Heather Graham - The Unseen

“Her phone conversation? How was it recorded?” Logan asked. “If her friend answered the phone, there wouldn’t be a recording.”

“Apparently, she answered right when the recording began. We got lucky. Nancy McCall had an old-fashioned answering machine,” Jake said. “It’s strange—I’ve been isolating sounds on the tape, but…well, you want to listen to the original recording first?”

Crow nodded.

“This is the conversation,” Jake said, hitting another key.

Chelsea Martin, with her wide cheeks and big eyes, smiled at them from the screen as they listened. “Nancy! Hey!” said her voice, sweet and excited.

“You were supposed to call me when you landed,” came the reply.

“I’m sorry. I went straight to the Alamo, which is crazy, ’cause I’m dragging around a bag and all. But I had to come here! I’ve read so much about it, so many stories about the siege and the battle and the people who were here…oh! Too funny! There’s a man in costume. I’ve been flirting with him. He’s pretty cute, too!”

Before her friend could respond, another voice broke in. It was deep and husky, and had a rattling sound, almost as if someone were speaking through a mouthful of dust.

“Come away, come away, now. You’re in danger!”

They heard Chelsea giggle. “The battle’s over,” she said.

“You’re in danger,” the rattling voice said again, “Please, listen to me.”

That voice. Kelsey had been in dire situations several times, but she couldn’t remember when any sound had caused such a chill to suddenly sweep through her.

“Nancy, I think a ghost is playing with me,” Chelsea said, and she laughed again.

“Chelsea, what’s going on?” her friend asked.

“I—”

And that was it. Silence. For a moment, those in the room were silent, as well.

“And just how do you figure the third voice got on the phone?” Logan Raintree asked. His voice was hard and cold. “For it to be that clear, he had to have his mouth right next to the phone. What did the friend say when you questioned her about it?”

“I called Nancy McCall earlier this afternoon,” Jake said. “She didn’t hear the other voice when she spoke to Chelsea, and she has no idea how it can be so clear on the recording—or even how it managed to record at all. I told you, I’ve been isolating sounds, but I can’t separate this voice from Chelsea’s when I try to bring them onto different frequencies. I just played you the original. I can isolate Chelsea’s voice, and you’ll hear that it’s still in there.”

He played the recording again.

Afterward, Jackson walked over to Jake’s desk, which held a pile of folders. He picked up two of them. “Take these,” he said, handing one to Logan and one to Kelsey. “They have all the information we’ve got on Chelsea and Tara, and the times and dates the six unidentified bodies were discovered. Please take a look at the folders. If you decide to join the team, I’d like you to come to the morgue with me tomorrow.”

“Have those bodies been there all this time?” Logan asked.

“No. We’ve exhumed them,” Jackson told him. “They were buried by the city as unknowns.”

Logan shook his head, eyes narrowed. His expression was impassive, and yet Kelsey felt that some kind of emotion was seething inside him. “Why now?” he asked. If he exploded, he’d be frightening.

Yet she was equally certain that he never just exploded. He controlled himself at all times.

“It’s in the folder,” Jackson said.

Next, Jake passed out pages he’d obviously printed for them. “I was looking up information on another case when I found out that a young woman, Vanessa Johnston, has recently disappeared—on her way here,” he told them. “Right now, she’s a missing person. She was driving in. Neither she nor her Honda has been seen since she stopped at a gas station near the county line. I brought the problem to Jackson’s attention. Everything’s on those sheets I gave you.”

Kelsey slipped hers inside the folder.

“I spoke with your captain about this case, Raintree,” Jackson was saying. “And he invited us in.”

Kelsey watched as Logan Raintree nodded curtly and headed toward the door.

He paused and turned to face them. “What time are we going to the morgue?” he asked.

“9:00 a.m.”

“I’ll meet you there.”

He left the room.

“I’d like to hear the recording again, please,” Kelsey said.

She found a chair at one of the empty desks and sat, listening as Jake replayed it. Once more she felt the strange chill, but along with the sense of fear and dread, she felt…

A sense of something being oddly right. Not about the recording. About her. She might miss the water, miss home, miss being a Marshal, but she knew she could help on this case. And she wanted to.

She held her folder with hands that seemed to freeze around it. When the recording finished, both men were watching her.

“Nine?” she asked. She’d heard Jackson the first time. She’d just needed to say something.

“Yes,” Jackson said. “I’ll pick you up at the Longhorn.”

“One more thing.” Jake touched a key. The picture on the large computer screen changed.

Another young woman of about twenty-five smiled out at her. She was wearing a tiara on sandy-colored hair.

“That’s our missing girl,” he said. “Vanessa Johnston. Last year’s Miss Maple Queen of Montpelier, Vermont.”

Kelsey rose. “I’ll have these read by tomorrow and be completely up to speed,” she told Crow. “I’m in, provided you still want this team to exist if Raintree opts out.”

She was surprised when Crow smiled grimly. “He’ll be at the morgue tomorrow, and he won’t opt out.”

Kelsey decided not to answer. Raintree hadn’t looked as if he planned to agree. Not in her opinion, anyway.

But then, maybe she was better at understanding the dead than the living.

“Good afternoon,” she said. And she left the two men, still feeling the same sense of dread.

And the same sense of purpose.

* * *

Logan drove straight to his own office. Others greeted him as he walked through the main room, both those sworn in as Texas Rangers and civilians busy at other tasks. The world hadn’t changed for any of them; they waved at him, smiled, chatted. He went to Captain Aaron Bentley’s office, tapped on the door, but walked in without waiting for an answer. Bentley was on the phone. He was a big man with snow-white hair, as rugged-looking as any man who’d ever run a Texas Ranger division.

Bentley seemed to be expecting him. He lifted a hand in greeting and ended his conversation.

“What the hell did you send me into, sir?” Logan demanded.

“Sit down,” Bentley told him. Logan stood there stiffly for a minute, then sighed and took the chair in front of Bentley’s desk. “Sir—”

“Oh, don’t ‘sir’ me,” Bentley said. “We’ve been together too long for that.”

“I’ve been good at my job,” Logan said.

“You have.”

“So…”

“So, I’m trying to get you onto a team where you can really be of service. Is that going to be on the Texas level or on the national level?” Bentley murmured. “I had to ask myself where you could do the most good, Logan. And if I’m honest, it’s with this new team. Your instincts have helped us in hundreds of cases. You have the sort of mind that reads others, and you’ve predicted the course of a perp’s actions a dozen times. I thought we’d lost you after Alana died, but you headed out to that rock you love so much and your grandfather’s place, and you came back stronger. I’d like to keep you, but when the request comes down from the top of the food chain, you do what you need to do.”