Cold Case Reopened

by Caridad Piñeiro

  Together they piled on even more wood and, as they did so, it was obvious to Rhea that there was a little less of the pig carcass beneath the ash and embers.

  She snuck a peak at her watch. “It’s been about four hours since we started.”

  Jackson likewise did a quick look at his phone to confirm the time. “About. We’ll need to keep it going a while longer to match what Matt did.”

  “Which means more time to get to know each other,” Rhea said, wanting to find out all she could about Jackson.

  “First, more firewood,” he said and walked over to split more wood.

  She recognized avoidance when she saw it, but she refused to let him avoid that talk. He was becoming too special to her in just the few days they’d spent together. Too hard to resist, even though becoming involved with a man was low on her priority list. Both before and after college she’d been focused on establishing her career. Once it had taken off, her emphasis had shifted to her gallery. In the years since then, she’d made a number of friends and spent time with Selene, but a relationship...nonexistent.

  That she was giving the “relationship” label to what she was feeling for Jackson was a scary proposition. He was connected to too much hurt. He was also nothing like the artsy men who inhabited her life. But maybe that was why she found him so interesting. He was the epitome of the strong, silent hero type, but beneath that hard surface was a powerful and compassionate man.

  Instead of sitting, she walked to where he was working and, as he split the logs, she picked them up and carried them close to the firepit. They had just finished making a nice pile when Declan came out of the restaurant with another tray, this time loaded with what looked like slices of pie and tall glasses of lemonade.

  “Dude, if you’re in the mood to keep on chopping, I could use some hickory for the smokers,” Declan called out and motioned to a far pile of wood with the tray.

  Jackson nodded. “Sure thing. Least I could do to thank you for all your help and the food.”

  And to avoid talking to me, Rhea thought, but bit her tongue. He could run, but he couldn’t hide.

  When Jackson moved to the pile of hickory logs, she tagged along, picking up the pieces he’d split to add them to the neat pile Declan had beside the uncut logs.

  “You’ve known Declan forever,” she said, hoping to start the discussion on what was hopefully a safe topic.

  Jackson raised the ax and sent it flying down onto the log, splitting it in half. “We grew up in the same neighborhood. Went to school together.”

  “I bet you were a jock,” she said, picturing him on a football field.

  Jackson grinned and shook his head. She thought she heard him murmur, “Grand Inquisitor,” but then he said, “I was. Baseball, not football.”

  It was too easy to imagine that powerful and lean body in a tight baseball uniform, igniting heat at her core. But he was more than just a pretty face.

  As she picked up a pile of cut hickory logs, she asked, “Why does a landlocked Colorado boy decide to go to Annapolis?”

  Jackson set the ax on the ground and stretched, arching his back and wincing slightly. But before she could offer to help, he picked up the ax and went back to work.

  She pressed him for an answer. “Why Annapolis?”

  He finished quartering the log and set the ax aside, obviously in pain. But he finally answered her. “I didn’t want my parents to have to pay for college since they still had my sister and brother to worry about. Dad is a Marine and I wanted to follow in his footsteps. Annapolis made sense.”

  She stacked the last of the logs he’d split and followed him back to the fire. Together they tossed on more wood, then sat to eat the slices of pie Declan had brought out. But that wasn’t going to keep her from her goal.

  “Are you always so sensible and responsible?”

  Chapter Twelve

  He paused with a forkful of apple pie halfway to his mouth and glanced at her. His steely gray gaze glittered with a heat she hadn’t thought possible. “Not always.”

  The warmth that had kindled in her core earlier grew ever higher, like the flames in the fire a few feet away. It was so intense, she had to cool off with a few sips of icy lemonade.

  “What about you, Rhea? I know you’re talented. Determined,” he said, the latter word followed by a playful chuckle.

  She considered him over the lip of the glass, thinking about how to answer. After a pause, she said, “I know some people think artists can be temperamental and flighty. You probably did.”

  He smiled as he scraped the last of his pie from the plate and then licked the fork clean. “I plead the fifth,” he joked, but then quickly added, “But you probably thought I was uptight and by-the-book.”

  She felt the urge to shake him up a little. “I still do, but I look forward to you proving me wrong.”

  His glass rattled against the tray as he set it down and, when he fixed his gaze on her, it seared her with its fire. “I look forward to that also.”

  She gulped down the rest of her lemonade to cool the blaze he’d ignited and turned her attention to her pie. Another collapse of the logs in the bonfire had them both bolting from their chairs to the wood pile. They almost collided there, forcing Jackson to reach for her to keep her from falling over.

  Electricity sparked between them, and Rhea rushed back to her seat.

  Jackson took his time feeding the fire, needing to control what he was feeling for Rhea. Banking the flames burning inside because he worried that if he released them, it might consume him. He was unused to such feelings, being, as Rhea had said, normally uptight and by-the-book.

  But Rhea had loosed those bounds he’d lived with all his life, first as an athlete, then as a Marine and finally as a cop.

  It couldn’t have happened at a worse time, he thought. Rhea’s emotions were too fragile, and he had to stay focused because so much was at stake, including his career. But more importantly, he had to keep Rhea safe.

