The Unseen

“Adam Harrison. The name’s familiar.”



“He’s done a great deal of good. He and his team have uncovered many charlatans, and found the truth behind their mist and mirrors. He watches people carefully. He knows who to approach for the Krewe.”



“I’m not trying to be argumentative,” Logan muttered, “but a lot of what you hear about Texans is true. We were our own country for a short while, and we’re still dedicated to being Texans.”



“Dedication is a good thing. But, like I said, you can think about it. And regardless of what you decide, you’re now apprised of this situation.” Crow indicated the pictures, then got to his feet. “I believe Marshal O’Brien has arrived.” He smiled, glancing at his watch. “Precisely on time.”



Logan stood, too. He saw a woman coming toward them. He noted first that she had a thick head of auburn hair that fell to her shoulders, and then he went on with his assessment. She moved with fluid confidence, and she was tall, about five-ten. Slim and well-built. She wasn’t wearing a badge, but there was a quality about her that spoke of law enforcement. He was pretty certain the bulge on her hip was a Glock.



As she came nearer, he realized that she had exceptionally fine features and might have graced a model’s runway rather than a crime scene. But before she reached them and offered each man a firm handshake as introductions were exchanged, he could tell that she wasn’t some kind of delicate hothouse flower. Her walk, her movements, the way she’d looked for them and found them instantly—they all registered authority and determination. Maybe she’d perfected her manner to offset her beauty, which was vivid and startling. When she removed her sunglasses, he saw that she had green eyes, their color almost as deep as a forest.



He also realized that she was as curious as he had been about the meeting. “Shall we order?” he suggested. “We’re all here now.”



He lifted his hand to summon their waitress. Crow was polite and friendly as he ordered his meal, and despite the fact that Kelsey O’Brien couldn’t have done more than glance at the menu, she ordered quickly. He did, as well, although he wasn’t hungry. Something about this meeting was causing his stomach to knot.



Jackson Crow began the new conversation casually. “How are you enjoying Texas, Marshal O’Brien?”



“It’s great,” she said. “San Antonio is beautiful.”



“Have you been able to see or do much yet?” Crow asked.



“I’m staying at the Longhorn, a historic saloon. I can see the Alamo from my window. Very poignant, really.”



“The Longhorn has quite a reputation,” Logan commented. Ridiculous! he told himself. For some reason, he’d just had to throw that out.



He was irritated at his own pleasure in thinking he might know something Agent Crow didn’t. This meeting was confusing him. He was usually willing to do whatever it took to stop crime, especially murder. But this…



It felt as if once he took a step, he’d fall into a pit, and he wasn’t sure he’d know how to maneuver his way out.



Maybe because he hadn’t known that there seemed to be a pattern of disappearances. It was true that the FBI could recognize the similarities between these crimes.



Maybe he was still off his stride because of what had happened on his way here—the scene with the birds.



Logan began to explain. “A murder took place there around the time of the Texas Revolution,” he said. “And about a year ago, a young woman disappeared from the ‘murder room.’ Local homicide detectives tore the room and half the hotel apart, and she was never discovered. The room looked like there’d been a bloodbath. I’m not sure if that fits with the cases you’ve been showing me.”



“Sounds like it does,” Jackson said. “What do you think, Marshal O’Brien?”



Logan studied the young woman he had so recently met.



She smiled awkwardly and looked around before answering. “We seem to be pretty casual here. Please call me Kelsey. And I’m sorry but I’m not up to speed. What cases?” she asked.



“One moment,” Crow murmured. “Our food is coming.”



Kelsey O’Brien had ordered salmon. Logan wondered if she avoided red meat and realized he’d ordered fish that afternoon, too. When their waitress left the table, Jackson launched into the story he’d already told Logan.



Logan sat back, listening, while Jackson Crow explained the FBI involvement. He waited until they had finished eating and then spread out the pictures to show her.



“Horrible,” she whispered.



“I do believe we’re looking for one killer. Although, as I told Raintree, it is possible that these murders and the unknown remains we’ve discovered aren’t all connected. We’re talking about a huge population here and, obviously, the larger the population, the easier it is for people to get lost in the crowd,” Crow said.



