by T. R. Ragan
She hit something solid, the smack to her body taking her breath away. A dead tree had blocked her descent and kept her from rolling farther into the ravine.
For a few seconds, she merely lay there breathing. Another moment passed before she tested her arms and legs to see if anything was broken. Still in one piece, she thought.
She sat up, the tangled vines hanging tight, tearing her lightweight jacket when she pushed herself to her feet. And it was then, out of the corner of her eye, that she saw a scrap of red fabric.
And she knew even before she took a closer look that after all this time, she’d found Sophie.
Walking that way, stepping through thorns and brush, she stopped just a few feet away from Sophie’s final resting place. Her sister lay faceup in the deepest part of the thicket, protected by a blanket of thorny vines, her red dress faded by time, her skeleton intact. Jessie’s next breath caught in her throat. For a moment she stood there unable to come to terms with what she was seeing. Her insides twisted and turned.
After all this time, she’d found her sister.
“Oh, Sophie.” Tears slid down both sides of her face as she looked up toward the morning sky, now brushed lightly with orange and pink.
“Jessie,” she heard Ben shout in the distance.
She wasn’t sure how long she stood over her sister’s bones before Ben found her. Disbelief and despair had settled over her shoulders, weighing them down. Loneliness pricked her skin. She wanted to scream out at the top of her lungs, release some of the emotions she was feeling. Instead she stood quietly, trying to accept the moment fully.
“You’re okay,” Ben said, his relief palpable, before his gaze followed the direction she was looking.
“Yeah,” she said. “I’m okay.”
“You found Sophie.”
A long moment passed before Jessie found the energy to look away from her sister and focus her attention on him. “What made you come here tonight?”
“I couldn’t sleep, so I did what I’ve done nearly every night since the accident. I went over the files and reports. But this time it was different. This time I knew that there was a possibility that Vernon wasn’t driving. If he wasn’t driving, then who was?” He shook his head. “Investigators at the time had no reason to think anyone else had been in the car, let alone search the ravine.”
“What now?” she asked.
His brow furrowed. “What do you mean?”
She said nothing.
“When I reached for you, did you let go on purpose?”
She wasn’t ready to answer him because she didn’t know the answer.
“You’re afraid of me—aren’t you?”
“I don’t know you,” she said in her defense, still unsure. Still cautious. His expression was unreadable, and she wondered if he was angry. Frustrated? Confused? She had no idea.
Sirens sounded.
“Did you call the police?” she asked.
“Why wouldn’t I? I didn’t know if you’d broken your neck on the way down. I was thinking the worst and hoping for the best.”
Maybe he truly was a blank slate. Maybe she could trust him, after all. He’d saved her life. Without his help, she never would have found Sophie. She smiled at him, a subtle twist of the corner of her mouth.
He released a ponderous sigh, obviously not happy to know she’d chosen to risk her life rather than trust him enough to take hold of his hand.
“What?” he asked when he saw the smile playing on her lips.
“Looks like we’ve solved another case. Twice in a matter of weeks,” she added. “They’re going to think we’re some sort of bizarre investigative team.”
“Bizarre?” he questioned. “The Cautious and the Circumspect.”
“Or maybe the Young and the Restless,” she murmured sadly, her gaze back on her sister.
“I guess that would make you the ‘Restless,’” he said, but their few seconds of camaraderie were over and done with.
She looked toward the flashing lights above and stiffened. She didn’t want people to think the worst of Sophie. What good would it do for the public and, more important, for Olivia to know the truth about her mother? “I’m hoping nobody ever finds out about Leanne Baxter’s account of what happened on Sophie’s last day. People would talk, and we both know it would all be meaningless. Unless you regain your memory, we’ll never really know what happened outside the Wild West. It would all be speculation, and I wouldn’t want Olivia to think less of Sophie . . . her mother.”
“Leanne who?” he asked.
Again Jessie met his gaze, and for whatever reason she knew then that he’d come there to get answers for himself, but also for her and Olivia.
He took a step back and then turned to her and said, “Are you coming, or are you going to stay here with Sophie while I show them the way so we can get her up the hill?”
“I’ll stay.”
He nodded.
“She had a lot of good qualities, too,” she told him.
“I’m sure she did,” Ben said, waiting.
“Sophie had the most amazing singing voice. The sort of voice that brought tears to anyone who was lucky enough to hear her sing. And she could do wonderful impressions of famous people. She wasn’t always easy to live with, but she sure could make me laugh.”
“I wish I could have met her.”
“Apparently you did.”
It was his turn to smile. “I’ll be right back,” she heard him say as she turned back toward her sister, ignoring the sting of prickly thorns as she walked closer, removing the thickest brambles until she was at Sophie’s side. She kneeled down and took Sophie’s brittle fingers in hers as she remembered all the things they used to do together. Making clothes from scraps of fabric for their dolls, running around the backyard hunting for Easter eggs, putting on lipstick and their mother’s heels and playing dress-up. They rode bikes and pushed each other on the swing set. They loved playing Monopoly. They laughed often, and mostly they loved each other.
None of it had been a figment of her imagination.
Her mother, father, Jessie, and Sophie.
The memories were real, and for a moment in time, they had all been happy.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
It’s good to have Amy Tannenbaum in my corner. Thank you, Amy, for sharing your wealth of knowledge and for offering to help me at every turn.
Thank you, Charlotte Herscher, for continuing to challenge me as a storyteller while also helping to bring clarity and emotion to every book.
Brian McDougle is the first real-life detective extraordinaire I’ve had the good fortune to meet online. He’s funny, smart, and always willing to share his expertise. Thanks for your help, Brian.
Robin O’Dell. Copyeditor and fine-tuning miracle worker. Thank you so much for such a thorough read.
My fictional heroines, Lizzy Gardner, Faith McMann, and now Jessie Cole, aren’t the only ones who need a team of people to get things done. Many thanks to Liz Pearsons, Sarah Shaw, and the entire Amazon Publishing team for your ongoing enthusiasm and support.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © 2014 Morgan Ragan
T.R. Ragan has sold more than two million books since her debut novel appeared in 2011. A former legal secretary for a large corporation, she is now a New York Times, Wall Street Journal, and USA Today bestselling author. T.R. is author of the Faith McMann Trilogy and six Lizzy Gardner novels (Abducted, Dead Weight, A Dark Mind, Obsessed, Almost Dead, and Evil Never Dies). In addition to thrillers, she writes medieval time-travel tales, contemporary romance, and romantic suspense as Theresa Ragan. An avid traveler, her wanderings have led her to China, Thailand, and Nepal. Theresa and her husband, Joe, have four children and live in Sacramento, California. To learn more, visit her website at www.theresaragan.com.
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