From all indications, Isabella Colton was a woman on the verge of a career breakout. Holden knew the feeling. If he nailed this case, he’d be that much closer to his next rank. Not only would it be a pay raise, but he’d be achieving the goal he’d set out for right after graduating from the academy in Quantico, Virginia. Holden wanted to be career FBI.
The white stripes on Bella’s top reflected the lowering sun, and turned her hair a golden shade of copper that reminded him of the pots and pans his grandmother polished and hung over her wide farm stove in Kansas. Grandma St. Clair had served as a WASP—a Woman Airforce Service Pilot—in World War II and she was his most ardent supporter when he’d been selected for Army ROTC at Kansas State. Grandma had sent him letters the entire time in the army, and had attended his promotion to captain two years before he resigned his commission to become an FBI agent. Sadly she’d passed before he’d left Quantico but she’d known the path he’d chosen. Like Grandma St. Clair, Holden wanted to make a difference in the world. Protect it at all costs from the most evil acts.
Bella walked the short distance to her car, and gave her brother a quick wave before getting behind the wheel.
Please don’t follow her home.
If Spencer trailed Bella, Holden would be unable to tag along at all this evening. He couldn’t risk Spencer spotting him, as his army best friend would recognize him immediately. Bella shouldn’t see him either, to be on the safe side. He had no reason to think Bella had the military background Spencer did but in truth had no idea if Bella had ever served or engaged in any kind of LEA training. The background information he had wasn’t complete.
You could confront them both, let Bella know who you really are.
He wasn’t ready to. Not yet. His gut was telling him to lay low. Besides, Spencer was going to be angry when he found out that Bella had been attacked on Holden’s watch. Holden deserved the rancor but wasn’t going to let it be a distraction. Not until he figured out what Bella Colton was up to. She wasn’t just a regular pageant contestant. She’d better hope the committee didn’t read too many of her articles or they’d question her motives for competing, too.
Holden turned and walked the short distance back to his car. As he did, he heard a siren. By the time he was in his car and at the corner of the side street, he saw Spencer’s unit fly around onto the main street and head away from the school, siren flashing. Counting to five, Holden pulled out and slowly drove by the school. He expected to see Bella’s car heading out of the parking lot but instead saw the back end of her vehicle as she drove toward the school, then turned left onto the inside perimeter road.
Bella Colton chose to come back onto school property after surviving a close call with a possible serial killer. Not that she knew about the serial killer, but she’d been attacked. Why would she do that?
Holden knew only one way to find out.
Chapter 4
Bella’s head pounded and she grabbed her water bottle from the worn adjustable holder she’d found at the dollar store.
“Yuck,” she spoke to herself at how warm the liquid was, but at least it was some kind of hydration. Thank goodness the hospital had told her she didn’t have a concussion, or she wouldn’t be able to return so soon. If she was accepted into the pageant, she’d get an email or phone call tonight and have to report again tomorrow morning for the indoctrination process. It’d be too late to search the file cabinet by then, with so many people around.
As she drove past the main building and then around to the backstage parking lot entrance, she let out a huge breath of relief. Yes! The first responders had all left, so she didn’t have to either lie or sneak her way back in. The stage entrance loading dock stood out, the massive concrete block reminding her of the piers she’d once seen when she and her brothers went to the Pacific Ocean with their aunt. Aunt Amelia hadn’t been a very loving or demonstrative woman, and in fact had made it clear that she’d been saddled with raising Bella and the boys at the most inconvenient time of her life. Bella had wanted to tell her aunt, even when she was only ten, that there probably wasn’t ever a good time to have your sibling up and die and leave you with triplets, but she’d thought better of it. Aunt Amelia had a short fuse and Bella never liked to be on the receiving end of her verbal lashes. And at least Aunt Amelia did love travel and they made yearly pilgrimages to places she had visited as a young woman, fresh out of college.
Since the school’s rear lot was completely empty, she turned her car around and backed in, butt against the loading dock, to facilitate a quick exit if necessary.
Please let me get in and out of here okay.
She was prepared this time, as she shoved her cell phone in a back pocket with one hand and held her pepper spray in the other. No one would sneak up on her again if she had anything to do with it.
The pavement under her wedge heels had cooled and a soft breeze
came in from the mountains, a gift. When she looked north she saw why—a cloud bank held tight over the range, promising rain in the next day or so.
She smiled and despite the attack, made a conscious decision to stay positive. This was all about exposing a vast, far-reaching, decades-deep pageant practice that had left too many young women with very adult mental and physical illnesses, from body dysmorphia to eating disorders. A sliver of doubt niggled at her premise and she tried to brush it away. In her research she’d discovered that it was widely believed that eating disorders, like addictions, occurred in people predisposed to such diseases. That might mean that Bella wouldn’t be able to definitively blame a particular pageant board member or group. Gio’s mother had admitted their family members suffered from mental illness for as long as she could remember. But the pageant board had planted the seeds for Gio’s disorder to sink its claws in deep, hadn’t they? Would she be able to definitively state that the pageant triggered Gio’s genetic tendencies? She decided to not worry about it in this moment, and focus on getting back inside the building. More information could clarify Gio’s nightmare.
Bella hadn’t thought about the prospect of climbing atop the loading dock. The back garage-type door was her only way in, from what her reporter’s group informed her. Her editor-in-chief and supervising editor knew what she was up to, as did her closest reporter friend, Fred Jameson. Fred had never let her down, was always there for her and didn’t hesitate to speak up if Bella was crossing a boundary. Like the time she’d tried to stake out the local drugstore to catch underage teens purchasing vaping paraphernalia. She’d nearly been arrested as the shop owner wasn’t impressed with her credentials and positive motives. Fred had given her the passcode for the loading dock’s security pad, procured from “a friend of a friend.” Bella suspected Fred had paid someone off for the information but didn’t ask for details.
She silently thanked the years of video workouts she’d done as she climbed atop her car and then leaped up to the loading dock, no small feat in capris and sandals. Euphoria began to sing in her veins until she eyed the keypad lock next to the sliding door. Her colleagues had failed to mention this. It must be a new addition.
Still, she was this far. Bella decided to go for it and pressed the main button, hoping that maybe she’d luck out and the door would rise at once. All she got was a “please enter the passcode now” message, given in a disembodied female voice.
“Drat. Drat. Drat.” She muttered as she looked over her notes and emails from her trusted reporter circle. There, in bold letters, was the password that Fred had insisted she write down.
MUSTANG#1
Without hesitation she punched in the code. Hitting Enter, she held her breath. Until the grinding gears engaged and the door rolled up.
Bella hunched to get inside as quickly as possible, and once past the entrance hit the close button, ensuring no one would see the open door and call the police. That’s all she needed, to be caught breaking into the very school she’d been attacked in mere hours earlier.
Darkness immediately surrounded her so she pulled out her Mag-Lite and made her way through to the staff room, behind the stage. There hadn’t been any cars in the front lot where Spencer dropped her, and none back here, so she was comfortable in the thought of being alone. For now.
She still had to be careful. Not that being a journalist didn’t involve a modicum of wariness each day, but this time it felt different. Not only because she was attacked. She was getting herself more embedded than she ever had before, and the stakes were higher, now that she knew Spencer suspected the two pageant murders were related. His belief had been written all over his face.
No one would blame her if she decided to quit.