by Mary Burton
She moved toward the hallway, her shoulders tense and tight as she listened to the steady footfall of his feet. In her office she resisted the urge to move behind her desk, but offered him a seat on the couch as she took the chair beside it.
Instead of sitting right away, he walked around her office and studied the diplomas on the wall. “I always knew you were smart, Jo. But to see it up here in black-and-white, well, I see that I underestimated you. Summa cum laude. That is something. Brain cell for brain cell, I always knew you outgunned me.”
“I’ve read some of your interviews with suspects. You’ve gotten confessions when no one else could.”
He grinned. “You’ve been keeping up with me, Jo?”
She sat back in her seat, aware that body language telegraphed more than words. And she wanted to tell Brody that he did not get to her. “Sure. I’ve read lots of reports written by the Rangers.”
He faced her, his white hat dangling from his fingers. “Which of my cases did you read?”
Too many of them. “Did you come here to talk about the past?”
He grinned. “No. But now that I’m here, it’s a topic worth exploring.”
“I don’t think much about the past.”
“Not even a little?” His tone teased.
She crossed her legs. “Tell me, what did you come by to talk to me about?”
He took the seat on the couch and tossed his hat to the side. Staking a claim. This close she could smell the hint of the same aftershave he’d worn in college. “Christa Bogart’s funeral is this morning.”
His statement extinguished that flicker of giddiness in her belly. “I know. I’d planned to go.”
“Good. So am I. I want to see who shows up.”
With effort, she relaxed deeper into her seat. “You think the killer might attend?”
“It’s been known to happen.”
“Sounds reasonable.”
“I’d like you to come with me.”
“I’ll be there.”
“Better if you are at my side. I can get your feedback as it comes to you.”
“You know how to read people. You don’t need me.”
He shook his head. “You’re better with people than I am. I’m good at browbeating and can be tricky when I want to be. But most folks go on guard when they see me coming. Not you, though. You disarm people.”
She laughed. “You charmed a smile out of Sammy who hasn’t smiled at me in the three years I’ve worked here. You do fine with people.”
He winked. “Well, you got me there. I am good at charming the womenfolk. But a funeral’s a different beast altogether. Highly emotional time. A lot of raw emotion. That kind of situation takes a special kind of finesse. The kind you have.”
She cocked a brow and, unable to resist, said, “You’re good at flirting and fighting, where my specialty is . . .”
A smile teased the edges of his lips. “You’re good at seeing details I don’t.”
“The funeral is not for another hour and the church is close.”
“If we leave now we’ll get there early and can watch folks as they arrive.”
“Leave now?”
She didn’t want to go anywhere with him. The less they saw each other, the better. This was not a date. It was work.
His gaze winked with the satisfaction of a fisherman who’d caught a big one. “You’ll be back in plenty of time.”
“All right. I’ll go early.” She rose and moved toward her jacket hanging on the back of the door. “Where do you want to meet at the church?”
Grabbing his hat, he stood. “No sense taking two cars when one will do the trick. Besides, we can talk in the car on the way back about what you saw.”
She could argue with his logic and sound petty and small. Instead, she slid on her jacket, fastened the center button and grabbed her purse. “Let’s go.”
“I knew you’d be a team player, Jo.”
“That’s me. Team player.”
He opened the door for her and waved to Sammy as they waited for the elevator. “I’ll have your girl back before you know it, Miss Sammy.”
The woman’s grin broadened. “See that you do. She’s one of our best.”
“Can I get that on tape?” Jo said to Sammy.
Sammy laughed. “No way.”
The doors dinged, opened and Jo stepped onto the elevator, wondering what alternative reality she’d entered. A week ago if someone had painted this scene she’d have laughed. But there it was: Sammy smiling and Jo stepping out with her ex-husband.
It took less than ten minutes to drive to the church, a simple clapboard, whitewashed building. The sign out front listed Sunday’s sermon JESUS WANTS YOU! along with a list of hymns.
