Winter Black Box Set 2 Read online

  With a shrug, Winter rapped her knuckles against the wooden door. “Hard to say. I don’t have anything to compare it to, really. But I guess social media was just never really my thing. I had an account, but I might have updated it, like, ten times during the entire time I was in high school. People would tag me in stuff sometimes, I guess, but I never paid attention to it. I closed my Facebook account a few years ago.”

  “I guess that explains why we aren’t Facebook friends.” For the first time since they had pulled into the battered parking lot, he grinned.

  “Have you added my grandpa yet?” Her eyes lit up as she returned the wide smile, almost like she had stumbled across the answer to an age-old mystery.

  “Your grandpa?” he echoed. “Jack’s on Facebook?”

  “He is.” She laughed at the look on Noah’s face, which probably closely resembled her own. “Gramma said he used to play those farm games, and he’d bombard her with requests for crops and stuff.”

  Just as he was about to join in her mirth, a shadow passed behind the closed blinds, and the door swung inward.

  “I’m so sorry about that,” the woman in the doorway started, brushing off her short-sleeved blouse as she offered them a strained smile. “Sometimes running this place during summer classes can be even more work than it is during the regular school year. Please, come on in. I’m Principal Amanda Williamson. You must be the agent I spoke to yesterday.”

  “That’s me. Agent Dalton.” With a smile, Noah stepped into the sunny office to extend a hand.

  As Principal Williamson brushed a piece of dark hair from her eyes, some of the trepidation left her face as she accepted the handshake. When she turned to clasp Winter’s outstretched hand, the rest of the worry dissipated.

  “Agent Black,” Winter offered.

  “Pleasure to meet you both.” Beckoning for them to follow, the shorter woman made her way past the receptionist and into a modest office. She paused at the edge of her wooden desk, and as she moved to sit in a black office chair, the scent of hand sanitizer wafted past him.

  “Sorry. No offense,” the principal offered, rubbing her hands together. “When you work in a high school, you get used to sanitizing your hands after just about everything you touch. I never realized before I had my own kids how gross teenagers could be. Or maybe it’s just my teenagers, I’m not sure.”

  “Oh, I don’t think it’s just you.” Noah chuckled as he eased the door closed behind himself. “I’ve got a couple cousins who graduated high school not too long ago, and my aunt used to say the same thing.”

  “Well, thank you. That makes me feel a little bit better,” she replied as she sat. “Please, have a seat.”

  With an appreciative smile, he dropped down to one of two squat, armless chairs.

  “I think my partner here has given you a pretty good idea of why we’re here,” Winter started. Though her expression was laser-focused, her voice was calm and non-accusatory.

  His partner was learning, he mused.

  “Yes.” Principal Williamson slid a manila envelope across the polished surface of the desk. “This is everything we’ve got on Jaime Peterson. I made photocopies of all the documents we had so you can take them with you.”

  “Thank you,” Noah replied with a pleasant smile.

  Winter’s blue eyes shifted over to him, and he merely nodded at her unasked question. A less astute observer might have missed the tremor in her hand as she reached out to pick up the folder.

  “What questions can I answer for you today? Bowling Green isn’t an awfully big town, so visits from any kind of law enforcement are rare, much less from FBI agents. Is Jaime all right?” A flicker of concern passed behind her dark eyes as she glanced from him to Winter and back.

  “We aren’t sure.”

  He broke his gaze away from the principal’s just long enough to catch a glimpse of what he assumed was Justin Black’s senior picture. He had stared at photos of the young man for long enough that he didn’t need to see a color picture to know the youth’s eyes were the same vivid shade of blue as his sister’s.

  “Jaime was a great student,” Principal Williamson began and fiddled with one of the many ink pens on her desk.

  “I saw that. Impressive grades. Did he talk about where he wanted to go to school? He could have gotten into some pretty good colleges.” Noah finally pried his eyes away from the black and white copies and back to the principal’s worried gaze.

