The Buried (The Apostles) (9 page)

All day Grace had struggled with anger and shock and profound sadness, so much sadness as she looked at Lia’s tear-streaked face and shredded fingertips.

Breathe in, two, three. Breathe out, two, three.

But now a warm wave of powerful relief surged through her. If someone was indeed playing a game with her, bring it on.

G
et your hands in the air, stranger, or I’ll zap you with my super-charged titanium brain blaster.” A child in dinosaur pajamas pointed a wooden spoon at Hatch.

An identical child aimed a spatula at Hatch’s midsection. “He’s a secret agent for the Axis of Evil. Get back, Agent Evil, or I’ll turn you into a block of ice with my Freeze-All Vision.”

Hatch raised his hands in defeat, covertly checking his watch. He had twenty minutes to get Alex to the cemetery for his first day of community service and then to Grace’s. “Alas, I have been bested by Superheroes Ricky and Raymond, and I surrender.” The boys circled closer. When they reached for his legs, Hatch lunged, scooping a boy in each arm and crying, “Into my evil clutches you go!” He spun until squeals and giggles filled the room.

“Losers,” Alex said as shuffled past them and into the kitchen.

“Don’t mind Alex. He’s a grump in the mornings,” one of the upside-down twins said.

“Alex is always grumpy,” the other twin added.

With a sigh, Hatch settled the two boys on the floor.

One of the twins tugged at Hatch’s shorts. “Granny says you’re a real FBI agent. What’s your superpower?”

“Superpower?” Hatch asked.

“You know, the special power good guys use to fight all those bad guys.”

He’d love to have a superpower to deal not with bad guys but with a kid with a bad attitude. With lightning speed, Hatch grabbed the spatula and wooden spoon. “I have the power to turn little boys who should still be in bed into sea cucumbers.”

The twins squealed and ran down the hall. This was the type of kid interaction he could deal with, like a favorite uncle who sailed into town for holidays. Now it was time to be a
father
. He stepped over blocks and Matchbox cars as he followed Alex into the kitchen.

Alex’s grandmother stood in the back doorway puffing on a cigarette. “I know.” She raised the cigarette to her lips. “It’s bad for me and the boys, but sometimes you just need ’em.”

“No need to explain yourself to me, ma’am,” Hatch said.

Alex grabbed a jug of orange juice from the refrigerator and yanked off the cap.

“Get a glass,” Mrs. Milanos said, “and don’t spill on the fl—” Bright orange liquid trickled down Alex’s chin and onto the cracked linoleum. “Come on, Alex, wipe it up.”

Alex slammed the juice on the counter, a stream of orange pooling on the countertop.

Hatch grabbed the boy’s arm. “Your grandmother told you to wipe up the juice you spilled.”

“And who’s gonna make me?” Alex asked with a curl of his lip.

Hatch’s hand twitched.
I suggest you knock that smirk off your face,
Son
, or I’ll do it myself. Smack.
The twenty-five-year-old memory sent a tremor along his jaw and burned the backs of his eyelids. Hatch released Alex’s arm. He used words, not fists, to resolve problems. “You need to take responsibility for your actions,” Hatch said.

“Responsibility? That’s too funny, someone like you lecturing me about
responsibility
.” He jerked out of Hatch’s grip and stormed out of the kitchen.

Every muscle in Hatch’s legs tensed. Should he run after the kid and drag his butt in here to apologize and clean the mess? He ran a hand through the waves along the side of his head. Or should he just plain run?

Alex’s granny lit another cigarette and hauled in a long draw. “I’m too damned old to be raising three boys on my own. Don’t have the patience. Don’t have the energy. Don’t have the strength. But when Vanessa left, it was me or foster care. The twins’ father, he isn’t in the picture, either. So what’s a granny to do when her heart won’t let go?”

Heart holds on
, Hatch commiserated,
even when every other part of your body and brain tells you to set sail.
For almost a year after Grace sent him packing, he didn’t have a woman in his bed. Hell, he didn’t even look at another woman because his heart hadn’t let go of hope that Grace would realize her epic mistake and come running into his arms. But this wasn’t about him and Grace. Three little hurricanes were bearing down on Trina Milanos, including his disrespectful son. “There are people who can help, Mrs. Milanos. Social service agencies, boys’ clubs, and school personnel.”