  His Crime Scene Unit was working on the cruiser, trying to get paint and metal samples in the hopes of identifying the vehicle that had attacked them. They were also trying to locate any CCTVs along the route that might also yield more information. The Avalon police were determining if Matt owned any other SUVs that fit the bill and still trying to get a warrant to search his property.

  With a cruiser parked in front of his own home, he hoped that would be enough to safeguard Rhea.

  The vibration of the cell phone in his pocket warned that they’d hit the time limit for their bonfire.

  “Is it time?” Rhea asked.

  He nodded. “We need to let it die down and see what we have.”

  “I’m ready, Jax. No matter what happens, I’m ready,” she said and met his gaze, hers unwavering and filled with the kind of determination he’d come to expect from her.

  “We’ll be ready, Rhea. And if this doesn’t work out, we’ll move on,” he said, wanting to reassure her.

  “I know.” She reached across the short distance separating their chairs, holding her hand out to him.

  He grasped her hand and twined his fingers with hers. The comfort he offered her with that touch rebounding to bring him peace, as well.

  It took another hour for the fire to die down enough for them to check out what had happened.

  Jackson grabbed a shovel that Declan kept for feeding and controlling his smoker fires. Carefully, he shifted the still red-hot embers in the firepit, moving them away from the center to try to expose what, if anything, was left of the pig carcass. It was hot work, and sweat bathed his body from the heat.

  As he moved the embers toward the edges, he had to take a step back to cool off.

  Rhea was immediately there with another tall glass of lemonade.

  “Thank you,” he said. He swiped his forearm across his brow to wipe away the sweat and chugg
ed down the drink.

  After a few deep breaths, he resumed shoveling the embers until he had revealed a large portion of the carcass. Or at least what remained.

  He stood beside Rhea, hands on his hips, staring at the pile of bones in the center of the pit. A dark residue, probably from the animal’s fat, stained the area around bones that were relatively intact. Some spots near the edges, where the fire hadn’t been as hot, still had minute remnants of flesh. Ashes and embers circled the pig remains close to the pavers.

  Maybe if they allowed more time for it to cool down, the central section with the bones might be closer to the crime scene photos that the Avalon Police Department had taken in the days after Selene’s disappearance. But is it close enough? Jackson wondered.

  “It’s not similar, is it?” Rhea said, dejection obvious in every line of her body. Her shoulders drooped, and deep frown lines were etched beside her lips. The blue of her gaze was dark, like the lake waters during a storm.

  He eased his arm around her shoulders and tucked her close. “Let me get the embers back in place, add another pile of logs and then let the fire die out naturally. We’ll come back later to check it out and, if that doesn’t do it, we move on, right?”

  She nodded and, in a tiny, hardly audible voice, she said, “We move on. I’ll get you another drink.”

  Rushing away, he watched her go, aware she was barely holding it together. He quickly returned to work, piling the glowing embers back into the center of the pit. He added another mound of logs and hoped that by doing so the end result might support continuing their investigation of Matt because the other alternative...

  Rhea didn’t want to believe that Selene had killed herself. He found it hard to believe, as well, but no one knew why someone would choose such an end. Why they didn’t ask for help and kept it bottled up until the emotions were just too much to handle.

  The sound of a footfall drew his attention, but it wasn’t Rhea. It was Declan, with another tall glass of icy lemonade and deep furrows across his brow.

  “Your...friend is... Maybe it’s time you guys went home. Took a break. I can finish up here,” he said with a flip of his hand in the direction of the fire.

  Jackson hated to leave their experiment unfinished. But as he looked at Declan’s face, his friend was obviously as worried about Rhea as he was. “Do you mind us leaving it here until later?”

  “Until tomorrow, Jax. You need to take a break. A long one,” he said and clapped him on the back, gently this time.

  In truth, whether later or tomorrow it wouldn’t matter. Not to mention that the ache he’d been feeling off and on in his back all day was blossoming into major pain. “Tomorrow,” he said and followed his friend into the restaurant where Rhea was sitting in one of the booths.

  The lunchtime crowd had died down, and Declan’s staff was getting ready for the dinner rush.

  He eased into the booth across from her and their knees bumped beneath the table. He laid a hand on her knee. Squeezed reassuringly. “How about we head home?”

  She nodded, but remained silent, her face flat. Shoulders still fallen.

  Declan hurried over and laid a pizza box on the table. At Jackson’s questioning look, his friend shrugged and said, “Figured you might not want to cook dinner.”

  Jackson rose and bro-hugged his friend hard. “Thanks for everything, Deck.”

  His friend dipped his head in Rhea’s direction, urging Jackson into action.

  Jackson held his hand out, and she slipped her hand into his, but peeled away for a moment to hug Declan. “Thank you. We really appreciate all that you’ve done.”

  “Anything for friends,” Declan said as he embraced her.

  “Let’s go,” Jackson said, and Rhea seemed only too eager to leave. He understood. Their experiment was leading them on a path to other scenarios.

  One of which included Selene’s suicide.

  Normally he’d be relieved when he eliminated one scenario during an investigation and moved closer to solving a case.

  He felt no such relief today.

