Once Lost. Блейк Пирс
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I don’t know what I’m going to do with Liam in the long run. I just can’t send him back to that drunken brute of a father, and God only knows what’s become of his mother. But I don’t see how I can legally adopt him. Taking in Jilly has been really complicated and it’s not settled yet. I don’t know if I can do it again.”
Blaine smiled at her sympathetically.
“You’ll just take things one day at a time, I guess,” he said. “And whatever you do, it will be the best thing for him.”
Riley shook her head a bit sadly.
“I wish I knew that for sure,” she said.
Blaine reached across the table and took hold of her hand.
“Well, take my word for it,” he said. “What you’ve already done for Liam and Jilly is wonderful and generous. I admire you so much for it.”
Riley felt a lump form in her throat. How often did anyone ever say anything like that to her? She was often praised for her work in the BAU, and had even received a Medal of Perseverance recently. But she was not accustomed to being praised for simple human things. She hardly knew how to take it.
Then Blaine said, “You’re a good woman, Riley Paige.”
Riley felt tears well up in her eyes. She laughed nervously as she wiped them away.
“Oh, look what you’ve done,” she said. “You’ve made me cry.”
Blaine shrugged, and his smile grew even warmer.
“Sorry. Just trying to be brutally honest. The truth sometimes hurts, I guess.”
They laughed together for a few moments.
Finally Riley said, “But I haven’t asked about your daughter. How’s Crystal doing?”
Blaine looked away with a bittersweet smile.
“Crystal’s doing just great – good grades, happy and cheerful. She’s away right now for spring break, at the beach with her cousins and my sister.”
Blaine sighed a little. “It’s only been a couple of days, but it’s amazing how fast I start missing her.”
It was all Riley could do not to start crying all over again. She’d known all along that Blaine was a wonderful father. What might it be like to be in a more permanent relationship with him?
Careful, she told herself. Let’s not rush things.
Meanwhile, she had almost finished her raspberry cheesecake.
“Thank you, Blaine,” she said. “It’s been such a lovely evening.”
Gazing into his eyes, she added, “I hate to see it end.”
Gazing back at her, Blaine squeezed her hand.
“Who says it has to end?” he asked.
Riley smiled. She knew her smile was enough to answer his question.
After all, why should their evening end? The FBI was guarding her family and no new killer was demanding her attention.
Maybe it was time to enjoy herself.
CHAPTER FIVE
George Tully didn’t like the looks of one patch of ground over by the road. He didn’t exactly know why.
Nothing to worry about, he told himself. The morning light was probably just playing tricks on him.
He took a deep breath of fresh air. Then he stooped down and picked up a handful of loose soil. As always, it felt soft and luxurious. It also smelled good, rich with nutrients from past corn harvests – husks and ears plowed back into the soil.
Good old black Iowa dirt, he thought as bits of it trickled down between his fingers.
This land had been in George’s family for years, so he’d known this fine soil all his life. But he never got tired of it, and his pride in farming the richest land in the world never waned.
He looked up across fields that stretched as far as he could see. The earth had been tilled for a couple of days now. It was ready and waiting for corn kernels dusted purple with insecticide to be placed where each new cornstalk would soon appear.
He’d held off on the planting until today to make sure of the weather. Of course there was never any way to be certain that a frost wouldn’t come even this late in the year and ruin the crop. He could remember a freak April blizzard back in the ’70s that had taken his father by surprise. But as George felt a breath of warm air and looked up at some high clouds streaking across the sky, he felt as confident as he could hope to feel.
Today’s the day, he thought.
As George stood watching, his field hand Duke Russo came driving a tractor that dragged a forty-foot-long planter behind it. The planter would seed sixteen rows at a time, thirty inches apart, one kernel at a time, deposit fertilizer on top of each one, cover the seed, and roll on its way.
George’s sons, Roland and Jasper, had been standing in the field awaiting the tractor’s arrival, and they walked toward it as it rumbled along one side of the field. George smiled to himself. Duke and the boys made a good crew. There was no need for George to hang around for the actual planting. He waved at the three men, then turned to head back to his truck.
But that odd patch of earth near the road caught his attention again. What was wrong over there? Had the tiller missed that patch? He couldn’t imagine how that could have happened.
Maybe a groundhog had been digging there.
But as he walked toward the spot, he could see that no groundhog had done this. There was no opening, and the soil was patted down.
It looked like something had been buried here.
George growled under his breath. Vandals and pranksters sometimes gave him trouble. A couple of years ago, some boys from nearby Angier stole a tractor and used it to demolish a storage shed. More recently, others had spray-painted obscenities on fences and walls and even cattle.
It was infuriating – and hurtful.
George had no idea why the kids would come out of their way to give him trouble. He’d never done any harm to them that he knew of. He’d reported the incidents to Joe Sinard, Angier’s police chief, but nothing ever got done about it.
“What have those bastards done this time?” he said aloud, tapping the soil with his foot.
He figured he’d better find out. Whatever was buried here might wreck his equipment.
He turned toward his crew and waved for Duke to stop the tractor. When the engine was off, George yelled to his sons.
“Jasper, Roland – fetch me that shovel in the tractor cab.”
“What’s wrong, Pop?” Jasper called back.
“I don’t know. Just do it.”
A moment later, Duke and the boys came walking toward him. Jasper handed his father a shovel.
As the group watched curiously, George prodded the soil with his shovel. As he did, a strange, sour smell met his nostrils.
He felt a wave of instinctive dread.
What the hell’s under here?
He turned over a few shovels full of dirt until he struck something solid but soft.
He shoveled more carefully, trying to uncover whatever it was. Soon something pale came into view.
It took a few moments for George to register what it was.
“Oh, Lord!” he gasped, his stomach churning with horror.
It was a hand – a young woman’s hand.
CHAPTER SIX
The next morning, Riley watched as Blaine fixed a breakfast of eggs Benedict with fresh squeezed orange juice and rich, dark coffee. She reflected that passionate lovemaking was not limited