by Mary Burton
Brody was all about action . . . the battle plan. “We’ll go to the DNA lab and get you tested right now.”
We. A unit.
“I’ll get by the lab soon.” Days ago, she’d have marked the idea insane. Now she couldn’t deny a possible connection.
“Let’s go now and take care of business.”
Absently, she shook her head. “And what if he is my father?”
His expression was as practical as his tone. “You’ve got a biological fact you can tuck in your file box and forget.”
It was that simple, and it wasn’t. “I’d be the daughter of a serial killer.”
He shrugged. “I remember how you talked about your dad, your real dad. It was clear he loved you.”
“Biology is a powerful predictor.”
He arched a brow. “I don’t buy it.”
She tipped her head back. “This is like a bad dream.”
He rose and closed the gap between them, coming short of touching her. “If it’s true. And if it is, remember it is a fact you have no control over. A fact that does not undo who you are.”
He was right, of course. A quirk of genetics didn’t define her. Why did she feel as if she’d done something wrong?
Jo had left Brody’s office and gone directly to the medical lab for the DNA test. Brody had wanted to go with her, been annoyed when she’d said no and only been soothed when she’d promised to share the results as soon as they arrived.
She’d picked up the test kit just before the office closed. She’d swipe her cheek. She would. Just not right this second.
Jo arrived at the Austin bar where the Find Christa! group had gathered after seven. The bar was loud, smoky and full of laughter. She wasn’t fond of bars. All the revelry, the laughter—neither fit her well. Work, dedication she understood, this culture she did not. As tempted as she was to turn and leave, she didn’t, reminding herself she knew these folks. Had spent countless hours in the cold, searching for Christa. Though they’d all come from different walks of life, they’d shared a bond that merited a drink.
Across the bar in a private room she saw a group of folks and behind them the battered Find Christa! banner that had hung on the side of Tim’s truck.
Straightening her shoulders, she went to the bar, ordered a white wine and cut through the crowds toward the group. She didn’t see Rucker but spotted several faces she recognized.
A redhead with pale skin and aqua glasses approached her. “I’m Casey. I remember you. Jo, right?”
She extended her hand. “I think we were on a couple of the search teams together.”
“Cold day from what I remember. Wind kinda cut like a knife that day.”
Jo sipped her wine and decided it tasted decent. “Not the best of circumstances.” Across the crowd her gaze connected with Tim’s. He raised a beer and smiled.
“Tim’s got a lot to be proud of,” Casey said. “A hero in my book.”
She smiled. “He does.” She glanced around the room. “I don’t see Scott or Ester.”
“Tim said they were too torn up to come. I can understand. I’m not sure if I could be here if it were my sister.” Casey took a deep sip of her beer. “Were you at the funeral?”
“Yeah.”
“Sad. Real sad. You see that Ranger there?”
“I did.”
“Badass. I’d hate to have him on my trail.”
Jo sipped her wine. “Yeah.”
Casey finished her beer. “How did you get recruited into the search? Were you a friend?”
“No. Tim was my Realtor.”
“Oh, me too.” A short guy with thinning hair pushed through the group up to Jo and Casey. He tossed a halfhearted smile toward Jo before focusing on Casey. “Hey, I was hoping you’d be here.”
Casey grinned. “Luke. Great to see you, man. Hey, did you meet Jo?”
He tore his gaze from Casey for a moment. “Jo, nice to meet you.”
She smiled, amused by his clear adoration for Casey. “Luke.”
“Hey, Jo, do you mind if I steal Casey for a moment? I got something I’d like to show her.”
Jo shrugged. “Have fun.”
Casey stopped and turned. “Jo, I almost forgot. I have a message from one of your friends.”
“Who?”
“Aaron. He was on his way in here tonight but received a last-minute call. He told me to tell you he’d catch up with you soon.”
Her smile froze. “Aaron?”
“Yeah.”
Aaron Dayton. He was out there. Interfacing with people she knew.
Luke tugged on Casey’s hand. “Nice meeting you again.”
“Yeah, sure.”
“Bye.” Casey sounded breathless and excited as Luke took her by the hand and led her away.
Anger and frustration prodded Jo. Dayton was like a spider.
Tim shouldered his way through the crowd toward her. He picked up on her tension immediately. “What’s wrong?”
If her anger weren’t raw and fresh, she’d have done a better job of hiding it. “There’s a man. He’s stalking me.”
Tim cocked his head. “Who?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“It does.” His gaze scanned the room. “Is he here?”
“No. He was outside and sent a message through Casey, who has no idea what he’s doing.”
“Jo, who was it?”
“Aaron Dayton.” She sipped her wine and struggled to regain her composure. “Hey, I’m okay. It was likely nothing.”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. You look rattled.”
“No. I’m fine. Really.” Grateful for a familiar face, her smile warmed. “Nice crowd.”
He searched the room. “Yeah, good group of people. I’m glad they could all come and support each other.”
His aftershave hinted of spice. “Weird seeing a Ranger at the funeral. But good Christa’s case is still on their radar.”
“It is. She deserves justice.”
Tim’s expression turned grim. “The day I heard about her death was one of the hardest of my life. I was sure that we’d find her alive.”
