The Buried (The Apostles) by Shelley Coriell Read Free Book Online Page A

negotiators in the world. And she damn well knew every movement he made and every word he uttered served a purpose. She crossed her arms over her chest.
    “And you?” Hatch said. “I hear you’re working as an assistant state attorney and destroying bad guys with your lovely little hands.”
    “I’ve had a few successes.”
    “A few?” He laughed, but there was an edge to it. The edge surprised her. The old Hatch had been smooth, like the mirrored glass of a windless ocean. “You got what you always wanted, Princess, success so grand, so high no one can touch you. I bet your daddy’s right proud.”
    Grace’s back straightened. Hatch knew where to land a punch. “My daddy’s dead.”
    Hatch’s head dipped in a slow nod, and he remained conspicuously silent. He offered the respect the dead deserved but no condolences. No surprise there. Her daddy had despised Hatch. According to her father, Hatch was too light-hearted, lazy, and lethal to her future. Ultimately her father had been right. Marrying Theodore Hatcher had been a gargantuan mistake that had almost lost her not only her father, but her career.
    “From what I’ve heard, you’re on top of the world.” Hatch uncrossed his arms and raised his palms to the sky. “And someday I bet you’ll own it.”
    “And you’ll simply drift through it.”
    The air grew still, and the afternoon clamor of the swamp silenced. It was like the heavy, pressurized seconds before a summer storm, before the swollen clouds and electric sky clashed in a thundering display of power.
    He was the first to break. His mega-watt smile lit up his face, and he motioned to the building behind them. “And what brings you to the sheriff’s office? Are you here for business or”—his dimples sharpened like tiny scythes—“pleasure?”
    “Business.” The short, tense word catapulted her to the present. She shouldn’t be wasting precious time talking to Hatch. She’d spent the day in the swamp searching for Lia Grant, and with each passing hour, the girl’s voice grew fainter.
    It’s cold. And dark. I can’t breathe.
    Hatch uncrossed his ankles and took a step toward her. She backpedaled. He’d always been so intuitive. He knew how to read people, especially her. This skill, coupled with his gift of words, gave him the power to unnerve her like few ever could.
    She nodded at Hatch then the boy. “You’ll need to excuse me.”
    “Of course. I’ll leave you to your business .” A light flecked in his eyes, like little whitecaps in a sea of blue. “But before you go, I have something for you.”
    Hatch fanned his fingers, reached behind her ear, and pulled out a small sprig with long, waxy leaves and tiny white flowers.
    A gasp escaped the O of her lips.
    “The sweetest flower of all.” Hatch placed the small cluster of tupelo flowers on the hood of her car. “As always, Princess, seeing you has been an exquisite pleasure.”
    With those words, Hatch and the boy climbed in an SUV and disappeared. And so did her breath. With him out of sight, she leaned against her car, thankful for her temperamental Ford. How like Hatch. Waltz in. Send her world spinning. Waltz out.
    She shook off the dizziness.
    She had no time for dancing.
    Lia Grant had been missing almost twenty-four hours, and finally, they’d gotten a break. One of the deputies had found a witness who saw Lia Grant last night in the hospital parking lot.
    *  *  *
    Greenup, Kentucky
    Kentucky State Police Detective Tucker Holt heard bells, and not just any bells—giant church bells clanging right behind his eyes.
    He grabbed the pillow and crammed it over his head, but the damn clanging wouldn’t stop. His right hand snaked out, groping along the nightstand until he found his cell phone. He sent the call to voicemail and sunk deeper into the mattress, hoping he still had enough Wild Turkey left in him to burrow deeper into oblivion.
    The giant bells clanged again.
    He snatched the phone, ready to throw the