You're Not Safe

by Mary Burton

  “I should go.”

  “See it through. You’ll be better for it.”

  “David doesn’t want me here.”

  “You’ve every right.”

  Bragg was not her friend. He was a cop. But he’d shown up to personally tell her about Jennifer and to support her. She couldn’t deny her attraction for him grew by the moment. She leaned into him, hoping to draw a little of his strength.

  At first he didn’t move. He stood steady, afraid if he moved she’d pull away. When the casket passed, her grip tightened. When David spotted her, his gaze turning predatory, Bragg tightened his hold on Greer and tugged her a step closer as a signal to both David and Greer she was under his protection.

  David Edwards glared but didn’t say a word, but his gaze bore the promise of paybacks to Greer for trespassing. The remaining mourners left the church, leaving Bragg and Greer alone.

  Alone, the strain abated from her body and she realized he held her hand. Gently, she pulled away. “David is not pleased.”

  Bragg grunted. “He’ll survive.”

  She lingered, clearly hoping the funeral party would clear away before she had to leave. He seemed content to stand there alone with her. “Shame Rory had so few friends in the end.”

  “Will you go to Sara’s funeral?”

  “Her family hasn’t announced when it will be. But yes, I’ll go. I owe her that. And I’ll go to Jennifer’s.”

  “What do you owe them?”

  “A proper good-bye.”

  He took her elbow and guided her out of the church. Harsh sunlight assailed them as they moved to the top of the church steps. He scanned the area, searching.

  “Who are you looking for?” she said.

  “The killer.”

  “He would come here?”

  “It’s been known to happen.”

  “Why?”

  “Part of reliving the kill. The thrill of knowing he’s upended so many lives. To gloat. A lot of sick twisted reasons.”

  “I never thought about that.”

  “I want you to be thinking about it all the time now. Be very careful.”

  “I will.”

  He walked her across the street to her truck and waited as she climbed in and fired up the engine. She rolled down the window. “Thanks for the moral support.”

  “Sure. What are you going to do today?”

  “Work, what else? I’ll be consumed for days with that.” She sighed. “The vineyards to the rescue again.”

  “How so?”

  “Like I said before, the land doesn’t care about any troubles. It expects me, needs me. And right now I’m glad to be needed.”

  Loneliness rose up from her as if it were part of her scent. He wanted to take her hand again. Tell her this storm would pass. “How many acres will you be harvesting?”

  “We’ll start with the back one hundred and work our way forward.”

  “Good luck. Be careful and call me if anything isn’t right.”

  She shifted into first gear. “Thanks again, Ranger Bragg.”

  He touched the brim of his hat. “Ma’am.”

  From her rearview mirror, she watched him, standing on the sidewalk staring after her.

  Chapter Nineteen

  Monday, June 9, 5 P.M.

  The autopsy of Jennifer Bell revealed no signs of any trauma. No bruises, no scratches, no nicks. The medical examiner had run extensive tox screens, but Bragg was betting blood work would come back positive for barbiturates, Jennifer’s drug of choice the first time. The water she’d been drinking had also been tested. Forensics had pulled fingerprints from the bottle but all had belonged to Jennifer. They’d removed all the water bottles from the refrigerator and were also testing those for barbiturates.

  Bragg moved into his office and flipped on the lights. The killer was re-creating suicide attempts and granting last wishes. Greer’s wish had been to see her brother again. The dead did not come back to life and the only way to grant her wish . . . he refused to consider that option.

  He rubbed the tightness in the back of his neck and then shuffled through the phone messages on his desk. An unforgiving restlessness stalked him. The walls of his office had shrunk, and he’d get no work done tonight.

  Bragg grabbed his keys and hat and left the office. He told himself he had no good reason to drive out to Bonneville vineyards. Mitch was doing fine. Greer would be exhausted from a day at the funeral and in the fields. But the longer he reasoned with himself the more determined he was to make the drive.

