by Mary Burton
By the time Georgia processed the skirt, it was around midnight. Her back ached and, though she had had a solid eight hours of sleep last night, she was exhausted. Time to leave. She shrugged on her jacket and reached for her purse. Quickly she dug out her cell and checked the display. Two missed calls. From Jake.
Georgia squeezed the bridge of her nose. She did not need to deal with Jake now. She did not need to maintain her guard or remain sharp. “Leave me alone.”
The sound of determined footsteps had her looking up as she stretched the strained muscles of her neck.
Jake Bishop entered the lab.
Just great.
From that first night he had stood front and center while she sang, she noticed him more than she should. The cut of his beard on his square jaw. The slight tilt of his head and the swagger that mirrored an all-star athlete ready to play the game of his life. She noticed.
She stood up straighter, pushing a stray curl from her eyes. “So what brings you to the dungeon?”
He moved into the room, vibrant, hurricane force energy swirling. “Came to see how the forensic testing is going on the Spence case.”
“Micromanaging, detective?”
A slight, pirate’s smile. “Always. You getting ready to leave?”
No matter how hard or cutting, she never told a white lie to soften the truth. “I just finished processing Elisa’s clothes.”
“Find anything?”
Soft scents of a spicy cologne swirled. “More hair strands. It’s dark and could be hers. DNA testing will tell me if any of it matters.”
“That’s gonna be a few weeks if we’re lucky. More likely, months.”
“Yeah.” She did her best not to stare into eyes that noticed and cataloged every detail. “I hear you made a couple of death notices today.”
“Doesn’t matter if it’s five years or one week. Never gets easier.”
The light table glowed, deepening the lines around his mouth. “Any idea who texted Amber?”
His jaw tensed. “I had the number traced. It was a burner. Untraceable.”
Jake slid his hand into his pocket, rattling his keys. “You look rough.”
She glanced toward a stainless-steel refrigerator and caught a glimpse of a pale face spotted with freckles and haloed in wisps of red curls. She wondered if she should laugh or cry at her reflection. “It’s my natural state. Fatigue and I are good friends.”
“I’m getting a burger. Come with me.”
No hint of a request at the end of each sentence. Just an order. A little less tired and she’d have called him on it. He wasn’t the boss of her. But right now she liked not having a choice. Leave. Go. Eat. Simple. “Sure. Why not? Let me just close up the lab.”
He straightened his shoulders a fraction as if her answer surprised him.
She grinned. “You were expecting an argument?”
A smile quirked the edge of his lips. “I had a list of comebacks for your no.”
“That would be a long list. I say no a lot.”
“Why is that?” he asked with genuine interest.
“I’ve always been a tough case. Just ask any of my brothers.”
“That I know. Why?” He opened the door as she moved through it.
“I’ve always felt a little out of control so I compensate by trying to control the world around me.”
“That your therapist talking?”
She stiffened a fraction. “You know about that?”
“Heard Rick talking to you once on the phone. No one else knows.”
“Good, because I’ve been paying out of pocket in cash. I hate the idea of going, let alone anyone knowing.”
“Secret’s safe.” He punched the elevator button.
She couldn’t quite meet his gaze, knowing he was absorbing every little detail. “Thanks.”
The doors opened and they stepped into the empty cab. When the doors closed, he stood silently for a moment.
“Georgia, why are you not sleeping lately?”
Deep concern vibrated in the shadows of his voice and for the first time in a couple of years, she said, “It’s the way I’m wired. When I have a case on my desk that’s complicated, I don’t sleep so well until it’s untangled.”
“Ever thought about quitting the job?”
“Hell, no. I’m not finished catching bad guys.”
“You’re not gonna catch many more bad guys if you drop from exhaustion. At the rate you’re going, I see you gray haired and meaner than ever.”
“Thanks.”
“Calling it like it is.”
“I’m not dropping. And I’m not ready for the trash heap just yet.”
He punched the lobby button hard, as if he were trying to drive it into the wall. “No, not yet.”
The door opened to the bustle of people. No matter the time of day, this place never really was quiet. Their conversation tabled for now, they crossed the lobby and walked through the front door. Down Third Street they both gravitated to an all-night diner that catered to cops and their around-the-clock schedules. Soon, the two were seated at a booth in the back of the dining room. Jake took the seat facing the door and Georgia slid in across from him.
A waitress came up to their table with menus and a couple cups of coffee. She served enough cops to know coffee was a mainstay and when both declined menus and placed their order without looking, she didn’t bat an eye. Like many cops, they’d been here enough to know the offerings backward and forward. Late nights like this, Georgia always went for pancakes. Jake ordered the burger and fries.
“They do coffee well. I can forgive a lot but not bad coffee.”
She smiled as she mixed two sugars and cream into hers. “Amen.”
“So why pancakes this late at night?”
“I love breakfast, and I never have time for a good breakfast until late at night. And last I checked, there’s no hard and fast rules about when it can be eaten.”
He raised the cup to his lips. “I make killer pancakes.”
