“Mom was a nurse. She had a nursing plate.” Jensen recited the number, still staring at the car, horrified fascination rising in her.
She wanted to squeeze her eyes closed, block it out. She wanted to run. To hide from all of this, just a little longer. If she didn’t see it happen, she could pretend just a little longer.
But she’d been waiting for fifteen years.
* * *
“I need to go down there.” The words were soft, but steel threaded under them.
As much as it hurt his heart, Dean wasn’t surprised to hear those words from her. It didn’t matter that she was pale, didn’t matter that her eyes were so dark, they were all but black in her face. It didn’t even matter that he could see that she was shaking, a thin film of sweat on her upper lip—all of that combined to worry him, because he suspected she was veering closer and closer to shock.
But yeah, of course she had to go down there. She was going to see that fucking car and she was going to watch for as long as she could, even though this was ripping her heart out.
And his.
He wanted to take her away from all of this.
He was in over his head here. In over his head with her, and he had been for a while and realizing just how much pain she’d hidden under that layer of steel wasn’t making it easier for him to pull back. No, it made him want to draw her close and protect her, even though he knew she’d kick his teeth in and damned if that didn’t twist him up even more.
Catching her shoulders in his hands, he held her a moment as they watched the car. “We need to give them a few more minutes,” he said softly. He’d been on hand a few times when cars had been removed from bodies of water. It was almost clear, but that didn’t mean jack until it was completely out of the river. “Make sure they give us the all-clear first.”
She tugged against him for a second and then blew out a sigh. “Yeah. I … fuck. Yeah. I have to call my family, though. It’s her car. That’s her plate. I’d know it in my sleep.”
“I can call them. You can take a minute.”
“No.” She shook her head. “I’ll do it.”
She just shook her head and pulled away from him, her hand already on her phone.
“You don’t do easy, do you?”
“There is no easy here.” She shook her head, focusing on the mud-caked paint of the car down on the banks.
“No. I don’t guess there is.” There was no guessing. He knew the pain she had chewing her up inside and he could understand why she wanted to just push through it, even if all he wanted to do was push it all away from her.
Her eyes were dry, and somehow clearer as she made the call, first to her father, then her sister.
The one to her brother, Tate, was the hardest, because she kept having to smack him down. “No, Tate. They aren’t going to let you see the car. It’s just now out—”
She stopped, sighed, pinched the bridge of her nose. Dean could hear Tate’s voice coming through the line.
She held the phone away from her ear for a second and then put it back, started to talk, apparently ignoring everything he said. “I don’t have any information for you, but it looks like it’s her car. It’s been under the water for a damn long time from what I tell, but that’s all I know. I won’t know anything else for a long time and the longer you keep me on the phone, the longer it will be before I have answers. They will not let you near it and that’s just the breaks. Deal with it. I’ll call once I have any news.”
She hung up and pushed the phone into her pocket.
“He took it well, I see.”
With a wan smile, she shrugged. “Yeah. Tate is solid, steady as a rock.”
“Jensen.”
They looked over as Lieutenant Burt Loughland said her name from the far end of the sidewalk. He was a veteran with the county sheriff’s department and while the kids had called the city police, this was going to fall within the county’s jurisdiction. Just as her mother’s disappearance had fallen within the county.
As the county cop came their way, his worn face unreadable, Jensen went still.
They both knew, the woman and the man, Dean thought.
It was a cop thing, that weird little burn in the gut, a click in the back of the brain. Something that made a cop a cop, really.
They’d both known, even before they’d seen the plates, whom they’d found.
“You okay, Jensen?” Burt said as she reached him.
“I’m fine,” she said.
Her voice was steady, level. Steel, Dean thought again.
“You did a hell of a job on that Pruitt case last week.”
Her mouth twisted. “Yeah, well. I was hoping to see that fucker in court, but hey. We’ve already got a few more sons of bitches we’ll be locking up, sounds like.”
Loughland nodded, then looked over at Dean. “West.”
Dean nodded.
“I called my family,” she said softly. “Tate … well. Don’t be surprised if your guys have to deal with him. He’s already chomping at the bit. But I couldn’t not tell him, either.”
“Can’t see as how you could avoid it.” Burt nodded. He opened his mouth to say something else, but before he could, one of the men closest to the car called out, “Looks like a key is still in the ignition.”
A soft sound escaped Jensen’s throat.
Dean felt his heart break, jagged little pieces. Baby …
As much as he wanted to reach for her, he knew that was the last thing she wanted or needed just then.
Chapter Five
It was oddly silent as the techs went over the car.
Jensen’s phone had rang three times and on the fourth, she’d pulled it from her pocket, muted it, and then put it on the nearby table. Now she stood, staring at the car with her arms wrapped around her midsection and her gaze locked almost blindly on the mud-caked vehicle.
She barely moved.
She barely seemed to breathe.