  “Not to me,” she answered. “I might have heard something about Notre Dame, but I can’t honestly remember if that was Jaime or one of his friends.”

  “Are any of his friends still enrolled that we could talk to?” Noah asked.

  Before he finished the question, Principal Williamson shook her head. “No, they’ve all graduated. We don’t have very big classes, usually only around fifteen to twenty kids. I included the names of the boys I saw him around the most often. His schedule is in there, too, so you’ll have the names of his teachers. Small school or not, I’ve got a lot of hormonal teenagers I’ve got to keep an eye on, so I don’t usually get to know the students as well as some of my faculty. But, well, you know how teenagers are, right? It’s not like they usually share a lot with their teachers, at least not in high school.”

  “A fair point.” He flashed her another grin as he reached into the pocket of his suit jacket. The formal wear wasn’t ideal for a summer day in the state of Virginia, but it beat military dress blues.

  “Could you tell us a little bit about what he was like?” Winter asked before he had unlocked the screen of his phone.

  Some of the anxiety dissipated from Principal Williamson’s face, and she nodded. “Of course. Well, you already know he was a great student. He was a smart young man, and not just book smart, either. I’ve never been a big fan of the term, but a couple of the faculty here referred to him as an old soul. He was never much for social media, and I’m not even sure that he had a smartphone.”

  “Is that unusual?” Noah asked.

  The principal nodded. “Very. But he was outgoing, and I don’t know that there was anyone in his class who didn’t like him. He might not have been into all the same music and online stuff that his classmates were, but that didn’t keep him from making friends.”

  Winter’s smile was wistful as she turned her attention to the transcripts in her lap.

  “What about his parents?” Noah wanted to offer Winter words of reassurance, but he would have to wait until after they had returned to the parking lot.

  “I can’t say I ever remember meeting them,” Principal Williamson replied. “And I can only really recall him mentioning them in passing. But that’s not all that unusual. Unless they’re complaining, I don’t think there are a lot of high school kids who talk to their classmates about their parents.”

  “I know I never did.” Despite the pinpricks of adrenaline on the back of his neck, Noah kept his expression pleasant as he set his phone on the desk. Pushing it toward the principal with an index finger, he kept his attention on the woman and away from the DMV photo of Douglas Kilroy.

  “How about this fellow? He familiar at all?” He had to make a concerted effort to refer to Kilroy as a “fellow” rather than a “sick sack of shit” or an “evil bastard.”

  Lips pursed, Amanda tapped her chin as she considered the picture. “You know, yeah, he is familiar. I can’t remember his name, but he did some odd jobs around the building a couple summers ago. Southern accent, sort of soft-spoken, seemed nice enough.”

  Noah fought against a reflexive recoil at the reference to Douglas Kilroy, the fucking Preacher, as “nice enough.”

  If you only knew, lady. You’re lucky to be sitting here right now. Lucky he didn’t decide to paint the walls of your room with your blood after he raped you and carved your body up beyond recognition.

  The flash of anger surprised him.

  She didn’t know any better. It wasn’t Amanda Williamson’s fault that Douglas Kilroy had wreaked havoc on
the American South for the better part of three decades.

  He swallowed the rage before he dared to speak again. “Do you ever remember seeing him around Ju…” He cleared his throat. “Around Jaime?”

  “No, I can’t say I do.” With a hapless shrug, she pushed the smartphone back to him.

  Noah turned to Winter, and she nodded her agreement to the unspoken question.

  “Okay, Mrs. Williamson,” Winter started, producing a card from the inside of her blazer. “That’s my card. If you remember anything else about Jaime or about that man, please let us know as soon as you get a chance. Otherwise, if we’ve got any other questions, we’ll be in touch.”

  Pushing herself to stand, the woman nodded. “Of course, agents. I hope I was at least a little helpful.”

  “Absolutely,” Noah replied.

  “Yes, thank you for everything,” Winter put in. “And please, any little bit of information helps. Even if you think it’s something insignificant, just shoot me an email.”