Outside, a horn blared. Through the window, Hatch spotted Alex leaning on the SUV’s horn. Hatch shot him a warning look. His son scratched his nose with his middle finger. Hatch tried one of Grace’s deep breathing moves. Grandma took an extra long puff.

The horn blared again.

“I’ll make some phone calls today,” Hatch said.

Alex didn’t say a word as they drove through town to the cemetery, which was fine, because Hatch had no idea what to say.

They found Black Jack in the far north section of the cemetery at a patch of land with no marble headstones or fancy sprays of flowers. Simple brass discs marked graves along with a few worn, wooden crosses. The caretaker stood next to a hole in the earth, turning a hand crank to lower a plain wooden box into the ground. He steadied the box, never allowing it to brush against the earthen sides of the grave. Alex shuffled next to him, kicking up dirt. Hatch stilled him with a single look. His son would respect the bodies
and
the process.

At last the gravedigger turned to Alex. “Time to work.” Black Jack led them past the newly dug grave to a twelve-foot pile of crushed oyster shells. “Two inches thick. On the path only.” He pointed to a freshly graded footpath winding through the paupers’ graves.

Alex stared at the shells in disgust. “You mean I gotta spend all day shoveling shells?”

Black Jack walked to the hole, picked up a shovel, and hummed an old spiritual as he tucked earth around the wooden box.

When Alex turned to Hatch, clearly ready to complain, Hatch handed him the shovel Alex brought from home. “You got your ass into this situation, Alex, and you’re going to shovel your way out.” He thumped Alex on the back and tapped his fingers on his forehead in farewell to Black Jack. Shoveling two tons of oyster shells was going to be a hell of a lot easier than what he’d be up against today with Grace.

Grace poked pearl studs through both ears. Straightening the pearls at her neck, she grabbed her purse and phone from the nightstand. Last night Lia’s killer had sent her an invitation to a deadly game of murder, and she was suited up and ready to play.

Allegheny Blue heaved himself from the rag rug in front of her bed, his old bones creaking.

“You need to take it easy today. No more treks through the swamp. No more digging.” She pictured his latest bone, the knobby joint with dried bits of flesh, and shivered despite the steamy morning. The forensic team was still digging, searching for more bodies. She ran her knuckles over Blue’s head. “Just stay on the porch today, okay?”

Blue plodded behind her to the front door. When she reached for the handle, his ears curled forward. A low growl rumbled in his throat, setting the hairs on the back of her neck upright. She checked the security system. Still red. She peered out the peephole. Nothing. As she reached for the door, Blue lunged, heaving his body between her and the door.

“For heaven’s sake.” She nudged him aside. “There’s nothing out there.” She threw open the door and rushed out, slamming into a rock-solid wall of flesh and bone.

A scream tore up her throat but sputtered on her lips when she recognized the shaggy, golden head crouched in front of her doorbell. She flattened her palm on her chest. “Theodore!”

Hatch stood and pointed at the little box on the door frame. “Your doorbell’s broken.”

“I know. The entire shack is broken.” She hitched her bag up to her shoulder. “What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to take you to breakfast.”

Dining with Hatch was the last thing she wanted to do. “I ate.”

“How about a game of tennis? I’ve been working on my serve.” Hatch tossed an imaginary ball in the air and swung.

“I can’t deal with you today.” She held open the door and waited as Blue, now calm and slow as swamp sludge, hobbled across the porch and settled on a rag rug in a patch of sunshine.

Hatch rested his shoulder against the door frame. “Or we can play catch with your dog.”

“He’s not my dog.” Grace set the alarm, locked the door, and barreled past Hatch to her car. Hatch and his team had done their duty. They’d helped find Lia Grant, and he’d soon set sail. Because that’s what Hatch did.

She jammed her keys into the ignition and cranked.
No, not today. Please, please, not today
. Again she turned the keys, but the car remained deathly silent.

“How about a lift?” Hatch asked.

“No, thank you.”

“I can call you a cab.”

Grace popped open her glove compartment. “Dammit, Hatch! Go away!”

He leaned his hip against the fender of her car. “You are so damn beautiful when you’re angry.”

Grace closed her eyes. Breathe in, two, three. Breathe out, two, three. “What do you want?”

She expected a wink, a sugary comment about morning delight, but Hatch’s face grew uncharacteristically serious. “You safe.”

“I can take care of myself.” She pulled out the hammer.

