by Delores Fossen, Rachel Lee, Carol Ericson, Tyler Anne Snell, Rita Herron
Griff rubbed the back of his neck where his skin still felt scalded from the heat. “I’ll be there.”
A tense second passed, then Jacob cleared his throat. “By the way, I questioned some of the shop owners by Joy’s place. That reporter was all over town asking questions today just like you said.”
Griff rubbed a hand over his eyes. “She’s persistent at her job.”
“Yeah, but she might just get herself killed nosing around. I’ll pay her a visit and ask her to leave the investigation up to the law.”
Griff dropped his wet towel to the floor and grabbed a pair of boxers. “Let me talk to her first,” he offered. “She seemed spooked at the thought of talking to you.”
“Probably because if she interferes, I can arrest her.”
He hoped it didn’t come to that. “I’ll head over to the inn and talk to her now. Warn her that she needs to back off.” Not that he expected her to listen. But it was worth a shot.
They agreed, and ended the call, then Griff finished dressing. He pulled on a button-down navy shirt with his jeans and combed his hair. He didn’t know why he took the time with his appearance, but decided it was because he was headed to the bar to talk to the bartender after he left Ginny. Not because he wanted to impress her.
Five minutes later, he parked at the inn. A few raindrops pinged the ground just as he reached the porch. Wind chimes tinkled as the breeze stirred them, and the scent of rain filled the air. He entered the inn, then went to the desk and asked for Ginny’s room.
The owner’s eyes flickered with interest as if she thought he was there on a date.
He silently groaned then climbed the stairs and knocked on the door to the Sunflower room.
Seconds passed with no response, and he knocked again. “Ginny, it’s Griff. We need to talk.”
Another second, then two. Finally, her voice. “Just a minute.”
Footsteps sounded inside, then the lock turned, and Ginny appeared. The moment he saw her, he knew something was wrong.
Her face looked ashen, and a bandage on her forehead made his eyebrows raise. It was mostly hidden by her hair but visible when she tilted her head sideways. Her hands also looked bruised, the palms scraped.
What in the hell had happened to her?
Chapter Seven
Robert’s message kept replaying in Ginny’s head. I’m watching, love. I’m always watching.
She hadn’t been paranoid. Whether or not Robert had killed Joy, he was here in Whistler. And he’d been inside her room.
Nausea threatened, but she swallowed hard, determined to pull herself together. She inhaled sharply, rattled by Griff’s appearance.
Why had he shown up right now?
She needed time to assimilate the fact that Robert was close by. That she’d thought she was prepared to confront him. To kill him. But now her courage was waffling.
“Ginny?” Griff’s voice sounded thick with worry. He gently took her arm, closed the door behind him and guided her over to the bed. Her knees felt so pathetically weak that she sank onto the mattress. On some level, it registered that she hadn’t been alone with a man since Robert. And that Griff was big and muscular and could probably overtake her if he wanted.
But the fear fogging her brain had nothing to do with Griff.
He knelt in front of her, gently lifted her hands and examined her palms. “Tell me what happened. You didn’t have these at the café.”
She looked at her palms in a daze. She barely felt the sting of the scrapes now, just the cold, hard terror of knowing Robert was two steps ahead of her. That she’d thought she might have control.
“What happened?” Griff asked again, his voice riddled with worry.
She looked into his eyes and saw genuine concern which nearly brought her to tears. But Robert had been a consummate liar, had pretended to care. Even after he hurt her, he’d kiss her and soothe her with tender looks and sweet nothings.
All lies.
She pulled her hands from Griff and straightened her spine. “I took a fall into the street earlier.”
“A fall? It was an accident?”
“Of course,” she said. “It was crowded, and I was crossing the street from the café after you left and wasn’t paying attention and just tripped.”
After hearing other abused victims’ stories, she realized how lame her excuse sounded.
“That’s why you’re trembling now?” he asked. “That happened hours ago.”
Ginny knotted her hands in her lap. She had to distract him from what had happened to her. “What are you doing here, Griff?”
Disappointment tinged his sigh. “I talked to Jacob. He said you were asking questions around town about Joy.”
Ginny crossed her arms. “I did. And we’ve already discussed this. That’s my job.”
Griff cleared his throat. “Nosing around in a murder investigation is dangerous. You could get yourself killed.” His gaze shot to her hands again, and Ginny lifted her chin.
“You’re one to talk. You run into burning buildings and blazing forests for your job.”
“I do it to save lives, not for some byline,” Griff said, his voice taking on an edge.
Ginny’s temper flared. “Maybe I’m doing it for the same reason. If I expose Joy’s killer and he’s a repeat offender, I might save another woman from the same fate.”
Griff’s eyes narrowed, and she wondered if she’d said too much. But he couldn’t convince her not to finish this. Because this wasn’t just a story or a byline she was after. She did want to save lives.
Including her own.
* * *
GRIFF STUDIED A fire methodically. Examined it for the point of origin. Analyzed the type of accelerant used to fuel the blaze. Utilized forensics to prove the arsonist’s identity.
