Forgotten Legacy

by Perini, Robin

  She pressed her cheek harder into his palm, needing his touch to soothe the ache that pulsed through her.

  He slowly withdrew his hand. “We can’t keep doing this.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Getting distracted. Besides, right now, we have a murder to solve.”

  Just like that he cut off discussion. She should be worried by the relief that washed through her, but she didn’t want to think about losing him, of not having him in her life.

  He opened the SUV’s door for her.

  With a deep breath, Riley carried the box inside the sheriff’s office and over to Quinn’s desk.

  The deputy stopped what he was doing and frowned. “What’s this?”

  Riley gave him a rundown of their visit to the crime scene. As he pulled on a set of gloves, he let out a low whistle. “You’re too spooky for words, Riley. Do you talk to dead people or something?”

  “I just listen,” she said with a grin. “But this time, it’s not me communing with the spirit world. Thayne’s the one who found the lockbox. Can you check this for prints? When you’re done, we want to break it open.”

  “Will do,” Quinn said and disappeared into the back room with the box.

  The sheriff’s office was mostly empty. Except for Alicia at dispatch. Within a few hours, dusk would fall. Riley made her way into the conference room, watching Thayne from a safe distance. He looked comfortable, from the way he kicked his feet up on the table to the way he stretched for a pen on the cabinet behind him. He knew every inch of the place without even looking. He belonged here. She just didn’t know if she did. She opened her file and let her mind filter through the photos, desperate to notice the smallest detail that might help her fit the pieces of this maddening puzzle together.

  She didn’t know how long she’d been at it when Thayne brought the lockbox and a large bolt cutter into the conference room. He set them on the table, and Riley reached for a pair of gloves.

  “Chloe’s still unconscious,” he said. “You hear anything from your WITSEC contact?”

  She shook her head. “Not yet. I’ll give him another couple hours, then try again.”

  “We’re getting nowhere,” he said. “I sent Ironcloud home for some sleep. If anyone knows anything about the Jordans, they’re not talking. This could be our only shot if Chloe doesn’t wake up.”

  “They hid the box for a reason,” she said as she wiggled her hands into the last glove. “Let’s find out why.”

  “Quinn pulled a set of fingerprints off of it. He’s going to run a local search. If that doesn’t work, we’ll go nationwide.” Thayne snipped the lock, and it fell to the table with a high-pitched thunk.

  Holding her breath, Riley opened the six-by-eight-by-four-inch box. On the top lay a photo of a woman with long blonde hair, holding the hand of an approximately three-year-old girl. “Do you recognize either one of them?” she asked.

  “Maybe. Where’s that photograph of the Jordan family that Ironcloud found at the newspaper?”

  Riley pulled out her portfolio and held up an original photo of the local farmers’ market. “It’s the only picture of them that exists as far as we know. Kim’s selling jam, and her husband and daughter are behind the table with her.”

  Thayne studied the image closely. “Short brown hair, at least fifteen pounds heavier.” He tilted the photo at an angle and held it up to the light. His eyes crinkled. “Well, I’ll be damned.”

  He placed the image from the lockbox next to the farmers’ market photo. “Look at the birthmark on the side of her neck and the small cleft in both of their chins.”

  “The blonde in the photo and Kim Jordan are the same person.” Riley let out a low whistle. On a hunch she flipped the picture over.

  KRISTIN AND ASHLEY (AGE 3).

  “They changed their names.” Riley pulled out her phone. “If she was in WITSEC, Chloe could still be in danger.”

  CHAPTER SIX

  Thayne elbowed back into the conference room with two cups of coffee brewed from his stash of Fannie’s special blend. From where he stood, they were going to need the shot of caffeine.

  Riley held the phone to her ear. “You’re sure?” She frowned as her US Marshal contact spoke. “I know you can’t say anything, but unless you tell me to stop, we’re distributing the photos wide.” She motioned Thayne over and pressed the speakerphone button.

  He set her coffee in front of her.

