Keepers of the Cave

Table of Contents

• About the Author
  
• Also by Gerri Hill
  
• CHAPTER ONE
  
• CHAPTER TWO
  
• CHAPTER THREE
  
• CHAPTER FOUR
  
• CHAPTER FIVE
  
• CHAPTER SIX
  
• CHAPTER SEVEN
  
• CHAPTER EIGHT
  
• CHAPTER NINE
  
• CHAPTER TEN
  
• CHAPTER ELEVEN
  
• CHAPTER TWELVE
  
• CHAPTER THIRTEEN
  
• CHAPTER FOURTEEN
  
• CHAPTER FIFTEEN
  
• CHAPTER SIXTEEN
  
• CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
  
• CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
  
• CHAPTER NINETEEN
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
  
• CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
  
• CHAPTER THIRTY
  
• CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
  
• CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
  
• CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
  
• CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
  
• CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
  
• CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
  
• CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
  
• CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
  
• CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
  
• CHAPTER FORTY
  
• CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
  
• CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
  
• CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
  
• CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
  
• CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
  
• CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
  
• CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
  
• CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
  
• CHAPTER FORTY-NINE
  
• CHAPTER FIFTY
  
• CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE
  

Copyright © 2012 by Gerri Hill

Bella Books, Inc.

P.O. Box 10543

Tallahassee, FL 32302

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, without permission in writing from the publisher.

Printed in the United States of America on acid-free paper

First published 2012

Editor: Medora McDougall

Cover Designer: Linda Callaghan

ISBN 13: 978-1-59493-301-1

PUBLISHER’S NOTE

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.

About the Author

Gerri Hill has twenty-one published works, including the 2011 GCLS winner
Devil’s Rock
and 2009 GCLS winner
Partners
, the last book in the popular Hunter Series, as well as 2012 Lambda finalist
Storms
. She began writing lesbian romance as a way to pass the time while snowed in one winter in the mountains of Colorado. Her first published work came in 2000 with
One Summer Night
.  Hill’s love of nature and of being outdoors usually makes its way into her stories as her characters often find themselves in beautiful natural settings. Gerri and her longtime partner, Diane, live in the East Texas woods with two Australian Shepherds and an assortment of furry felines. For more, see her website: www.gerrihill.com.

Also by Gerri Hill

Artist’s Dream

Behind The Pine Curtain

The Cottage

Coyote Sky

Dawn Of Change

Devil’s Rock

Gulf Breeze

Hell’s Highway

Hunter’s Way

In The Name Of The Father

The Killing Room

Love Waits

No Strings

One Summer Night

Partners

Rainbow Cedar, The

Sierra City

Scorpion, The

Storms

Target, The

CHAPTER ONE

It was eerily quiet in the room, only the constant drip, drip, drip of the coffee machine disrupted the silence. At this early hour, even the other teams were absent. DeMarcus Freeman, known to everyone as Ice, stared at the empty desks for a moment, then glanced at the large clock on the wall. They would be in soon. He knew their routine better than his own, especially after closing out a case like the one they’d just wrapped up. Eight missing boys. Yeah, they found them. Found them all. Dead. The bastard had been using them for sex toys, the longest for two months. The newest one, just two days. All dead. And Ice knew exactly how his team would handle it.

His partner, Constance Jean Johnston, would go out alone to a popular lesbian bar and, after a multitude of tequila shots, would pick up a woman whose name she wouldn’t remember this morning. CJ would follow the woman home, fuck her brains out, then leave before the woman woke up. No name, no phone number. That’s how CJ handled things.

Billy Calhoun, whose own young son was the same age as most of these boys, would go to his ex-wife’s house, where, for some crazy reason, she still had sex with him. Maybe she’d been around long enough to know how these cases affected him, even though on a normal day they fought like cats and dogs.

Billy’s partner, Paige Riley, would always go home alone and drink a whole bottle of wine—sometimes two, according to Billy—while soaking in a bubble bath. Ice let his mind wander to the beautiful blond agent, picturing her up to her neck in bubbles, a hand lazily holding a wineglass over the side. He pushed it away, knowing Billy would have his ass for the thought. Billy had his own crush on her, although he would deny it to his dying day.