  And so he drove the thirty miles of Texas back roads. The dust kicked up and the city faded from sight. The closer he got to the vineyard and Greer the more his nerves eased.

  He pulled up to the main building. It was just after six and Greer was crossing the front yard to her home. When she heard the crunch of gravel she turned. Her head tilted in shock, and she moved toward him, her frown deepening with each step. “Ranger, what are you doing out here this late? Everything all right?”

  “Came out to check on you.”

  A smile teased the edge of her lips. “I’m doing fine. But thanks for asking.”

  He’d made it this far and wouldn’t leave. “Ready for harvest?”

  She nodded, her body relaxing. “Better than expected. Mitch has a knack for this kind of work.”

  “That so?”

  “He might end up a winemaker after all.”

  Bragg laughed. “Never say never.”

  She nodded toward the big house. “I’m about to have a glass of wine. Care to join me? I’ve beer in the fridge.”

  “Sounds good.”

  He followed her up the hill to the main house where she lived. From the front porch there was a view of the vineyards below and above to the house where Louis lived. Refusing to think about him, he let the land’s calm energy draw him away from worry for just a little while.

  The screen door squeaked and he turned to find her holding it open. He entered the ranch house, removing his hat as he stepped into the foyer.

  The cabin was rustic, furnished with old-fashioned furniture arranged around a large stone fireplace hearth. He smiled at the well-used hearth. She’d found a use for what had seemed useless to him. He could imagine Greer curled up on the sofa, a glass of wine in her hand and a fire crackling in the hearth.

  On the mantel stood a collection of framed photographs. Most were of a smiling Greer standing with an older woman. Vines always surrounded the two either here or on a European hillside. The aunt’s grin was broad as her arm slung recklessly around Greer’s shoulders. Though her hair was graying and her face lined, her gaze sparked much like Greer’s.

  “You look like her.”

  “That’s what my mom always said.”

  In another image a younger Greer had swept thick hair into a ponytail. Despite her youth, her gaze reflected a world-weary wisdom. “When was it taken?”

  “Ten years ago. That’s the first vineyard I planted.”

  There was a tenderness in her voice as if she spoke of a child. “How long did it take to harvest the grapes from that vine?”

  “Three years.”

  He studied more pictures, intensely interested in details other than the accident. “Looks like you and your aunt traveled.”

  She chuckled. “We had a thing for vineyards.”

  He settled on a picture of a much younger Greer and a tall young man or rather boy. The kid had a big beefy arm thrown around her shoulders. Her broad grin reflected pride and youthful joy. No sadness or loss lingered behind those blue eyes.

  “That’s Jeff,” she said. “It was my fifteenth birthday.”

  Bragg reached for the picture and then hesitated. “May I?”

  “Sure.”

  He took the picture and studied it. The boy didn’t resemble Greer, but there was a familiarity that the two shared. Perhaps it was the tilt of their heads or the smiles. He also looked like Mitch, which took him back a little.

  “You see the resemblance to
Mitch as well,” she said.

  Bragg nodded. “Yeah. Buzz Jeff’s hair and they could pass as brothers.”

  “I saw the resemblance the first time I saw Mitch in the bar.” Her voice was whisper soft. “Threw me off for a second but in the end I’m sure that’s what drew me.”

  To see Jeff again. Her dying wish. He tried to shut off his cop brain as he replaced the picture on the mantel. “I’m glad you did choose him.”

  She moved into the kitchen, reached in the fridge, and pulled out a beer. “I want to thank you for today.”

  He turned from the images and laid his hat on a table. “For?”

  “Coming to the funeral.” She twisted off the beer top and handed it to him. “You didn’t have to, and I appreciate it.”

  He accepted it, and took a long pull, and liking the flavor, studied the label. “Lydia and your mother weren’t close.”

  “Yes. Mom said often enough when I was growing up that I was like Lydia.” She shrugged. “Those comments were usually made in frustration so I don’t think it was meant as a compliment.”

