When she straightened her legs, getting comfortable, she felt something at the foot of the bed.
“Jezebel, you little rat. You’re scaring me,” she said, half laughing and half angry.
But even as she spoke, she saw Jezebel across the room, sleeping on one of the throw pillows Kendall had tossed onto the floor when she got into bed.
She frowned, then felt around under the comforter to find out what was in the bed with her.
She looked at what she’d found, then gasped and jumped back so fast that she slammed against the headboard.
It was the diary.
The diary she had taken from the Flynn house.
The diary that should still have been in her backpack.
Jonas was hiding something, Aidan thought.
An affair? Maybe.
But there was no reason why he should have been as defensive as he had been. Of course, he’d been drinking, and if he’d been drinking a lot, that alone might have made him feel paranoid.
Aidan didn’t know what kind of reaction he was going to get when he paid a visit to Jonas the following morning, but he knew he couldn’t sit idle.
He’d never worked in the office here, but he’d gotten help from the Bureau staff before. He knew that in a country full of various and competing law enforcement agencies, there were bound to be a few bad eggs. But in general, people who went into law enforcement did so because they wanted to uphold the law, because they believed in their country and its legal system, and wanted to be helpful. Still, due to the kinds of cases they worked, the FBI tended to be more guarded than most other agencies, other than Homeland Security, and they saw a threat in everything. That was what they were paid to do.
Aidan arrived at the office early on Wednesday morning. He asked to see Jonas Burningham, half expecting Jonas to try to evade him, just as Jon Abel had done. He’d brought in the vial of dried blood yesterday, and Jonas had sighed wearily, but he had taken it. Aidan was certain, however, that it hadn’t been given priority.
Jonas came out to the main reception area to shake his hand and ask him back to his office. Once there, he closed the door, took his seat behind the desk and rested his forehead on his palm. “What now? More blood? More bones? Did you dig up a whole body?”
“No.”
Jonas looked up suspiciously. “What are you here for, then? I hope you’re not about to give me a lecture on the pitfalls of Bourbon Street.”
“Why would I do that?”
“Because you’ve gotten strange.”
“I haven’t gotten strange.”
“You used to be thorough. But now you’re a pit bull.”
“Can’t help it. It’s my nature. And I didn’t come to torture you. I just wanted to see if you had any open missing-persons cases.”
Jonas stared at him. “Are you kidding me?”
“No.”
“Do you know how many people are still missing after the storm?”
Aidan shook his head. “I want recent cases. Women who might have been in this area or headed for this area when they disappeared.”
Jonas sighed.
“Come on, Jonas. Humor me.”
Jonas nodded slowly. Aidan had the feeling that he was going to help, not because Aidan was a good investigator, but because he wanted him to go away.
“I’ll call Hirshfield, my assistant, and ask him to get you the relevant files from the last year. Will that do?”
“That’ll be great. Thanks.”
Jonas didn’t use his phone to call his assistant; he left the room. Was he going to ask Hirshfield to filter the files he was going to let Aidan see? Why would he do that?
He was gone a long time. So long that Aidan began to suspect that he might have led him on just to ditch him somehow anyway. After all, he was under no obligation to give Aidan any help. Aidan’s relationship with the Bureau remained good, but once you were gone, you were off any kind of priority list. Friendship was all he had left.
Just when Aidan was about to give up and leave, Jonas returned. He seemed nervous. He ran a finger beneath his collar and handed a stuffed manila envelope to Aidan. “This is everything that might be helpful in any way. Everything.”
“Thanks, buddy.”
“So, Bourbon Street is your new hangout, too, huh?”
“I don’t really have a hangout.” Aidan hesitated. “Seems like folks are drawn to that bar.”
“One local frequents a place, others follow. Locals go there because they know they’ll find other locals there. That’s the way it goes. Or are you saying there’s something spooky going on? Shit, maybe you’re right. Maybe people are drawn there. Who the hell knows?” He changed the subject. “Are you going to move out to the house?”
“I hadn’t intended to. There’s a lot of work going on there. We hired a contractor after the engineer gave us a thumbs-up,” Aidan told him.
“Well, good luck with it.”