Free The Buried (The Apostles) by Shelley Coriell Page A

hair.
    Hatch stepped onto a stump, and the crowd fell silent. “We’re concentrating the search in a three-mile square area covering all of Cypress Point. We’ll divide and conquer by land and waterways. In teams of two you will…”
    Grace shook her head in amazement. Hatch was no longer the lazy, sun-baked sailing instructor who’d charmed his way into her bed and heart. Right now he was action and power.
    When Hatch finished giving orders, he handed her his phone and she gave Agent MacGregor a rundown of the past twenty-four hours. When she finished, she joined Hatch and Lieutenant Lang at the check-in station where Hatch was asking, “Did you get the helicopter?”
    “I made the request,” Lieutenant Lang answered. “But I’m still waiting on the authorization.”
    “No worries,” Hatch said. “I see something better has arrived.”
    Before Hatch could explain, a battered gold pick-up truck pulled into the parking lot, accompanied by annoyingly familiar bellows. Behind the truck on a flatbed trailer squatted a four-wheeled ATV, and in the truck bed were dogs, at least a half dozen of them: blue speckled ones, red speckled ones, black and tans, solid reds, all with thumping tails and enormous, droopy ears.
    Grace pictured Allegheny Blue at the shack. Probably dreaming of bacon.
    The driver, an older man with a long, grizzled beard, unloaded the quad from the trailer. He tipped his cap. “Hey there, Agent Hatcher. You got the little gal’s scent ready? We need to get the old girl on the ground before the rain moves in.”
    Hatch picked up a T-shirt sealed in a plastic bag from the check-in table. “The roommate said Lia Grant always slept in it.”
    “Should do right fine.” The hunter took the T-shirt and held it under the nose of one of the brownish-red dogs. “Here you go, Ida Red. Time to hunt.”
    The red bone hound’s ears curled up and forward. Her nose flared and quivered, a shiver shaking her head and body. This was an animal doing what it was born to do, lived to do, loved to do. The hunter lowered the tailgate with a clank. Ida Red’s nose hit the ground before her feet, and the other dogs followed.
    Grace wanted to raise her hands in the air and shout, Finally! They were doing something to find Lia Grant.
    A burst of wind sliced through the parking lot, rattling the tent. As the bay of hounds tapered off, the huddle of men and women in the parking lot broke, moving swiftly. Hatch, on the other hand, moseyed to her side, his gait slow and easy, but there was nothing conciliatory in his eyes. “You should have told me.” His mouth and jaw barely moved as he spoke.
    She tried to ease away, but he moved with her. “Told you what?”
    “Hmmmmm, where should I start?” With his free hand, he jammed a finger in the air. “One, you received threats from a convicted felon. Two, you received nine phone calls from a girl presumably buried alive. And three, as we speak, a forensic team is sifting through dirt in your backyard looking for human bones.”
    “It’s none of your business.”
    “Oh, Princess. Dear, dear Princess.” He moved closer, a big, graceful, golden cat. He stopped a hairsbreadth from touching her, but the heat of his skin warmed her, nipping at the chill that had set in yesterday with Lia’s phone calls. When he spoke, his breath fanned her face in a low, rumbling half-purr, half-growl. “You have been and always will be my business.”
    The words, the closeness, so Hatch. For a moment, she considered sinking into his strength and warmth, which proved how deeply rattled she was by the past twenty-four hours.
    Hatch didn’t seem to notice the crazy thoughts flitting around her brain. He grabbed her elbow and led her toward a sheriff’s department SUV.
    “I’m not going home.” Her boots dug into the damp earth.
    Hatch opened the SUV’s passenger door. “I wouldn’t dare suggest it.”
    “I’m involved in this.”
    “That’s obvious.” He pointed to the seat.