by Mary Burton
“She was about the age of your daughter at the time of the accident.”
Dowd paled. “Don’t compare Jenna to Greer. My girl is a hard worker. Makes good grades and is a straight shooter. She doesn’t run around with rich country club kids. I won’t allow it.”
“You know about Greer’s time at Shady Grove?”
“No. Why would I? I do know it’s a place for rich kids who can’t cut it.”
“You ever know anyone who stayed at Shady Grove?”
“Like I said many of my clients are rich. If they or their kids spent time at the place, I didn’t know about it. I keep it polite with that kind because they’re my bread and butter, but I don’t mix with them.”
“Greer received a call the other night at the Crisis Center. The caller was female. She said some mighty nasty things to Greer.”
“So?”
“She said the caller sounded young.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
“Your daughter is young. Would you have put her up to the call?”
The color drained from his face. “How dare you drag my daughter into this. She was just a baby when Sydney died.”
“She loves you very much. Maybe you put her up to the call.”
“No. Never.”
Bragg looked around the barn, absorbing details. “I’m going to have to ask you to stay away from Greer Templeton.”
“Why, Ranger? I was mad and I told her so. Last I checked it’s a free country.”
He bared white teeth into a smile that was not a smile. “Yes, sir, it is. But I’m offering you a friendly warning where it comes to Ms. Templeton. Leave her be.”
“What’s she to you? She your girlfriend?”
He had no idea what Greer was to him, other than a name in an investigation or a mentor to his nephew. He’d known her all of five days, but it was enough to care. To protect. But Dowd didn’t need a speech on the matter. He took a step toward Dowd. “I don’t need to explain myself to you, Dr. Dowd.”
Dowd took a step back but mutiny burned in his gaze.
A blistering headache pounded behind Jennifer’s eyes as she moved across the parking lot toward her car. She clicked the entry and moved behind the wheel, savoring the heat of the seats. She’d been cold all day, unable to shake the chill slithering into her bones the moment she’d stepped into the shop today. The shop had felt off, wrong. She’d searched for signs of a break-in or trouble, but when everything checked out she’d attributed her unease to Greer’s visit.
Greer had stirred the cauldron of her emotions. She’d rattled her. Made her edgy. And then that damn Ranger had arrived. He’d reminded her of an ancient barbarian. No conscience. No concern. Even the thought of the man made her stomach churn.
The afternoon in the shop had been crazy busy and she’d set a record in sales. Any other day and she’d have been brimming with satisfaction, but today panic burrowed as if the foundation under her feet crumbled.
Needing to connect to the present, she dialed her fiancé. He picked up on the third ring. “Hey, babe,” she said.
“You headed home?” His soft smooth voice soothed her. Unlike Bragg, Adam was a sweet, kind man.
She wasn’t sure how she’d gotten that lucky, but she’d landed a great guy. She’d do anything not to lose him. “Yes. We were late closing. Couldn’t get rid of some customers. One didn’t buy a single item, but the other bought a nice Vera Wang. The sales justified the extra half hour.”
“Good job.”
She traced the steering wheel with a manicured finger. The day’s stress ebbed from her muscles. “So what are you doing?”
“Hanging out by the pool waiting for you, babe. Hurry home. We can go skinny-dipping.”
She laughed, reaching for her water bottle. “Sounds fun. See you in a few.”
She drank deeply from the bottle, savoring the cold water. It refreshed her. Fuck Greer and all the bullshit from the past. She was in a good place now, and if someone really did figure out the truth, what could be proved? Nothing.
She yawned as she backed out of her spot and headed down Congress Avenue. She was glad Adam’s house was a couple of miles from her store. She was more tired than she’d thought. At a second stoplight she closed her eyes determined to rest them for only a minute. The honking of a horn behind her startled her awake and had her shaking her head. What was wrong with her? She’d not experienced this kind of bone-weary fatigue since . . . since the night she’d taken that bottle of her mother’s pills.