  “Of course.” A trace of the pleasant smile returned to Amanda’s face as she reached out for a parting handshake.

  Noah didn’t need Winter’s sixth sense to know they had gotten all the information they could get from Amanda Williamson and Bowling Green High.

  He could only hope some of the names she’d provided would have a better idea of Justin Black’s extracurricular activities.

  10

  So many thoughts and feelings had whipped through Winter’s head since she arrived at work that morning, she had almost forgotten about the odd phone call from Dr. Robert Ladwig. The conversation didn’t even cross her mind until Noah pulled the giant pickup into the parking garage. Winter didn’t believe in coincidences, and the man’s bizarre inquiry hung in the back of her head like a leftover Christmas decoration.

  “Hey…” She worried her bottom lip, wanting to bring this up the right way.

  “What’s up?” His green eyes flicked to her as he shifted the truck into park.

  That’s how I wanted to sound earlier, she thought to herself. Brushing aside the awkward memory, she straightened and unfastened her seatbelt.

  “I think I got a weird call from Dr. Ladwig earlier. And no, I’m not trying to dredge anything up. That’s all done and over with.” For emphasis, she waved a dismissive hand.

  “Okay?” He turned to face her. “But what do you mean you think you got a call from him?”

  “Is that what I said? That’s not how I meant it. I meant that I think it’s weird. The fact that he’d call me at all is pretty weird, but he was saying shit about my brother and trying to tell me he hoped I’d found peace or something now that Kilroy’s dead.”

  “That’s a little weird, yeah. But I don’t know. He was your shrink for a few years, wasn’t he?”

  “Yeah, but it’s not like we were close.”

  “Maybe not, but darlin’, you tend to leave an impression on people.”

  Almost half a year had passed since she had seen the mischievous twinkle in this man’s eyes, and she’d forgotten how much she loved it. In the ensuing moment of quiet, she almost forgot what in the hell they were talking about. She tried to mask her low-key infatuation with feigned ire, but she could tell by the look on his face that she was unsuccessful.

  As a last resort, she threw a playful jab at his upper arm.

  “Damn it, Dalton,” she muttered. “I was starting to think there was this big conspiracy going on, but you had to go and ruin it all by making sense.”

  “I’m sorry.” He laughed. “I’ll take your feedback into consideration and try to be more of a dumbass next time.”

  “You’d better.” Despite the stressful events of the day so far, she snickered at the sarcastic comment.

  Noah had a knack for lightening her darker moods, and she suddenly realized she had only ever given him grief for it. Before the wave of guilt could wash over her, she reminded herself that she didn’t have to succumb to the sensation.

  She could do better. She would do better. She would be a better friend because, of all the people she’d crossed paths with throughout her life, Noah Dalton deserved a better friend.

  “Thank you,” she finally said. “For being such an awesome friend, and for always being here to crack a joke and make me laugh when I’m about to cry or just lose my mind or something. I don’t think I tell you that enough, so thank you.”

  The corners of his eyes creased as a warm smile overtook his handsome face. “Don’t say it too much, though. We don’t need it to go to my head.” For emphasis, he tapped his temple.

  “Of course not.” She snickered as she reached for the door handle. “You coming in?” Brows raised, she glanced over to him.

  “Nope. I’ve got an optometrist appointment in about a half-hour.”

  “An eye doctor?” She couldn’t keep the surprise from her voice.

  “Have you seriously not noticed that? After all the staredowns we’ve had, you haven’t noticed that I wear contacts?” By the time he finished the question, he had lapsed back into a fit of laughter. “My god, Winter. You might be the least observant FBI agent I’ve ever met.”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Okay, now you’re just being mean. I don’t have to put up with this shit.” She raised her middle finger as she pushed open the passenger side door.

  “Oh, now who’s being mean, huh?”

  “Shut up and go get your eyes fixed, Dalton,” she shot back. Despite the hostile words, the tinge of amusement was unmistakable.

