Chapter Three

Biff Stahley came in, his eyes drawn low over his brows, his mouth an unsmiling line.

“You got yourself a visitor.”

Linc opened his mouth and Biff shot him a glare. “Not you, you fuck.” He jerked his chin toward Jay. “Her.”

Jay rose, a weird little smile on her face. She smoothed her hands down the sides of her tattered, tight jeans, jeans that cupped her round ass like a lover. Linc had a hard time tearing his eyes away from that excellent ass, but he managed, because the tension pounding in the air was a palpable thing.

She moved almost lazily toward the cell door and Linc came to his feet, eyeing Biff narrowly, curious.

“You going to let him have his phone call?” she asked, glancing back in Linc’s direction.

Don’t worry about me, sugar. He should have taken a few minutes to tell her that, but he had been too busy brooding. Too busy trying to figure a way out of this for her. Looked like she might already have a way out. Why the hell hadn’t he pulled his head out of his ass already?

Biff smacked his keys against the bars. “You ain’t needin’ to worry about him.”

“Yeah? Well, it might interest my…visitor,” she said, laughter underlying her voice. “Seeing as how neither of us got a fucking phone call.”

Biff leaned in, jamming his face close to the bars. “You watch your mouth.”

“I think I like my mouth as it is, Officer Stahley.” She rocked back on her heels. “Now, do I get to see my visitor or not?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, glaring at her.

Then, with his next words, he just about ripped the floor out from under Lincoln Dawson’s feet.

“Just how the fuck do you know an FBI agent?”

The town was called Hell. That alone would have warned her and she didn’t need to be psychic to figure it out.

But Taige Morgan was psychic and the longer they were inside the town’s miniscule limits, the more her skin crawled. She’d slammed up her shields nearly thirty minutes ago because something had just felt wrong. Her normal shields weren’t cutting it and now she felt like she’d wrapped herself in bubble wrap thanks to the extra shields she’d layered around her mind.

It still wasn’t enough.

Her skin crawled like she’d been thrown down into a nest of fire ants, and she didn’t really care for the sensation.

“I’m not going to like this job,” she said flatly, slipping her husband a sidelong look as they cooled their heels in the tiny little lobby of the police department of Hell. Around her neck, she wore her FBI ID. Part of her wished she hadn’t answered that call from the Oswald Group. But she knew Elise Oswald. Elise was an iron bitch, but she knew her shit and if she said there were problems, that only meant one thing.

Problems.

Cullen slid her a look and said, “You could have just not answered the phone.”

It hadn’t really been much of an option, though. Her gut had told her that.

They’d been driving back from a weekend away in Memphis when she’d received the call and just seeing Elise Oswald’s name on the caller ID had filled her with dread. On the way in, she’d used the time to research the little town of Hell, Georgia. Aptly named. Missing or dead kids, what she suspected were cover-ups for sexual assaults, several suicides, a missing hunter. Fun stuff.

Some bad shit going on.

The former sheriff, now vilified by the town. There were claims that he’d used his family name, his family’s money, to throw his weight around. She’d come across that type growing up and she knew it wasn’t unheard of. Rich white boys, used to having everything they wanted. But then she’d met and married her own rich white boy. Evil didn’t lie in the money or the skin.

It lay in the heart.

Her skin didn’t crawl when she looked at the images of the man who was searching for his missing daughter. She saw a man grieving.

She also saw all sorts of darkness hovering around him.

She had work ahead of her. The tug was strong here. The nebulous force that always led her to the cases she worked, either on her own or for the Bureau. She called it the gray, and it hovered at the edges of her subconscious despite the layers of shielding she’d slammed up.

When she went under for this, she’d come up broken and bloody. Bad shit had happened here.

She was in the thick of it now too.

With a morose sigh, she dropped down onto a hard-ass chair and stared at the deputy sitting behind his desk. Like a lot of small towns, the sheriff’s department and the police station utilized the same space. She’d bet they had maybe two or three full-time cops, and maybe one or two part-time officers. The sheriff’s department would run a little bit larger since this was the county seat and they covered a bigger area, the whole fucking armpit that made it Aldritch County. And it was an armpit. Or maybe a cesspool.

This town in particular seemed to be stuck in the fifties, or worse. It was entirely possible they were still a century behind the times. She’d been given the side eye the entire time she was in there. Taige was used to that. A biracial woman living in the South didn’t always get a fair shake.

But she sure as hell wasn’t in the mood for it now, and as the deputy shot her another dark look, she stretched out her legs. She wore a pair of sandals that Cullen had insisted on buying for her—they’d cost more than a county boy would make in two months and she made sure to display them at maximum advantage as she adjusted the ID around her neck.

Instead of being at home, kissing her daughter goodnight, she was in this forsaken hole in the ground, dealing with a racist bastard who kept thinking about how many men she’d fucked to land a job with the Feds—the deputy had a mind wide-open like a book.

Because she couldn’t keep listening to him without her temper ratcheting up, she shut him out and looked over at her husband. “Your dad knows we’re going to be delayed, right?” she asked, pitching her voice low.

He slid her a look from under his lashes and then went back to idly studying the deputy. Like he wanted to rearrange the deputy’s face. She should have known Cullen would pick up on the guy glaring at her. “Yeah, I texted him when we stopped for gas.”

Cullen had no psychic ability—he was practically a psychic null, something she completely adored. But he read people pretty well. He didn’t like what he was reading on that deputy’s face.

She reached over and laid a hand on his arm. The tension inside him was sky-high.

He looked over at her. She smiled, hoping to distract him.

It didn’t work.

“Any chance you’ll go join him and Jilly?”

“Not a snowball’s chance in hell.” He looked around the little station and grimaced. “That’s not much of a chance at all, sweetheart.”

“I figured.” Leaning back in her seat, she pulled out her phone and checked email. There was a short one from Jones. She’d tagged him as soon as the call came in from Oz. He didn’t have a lot of information on this place, other than what she’d already put together in her short search. But he did say that the minute he mentioned the place, one of his precogs had told him bad vibes.

That already told her more than enough.

Driving through the town had cemented that feeling.

She shot Jones a quick message.

I think one of Oz’s people is in trouble here. I’m not sure what I’m picking up on but there’s trouble. Be advised.

He sent her back another message.

I’m already digging. Let me know when you need me.

Not if. When.

A few seconds later, another message popped up. Stay in touch. If I don’t hear from you every day, I’m sending people down.

Then she stood and strode over to the counter. She was just about fed up with waiting in Hell.