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South Fork, Colorado

Agent George Stewart from the Denver FBI office picked Kara and Michael up at the airport and filled them in. They were headed to South Fork, Colorado, about four hours from Denver. Ryder and the FBI cybercrime unit had a person of interest—Jesse Morrison, former Colorado State computer programmer, had quit eight years ago and moved into a family home outside the small town of South Fork. While they had no hard evidence that he was a hacker who helped create false identities, Cybercrimes had flagged him because of some suspicious online activities.

Matt wanted them to be cautious when they approached Morrison. As well as all the usual safety issues, Matt had also said, “I don’t want an innocent civilian to have a reason to trash us on social media because we went in without cause.”

Kara slept almost the entire drive and woke up refreshed when they pulled into the sheriff’s department. She let George and Michael work through logistics while she located the bathroom—and more coffee. She was back in the car finishing the second half of the breakfast burrito she’d picked up at the airport when Michael and George came out.

As they climbed into the front of the SUV, Michael said, “The sheriff gave us the lay of the land. They’re following us there for backup, but we’re taking lead on the interview.”

“How far?”

“About fifteen minutes,” George said. “He lives off an unpaved road outside of town. Hopefully the four-wheel drive will get us up the driveway. I looked on a map—he lives half a mile from the highway.”

It took nearly twenty minutes to reach the base of the long, winding packed gravel driveway that led up to Morrison’s house, where two deputies met them. Snow covered most of the driveway, half of which was shaded by trees, but someone had recently driven on the narrow road. Could someone have tipped Morrison off that they were coming?

After coordinating with the deputies, George led the way up the driveway. On the right corner were four mailboxes. On the left corner was a house. Behind the house was a long driveway to the left. They headed straight up the road as it curved to the right toward Morrison’s property.

Kara felt...tingly, as if it was too quiet, too still for a midweek afternoon.

George parked facing the house. A small pickup truck with large, wide wheels was in a carport. Snow had blown in and blocked the back of the vehicle. Ice was thick on the windows. No one had driven it in some time.

George, the senior agent on-site, told the deputies to go around to the side door and hold, and he would back Michael and Kara up in the front. He stayed at the base of the stairs and watched the windows, while Michael led Kara to the front door. Kara always deferred to Michael in tactical situations. He’d been in FBI SWAT for three years, and he had extensive military experience. She’d been an LAPD detective. Completely different skill sets.

Michael rapped hard on the door and said, “FBI looking for—” He stopped as the door slowly swung open.

Kara drew her weapon.

Michael called, “Mr. Morrison? FBI.”

Silence. But there was a smell Kara recognized.

So did Michael.

He motioned for her to go in to the right. Simultaneously, Michael entered and went left. They circled the main room looking for any threat. A deep chill permeated the entire cabin, as if the place hadn’t been heated for weeks. A black stove in the corner of the room was cold, the fire long died out.

Michael went to the kitchen and Kara walked to the back, checking behind each door as she went. Closet. Bathroom. Office.

In the center of the office a body lay very, very dead on the floor. The windows in the room had been cracked open, which had helped minimize the putrid smell as well as partially preserve the body, but decomposition had long ago begun.

She called out to Michael, brought up her phone and compared the DMV photo of Jesse Morrison to the corpse.

She was eighty percent certain they were the same person, but she wouldn’t swear to it in court.

Michael stepped in and swore under his breath. “I need to clear upstairs. Stay put.”

Great, she thought as Michael left again. She got to watch the body. She stared at what was left of the computer. Someone had destroyed it.

Michael returned a minute later, had Matt on the phone. “We’ll get the coroner to confirm, but I’m pretty certain it’s Morrison. He was tortured.”

Kara looked again at the body. She hadn’t noticed immediately, but now saw that fingers were missing from his hand.

She glanced away, then saw three severed fingers sitting on the desk. She wasn’t a squeamish cop, but damn her stomach started to churn. She focused on Michael and breathing normally.

Michael was listening to Matt, then said, “Okay—we’ll wait for them.” He pocketed his phone and said, “Matt’s having Jim and Sloane drive up from Santa Fe. It’s a three-hour drive. They’re leaving now.”

“So that means we’re staying overnight?”

“Ryder is getting us a place,” Michael said.

There were answers here, Kara knew. They just had to find them.

“No poppies,” she said.

“That doesn’t mean anything,” Michael said. “Matt said to search the house, except for the office—we need to wait for Jim and the coroner to process the body.”

George Stewart was standing on the threshold. “The sheriff just called. An anonymous caller, male, reported Morrison’s death.”

“When?”

“Not five minutes ago. But get this—when the sheriff listened to the call, he recognized the background noise. The caller is at a diner on the edge of town. Ten minutes from here.”