by Mary Burton
“One story isn’t conditional on the other.”
Her movements were wooden and stiff, like a marionette whose metal joints had not been oiled in years. “Let me think about it.”
Rick shook his head, clearly not happy. But he kept his opinion silent.
Martinez smiled and softened her voice as if they were old friends. “I want to tell your story.”
“I’ll let you know soon.” She’d driven to Nashville searching for something and now was her chance to pry open the past and shine a light on it. If this is what she wanted, then why hesitate?
The lines bracketing Rick’s mouth deepened. He pulled off his mic pack and carefully wound the cord around the receiver before handing it to the cameraman. “If you’ve got what you need, it might be best if you leave, Ms. Martinez.”
Jenna glanced at Rick, annoyed that he would try to defend her. “I can handle this.”
He worked his jaw as if chewing up and swallowing an oath. “Sure.”
“Talk to you soon, Jenna.” Martinez nodded as if understanding now was the time to retreat so that she could return to fight another day. She and her cameraman left with Rick following behind. She heard him close the front door and she wished keeping the past contained was as easy as closing a door.
Rick watched the van drive off and then faced her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Defenses slammed tighter in place. “Not something I advertise, Detective.”
A brow arched. “Martinez isn’t your friend. She’s in this for the story. She couldn’t care less about you.”
“Sounds like experience talking.”
“It is.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “I can handle her.”
His jaw tightened, as if swallowing words too angry to speak. “If I’d known, I’d have never agreed to the interview.”
Anger denied just moments ago now bubbled. “You asked and I said yes. I’m a big girl and can handle a couple of softball questions from a reporter.”
“You consider that softball?”
The question had tipped her off balance, but she’d not admit that to him or Martinez. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
“Then why did you look like you’d been punched in the gut? Every ounce of color drained from your face.”
She battled the urge to touch her fingers to her cheeks. “Shocked by her question, yes. Very few people know about what happened to me in Nashville, so it never comes up. But, I’m fine. Now, if you’ll also leave I have lots of work to do.”
His jaw tensed and his lips flattened.
“You don’t need to take care of me.”
“You’re making a mistake.”
“Won’t be my first.”
“Jenna.”
“Please. I’m fine. Just go.”
With the shake of his head he left, Tracker on his heels, each moving down the front steps with more stiffness in their gait. Rick didn’t look back but when he opened the door for the dog, Tracker glanced in Jenna’s direction before getting into the car.
She quietly closed the door. No door-slamming dramatics for her. But as soon as the door clicked closed, she turned and slid to the floor. Tears streamed down her face. She should not be this upset about the past. Days, even weeks, went by without her thinking of it and she wasn’t sure if the images she had of her family were real memories. Everything she had of her family was secondhand or from a few yellowed photos.
Grabbing her phone, she dialed Mike’s number. He answered on the second ring.
“Jenna.”
“A Nashville reporter called Baltimore and asked questions about me.”
A pause and then a door closing. “It wasn’t me.”
She ran fingers through her hair. “I know. I know.”
“What happened?”
A sigh shuddered through her. Even seven hundred miles wasn’t barrier enough for her to open up with Mike. “She put two and two together about my family’s past pretty fast.”
“I’m your friend.” His voice dropped a notch. “Your lover.”
The intimacy coating the word had her chest tightening, making it impossible for her to speak. Why had she called him? Why hadn’t she just talked to Rick?
“You don’t belong in Nashville, Jenna. You belong here. Come home and let me take care of you.”
In all honesty, she didn’t know where she belonged. Baltimore had been her home for as long as she remembered but the night she’d found that girl in the closet, the ties to Baltimore had begun to fray. “No. I can’t. Not now. I’ll call later.” She hung up the phone.
Immediately, it rang again and Mike’s number popped up on the display. She turned from the phone, folding her arms over her chest. “Damn it.”
As the phone buzzed, she pressed her fingertips into her eyes and allowed the tears to flow. A shrink would have had a field day with the motivations driving so many of her decisions lately.
She wanted to prove once and for all that Shadow Eyes wasn’t real. She glanced at the display on her phone, now silent. Mike didn’t like to lose. Didn’t like to hear no. She’d not heard the last from him.
She found the number for Susan Martinez, dialed, and heard it go to voice mail. “It’s Jenna Thompson. Let’s set up a meeting at my old home.”
Rick returned to the station, angry and frustrated. Bishop glanced up from a file on his desk. “I heard it didn’t go well.”
“How?”
“Martinez called me for a quote. I had no comment.”
Rick loosened his tie. “I don’t know how I could have missed it.”
Bishop closed the old file in front of him and handed it to Rick. “You didn’t. I did.”
He glanced at the tab on the file. It read: THOMPSON, J. E. He opened the file and saw the picture of a smiling little five-year-old girl. The dark hair, the eyes, no missing now that she was Jenna.
“It was in the stack your brother sent over. And in the pile I reviewed. I saw recovered on the front and didn’t read any further.”
Rick flipped a page that showed a mug shot of Ronnie Dupree along with pictures of her family’s murder. “I wouldn’t have read further either.”
“I remember seeing recovered and thinking happy ending. Fuck.”
