Chapter 7
Rachel slept poorly after Donovan left. When she finally found it, sleep was light and fitful. Toward daybreak, she was awakened by the shuffling sound people make when they're trying hard not to waken their partner's slumber. It didn't matter anyway, she knew it was Ashcroft as soon as she caught a whiff of his aftershave. She sat straight up in bed, bringing her knees up close to her chest. He took little notice of her. He had apparently taken a shower in one of the other bathrooms, but of course, had to find fresh clothing in the master bedroom. As of today, they still shared the house, and the bed. For how long that was to be so, she had no clear idea. She watched him move around the room, beads of moisture standing out on his dark chest. All he wore was a pair of shorts that were part brief, part boxer. He didn't appear to be packing up permanently, though she noticed a suitcase sitting open on the settee at the foot of the bed. Rachel waited for a very long time, simply watching him move about the quiet way he did.
Finally, she had had enough. "What are you doing," she finally asked.
"What does it look like," he asked shortly, without missing a beat. "I'm packing."
"Where are you going?"
"What does it matter?"
She groaned aloud. She threw the covers back off the bed and brought herself up to her feet quickly. She had all but forgotten she fell into bed wearing her clothes from last night. "I'm sick of the shit, Jack. Can we please get past this?"
He stopped packing for a few moments to burn his eyes into her. "Maybe when things are more settled, we can have a session. As soon as Lily gets here with Donovan, I have to go."
Resigned, she sighed. "Fine. Can you at least tell me where you're going?"
"Favron Resort."
Rachel had heard of many resorts in her life, but not that one. "Why?"
"It's where Nona Pope's body was found."
Shocked, she didn't know what was worse. Was it the cold, antiseptic way he told her? Was it the fact she had hoped beyond hope that Nona was still alive? Was she marginally upset that Donovan hadn't told her first? Rachel couldn't put her finger on it. All she knew for certain was the news was bad. It would be heartbreaking for her girlfriend and her publicist. It was completely devastating to her. She had barely known the singer, having met her perhaps a half dozen times. What made it worse was that Nona Pope had been abducted from her house. Was she more angry at Ashcroft for telling her like this or Nona Pope herself for coming to the memorial? Having it seemed to be the right thing to do at the time. In hindsight, she wished a thousand times she had never held the memorial. If she hadn't, Nona Pope would be alive.
Ashcroft seemed oblivious to the way he broke the news to Rachel. He seemed not to care. He waited for approximately five minutes, gave up on a more vocal reaction, and then he proceeded to continue packing. When he finished approximately fifteen minutes later, Rachel stood in the same spot with the same expression on her face. He was too angry to say goodbye. Without a further word her way, he left to wait for Donovan and Lily.
The slam of the front door brought Rachel out of her daze. She made a decision right then, one that might lead to an ending she certainly wasn't prepared for, but she didn't care. She dressed as hurriedly as she could, just in time to see a dark SUV pulling away from the curb.
Later, at a rest stop fifteen miles from Favron Resort, the five members of the TSK UC taskforce took a brief detour for a short break. Donovan looked around for any eavesdroppers. He had had to prepare early for the trip, not having had enough time to call Rachel with the news about Nona. When he saw that he was alone for the moment, he dialed Rachel's cell. It immediately went to voice mail. Annoyed, he tried the number again. When it went to voice mail again, he left a brief message simply asking her to call. What he didn't know was that Rachel would not look at her phone for several hours.
Favron Resort, was by all standards old, rotting, and cheesy. Most couples who came only stayed for a few hours at time. It was a favored spot on weekends by methamphetamine freaks who needed some time alone with the pipe. It consisted of three rows of five attached huts on the beach. Basically, it was like a motel with better scenery. It was owned by a retired couple who were in over their heads and couldn't keep the property maintained. As soon as the TSK taskforce arrived, they were told that the wife of the property owner was who discovered the body. Her husband had had to drive her to the city and admit her to the hospital. The gruesome scene had induced a heart attack.