  She retreated to the kitchen and poured a red into a sparkling glass. “They had a terrible falling out. Love triangle involving my father.”

  “And she came to get you after Shady Grove.”

  “Yeah, amazing.”

  He took a pull on the beer and was pleasantly surprised by the taste. “I’ve never seen this brand before.”

  “Very small brewer. He doesn’t have many retail outlets.” She swirled her glass, took a moment to study the way it caught the light, and then took a sip. She savored the flavor.

  “That made with your grapes?”

  She smiled and studied the way the light hit the glass. “Mine mixed with other varietals.”

  “And next year you make your own.”

  Ambition gleamed in her eyes. “I will. With luck we’ll have enough grapes to at least start out with five hundred cases.”

  “I’ve no doubt you’ll get it done.”

  She nodded, no hint of apology in her demeanor. “I will. Bonneville will make a mark in the world.”

  They retreated to the couch in front of the fireplace. She curled up like a cat and faced him. She hesitated as if, like him, small talk was a skill yet to be mastered. “Is there any more news on Jennifer’s case?”

  He didn’t like the shift from personal to professional but accepted it. “Not yet. We’re running down every lead we have right now.”

  “And Michael?”

  “We haven’t found him yet.”

  She sipped, arched a brow. “I’m guessing then you came out here about Mitch.”

  He wanted to see her, know she was okay. “You said Mitch was doing well.”

  She sipped her wine. “He is. He works with the horses, and he was in the fields today. Worked harder than anyone.”

  “Where is he now?”

  “With another kid I hired. Danni Sinclair.”

  “Your pint-size defender at the center?”

  She laughed. “Yes. She invited him out for a movie.”

  “And he said yes?”

  “He was taken aback but he managed to say yes.”

  “Good thing she did the asking. Not sure if he’d have gotten around to it. This a date?”

  “I’m not sure if either would cop to that but they were laughing when they climbed into his truck.”

  Bragg shook his head. “I owe you my thanks, Greer. Two months ago I feared that boy would never smile again.”

  “He’ll never forget what happened. But he’s learning to live a little more each day.”

  He sipped his beer and before he thought he said, “What do you do for fun?”

  She arched a brow, amused by the question. “Me? I work. That’s what’s fun for me.”

  “You volunteer, you run the vineyard, take in stray dogs and horses and ailing ex-marines. What do you do for yourself ?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. “I don’t think about it.”

  “You deserve to live a little, too.”

  Her gaze darkened and he had the sense she did not agree. “That so?”

  He shook his head. “You do your best to keep everyone else going, but you don’t do for yourself.”

  She sipped her wine. “I don’t need much.”

  Her skin glowed in the evening light. “Why do you deny yourself ?”

  “Like I said I don’t need much.”

  He swirled the beer in the bottle. “You deserve happiness like the rest.”

  She stiffened and stared into her glass.

  He watched her brow knot. “You don’t believe that.”

  Smiling, she shook her head. “I feel like I’m having a session with Dr. Stewart. He has a knack for zeroing in on sensitive spots.”

  “And what do you do when he does?”

  “I dodge and weave.” Her eyes danced with humor. “Spin denials.”

  “Like now.”

  “Exactly.”

  “Why?” The man, not the Ranger, wanted the answer.

  She was silent for a long moment. “It’s a little hard to embrace happiness.”

  “It’s been twelve years since the accident.”

  “And my brother and Sydney are still dead.”

  “So you stay in limbo until the end of your days.”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “It’s a waste.”

  “It’s my life to waste, Ranger Bragg.”

  “Tec. My friends call me Tec.”

  “I’ll stick to the formal, if you don’t mind.”

  “Why?”

  She straightened and rose from the sofa. “Better we each stay on our own side of the fence.”

  He’d put her nerves on end. But those nerves weren’t jumping with fear but something else. “You pulled my boy over to your side. Makes it a bit more personal to me.”

