by Mary Burton
She took her seat and rested her purse in her lap as he moved behind her and closed his door with a soft click. The exit now blocked, the room shrunk. Her feet tapped nervously on the floor.
He paused behind her, and she could feel him staring. Instead of sitting behind his desk as she’d hoped, he took the seat in the chair beside her. He settled back as if he didn’t have another worry in the world other than her.
“So you heard a news story?”
She steadied her feet, pretty sure Bragg, like most in law enforcement, could read body language. He’d no doubt guessed she was nervous, but she hoped he’d not read her as just shy of terrified. “I think I might have overreacted.”
He threaded his fingers together and rested them on his flat belly. “You’ve come all this way. Why don’t you run it past me and let me decide.”
Dark eyes bore into her. Was this what it felt like to stare into a gun barrel? “Like I said I heard the story about a woman who froze to death in East Austin.”
The faintest hint of tension tightened his shoulders. “And you said you knew someone who’d nearly died like that before.”
“It all made sense earlier, but now it feels like a stretch.”
“You ever contacted the police before about a death you read about in the paper?”
“No.” She fiddled with the bracelets on her wrist and the action caught his attention, making her stop. If he’d read her file, he’d know about the scars. She wanted to explain about the scars, explain about that regretful moment, as if needing him to understand she was not that person anymore.
Slowly he raised his gaze from her bracelets and wrists. “Then why are you here?”
She folded her hands in her lap. “You know my past pretty well.”
He didn’t speak, but the certainty in his gaze confirmed what she’d said.
“You know about the accident and my suicide attempt.”
The mention of suicide deepened his frown. “Yes.”
She’d never spoken to anyone outside of camp about the past except Lydia. “And I went to a camp for kids like me. Kids who’d tried to hurt themselves. It was called Shady Grove.”
He watched her closely, not missing a word or microexpression. Her gut tightened. Is this what prey experienced when caught in a hunter’s sights?
“Rory was there. There was also a girl there who’d tried to freeze herself to death.”
He leaned forward a fraction, and she was aware of a hint of that same soap mingling with his scent.
“We all had to talk about what we’d done as therapy. We were arranged in pods, and Rory and this other girl were in my pod. When she told her story she said she’d been waiting for the temperature to drop while she and her family were on vacation in Colorado. When the temperature dipped below zero, she snuck out in the middle of the night wearing sheer pajamas. No coat or shoes. She wanted to lie down in the snow and let the cold take her.”
“Why did she do this?”
“She’d had a boyfriend, and they were in love.” She couldn’t keep the cynicism from her voice. “Long story short she got pregnant. The boyfriend refused to see her, and the idea of telling her parents terrified her. They’d be furious. So she had an abortion, but she wasn’t counting on complications or her mother finding out. Her mother was furious. Called her all kinds of names. She said their relationship was never going to be the same again, and she went into the snow to die.”
“Who found her?”
“Ski patrol from what she said. They rushed her to a hospital barely in time to save her. Her parents were mortified. They sent her to Shady Grove to be fixed, in a manner of speaking.”
“Did the clinic help her?” The deep timbre of Bragg’s voice had her relaxing and lowering her guard.
“I think they did. She’d been at the clinic months when I arrived. She jokingly called herself ‘the official greeting committee.’ And she was a help to some of the other kids who were having a rough time. Hearing her story gave me courage to tell mine.”
“And when did she leave?”
“Days before me.”
“Do you remember her name?”
“Not all of the kids used real names. We called her Joan.”
“Joan.” He frowned. “What did she look like?”
“Tall. Blond. Freckles. Pretty smile.”
“That could be half of Austin.”
Greer shrugged, knowing he was right. “I do remember when they took her to the hospital she was in bad shape. The doctors salvaged the fingers on her right hand, but I know she lost toes on her left foot. She usually wore shoes, but I saw her coming out of the showers one day and saw the scars. The wound was still raw.” Given the same circumstance today, she’d never have done what she did next. “I asked her to show her foot at circle time.”
“Circle time?”
“Every night at seven we gathered around a fire and talked about our feelings. It could get pretty emotional sometimes.”
“Okay.”
“Color rushed Joan’s face, and I knew she was embarrassed. But she took off her shoe. I could see the deformity disgusted Rory.”
He stared at her, not speaking but not missing one word, or one inflection in her voice.
“I knew I hurt her feelings and even then I felt bad. I’d used our oath of honesty against her.” She shrugged. “Kids can be cruel.”
His brow knotted and for a moment he was silent. “Why’d you do it?”
She frowned, remembering the slight widening of Joan’s eyes and her pooling tears. “I was trying to punish her.”
“Why?”
“She was dating Rory, and I wanted him. The night before I’d seen her with him. I’d been jealous and angry. I wanted to make her feel bad. Wanted him to see I was the better choice. Anyway, she told the group she’d lost her toes to frostbite. It was a reminder every day to her how lucky she was.”
“Lucky?”
“Toes, she’d said, were a small price for a life.”
“Do you think she meant it?”