They were there UC, of course, and had to create back stories. As soon as they were told where to set up, Donovan dived into his hut for a quick change of clothing. He donned baggy blue jean shorts, a sleeveless tee-shirt, and thong sandals. He tied back his hair into a loose ponytail and covered the top of his head with a faded bandana. After checking in with the rest of the crew, Donovan took the opportunity to drive into town to meet the Favrons.
After arriving at the hospital, which was more like a community medical center, Donovan received some curious glances when he asked to see Danica Favron. Most folks around the area probably knew the family well, figuring that none of them could possibly be related to a hippie guy from Miami. On any other day, it might have been funny.
Donovan found Danica Favron's room. He saw that the door was open, but he heard the couple before he saw them. They were clearly arguing about something, with Mrs. Favron louder than her husband. Afraid to be yelled at for interrupting their argument, Donovan rapped on the doorway with his knuckle. He was greeted by an indignant curse, quickly followed by Ricky Favron apologizing profusely for his wife.
"Who are you," Danica Favron demanded. "You sure as shit ain't no doctor."
"I'm sorry to interrupt," Donovan began. "I'm Frank Donovan from the Miami FBI office. You may have spoken to Jess Lockwood."
Two sets of brilliant blue eyes stared up at him. They probably didn't believe he was who he said he was, but his badge was handy if they wanted to see it. Danica Favron was probably around seventy, her husband perhaps five years older, although they both looked years younger. Mrs. Favron still had a great deal of black hair on her head. Her husband, who was mostly gray, had probably once been a red head.
"I've been telling my stubborn husband that I'm fine. It wasn't a heart attack. What is it that you need, Mr. Dunnavint?"
"Danica," Mr. Favron said gently. "He said Donovan."
"Oh, like it matters," she said crankily. "Get me out of here, and I might remember his name better. What can I do for you?"
"You were the one to find the body this morning," he asked gently, unsure as to how quickly he needed to get into it.
She put her hand over her heart. "Dear lawd, yes," she began. Her husband started to protest at the line of questioning, but she waved her hand toward him. "Shush, Rick. Yes, I was the one. I done told that other gent that I didn't see anything. I just heard a ruckus. By the time I got to the hut, there was nothing left, just a body."
"Me and the wife are trying to sell the place, Mr. Donovan," Rick Favron said. "As you all can see, it's not what it was when we bought it. So when we get a call about noise at the place or a break-in, we don't rush over. Bad people hang out there."
Donovan could certainly agree with that. Their hired help had shown the team to their huts, saying they had picked the best out of the bunch. Honestly, it wasn't saying much. "I know we don't intend to stay long. I can assure you that as long as we have a presence there, you won't have to worry about anything else happening."
"We sure appreciate that," Mrs. Favron said.
"We'll stay in touch," Donovan promised.
After leaving the hospital, his next stop was the local police department. He knew from Lockwood's call that they had collected evidence in the hut where Nona Pope likely died. The community where Favron was located wasn't large. He had seen enough at the hospital to know. Their police department wasn't any larger. It was housed in a two story red brick building with two or three cruisers parked in front of it. Next door to it was an even smaller place labeled as the city hall.
Donovan found only one parking slot for visitors near the police department. As he made his way to the building, he was met by a few more stares. He ignored all those who stared at him and walked on into the PD. He was greeted by a dispatcher, who asked to see his badge before she would allow him entrance to see their only two detectives. He was shown into a small office littered with half a dozen filing cabinets. The room was cluttered with various wanted posters hanging haphazardly on the wall. The desk looked as if it came from an era fifty years in the past. The chair parked in front of it was leather, but the stuffing was leaking out of numerous slits in the material. The one he sat on was hard, flat, and made out of metal. He didn't want to judge anyone or say anything about it, yet it was hard not to. He honestly had to admit that the entire scene reminded him of an old TV program.
"Agent Donovan?"