She let the subtle invitation pass. “I didn’t realize you cooked.”
“I’m very good at it.”
She traced the rim of her stoneware cup with her finger. “My cooking sends my brothers into a panic. They pretend it’s good, but I know they hate it.”
“I’ve heard.”
She glanced up, half smiling, half frowning. “Hey now!”
“I’ve tasted some of your cooking, Georgia. Your brothers are saints.”
She laughed, not sure why his cutting honesty amused her. Aware that others in the diner had noticed them, and that cops gossiped, she leaned forward. “It’s edible.”
“No, it sucks.”
Truth was she didn’t like to cook. “I only started after my mother died because Mom’s cooking was a unifying force in our family. Dinnertime was always special in the Morgan house. I guess I want to hang on to that.”
“The Morgans are a really tight clan. I don’t think you have to worry about holding them together.”
“I suppose.” She circled the rim of her cup with her finger. “You and Rick seem to be getting along better,” she said.
Rick never complained when Jake first joined homicide, but she saw the tension between the two. Jake had made no secret that he believed Rick’s promotion to detective was directly linked to his relationship to Deke. Morgans might look out for Morgans, but Rick proved to all he was a hell of a detective.
He offered only a hint of surprise. “He’s my partner. Why wouldn’t we?”
“It doesn’t take a genius to see you two didn’t click right away.”
“Call it a rough start. Like I said, you Morgans are tight. And not the easiest people to get to know.”
She shrugged. “I’m tough, but my brothers are okay.”
“Don’t kid yourself. You four run like a pack.”
She smiled, liking the idea of being a part of the pack. “So Rick has finally proven himself?”
Jake laughed, but it was a ha
rd-edged sound. “You don’t mince words, do you?”
She shrugged. “The pot calling the kettle black?”
He sipped his coffee. “Rick’s one hell of a cop. Saved my life.”
“Really?” She studied him, waiting for a punchline or quip. When none came, she said, “He never said anything to me.”
He shrugged. “It was year before last. We were on a call. I’d have taken a bullet in the back if Tracker hadn’t started barking and your brother reacted.”
“He never mentioned it.” The work Rick and Jake did was so dangerous. They all accepted the risks, but whenever she thought about losing one of her brothers, or even Jake for that matter, it was a punch in the gut.
“What, no dig or comment? Come on, Georgia, you’re losing your touch.”
“Am I that mean?”
“As a snake, baby. As a snake.”
That startled another laugh. God bless Jake Bishop. He never coddled her or treated her like fragile china as her brothers had since she was a baby. “I never pretend to be something that I’m not.”
He paused, his cup inches from his lips. “You’re correct.”
She sat back in the booth, laying both palms on the table. “Let’s talk about something fun. Who’re you dating these days?”
He set his cup down with a deliberate slowness. “Who says I am?”
“You’re always dating someone, Jake Bishop. Always.” The guy’s reputation was legendary.
“I’ve been on a dating diet lately,” he said as he raised his cup back up to his lips. “I’ll get back in the saddle soon.”
“Last I heard, you were dating a woman named Christy, or was it Susie in administration? Tall, buxom, and blond from what I remember.”
“Yes, to Christy last year. And Susie and I are friends.”
“What about Sharon in personnel?”
He tugged on his cuff. “She’s old news.”
“Did your lover boy reputation go south?” Her tone teased, but she didn’t exactly like the idea of his dating around.
“I closed the little black book a while ago. I’m telling you, I’m a reformed man.”
She laughed. “So you headed to the priesthood?”
“No. Definitely not.”
She cleared her throat, doing a one-eighty in another direction. “So what’s the story of you moving to Nashville? You showed up here seven years ago and it was clear you didn’t like the place or wanted to be here.”
“That obvious?”
“Very.”
“Let’s say I outgrew Boston. Time for a change.”
“Translation: a chick broke your heart?”
He studied her for a long beat. “Something like that.”
“Why pick Nashville?”
“Laid out a map of the United States, closed my eyes and pointed my finger. It landed on Nashville.”
“Really?”
“As good a place as any.”
The waitress showed up with a large plate of pancakes and another platter with a burger and a massive pile of fries. Georgia was grateful for the food and something to do with her mouth other than talk. God, she needed to stop talking.
“I’m starving,” she said reaching for her fork and knife wrapped in a paper napkin.
“You don’t eat enough.”
“I had a cheese stick on the way into work.”
Jake reached for the mustard on the table and dolloped a big blob beside the fries. He dunked a fry into the mustard and ate it in one bite.
“Mustard on fries,” she said. “A dead giveaway you’re not from the South.”
“And here I thought it was my accent and the way I dressed.”
She laughed. “There is that.” She poured a liberal amount of syrup over her pancakes and cut out a large wedge. She held it up, savoring the scent before she ate it. For several moments, neither talked.
Eating settled her nerves a fraction and by the time she’d had her second cup of coffee, she felt a little more like herself. She thought that if she had to define what she was these days, she couldn’t exactly put her finger on it.
