“Are you certain?”
“Yes.”
“What was in them?”
“Notes on my current book. Things like that.”
A shadow flitted across his face. “All right. That’s better than nothing.” He took her arm and guided her toward the door. “I can’t stay with you once the police arrive. I won’t be able to talk to you. Do you have a lawyer?”
“A lawyer,” she said in a strangled whisper. “Why would I need a lawyer?”
Sirens sounded in the distance, and he maneuvered them toward the door. “That’s the Redbird police. Think how this looks, Emma. This guy was in your house. You don’t remember what happened last week.”
Car doors slammed, and voices sounded outside.
“Wait a second.” She whirled around with a gasp. “What are you saying?”
“At the very least, the Redbird police are going to bring you in for questioning. I’ll advocate for you, I promise. I can vouch for your whereabouts since the car accident. But we can’t avoid reality. There’s a very real chance you’re going to be a suspect in Artie’s murder.”
Her knees turned to jelly. “A suspect?”
ELEVEN
Liam paced the dismal waiting room of the Redbird Police Department, only half listening to the chatter of the officers on duty. They hadn’t arrested Emma yet, but they’d been questioning her for the past hour.
His hand spasmed, spilling the cup of coffee he clutched. He dumped the contents in the trash and shook out his wrist. He’d finally gotten assistance with the case, though not exactly as planned. With Artie’s murder, jurisdiction extended to the Redbird police. They had more manpower. They also had Emma at the station for questioning.
Frustrated, he studied a rust-colored stain on the ancient ceiling tiles. The one constant in his life had always been bad timing.
The phone call from the US Marshals had left his head spinning, and he hadn’t had time to sort the details. They were summoning him back to Dallas when Emma needed him most. He’d argued. They’d threatened. According to the Marshals, they’d created his deputy persona as a cover until the trial, and that day had arrived. They weren’t interested in subsidizing his continued involvement in a small-town investigation that held no interest to them.
Failure to answer the summons meant possible criminal charges. He was looking at a week or more of behind-closed-doors testimony that didn’t exactly allow time for a lengthy commute.
The outside door swung open with a noticeable amount of force, snagging Liam’s attention. A man in a dark suit strode into the building. The wind flipped his jacket aside, revealing a sidearm.
Liam stood.
The man crossed the distance to the counter, and a wet-behind-the-ears officer planted his bulky weight in the man’s path.
“I’m sorry, sir. You’ll have to step back.”
The man held up his hands, his expression annoyed, his voice calm. “I’m Jordan Harris with the Department of Defense. I’m reaching for my identification.”
Liam hoisted an eyebrow. Jordan was someone accustomed to giving orders. Accustomed to being in charge.
The officer said something, and Jordan’s voice ticked up a notch. “Then I want to see the chief.”
The officer ordered him to wait and disappeared down the corridor. A second policeman stepped forward and took his position, eyeing the newcomer with suspicion.
Making a decision, Liam crossed the distance and stuck out his hand. “Deputy Liam McCourt. I heard you say your name before. You’re Jordan Harris, right?”
“Right.” Emma’s stepbrother gave his hand a brief, perfunctory shake. “You don’t look like the man in charge here. I need to talk to the chief.”
Liam squashed his flare of annoyance. Jordan Harris had clearly been traveling all night. His dark suit was heavily creased where he’d been sitting, and he’d removed his sunglasses, revealing deep lines beneath his eyes.
“The chief doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to talk to you,” Liam said with a glance in the officer’s direction. “You have questions, and I have answers. Why don’t we talk outside?”
Jordan muttered something beneath his breath. “Fine.”
As the door closed behind them, Liam crossed his arms over his chest. “You’re here about Emma Lyons, aren’t you?”
“Look, I don’t have time for this.” Jordan speared his hands through his dark, neatly clipped hair. “I’ve spent the past forty-eight hours on a series of transport planes from the Middle East. Not exactly the most comfortable way to travel. I finally get to Redbird, and my sister’s house is covered in police tape. What is going on?”
“She’s all right. Don’t worry,” Liam quickly assured him. “Maybe it’s best I start from the beginning.”
Liam quickly relayed the events leading up to the discovery of Artie Druckerman’s body, and Jordan sank weakly onto the bench set before the police station.
He clasped his hands before him and hung his head. “You’re saying she doesn’t remember the week leading up to the accident?”
“No. She has a flash of memory concerning the accident, but that’s it.”
“She needs a lawyer. They’re going to chew her up and spit her out.”
Liam had urged her to remain silent and call a lawyer. That was over an hour ago. His hands were tied.
The heavyset officer leaned out the door. “The chief says it’ll be about another ten minutes.”
Liam propped his hands on his utility belt. “You filing an arrest warrant?”
“That’s above my pay grade. The chief said ten minutes. Now I’m telling you.”
Once he’d gone, Jordan grunted. “Everyone in town like that?”
“Go easy on him. This is the most excitement they’ve had since Joe Keyes shot up his truck with a double-barrel shotgun because the engine died.”
Jordan’s posture changed, and his hazel eyes grew watchful. “What’s your story?”