Her skin was pale and her knuckles all but bloodless as she gripped her elbows, like she had to have something to hold onto, otherwise, she’d fly apart.
One of the techs dropped a whisk brush and the sound of it clattered through the surreal silence. Jensen jumped, the sound of her gasp striking him in the heart.
From two feet away, he couldn’t reach out and touch her the way he wanted to, the way he needed to. He tried to catch her eyes, but she couldn’t seem to look at anything but the car.
Dean wasn’t really surprised. But he hated the silence, the almost oppressive atmosphere that had fallen across the area. He suspected Burt had spoken with the team. Little wonder they were showing respect for Jensen and the work itself was grim, even though there was little more than mud and a lot of debris in the car.
A whole hell of a lot of water. Damn. It was still leaking from the car, even now. From inside the car, from the trunk, under the hood. Everywhere, puddling all over the floor. It was a mess he was glad he wouldn’t have to clean up.
The crime scene techs were careful and thorough, he couldn’t fault them on anything and he was watching, watching them damn close.
Jensen’s gaze kept traveling over the car and he knew she wanted to be the one searching over it, even though she had to realize the same thing he already knew.
The chances of finding much of anything were slim to none.
That car had been in the river a good long time. It had disappeared the same night her mother had and if the car had gone into the river the night she went missing …
Hell.
“It’s time to open the trunk,” Burt said, his voice echoing, too loudly, in the strained, silent air.
Burt cut Jensen a look, almost like he was asking permission.
Dean knew that wasn’t the case.
He was asking if she was ready.
She stood there, her slim fingers going up to toy with the necklace she always wore. The charm that hung from it was silver, a slim little bar, set with a ruby in the center.
Her i
ndex finger rubbed over the ruby, again and again and after almost thirty seconds had passed, she finally dragged her gaze away from the car and looked at Burt.
A single nod and then she went back to staring at the car.
Fuck this, he thought, closing the distance between them. Her left hand hung in a fist at her side now and he reached down, caught it in his.
The second he did, her hand clamped around his in a vise, her grip tight and desperate.
“Breathe,” he whispered, keeping his voice low.
“I am.”
Just barely.
But she sucked in a deeper breath and focused her gaze on the trunk, staring past the crime scene cameras, the techs, and Burt. From where they stood, they could see as Burt fought with the trunk. It didn’t want to open at first, but finally, it yielded. Water and mud gave way with a hideous sucking sound.
It might have been better if they couldn’t see at all.
The trunk, like much of the car, was flooded with mud and water and it continued to leak out.
But there was no mistaking the secrets the trunk had held inside it all these years.
Still half-buried in the mud there was a skeleton, eye sockets empty … staring.
Waiting.
* * *
“Is it Mom?”
She’d lost track of the time. Judging by how gritty her eyes were, she’d been awake going on nearly twenty-four hours. Judging by the looks on her family’s faces, they’d been awake through the night, waiting for answers. Waiting for her.
Seated in her father’s living room, Jensen stared at Chris, tried to find the words to answer that question. Tate leaned against the mantel, his face buried in his arms, hiding away from the world. And their dad stood at the window.
She couldn’t recall how many times she’d seen him standing just there.
Waiting.
And now it was time to acknowledge the truth.
Over in the corner, Dean sat quietly. He’d driven her over here and it never occurred to her to tell him to leave. Frankly, she couldn’t stand the thought of him leaving. Just looking at him calmed some of the chaos in her brain and if that chaos broke free just now, she thought maybe she’d start to scream and never stop.
His solid, quiet strength had kept her sane throughout the afternoon and right now, she was relying on his solid, quiet presence to keep her steady.
She couldn’t break down here.
She should be able to, she knew. This was her family and if she broke around anybody, it should be them. But she didn’t want to.
Swallowing, she licked her lips and blew out a breath, trying to find some semblance of control before she started to talk.
“The body is female,” she said quietly. “They won’t be able to tell much more until tests are done. But…”
Tears blurred her eyes and she tipped her head back, staring up at the ceiling until they cleared. “There were rings . Still on her hands. The—” She blew out a breath and then kept going. “The mud kept them on her all this time. I’m pretty certain they were Mom’s.” She flicked a look at Dad, saw those stooped old shoulders flinch. “I brought pictures. It would be better if Dad could give his opinion. It’s been so long…”
Chris started to sob.
Tate lifted his head and she saw the tears on his face. He crossed the room and sat down by Chris, wrapping his arm around her.
“Can I see the pictures, Jensen?” Doug asked softly.
She pulled them out of her purse, but her hands shook so badly, she couldn’t open the envelope.
Dean’s hand appeared in her line of vision. “Here, let me,” he said gently.
She nodded and pushed it into his hands.
He took the envelope to her father and showed him the pictures of each of the three rings.
And when Doug would have sank to the floor, Dean caught him. “Let’s sit down, Mr. Bell,” he said, using that same gentle, calm voice as he guided Doug over to a nearby chair.