“And most of the free world, I know, but this isn’t just about your safety. There’s a crazy person playing a sick game, and you’re the only one who’s been invited. Someone needs to keep an eye on you for the next few days, and more than the few drive-bys the lieutenant scheduled last night.”

“I hardly need a babysitter.”

“If you refuse my company, the lieutenant will assign deputies to watch over you, which is essentially pulling man-hours from the investigation.” Hatch pressed a palm to his chest. “And I can assure you those deputies won’t have my charm and sunny disposition.” He aimed his pointed fingertips to the borrowed SUV. “Your carriage awaits, Princess.”

Yesterday she’d welcomed Hatch’s support as they searched for Lia, but she had serious work today, and Hatch was clearly in a far-from-serious mood. But he was right about one thing: She didn’t want resources pulled from the hunt for Lia’s killer. She tossed the hammer in the glove box and climbed into the SUV. “We’re going to Port St. Joe. I want to talk to the manager of the store where the cell phone found in Lia’s hand was purchased. I’m looking for a paper trail, surveillance video, anything to link us to the person who bought the phone.”

He turned his face to the SUV’s headliner. “You can’t stand by and let others do the work, can you?”

“It’s not who I am. You of all people know that.”

He jammed the keys in the ignition. “Yeah, I know.”

They barreled along the highway, Hatch’s right hand loped casually over the wheel, his right leg jiggling. She’d forgotten how he was always moving when something was on his mind. For not the first time in the past two days she pictured that blue-eyed, blond-haired boy who’d most likely brought Hatch to Cypress Bend and kept him anchored.

“You have a son,” she said.

“You always go for the jugular, don’t you?” A lopsided smile slid across his face, but it didn’t meet his eyes. “I can see you in court, counselor, going at your prey. Sometimes you sneak up on them from the rear, other times you go straight for the kill.”

“What’s his name?”

Hatch scrubbed the stubble at his jaw. “I could never bullshit you, could I?”

“Not in this lifetime.” She knew Hatch, and she knew what he was doing, or at least trying to do, divert her attention to keep from talking about anything serious, including his son. “What’s his name?” Grace asked again.

The jaunty grin slipped away. “Alex Milanos, and until two days ago, I didn’t know he existed.” He told her about Vanessa Milanos, a woman he’d met the summer before they were married who had admittedly sabotaged a condom because she’d wanted his child.

Hatch had a
child
, which meant he was a father. If Grace hadn’t seen the boy with her own eyes, she would not have believed it. She knew firsthand Hatch took birth control seriously. On the other hand, she could picture a woman being so smitten, so charmed, that she’d take any piece of Hatch she could get.

“And you’re here to negotiate peace?” Grace asked after he told her about the boy’s trouble with the law.

Hatch’s leg jiggled faster. “I’m doing what I can.”

“Which is what?”

“Holding him accountable for the shrimp shack break-in and helping his grandma find some tools to deal with him and his twin hurricane brothers. And eventually help him unearth a bit of respect for himself and those around him.”

“And how do you plan to do that?”

Hatch’s entire body stilled, and the playful glint in his eyes faded. A moment later he winked. “Guess I’ll have to buy him a bigger shovel.”

Typical Hatch, backing off when the discussion got too deep.
Because I’m not a deep kind of guy
, Hatch had told her more than a decade ago.
I keep life simple. No baggage. No regrets. What you see is what you get.
Her ex-husband never pretended to be anything else. He lived big and loved hard, and the entire world adored him, including at one point in her life, her.

Grace dug out the address of the phone retailer from her purse and called up a map on her phone. “Take the next exit and go right,” she said. “The phone store will be the fourth storefront on the north side.” She looked at her watch. “They don’t open for an hour, but I have the store manager’s cell phone number.”

A slow smile spread across Hatch’s lips.

“What?” Grace asked.

“Just thinking that if I ever needed to move a mountain, I know who to call.”

She slipped her phone in her purse. “You have a problem with strong, decisive women?”

“As you know, I adore strong, decisive women.” He waggled both eyebrows.

Although his words came out with a charming tease, what he said was unarguably true. Unlike some men, Hatch had never seemed intimidated by her power and ambition. He had no need to compete against her and certainly never belittled her. A decade ago, she would have said it was just his laid-back, devil-may-care attitude, but now into her thirties and having studied human nature in and out of the courtroom, she recognized why Hatch had never been intimidated by her. Men comfortable with their own strength didn’t fear powerful women. “You adore
all
women,” she added with a laugh.