As Brody predicted, they arrived early enough to get a seat in the back by the door. Jo settled on a wooden pew and stared at the front of the church, shaped like a cross. It was a good-sized sanctuary, likely able to seat a thousand. Pews filled the right and left wings and all the way back to the double doors, now wide open to allow the arrival of mourners. A large wooden cross dangled over the red-carpeted center stage at the church’s front. A grand podium was positioned to the right and beside it a large glamour shot of Christa. There were no flowers in the church, and Jo remembered that Christa’s sister had requested that flower monies be donated to the Center for Missing and Exploited Children.
Brody removed his hat and settled beside her so close his shoulder brushed hers. The deliberate move was most likely about economy of space.
She eased back, Brody’s shoulder touching hers, and focused on the task. “Do you really believe he will come?”
Brody kept his gaze on incoming mourners. “I do.”
“Why?”
A half smile tugged the edge of his lips. “Do you ever accept an answer at face value?”
“I do when it’s complete.”
He lowered his voice and leaned closer to her, his gaze still trailing everyone who entered. “Because, Dr. Granger, if Robbie is our guy, he’s had one hell of a week. Not only did we find his kill, but his mentor died.”
“He’s feeling a lot of emotions,” she added. “Some good and some not so good. Here he not only sees the power of his actions, but here he also can mourn, not for Christa but Smith.”
“Right on the money, Doc. Right on the money.”
A group of women entered. Jo remembered them from the search. They’d worked with Christa. Dressed in black, they dabbed handkerchiefs to their red eyes as they searched for a seat. More like them followed until soon people packed the church. Jo and Brody were forced to sit so close her thigh brushed his. She’d forgotten about the raw power leashed in his body. The times they’d made love before she’d gotten pregnant she’d savored that power and the power of feeling safe and protected.
Safe. She’d not been safe. She’d been playing with fire. And been burned. She drew in a breath so deep it caught Brody’s attention.
“Everything okay?” he whispered.
“Yes, fine.”
His gaze bore on her a beat before he turned back to the crowd. “See that couple?”
Jo followed his line of sight to a young, attractive man wearing a dark suit and the woman leaning heavily on his arm.
“That’s Christa’s boyfriend, Scott, and her sister, Ester.”
The couple all but hung on each other as if they could topple any moment. “They appear devastated.”
He studied them closely. “They do, don’t they?”
She heard the doubt in his voice as a group of folks arrived wearing the Find Christa! T-shirts. “Hundreds of volunteers helped search for her. Including myself.”
He cocked his head but his gaze remained on the crowd. “You mentioned that. What pulled you into the search?”
“Tim Neumann, the guy headed this way now, sent out a mass e-mail. He sold me my house a couple of years ago. Apparently, he sent flyers to all his clients. It made sense to help.”
“He was also helpin
g Christa and Scott find their first house.”
“He’s good. High energy. Personable. He had a way of keeping everyone motivated and working when the weather would have made it easy to stop. He’s the one that found Atticus last year and talked me into taking the cat.”
Tim hugged a young woman with long, brown hair and whispered something in her ear that made her smile as more tears flowed. He spoke to others, all willing to rally around him.
Jo’s neighbor, Rucker, entered the back of the church. However, the church was full and he was forced to stand with a group of latecomers in the back.
“That your neighbor?” Brody said.
“Yeah. He was one of the searchers too.”
Brody studied the man a beat. An organist began playing “Amazing Grace” and he shifted his attention to the front of the church. A choir, dressed in white, took center stage as they sang. The congregation rose and sang as the pallbearers entered with a casket draped in red roses.
Jo dug a hymnal out of the seat back in front and opened the book to the song. She held it up for Brody so he could see and he accepted the weight of the book. They sang and watched the crowd.
The pallbearers wheeled the casket to the front of the church as the minister, a tall, lean man with a thick shock of white hair, welcomed everyone with a prayer. The minister invited Scott and Ester up to the front to speak.