“So what did you find out about Elisa Spence?” She turned the conversation to the homicide, sensing it was the safest territory for them.
Nodding, he wiped his mouth with his napkin and then balled it up and tossed it on his plate. “I’m still digging, but my gut tells me she was a good kid, straight arrow, but for some reason got a wild hair and decided to take a walk on the dark side.”
“The dark side?”
“I think she met a man. From what I’ve heard, a good-looking guy. And he was a charmer. He talked her into something and then I think he killed her.”
“You learned all that in so little time?”
He winked. “I move fast.”
When the forensic data came back from the lab, she’d bet much of it would back up what he’d found out today. But the data took weeks and sometimes months to analyze, whereas a fast-moving detective worked his magic in hours, days at most. “I’ll say.”
“Her financials don’t show any strange expenses except for some expensive lingerie she purchased about six days ago. Whoever killed her hasn’t been using her credit card.”
“The undergarments were sent over from the medical examiner’s office. I’ll admit they didn’t jibe with her clothes.”
“She wasn’t expecting to see this guy last week, but hoping. That would fit with what the clerk at the coffee shop said.”
“The cave at Percy Warner Park proves this guy is from Nashville and knows the city well.”
“Agreed. He’s a local.”
“Any hits on the BOLO?”
“Not so far. But he’s gonna be good at hiding. He’s been doing it for five years.”
“What’s the allure of bookish, quiet girls?”
“Who knows? Guys like that have all kinds of dark quirks that drive them. The girls might have reminded him of a sister or cousin or a girl who was mean to him. Maybe she was smarter and made him feel stupid. We won’t know until we find him.”
He leaned back in his seat and shook his head. “We need to talk to Amber Ryder again. This guy must have known her and the others.”
“In the case files, the cops made mention of Tim Taylor. He was Mike’s best friend. Have you talked to him yet?”
“He’s first on the list in the morning.”
She tucked a curl behind her ear. “I want to be with you when you talk to Tim and Amber.”
He shook his head. “I don’t hover over your shoulder when you’re collecting evidence, and you can’t tag along with me.”
“I want to.”
He slowly shook his head. “Who said you’re entitled to everything you want?”
“Not everything, just this.”
“No.”
Her frown deepening, she stared out the window onto the street. Outside a soft rain began to fall. “Very irritating, Bishop. You’re disappointing me.”
He smiled. “Why is this case so important to you? I know you aren’t afraid of Dalton Marlowe.”
“All my cases are important.”
“But . . .”
For a moment she didn’t speak as she considered a lie and then rejected it. “Three kids went into the woods. Lives were lost, families tortured. Someone can’t just destroy lives and get away with it.”
“All the more reason for you to stick to the science.”
She leaned forward, her gaze sparking with challenge. “But you’re biased against Amber. I see it.”
He scratched the underside of his chin. “You think you know me that well?”
Challenge weaved around the words. “I know you well enough.”
“No, baby, you haven’t scratched the surface.”
“That’s hardly true.”
A smile quirked the edges of his lips but he dropped his voice a notch. “You know me at work.” He paused. “But you don’t know me.”
CHAPTER TEN
Thursday, October 5, 8:00 A.M
.
Jake pushed through the door to the science department at Vanderbilt, and with Elisa Spence’s advisor’s name in hand, headed to the second floor and found room 122. A knock on the door earned him a brusque “Enter.”
He rolled his head from side to side, wondering if Georgia had slept as poorly as he had last night. She went home after they left the diner, but he returned to work to review surveillance tapes from several of the shops around Blue Note Java. So far, no sign of Elisa or her new guy.
Dinner last night was nice. First time they had shared anything real. Whether it would last or she’d retreat back into her shell was anybody’s guess. What was it with his attraction to Georgia? He could have anyone he wanted and he wanted the one ready to bust his balls all the time.
Jake found a lean, gray-haired man leaning over a desk piled high with papers, books, and journals. Light sneaked around a tall window behind him, catching countless dust particles in dozens of thin beams. The walls were lined with bookshelves crammed as full as the desk in front of him. The room smelled of Ben Gay.
“Professor Robbins?”
The man nodded but didn’t glance up as squinting eyes continued to stare at his research papers covered with cracker crumbs and coffee stains.
“I’m Detective Jake Bishop. I’m here to talk to you about Elisa Spence.”
The downcast gray head shook. “I haven’t seen Elisa in a few days. I can’t help you.”
News of her murder would have spread by now, if not from her roommate, then from the girl in the coffee shop. He waited until the professor looked up. “Did you know Elisa was dead?”
“What?” His head shook as he pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you mean, dead?!”
“Really? You haven’t heard?”
He raised his head, returned to his nose the thick glasses that magnified dark eyes. “No, I haven’t heard. I’ve been working.”
“No one has called you?”
“I’ve been working from home for a few days. People call and text me all the time, but I rarely answer. I don’t have time for calls.” He laid a wrinkled, arthritic hand on the desk as he rose up on unsteady legs.