  The short ride to his home was quiet, but Rhea’s disappointment was almost palpable. In just two short days, they’d eliminated the idea that Matt had disposed of Selene’s body at his client’s location and probably the possibility that he’d cremated her in his firepit.

  But that didn’t eliminate Matt or their other scenarios, including the one where Selene was still alive.

  “Matt could still be a suspect,” he said, but as they pulled past the police cruiser stationed in his driveway, instinct said something was wrong.

  “Stay here,” he said and opened his door while unclipping the thumb strap on his holster. As he did so, the smell of smoke drew his immediate attention. A slight breeze carried smoke from beyond his home.

  He leaned down and drew his backup Glock from his ankle holster. Bending, he held it out to Rhea and said, “Do you know how to use this?”

  Rhea took the gun from him and pushed the button to remove the magazine and check it before slipping it back in. “I’ve got it.”

  “Good. Stay put.”

  Rhea eased the safety off the Glock and watched as Jackson walked toward the police cruiser. When he got there, he immediately acted, reaching in for the radio and calling for an ambulance.

  The hackles rose on the back of her neck, and she hoped the officer wasn’t badly injured.

  She searched the area in front of the home, but the fading light of dusk and the tree line around the home created too many shadows. But her gaze caught on a brighter swirl of white above the home. Smoke.

  No, not Jax’s home, she thought and opened the door. The smell of smoke was impossible to miss now and, as Jackson rushed around the edge of his home, gun drawn, Rhea couldn’t just sit there doing nothing.

  Ignoring Jackson’s instructions, she dashed from the cruiser, gun in hand. Following the path Jackson had taken, she ran into him as he stood on his deck, pulling a garden hose from a reel. He ran with it toward the shed. Licks of flame were just beginning to escape from a broken window at the front of the structure.

  Jackson turned the hose on the shed, trying to keep the fire tamed. He had holstered his gun and was radioing with his free hand. She walked over and took the hose from him, and he mouthed a “Thank you.” With his hands free, he drew his weapon again and finished calling for the fire department since the garden hose was barely keeping the flames at bay. If they spread to the deck or to the pines behind...

  She didn’t want to think about the fire destroying Jackson’s home because of her. Because of me.

  Keeping the hose aimed on the flames, she also kept her eyes and ears open for signs of anything out of the ordinary. Like the scream of sirens approaching and the lights flashing through nearby woods. Reds and blues escaped through the underbrush and tree branches as police cars, an ambulance and a fire truck raced up the road.

  The crunch of gravel and pounding footsteps signaled that help was on the way. Jackson joined her a second later and said, “Whoever did this is long gone.”

  “I’m sorry, Jax. How is the officer?”

  “Awake. He thought he heard a noise, opened his window to investigate and got cold-cocked. EMT is with him, and it seems like he’ll be okay,” Jackson explained and held his hand out for his backup weapon.

  She returned it, and he strapped it back into his ankle holster. As he did so, he asked, “How did you know how to use the Glock?”

  “Dad was a cop. He taught us how to safely handle a weapon,” she explained and began to hose down the edges of his deck as the heat of the shed fire warned it was in danger.

  Luckily, a crew of firefighters dragged a fire hose from the front of the house and turned a burst of water on the shed, beating back the flames. But the fire had done major damage to the structure, and it collapsed with a loud crash, sending embers fl
ying all around.

  The firefighters moved closer to douse the burning remnants, as well as the area all around, to avoid the spread of the fire.

  Rhea stood there, more worried about Jackson losing his home than the likelihood the fire had been set because of her. Jackson came up behind her, wrapped an arm around her upper body and drew her against his chest. She went willingly, the comfort and security of his arms welcome.

  The firefighters shut off the water and walked over to inspect the remnants of the shed. One of them shook his head, tipped his hat back and walked to where they stood. He glanced at Jackson and said, “Can’t say for certain yet, but I think an accelerant was used.”

  “I kept gasoline in there for the chain saw and mower,” Jackson advised.

  The firefighter took a look back toward the shed and nodded. “Probably used that, since it was handy. We’ll know more once the arson investigator has his look at it.”

  “Thanks, Max. You guys did an amazing job,” Jackson said and leaned over to shake the man’s hand.

  “Appreciate it, Jax. Sorry this happened to you,” he said and shot a look at Rhea, as if wondering if she was the cause. Rousing her guilt again about what had happened.

  Jackson and she followed them to the driveway, where the EMTs were pulling away and Jackson’s colleague was standing by his car, chatting to the police chief.

  “Stay here and, this time, do it,” Jackson said and reinforced his instruction with a slash of his hand.

  Since the chief shot her a look that was both annoyed and concerned, she decided to stay put as Jackson had instructed.

  Jackson spoke to his injured colleague and the police chief in hushed tones, making it impossible for her to overhear what was being said. The chief waved to officers standing by another cruiser, who joined them as discussion resumed.

  Not long after, the injured officer got into his car and pulled away, and the police chief did the same, leaving the one cruiser with the duo of officers. Jackson spoke to them for another few minutes. With a series of handshakes and some backslapping, the conversation ended, and Jackson returned to her side.