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  They headed for the side door with dragging steps. Meg fumbled her keys, nearly dropping them, but caught them just before they tumbled from her fingers. Muttering under her breath, she jammed the key in the lock and opened the door. Hawk preceded her into the dim mudroom, illuminated only by light filtering in from the living room. She closed the door behind them and locked it. Then she tipped her head against the door and simply breathed in the comfort of home.

  “Meg?” Cara’s voice behind her had her turning to find her sister standing silhouetted in the open doorway.

  “Hey.”

  “Bad one?”

  Meg couldn’t help the bitter laugh from escaping. “Yeah.”

  “Worse than the Whitten Building?”

  “Not in terms of sheer numbers, but definitely in terms of horrific ways to d—” She cut off as a second backlit form filled the doorway. It was undoubtedly a man, inches taller than her sister’s nearly six-foot frame and easily twice as broad. “Sorry, I didn’t know you had company. I’ll get out of your way.”

  “I’m not her company. I’m yours.”

  As she heard the man’s voice, comprehension dawned. Todd Webb, the firefighter she met on her last case. They had plans to go to a movie together on their mutual night off. She’d totally forgotten.

  This was just not her night.

  “I’m sorry. I got called out on this case and—”

  Webb stepped forward, holding up a hand. “You never need to explain emergencies to a first responder. Cara told me you got an unexpected case. She didn’t know when you’d be back, so I volunteered to wait. We got to talking, and before we knew it, a few hours had passed. And here you are.”

  “I’m sorry you waited all this time. It hasn’t been a good night and I’m not feeling very social.”

  Cara reached over and flipped up the light switch on the wall. Bright light flooded the small room, revealing rows of natural wood shelves, stacked cabinets, and hooks bearing everything from rain gear to dog leashes. Her gaze ran first over Meg, from head to toe, and then Hawk, taking in both dirt-caked clothes and fur. “What on earth were you into tonight?” She started toward Meg.

  “A soldier’s grave at Arlington.”

  Cara froze partway across the room, caught by not only the words, but also by Meg’s flat tone of voice. “You said it was a ‘horrific way’ to die. But the occupant of a grave is usually already deceased. Someone else died?”

  Can’t talk about it. Don’t want to talk about it. “I can’t tell you any more than will be in the papers tomorrow after the media liaison releases the basics. Someone was buried alive. We didn’t find her in time.” Her hands curled into fists. “But we were close enough that she was still warm.”

  “You did your best.” Webb’s words drew her gaze. He still hung back in the doorway as if unwilling to intrude, but couldn’t resist trying to help, even from a distance.

  “Sometimes your best doesn’t get the job done,” Meg answered.

  “You can’t beat yourself up about that.” When her jaw tightened and her eyes dropped from his, Webb stepped forward. “If I let every smoke inhalation or fire death get to me, I wouldn’t be able to get the job done. Same thing with medical calls. You give your all with the situation and tools you’ve been given. And then you have to let it go and set your sights on saving the next person who needs you or you’ll go crazy. And they’ll suffer the consequences.”

  I don’t think I’m going to be allowed to let this one go. As if hearing her thoughts, her cell phone rang. She closed her eyes for a second, trying to center herself. Unless there was a life-or-death emergency with her parents, there was only one group of people who would be calling at this time of night. She pulled out her phone—“Craig Beaumont” was displayed on-screen.

  “Jennings.”

  “Are you home yet?”

  “Just walked in the door. What’s happened?”

  “We’ve got another one. It’s addressed to you again.”

  “Already? We just barely finished the last one.” She could hear the mounting fury in her own voice. From the quizzical looks she was getting from Cara and Webb, they could hear it too. She turned her back in some semblance of privacy and steadied her tone. “Same type of message as last time?”

  “Yes. The CRRU boys are on their way back to Quantico to crack it for us. But there’s a problem.”

  “This whole thing is a problem.”

  “I couldn’t agree more. But this vic was taken two days ago.”

  “What?”