“She sounded convincing. I felt like a real creep for asking.”
“I’m assuming you saw her kissing Rory.”
“They were kissing, but Rory never made me any promises. And she’d wanted him before I’d even arrived at camp.”
“Did she say anything else?”
“No. We weren’t really close. And with me pining for Rory, it didn’t make sense we’d end up friends.”
“When did Joan leave camp?”
“A couple of days after Rory. After he left she didn’t want to stay anymore.”
Bragg threaded his fingers together again, studying her.
She curled her fingers into fists and then relaxed them. She’d said her piece. “This information might not have to do with your case, but like I said the news story caught my attention and I needed to mention it. I could have missed the mark altogether but now you know.”
In no rush to stand or end this interview, he studied her. She didn’t budge or fidget as she waited for him to comment.
Finally, he rose and reached for a file on his desk. “Look at this picture. It’s of the woman we found frozen to death. Could she be Joan?”
She moistened her lips. “That was twelve years ago.”
“People don’t change that much.”
Maybe not on the outside. She rose. “Sure.”
He held up the color headshot of the woman. Eyes closed and slack-jawed, her blond hair was brushed off a pale face peppered with dark blotches. The woman was indeed older, but there was no mistaking.
“That’s Joan.”
“You’re sure?”
“I don’t remember the discoloring on her face but the shape of her jaw and the slant of her eyes is Joan’s. Yes. I’m sure.”
“The discoloration is part of the decomposition process.”
“Oh.” She lifted her gaze from the image to his face.
He tucked the picture inside the folder and placed it back on his de
sk. He hitched his hip on the edge of the desk and folded his arms over his chest. “When is the last time you saw her?”
“Twelve years ago.”
“You’re sure this is Joan?”
“Ranger Bragg, I’ve not seen a lot of people outside of the vineyard workers in the last decade. I’d have known if I’d seen her.”
“Did she and Rory have any contact over the years?”
“I don’t know.”
“Would she have cared enough to find and kill him?”
Her stomach dropped. “Why do you say that?”
“He couldn’t have killed himself alone, but she could have killed herself without help. Murder and suicide happen.”
“I can’t imagine why she’d care after all this time.”
He was silent for a moment. “Her real name wasn’t Joan. It was Sara Wentworth.”
“I know the name. My mother knows the Wentworths. They made a fortune in real estate.”
“You ever have dealings with the family?”
“No. Though my aunt may have when she tried to sell farmland a couple of years ago.”
“To Louis?”
“Yes. It’s adjacent to the vineyard. Good land. Drains well, no trees, and lots of sun. Great for growing grapes.”
“Why sell?”
“We’d had a bad summer and the crop didn’t come in well plus Lydia’s medical bills were mounting. We agreed to sell the land to pay bills.”
“How’s Louis doing with his new purchase?”
“He’s built a house that’s stunning but only just shifted his focus to planting vines. I hear he had surveyors out there and plans to break ground in the fall. Still, it will be several years before he has grapes.”
“Were you disappointed to see the land go?”
“What does that land have to do with anything?”
His gaze darkened, and she sensed a veil dropping. This Ranger played his cards close to his vest. “Just asking. Were you disappointed?”
“As a matter of fact, I remember being relieved. We had enough on our plate at the vineyard, especially with Lydia getting sick.”
“How’d you get the money for the tasting room and the winery?”
“When I turned twenty-five, I was able to cash in my trust fund. We invested all of it in the buildings.”
He digested the information. “So now you have everything tied up in Bonneville.”
“That’s exactly right. If it goes under, I lose it all.” She’d said what she’d come to say. “I’ve overstayed my welcome. If you need anything else, let me know.”
He didn’t move, again in no rush to end the interview. “Who else were your friends at Shady Grove?”
“I don’t remember them all, but in our pod it was Rory, Joan, Sam, and Robin. I don’t know who used real names and who didn’t.”
“You and Rory used your real names.”
“At the time I didn’t think to make up a new name. My face had been plastered all over the news and everyone knew me at that point.” Hands sweating, she rubbed them over her jeans. “After I left I decided to break with the past and take my middle name. I wanted a clean start.”
“Understandable.”
“Rory used his real name because he wanted to embarrass his family. I think that’s why they were freaked out about my letters. The return address was Shady Grove.”
He straightened. “What about the other two people in your pod?”
“Sam and Robin.”
“Know anything about them?”
She hesitated. “Only what they said about themselves at camp.”
“What did they say?”
“We’d all promised we’d never tell on each other.”
He shook his head. “This is not the time for secrets, Greer.”
“We promised we’d never talk, and until now I’ve kept that secret.”
His gaze burrowed into her. “How did they try to kill themselves?”
On the defensive now, she rose. “Why do you need to know?”
He remained still. “Someone knew about Sara and Rory.”
“You just said you think she might have done it.”
“That’s one theory I’ve yet to prove. There could be someone else out there who wanted all of you dead.”
A crease furrowed her brow. “I can’t say.”
“Why did they try to kill themselves?”
