by Rita Herron
She looked into his eyes and saw genuine concern which nearly brought her to tears. But Robert had been a consummate liar, had pretended to care. Even after he hurt her, he’d kiss her and soothe her with tender looks and sweet nothings.
All lies.
She pulled her hands from Griff and straightened her spine. “I took a fall into the street earlier.”
“A fall? It was an accident?”
“Of course,” she said. “It was crowded, and I was crossing the street from the café after you left and wasn’t paying attention and just tripped.”
After hearing other abused victims’ stories, she realized how lame her excuse sounded.
“That’s why you’re trembling now?” he asked. “That happened hours ago.”
Ginny knotted her hands in her lap. She had to distract him from what had happened to her. “What are you doing here, Griff?”
Disappointment tinged his sigh. “I talked to Jacob. He said you were asking questions around town about Joy.”
Ginny crossed her arms. “I did. And we’ve already discussed this. That’s my job.”
Griff cleared his throat. “Nosing around in a murder investigation is dangerous. You could get yourself killed.” His gaze shot to her hands again, and Ginny lifted her chin.
“You’re one to talk. You run into burning buildings and blazing forests for your job.”
“I do it to save lives, not for some byline,” Griff said, his voice taking on an edge.
Ginny’s temper flared. “Maybe I’m doing it for the same reason. If I expose Joy’s killer and he’s a repeat offender, I might save another woman from the same fate.”
Griff’s eyes narrowed, and she wondered if she’d said too much. But he couldn’t convince her not to finish this. Because this wasn’t just a story or a byline she was after. She did want to save lives.
Including her own.
* * *
GRIFF STUDIED A fire methodically. Examined it for the point of origin. Analyzed the type of accelerant used to fuel the blaze. Utilized forensics to prove the arsonist’s identity.
He needed to analyze Ginny in the same manner.
Obviously, logic was not working. And he’d bet his next paycheck that she hadn’t fallen.
Warning her to back off had seemed like a wise idea. But she either was just stubborn, or...this case was personal to her for some reason. Had she known Joy?
Her statement about a possible repeat offender echoed in his head and strained his patience. “What do you mean, if he’s a repeat offender? Ginny, do you know who killed Joy?”
Her mouth tightened. “No, I was talking hypothetical.”
Dammit, he didn’t believe her. But he stepped away to wrangle his temper under control. He’d frightened her earlier at her car when he’d caught her following him, and something else had frightened her afterward.
More than anything he needed to win her trust.
“You do realize that by asking about this killer, you’re drawing his attention to yourself and he might come after you?”
She winced slightly, her only reaction. “I do. But if I help catch him, it’ll be worth it.”
“Why is it worth risking your life?” he asked. “Did you know Joy?”
She shook her head although a sad look passed across her face.
“Because you think whoever strangled her killed before?”
She looked away this time and absentmindedly rubbed her finger over the scar on her wrist. A telltale sign he was right. And one that made him more curious about how she’d gotten that scar.
Concerned about her now, he lowered his voice. “Ginny, tell me what you know.” He reached for her arm to trace the burn scar with his finger, but she jerked it away and crossed the room to the window. For a moment, she stood staring outside at the rain drizzling against the windowpane and the dreary sky.
She looked pale, sad and frightened. But beautiful, like a lost child in a dark storm. The instinct to pull her in his arms pulsed through him, so strongly that he fisted his hands by his sides.
Pushing her would only make her run away.
* * *
GINNY ALMOST CAVED IN. Griff sounded so caring that for a moment, she forgot she couldn’t trust him.
His brother was a man of the law. Griff saved lives.
They wouldn’t approve of what she had planned for Robert.
But the idea of allowing him to comfort her teased at her resolve.
Even if Robert was here, he might not have anything to do with Joy’s murder. There were other possibilities. She had to find the truth.
“Please, Ginny, I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”
“I don’t need your help.”
“I think you do,” he murmured.
Maybe she was out of her league. She needed to give him an olive branch, a half-truth, because he didn’t appear to be backing off.
“All right,” she said. “Sit down and we’ll talk.” She gestured toward the wing chair in the corner while she claimed the desk chair, needing distance between them. “But this is confidential.”
His thick dark brow quirked up in response. “Go on.”
She inhaled a deep breath, planning the story in her mind. If she kept practicing, she might become as adept as Robert at bending the truth. Although her stomach knotted at that idea. She didn’t like deceiving others.