Fear rose up from a hidden part in her, and she gripped her steering wheel. She’d not touched a drug in twelve years. Not even an aspirin. And she’d not had a drink of alcohol in over a year. But she felt drugged. Panic growing, she pulled her car over to the side of the road and reached for her cell phone. Her vision blurred as she stared at the numbers that now danced and spun. Just like before, she panicked after taking the pills and dialed 911.
She hit the nine but an extreme heaviness had her head tipping back against the headrest. Wake up! She fumbled her thumb from the nine to the one and managed to hit it once. She hit the second one but fatigue pried her fingers open and the cell dropped from her hands before she could hit SEND.
Greer dreamed of the accident again. Lights, a horrendous crash, and screaming.
She sat up in bed, and shoved a trembling hand through her hair. Her heart raced and her mouth had grown as dry as cotton. A glance at the clock told her it was minutes after three.
Rising, she moved into the kitchen, took a glass from the cabinet, and filled it with water. She drank heavily, savoring the water as if she’d not had any in days.
Finally, when she didn’t feel extremely parched she turned and leaned against the sink, cradling the glass close to her chest. The thought of returning to bed left a chill in her bones. She didn’t want to risk reliving the accident again. There was work, always work, but she was weary of staring at numbers and worrying over the ripeness of her vineyard.
Restless, she set down the glass. If Lydia had been alive, she’d have risen by now, made them both tea, and together they’d sit at the kitchen table and discuss everything and nothing. Now without Lydia, she was adrift.
Her mind went to Bragg. Perhaps if it had been the clear light of day she’d have pushed thoughts of him away, but here alone in the dark she welcomed his warm embrace, if merely in her imagination.
After moments passed, she felt foolish standing here alone thinking of a man out of her reach. She pushed away from the counter, set down the glass, and returned to her room. With a wary glance toward her unmade bed, she went to her closet and turned on the light inside. Her gaze roamed over her collection of shirts and jeans up to boxes that stacked high on the top shelf. She reached for the lowest box but at first her fingers only grazed the dusty cardboard. Finally, she grabbed a chrome chair from the kitchen and placed it in front of the closet.
On the chair she had a better view of the boxes that stored what little she’d kept from her old life. When she’d left Shady Grove she’d had a suitcase full of clothes, but over the next month her mother had sent more and more of her belongings. Holding bits of her life before the accident had been too painful to bear, but she also couldn’t let go of her before life either. To do that would erase Jeff. That’s why she’d stored each of the boxes in the closet.
She scanned the boxes and found the one she wanted in the middle on the far left. Leaning forward she tugged carefully at the box until it slid out.
Greer climbed off the chair and sat on the edge of her bed. She removed the box top and stared at the collection of trinkets. They’d been what she’d brought with her from Shady Grove. On the bottom she found what she’d been searching for—an image. The picture Bragg had of Rory and her had been taken from this picture, which also featured Sam, Jennifer, and Sara. She studied the picture of the five smiling faces. Such bruised gazes in such young faces.
She remembered that night. It was their last together, and she�
�d been despondent. She’d threatened not to come to the final roundup at the campfire. Instead, she’d stayed in her room, nursing bitterness over Rory’s leaving.
It had been another kid, Jack, a quiet shy boy with stringy blond hair and thick glasses, who’d come to find her. He rarely spoke to her or anyone but that night he’d coaxed her out of her room, waving his camera and telling her she had to be in the picture. The others said the picture wouldn’t be complete without her. And so she’d pushed aside her anger and gone to the fire. Rory had tossed his arm around her, as if nothing were wrong, and kissed her on the lips. Then all of them had grinned at the camera. Jack had snapped the picture.
She traced Rory’s beautiful face. She’d read in the paper that his funeral was Monday afternoon. She wasn’t welcome but she’d be going. It seemed fitting.