“I can’t say.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
She fisted her fingers. “I won’t. I can’t. Not yet. I swore I’d never tell.”
His gaze grew so fierce it took her breath away. “There could be someone tracking you and the others.”
She shook her head. “And this could be about Sara and Rory. Until you know otherwise, I won’t say.”
Sara was dead, beyond hurt and pain, but the other two had lives and to dredge up the past would be cruel. She had no way of finding Sam, but Robin might be reachable. If she could track her, she could give her a heads-up. A warning. And then she’d send Robin to the Ranger.
A tightening in his jaw questioned her honesty, but after a long moment he said, “Thanks for coming in. You gave me a piece of the puzzle I didn’t have.”
“Sure.”
He walked her to the elevator and when the doors opened stepped inside with her. A long tanned finger pressed the lobby button and she found her gaze drawn to the watch on his wrist. His hands were those of a working man, lean and callused. When she’d been younger she’d never liked calluses. She’d loved the feel of Rory’s smooth hands over her skin.
But as she’d begun working in the fields and building emotional and physical strength, she’d come to admire hands like his. They spoke of hard work and dedication.
She thought about Bragg’s hands, not Rory’s, on her skin now. Touching her fingertips and sliding up her arm, making her forget the past. It had been a long time since a man had touched her, and she wondered how she’d react if Bragg did. Would she pull away or lean into his touch?
Her breathing grew shallow as tightness warmed her belly. If she’d had the courage to ask him to kiss her, she wasn’t sure what he’d say about reinitiating a naïve woman into the world of sex.
The doors opened. When she stepped into the lobby and away from him, sadness trailed her.
“You will be at the vineyard?” he said.
An order poised as a question. “I’m a fixture there.”
Bragg offered a nod and without another word she left, grateful to venture back into the heat and away from him and the troubling emotions chasing her.
Chapter Thirteen
Thursday, June 5, 4 P.M.
Bragg watched Greer drive away, not turning from the window until her truck vanished around the corner. It wasn’t lost on him she’d come to him with this information. She could have gone to the local police and avoided him altogether. But she hadn’t. She’d chosen him.
And yet, he had the sense she was holding back. Was she burdened with misplaced loyalty to an old friend or manipulating him? She knew both Rory and Sara had tried to commit suicide and the reasons behind the attempts. She wouldn’t be the first killer who’d pretended to help police.
He found his way back upstairs to Winchester’s office. On the phone, Winchester nodded for Bragg to enter as he scribbled details on a pad.
Plagued by restlessness, Bragg remained standing and did his best not to pace. His mind returned to his conversation with Greer and began to analyze it as if it had been a crime scene. He hated thinking of her as a killer, not only for Mitch’s sake, but his own.
When Winchester hung up, he rose, stretching the tight muscles of his back. “What do you have?”
Bragg never chatted idly and only stopped by to discuss business. “Just had a visit from Greer Templeton.”
“Really? Why’d she come into town?”
“She read about the woman that froze to death in the paper. She knew the woman. The victim, Rory, and Greer were all in the same camp for troubl
ed teens.”
Winchester set his jaw. “Sara Wentworth’s parents said she never had any emotional problems.”
Awry smile lifted the edge of Bragg’s mouth. “They wouldn’t be the first people to lie to a Ranger.”
Winchester rested his hands on his hips. “They strike me as folks who put a lot of stock in appearance. A troubled daughter wouldn’t have done much for them in their social circles.”
Bragg rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. He thought about his own reluctance to take Mitch to counseling because he’d worried for the boy’s reputation. If Mitch had killed himself, would he have kept the boy’s past hidden out of loyalty? “They’ll have lawyered up by now. It’ll be tough getting any more information out of them.”
“I feel for them, but if they’re lying I don’t mind squeezing.”
“Neither do I. But they’ve been hiding secrets for over a decade. They’re not likely to give ’em up easily.”
“Even to catch their daughter’s killer?”
“Maybe they’re worried that it was suicide. That she killed Rory and then herself.”
“So did Greer have anything more to say?” Winchester asked.
He summoned images of Greer’s face as she’d met his gaze and told her story. Regardless of her motives, she had backbone. Not many men faced him as she’d done today. “Greer said Sara, who called herself Joan at camp, had a crush on Rory at the camp.”
“You believe her?”
He really wanted to believe Greer. And that insight surprised and concerned him. “At this point no reason not to believe her.”
Winchester arched a brow. “Mighty convenient Greer connected two dots for us so neatly.”
“Could it be as simple as Sara killing Rory and then herself?”
“Sometimes the answer is simple and easy. Sometimes a case comes together. But it’s not happened often enough for me to expect it or trust it.”
“Meaning?” Bragg challenged.
“Greer’s making a play to reenter the world. She’s made a big financial bet with her vineyard, and she knows any bad press would endanger that.”
Bragg, the man, didn’t like Winchester’s thinking. Bragg, the Ranger, recognized the logic. “Greer had all her dirt dragged through the media a dozen years ago.”