by Mary Burton
Brody shook his head. “As you said, I can be an ass.”
“Young men aren’t the brightest.”
“I sure was not.”
Jim stared at Jo as if seeing her with fresh eyes. “No signs of tension between you two at the crime scene.”
“She’s a class act. A lady to the end. Not in her to be anything but professional.”
“Second chances aren’t impossible. You sure look like you wouldn’t mind one.”
Brody watched Jo move to the buffet table and study the selection of foods as if making a life-altering decision. That was Jo. Methodical. Smart. Careful. “I burned that bridge a long time ago.”
“Rebuild it.”
Brody muttered an oath and something about needing another beer.
Jo had begged off another dance from Santos, crying hunger and fatigue. She stood with her plate of freshly cut cake, watching Jim and Lara dance. She was glad for them. They’d struggled but had found a way to make it work.
She bit into the cake, marveling at how good it tasted.
“Cake good?” Brody said as he came up beside her.
She presented her best professional smile. “If I had to confess a fault it would be that I love cake.”
Brody studied her. “I figured you as the perfect healthy eater. Lean protein, vegetables.”
“I am. Unless I’m offered vanilla cake with a vanilla buttercream. And then I am helpless.”
“I never knew that about you.”
The offhand comment caught her by surprise. “There’s a lot we don’t know about each other.” She took a bite. “I haven’t heard anything on the case in the last couple of days. What’s going on?”
“I been meaning to get up with you on that but been running full tilt. This might not be the place to get into it.”
She dropped her half-eaten cake in a trash barrel. “Now is as good a time as any. I called the prison. Smith is in a coma.”
He raised a coffee cup to his lips, halted and lowered his voice. “We had a second victim.”
The laughter and the music around her drifted away. “When?”
“Several days ago. Found at a construction site. Handcuffed and buried.”
“Who?”
“A prostitute. We think the killer was one of her clients.”
“There was no mention in the media.”
“We’re keeping a tight lid on the story. The newspaper is how Smith and Robbie communicated the last time.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Brody’s gaze held no hint of apology. “The order was that no one know.”
Jo was angry with Brody for not telling her. “I thought I was a part of this investigation.”
Brody shook his head. “This is my case, Jo.”
As much as she wanted to argue, she thought about the suffering this latest victim must have endured. Any grievance over how Brody handled this case felt trivial in the face of such pain. And still . . .
After a heavy moment of silence, Brody said, “Lara and Jim look happy.”
She wouldn’t let this tragedy or her wounded ego spoil a rare and wondrous day like today. “Yes.”
He cradled the coffee cup in his hand. “A far cry from our wedding day.”
She stiffened and glared up at him as if he’d confessed a sin. She wasn’t sure if the subject change was meant to distract her from terrible news or stoke her temper.
Brody arched a brow. “You look shocked. Think I forgot that day?”
“No. I didn’t think you forgot. But it’s ancient history.” She grabbed a second piece of cake.
He stared toward Jim and Lara dancing a slow dance. “Not so long ago.”
“Fourteen years. A lifetime.”
Brody sipped his coffee. “It wasn’t the best time for us. For me.”
Anger and sadness that had been so neatly tucked away rose up. “No.”
He was silent for a moment. “I owe you an apology, Jo. That last time all those years ago . . . I was immature. Out of control.”
“You were a dick,” she said. Normally she censored her thoughts better, but he’d caught her by surprise.
“That about sums it up. I was a dick. Said things that I never meant.”
A sigh shuddered from her. “If you never meant it, why say it?”
“When I got the call you were in the hospital, I’d been out with my teammates drinking. We were celebrating my joining the Marines—my solution to our marriage and baby. When the nurse told me you’d miscarried, I was mad. Sad.”
Bitterness pulled at her. “You looked furious from what I remember.”
Apologies didn’t come easy for him. “I was ashamed. I was a poor excuse for a man.”
She faced him, her anger rising. “You accused me of not caring about the baby.”
“You were cool and contained, and your mother had just reamed me out in the lobby. I came in swinging. When I saw how pale and fragile you were, I got madder at myself. I dumped that anger on your head.”
Jo shook her head.
“I told my old man about what happened, and he threatened to put his foot up my ass.”
She’d dreamed about this apology for years, and he’d dropped it right in her lap. Over the years she’d imagined herself delivering the perfect line or having a witty response. She made her living using words, and right now she couldn’t find any to string together.
She knew enough about men, Rangers especially, that they were a proud lot. It had cost him to apologize and there had to be something in that. “Okay.”
He raised a brow. “That’s all?”
“For now, yes.”
“Sure you don’t want to take a swing? Call me another name?”
“I’ll take a rain check, just in case.”
The muscle in his jaw tightened and released. “That’s fair. Be nice if we could find our way to being friends.”
“I don’t know.”
The sharpness of his gaze mirrored the look he’d had at the crime scene. Laser sharp.
She shook her head. “Don’t turn me into one of your puzzles, Brody.”