“No story,” Liam said loudly, more forcefully than he’d intended. “I’m just a small-town deputy.”
“I don’t think so. Why all this interest in my sister?”
Emma was his stepsister, but Liam didn’t correct him. “Just doing my job.”
“I think there’s more to you than meets the eye.” Jordan stood and turned toward the door. “I have sources. If you’re hiding something, I’ll find out. I won’t risk Emma’s safety.”
Liam kept his face carefully composed. He doubted even Jordan could discover his true identity, but his manufactured past wasn’t going to satisfy the man for long. Timing. Looked like his timing wasn’t going to improve anytime soon.
“If you have sources,” Liam said, “then don’t waste them on me. Use them to keep your sister out of jail. I saw the damage done to Artie. She’s not capable of doing that. We don’t know if we’re dealing with a serial killer, a drug dealer, or some local with a secret worth killing to keep. All we know is that she’s in danger.”
Jordan seemed to be waging some sort of internal battle before he finally spoke. “Fine. I want all the evidence you have. The DNA. Everything.”
Liam regarded the man with frank sympathy. Jordan was frustrated. He’d been dropped into a situation that was fraught with unknowns. He was clearly a man accustomed to commanding attention, and he’d been forced to cool his heels.
“Did you hear me?” Jordan inquired acidly. “I want everything.”
A humorless smile pulled at Liam’s lips. “We’ve already run the DNA through the system.”
“Not my system. The Department of Defense has certain privileges that aren’t available to Texas law enforcement.”
“Point taken,” Liam said equably. There was no harm in taking a second look. “If you clear the jurisdiction, I’ll get you everything I have.”
“Thanks,” the other man grud
gingly conceded. “I’ll get jurisdiction. I have contacts.”
Liam might be angrier if he didn’t understand what the man was going through. He was worried about Emma, and he was helpless. After spending the past hour grappling with the same feelings, there was little point in getting his back up over Jordan’s rudeness.
“The deeper this case goes,” Liam said, “the more I’m convinced this has something to do with Missy Johnson’s murder.”
A haunted look skittered over Jordan’s face. “That was a long time ago.” He chafed his hands over his pant legs. His unease was a chink in his armor. “We were kids.”
“Emma said your dad claimed he discovered the body. Someone in this town is on edge. Harris is a common surname, but with all the dust getting stirred up these days, you can’t be too careful.”
Jordan sent him a simmering glare. “I can take care of myself.”
Liam wrestled back his flare of annoyance once more. “Friendly warning. Nothing more.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.” Jordan stood and shook out his arms, then rolled his neck. “That’s ten minutes.”
Liam followed him into the police station and froze.
Emma was standing a few feet away, her face pale.
Jordan stopped short. Emma staggered, her knees buckling. Liam started forward. Her stepbrother was closer. Jordan caught her and guided her to a lobby chair. The officers milling around the station parted for them, both curious and detached at the same time. As though recognizing they were unwanted bystanders.
Emma collapsed onto a seat and shocked them both by bursting into tears. Her hands jerked up to her face, and sparkling rivulets seeped from between her fingers.
“You came,” she managed to say through a muffled sob. “I asked them to tell you not to come.”
“Absolutely I came,” Jordan said, his voice heavy with emotion. “You were hurt. Where else would I be?”
“I don’t even know where to start. There was an accident. Now there’s been a murder.”
“I know.” Jordan scooped her into his embrace. “It’s all right. We’ll talk about everything later. Catch your breath.”
“I d-don’t know why I’m c-crying.” She hiccupped into his shoulder. “It’s like that blow to my head shook all my emotions loose. I can’t seem to control them anymore.”
“Then don’t try.”
Liam hovered helplessly, feeling like an intruder and hesitating to leave. His jealousy made absolutely no sense. This was Emma’s brother. He had every right to hold and comfort her. Liam, on the other hand, had no rights. He was days away from doing the one thing he feared—abandoning her. He’d known when he took the case he might be called back, and he’d forged ahead anyway. Jordan’s arrival was ideal under the circumstances.
It just felt rotten.
The Redbird police chief was a short, wiry man about Sheriff Garner’s age, with a prominent gap between his teeth. Squirming beneath Jordan’s piercing gaze, the chief quickly explained that they weren’t arresting Emma, but they didn’t want her to leave town, either. With an admiring look at Jordan’s credentials, the chief promised to keep them updated on any new developments in the case.
Jordan searched the room for Liam. “I can’t take her back to her house. Not after what happened. Where’s the nearest hotel?”
“I’ll do you one better.”
Jordan must have been expecting an argument, because he visibly relaxed when Liam readily agreed. The two exchanged phone numbers, and Liam texted him Mrs. Slattery’s address.
Emma huddled beside her stepbrother, pale and ghostlike.
She caught Liam staring and flashed a wan smile. “I’m fine, really.”
He didn’t have much time left. Monday was only a few days away.
Sirens sounded in the distance, and he was drawn to the past once more. Barely conscious during the ambulance ride that fateful night, he’d felt his life draining away with his blood. That same feeling struck him now. His future was slipping away with each passing hour.