  “You won’t cause me any heartburn if you try to find a relative,” a man’s voice said, loudly and clearly. “Riley”—his voice had transformed into a whisper—“not everyone who needs to disappear is in WITSEC. There are specific requirements to enter the program, and this woman may not have met them. It doesn’t mean she wasn’t justified to disappear.”

  “I’m not sure we have a choice.”

  “I understand, but be aware—the situation might not end the way you hope.”

  A click sounded, and the phone went silent.

  Thayne took a gulp of coffee. “Obviously the Jordans weren’t in WITSEC.”

  “Without explicitly confirming, which he can’t do, the message was clear.” She warmed her hands on the coffee mug and sipped. Her eyes closed and she let out a low groan of pleasure. “Fannie’s elixir. You’re my hero.”

  After pushing the two photos to the side, he removed the remaining items one by one from the box. “A homemade baby’s dress. No name, no label.” She placed it in an evidence bag. “A lock of blonde hair, but without any roots, so no DNA.” She passed it over to Thayne, who sealed the item and filled out the label.

  One item after another, they filtered and cataloged everything in the small container. More photos with Kim and Chloe. She could study the backgrounds, but at first glance she didn’t recognize any location triggers.

  “What’s this?” Thayne asked.

  He’d retrieved a hand-drawn map, and she leaned just past his shoulder, pressing to his side.

  “There are no labels or identifiable landmarks.” She dragged her gloved finger just above the paper. “That could be a river, maybe a path?”

  “Whoever drew this definitely wasn’t an artist.” Thayne turned the paper ninety degrees, then one-eighty. “The square could be a building. The triangles might be trees. Or maybe mountains.” He slipped the map into a plastic sleeve. “It could be anywhere.”

  Riley let out a long sigh. “Could Quinn take a pass at fingerprints?”

  “Worth a try. I could request the state crime lab analyze the crime scene items for trace evidence, but that could take weeks. Or longer.”

  “Which doesn’t solve our immediate problem.”

  She set the map with their other finds.

  “There’s always plan B,” Thayne said and kicked back in his chair. “Distribute the old and a more recent photo to the media in the surrounding states and see what falls out. If we get nothing, we expand nationally. How do you feel about Chloe being the murderer?”

  A guarded expression laced Riley’s gaze. “There’s still a strong chance. But let’s say she isn’t. If we publicize those photos, we could place her in danger.”

  “Do we have a choice?”

  “I wish I could say yes, but we’re no closer to understanding why they were killed.” Riley gripped the edge of the table, and her knuckles whitened. “We don’t know anything. I don’t know anything.”

  She leaned heavily over the table, sliding the images back and forth. Thayne recognized her frustration, even understood it. He’d observed her in awe as she worked her way through the puzzle of Cheyenne’s kidnapping. Thayne and his father had been stymied until Riley had viewed the crime scene. There was one significant difference in the cases, however: the Jordan evidence had been decimated to ashes.

  She glanced over at him, anguish etched on her face. “It’s not just the limited information in the crime scene. Aaron, Kim, and Chloe are shadows to me. Ghostly shadows without substance. They’re not flesh and blood. They’re flat, with no present an
d no past. How am I supposed to understand the person who set this fire if everyone involved slips through my fingers like smoke?”

  She touched the edge of Kim’s photo, and her shoulders sagged. Thayne couldn’t help, not unless he uncovered more information. Riley counted on employing her extraordinary skills in behavior analysis to piece together motive and MO to identify and catch the perpetrator. She’d succeeded time and time again, solving cases no one else could solve. Her ability to take obscure facts and paint a picture was her biggest strength, but without facts, she couldn’t work her magic.

  She gripped Thayne’s arm, her nails driving into his flesh. “I don’t know if I can give the Jordans justice.”

  Thayne unclawed her hand and wrapped it in his. “We both know someone who might be able to help.”

  “Chloe.” Her mouth twisted. “Victim or suspect?”

  “We won’t know until she wakes up.” Thayne squeezed her hand once hopefully, reminding her they were in this together. “I’ll have Quinn deal with the forensics. We’ll hit the hospital. If she’s still not awake, we’ll discuss plan B.”