He turned toward the doorway to see a trim young man dressed in a white shirt and khaki pants. He wore a gun neatly tucked into a belt holster. Donovan attempted to stand to shake his hand, but he didn't have time. The fellow walked around his desk and sat down. His chair screeched under his weight due to its decrepit condition.
"I'm Detective Sumner. My partner and I were called out to Favron Resort this morning. I understand you want to view the evidence we collected?"
Sumner had dark hair, a long face, and very dark eyes. He focused them on Donovan's face, instantly emitting a protective vibe when it came to the evidence. "Yes, that is correct. Our office believes that Ms. Pope was a victim of a serial killer we have been tracking for some time. I would like to see what you have."
The other man smiled his way. It was fake, a small town politic smile was the only way to describe it. "You understand that we have jurisdiction over this case."
"You do until we determine who was responsible. When the time comes, our office will supersede your jurisdiction," Donovan explained calmly. He understood completely. This was probably the biggest case Sumner had ever seen. Donovan respected their boundaries, but he wouldn't allow a killer to flee that was connected to TSK. "I know your office is aware of the ongoing Souvenir Killer case."
Sumner laughed. It was as cold and as medicinal as his smile. "Of course we are, Agent Donovan. However, we have not ascertained if this murder has anything to do with it. That is, other than what your friend Agent Lockwood passed along to us. It could have easily been a copycat."
Donovan took a deep breath. He did not want to have a pissing match with the detective. "Again, I respect your boundaries, Detective Sumner. I simply need to look at the evidence you collected. I would also like to examine the body of Nona Pope. I understand she has been taken to a local funeral home until she is sent to the ME."
"Yes sir, you got that correct. I'll page our evidence tech and have her take you on to see the evidence. She can also take you to the funeral home."
Without another word, Sumner contacted Violet Moyer, who was their lone CSI agent. Moyer was a middle aged lady who seemed like a no nonsense type of person. She was the complete opposite of her colleague. She seemed quite interested in the TSK case and told him in strict confidence that she fully believed Nona Pope was a victim of the serial killer plaguing Donovan's territory. Unfortunately, there was not much evidence collected. What existed were a few synthetic hairs from a red wig, along with the hair cut away from Nona Pope's head. Donovan made note of it before Moyer announced that they needed to get to the funeral home 'pronto' before the ME's assistant came to take her body back to Dade County.
Viewing a victim of violence was something Donovan rarely did. Since they were certain she was murdered by TSK and taken into another town, it was necessary. It would be up to Donovan's superiors to notify the small town of Springville that Miami FBI were taking jurisdiction. He was certain that Stephen Sumner would likely be supremely pissed.
The body of Nona Pope had been cleaned, any evidence on her person collected, and the gaping hole in her throat covered with a large bandage. Although her killer had cut away her hair, it had been collected with the other evidence. She seemed at peace. What horror had she seen before she died? Donovan had donned surgical gloves before entering. Despite that, he had no intention of touching her. The FBI failed her. She should not have seen such a horrid end.
"My daughter loved her music," Violet Moyer said. "I never got it, but she did have a pretty voice."
"There was little to no trace evidence, I understand," Donovan began. "How did the hut look?"
"It was clean. Really clean, other than what you saw," she said. "I've been doing this job for twenty years. I've never seen a place so organized. If you ask me, it was some folks who knew what they were doing."
It was an angle they had explored, but Donovan was surprised at her inference. "You mean someone who knows about the law?"
"Either that or they watch a lot of cop shows on TV," she said with a sardonic laugh. "It's unfortunate, she was so young and beautiful. What I can do for you, if you would like, is write up a report stating that I believe it fits the MO of the guys you're looking for."
Donovan's eyebrow went up. "Guys?"
"Yeah. I think it had to be more than one person to get everything in order like that. I know Sumner out ranks me, but the Chief of Police loves me."
She said the last bit with a wicked gleam of an eye. Donovan liked her immediately. He almost told her to apply for a job at his office. He figured she would turn him down. Springville was her home. "Thank you for your help. I'll leave my number with you."
