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 about?”
“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.
Being with a Ranger.
Yeah, he liked the sound of that.
“Has Jennifer Bell’s next of kin been notified?” Bragg said.
Winchester wrestled a grin from his face. “Her boyfriend is calling her parents who are in Europe right now.” He reached in his pocket and pulled out a small notebook. He fished through several pages. “His name is Adam Owens. He’d been contacted and he’s on his way to the hospital.”
“Good. I want to talk to him.”
“I’ll pull Jennifer’s phone records. Maybe the killer called her before she died. And I’ll get the uniforms going from door to door. They can hunt down security cameras and possible witnesses. Maybe somebody or a camera caught something.”
“Any word on Michael Sycamore?”
“Not yet. His secretary in Houston says he’s on vacation and won’t return for another week.”
“Does she know where he went?”
“No, but she’s trying to track him.”
“We need to find that guy as soon as possible.”
“Think he’s behind this?”
“If he’s not, he’s in danger.”
“So is Greer.”
“I know.”
Bragg drove to the hospital emergency room. The hum of machines mingled with the chatter of doctors, nurses, patients, and family. He went straight to the information desk and after showing his badge was directed to the curtained cubicle where the doctors had worked on Jennifer.
“Her boyfriend is in with her now,” the nurse said. “He asked the doctor for a moment.”
“Thanks.”
Bragg found Jennifer’s cubicle, arriving as Adam Owens stepped out from behind curtain dividers. His dark hair was slicked back as if he’d just gotten out of a shower, and he wore madras shorts, a white shirt, and deck shoes. The faint scent of aftershave drifted around him.
Adam glanced up at Bragg, red-rimmed eyes taking in the Ranger star, white hat, and gun. “You’re here for Jennifer?”
Bragg nodded. “Mr. Owens, I’m very sorry for your loss.”
He pressed the heel of his hand to his temple as if it pounded. “We were talking on the phone last night after she closed the shop. She was supposed to come by the house, and we were going to have dinner. She sounded excited and happy. I was going to grill steaks for us. And then she texted me and told me she wasn’t feeling well. Said she’d call in the morning. I texted her back and told her I loved her. She sent back a heart.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe she’d overdose. That does not make sense.”
What made sense was that she’d been murdered. Three people now who’d lived together in the same pod at Shady Grove were dead. All that remained were Greer and Michael. “She gave you no indication there was a problem?”
“No. She was in a great mood.” He glanced back at the curtained walls that separated him from Jennifer’s body. “She was running late but it was because it had been a busy day at the store. Sales had been exceptional.”
Bragg frowned. “Did she say anything about those customers? Any one of them strike her as odd or out to make trouble?”
“No. Not a word. She was really happy. We were supposed to get married in the spring. She went to New York for her wedding-dress fitting last week. Both her parents came. She’s an only child and the sun rises and sets on her.”
Bragg searched for words to heal, but couldn’t find the right ones. Best he could do for this man was find Jennifer’s killer. “I’d like to have a look around her shop.”
Owens dug in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. His hands trembled as he tried to find the right one.
Bragg took pity on him, remembering how rattled he’d been when his sister had died. He took the keys. “Show me.”
Owens shoved out a sigh and handed Bragg the ring. “Third on the right. It’s gold.”
Bragg found the thick brass key. “Can I take this off the ring?”
Owens threaded long, lean fingers through his hair. “Sure. You can have the ring.”
“No, sir, you’re going to need your keys when you get home. Did you drive yourself here?”
“Yes.”
Bragg held on to the ring of keys. “Is there someone you can call to drive you home?”
Owens stared at the floor as if the enormity of the moment hit him like a truckload of bricks. “What?”
Bragg softened the edges of his voice. “Someone you can call to drive you home?”
Adam shook his head. “I just can’t believe she’s dead. She appears to be sleeping. She’s so beautiful. It makes no sense.”
Bragg pulled his cell phone and dialed DPS and ordered a patrol car. “Sir, I’m going to have an officer drive you home. I don’t want you driving.”
Adam shook his head. “I can drive.”
“No, sir.” Instead of handing the keys back to Owens he flagged a nurse and gave them to her with instructions to hold them until an officer arrived. He also told her to find the hospital chaplain.
A half hour later he opened the front door of Jennifer’s shop. He flipped on the lights. An eerie silence greeted him, making him feel as if the shop had died with its owner. Looking at the attention to detail in the displays and window dressings and the way the counter had been left clean and ready for business on Monday, he could tell she’d clearly loved and took pride in this store.
He went back to her office and turned on more lights. He checked receipts for the day neatly organized in a pile in the center of her desk. He noted five purchases. All over three thousand dollars. All cash. It was as if a parade of patrons had flocked to her door. Her most successful day had been her last.
It didn’t take much effort for Bragg to locate the church holding Rory’s funeral. It was in West Lake Hills, nestled in a small residential neighborhood. He glanced at his watch. Ten minutes before three. After parking, he scanned the area and spotted Greer’s truck parked under a tree. To his surprise she was still in the truck.
Out of his car, he moved closer and saw she’d brushed out her hair letting it flow over her shoulders. She wore a black dress, no jewelry except for the bracelets. In the big truck’s cab she looked small and vulnerable—both descriptions would no doubt make her angry.
When she saw him approaching, her frown deepened. She slid out of the truck. “Why did you want to meet me at the funeral?”
The sun beat on his back but the warmth building in him had to do with her. “I’m here for you.”
“Why? I can handle this.”
A slight breeze teased the hair framing her face. The urge to touch her was strong, undeniable.
When he didn’t answer, she glanced toward the church’s large wooden doors. “I should be going inside. The service starts soon.”
“Why haven’t you gone inside yet?”
Her brow furrowed. “I’ve been sitting here for the last fifteen minutes hoping to gather my courage. But now I really must leave.”
Without thought, he took ahold of her arm. The touch of her skin electrified, felt better than he imagined.
She glanced at his hand and when she raised her gaze back to his her cheeks were flushed. She made no move to pull away.
“I wanted to give you the news in person.” He paused. “Jennifer Bell is dead.” He studied her face, watching it transform from curiosity to shock to horror. The urge to comfort was so strong, but he shoved it aside.
She cleared her throat. “What happened?”
He wanted to tell her. “Tell me about Jennifer. Why was she at Shady Grove?” This close his height could intimidate, but she didn’t shy away.
She lifted a chin. “She never wanted anyone to know.”
He hesitated, feeling the weight of the words he needed to speak. “She’s dead.”
A sigh shuddered from her.
His fingers squeezed her arm gently, urgently. “Greer. Tell me.”