  At least they had a strategy, albeit a weak one. While Riley photographed the evidence to use for her personal murder board, Thayne passed the originals off to Quinn. By the time he returned, she’d stuffed everything she needed into her massive evidence bag.

  Thayne carried the satchel to his SUV and got inside.

  “Dad was sheriff when the Jordans arrived in town.” He fastened his seat belt with a snap. “I’d like to show him the contents of the box. Maybe he’ll recognize something, or it’ll jog his memory.”

  “Pulling your father into an investigation. That’s a change. I like it.”

  Her tone needled at him, and he growled under his breath. “You want me to admit I should’ve listened to you before you left, don’t you?”

  “I like you knowing that I was right.”

  The satisfaction in her voice should’ve annoyed him, but it didn’t. “Fine, I’ll say it. You were right about using his expertise when I can.”

  He pulled onto the road, and she patted his arm. “You would’ve figured it out eventually. He’s been a cop all his life. He cares about the people in this town. No way, even on doctor’s orders, would he cut himself off cold turkey.”

  “That may be true, but he also needs to respect boundaries. For his own health and my sanity. I’m already dealing with Quinn’s frustrations. I have enough conflict in the office.”

  “I didn’t see any tension between the two of you.”

  “He holds it in most of the time, but he’s not happy Dad convinced the county commission to name me sheriff.” Thayne shrugged. His father’s decision had bothered him from the beginning, but Carson could outstubborn almost anyone. Except maybe Riley. “I understand Quinn’s reaction. He’s been a deputy for years, and my dad’s right hand for most of it. My bet is he’ll run against me when the next election comes up.”

  “Why’d your dad push you to be sheriff so badly?”

  “As a big fat carrot to get me to stay in Singing River. I have to admit it’s working.”

  Before she could ask him any more questions that he didn’t know the answers to, he parked near the front of the hospital, and they entered together.

  Kyle Baker, Thayne’s newest deputy, sat at attention in a chair outside Chloe’s room. The spit-and-polish kid was green and too eager, but he’d come through his training at the top of his class and didn’t complain about grunt work.

  “Kyle, any changes?”

  “Nothing they’ve told me.”

  Thayne and Riley walked past him. They stood in the room. Chloe was breathing on her own now. Her dark-brown hair made her face appear even paler.

  “She looks like she could just open her eyes and say something,” Riley said in a low voice.

  The swish of the door behind them caused Thayne to turn around. His sister walked in, every inch a doctor.

  “I keep expecting her to wake up.” Cheyenne tugged her stethoscope from around her neck. “I received word you were coming this way.” She checked Chloe’s vitals, and charted her progress. “Let’s talk in the hall.”

  They followed Cheyenne, and she faced them. “I don’t like to speak about patients’ situations in the room. You never know what people can hear or understand.”

  “How is she?” Thayne asked.

  “Except for not waking up, she’s doing remarkably well. Her oxygen saturation levels are back to normal. She has a bruise on her head, but there’s no skull fracture or intracranial pressure. There’s no reason she shouldn’t be awake, which means all we can do is wait.”

  “Damn,” Riley muttered, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Not what we were hoping.”

  “Any idea how much longer?” he asked. “Things have gotten more complicated on our end. We really need to talk to her.”

  Cheyenne chewed on her lower lip, a clear sign from the time they were kids that she didn’t like the answer she’d give.

  “At this point, your guess is as good as mine.”

  “Then we’re down to picking Dad’s memory from six or seven years ago.” He kissed his sister’s cheek. “Don’t worry. I’ll be gentle.”

  “I wish I could help, but I was in med school when the Jordans moved here, and they never visited me or Doc Mallard before I took over the clinic.”

  “That’s okay. We’re heading out to the ranch to see if Dad can fill in any holes. Want to join us? You could bring your husband. I haven’t seen Brett for a while.”

  “Probably not a good idea.”