Her gaze moved from face to face in the image. Two of the five were now dead. What had they done to warrant death? As she fingered the edge of the fading image she knew she had to give this to Bragg.
When Jennifer woke to the sharp scent of ammonia, a bright light shone in her eyes. Her brain, drowsy and sluggish, struggled to focus. She pushed through the confused thoughts, trying to remember what had happened. If she didn’t know better, she’d say she’d taken too many sleeping pills.
Ammonia cut through her airways.
She coughed as she sat straighter and realized her wrist was handcuffed to a bed.
“What is this?” Her voice sounded garbled and muffled like a drunk’s.
“It’s your chance.” The man’s voice came from beyond the light.
More sharp smells of ammonia and she coughed and shook her head no. “Get that away from me.”
He chuckled. “As soon as I know you’re awake.”
“I’m awake. I’m awake.” Fear hadn’t penetrated the thick grogginess.
“Good.”
She moistened dry lips. The last she remembered, she was in her car struggling to stay awake. She’d had a sip of water and wondered why she’d felt so drugged. “What’s wrong with me? I feel drugged. But,” she said, moistening dry lips, “that can’t be right. I haven’t had a drink in a year.”
“You’ve got to be careful about what you eat and drink.”
“I am.”
“Not careful enough.”
As her head began to clear, she looked into the face of the man speaking. His expression wasn’t menacing and his demeanor relaxed. He dressed well. Smiled.
She tried to sit up but her head spun. A glance around told her she was lying on a bed. She looked around the room. Simply furnished, there was a television, a desk and chair, and the two windows had been covered with black plastic and duct tape. “Where am I?”
“Somewhere safe.”
Fear flickered as did annoyance. “What does ‘somewhere safe’ mean?”
“It’s a place where we won’t be bothered. Where we can talk.”
“I don’t want to talk.” Again, she tried to sit up but found she was almost completely immobile. She jerked her hand. The cuffs rattled but didn’t budge. “What the hell?”
“I’m giving you an opportunity.”
“What are you talking about?” The sharpened edges of her voice belied his soft tones.
He turned away from her and sighed. “A chance to purge. To release the burden you’ve been carrying for twelve years.”
Twelve years. A cold chill oozed through her body freezing away any traces of annoyance. Some secrets, no matter how painful, had to stay buried. Now more than ever. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
He faced her, his smile sad and almost soothing. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, Jennifer.” An edge had crept into his voice. “You need to release the secret.”
“I don’t have a secret.”
“Yes, you do. And before this night is over, Jennifer, your soul will be cleansed just as you’d dreamed of it being for years.”
Chapter Eighteen
Monday, June 9, 7 A.M.
The day’s heat had already kicked in when Bragg arrived at the murder scene a half hour after receiving the call from Winchester. Jennifer Bell had been found in her car, unconscious. The paramedics had removed her from the car, opened her airway, and begun CPR, but despite a frantic dash to the hospital, the doctors had pronounced her dead fifteen minutes ago.
Lights flashing, the area around the car had been roped off, but a growing number of curiosity seekers now stared at the technicians as they photographed Jennifer Bell’s car.
The area was on a residential side street near the entrance to Northwest Park. It was going to be a pretty day with milder temperatures and soon this area would be teeming with folks out to enjoy a Monday morning jog.
Bragg settled his hat on his head as he moved toward the crime-scene tape billowing in a soft breeze. He was clean shaven, his hair still wet from the shower. “What do we have?”
Winchester tore his gaze from the empty car. “She somehow managed a call to paramedics an hour and a half ago. She wasn’t able to speak, but they traced the GPS on her phone.”
He pulled plastic gloves from his pocket and put them on. “Did she say anything else to the nine-one-one operator?”
“She didn’t say a word. The operator asked her a bunch of questions but she didn’t answer.”
He glanced past Winchester to the car. The door was open and the ground around it littered with the paramedic’s discarded wrappers. “Are we sure she placed the call?”
