Seven Bridges Read online

  That prompted a sad realization. Isabelle Adams had no one to fight for her. Her father was deceased, as were her grandparents. She was alone, without a champion.

  That thought spurred an action that both shocked and disturbed him. Leo removed the tape from the recording device, pulled it loose from its housing, and quickly wadded it into a tangle, which he shoved into his jacket pocket.

  No one would ever hear her words or know what she'd revealed in the interview. He'd relay information to his Unit, but not all. There were things he'd keep to himself, things that need not go down on paper for someone else to see.

  Chances were he'd never see her again, and that was probably for the best, but just this once, he'd be her protector, and without the tape, no one would ever know.

  Not even her.

  Eager for a distraction, Leo turned his thoughts to thoughts on the upcoming investigation and let that occupy him for the rest of the trip. He was the first one off the plane and headed up the ramp, reaching for his phone.

  It rang the moment he turned it on. He dodged people disembarking from the plane and answered. "Grant."

  "You back yet?"

  Galen's voice was barely audible in all the noise of the people around Leo.

  "Yeah, just got off the plane."

  "Come in. There are developments."

  "I promised Margaux–"

  "Then you'll have to break that promise, buddy. Gib said to get here ASAP. All hands-on deck. No exceptions."

  "On my way."

  Leo hurried to the parking deck and waited until he was in his car before calling his wife.

  "On the ground?" she asked.

  "I am. But I have to go to work. No exceptions. Gib called in the entire team."

  "Of course, and we can't argue with the great Gibson Foster, can we?"

  "Margaux, you know it had to be important for him to call in everyone this late. People's lives could be at stake."

  "As you constantly remind me. What about the life of our marriage?"

  "Sweetheart, you know I love you, and you know our life means everything to me. But one of us has to earn a living–"

  "Oh, yeah, throw that up to me. I don't contribute."

  "You know I don't feel that way. We both agreed it was important for Ayanna to have one parent at home until she was in school and–"

  "Yeah, I know. Now that she is, I could get off my ass and do something."

  Leo knew Margaux was projecting her own lack of self-worth onto him. It was a way for her to escape dealing with what bothered her. "Darling, I don't think that way at all. And I promise I'll get home as soon as I can, but this is–"

  "Fine, whatever." The line went dead.

  Leo thought about calling again but dismissed the impulse. She clearly wasn't in the mood to listen, and there was no benefit to either of them to get into another argument for which there was no solution.

  As he navigated to the bottom of the parking deck, he turned his attention to the problems in his marriage.

  He wasn't sure what it would take to bring he and Margaux back together. He supposed he could quit the BAU, but then he'd be giving up a career he loved, and to do what? Teach?

  Maybe that would appeal to him one day, but not now. And even if he did, the money wasn't as good, and it wasn't as if she was working to help keep them afloat. That degree she'd almost earned had never been completed, and she'd come up with numerous excuses why she couldn't go back to finish.

  Which circled him right back to where he'd started. Frustrated and without a clue, how to make things better. Leo knew things couldn't go on indefinitely the way they were, but he simply didn't have answers, so he did what he did best when it came to such situations. He avoided it and buried himself in work.

  Which, in Margaux's mind, made him the villain of their little play.

  He pulled out of the parking deck and headed for Quantico. Who knows, maybe she was right.

  Leo met Marty on his way in.

  "Everyone's in the conference room," Marty said then paused to get a better grip on the stack of folders in his arm. He was listing to one side, thanks to all he carried and having the strap of a messenger bag that was stuffed to overflowing, hanging on his shoulder.

  "Give me that," Leo took the stack of folders.

  "Thanks," Marty grabbed the strap of the messenger bag with both hands to take weight off his shoulder.

  "What's up?" Leo asked as they started walking again.

  "A murder. Three in three days. Same MO. The latest was yesterday, but we weren't notified until today after the M.E. finished examining the body and the state forensic lab finished."

  "Where?"