Ester’s hands shook as she unfolded a piece of paper and cleared her throat. Her lips were drawn and tight, and her voice broke when she read. Several times she stopped to collect herself. Scott wrapped his arm around her shoulder, and she leaned into him before dabbing her eyes and reading her prepared words about her sister. Jo noted Scott’s right hand at his side. He rubbed his thumb and index finger together. A self-comforting gesture.
The next hour was a parade of people who all had lovely sentiments to share about the young woman who’d had a generous heart, loved school and had been excited about her wedding, which would have been in this church if she’d not died.
When the service ended, Jo watched pallbearers carry out the casket as the mourners followed. Most, genuinely upset, kept their gazes toward the casket. There were some, especially among the Find Christa! group, driven by the event’s drama. That was to be expected. Any funeral or tragic event attracted those who coveted center stage.
Scott, she knew, had been a suspect. She had no reason to doubt that his anguish was real, but she’d also interviewed killers who were truly heartbroken after the explosive, violent moments that led to a loved one’s death.
When everyone had left, Brody escorted Jo into the bright sunshine. She removed sunglasses from her purse, and he settled his Stetson on his head. In the church they’d gone all but unnoticed but out here there was no mistaking a Texas Ranger. Several folks boldly stared at them while others whispered and pointed.
Talk around them didn’t turn to murder immediately, but as folks lingered and watched the casket being led to the hearse, several peered in their direction.
Scott stopped his march to the limo, whispered something in Ester’s ear and made his way through the crowd toward them. Several times he was forced to stop as someone offered him condolences. With each delay his face tightened with tension.
“Ranger Winchester,” Scott said, not tossing a slight glance at Jo. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m paying my respects.” Brody made no move to introduce her, which gave her the opportunity to remain unnoticed by Scott.
“I can’t have you questioning these people here today. They are all devastated by Christa’s death, and questions would heap trauma on trauma.”
Brody’s jaw tightened a fraction. He still didn’t like hearing no. “I’m an observer here today.”
“What is there to see other than grief and sadness?”
“You never know.”
Scott’s clenched fists at his side. “You don’t belong here. I want you to leave.”
Brody didn’t budge. “Can’t do that.”
Scott’s jaw clenched as he fumbled in his pocket for his cell phone. “I’m calling your supervisor.”
Brody didn’t flinch.
Tim spotted Scott and cut through the crowd toward him. His gaze landed briefly on Brody and Jo and then settled on Scott. “Scott, it’s time to go. We’ve got the graveside ceremony.”
“I have a call to make first,” Scott said.
Tim wrapped his arm around Scott’s shoulders. “It’s going to have to wait, pal. We need to go.”
Scott’s face crumpled with sadness. “This Ranger shouldn’t be here.”
“He’s trying to find Christa’s killer,” Tim said. “He’s doing his job.”
“This isn’t the place.” Scott lowered the phone to his side as if all the will had melted from him.
“It’s always the place,” Tim said. “Let him do his job, and we can do ours and see Christa laid to rest.”
Tears welled in Scott’s gaze as his head and shoulders slumped. “I can’t do it. I can’t watch them lower her into the ground, knowing that freak buried her alive.”
Jo studied Scott’s grief but didn’t allow herself to be pulled into it. He was clearly hurting.
Tim glanced at Jo. “Hey, Jo, good to see you.”
“You too, Tim.”
“Thanks for trying,” Tim said.
Jo nodded. “Of course.”
Scott looked ahead to the casket now being loaded into the hearse. “God, they are going to bury her again. That’s not right.”
Tim patted Scott’s shoulder. “She’s in a better place, buddy.”
Scott buried his face in his hands. “This is messed up.”
Tim made apologies to Jo and Brody and led Scott away, helping him into the limo.
“He’s worried about her being buried in the ground again,” Jo said. “I’m surprised he didn’t have her cremated.”