As Donovan was examining the evidence and viewing the body of Nona Pope, the other agents were busily setting up shop at the resort. They each had their own hut and another set up as a meeting room. They didn't intend on staying longer than two days, so none of them had packed much.
In one hut, Lily sat alone with her laptop. The room was equipped with a table and chair, but the table wobbled crazily, and the chair was rickety. After sitting there for a few seconds, she gave up, carrying her laptop over to the bed. It seemed to be in good shape, the kind that didn't have slats. She was fairly certain it wouldn't cave in with her. For a decent amount of time, she tried to concentrate on work. Donovan wouldn't be back for a while and the other guys were busy. There really wasn't much to do until he came back with information regarding evidence found at the scene. Earlier, they had checked the inside of the hut where Nona's body was found. It was spotless.
"Unbelievable," Lily whispered.
She was about to begin typing up her case notes when a knock came at her door. At first, she thought it was Donovan. When checking her watch, she realized that he had only been absent for about an hour. There was no way he had already made it back to the resort. The thought almost forced her to ignore the insistent rapping. It was no use hiding inside the hut. Everyone knew she was in here with nothing to do or anywhere to go. It wasn't like she could just head on out to Dobson's for a strawberry lemonade.
"I'm coming," she cried in annoyance. She was surprised to see that her guest was Ashcroft. "What do you want?"
Ignoring her comment, he came into her hut. "Nice to see you, too."
She rolled her eyes and closed the door behind him. She saw that he chose to sit in the rickety chair at the table. It must have been stronger than she thought. Jack Ashcroft definitely outweighed her by sixty pounds or more. "Do you have anything to share?"
"Not case wise," he said. "Have you been messing around with Donovan?" Her blank stare was answer enough. He laughed. "I suppose your silence is golden. You did know he was with my girl before, didn't you?"
"Yes," she said shortly. "He told me."
"You don't like it much, do you?"
She shrugged her shoulders indifferently. "I couldn't give a tin shit, Jack. I gave Donovan his wings to fly if she is someone he wants."
He laughed again. "In other words, you don't like it. Neither do I. We have to work together, so there isn't much either of us can do about it now."
"You're right about that," she said, agreeing with him. She went over to the bed and sat down.
"It's no fun being the third wheel, is it? I think after this assignment ends, I'm asking for a transfer. I don't know if I can continue to work with him knowing how close he was to her. What are you going to do?"
"Beats me, Jack. I can't see past this case just yet. Ask me when it's over. Perhaps I will have a different answer."
"I have a great idea."
Donovan returned to the resort some time later. He went immediately to his hut to remove the bandana. It was irritating as hell. When he gave himself time to process all he had seen or read today, he would ask to meet with the others. He didn't think they would have any trouble seeking jurisdiction with this. It was a matter of time. Nona Pope was in a funeral home with a gaping hole in her neck where her larynx once was. Their killer had a habit of taking something from each victim, some item on their person or a body part special to the victim. It didn't take rocket science to figure out that Nona's voice was her most treasured possession.
He was a man in his own little world. When a knock on his door sounded, he nearly shouted with surprise. He didn't know what was making him so damned jumpy lately. Never in his life had he been like this. Steeling himself for anything, he went to the door and opened it. Who he saw and how she was dressed was more of a shock than anything he had had to deal with thus far. Standing outside dressed in blue jean shorts, tank top, and long red wig was Rachel. The wig completely threw him off. It was almost enough to make him lose his cool.
Donovan was shocked enough that he didn't invite her in. She took it upon herself to enter the hut. After she walked past him, he closed the door, locking it for good measure. There were many questions he wanted to ask, but first and foremost would be why she had chosen to wear a long red wig. He didn't think anyone had shared enough about the case with her where she would have known about the red wig. He was almost tempted to yank a strand of the synthetic hair right then to compare with what the Springville police had found earlier. However, there was due time for that.
"What in the hell are you doing here," he asked angrily as soon as he turned toward her.