He needed to analyze Ginny in the same manner.
Obviously, logic was not working. And he’d bet his next paycheck that she hadn’t fallen.
Warning her to back off had seemed like a wise idea. But she either was just stubborn, or...this case was personal to her for some reason. Had she known Joy?
Her statement about a possible repeat offender echoed in his head and strained his patience. “What do you mean, if he’s a repeat offender? Ginny, do you know who killed Joy?”
Her mouth tightened. “No, I was talking hypothetical.”
Dammit, he didn’t believe her. But he stepped away to wrangle his temper under control. He’d frightened her earlier at her car when he’d caught her following him, and something else had frightened her afterward.
More than anything he needed to win her trust.
“You do realize that by asking about this killer, you’re drawing his attention to yourself and he might come after you?”
She winced slightly, her only reaction. “I do. But if I help catch him, it’ll be worth it.”
“Why is it worth risking your life?” he asked. “Did you know Joy?”
She shook her head although a sad look passed across her face.
“Because you think whoever strangled her killed before?”
She looked away this time and absentmindedly rubbed her finger over the scar on her wrist. A telltale sign he was right. And one that made him more curious about how she’d gotten that scar.
Concerned about her now, he lowered his voice. “Ginny, tell me what you know.” He reached for her arm to trace the burn scar with his finger, but she jerked it away and crossed the room to the window. For a moment, she stood staring outside at the rain drizzling against the windowpane and the dreary sky.
She looked pale, sad and frightened. But beautiful, like a lost child in a dark storm. The instinct to pull her in his arms pulsed through him, so strongly that he fisted his hands by his sides.
Pushing her would only make her run away.
* * *<
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GINNY ALMOST CAVED IN. Griff sounded so caring that for a moment, she forgot she couldn’t trust him.
His brother was a man of the law. Griff saved lives.
They wouldn’t approve of what she had planned for Robert.
But the idea of allowing him to comfort her teased at her resolve.
Even if Robert was here, he might not have anything to do with Joy’s murder. There were other possibilities. She had to find the truth.
“Please, Ginny, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“I think you do,” he murmured.
Maybe she was out of her league. She needed to give him an olive branch, a half-truth, because he didn’t appear to be backing off.
“All right,” she said. “Sit down and we’ll talk.” She gestured toward the wing chair in the corner while she claimed the desk chair, needing distance between them. “But this is confidential.”
His thick dark brow quirked up in response. “Go on.”
She inhaled a deep breath, planning the story in her mind. If she kept practicing, she might become as adept as Robert at bending the truth. Although her stomach knotted at that idea. She didn’t like deceiving others.
But she also detested the fact that the police had let Robert get away with murder.
“I was recently contacted by a victim who claimed a man she was dating tried to strangle her and then set her house on fire.”
Griff squared his shoulders. “She survived?”
If only she had. “Barely. She went into hiding afterward, because she was afraid he’d find her again and finish what he’d started.”
“Did she report the attack to the police?” Griff asked.
“She did, but it didn’t go well.” Ginny fought anger at the way she’d been treated when she’d first reported Robert’s abuse. “He escaped.”
“What was his name? Where is he?”
“She claims she met him on an online dating site, but when the police investigated, the photo had been taken down. Apparently, the man was savvy enough to delete his profile and wipe it from detection by the authorities.”
“What about the FBI? Cyber experts?”
“They found nothing. He probably used a fake identity and profile before, and he’s most likely created a whole new persona for himself now.”
Silence stretched between them for a tension-filled minute. “What about a sketch?” Griff finally asked. “Did she work with a police artist?”
Ginny bit her lip. “I don’t know. She didn’t give me one.”
“My brothers are different from this other cop,” Griff insisted. “They aren’t incompetent and will get the job done.”
“Maybe. But first I have to know if the cases are even connected.”
“She called you when she saw the news about Joy’s murder?” Griff said, piecing her story together.
“Yes,” Ginny said. At least that was partly true. “That’s the reason I wanted to know if Joy was strangled, if the MOs were the same. If not, I can move on somewhere else to look for this man. But if it’s the same one... Well, I want to nail him to the wall.”
Griff remained silent for another heartbeat, then heaved a breath. “All right. I’ll help, too. Ask her to send a sketch and I’ll show it around town myself. And if you’ll tell me the name the man used on his dating profile, I’ll ask Liam to look into it.”
Ginny shook her head. “I told you this is confidential, Griff. This woman trusted me, not the police. If I find out he’s the one responsible, I’ll keep you informed.”
Griff stroked her arm gently. “Ginny, if you’re right and this guy is a serial predator, he’s dangerous and won’t have any qualms about coming after you.”
“I don’t care,” Ginny said. “I’m going to find him and make him pay for what he did to her.”
* * *
GRIFF TRIED ONE more time to convince Ginny to talk to Jacob, but she refused.
“I shared this with you in confidence. She wants to remain anonymous,” she said, her gaze daring him to argue. “I expect you to uphold that confidence.”