“They’re hers,” Doug said, his voice dull. “My wife. She’s really gone.”
Chapter Six
Rain had rolled in last night.
Dean sat on the small balcony just outside his bedroom and stared across the street at Jensen’s apartment.
The lights were off.
She was home.
It had been a few days since he’d seen her, and he was trying to give her time. She seemed to want it, even if she hadn’t outright said it. He haunted his front windows, watching to see when she arrived, when she left. He felt like a stalker, kept telling himself he knew she needed time.
They’d finally discovered what had happened to their mother … no.
That wasn’t exactly correct.
They’d found her.
But they didn’t have answers.
Something bad had happened, though.
He’d noticed how she’d kept quiet about some of the more awful parts when they’d told her family. Had it really just been a few days ago? It felt like longer. Too long since he’d seen her. Touched her. But, yes, it had only been a couple of days since they’d looked at the body, since the two of them had seen up close all that remained of Nichole Bell. He knew what Jensen had kept to herself—the damage to the skull..
There was going to be an investigation—she’d told them about that, but he didn’t know if she’d gone into detail in the days since then.
For the hundredth time, he started to go over there.
For the hundredth time, he stopped himself.
Ever since he’d met her, he’d been doing this. Stops and starts, like a stupid kid with a crush, but now … fuck, now look at him. He was even more unsure of himself and if ever she needed somebody who was sure, it was now.
The question was … did she need it to be him?
Did she just need a friend?
Could he be just a friend?
Fuck that shit.
With frustration tangling inside him, he locked himself in his weight room where he couldn’t see her place. The weights, the sweat, the punishing workout wouldn’t take his mind off his troubles, but at least he wouldn’t be sitting on the porch, obsessing, like some kind of fool.
“No, you stupid jackass,” he muttered as he lay on the weight bench and did chest presses. “You’re in here obsessing.”
The ringing of the doorbell was the last thing he wanted to hear.
But it didn’t go away, even after he tried to ignore it for the next few minutes, so he headed down the hall, temper flaring.
As he passed by the entertainment center, he paused. Just as always. There was a picture of a young girl, a child. He touched a finger to her smiling face.
The ache was still there. Even now.
Closer to the surface even. Had to do with everything going on, he knew. With his temper flaring and his own grief threatening to surge out of control, he jerked the door open, ready to tear into whoever had the bad luck to stand on the other side of the door.
At the sight of Jensen, he snapped his jaw shut, swallowing back whatever he’d been about to say—and he didn’t even know what he’d been about to say.
Rain rolled down her face.
Clung to her eyelashes, her nose.
“Jensen…”
She looked lost, her eyes darker than they should be, her skin paler. Her hair hung in wet, chunky strands that clung to her cheeks and her shirt was soaked.
She’d never looked more beautiful to him.
Or more fragile.
“Jensen.”
She licked her lips. “Is … is this a bad time?”
“For you, such a thing doesn’t exist.” He caught her hands and drew her inside. It was hot outside, despite the rain, but under his hands, her skin felt like ice.
Her red T-shirt clung to her and he led her down the hall to the bathroom, grabbing a thick towel and draping it over her shoulders. “You’re soaked,” he said. Way to point out the obvious, dumbass.
“You sure I’m not bothering yo
u?” she asked, her voice low.
Bothering me? Baby, you’ve been bothering me from the first time I laid eyes on you. Although he didn’t think that was what she needed to hear. Instead, he just smiled at her. He laid a hand on her cheek, using his thumb to tilt her head back. “I was working out. I’m always happy for an excuse to get out of that.”
He reached past her and snagged another towel, using it to dry her hair.
“You seem to have some practice at this.”
He smiled. “Yeah, I got ladies coming in and out of my house all the time, just for this special service. Haven’t you noticed?”
Jensen laughed, a hiccupping little sound that caught at his heart and tugged on it—like she’d just reached inside his chest and wrapped her fist around it, pulled. As he tossed the towel over his shoulder, he realized it wasn’t just rain on her face.
Wiping the tears away, he cupped her cheeks in his hand and wished there was something, anything he could say to help.
But nobody knew better than he that words didn’t take grief away.
So instead, he dipped his head and pressed his lips to her brow.
A sob ripped out of her and her arms came around his waist.
“You go ahead and cry, baby,” he whispered, pulling her against him and guiding her head against his chest. “You just go ahead and cry.”
* * *
They were on the couch.
Jensen didn’t remember even coming over here, not really.
She had some vague memory of needing to see him, then a flash of him opening the door, being in the bathroom as he rubbed a towel over her wet hair. She’d been cold, so cold.
Then, just breaking.
It was like all the tears she’d kept pent up inside for years … years … had just come ripping out of her. Like somebody had just taken a knife and sliced her open and all that pain had to get out.
It was still there.
Even now, empty of tears, but the pain still lingered.
Her throat hurt and her head ached and her eyes were all gritty and raw.
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