  "Arkansas. A co-worker showed up to give the victim a ride to work and discovered her dead. He called the police, who called in the State Police, who called in the FBI field office in Jackson."

  Marty stopped as Leo opened the conference room door, then entered at a gesture from Leo.

  "Good, you're here," Gib's acknowledgment cut short any more conversation.

  Leo set the stack of folders on the table and rounded the table to take a seat between Galen and David.

  Marty made himself busy, passing out folders. Leo leaned a little closer to Galen. "Are we going to see a fresh scene or have local P.D. stomped all over it?"

  "Why? You think they'll be more careful than the last?"

  "A man can hope."

  Just then, Gib spoke up. "I'll make this short. I called you in for a briefing, but plans have changed. We're headed for Arkansas. If you don't have a go-bag, get home and get packed. Wheels up in two hours. If you have time before take-off, read the packet. I'll brief you on the flight. Go, people."

  Gib's words had a dichotomous effect on Leo. On the one hand, the idea that they might get to the scene before possible evidence was destroyed made him eager to get there. That excitement conflicted with the dread of facing Margaux and telling her he would be away for a few days. He wished he didn't have to go home and pack a bag.

  It would be a fight and not one he wanted to have. But chances were, he'd start this trip with a knot in his gut that was wound tight around growing resentment and a genuine inability to understand why Margaux had stopped supporting him in his goals and stopped pursuing her own.

  It would take a hell of a lot more than a good investigator to figure that out.

  The Present

  Leo shoved aside thoughts of the past and reached up to rub his fingertips over his eyes. He wondered if he looked half as tired as he felt.

  "Remember when you convinced Gib to go see her?" Galen broke the silence. "To consider her as a civilian consultant?"

  "Of course, I remember. Why ask?"

  "You never told anyone exactly why you were convinced she was psychic. Aside from her knowing your middle name even though you never told her."

  "I thought you wanted to wait until we got to Smithy's," Leo pointed out.

  "Is it that hard to talk about?"

  "No. Yes. Bloody hell, G, you know that time is still a thorn in my side. Correction, in Margaux's side. She'll never give up asking who the woman was I had an affair with, and I'll never stop hiding that truth from her."

  "Have you ever asked yourself why?"

  "I don't have to ask," Leo looked at his partner. "Izzi isn't normal, and I don't say that in a disparaging manner. Margaux would never understand my attraction to her, and the difference in age would always have her thinking I see her as old in comparison."

  "I can see that," Galen conceded. "So back to Miss Adams and her psychic skills."

  "I'll be honest. I always knew there was something different about her. But it wasn't until that Soccer Mom killing spree that I realized she was, in fact, genuinely psychic."

  "Yeah, I remember. That damn case had us going for months, and the body count kept climbing. I thought Gib was going to lose his mind. Then you opened your mouth and suggested we bring in a psychic consultant."

  He chuckled, and after a moment, so did
Leo. "Remember Marty's face when I said it was Isabelle Adams?"

  This time it wasn't a chuckle but a full-blown laugh. Within moments both men were nearly crying from laughter. Galen wiped his eyes and blew out a breath. "If ever the expression "deer in the headlights" was applicable, it was that moment. I didn't know until right then that he knew about you and Isabelle."

  "Neither did I," Leo admitted. "Smarty Marty was quite observant. He saw me leaving with Izzi after that lecture at UNCC, and I guess he put the pieces together as time went along."

  "He was off the chart brilliant and, in the end, a brave man. I still miss him."

  "As do I,"

  Leo agreed. Marty's replacement and the one who followed were smart and capable, but none of them had what Marty had possessed. Innocent brilliance. He was naive about the concepts of hatred and rage, and it always shocked him that people could be so horrible. He wanted to stop them so they could be helped.

  That was what got him killed. His sincere desire to help. Leo felt it was one of life's unfairness, that someone with Marty's goodness should be taken so young while evil doers enjoyed long lives.

