Baltimore 03 - Did You Miss Me?

what was inside.
    Had she had the Beckett nightmare while sleeping at the farm, this compact would have been the first thing she would have reached for. She opened the compact now, revealing the folded paper tucked within.
    Carefully she unfolded it. The letterhead read West Virginia State Department of Health . Her voice was but a whisper as she read the first line aloud. ‘Name of the deceased: Wilson William Beckett.’
    The original document she’d received from Claudia Baker was in her safety-deposit box, but she’d hidden a copy wherever she slept – in a wig box in the closet of her bedroom at home, in a box of tampons in the drawer of her nightstand at the condo, where Ford would never look, and in this compact in the bathroom drawer at the farm. And when the nightmares were bad, she’d pull out the copy as tangible proof that Beckett really was dead. That he could no longer hurt her.
    But it was a lie. He wasn’t dead and he could hurt her. He’d tried to kill Ford.
    She refolded the paper, put it back in the compact, and dropped the compact in her purse. Get dressed and get the certificate to Joseph .
    Thursday, December 5, 6.58 A.M.
    Joseph firmly closed the adjoining door and adjusted himself again. Looking down, he cursed. The bulge against his zipper was obvious.
    The early bird knocked a third time. ‘Joseph? You okay?’ Deacon called.
    ‘I am fine,’ he ground out, grabbing a sweatshirt from the gym bag he’d left on the table. Holding it in front of him as nonchalantly as possible he opened the door to Deacon, who held a box of doughnuts in one hand, his laptop in the other. ‘You’re early.’
    ‘Good morning to you, too.’ Deacon tossed the doughnuts on the table. ‘Last time I bring you breakfast. How’s Daphne?’
    Delectable . Joseph had to fight a shudder. The image of himself dropping to his knees and burying his tongue inside her taunted him and he drew a hard breath.
    ‘She had a bad dream about Beckett.’ Joseph busied himself making a pot of coffee, giving himself a moment to regain his composure. ‘But she’ll be okay. Did you see Kate this morning?’
    ‘She left with Simone and Maggie just before the screaming started. Something about a quest for chocolate chip pancakes. Heavy on the chocolate. I’ll brief her later.’
    ‘We should have McManus and Kerr here soon.’ Joseph looked over, saw Deacon reading the newspaper. ‘Any of our news make the front page?’
    ‘Nope. Not yet. I expect that’ll change, though.’
    ‘Especially when the reporters get wind of Beckett.’ Joseph groaned quietly. ‘Shit. I forgot to tell her.’
    ‘Tell who what?’
    ‘Tell Daphne that Beckett doesn’t have a death certificate in the system and that the FBI agent she talked to doesn’t exist.’
    ‘Shit. That mucks things up.’
    ‘Exactly. I’d like not to blindside her with that in front of the others.’ Joseph checked his watch. McManus and Kerr were a little late. ‘Can you call Grayson, Bo, and Brodie? I need to talk to her before the locals get here.’
    ‘Sure.’
    ‘And start wrapping your mind around this one – when she calmed down after that scream, she remembered that the gas man who unwittingly helped her escape knew where the cabin was. It was on his route.’
    Deacon’s eyes widened. ‘Holy hell. It’s been thirty years. Hopefully the same gas companies are still around.’
    ‘Got a better idea?’
    ‘Nope.’
    ‘All right then.’ Joseph went back into the hall and knocked on Daphne’s door. Now that the locals were due, he didn’t want to compromise anything by having them see him moving freely between their rooms.
    She opened the door, fully clothed in jeans and a sweater, munching on a slice of toast. ‘I was leaving to come to your room when my breakfast arrived. You ordered me enough food for an army. You want some of it?’
    ‘No thanks.’ He followed her into her room, giving her a cautious look. ‘I need to tell you something.’
    Her hackles rose as she closed the door. ‘What happened?’
    He let out a breath. ‘There’s no death certificate for Beckett in the system.’
    ‘That’s impossible.’ She looked up at him, confusion in her eyes. ‘I have a copy. With a seal and everything.’
    ‘Well, since he’s not really dead, that the certificate was a fake isn’t that big of a stretch. That isn’t the big thing. There never has been a Claudia Baker with the FBI.’
    She froze, then swallowed the toast with a gulp.