Logan saw that Marshal Kelsey O’Brien wasn’t turning away from the pictures, but neither was her expression devoid of empathy and distress. She raised her eyes. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’ve seen the dead before, but…in my area, it’s often a drug runner shot and down. Nothing like…this.”



Jackson Crow scooped up the pictures as the waitress came to clear the table and bring them more coffee. When it had been poured and they were alone once again, Logan found that he was intrigued to discover what Kelsey knew about the Longhorn Inn.



“What have you learned about the murder?” he asked her.



She looked at him, and he gazed into her clear green eyes. “You mean Sierra Monte? Very little, I’m afraid. The owner, Sandy Holly, is an old friend of mine. That’s why I’m staying at the Longhorn. So I only know what Sandy’s told me and a few things I read online. I also know it was incredibly complicated when she purchased the place, because she had a nonrefundable deposit down, with access to begin the renovations, and then Sierra Monte disappeared. Sandy still had to pay on the closing date and everything was put on hold while the police finished their investigation and then the people hired to do the crime-scene cleanup were brought in. She was devastated about the young woman, of course, but she was also in a predicament herself.”



“It’s up and running now, and doing well, right?” Logan asked.



Kelsey nodded. “She did a stunning job with it. There are parts of the inn that make you feel as if you’ve been transported almost two hundred years back in time. And, of course, Room 207 was gutted, and yet there’ve been people clamoring to get into it—and people claiming they’ve seen ghosts and blood… .” She paused. “Some people are fascinated by this stuff. Sandy was worried about it, naturally. And now…”



She stopped speaking. There was a lot more to the “and now…” but she didn’t seem sure she should be talking about it.



Kelsey was aware that both men were watching her, waiting. She shrugged. “It’s odd—just before I left today, a big bruiser of a cowboy came running out of that room, screaming. He was convinced that the entire room was covered in blood. Of course it wasn’t.” She grinned. “Eventually, he calmed down and I went up to the room and looked around.”



“And?” Jackson asked her.



“It was just as the cowboy had left it,” Kelsey O’Brien said slowly.



Logan noticed that she’d hesitated before she spoke. Her words were smooth enough, but there was something she wasn’t saying. She didn’t fully trust them; however, that was okay. He wasn’t sure of his own feelings about Jackson Crow or Marshal O’Brien yet, either.



“Impressionable minds can create ghosts,” Crow said.



“Very true,” Kelsey O’Brien agreed.



But Crow homed in on her words. “What about you? What did your mind see in that room?”



She leaned back, startled, but composing herself as she returned Jackson Crow’s gaze.



“Anyone could get impressions in that room—once you know what happened there,” she replied. “And, of course, I know.”



“Does it ever distress your friend?” Crow asked her.



“Definitely. She’s sunk a lot of money into the Longhorn, especially since she bought it in bad condition—and under bad circumstances. Sandy’s wanted to own it for ages, though.”



“Anything unusual occur during your nights at the inn?” Crow asked next.



“In my room? Not a thing,” Kelsey said.



She didn’t share easily, Logan thought.



“But you do feel the saloon is haunted?” Crow persisted.



She hesitated again, frowning, and then answered with “What exactly do you consider haunted, Agent Crow? When I walk through places that are steeped in history, there’s always an air about them. The Alamo? I feel like I’m walking on hallowed ground. I get that same feeling at the Tower of London and the battlegrounds at Gettysburg. I think many people feel this way in certain places. The Longhorn Inn is no different. It witnessed history. I suppose many people imagine they see the past when they’re going through places like that.”



Crow listened, nodding, a small smile curving his lips. “Nice reply. And not an answer to my question.”



“Well, what do you want?” Kelsey asked him, clearly irritated. “Do I pass ghosts walking up and down the stairs or in the saloon? No.”



“Have you seen them at all?”



She looked as if she’d been trapped. Obviously, she had to be competent and able to stand on her own, but Logan suddenly felt that he wanted to step in; he hated being cornered himself, and he didn’t like to watch it being done to someone else.



“What kind of haunting are you talking about, Agent Crow?” he asked. “Residual haunting, where the same traumatic event occurs over and over again? Or are you referring to intelligent or active haunting, where the ghosts actually partake in life?”



“Either,” Crow said, shrugging. “I’m curious.” He leaned across the table, his casual manner gone. “Kelsey, I know damned well that you see what others don’t. What did you see in Room 207?”