn’t betray a speck of emotion.
“You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have your special talents for communication,” he said.
“So, why do you doubt me? You know they’re real—my dreams are real,” she said, angry with herself because she was beginning to sound desperate. “You were there. You were one of the agents who came to Harpers Ferry when my friends were nearly killed. So, you know what I saw was real. And this morning...yes, I dreamed of the body. Bits and fragments leading up to an event, and then...”
“Then a corpse,” he said quietly. “Yes, I was in Harpers Ferry. It’s been driving me crazy—I knew I’d seen you somewhere before. Adam didn’t say much about you at the time. You were a kid, and he wanted you kept out of it.”
“So...why are you so dismissive of me?” she demanded.
He was silent for a minute, head bent over his files again, and then he looked up and met her eyes, stared at her hard. “I’m not dismissive of you. I’m afraid for us both. This is going to get worse before it gets better.” He hesitated. “You’re just out of the academy. Your talents are very real. But they aren’t...field talents.”
“I see. You’re afraid I won’t have your back if there’s a dangerous situation.”
“You haven’t been in the field. And I’m sorry, but that means something. We really don’t get many car chases, but you may wind up in a situation with a shooter. In a crowd.”
“I did go through all the proper training.”
“Yes, and you can take scuba lessons in a pool, but it’s—nowhere near the same thing as being in the ocean.”
She forced a smile. “By the way, should we need to jump in the river, I’m an excellent swimmer and a certified diver.”
He stared back at her.
“Well, apparently, there are others here with more faith,” she said curtly. She wanted to stand up and walk out. She wanted to strut into Jackson Crow’s office and tell him she was sorry, she wanted to be a Krewe agent, it was all-important to her really, but Keenan Wallace was insufferable.
She managed not to leave. She lowered her head and gritted her teeth, and then she continued her own study of the notes that had been taken on the first and second murders.
They kept working in uneasy silence. Stacey had her computer open as well, and she went back and forth reading up on the case notes and researching.
She hadn’t realized she was shaking her head until Keenan spoke.
“What?” he asked.
She looked up, startled. She hesitated, afraid that he’d mock anything she had to say.
But she had been partnered with him. And it would be wrong not to share.
“I...I mean, she was torn to pieces, but I felt like I’d seen our victim before.”
“Maybe you passed by her in a store, or just walking down the street?”
Stacey shook her head. “No, um, nothing recent. And I didn’t know her. I just have a memory of her that I can’t quite grasp. I’m sorry. Never mind. Back to the killer. If he’s gone from street girls to a more refined escort, or so it appears—”
Keenan’s phone rang; he lifted his hand to interrupt her and answered the call, speaking briefly with “Yes” and “Got it” and “Thank you.”
He ended the call and looked at her. “We don’t need to assume anymore. The fingerprint ID came in. The victim was a woman named Billie Bingham.”
“Billie Bingham? I know that name.”
“Yes. She was in the news—a scandal. Involving some politicians and the escort service she ran. She managed to elude every legal inquiry. It’s a tight-knit group that plays around her business. Bingham’s clients and workers are tight-lipped and all swear the business is on the up-and-up. Last year, though, the wife of a junior congressman started a social-media campaign against the Bingham Company that got a lot of traction. She fell silent when it seemed there was no proof of anything illegal going on.”
“I think I remember. The angry wife was threatened with a lawsuit.”
He nodded. “The junior congressman is out—and the marriage is over. I haven’t heard anything since.”
Stacey quickly keyed in a search on her computer. “Cindy Hardy, ex-wife of J. J. Hardy.” She went to another site and one more. “She didn’t go back to their home state of Arizona, though. She’s living in Northern Virginia. We need to speak with her! I mean, she surely