He sighed and made his way to the coffee, even though he knew the routine. On a normal day, after a normal case, Paige would be the first to arrive. Always. She was annoyingly punctual, never late. Billy would hurry in next, still chewing whatever he’d picked up for breakfast that morning. Then CJ would drag in, her hair still wet, evidence that she’d only gotten up in time for a quick shower, no coffee or breakfast. CJ was habitually late. Always. But that was on a normal day.

Today, since it wasn’t a normal day, CJ would arrive first, reeking of sex and tequila, wearing the same clothes as yesterday. She would grunt a hello at him, then sink into her chair. He would hand her a cup of coffee, which she would complain about. Billy would pop in next, his eyes red and puffy from lack of sleep. His ex-wife, to hear Billy tell it, was a sex machine. Paige would be the last to arrive. She always brought Starbucks coffee and a breakfast treat for them. Sometimes ham and cheese croissants, sometimes tacos from a local Mexican bar, sometimes only McDonald’s, but she always brought breakfast. And she would watch them, looking to see if they had recovered, her eyes undoubtedly landing on CJ with a slightly disapproving look. He often wondered if that was why she intentionally arrived late—so she wouldn’t have to witness CJ walking in looking like shit.

He didn’t understand their relationship, really. When the four of them went out for beers, they would flirt shamelessly with each other. Well, CJ would flirt, as was her nature. Paige took it, giving back just as well. But they always left separately and as far as he knew, they never did anything with each other outside of the four of them. He wasn’t certain he would even call them friends.

He sat back down again, rubbing his newly shaved head, wondering if CJ would even notice.

***

CJ squinted in the bright sunlight, her dark glasses doing little to temper the glare. She ran her tongue over her teeth, her mouth dry and still tasting of tequila . . . and sex. She groaned, wincing at the pounding in her head as she ducked inside the building. The woman had been a blonde. Recently, they all had been blonde. She couldn’t remember the woman’s name to save her life.

She sighed tiredly as the elevator opened. She walked into the room, sunglasses still covering her eyes. Their set of desks was separated from the other FBI teams by rows of filing cabinets, and she saw Ice sitting at his, as expected. He was the last to leave and the first to arrive. She sometimes wondered if he went home at all. She ignored the glance he gave her and pulled out her chair with her foot, sinking down slowly, keeping her head still.

“Yeah, thanks,” she murmured as he handed her a cup of coffee. She took a sip, grimacing at the taste. “Damn, Ice, this tastes like shit. When are you going to learn to make a decent cup of coffee?”

“Feel free to give it a try.” he said

She blinked several times, focusing on his head. “What the hell happened to you?”

“Felt like a change,” he said as he rubbed his shaved head.

“Huh. You don’t say.”

She laid her head down on the desk, sunglasses smashing uncomfortably against her ear, waiting for his question.

“What was her name?”

She gave her usual answer. “Hell if I know.” She kept her eyes closed, hearing the elevator doors open, knowing it was Billy. His aftershave arrived long before he did.

“Jesus, CJ, aren’t those the same clothes you had on yesterday?”

“Bite me,” she murmured, eyes still closed.

“You wish.”

“Shut up.”

She sighed again, vowing—for at least the hundredth time—to stop these all-nighters with strangers. But it was the only way she could completely chase the horrors of the job from her mind. Well, not the only way, she mused, as she remembered the one night Paige Riley had shared her bed. She groaned quietly, not wanting to think of that right now. She never brought women to her own bed. It was a rule she never broke. Never. It was easier that way. No names, no phones, no addresses. But she had broken all the rules that night. Only she hadn’t been the one slinking out of someone’s bed and escaping into the early morning darkness. She was surprised at how much it stung when she woke to find Paige already gone.

“Jesus, Ice, what happened to the Afro we’ve grown to love?”

“Come on, man, that wasn’t a ’fro.”

***

Paige knew what she would find even before the elevator doors opened. Ice would be leaning back in his chair, watching CJ with annoyed—yet concerned—eyes as he tossed wadded up pieces of paper into the trash can. Billy would be reading the news online, his chin resting in his palm as he tried to stifle a yawn. He wasn’t really reading the daily paper, she knew. He was reliving the night spent with his ex. And CJ would have her head down on her desk, eyes closed. If it were a really bad morning, she’d still have her sunglasses on.