Winchester shrugged. “All I can say for sure is the call was placed from her phone in this location.”
Frustration snaked up his back and curled around his shoulders. His first thought was for Greer. He reached for his cell and dialed. The phone rang twice before she said, “Greer Templeton.”
“Greer. Tec Bragg.”
A heavy silence followed. “What can I do for you?”
He turned from Winchester and the other cops and stared off toward the wooded park. “Where are you now?”
“At Bonneville. I’m getting into my truck and headed into the fields with Mitch as soon as he waters the horses.”
Relief corralled his anxiety. She was on her property. Safe. And Mitch was with her. “Do you have time to meet later today?”
She dropped her voice. “What’s this about?”
Around him cop-car lights flashed. Media gathered. “Not over the phone.”
A heavy hesitation sizzled over the line. “Sure. I’ll be on the property until two.”
“Where are you going at two?”
“Austin. Is there a problem?”
He didn’t want to tell her about Jennifer like this. “Just need a few details clarified.”
“Sure.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. “Why are you coming into the city?”
She paused. “I’m going to Rory’s funeral. It’s today.”
He frowned, his mind targeting all that could go wrong at the funeral. “Is that such a good idea?”
“Doubtful. But I’m going.”
“Greer, think about this. David Edwards is only going to cause you trouble.”
“I’m just going to pay my respects. I’ll keep my distance.”
He considered all the logical reasons she shouldn’t go and sensed he could lay them all out and she’d still do as she pleased. He checked his watch. “The funeral is at three?”
“Yes. The Catholic church in West Lake Hills.”
He catalogued the information. “I’ll meet you there.”
“You don’t have to.”
“It’s as good a place as any. We need to talk.”
“Okay.”
“Stay close to Mitch. He can look out for you.”
“You’re making me nervous.”
“Don’t mean to.” It took effort to soften his voice.
“Okay. See you then.”
He closed the phone and stuck it back in his belt cradle.
Winchester studied him. “What was that ab
out?”
“Checking in with Greer.”
A small smile tweaked the edge of Winchester’s lips. “You wanted to make sure she was okay?”
No sense denying it. “Yes.”
Winchester studied him closely. “That’s not like you. In fact, I don’t remember you ever taking such a personal interest in a person associated with a case.”
He shrugged. “I am now.”
“Why? And don’t give me a story about it being about the case. I sang that song enough when Jo was in danger last year.”
Bragg squared his shoulders. “It’s about the case.”
“It’s about her.” Winchester shook his head. “Don’t bullshit me or yourself.”
Bragg shifted his stance. “What is this, like our special girl-sharing time?”
Winchester laughed. “You care about the woman.”
Bragg considered a rebuttal and then squashed it. The truth wasn’t as hard to swallow as he’d thought. He cared about Greer. “I hardly know the woman.”
Winchester chuckled. “Doesn’t take a lot of facts or time to form an attraction. She’s a good-looking woman and looks like she could go up against you and not break a sweat.”
“She’s a tough gal.”
“Men like us need strong, independent women. Not easy being with a Ranger. Shit, danger aside, we work ungodly hours. Jo gets that. And Greer would, too.”
“Last I checked you had her figured for a suspect.”
Winchester shrugged. “I might be amending my opinion.”
“Why?”
“For one the analysis on the tire tracks at Rory’s crime scene came back. They don’t match any of Greer’s vehicles. And I got the analysis surveillance tapes from area hardware stores about an hour ago. We targeted stores selling generators. All were men.”
“Any positive ID?”
“No. But none were Greer.”
He didn’t need confirmation on Greer’s innocence, but having evidence would help her avoid any undue scrutiny from the law later.
Bragg rested his hands on his hips as he surveyed the crowd. His feelings for Greer ran deeper than attraction. But the last damn thing he was going to do was discuss this with Winchester or anyone other than Greer.