Rachel had chosen to sit on the foot of the bed. She had prepared for this moment. She intended to jump his case about Nona Pope. He had turned the tables on her, demanding angrily why she had come to him. "Jack told me where you were going. He also said that Nona Pope was found murdered. Why didn't you tell me?"
Thinking quickly, Donovan yanked the red wig off her head, tossing it indifferently into one corner of the room. He was sure she wouldn't touch it after that. It would give him enough time to get a sample. "I called your cell to tell you. You didn't answer."
"That's because I had to speak to my firm about a leave of absence. I haven't looked at my phone since yesterday. I had to come up here to ask you about that."
She looked absolutely pitiful. When he had a moment to give her a second look, he could tell she had been crying. "Where did you park? Jack knows what your car looks like."
He spoke rather matter of fact, telling her something she already knew. "I thought of that," she said. "I'm in a rental. I feel responsible for her death."
Was she venting or giving him some type of confession? Turning down his tone of voice an octave, he grabbed the vacant chair by the table, placing it close to her. Carefully, he sat down, well aware of the noises of protest it made as it accepted his weight. "What do you mean?"
Rachel groaned out loud. "Don't be stupid, Frank. You know what I mean. She was in my house. She was abducted from it and murdered. What do you think I mean, you jackass?"
His mind went back to how she was at the memorial. If she had anything to do with it, she certainly was a good actress. Then again, he recalled what Violet Moyer said. She thought it was someone well versed in the field of law. Rachel was an attorney, which meant she knew what she needed to be successful in her chosen field. She had CIA training as well. It didn't mean she was a killer. He glanced at the wig in the corner of the room, an item she had all but forgotten.
"I told you that what happened cannot be laid at your feet," he said. "You shouldn't have come all this way. You should have stayed at home."
"And I told you I couldn't," she cried, ensuring that she didn't get loud enough for someone else to hear. The walls in the huts were thin. She knew, of course, because she had her own. "I'm staying here at the resort, just far enough away not to rouse suspicion from Jack." She wiped her eyes with the heel of her hand. "I wish you had told me. I'm really pissed at you for not."
"What if he saw you coming up? You don't know how to be invisible."
She glared at him. He was back to his stiff work persona again, the side of him that she had always disliked. "Neither do you. What are you trying to portray now, Frank? A middle-aged beach bum? If I didn't know you, I would think you were a Fed trying to play normal. You were never meant to be UC, but you do love it so, don't you?" When he said nothing in response, she continued, "I worked my way through law school doing PI work, did I ever tell you that?"
He didn't know how to gauge her. He didn't want to, not until he had a sample of that wig to compare to the other at the PD. "No, I didn't know that. We had parted ways by then. Remember?"
Rachel shook her head sadly. He certainly knew how to hurt her. "I do."
"What are you getting at, Rachel? You want to do PI work for me? Is that it?"
If it was what she wanted, he would give it to her as long as he could find a way to get rid of her. He had to get the wig to Violet Moyer. She could easily do a comparison. Their squad was small, but she had a microscope in her lab. It would take only a few minutes to identify it. If it was similar, one half of the equation would be solved. As much as it would hurt, he could take her down if she was the guilty party.
"I need to do something, Frank. I can't stand the fact that my friend was murdered. It kills me to think about how Nona was murdered. I feel responsible."
Keeping his poker face, he said, "You can help. I can make it happen. For now, Rachel, I need you to leave. Go back to your room. I'll find you."
She nodded. "Okay, Frank. Whatever it takes. There is something else I need to tell you."
"Okay," he said. "Fine. Later, please. Go back to your room."
Without further discussion, Rachel went to the door, unlocked it, and made her exit. She remembered the wig ten minutes later. By then, it was too late. Donovan had taken it with him back to Springville.
Violet Moyer was somewhat surprised to see Donovan back so soon. However, when he showed her the wig, she suddenly became a staunch professional. Hopefully, it would tell them the news they were waiting for.
