I'll Never Let You Go (Morgans of Nashville)

by Mary Burton

  “Why’d you call?” Sierra asked.

  Nervous laughter bubbled in Leah. “Maybe because I never saw his body. I never anchored his death in my mind. When his grandmother had the funeral I was still too banged up to travel. I’ve only visited his grave once.”

  “When’s the last time you called the detective?” Sierra asked.

  “On our anniversary three years ago. For whatever reason, I had a little panic attack and needed to call. She was nice. Again, I sounded a little insane. Logically, I know he’s dead, but a part of me always doubts.”

  A young girl with red hair and glasses, who had been the victim of a shooting, snorted. “I don’t trust anything or anyone. The system does screw up. I had my husband arrested for beating me and then, when the cops released him, they didn’t warn me. Twelve hours after he got out, he tracked me down and shot me. Three days after the shooting, I was recovering in the hospital, tubes stuck out of every end of my body, when the jail called to inform me he had been released.”

  The women nodded. Several murmured warnings.

  “I’m here tonight so you all can talk me off the ledge,” Leah said, smiling as if it would lighten the fear. She shifted her gaze to Sierra. “Not a real ledge. Just the proverbial ledge. I’m so tired of being afraid. I’m so tired of fearing every corner or odd sound I hear at night. I thought I was past it, but it’s all rushing back now.”

  Sierra smiled. “Leah, you’re doing just fine. Give yourself a break. You suffered a terrible trauma. Give yourself time to absorb it.”

  “So, you think that’s all it is?”

  “You found a friend murdered. Give yourself a break. That’s a hell of an ordeal.”

  “I need to give it time,” Leah said automatically.

  “Yes,” Sierra said. “And if the police talk to you again, tell them what happened to you. They might cut you a little slack.”

  “I know.”

  Sierra recognized the evasion humming below the surface. “Talking to the cops will make you feel better. You’ll at least have them on your side.”

  “Philip was a cop.” This was a detail she’d never shared before.

  Sierra leaned forward a fraction. “Come again?”

  “He was a cop. That’s how he was able to talk himself out of so many spots with me. Trust is kind of an issue for me.”

  “You can’t judge all cops by him,” Sierra said. “There are a lot of good ones.”

  “I know. I know. A good one saved me. If not for him, I’d have bled to death.” She ran nervous fingers through her hair. “I even had a date the other night, the first one in years, with a cop.”

  “He a nice guy?”

  “Seems to be.” A shrug and a smile, meant to soften the absolute panic, fell flat. “Though I kinda freaked out on the date. A little panic attack.”

  “It was your first date.”

  “I know. I’ve been thrown and I need to get back up on the horse.” God, how many times had she heard that analogy and thought it bogus?

  Other women shared their stories, and though Leah tried to focus, their voices faded to the background. Philip wasn’t alive. And Deidre’s death was a terrible coincidence.

  By the time the meeting ended, Leah’s worries lingered, but she didn’t feel so alone. As she walked to her car, her cell phone rang. She didn’t recognize the number.

  Let it go to voice mail, fear whispered.

  Don’t be a baby. Her grip tightening, she counted the rings. One. Two. Three. On the fourth ring, she answered. “Hello.”

  Silence answered her. Long tense seconds passed. She gripped the phone harder.

  “Hello?”

  No answer.

  Her heart kicking into high gear and annoyed, she ended the call. Get a grip.

  Still gripping the phone tight, she hurried to her car, slid behind the wheel, and locked the doors. The cold leather seat chilled her bones as she studied the still shadows for monsters.

  Starting the engine, she glared at the phone. “If that’s meant to be a joke, Karma, it’s really not very funny,” She said out loud. Her heart raced a little faster. “Shit. I don’t need hang-ups on a good day.”

  Distracted, she pulled out into traffic as a horn blared behind her coming from her blind spot. She hit the brakes, realizing she’d nearly driven into a tow truck. Damn.

  Sweating, white-knuckled the wheel. The phone rang again, and she jumped. Glaring at the display, she watched the same number flash again. This time she let it ring, gritting her teeth until the phone finally went silent. Without checking for a message, she deleted the call from her phone.

