Free Die for Me by Karen Rose

dragon with a giant R on its chest. The dragon gripped two O’s, one in each claw.
    He and Jager had chosen the logo with care. Derek had created the golden dragon, and Jager chose the company name. The letters o-R-o were symbolic, tied to Jager’s native Dutch. It had never bothered Derek the R was five times bigger than either of the O’s. But it bothered him now. Many things bothered Derek now. But, pasting a smile on his face for the benefit of the employees, he accepted a flute of champagne.
    “We’re entering a new phase of oRo growth,” Jager said, “and to that end, we have some changes to announce. Derek Harrington is being promoted.”
    Stunned, Derek straightened, staring at the smiling Jager. Quickly he re-pasted the smile, unwilling to be seen as out of the loop.
    “Derek will now be executive art director.” There were more cheers and Derek nodded, his smile frozen. He now understood what Jager had done, and his expectation was confirmed with Jager’s next words. “And to recognize his incredible contribution to
Behind Enemy Lines,
Frasier Lewis is promoted to art director.”
    The employees applauded as Derek’s heart sank to his toes.
    “Frasier couldn’t be here tonight, but he sends his personal regards and good wishes for the next venture. He asked me to make this toast for him, and I quote: ‘
Enemy Lines
got us into orbit. May
The Inquisitor
launch oRo to the moon!’” Jager lifted his glass. “To oRo and to success!”
    His hand shaking, Derek slipped from the room. There was so much cheering that nobody even noticed he’d gone. In the hall he leaned one shoulder against the wall, his stomach churning. The promotion was a lie. Derek hadn’t been promoted up. He’d been pushed aside. Frasier Lewis had brought riches and success to oRo, but his dark methods left Derek afraid. He’d tried to stop Jager, to keep oRo on the high road.
    But now it was too late. He’d just been replaced by Jager’s yes-man.
    Philadephia, Sunday, January 14, 5:00 P.M.
    It was worse than she ever could have imagined. What had been excitement for a hunt when she’d first arrived had abruptly become cold dread when she’d looked on the face of the dead man. Her dread became colder as the afternoon waned. She continued to scan and tried to stop thinking about the markers she’d laid. Or the man they’d found. Someone had tortured and killed him. And others. How many others would there be?
    Katherine had returned to examine the victim and she and Sophie had exchanged sober nods, but no words. There was an unnatural hush to the site, the small army of cops moving efficiently but quietly as they did their jobs.
    Sophie tried to focus on recording the objects under the ground. But they weren’t objects. They were people, and they were dead. She tried not to think about that, taking refuge in the routine of the scan, of the precise placement of each stake.
    Until she reached into her pocket and found it empty. She’d grabbed two packs from the equipment room before meeting Vito.
A dozen to a pack.
Twenty-four stakes.
Six graves.
She’d located six graves already. The grave the police had located before she got there made seven.
And I’m not finished yet. My God. Seven people.
    Her vision blurred and angrily she rubbed at the tears with the back of her hand. CSU would have something that she could use to mark more graves. She raised her eyes to look for Jen McFain, but a sound behind her made her body freeze. It was a zipper, amplified in the surreal hush. Slowly she met Katherine Bauer’s eyes over the body bag she’d just zipped shut, and was hurled back sixteen years. Katherine’s hair had been darker then, a little longer.
    The body bag she’d zipped had been much smaller.
    The hush faded. All Sophie could hear was the drum of her own pulse. Katherine’s eyes widened with horrified understanding. She’d looked just like that back then, too.
    Sophie heard her name, but all she could see was the body