  She glanced toward the mantel, the army of photos facing them. “He won’t be here forever. One day he’ll get his legs under him, and he’ll move on. That’s the way it should be. And then you’ll return to the life you had before Mitch.”

  When he looked back at his old life he saw loneliness.

  “I’m in a good place,” she said. “I work hard and I manage to sleep hard these days. I can go months at a time without crying, and I’m hoping the recent nightmares are a passing thing.” She sipped her wine. “All this introspection since Rory’s death has brought a lot to the surface and I don’t like it.”

  “Anything new?”

  “No. Same old, same old.”

  An image of Greer, a blond girl standing on the far side of the country club all those years ago, popped into his head. “Did you run into anyone from Shady Grove at the country club? Ever. A lot of the kids came from wealthy families. Stood to reason you’d cross paths. What club was it?”

  “Western Country Club.”

  “Jennifer was a member there?”

  She frowned. “I didn’t know that, but there were hundreds if not thousands of members. And back then I was all about riding my horses. I showed up at the club when commanded.”

  “Do you still ride?”

  “Not since the accident.”

  “You should pick it up again. Though I’d stay away from Beauty.”

  She laughed. “Duly noted.”

  A strand of hair dropped in front of her eyes and he resisted the urge to brush it aside. Instead he set his beer on an end table, freeing up his hands.

  He took her hand in his, smoothing his fingers over the calluses on her palm. The calluses extended to her heart but under the tough was tenderness. “A lifetime for one moment. Doesn’t seem right.”

  She met his gaze. “One devastating moment changed too many lives.”

  He sat still for a long time, simply holding her hand. Her scent rose up to tease his nose. His gaze dropped to the swell of her breasts and then up to her eyes. She was staring at him. But there was no sadness in her gaze now. Only need.

  And then slowly he r
ose pulling her with him. If she resisted, he’d let go. But she moved willingly, stopping mere inches from him. She wasn’t tall. The top of her head barely reached his shoulder but he sensed if he held her she’d feel right.

  He drew circles on her palm with his thumb and then bent his head toward her lips. She moistened her lips, glanced up at him, and then, rising on tiptoes, closed the distance. Her lips were soft, sweet, but he sensed in her a deep vibrating energy that likely had been building for years.

  He leaned into the kiss and she absorbed him as if half starved. He threaded his fingers through her hair, closing his fist around the softness as he pressed his other hand to her hip.

  Greer’s senses burned toward overload. Every muscle in her pulsed, and desire built in her body. She’d dated a few times in technical school, but the unshakeable guilt she carried over her brother’s death had driven her away each time.

  Now, the guilt buzzed around her head, but she shooed it away. She had the rest of her life for regrets and guilt, and right now she enjoyed this incredible sensation that was sweeter, more intoxicating, than any wine she’d ever tasted.

  A deep seductive growl rumbled in Bragg as his hand cupped her breast. Slowly he backed her up toward the couch and he eased her down, covering her body with his. Hard sinew and muscle covered her.

  His hand slid over her belly and to the snap of her jeans. “Greer?”

  The unspoken question hung in the air. He was giving her a choice. He would stop now. How many times had she kept herself in reserve, away from the world as if encased in a layer of ice? She wanted to melt the ice, to feel a connection—a connection to Bragg.

  “I want this,” she breathed.

  He ground a kiss into her and cupped her breast with his hand. Sensations shot through her body, as if it had come alive, awakening from a deep sleep.

  Her hands skimmed over his shoulders and down his back. Muscles rippled under the surface of his shirt. Restrained power radiated.

  Seconds and then minutes passed as feelings swirled around her. She kissed him, clutching his shirt before reaching for his belt buckle. He stopped her hand, unfastened his belt buckle, and set his belt and gun on the floor. She unzipped his pants and reached inside the fabric to hold him. He sucked in a breath and a growl rumbled in his chest. “You’re going to break me, woman.”