  “I know. A woman disappeared two days ago, and her dog was found outside alone. No one found the note, so no one knew to connect us to the case or where to look for her. One of the special agents working tonight’s case was smart enough to put two and two together and followed up with the local PD, which sent someone out to take a better look at the dog’s leash. That’s when they found the note. It was tucked away so well, no one spotted it.”

  “The chances of her still being alive . . .”

  “Near zero, I know. But ‘near zero’ means there’s still a chance. Get back here. Hopefully, by the time everyone is back in the office, Quantico will know where to send you.”

  Meg glanced at her watch. “I need to take the time to feed Hawk or he won’t make it through another search. I’ll be there in forty-five minutes. If you get new intel, we can redirect en route.” She ended the call and turned around to find Cara and Webb staring at her. She gave them a crooked smile. “No rest for the wicked. No time to clean up either, apparently. I have to go.”

  “I’ll feed Hawk,” Cara said. “You just worry about you. Hawk, come.” She left the mudroom, Hawk trotting at her heels.

  Webb stepped closer and tipped Meg’s head up with an index finger so he could see her eyes. From his expression, he didn’t like what he saw there. “You okay?”

  “Have to be.”

  “It doesn’t sound like you’re walking into a very hopeful situation.”

  “I think this will be a recovery, not a rescue.”

  “So do your best. It’s all anyone can ask. And if you want to talk it out later, you know I’m here.” When she started to protest, he cut her off. “Even if you can’t discuss the case, there are still things you can talk about. I’ve been there, done that, so I’ll get it. No pressure, but the offer stands anytime you need it.”

  Meg forced herself to stop for a moment before responding. He was trying to share his own struggles and experiences to help lighten her burden. Refusing out of hand was not only stupid, but it was hurtful. She reached up on tiptoe and pressed a brief kiss to his jaw. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’m walking into, but I appreciate the offer and I’ll seriously take you up on it if I can.” She stepped back and straightened her shoulders. “Now Hawk and I need to get to work.”

  CHAPTER 3

  Horology: In current usage, the art and science of making precision mechanical timepieces. In the decade prior to the start of the U.S. Civil War, American watch manufacturing was transformed based upon the “armory practices” of the United States Armory emphasizing machine-based mass production of identical, interchangeable parts to allow rapid assembly and repair. The American Watch Company, which had manufactured and sold only twenty thousand watches before the start of the war, sold an additional 160,000 pocket watches by 1865. The “Model 1859”—sold as the “Wm. Ellery grade”—was worn by President Lincoln and marketed to Union forces. The company emerged from the war as the main supplier of precision railroad chronometers in the United States and over fifty other countries.

  Tuesday, May 23, 12:48 AM

  Forensic Canine Unit, J. Edgar Hoover Building

  Washington, DC

  Lauren, Rocco, Brian, and Lacey were already at their desks in the bull pen when Meg arrived, Hawk trotting at her heels. After a quick meal at home and a power nap in the SUV, Hawk looked much perkier than Meg was feeling.

  Meg collapsed into her desk chair and gave Hawk the hand signal to lie
down. He flopped at her feet and put his head down on his crossed paws with a sigh.

  “Scott called to say he’s on his way,” Brian said. “Should be here any minute.”

  Meg swiped a hand over gritty eyes and swiveled her chair to face Craig’s closed office door. “He’s in there?”

  “He got impatient waiting for Quantico to call, so he thought harassing them would speed them up.” Lauren’s voice was flat with exhaustion.

  “He wants us out there ASAP. The longer this takes, the less chance we have of saving her,” Brian said. “Do we even know who ‘she’ is?”

  “I’m sure that’s one of the details he’s getting,” Meg said. “Though, really, I’m not sure that really matters right now. All that counts is saving her. We can figure out the rest later when we have the luxury of time.”

  “Agreed.” Lauren leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “This has the possibility of being a really long night, so I’m just going to rest for a few minutes. Wake me up when—” Her eyes flew open as Craig’s door crashed against the wall. “Scratch that.” She sat up, blinking rapidly as if to clear blurry vision. “We’ve got something?” she called to Craig.

