The Girl and the Field of Bones (Emma Griffin FBI Mystery Book 10)

different feeling in the building now. It's hard to explain. It doesn't feel lighter, as if some sort of exorcism had occurred to cleanse it once the members of The Order of Prometheus left under cover of darkness. Instead, it's hollow. Like a shell. There should be something in here, and even though it isn't here now, the impression still lingers. It's the same feeling I get when walking through an old crime scene. There's energy in the air, an indelible mark on the atmosphere itself that I can feel around me.
"Emma," Detective Noah White calls over, coming toward me. "Good to see you in one piece."
"I don't suggest you make that your usual greeting," I comment. "But thanks for the sentiment. Are you sure everyone is gone?"
He nods. “The crew swarmed the place as soon as we got here and checked every room we had access to. We didn't find a single person.”
“The rooms you have access to?” I ask. “What do you mean?”
“Most of the doors in the building are locked. We were only able to get into a few of them, and they were pretty much empty,” he explains.
“Locked? That doesn't make any sense.”
“They weren't locked when you were here?”
“No,” I say.
Sam comes up behind me. His hand rests on my lower back like he's trying to steady me.
“What is it?” he asks.
“The doors are locked,” I tell him. “They weren't locked when Dean and I were here. We didn't try many of them, but there was an office and the sanctuary. Were you able to see either one of those?”
“No,” the detective says.
Sam shakes his head in agreement. “I haven't been able to see much of it, obviously, but from what I hear from the guys who've been here, they're not seeing anything that you described. Not that it isn't in here, just that the doors are locked, and they can't get through them.”
“So, open the doors,” I shrug.
Noah shakes his head. “You know as well as I do we can't do that. We can't go into any of the rooms that are locked or blocked. We don't have probable cause or reason to believe a crime is currently being committed. The word of an FBI agent who was in the act of breaking and entering when she saw those things doesn't work as cause.”
“So, you just—won’t do anything?” I practically sputter. “There was a group of men in ceremonial robes ten seconds away from murdering me and tossing me out into a cornfield. The same men who are responsible for Lakyn Monroe's death, as well as the deaths of however many people are out in that field where she was. Not to mention Andrew Eagan, whose death means Xavier Renton is still sitting in prison for something he didn't do.”
“Emma, I understand you're upset. I am too. If there was something I could do right now, I would. But you know that I can't. I need you to think clearly on this right now and understand that we have to follow procedures.”
I know we do, but it doesn't make it any easier. I hate standing here in the building where Dean and I were not an hour ago and feeling as if the answers have just slipped through my fingers.
“So, what now?” I sigh.
“We'll keep the building under surveillance,” Noah tells me. “I’ll make sure it's constantly watched, so if anybody tries to go inside, we'll see him.”
“How about the men? Sterling Jennings. Lorenzo Tarasco. Mason Goldman, also known as Eleanor Goldman. The warden. Are you going to keep track of them if they show up?” I ask.
“Emma,” Sam says. “We can't put surveillance on them. You know that. Even if we wanted to bend the rules a bit, these are all well-known and respected members of the community. No jury in the whole county will take our word over theirs. If we want to take these guys down, it’s got to be an absolutely iron-clad case. We can’t afford to cut any corners. And as of right now, they aren't technically under suspicion for anything. We can't just harass them. We have to wait.”
“Or get a warrant,” I reply. “If we can get a warrant for the temple, we'll be able to open any door we want.”
“We can try,” Noah says. “I'll see what I can do.”
The next day, I walk into the hotel room and kick off my shoes mid-step. Without slowing down, I walk into the bathroom and turn the faucet on full blast. Pressing the heels of my hands into the counter, I lean over the sink and take a deep breath. I fill my hands with water and splash it into my face a couple of times.
“How did it go?” Sam asks, coming to the door of the bathroom.
I snatch one of the hand towels off the metal bar attached to the wall beside the sink and press it against my face as I walk past him back into the main portion of the hotel room. Tossing the towel onto the bed, I start to undress. I just want to be in something comfortable right now.
“He's still there,” I say.
“I know,” Sam says.
I look into his eyes, shaking my head. “He's still there, Sam.”
“I know,” he repeats, his lips pulled tight in sadness.
“He didn't do anything. We know who murdered Andrew Eagan and why, and yet Xavier is still sitting there in that screwed-up facility under the thumb of those awful cultists. He still has people tell him when to get up in the morning and when to go to bed at night. When he can eat. If he's allowed to go outside his cell.”
“He won't be in there forever,” Sam says.
“He can't be,” I say. “They have to give him a new trial. With a new judge. They need to let him out.”
“What did he say when you told him what happened?”
I let out a sigh and go to the dresser for a pair of stretch