The realization brought on a familiar panic—the need to sort out his unfinished business before time was snatched away from him. When he left, he needed to know that Emma was safe. He owed her that much, at least.
An elusive memory tugged at him. He texted Rose and asked her for the name on the case file Bishop had mentioned to Emma.
The reply came almost immediately, and his ears buzzed.
He stared at the screen.
Case 1701 was from twenty years ago.
The murder of Missy Johnson.
* * *
Emma stared at her chipped nail polish beneath Jordan’s seeking gaze. “How is your dad?”
“Good.” For the first time since his unexpected arrival, Jordan’s smile was genuine. “He’s got a condo in Clearwater, Florida. He’s lost twenty pounds and visits the ocean every day. He’s happy but he misses your mom. He misses you.”
They’d all wound up back at Blanche’s house after the fiasco at the police station. Emma had worried about all the extra people and commotion, but Blanche appeared to be in her element with the bustling activity. She’d ushered them into the kitchen and set out a carafe of coffee along with a plate of scones.
Emma searched for Liam, but he was nowhere in sight. There’d been no time to unearth her feelings and examine them. The shock of seeing Jordan at the police station had completely derailed her.
“I’m glad your dad is doing well. There wasn’t much point in keeping in contact.” Emma fidgeted with the chipped edge of her polish. “We’re not related. I figured he’d want to move on.”
Despite their rocky start, she’d grown to admire her stepfather as he’d cared for her mom during those last days. His selfless compassion had humbled her.
“We’re family,” Jordan said with a frustrated laugh. “You listed me as your emergency contact. That meant a lot to me. We must still mean something to you.”
“Absolutely you do. I wasn’t sure...” All her old insecurities came rushing back. No matter how many years passed, there was always a part of her that was ten years old and begging for approval. “Thank you for coming. I hope I didn’t tear you away from anything too important,” she added with a smile, hoping to alleviate the somber mood.
Meeting him at the police station while the cloud of a murder charge hovered over her wasn’t exactly how she’d planned their reunion.
“I can hardly see straight.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and scrunched his eyes. “I caught a C-133 cargo plane out of Kabul to get to Italy. Near froze my ears off on the way. Had to climb onto the crates looking for what little heat rose to the top. After that I caught a commercial flight. I flew overnight into Dallas, then I turned around and rented a car. I haven’t changed clothes in nearly three days. I can’t imagine how I smell. And I wouldn’t have done anything different. Nothing is more important than you.”
“I’m glad you’re here. I’m glad you came.”
He’d been a steady presence at her mother’s funeral. Her stepdad had been inconsolable, and she hadn’t fared much better.
“I wouldn’t be anywhere else,” he assured her.
“You were right about the house,” she said, chucking him on the shoulder. “It’s a real money pit, and I know absolutely nothing about home renovations.”
Her amusement quickly dissipated. She’d never enter that house again without thinking of Artie’s unseeing eyes.
Jordan squeezed her hand. “This guy is a sociopath, Emma. He’s murdered someone. In your house. This is personal. This guy is icy, and that scares me.”
Blanche appeared and gestured toward the staircase. “Your room is all ready, Mr. Harris. Let me know if there’s anything you need.”
“I most certainly will.” He stood and snatched another scone from the table. “These are so light, I’m surprised they don’
t float away.”
“Oh, go on.” Blanche giggled. “I’m going to check on Duchess. Those puppies should be coming any day now.”
As he passed Emma’s chair, Jordan ruffled her hair like he’d done when they were kids. “Get some rest.”
“I will.”
He paused in the doorway. “I almost forgot. Lucy Sutton’s husband passed away. An accident.”
Lucy and Jordan had been friends when they were kids. Emma once thought they’d make a great couple, but Jordan was always traveling, and Lucy had married someone else.
“How is she doing?” Emma asked.
“I don’t know,” he said, his gaze focused on the distance. “We didn’t keep in touch.”
As Blanche and Jordan left the kitchen, Liam entered. He’d changed, and she realized she’d never seen him out of his uniform. He wore a plaid button-down shirt with the cuffs turned back. Some unidentifiable sensation knotted and tightened inside her.
He took a seat across from her. “It’s nice that your brother is here.”
“Yes.”
Liam seemed different, though she couldn’t quite put her finger on the change. He’d been distant and distracted since the police station. She recalled the telephone conversation he’d had before they’d discovered the body. Had someone given him bad news?
“I know I told you not to bother tracking down Jordan.” She held up a hand to silence his protest. “But I’m glad you did. He’s the only one I trust as much as you.”
Liam didn’t seem particularly pleased by her gratitude. He exuded a restless energy, his arms crossing and uncrossing before he bridged the distance.
“Don’t put your trust in me.” He grasped her by the shoulders before quickly letting go. Digging his heels into the floor, he shoved his chair backward. “I’m not what you think I am. Trust yourself. Trust your instincts. But don’t trust me to protect you.”
“Why not?” His abrupt flare of anger caught her off guard. “What if my instincts are telling me to trust you?”
“Then don’t listen.” His face was pale and his voice raspy. “Don’t listen.”
Killer Amnesia: Faith In The Face 0f Crime Page 15