  "Which brings us back to why you wanted Miss Adams involved."

  "Oh yes,"

  Leo wasn't surprised that Galen had circled back to his original topic. He was, as the American saying went, like a dog with a bone when he got something stuck in his mind. He'd mentally chew on it until he either figured it out or the problem went away.

  "Well, let's see. We'd been seeing one another for almost six months. I made an excuse for having to be away while Margaux's parents were in town and planned on spending a long weekend with Izzi.

  "Then we were handed the Seven Bridges and the Soccer Mom cases all at once. I had to cancel, and it was two weeks before I got back to North Carolina to see her. I couldn't get a flight, so I drove down as soon as Gib cut us loose.

  "I was exhausted by the time I arrived. We couldn't catch a break in either case, Gib was getting pressure from above, and we were all running about like a pack of dogs trying to get the scent of the fox."

  "Spoken like a Brit, but you're right. It was pretty bad."

  "It was and must have shown on my face because Izzi took one look at me, ordered me to take a seat at the table, poured me a drink, and then cooked me a meal. Once I'd eaten, she poured me another drink and said "okay, talk to me."

  "I didn't talk to her about work. I never had discussed or revealed anything about the cases we worked. Not until that moment. She sat at the table, playing solitaire with a deck of cards that were so old and worn you couldn't even shuffle them. I must have bought her fifty new packs because she was always playing solitaire, but she never opened them. She still played with that worn-out deck. Finally, I gave up.

  "Anyway, this night, she sat there, playing without really looking at the cards. Her focus was on me. Early in our relationship, the level of concentration in her gaze made me uncomfortable. I'd grown beyond it. Or thought I had.

  "That night, her focus was eerie. I can't tell you why it felt that way, it just did. Her gaze was unwavering, laser-beam targeted, and it made me uneasy. But I finished telling her about the cases and our problems.

  "She nodded, gathered up her cards, mixed them up, and then lay three cards on the table, all face down. "So, what keeps you from finding these people. These Unsubs?"

  "Which one?"

  "The Soccer Mom killer?"

  "Why that one and not the other?"

  "You know. I don't want to talk about the other."

  "Fine, we won't. Are you sure you want to talk about the Soccer Mom Killer?

  "Yes. What's keeping you from finding him or her?"

  "A starting point. A clue. Something, anything that points a direction."

  Leo paused and loosened his necktie. "She nodded and turned over a card. When she looked up at me, I nearly dropped my glass, but she didn't seem to notice, or if she did, she didn't comment. Her eyes were white. It was creepy."

  "They'd never be afraid of him," she said. "That's why he chooses them. "

  "I don't mind telling you I experienced a jolt of discomfort, more than a bit of unease.

  Not entirely from her words, but the manner in which she spoke them. So matter of fact, as if she were reciting weather statistics from the past week. And the fact that her eyes were entirely white."

  "White, like the pale green faded?" Galen interrupted.

  "No, as in all white. No iris color at all. Just a sea of white with a black pupil. It was unnatural and a bit frightening, but I choked back my discomfort, wanting to hear more.

  "What do you mean?" I asked her.

  "She shrugged and turned over another card. "Just what I said. They'd never think of being afraid of him. He's what they dream their little boys will be."

  "So, how old is this guy? Is he a coach or a teacher? How does he find them?"

  "Izzi turned over another card but never looked at it. Her attention was on me as she spoke. "So handsome, smart, and talented. He's every mother's dream, and some mothers' secret little fantasy."

  "Secret fantasy?"

  "Yes," she smiled. "The kind of boys they all coveted in their youth, the one who could have any girl, the one they thought would become someone famous and sought after. The kind they see now and masturbate, thinking of how they'd seduce him. He's the kind they see photos of online and save to their computers, in a file labeled recipes or decorating tips, something their husbands will never open."

  Then she took the top card from the stack on the table and turned it face up – the three of hearts.