“Ester didn’t want Christa cremated. She wanted her buried next to their parents in the family plot. Scott protested. There was a big fight. But Scott had no legal leg to stand on.”
Jo had noted how Ester had leaned on Scott. “They seem close now.”
Brody shrugged. “Grief can mess a person up. Makes them say or act out of character.”
Heaviness lingered behind the words. For a moment she thought he might have been talking about himself. “What you’re saying is that tomorrow she won’t need Scott?”
“Let’s say soon her head is going to clear, and she’ll see the world differently. She will look back on today and wonder why she said and did half of what she did.”
Before she thought, she said, “You talking about her now or yourself ?”
Brody met her gaze. “Both.”
At the gravesite, Jo stood next to Brody, too aware of the energy that he radiated. Raw. Powerful. Dangerous. She had a strong attraction to him. It would be foolish now to deny it. But this attraction had to be exorcised. She’d flown too close to this flame once before and had been burned.
Focusing her attention on the gathering crowd of mourners, she watched as they took their seats at the gravesite. Christa’s sister and boyfriend sat in the front row, each clutching a red rose. Ester’s eyes were bloodshot, and she still clung to Scott as if he were a lifeline. The woman might have disliked the man before but right now he was her rock. Brody had been right. Grief changed enemies into friends. Friends into enemies.
Tim caught her gaze and smiled.
“I’ll be right back,” Jo said.
Without a glance at Brody she maneuvered the cemetery lawn in her heels toward Tim. He smiled warmly at her and pulled her into a hug.
“A lot of the searchers showed up at the church,” Tim said. “I thought I saw Rucker before but he was on the other side of the room so we didn’t get a chance to speak.”
“It was touching to see everyone. We all wanted to find her alive. That connects us to each other and to her.”
Tim was a handsome man. Pretty almost, though she doubted h
e’d have liked the description. “I wish we’d done a better job. We failed her.”
“You can’t look at it that way. Look how many people you marshaled and brought together to search.”
A bitter smile twisted the edges of his lips. “Effort is nice, but it’s the results that matter. Yeah, we worked hard but in the end we didn’t find her.” He shook his head. “And she’d been alive all these weeks.”
“Tim. You can’t live your life playing the what-if game.”
Tension deepened the lines around his eyes. “But I will for a long time. I let her down.”
She took his hand in hers. Warm. Rough. “Don’t blame yourself.”
“There is a group of us gathering tonight. The searchers, as we like to call ourselves. At a bar downtown. You should join us. You worked harder than anybody.”
Aware of Brody, she hesitated. A month ago she’d not have second-guessed. “Grief often finds some solace in groups.”
“You sound like a psychologist.”
She smiled. “No getting away from it.”
“So you’ll come?”
“Yeah. See you.” She squeezed his hand and returned to Brody’s side.
He kept his gaze ahead but he was frowning. “I didn’t realize you two were friends.”
“He’s a nice guy.”
Brody’s gaze shifted toward Tim, much like a rifle sight zeroed in on a target. “He likes you.”
“Mutual respect.”
“Don’t kid yourself.”
“None of your business.”
“Anyone connected to Christa is my business. I saw you nodding. You accepted an invitation.”
His attention to detail on such a simple exchange surprised her. “He and some of the other searchers are gathering for a drink in town tonight. I agreed to go.”
“I didn’t realize it was such a tight-knit bunch.”
“Tim’s great at building camaraderie.”
The hearse arrived and Scott, Ester and Tim moved to the back of the vehicle and unloaded the walnut casket. Jo didn’t know the other three pallbearers. Their gazes fixed and solemn, the six carried Christa’s casket to the grave. The crowd went silent for a moment before the faint sounds of weeping rose.
Thick, sudden tension rippled through Brody’s body, drawing Jo’s gaze to his face. He wasn’t staring at the coffin but past it to a woman hovering close to a tree. The woman wore all black, including a black lace veil that covered white hair.