“I’d have done the same. She wasn’t the girl in the pink blanket.”
“No.” He read notes detailing the murder and recognized his father’s dark, bold block lettering. Jenna’s entire past had been laid out right in front of them. And no one had connected the dots.
The evening news hummed quietly in the background as Reason stared at the chessboard. Reason liked chess. The rules, the strategy, and a definitive winner and loser at the end all fed into the world order.
Knight had just taken another pawn, an index finger on the piece allowed a change of mind. Finally, satisfied and the finger removed, it was a matter of typing the play into a computer and hitting send.
The chess opponent lived in California and would take time before the next move. The evening news droned and, reaching for the remote, Reason turned to see the face of a woman. Dark hair framed a too-familiar expression. Gray eyes, far more direct than before, stared back at the camera. She didn’t demure but seemed to challenge.
The PAUSE button froze the frame as she spoke, allowing Reason time to move toward the screen and trace the outline of her jaw.
Madness awoke from its slumber and looked at the woman’s face. “It’s Sara!”
“No. Not Sara. It’s her sister, Jenna.”
Madness howled, clawed toward the edge of the shadows. “Jenna? You mean Jennifer? The little girl?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“We knew she lived. And now she’s back in town.”
Madness shook off the grogginess. “You shouldn’t have drugged me.”
“I told you, it’s the only way we can survive.”
Madness screeched, panicked. “She knows who we are.”
“I don’t think so
. She’s searching. Wants to find out what happened.”
“Ronnie killed her family. Not us.”
“But we manipulated Ronnie. He was our puppet.”
“No, no, no! It’s Sara!”
Mind buzzing and heart rate kicking faster and faster, Reason felt Madness’s pull. She did look so much like Sara. God. Sara. Sweet Sara. “She’s not Sara. She’s Jennifer . . . Jenna Thompson.”
“Her name isn’t Jenna. It’s Sara. Sara Thompson!” Madness screamed.
“Sara is dead.” A chill shivered over tight skin leaving waves of gooseflesh. For a moment panic gripped. Chest muscles tightened. Lungs refused air.
Reason rose quickly, trying to get away from the screams of Madness. It wanted control. “We need to think. I need to think.”
Pacing back and forth, Reason and Madness were chained together. Each wished for the impossible: to be free of the other.
Jennifer was the little sister they’d barely noticed. Sara had had her little sister with her many, many times and had often joked that the two were twins separated by a decade.
“Could she have seen us when we killed Ronnie?” Madness wailed. “She might remember us.”
“She was so young.” When the girl had been found alive, they’d been so fearful. That fear had been the chip Reason had used to subdue Madness.
“What does she remember? What did she see? Did Ronnie talk about us?”
And then little Jennifer had vanished from the radar for twenty-five years. No one had known where she’d gone. No one had come for them. And life had gone on.
“We should have pressed Ronnie harder before we killed him. We should have made him show me the girl’s body.”
“You’re right.”
Youth and inexperience had led to that mistake. Control over Ronnie had not been as complete as they first thought.
“We need to fix this mistake.”
“I know.”
Time to clean up the loose end of little Jennifer Thompson.
Chapter Ten
Friday, August 18, 6 P.M.
When Rick pulled into the driveway of the Big House, he spotted the black SUV immediately. Alex. Tension creeping up his back, he parked behind the SUV and helped Tracker to the ground. The dog moved toward a patch of woods and hiked his leg. Marking his turf. “I hear ya, buddy.”
He climbed the steps and found the front door open. All these months of living here and he’d never changed the locks. Alex remembered his mother had always hidden a key in the side shed.
Through the front door, Rick shrugged off his jacket and draped it over the banister as he tossed his keys in a dish he kept on a small table by the front door. After the interview with Jenna today, he was loaded for bear and looking for a fight. Maybe it was time he and Alex cleared the air once and for all.
Alex sat in the kitchen at the new counter Rick had built. He’d loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves to his elbows. His hair stood on end as if he’d run his fingers through several times and he held a long-neck beer in his hand.
“Beer is in the refrigerator,” Alex said.
Biting back a what-the-fuck-are-you-doing-here, he moved to the refrigerator and grabbed a beer. He twisted off the top and took a long pull. “Change your mind about the land?”
“No.”
Anger he’d jealously clung to for over a year twisted in his gut, straining for release. Even the files Alex had sent over didn’t soften the sharp emotions. “Then why’re you here?”
“You get the files?”
Rick drew in a breath. “Yeah. No matches.”
Alex shrugged. “Worth a try. Killers don’t always stay in the same jurisdiction.”
“Why’re you here?”
Alex set his beer bottle down with deliberate precision. “To set the record straight about Melissa.”
Rick rested his hands on his hips. “What’s there to say?”
Alex’s gaze sharpened to a knife’s point. “There’s a shit ton to say, and I’m hoping this time you’ll listen instead of taking a swing.”