  "He has three more to kill," she said. "Three more hearts to give her."

  "Give who?"

  "The one who demands he brings her proof of his love."

  "You're saying he's doing this for a woman?"

  "Not a woman," she plucked another card from the deck and turned it face up, this time the Queen of Spades. "His queen."

  "A breath later, she blinked, and her eyes were normal. Well, normal for her. She stared at me for a moment then gathered up her cards. "I'm tired."

  "With that, she left the room. I sat there for a long time, not sure what to think and certainly not what to say.

  What had just happened? Finally, I went into the bedroom, undressed, and got into bed with her. She rolled over, put her head on my shoulder, and her arm across my chest. I told myself to forget it. Maybe she was just messing with me. But that didn't make sense, and it was out of character.

  "Still, I didn't know how to talk to her about it. I suppose it rattled me more than I was willing to admit. And because of that, I made a point not to mention it."

  "So that's it," Galen said and hammered his hand on the steering wheel. "How could I have not seen it?"

  "What are you talking about?"

  "The pictures on the computer," Galen said. "There was another murder. You and I were in the victim's room. Her laptop was sitting on the makeup table. You made a beeline for it. There was no password required. There was, however, a folder labeled recipes, and inside it were photos of men the woman had saved from places she visited online.

  "All blonde and blue-eyed, dressed either in what was considered a preppy fashion for the time, or a soccer uniform."

  Galen cut a look at Leo. "She profiled the killer for us and led us straight to the photos. When I asked what made you think of looking in a recipe folder, you had no answer. But a week later, we caught the guy, and sure enough, he was killing for his queen. For his batshit crazy mother. Talk about a dangerously insane family."

  "That's an understatement," Leo was quick to agree. The mother, as it turned out, was the mastermind, the one who planned the murders, and her son just carried them out. They had an unnatural relationship that made Leo feel dirty to consider and made him wonder how such an incestuous and criminal relationship began.

  "And when the next case was handed to us, you went to Gib and asked that he hire Isabelle Adams as a civilian consultant," Galen brought L
eo back on track. "Not because of her degree, but because you believed her psychic ability would lead us to the Seven Bridges Killer, and we could put to bed a case no one had been able to solve in over a decade."

  There was silence when Galen finished speaking, and that silence lasted until they pulled into the parking lot of the bar. At nearly one in the morning, there weren't many cars in the lot, and there wouldn't be many people inside. Just the career drunks, who wouldn't leave until they had no choice and the people who'd lost control of their lives and didn't know where else to go.

  Galen turned off the engine and looked at Leo. "Do you ever wish you hadn't ask Gib to bring her in?"

  "Every day, my friend."

  "Then why didn't you stop him from making the same mistake again?"

  Leo shook his head. "Because this time it wasn't my mistake to make. It was his."

  Galen nodded. "Then God help us all, buddy. We lost Marty in 2010 and almost lost you in 2012, and then Gib nearly bit the dust a little over a year ago. Isabelle Adams might be psychic, but as far as I can see, she's also bad luck. I don't know about you, but I don't want to end up in a drawer in the morgue because she led us down a path we shouldn't travel."

  "She'd never do anything to intentionally hurt any of us, Galen. You know that as well as the rest of us."

  "Maybe, but it isn't always ill intentions that get people killed, my friend. I'm just not sure her hunches or psychic insights, whatever you want to call them, are worth the loss of a member of our team.

  "I hear you, G, but Gib calls the shots. Besides, he might not even talk her into it. She was adamant about being done with it, and whether you like the woman or not, you know she loves him. She never left his bedside the entire time he was in the coma. She sat there day and night, talking to him, holding his hand."

  "And then gave him the boot once he was on his feet again. That's a strange kind of love, buddy. A damn strange kind."

  "Maybe," Leo said and opened his door. "But love nonetheless."

  He got out and looked at Galen across the top of the car. "And again, not our call."

  "So, how do we play this, if she comes back?"