Lily sat up on the side of her bed. She covered her face with her hands. What the hell did she think she was doing? Why the hell had she agreed with Ashcroft that this would be a good idea? Stupid bastard. Yet, she couldn't completely blame him for everything. As the old saying went, 'it takes two to tango.' She supposed a more X-rated version of that saying would be more appropriate. In other words, it takes two to fuck. Yes indeed.
"Don't tell me you're getting shy," Ashcroft said from behind her.
He ran one finger down the small of her back. It tickled, but also felt creepy. Why in the world had she done this? "Jack, what did we just do?"
"What do you think, Lily? We just got revenge."
Ashcroft was a good lover. She couldn't deny that, but he was no Frank Donovan. No wonder his girlfriend still mooned over him. She figured that she would never see Donovan in the same light again. Especially not after this.
"Yeah, I suppose. What are we doing? We should be focused on the case," she insisted. "Hell no. We just jumped into bed here."
"What else is there to do, Lily? Answer that. We can't do anything until Donovan comes back. He's being secretive and protective of his moves. He is not interested in working with us, he wants the case to himself."
She mulled Ashcroft's words over and over again in her head. He was bitterly jealous over a past relationship that may or may not be rekindled. It was that very reason which led him to suggest that they needed to be together to serve something which may have resembled revenge. It was stupid and it was wrong. Still, his words made sense. Donovan was pulling himself into a secretive circle, not including the rest of the team. They were here together to work a case. Despite that, Donovan had inadvertently taken lead.
"When we get back to Miami, I'm going to mention this to our superiors," Ashcroft said.
This made Lily turn toward Ashcroft. "Obsessed much?"
He smiled, it showed his dimples. It was what endeared him to women. "Not really. I'm interested in fair play. That's it. What do you want out of this?"
"For the killing to stop," she whispered. "That's what I want most of all."
Back at the Springville PD, Violet had examined the two wig samples closely. She would have been the first to admit that she wasn't the best in the CSI business. Regardless of that, she could easily see what was before her. Donovan stood beside her, pacing back and forth every five minutes or so. Normally, it would have unnerved her. Not today. He was a good guy. Impatient, but good.
"What do you think," Donovan asked. He had been waiting for a good amount of time with no answers. It was something he didn't like. "Are they a match?"
She pushed back away from the microscope and caressed the bridge of her nose. She hated this part of the job. Looking at shit wasn't something she normally did. They sent work like this out to Miami. "No, Agent Donovan. I'm afraid they're not. The wig you brought is more high end than the sample we found."
Donovan felt two ways at once. He was glad his hunch about Rachel had been wrong. He was also upset about it. They were back to square one. "Thank you for helping out."
"No problem," she said with a brilliant smile.
"Are you sure you're not interested in moving up to Miami?" he asked with a grin.
"No way," she said waving him off. "I like being the thorn in Sumner's side."
By the time Donovan made it back to the resort, it was almost dark. Thankfully when he arrived at his hut, Rachel was not around. He used the radio function on his cell phone to alert the troops. They needed to meet tonight, discuss his findings, and then try the plan with Lily as bait.
The group met in the hut reserved for strategizing. While Donovan went over the day's findings, he couldn't help but notice a strange grin on Ashcroft's face. It was unsettling to say the least. His eyes fell on Lily next. She was looking at everything but him. It was odd, something that needed to be addressed. Just not now. He failed to go into the fact that he thought a wig belonging to Rachel Sloane was connected to the TSK murders. It would confuse things, make the work relationship with Ashcroft even more strained.
They collectively decided that tomorrow they would leave for home. By the next morning, the FBI would have jurisdiction of this case, tying it into the Miami murders. Donovan had already faxed the office a copy of the statement Violet Moyer drew up on his behalf.
After they dismissed, the others left immediately for their huts to get sleep. However, Lily lingered. Donovan had noticed her strange silence the entire evening. She appeared as if there was something she needed to tell him. He hoped she would not be so bitter and distant as Ashcroft was.
"Are you okay?" he asked.