  Thayne raised a brow at the comment, but Cheyenne shook her head. “Don’t worry about it. He’s frustrated he’s not recovering from the attempted poisoning as quickly as he’d like. I’ll wear him down.” She paused. “Eventually. I hope. Besides I’m going to read to Chloe tonight.”

  “Does that help?” Riley asked.

  “There’s some convincing evidence to indicate that activity and interaction with an unconscious patient can speed along the healing process. I’m game to try anything.”

  “What if I ask the family if they’ll take turns reading?” Thayne asked. “I know they’d be willing.”

  “I like the idea. A lot.” Cheyenne smiled, and the worry on her forehead smoothed some. “Sometimes the science of medicine has to take a back seat to the art along with a little bit of faith.”

  “Doc!” The attendant raced down the hall. “Dan Peterson is coming in! Unconscious and nonresponsive.”

  “What happened?” Cheyenne asked, running toward the emergency entrance.

  “Found his truck off the side of the road west of town. EMT said the truck reeked of alcohol. Pills, too.”

  “What was he doing out toward the Jordans’?” Thayne raced up beside his sister. “Did he ever come to see you?”

  She shook her head. “Dad couldn’t convince him, but if he’s drinking and blacking out, that might explain a lot.”

  Thayne glanced over at Riley. “Give me a minute, okay?”

  “Of course. I’ll be waiting.”

  Thayne rushed toward the ER. Sirens squealed as the ambulance pulled into the double doorway. They brought Dan in on a stretcher. His mouth was slack. The EMT carried a bottle of white pills.

  “Oxycodone,” he said. “Mixed with alcohol. No idea how much. The bottle spilled.”

  “Damn it,” Cheyenne muttered. “Get him into exam room two and break out the Narcan. Let’s see if we can save his life.”

  A pink horizon glowed from the miles upon miles of Wyoming landscape. The deep ruts in the road put a strain on the SUV’s shocks. The ride vibrated Riley’s jaw as they approached the Blackwood family home.

  “Dan almost didn’t make it,” Thayne said into his phone. “Cheyenne said if he’s addicted to opioids, it could explain his confusion. She’s keeping him in the hospital for observation. If he’ll stay put. Tough old guy is already coming out of it and fighting to go home.” He paused, listening, then said,
“I know, Dad, but that’s all we’ve got to go on. We’re almost to the ranch. Talk to you soon.”

  He ended the call and glanced over at her. “Dad can’t believe it. He said when Dan and Kat got married, they both went dry. He’s going to spend some more time with Dan and try to convince him to see Cheyenne.”

  “People change,” Riley said.

  The tension between her and Thayne had dissipated, though she knew one wrong word would bring the situation front and center. The problem was that meeting him halfway was a big sacrifice. Singing River didn’t have an FBI satellite office, though the nearest one was in Jackson Hole less than one hundred miles away. It would be a long commute, tough in the winter. Not to mention she’d have to resign from the newly formed Behavior Analysis Unit 6.

  Or, she could try to find something else to do in Singing River. The consultant idea was a good one, but she’d need to find more work than this small town had to offer. Not exactly the obvious home base for someone who could voluntarily put themselves in the heads of depraved criminals. At least she could until the Jordan case stymied her.

  “You’ve been quiet,” Thayne said, pulling up in front of the house. “You okay to do this?”

  “Of course.” She grabbed her satchel. “I just wish Madison had agreed to come with us for dinner. She’s been cooped up all day except for moving into her own room at the B and B.”

  “She could be gorging on those cinnamon rolls or Fannie’s chicken and dumplings.” Thayne parked the SUV in front of the house. “Give her some space. From what you said, sounds like your mom didn’t leave her alone for a moment. She may just need some time.”

  “Mom tends to go overboard for sure. She always did with Madison. I just don’t want to hover, either. She’s so lost culturally. She’s been through hell, but the world has moved on without her.”

  Thayne squeezed her hand. “Trust your gut with her the same way you do with our investigation and you’ll be fine.”

  “Let’s hope Carson can give us some answers.” Riley shoved out of the SUV. Her present troubles were irrelevant. Chloe, on the other hand, needed an advocate.