  Philip is dead. He is dead.

  Chapter Ten

  Tuesday, January 17, 8 A.M.

  Tyler Radcliff dreamed of Deidre. She wasn’t laughing or smiling. She wasn’t wearing that red bikini he’d liked so much when they’d been in Aruba. Instead, she wore that damn black suit that had never been flattering, and her angled face was pale, gaunt, and bloodless. She’d moved toward him, her long arms extended as she reached for him. He’d tried to jerk away, but those ice-cold fingers connected with his brow, sending shivers through his body. She traced the ridge of his brow and with her lips hovering close to his ear said, “I loved you so much once. What went wrong?”

  He jerked awake, his hands trembling and his body drenched in sweat. He rolled on his back and stared at the play of shadows across his bedroom as his hand slid to the side of the bed that had been Deidre’s. The sheets were ice cold. He rolled on his side and imagined her lying there, sleeping, a slight smile on her face.

  He smoothed his hand over her pillow, hating that the down was plump and missing the subtle imprint of her head. Dee, how did it turn to shit between us?

  With a groan, he rolled out of bed and tugged on a pair of jeans. Grabbing a T-shirt from the floor, he pulled it over his head and padded into the living room, where a half-full bottle of bourbon sat on the coffee table. Pushing an old pizza box off the couch and tossing it on the floor, he reached for the bottle as he dug the remote out of the sofa and turned on the television to CNN Sports.

  He drank from the bottle as he glanced down at the wedding album sitting on the coffee table next to an empty bag of potato chips. The book was open to the last shot, taken just before they’d taken off for Aruba. Deidre was wearing a slim-fitting green dress she’d slipped on after the reception and he wore khakis, a white shirt, and a red tie. Handfuls of birdseed flew in the air above them and both had huddled close as they waited for the seeds to drop. Tracing Deidre’s smiling face with a callused fingertip, he drank, savoring the burn of the bourbon as it rolled down his throat.

  What the hell had gone so wrong between them?

  Their wedding day had been simple but beautiful. No fancy churches or reception halls for them. A small, intimate ceremony had suited them just fine.

  He flipped several pages back to the picture taken before she’d walked across the grassy field toward him and the preacher. Curls peeked out from under her white veil, and she’d been so damn pretty he’d thought himself the luckiest man in the world. Later, at the reception, his hands had trembled just a little when he’d reached up under her skirt and removed the blue garter, which he’d tossed toward the single guys. In those days, he could barely keep his hands off her.

  Hell, he’d never tired of Deidre in bed. She was wild and didn’t mind keeping it fresh and fun. Even right up until last fall, when he’d found the emails to the other guy, he was hot for her.

  But the emails had struck him right in the face, like a sucker punch. Initially, he hadn’t been able to breathe, too shocked to think. Then slowly, as he reread the emails through the night, his frozen emotions had warmed to sadness and then heated to anger and rage.

  If she’d walked in the door that day, he’d have killed her right then. No questions asked. For hours, he’d clenched and unclenched his fist as he imagined what it would feel like to wrap his hands around her neck.

  He hadn’t told h
er he’d found the emails at first. Instead, he’d become obsessed with finding out the name of her lover. He’d taken to following her until the late fall day when he’d seen her dart into a trendy café in Franklin and sit down with a cup of coffee. She’d only been at the table a few minutes before a man had entered the shop. She’d risen immediately, and when he approached her, she had hugged him warmly.

  Deidre had once hugged Tyler with that kind of passion.

  Shit. He reached for the bourbon bottle and drank heavily. He set the bottle down.

  The TBI agent had mentioned Leah Carson, Deidre’s new friend. He’d known the two had grown close but now wondered what secrets Deidre had shared with her. He didn’t need her feeding the cops stories about his troubles with Deidre. Still, as a cop he understood it was better to keep his distance from her. Better to let TBI do its thing and let the whole deal play out.

  Better.

  Smarter.