  By the time four o’clock rolled around, Winter was tired of phone calls. On any given day, she was indifferent about outbound calls, but when she reached the end of Principal Williamson’s list of names, she wanted to throw her phone against a wall.

  Since Noah was out for the day, Winter and Bree had divided up the names—Bree contacted the teachers while Winter contacted the friends. Winter had scribbled out notes during her discussion with each person, and even though she could now say who had taken math or history with Justin, or who sat at the table with him during lunch, or who had always been on his team during gym class, she was no closer to pinning down his location. Or his current state of mind.

  With a groan, she squeezed her eyes closed as she massaged her temples. She hadn’t caught so much as a glimpse of a vision since Douglas Kilroy’s death.

  Her senses had not dulled, though, and a few weeks ago, she’d seen a glimmer of red between the cushions of her grandparents’ couch after she misplaced her car keys.

  Despite her frustration, she had almost laughed aloud at the unmistakable red glow. Maybe stress was the key, or if not stress, a sense of urgency. How else would her brain know which items to direct her toward?

  Before she could nod off, she snapped open her eyes and stretched both arms above her head. Suppressing another groan, she glanced to the clock in the bottom corner of her computer monitor. Quarter after four.

  She and Bree planned to meet up to compare notes at four-thirty, but Winter suspected that Bree’s search had been as unhelpful as hers. Chances were, if Bree had come across a piece of helpful information, she would have already come to Winter.

  As she turned her focus to the list of crossed out names, she frowned.

  Eleven kids, and not a single one had so much as an inkling of where Jaime Peterson had gone. According to each of them, they had simply lost contact with Jaime after he graduated. No one thought the loss of communication was abnormal, especially considering Jaime’s penchant for avoiding social media.

  Pushing aside the piece of legal paper, a tinge of red caught her eye.

  “Speak of the devil,” she muttered to herself, the words barely audible.

  The only pen she’d used to keep track of her progress—or lack thereof—was black, and she knew she hadn’t outlined any of the text in red.

  Peterson.

  Why was “Peterson” important? They’d already looked through public records, criminal records, even financial records in an effort to find
a hint of a nineteen-year-old named Jaime Peterson, but their search had turned up nothing.

  So why was the surname so familiar? Had she merely stared at the name for so long that it now seemed familiar?

  No, the nagging sensation in the back of her mind was more significant. Peterson was familiar for a reason, but the only case in which she had been involved over the last six months was Douglas Kilroy’s. Was Peterson associated with Kilroy?

  Scooting her office chair forward, Winter brushed aside the documents and notes as she pulled up the FBI database of closed cases.

  She gritted her teeth as Kilroy’s DMV photo appeared on the screen, but pushed past the knee-jerk anger as she scrolled down to view the details. Douglas Kilroy, born November twenty-second, 1949. His postal address had been listed in McCook, though the house to which it belonged had been condemned five years earlier. He had a P.O. box, but that too had been empty.

  The man had as many aliases as Winter’s grandmother had shoes.

  Douglas Kilroy, also known as Barney Fife in Harrisonburg, Jared Kingston in North Carolina, George Brooks in Lynchburg, Alan Jefferson in Lynchburg and Norfolk, Harold Lee in Richmond, Robert Young in Richmond, and…

  Her breath caught in her throat as she reached the seventh in the list. Thomas Peterson, referred to by friends and neighbors as Tommy.

  According to the case file, he had used the alias in and around Savannah, Georgia, back during the 1990s. Tommy had worked as a locksmith, and there were a handful of his personal details available from his year and a half of employment.

  Winter scribbled down the name and the social security number, her heart pounding in her chest. She typed the information into a new search bar, and though she half-expected a blank page of results, the screen was soon populated by a list of addresses and phone numbers.

  A Thomas Peterson now lived in the same house in Quinton, Virginia and had done so for the past decade. The man was ten years younger than Douglas Kilroy, and he had been married for thirty-five years.