“You did an amazing job. How many volunteers did you muster?”
“A couple of hundred. I wish we’d found her. Damn.”
Casey and Luke called out to Tim. They wanted him to say a few words.
Tim tried to wave them off but finally nodded acceptance. “Sorry, got to go.”
“Don’t be sorry. You should speak.”
She watched him weave through the crowd. Men patted him on the back. Women shook his hand. Jo set her glass down, suddenly a little suffocated by the crowd.
As Tim spoke, she turned and made her way through the bar. Outside, the cool air washed away the stale air and the tightness in her chest. She dug her keys out of her purse and took two steps before she heard a familiar voice.
“You should have had those keys in hand before you came outside.” Brody.
Tensing, she turned, grateful it wasn’t Dayton. She thought about telling Brody but caught herself. He was a habit she had to break. “Do you always follow Texans around and offer safety tips?”
His hands tucked into the pockets of a heavy, worn, brown jacket, he pushed away from the pub’s wall. “Only ones who have their nose stuck in books.”
“I wasn’t studying. I was socializing.” Being close to him steadied her.
“Something I’ve heard you don’t do too often.”
She shrugged. “Times change.”
Amusement danced in his gaze. “See anyone of interest?”
His height and size tempted her to step back, but she didn’t. “Why are you here?”
He leaned a little closer. “Thought you might have picked up something of interest with that group.”
“The noble cause that brought them together is quickly vanishing, and they are fast becoming a group of people enjoying a drink and a laugh.”
“Nothing that caught your attention?”
As she tucked a stray curl behind her ear, she considered telling him about Dayton but rejected it. She did not need him hovering. “There is a guy inside who looks like he wants to score with a chick named Casey.”
He cocked a brow. “Imagine. A man in a bar looking for a woman.”
“Tim was giving a nice speech when I left about community spirit and commitment.”
“Why didn’t you stay for the show?”
“I’ve heard his speech before. He used it to rally the volunteers before each search. A little bitter now knowing Christa is dead.”
“We wouldn’t have found her if not for you. Smith only spoke to you.”
“He wanted to talk. He knew he was dying, and he didn’t want to take his secrets with him.”
“Don’t bet on it. He’d have taken the secrets to the grave.” He hesitated. “Did you go to the lab?”
She moved toward her car. “I did.”
“Take the test?”
Astute. “I will in the morning.”
He followed, slowing his pace to match hers. “Results take two or three weeks, which gives you an end date.”
“If the test is negative. But if it’s positive, the trouble’s just getting started. My mother will not be happy.”
“She’ll survive. Better to have the truth.”
With a click of a button, she unlocked her car door. “That’s what I always tell my patients. But after a lifetime of lying, the truth is scary.” She stopped at her car. “This is my stop.”
“Always better to know, Jo.”
“I’ll keep telling myself that.”
He opened her door for her. “Be careful, Jo.”
“You keep saying that.”
“Smith tangled you up in this mess. And he might be dead and gone but his little helper is not.”
She slid behind the wheel. “You think his apprentice has a bigger plan?”
“I do.” He braced one hand on the door and the other on the roof of the car. “Did you call the security company?”
“In the morning right after the DNA test.”
“Don’t delay on that, Jo.”
“I won’t.”
He slammed her door closed, and she started up the engine. As she pulled away, she glanced in the rearview mirror. He was staring at her.
Jo’s head throbbed when she pulled into her driveway after nine. The day had not only been long but chock-full of so many unwanted emotions.
Her heels clicked on the sidewalk as she sorted through her keys. She found the gold key, and as she pushed it toward the lock, the dog next door barked and howled, startling her. She looked toward Rucker’s house. His Lab, Greta, was inside and had heard Jo arrive. As with most nights when Jo arrived home the dog barked.
A smile twitched the edges of her mouth. No matter what happened in the world, pets had a way of keeping anyone grounded. Her cats didn’t care about the box or Smith. They cared that she was here, ready to feed them and scratch them between the ears.
It wasn’t until her hand was inches from the door that her smile vanished. The door was closed and locked, but Jo had the strong sense that something was off.
She drew back her hand as if she’d happened upon a rattler ready to strike. She checked the door again. Locked. She thought about Rucker. He had a key as she had a key to his place. Just in case. Her mother had a key. Both had access. Both could have stopped by.
She dug her cell out of her purse and called Rucker. The phone rang three times and went to voicemail. Greta was barking, but he wasn’t there. “Rucker, this is Jo. When you get a second, call me. Just double checking. Were you in my house today?”
Instead of sliding the phone back in her purse, she kept it in her left hand as she unlocked and opened the door. There was no reason to call the cops. The door was locked. There were no signs of trouble. She had a feeling. Calling the cops would not only make her appear foolish but would lead to hours of unnecessary waiting and questions.
Atticus meowed loudly from inside the house. He sounded agitated and upset. “Damn it.”
Clutching her phone, she entered the house and flipped on the lights. The place looked as she’d left it, not a vase or pillow out of order. And yet the sense that someone had been in her house nagged her. “Atticus. Here, kitty, kitty.”