  But the man didn’t want to hear the cop’s advice. If Deidre had been here, she’d have talked him out of what he wanted to do. But Deidre wasn’t here.

  He staggered to his feet and made his way across the living room, littered with dirty laundry, and sat down at his computer. He’d bought it a few years back so he could log into the office and work from home if need be. No one would have expected an old rusty guy like him to take to the computer, but he had discovered a natural talent for all things cyber. He wiped the back of his hand over his mouth and picked up the phone.

  He dialed a familiar number, a contact of his in the Nashville Police Department. The phone rang twice before he heard a gruff, “Officer Gilroy.”

  “Gus, this is Tyler Radcliff.”

  “Tyler.” His tone carried a heaviness that told Tyler that word of Deidre’s death had made its way through the department. Made sense. Cops talked, and the loss of an officer hit everyone hard. “How the hell are you doing, man?”

  “I’m hanging tough. It’s not easy, but I’m keeping it together.”

  “That’s about all you can do, I guess.” He and Gus had attended the academy together twenty years ago. They’d had their share of fun, tearing up the bars on Broadway, and chasing their share of skirts. Gus had been one of the groomsmen at his wedding.

  “I need a favor.”

  “Sure, man. Name it.”

  “I’m going to need pallbearers. Could you help me out?”

  “Shit. Sure, anything you want. When’s the funeral?”

  “I don’t know,” he said honestly. He was still Deidre’s legal husband, and seeing as her parents were dead and her sister was a real flake, the funeral duty would fall to him. Despite all their problems, Tyler had loved Deidre and would see her properly buried. “Deidre is still with the medical examiner.” The idea of her lying on a cold slab, her naked body exposed for all to see, bothered him. He should have reveled in her postmortem humiliation, but he didn’t. There’d been a time when he’d imagined they’d grow old together, die quietly in their bed.

  He’d never imagined her cut up like a cheap piece of deli meat.

  “Is there anything else I can do?”

  The sincerity in his buddy’s voice tightened Tyler’s throat. Times like this you discovered your friends. “I don’t know, man. I’m figuring this out as I go. TBI came by and asked a lot of questions. It’s surreal.”

  “I heard Alex Morgan was working the case.”

  “Yeah.”

  “I don’t like the guy, but he’s good. He’ll figure this out.”

  “I hope so.”

  “He said a friend of Deidre’s found her.”

  “Yeah. Carson was the name. A veterinarian.”

  “Right. She and Deidre were friends.” He nestled closer to the phone. “Was Alex looking into Deidre before this?”

  A full silence lingered. “Yeah. Word is she might have taken money.”

  “Shit. Deidre was a good cop.”

  “I know. I know.”

  “Okay.” He released a heavy sigh. “Thanks, Gus.”

  “When you’ve scheduled the funeral, would you find a way to let me know? I can help with arrangements. Get more pallbearers. Whatever you need.”

  “Yeah, yeah, sure.” He stood, swaying a little as the weight of the bottle of bourbon hit him. His thoughts quickly shifted from the funeral and skipped ahead to Leah Carson.

  “Thanks. This means a lot.” Impatience nipped at him.

  He hung up, swayed a little more. The bourbon wasn’t good if he wanted to think straight. He needed coffee, lots of black coffee, so he could drive and think clearly.

  He needed to have his game face on when he faced the funeral home and made the final arrangements for Deidre. Once that was settled, next on his list would be Leah Carson. He would find out exactly what she knew about Deidre.

  Chapter Eleven

  Wednesday, January 18, 5:45 A.M.

  It was raining. And cold. Leah expected winter to be cold, but this unending frigid snap made life tough. Hot coffee steaming from the cup holder beside her seat, she drove to the spot where the running group was scheduled to meet today, all the while wishing away the morning run. Before, she’d have hated the weather, but she’d always known Deidre would be waiting. Deidre was always waiting.

  Images flashed of her friend lying faceup, skin sliced, sightless eyes staring, blood pooling in a thick dark puddle.

  Tears welled in Leah’s eyes. So easy to turn the car around, crawl back into bed, and pull the covers over her eyes. It was so tempting.