  “We do.” Craig strode out of his office just as Scott and Theo came through the door. “Good, everyone’s here. Thanks for extending an already-long day.” His gaze slid across the group of exhausted handlers and the snoozing dogs at their feet. “I know you’re tired.”

  “We are, but that won’t stop us.” Scott pulled up a chair.

  “Don’t sit down. I want you all out the door in ninety seconds.” As Scott shoved the chair back toward his desk, Craig glanced quickly at the scribbled notes in his hand. “The victim’s name is Michelle Wilson. We found this picture of her online.” He pulled out a sheet from behind his notes and flipped it so the group could see it.

  Meg’s stomach clenched and she glanced at Brian to find him already staring at her. Black hair, pale skin and light eyes. Black Irish.

  But Craig continued on, as if he hadn’t seen the silent exchange. “She was taken Saturday night, sometime after ten PM, while walking her dog on the beach in Cape Charles, on Virginia’s Eastern Shore. Someone heard the dog barking outside Ms. Wilson’s house around midnight and went to investigate. They found the beachside house locked up, and the dog outside, his leash still attached to his collar. They called the cops who entered her residence, but there was no trace of her. Her car was in the garage, and nothing was out of place. It appears she took the dog out for a walk and simply vanished.”

  “Just like Sandy Holmes,” Scott said.

  “The Cape Charles PD opened a missing person report right away, instead of waiting the usual twenty-four hours, because of the circumstances. They didn’t believe that she was simply off somewhere on her own. But their investigation led to nothing notable, and they had no evidence of foul play.”

  “Until the note was found,” Meg said.

  “And that was missed during the initial investigation. It was found in the same location—a small container attached to the leash for waste bags—but pushed so far in, no one saw it. The note is in the same code as the one used for the first victim.”

  “Except she wasn’t the first,” Brian interjected. “She was actually number two. The note was addressed to Meg again?”

  “Identical addressing to Meg here at the FBI. CRRU reports this as the decoded message, ‘She is on John Smith’s Island in a place known to her family. Will she die there too? Not if you hurry.’ ”

  Brian leaned forward on a groan, his elbows braced on his knees as he grabbed twin handfuls of hair and pulled in frustration. “And what does that mean? Could it be more vague?”

  “It means who she is does matter,” Lauren said. “The clue is clearly directly related to her. But how are we going to narrow that down? I’m a long way from high-school history class, but didn’t Smith discover a lot of islands as one of America’s early coastal explorers?”

  “He did, and that’s causing some trouble. Apparently, he discovered a number of islands from the Chesapeake Bay area, right up the eastern seaboard to New Hampshire.”

  “We don’t have time to search every key location he found,” Meg protested. “Are the CRRU boys confident in the search location?”

  “There’s maybe more guessing than I’d like, because we’re short of time, but they have a theory. It’s the best we’ve got, so we’re running with it. It’s the middle of the night and we don’t have time to interview her friends and family, so they pulled this information off her personal Facebook page. Ms. Wilson is the senior vice president of the Daughters of Union Veterans of the Civil War. She’s related to a Corporal George Wilson, of Company L of the First Maryland Cavalry, who died at the Confederate prison camp on Belle Isle, Virginia.”

  Meg sat up straighter, suddenly awake as hope and a feeling of some semblance of control filled her. “I know Belle Isle. I’ve been there many times. It’s right across the river from Richmond. It was one of John Smith’s discoveries?”

  “Yes.”

  Lauren pushed to her feet. “And it matches the clue. Her family knows of it, and one of them died there.”

  “There are probably other possibilities we don’t have time to explore yet, but we’re going to go with this one and hope we’ll be lucky. It’s relatively close and it makes sense. I told them I needed something to start you on, but they’re still going to keep looking for any other possibilities. If anything else seems more likely, I’ll let you know on the way. It’s going to take you over an hour to get there, as it is.”

  By this point, all the handlers were on their feet, their dogs awake and alert, feeling the building tension in the room.

  “Any idea as to where she might be on the island?” Scott asked. “The clue doesn’t really help there.”