“What do you mean?”
“You are trying to figure me out like you try to figure out a killer when you’re at a crime scene. I saw that look the other day.”
His expression neutral, he didn’t respond.
Suddenly, the words came to her. “You were curious about me when we first met all those years ago because I was different than the average gal hanging around the baseball field house. Now I suspect you are curious how the fourteen years have changed me.”
“Nothing wrong with curiosity.”
She laughed. “No. It’s what makes you a great Ranger.”
He cocked his head. “But . . .”
“Once you have your answers you lose interest altogether. You lost interest in me long before I miscarried. And I suspect once you figure me out this go-around, you’ll lose interest in our friendship.”
His frown deepened. “I’m not the same guy I was in college.”
“I can see you’ve grown up. You’re not the boy who craves tons of recognition and false compliments. I do see that. But we are who we are. You solve puzzles. That makes you a great Ranger. But I suspect it makes you a lousy friend/lover/husband.” A weak smile tugged at the edges of her lips. “Let’s be grateful for the civility we’ve managed and not worry about developing anything closer.”
The penitentiary nurse stared at Smith’s ashen face. She’d dealt with prisoners for more than twenty years. For the most part, she could handle herself fine and when she couldn’t she called a guard. But Smith was different than the other inmates. He’d been charming. Always complimented her. At first she kept her guard up and her cool reserve in place. But he kept on being nice. And after a time, she found herself looking forward to his visits. She’d been warned about revealing any personal information to prisoners. Knew they could use it against her. And she had been careful around Smith. What she’d never counted on was his keen ability to
observe.
When he’d first seen her three years ago, she’d been nine months pregnant with her son. She’d seen him one time before she’d gone on maternity leave. When she’d returned, he’d congratulated her on the birth of her child. She thanked him but had made no other mention. But he’d seen the blue ribbon peeking out from a present she’d unwrapped from a coworker. He’d noticed when she’d stopped wearing her wedding band after her divorce. Noticed that she’d lost weight when she’d reentered the dating world.
He collected all those bits of information and pieced them together until he knew more about her than she’d ever dared imagined.
Last month, when she’d been giving him his injection, he’d told her he needed a favor done. She’d told him she didn’t do favors for prisoners. He’d not gotten angry or flustered, but he’d smiled and asked about her son, Ethan. Hearing him speak her boy’s name had rattled her.
“I need a favor,” he’d said.
“I don’t do favors,” she’d repeated.
“You do. I saw when you took that bottle of morphine.”
“I didn’t.”
“I saw.”
How closely had he been watching her? She’d only taken a few little vials. She needed a little cash to tide her over to payday. “I never did.”
“Who do you think the warden will believe? Five prisoners will back me up.”
“Leave me alone.”
“I know you’re strapped for cash. Must be hard raising Ethan alone and his father not paying a dime for child support.”
Her frown confirmed his statement.
He smiled and laid his head back against the infirmary cot’s pillow. “I see and hear so much. I don’t sleep as much as people think these days.”
“I won’t help you.”
“When I ask you will.” And then he’d told her what he wanted.
Now, her hands trembled as they did each time she was near him. She prayed daily that the cancer would kill him, but he had a death grip on life.
He sat back in his wheelchair, his eyes closed. “It’s time for that favor, Debra.”
She shook her head. “I won’t help you.”
“We’ve discussed this before. What I’m asking is not that difficult.”
“I won’t.”
“Do this one favor for me, and I will leave you alone, Debra.” His pale face looked ghoulish when he opened his eyes and grinned.
She stiffened, terrified that one of the other nurses had heard. But as always he was careful.
“It’s a simple request.”
“I’ve already covered for you with the warden—said you were too ill to talk when he asked.”
“And I appreciate that. But that’s not the favor and you know it.”
“I could go to jail if I do this.”
“If you don’t help, I’ll see that you do go to jail. And how will you support Ethan?”
She paled and her hands trembled as she moved toward the medicine cabinet. “Don’t mention his name.”
“Just a simple favor.”
Silence hung between them. A clock on the wall ticked. A nurse came and went in the other ward.
“Yes or no, Debra?”
She swallowed. “Yes.”
The large envelope was waiting for Jo when she arrived home before nine o’clock. Balancing leftover cake and her heels in one hand and her purse in the other, she knelt and picked up the package. It had no return address or postmark. Her thoughts went first to her sister. Taxes were due soon and Ellie always had trouble with the math.
Tucking the envelope under her arm, she unlocked her front door and flipped on her lights. As she dumped her keys and purse on the table by the door, her cats sauntered out toward her, rubbing against her legs and meowing their hunger and general irritation that she’d left them for so long.
Setting her package aside, she padded into the kitchen, turning on lights as she went. She filled the cats’ food bowls, refilled their water bowls and put the kettle on the burner.
Anxious to be comfortable, she hurried to her bedroom to change into yoga pants and an oversized T-shirt. Carefully, she hung up the dress. “All that trouble and energy, and I’ll likely not wear it again.” But she’d been there for Lara, and the dress had served its purpose.