  “No,” she whispered. “You aren’t going to quit on Deidre or yourself.” She’d sworn when she moved to Nashville she wouldn’t be frightened. She wouldn’t hide from life.

  The downpour grew heavier, as if someone had turned the tap on full. She glared at the dark gray sky. Really? You can’t cut me a little slack here? Thunder clapped. Right.

  Headlights cut through the rain, and as she rounded the corner into the parking lot, the lights illuminated a half-dozen cars, all of which she recognized. These runners were the heart and soul of the group. They never missed. And they’d certainly not miss today. Pride flickered. Many hadn’t braved the weather, but she had.

  Leah parked behind a black SUV and reached for her running gloves, which she tugged on. Pulling her skullcap down around her ears, she muttered an oath and got out of the car. Within seconds, her jacket was damp and the cold leaked into her bones.

  She jogged up to the ring of runners who, when they saw her, nodded approval. She barely glanced at the half-dozen men and women as they clasped hands and formed a circle. They all bowed their heads in silence.

  After a moment, David lifted his head. He liked to lead. Liked directing others. He clapped his hands. “Let’s make this a great run!”

  She joined the group in a cheer that vibrated in her chest and resonated energy that followed her into the first half mile of her run and kept her going in her typical, if not so fast, fairly steady pace down the rain-soaked, muddied path. When the adrenaline faded, she huffed in a deeper icy breath and imagined herself moving faster even as the group soon broke away, leaving her alone on the trail with her thoughts. On a normal day, there were always stragglers within shouting distance so she never minded getting dropped by the larger group. But today, those slower runners had skipped the run, leaving her alone to bring up the rear.

  The rain pelted her face, and whatever heat she’d generated from the run quickly dissipated. The trees along the path grew taller, darker, but she didn’t dare a glance into the shadows.

  “Just keep moving,” she whispered. “Five miles feels like forever, but it’s not. You can do this.”

  Over the next few miles, she fell farther behind, and the stand of trees flanking the path felt like it was closing in around her. Several times, she thought she heard footsteps crushing twigs and leaves as heavy footsteps raced through the woods near her. Her breath huffed faster, more urgent. Gritting her teeth, she kept putting one foot in front of the other until finally the r
ain stopped as she rounded the final corner of the course and emerged into the clearing back at the parking lot. She’d made it.

  Most of the cars of the other runners were gone but two remained. One belonged to David, but she didn’t recognize the other. She dashed to her car, raising her hand toward David, and slid behind the wheel. She grabbed a towel she’d stowed on the passenger seat and quickly turned on the car and the heat. Her skin tingled as hot air warmed her near-frozen flesh. As she dried her face, she promised herself a stop at the doughnut shop before work. She earned it.

  David honked his horn and tossed her a wave. She waved again and watched as he drove off. The guy could be pompous and irritating, but he’d waited for her. Nice. David had never lingered before unless it was to see Deidre alone. Deidre’s loss must have had an impact on him.

  Leah tossed her towel aside and put her car in reverse. As she backed up, the second, unfamiliar car lingered across the lot. The engine was running, the driver behind the wheel, head tucked, the windows fogged. Even with distance and fog blurring her vision, she knew it was a man sitting behind the wheel.

  Eyes narrowing, she stared into her rearview mirror, straining to make out his features. Who else had waited for her? She didn’t recognize the car, and as she ran through the list of the people she’d seen today, she couldn’t match the runners with the vehicle.

  Who was that guy?

  No answer came, and the nothingness sent a chill slithering up her spine, one vertebrae at a time. She quickly backed out of her space. As she crossed the empty parking lot, she glanced in the rearview mirror, wondering and fearing if he’d follow. However, the car remained in its spot, the driver’s face still obscured.

  As the distance between Leah and the unknown driver grew, the tension snapped her nerves, even as she attempted to summon calm. Lots of people run in the park.

  There weren’t a lot of dedicated runners on days like today. But there were some. A stranger didn’t necessarily mean trouble.