When Rick had found out about Alex and Melissa, he’d been out of the hospital just days. He’d been on pain meds and deep in the grip of grief for his father, his dog, and the job he thought he’d lost. Alex had come to him, trying to explain, but he’d pulled himself up and landed a punch that had connected with Alex’s jaw. Alex had shouted obscenities but had not struck back. Instead, he’d left and the cold war between brothers had been born. Later, Rick had learned through Georgia that he had broken Alex’s jaw.
“So, say it.”
Alex’s gaze locked onto Rick’s like a laser. “Melissa lied. She and I were never, ever, an item. Not for a second.”
Rick didn’t blink as he raised the bottle to his lips and paused as a memory socked him like a one-two punch.
“I can’t marry you.” Melissa had stood at his hospital bed. Her gray eyes were clear, no traces of crying, and her short, blond hair as perfect as her makeup. She twisted off the ring he’d given her weeks earlier. “I’m in love with Alex. And he loves me.”
“My brother! Is this some kind of bad joke?”
“No. I owed it to tell you, face-to-face.”
The memory twisted in his gut. “She said she was in love with you and that you loved her.”
“She lied. Or was living in such a fantasy world she didn’t know up from down. Maybe she just wanted to break up with you and knew this was one of the few things she could say that would really piss you off.”
“She said my brother was in love with her.” He ground the words out as if they were cut glass.
“Did you stop to think for just one fucking second?” Alex said, his tone low and his jaw clenched. “I’m your brother. I’m your flesh and blood who has known you for over thirty years. I’ve always had your back. And you took her word over mine. I’m still fucking pissed off about that.”
Rick scraped at the beer bottle label with his thumbnail. “Why would she tell me she was sleeping with you?”
“Who the hell knows? She’s a nut job. Maybe she was afraid of dealing with a man who might be paralyzed or crippled. Maybe she just wanted to hurt you because she knew you really didn’t want to marry her.”
“I gave her a goddammed ring! I asked her to marry me. She said yes.”
“And Georgia, from the moment she met Melissa, knew it wouldn’t last. Melissa was one of your lost souls. Another broken person to fix. Georgia knew you weren’t really in love with Melissa.”
He slammed his beer bottle on the counter, sloshing beer on his hand. “What the hell does that mean? I never talked to our sister about shit.”
“Georgia said it was written all over your face and your body language when you two were together. And if Georgia could see it coming so could Melissa. Melissa might have been crazy, but she wasn’t stupid. And that bit about throwing me under the bus was Melissa’s final twisted way of getting back at you.”
The truth was, he’d had major doubts about the engagement. But before he could process what he was thinking, his father had died and he’d been shot. What had Georgia seen in him? What had tipped Melissa off? The facts danced in front of him but he clung to his fury. “Melissa had no reason to lie.”
Alex set his beer down hard on the granite countertop. “I didn’t come here to debate whether she’s a liar or not. I know she is. I came here to tell you I’m pissed at you.”
He shook his head, incredulous. “You’re pissed at me?”
“I sure as shit am mad. You should have trusted my word. I’ve never lied to you. Ever.”
Rick stared into the depths of his bottle. The flare of anger dimmed in the spray of logic. Alex had tried to talk to him and he’d not listened. Alex had written him a letter and he’d torn it up. Suddenly, he imagined the universe setting a big plate of crow before him.
Unwilling to release the anger just yet, he asked, “When is the last time you saw her?”
Alex shook his head. “At Dad’s funer
al. When she was with you. Days before you were shot.”
He remembered that cold, rainy day they’d buried their father. They’d stood huddled around the gravesite and he and his siblings had watched as their father’s casket had been lowered into the ground. Melissa had clung to him. Too tight from what he’d remembered. He’d had to wrestle his arm free to toss his handful of dirt onto the casket.
Rick rubbed the back of his neck. “Saying that I did overreact.”
“Shit. You overreacted!” Of the three Morgan brothers, Alex had the worst temper. It might be covered in layers of ice, but the temper was there. A slight to his integrity would have set him off.
“Saying, I did.” Rick blew out a breath. “Then I’d have been wrong.”
A heavy silence settled in the room and, for a moment, neither brother spoke.
“Dad had died. You’d just been shot,” Alex said. “It was a bad time.”
“I was angry.” Digging into the muck of emotion was a bit like putting his hand into a pit of snakes. “Easier to be mad at you than everything else.” He rolled his shoulders. “I’m sorry.”
Alex released a breath as if he’d been holding it for a year and a half. “Accepted.”
Rick swallowed emotion too sharp to voice.
Alex took a long sip of beer. “I like what you’ve done with the house.”
The conversation shift was as sudden as it was welcome. “Thanks. And thanks for the files. Especially after all that I said.”
“Only missing persons files could be considered a peace offering in this cop family.”
“Did you know Jenna Thompson’s missing persons file was in the stack you sent? We didn’t look past recovered on the front flap.”
“She’s the artist that got blindsided by Martinez in the interview.”
“Yeah. Sometimes the answer is right in front of you.”
“Jenna Thompson handled it well and her sketch was amazing. You should get a hit soon.”
He rubbed the back of his neck. The sound of Jenna’s name calmed his blood pressure. “The station is going to run the picture for several more days.” Alex had always been his confidant growing up. He’d missed that connection. “Pisses me off I didn’t see it coming.”