He debated on whether or not he could.
He’d never been a liar or a user, and he didn’t want to start now. Jacob had urged him to stick close to Ginny and see what he could learn, and he had. But now his interest was piqued in both what Ginny had relayed, and what she’d kept to herself.
That burn scar on her wrist meant she had been involved in a fire. She’d talked about an anonymous tip.
Had it been anonymous? Or someone she knew?
Or was it possible that she’d been a victim of the same man or some similar scenario?
Either way, the thought of her in danger disturbed him and roused his protective instincts.
He sat outside in his truck for a while, biding time until he went to the bar. But when Ginny hadn’t ventured out of the inn a half hour later, he decided she’d play it smart and stay tucked in for the night.
He started his engine and drove to Whistler’s Nightcap, hoping to glean more information about Joy’s love life. The parking lot was filling up, a mixture of locals and tourists coming to the mountains for hiking and camping adventures. Soon the town would heat up with spring festivals and white-water rafting. Already hikers ready to explore the Appalachian Trail were piling in, gearing up at the local outfitters, sharing meals and drinks as they planned their excursions.
Most would never complete the two-thousand-mile trek from Georgia to Maine, but even a few hundred miles of the trail was an accomplishment that warranted a pat on the back and admiration from their families and friends.
Fletch would be busy rescuing half of them when they had accidents or suffered injuries or got lost, a common problem on the endless miles of forests and trails in the wilderness.
Griff secured his phone in his pocket, tugged his jacket hood up to ward off the drizzling rain and loped inside. But he couldn’t shake the image of Ginny from his mind. She’d looked so vulnerable and small and proud. Dammit, that pride stirred his admiration, but made dread curl in his belly.
Loud country music pulsed through the crowded interior of the bar while a band rocked out on stage. The dim light helped conceal flaws for hopeless drunks on the prowl for a good-time girl for the night.
Once upon a time, he’d played that game. Joy had been part of it.
He’d learned his lesson and hadn’t engaged since. Two women at the bar, midtwenties, attractive and built, wearing skimpy outfits, gave him flirtatious looks. He shot them a half smile then walked to the opposite end and slid onto a bar stool to face the door so he’d have a view of the dance floor where couples gyrated to the music.
The bartender, a bearded, broad-shouldered gym rat named Boone, flicked his hand up in recognition, and Griff ordered an IPA. He waited until Boone brought him the beer, then motioned that he wanted to talk.
“What’s up?” Boone asked.
“You heard about Joy Norris being murdered?”
Boone nodded. “Yeah, sorry to hear it. Didn’t the two of you date for a while?”
“Very briefly,” Griff said. “But I learned she was married at the time and that was it.”
“Most of the dudes here don’t give a damn if a woman has a ring.” Boone made a low sound in his throat. “Truth is, half the women don’t either.”
A damn shame. His parents would still be married and faithful to each other if they were alive. He had a feeling Jacob and Cora, and Fletch and Jade would be the same. “Did you see Joy hanging out with anyone recently?”
Boone scratched his fingers through his beard. “She didn’t come in that much. But she was here a couple of weeks ago with some guy in a suit. That’s the reason it stuck out.” He gestured toward the casual atmosphere. “He didn’t seem to fit in.”
“Were they getting along?”
“He was all over her,” Boone said. “And seemed protective. Some other guy offered to buy her a drink, and the date turned all huffy and macho. I thought he was going to punch the poor bastard out.”
Griff’s suspicious nature surfaced. “What was the date’s name?”
Boone scrunched his face in thought, then gestured to one of the waitresses that he’d work on her drink order. “Can’t really remember. Something kind of uppity, like Winston or William.”
“Can you describe him?”
Two guys leaned on the bar and called Boone’s name. “You gonna get us a beer or talk all night?”
“Sorry, man, customers are waiting.” Boone tossed the towel over his shoulder, picked up a mug and began to fill it from the tap.
“Just a quick description,” Griff said.
“Tall, dressed well, sandy blond hair. Real intense guy. Not a body builder or anything but strong looking. He had these beady eyes. Kind of dude you wouldn’t want to mess with.”
The waitress appeared for the beer, and Boone hurried to take care of the guys who were calling his name again.
Griff stewed over the information as he studied the crowd in case the man Boone described was in the room.
But someone else caught his eye. A woman with ivory skin and soft black hair who’d just come in the door.
Ginny.
Dammit to hell, what was she doing here?
Chapter Eight
Ginny had not been on a date since her experience with Robert. Not that this was a real date, but she had to pretend.
Nerves tightened her shoulder blades as she surveyed the interior of the bar. The country music and relaxed decor didn’t fit with Robert. Typically, he preferred more upscale places although Whistler wasn’t exactly big-city living so the choices were limited. And it was possible he was trying to keep a low profile to avoid detection.
She headed toward the right to the adjoining dining area where the music volume was lower as were the lights, creating a more intimate atmosphere. White tablecloths, each adorned with a vase of a single rose, added a hint of romance.