Atticus meowed again and this time she heard scratching from the hallway closet. She moved carefully toward the door. “Atticus.”
Meow.
She drew in a breath and yanked open the door, ready to dash back out the front door. Instead of an intruder she found her fat, yellow tabby glaring up at her, clearly beyond annoyed. He sauntered out of the closet, brushed against her legs and meowed his displeasure all the way into the kitchen.
Jo stared at the closet, wondering how the cat had gotten locked inside. “Did Rucker or Mom close the door on you?”
She flipped on all the lights as she made her way into the kitchen, Atticus following. She found her cats sitting by their bowls staring up at her. They weren’t meowing and acted as if they’d been fed. But not sure, she doled out food from a bin into their bowls.
As she watched the trio eat, clearly unharmed, she shook her head. “I must be losing my mind.”
She dumped her keys and purse on the kitchen table and with cell phone still in hand moved down the hallway, her gaze still sharp for anything out of place. Nothing was out of place. Could she have been so careless this morning when she’d left? She had been rushed. Frazzled. Maybe she had locked Atticus in the closet. She shook her head. No, she always did a head count of the cats. It had to be Rucker. If he’d gotten an emergency call from the vet hospital, he could easily have raced out of here half-cocked.
She crossed the threshold to her room. Her bed was made as crisply as the moment she’d left it this morning. Nothing was out of place.
Chalking this all up to her day, she changed into sweats and a T-shirt. Back in the kitchen, she dug a frozen dinner out of the freezer and tossed it in the microwave for eight minutes. Her stomach grumbled. As she waited for her meal to cook, she opened her laptop. All the questions that Smith carried within him were gone. Robbie. Her paternity. The identity of the unexpected victim.
She thought about her mother. Could there be a connection to Smith? Was she lying?
They’d have met thirty-three years ago. She’d been living in Austin and would have been a junior at Hanson High School. Jo opened the computer file on Smith she’d set up when she’d been doing her dissertation. In the file was a detailed time line of the man’s life. She’d done a painstaking search of his life. There’d been some gaps but for the most part she’d re-created most of it.
Thirty-three years ago. Where had he been substituting? She scrolled through the spreadsheet. There was nothing for September, but in early October he’d been hired as a long-term sub at . . . Hanson High School.
Jo felt the air rush from her lungs.
Her mother and Smith had been at Hanson at the same time.
A chill raced down her spine and she stood. She paced the kitchen. Needing fresh air, she crossed to her front door and stepped outside.
Again she thought about the uneasy feeling she’d had when she’d arrived home. She ran her finger over the lock, wondering if there’d be a nick or a glitch indicating that someone had broken into her house. But the wood was as smooth as it had been when she’d had it installed last year.
“Call me back, Rucker. Tell me I’m being paranoid.” God, she was losing her mind. Lord knows there was enough to distract and agitate her these days. Cases. Clients. Her mother. Smith. There were a lot of reasons to feel out of sorts. “Let it go, Jo.”
As she turned to go back in the house, she dialed her mother’s number but stopped when the whisper of a warning brushed her neck. Later, she’d wonder what made her look down. She’d wonder how her gaze so easily found the flutters of folded yellow gum paper in the mulch bed by her front door.
Slowly she knelt, leaned over into the bed and picked up thr
ee pieces of paper. They were yellow gum wrappers. Dayton’s brand of gum. Neatly folded into squares, as he liked to do. Had he been to her house?
Crushing the paper in her fist, she scanned the interior of her house, too terrified to enter. She dialed 9-1-1.
Chapter Eighteen
Tuesday, April 16, 10:00 P.M.
The officer came out of Jo’s house, his face grim. His swagger coupled with a chagrined look stoked her annoyance. Now that her nerves had calmed, the wrappers seemed a paltry reason to panic and call the police. She was annoyed for being a Nervous Nellie, as her grandfather used to say. Irritated that it was late and she’d lost so much time.
The officer stopped and hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Dr. Granger, there is no one in the house. All the windows are locked and all the doors are locked. I checked the closets and the attic crawl space. There is no one, and by the looks, no sign of an intruder.”
“But I found the wrappers.”
“Gum wrappers. You said it belonged to a man you interviewed. Dr. Dayton.”
“That’s right. He’s a person of interest in his wife’s disappearance and I’ve seen him around town several times in just the last week.”
“Has he threatened you in any way?”
“No. Nothing like that. But the wrappers by the front door . . . I know he was here.”
The officer had bagged the wrappers, but had made no promises. “Ma’am, anyone could have dropped those wrappers. A mailman. A deliveryman.”
“I had no deliveries. And there were three wrappers, as if someone had been standing here for a time.”
He sighed. “Ma’am, I can’t find anything in this house or around it to prove there was an intruder.”
Several of her neighbors peeked out their windows. “How do you explain the cat locked in the closet?”
He hooked his thumb in his gun belt. “Cats crawl into closets all the time. Easy to be in a rush and close the door on them.”
She shook her head, annoyed at his logic.
He sighed. “Ma’am, I didn’t find anything in your house other than three annoyed and vocal cats. We’ve already put extra patrols in the area, but I could step it up more for a day or two.”