She smoothed her flyaway hair in the back with her hand, leaving it at the nape of her neck. "I just hate the weird vibe now. That's all."
"Do you want to come back with me and talk about it?"
His intentions were pure. Lily sensed that immediately. Yet, her encounter with Ashcroft earlier had made her feel entirely worthless. She had never thought she could be so petty. "No," she said after several minutes of silence. "I think I should go back to my room, go to bed, and sleep my skinny ass off."
She graced him with a wane smile, one that said more than her lips ever could. "Are you sure?"
Nodding, she said, "Yeah. I'm sure."
Since there was a chance a killer lurked amongst them, Donovan walked her back to her hut, they said goodnight at the door, but nothing more. Lily closed the door primly before he could say anything else.
Solemnly, he walked back to his hut. A noise several feet away caught his attention. It sounded like the cries of a very distraught person. He darted into his room quickly, grabbing his shoulder holster and jacket. He threw them both on and cautiously proceeded toward the source of the noise. In the distance, he could see a figure of a woman sitting on the sand. It appeared that she was digging.
Keeping his arm tight and slightly bent toward his weapon, he kept straight ahead. The woman hadn't noticed him. She was completely too upset to do so. He came forward slowly, dragging his feet in the sand. Just before he approached her, she stopped what she was doing as she noticed a man nearing her. She immediately recognized the stance, the way he crept her way.
"I know it's you, Frank," she said within her sobs.
"Rachel? What the hell are you doing," he demanded.
"Keep your voice down," she hissed.
Calming down a few octaves, he moved closer toward her. Whatever she was burying was completely covered up. He sat on the sand near her, blocking her from view in case Ashcroft decided to take a late night stroll. She had either found or purchased one of those plastic shovels children use to play in the sand.
"Why did you take my wig," she asked.
Rachel dropped the shovel near the small mound of sand. She had braided her hair and shoved it under a cap. The way she was dressed, no one would have recognized her. Only Donovan.
Donovan stared at her for a very long time. Not once did she look away from him. Should he tell her? Should he give that much information? "You told me earlier that you had something to tell me. What is it?"
She shook her head. "Oh no you don't. Answer my question first."
He sighed with annoyance. He wasn't ready for the storm that would erupt when he told her why. What the hell? Everything was shot anyway. "It was a red wig. If the killer has a partner, which is what we believe, it was a woman wearing a red wig."
She was completely appalled by his confession. "You cannot be serious? You thought I was involved?"
"What were you burying?" he asked, completely ignoring her indignant response.
"The bucket of bullshit you have been feeding me," she said. "That's what."
She attempted to get up. As soon as she made moves to do so, he grabbed her arm, effectively blocking her attempt. There was hate and venom in her eyes. If she hadn't been so upset, she might have spit in his face. That certainly would have made him release her. Then again, he probably would have held on longer, hurting her in the process.
"Stop it," he whispered severely. "What are you doing? What are you burying?"
"Since you believed me to be a killer, it's evidence," she said sarcastically. "Maybe it's another wig. The right one."
"I'm going to look," he told her. "If you try to run, I will catch you. I will cuff you and throw you into our SUV. Do we understand each other?"
She yanked her arm out of his hand. She crossed her arms and moved back. "Be my guest."
He took the plastic shovel she had discarded and began to dig. She stayed put, believing his threat, and watched him sullenly. It didn't take long to find what she had been trying to hide. It was a small box, the kind that people put peanut brittle in. He lifted the lid, instantly confused and pissed at the same time. The instant he laid his eyes on it, he was completely shocked. It was a shield, one given exclusively to FBI agents.
While Donovan was busily uncovering one of Rachel's secrets, Lily had decided to take a late night walk. Her eyes quickly identified Donovan sitting on the sand with another woman. She couldn't exactly see who the woman was, as her body was partially blocked by his body. She didn't think anything about it, other than the fact that he had clearly decided to move on. Turning around, she quickly walked the other way, toward Jack Ashcroft's room.