  “No.” Craig met Meg’s eyes. “You know this island. Suggestions?”

  “A few.” Meg picked up her SAR pack and pulled it on. “It’s now a city park, but there are still some ruins on the island. There were ironworks and a power company in the nineteenth and twentieth centuries. And there is still some Civil War era brickwork left. The abandoned power plant would be the best place to hide someone for several days, as it’s the only intact building on the island and it’s been locked up for the past few years to keep urban explorers out.” She glanced down at Hawk. “But we’ll let the dogs lead us. They didn’t fail us at Arlington, and they won’t fail us now.” She looked back up at the team. “We’ve still got a chance at this. Let’s roll.”

  CHAPTER 4

  Tailrace: The downstream side where water exits below a turbine or hydroelectric dam. In 2012, the National Park Service’s Archeology Program explored and documented the mostly intact tailrace of the second National Armory commissioned by the government in 1798. The surviving ruins are located in the Lower Armory Grounds at Harpers Ferry National Historical Park.

  Tuesday, May 23, 2:16 AM

  Belle Isle

  Richmond, Virginia

  Moonlight guided the teams as they jogged across the footbridge crossing the tributary of the James River, the sturdy wooden planks vibrating under the thump of boot and paw as tumbling streams of water washed underneath the steel trusses.

  “There!” Meg threw the word over her shoulder as she pointed at the pale three-story building on the far side of the bank, set deep into the encroaching forest. “That’s the old power plant.”

  “Looks like a good choice!” Brian called back. “Now let’s see if the dogs agree with us.”

  Even with lights and sirens going, and minimal late-night traffic, it had taken the team over an hour and a quarter to reach their destination. They parked in the lot just south of the James River, crossed the short bridge over the train tracks, and followed the riverside path until they reached the footbridge. The night was quiet and dark, with only the moon and their flashlights for light, but the dogs’ steps were sure and they loped along easily beside their handlers.

&
nbsp; Meg pulled up as they came to the end of the footbridge, waiting until everyone was grouped around her. “Quick overview to orient yourself in the dark.” She pointed to the northeast. “That was where the Confederate prison camp was. There’s not much left of it now, as there were no buildings for the prisoners, only a bunch of tents that were insufficient for the thousands held here. A huge number of men died and were buried on the island. Those graves have now been moved, but their location is marked. The ironworks was also over on the east end of the island and there are several metal structures left from it, including the ruins of both the old oil house and the rolling and milling facility. But that would be a harder place to hide anyone, as neither building is complete or has a roof. The old power plant is the only intact building because it’s the newest and was used until the 1960s. There are also the remains of several quarries on the island, the biggest of which is on the western tip of the island and has been flooded to become a deep man-made pond, so be careful in the dark. Let’s split up so we can cover ground more quickly, but keep your radios on. Call out if you run into trouble or if you find her.”

  One at a time, each handler unleashed his dog and gave the animal the command to search. One at a time, they headed off into the darkness, following their dog’s lead. Lauren and Scott headed out first, both of their dogs choosing the main path that led northeast to run under the Robert E. Lee Bridge. Lacey chose due north, heading straight into the brush, much to Brian’s discontented muttering about always taking the hard way.

  Then Meg and Hawk were alone. In the distance, over the north fork of the James River, the lights of Richmond glowed, even at this time of night. Her old stomping grounds. She rarely came back after Deuce’s death, finding it still too painful. But somehow, standing here with Deuce’s legacy at her side, it was the love that remained, rather than the pain.

  Meg unleashed Hawk and bent down to meet his eyes. “This is going to be hard, buddy. No fresh trail to follow, and if she’s trapped inside, probably no decent scent cone until we’re practically on top of her.” She stood, gazing down the path that ran southwest to the power plant. Hell with it. Normally, she let Hawk lead, but time was desperately short, so she was going to point him in the direction her gut told her was not only the right way to go, but was the only section of the island not already covered by a K-9 team. “Hawk, come.” She led him along the main hiking loop toward the western end of the island before giving him the command. “Find her, Hawk. Find Michelle.”