The kettle in the kitchen whistled and she fixed herself a cup of tea before sitting on the couch and setting her package and cup on the side table. Her cats gathered on the couch beside her, Atticus nudging her hand until she scratched him between his ears.
“Needing some attention, old guy?” She smiled.
The cats purred and the day’s tension melted from her muscles. She leaned her head back against the couch. Steam rose from the cup. Her muscles ached with fatigue. She didn’t want to sift through Ellie’s receipts tonight or untangle her latest financial mess. And the tea, well, she’d get to it in a minute. She closed her eyes.
When Jo opened her eyes, she had no idea how long she’d been asleep. Atticus slept on her lap but the other two had abandoned her for their nighttime retreats.
Shoving out a breath, she sat straighter, groaning at the stiffness in her neck. Carefully she settled Atticus beside her and rose, stretching her arms overhead. The clock on the kitchen stove read 4:14 A.M. She’d slept the entire night on the couch.
As the seconds passed she grew more and more alert and quickly realized she’d not be falling back to sleep. She picked up her cup of tea, now cold, and padded into the kitchen. She popped it in the microwave and hit two minutes. When the microwave dinged, she moved back to the couch. A glance to the end table reminded her that Ellie’s taxes waited.
As steam from her teacup rose, she removed the tab sealing the back flap and opened the envelope. Inside she found a collection of papers covered in a bold, dark handwriting. Not Ellie’s.
Her gaze settled on “Dear Dr. Granger.”
Quickly she flipped to the last page and saw the bold signature. “Yours sincerely, Harvey L. Smith.”
Her heart froze, and for a moment she couldn’t breathe. She traced her finger above his signature, not daring to touch it at first.
Smith had written her, solidifying her fears that there was a deeper connection between them.
Dear Dr. Granger,
You are an intelligent woman with a keen mind. Like me, you understand the nuances of so much in life. Having now read your dissertation, I realize that you see what the average person is too blind or too undeveloped to see.
For many years I’ve been keeping a mental journal of my exploits, but it has only been in the last months that I’ve thought to put pen to paper. The police would find this simple missive interesting, as it will no doubt fill in many pieces of the puzzle for them. But I wanted you, Dr. Granger, to have the first look at my work. I went to a great deal of trouble to make sure the events were as detailed as my memory could recall.
One day I hope to share this missive with you in person. I would like your thoughts when you have read through my work. I can’t say for certain when we will meet again but know that you are always in my thoughts.
Yours truly,
Harvey L. Smith
Jo’s hands shook as she stared at the letter and handwritten pages behind it. Smith was the master gamester and right now she was his latest victim.
Chapter Fourteen
Sunday, April 14, 8:00 A.M.
When Brody’s cell rang he was already at the office and making his second pot of coffee. He’d been here since six to review more videotape of Hanna and the men who bought her time.
Thanks to Hanna he had a lead to Robbie, her suspected killer. Red truck. Texas plates with the letter X and T. The search through the DMV records would take time but at least he was headed in the right direction.
Without taking his gaze from the screen, he picked up his phone without glancing at the number. “Brody Winchester.”
“This is Jo Granger.”
He sat straighter, leaning back in his chair. “Jo. Is everythi
ng all right?”
“I had a package waiting for me when I arrived home last night. I didn’t open it until this morning. It was from Harvey Smith.”
“Smith.” He tightened his grip on the phone. “Nothing should have gone out from that prison from him without Maddox knowing about it.”
“Apparently, he has connections that helped him circumvent the system.”
“Not for long.” Brody would turn that place upside down to find out who was helping Smith.
“The package contained his memoir. This is something you should read.”
“I’ll come to you.”
“That’s not necessary. I’m on the road. Are you at your apartment?”
“The office.”
“I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
To the second, she pulled into the Rangers’ parking lot. She parked her car right between the lines and took time to set the emergency brake though the lot was as flat as a pancake. Out of the car she locked the doors, tried the handle to double check before tucking her portfolio under her arm and moving toward him with a steady straight-backed posture. Like in college, she walked as if heading toward her grand purpose. Back in the day, he’d found her purpose-driven ways irritating. Now, he knew she’d been light-years ahead of him.
He opened the front door for her. “Come on up to my office.”
“Right.”
He followed, admiring the subtle sway of her jean-clad hips. In his office she took a seat and unzipped her portfolio. “Can I offer you coffee?”
“No. Thanks.”
He hitched his hip on the side of his desk. “What do you have?”
“A long missive from Smith. As I said on the phone it arrived at my house last night.”
“It was there, waiting for you?” He pulled rubber gloves from his pocket and yanked them on before accepting the package. He studied the envelope. It had no address or postmark, but had been at her home. “You’re the only one who has handled this since yesterday?”
She frowned. “I didn’t think about fingerprints until I opened it, and then I couldn’t stop myself from reading it.”