But she also detested the fact that the police had let Robert get away with murder.
“I was recently contacted by a victim who claimed a man she was dating tried to strangle her and then set her house on fire.”
Griff squared his shoulders. “She survived?”
If only she had. “Barely. She went into hiding afterward, because she was afraid he’d find her again and finish what he’d started.”
“Did she report the attack to the police?” Griff asked.
“She did, but it didn’t go well.” Ginny fought anger at the way she’d been treated when she’d first reported Robert’s abuse. “He escaped.”
“What was his name? Where is he?”
“She claims she met him on an online dating site, but when the police investigated, the photo had been taken down. Apparently, the man was savvy enough to delete his profile and wipe it from detection by the authorities.”
“What about the FBI? Cyber experts?”
“They found nothing. He probably used a fake identity and profile before, and he’s most likely created a whole new persona for himself now.”
Silence stretched between them for a tension-filled minute. “What about a sketch?” Griff finally asked. “Did she work with a police artist?”
Ginny bit her lip. “I don’t know. She didn’t give me one.”
“My brothers are different from this other cop,” Griff insisted. “They aren’t incompetent and will get the job done.”
“Maybe. But first I have to know if the cases are even connected.”
“She called you when she saw the news about Joy’s murder?” Griff said, piecing her story together.
“Yes,” Ginny said. At least that was partly true. “That’s the reason I wanted to know if Joy was strangled, if the MOs were the same. If not, I can move on somewhere else to look for this man. But if it’s the same one... Well, I want to nail him to the wall.”
Griff remained silent for another heartbeat, then heaved a breath. “All right. I’ll help, too. Ask her to send a sketch and I’ll show it around town myself. And if you’ll tell me the name the man used on his dating profile, I’ll ask Liam to look into it.”
Ginny shook her head. “I told you this is confidential, Griff. This woman trusted me, not the police. If I find out he’s the one responsible, I’ll keep you informed.”
Griff stroked her arm gently. “Ginny, if you’re right and this guy is a serial predator, he’
s dangerous and won’t have any qualms about coming after you.”
“I don’t care,” Ginny said. “I’m going to find him and make him pay for what he did to her.”
* * *
GRIFF TRIED ONE more time to convince Ginny to talk to Jacob, but she refused.
“I shared this with you in confidence. She wants to remain anonymous,” she said, her gaze daring him to argue. “I expect you to uphold that confidence.”
He debated on whether or not he could.
He’d never been a liar or a user, and he didn’t want to start now. Jacob had urged him to stick close to Ginny and see what he could learn, and he had. But now his interest was piqued in both what Ginny had relayed, and what she’d kept to herself.
That burn scar on her wrist meant she had been involved in a fire. She’d talked about an anonymous tip.
Had it been anonymous? Or someone she knew?
Or was it possible that she’d been a victim of the same man or some similar scenario?
Either way, the thought of her in danger disturbed him and roused his protective instincts.
He sat outside in his truck for a while, biding time until he went to the bar. But when Ginny hadn’t ventured out of the inn a half hour later, he decided she’d play it smart and stay tucked in for the night.
He started his engine and drove to Whistler’s Nightcap, hoping to glean more information about Joy’s love life. The parking lot was filling up, a mixture of locals and tourists coming to the mountains for hiking and camping adventures. Soon the town would heat up with spring festivals and white-water rafting. Already hikers ready to explore the Appalachian Trail were piling in, gearing up at the local outfitters, sharing meals and drinks as they planned their excursions.
Most would never complete the two-thousand-mile trek from Georgia to Maine, but even a few hundred miles of the trail was an accomplishment that warranted a pat on the back and admiration from their families and friends.
Fletch would be busy rescuing half of them when they had accidents or suffered injuries or got lost, a common problem on the endless miles of forests and trails in the wilderness.
Griff secured his phone in his pocket, tugged his jacket hood up to ward off the drizzling rain and loped inside. But he couldn’t shake the image of Ginny from his mind. She’d looked so vulnerable and small and proud. Dammit, that pride stirred his admiration, but made dread curl in his belly.
Loud country music pulsed through the crowded interior of the bar while a band rocked out on stage. The dim light helped conceal flaws for hopeless drunks on the prowl for a good-time girl for the night.
Once upon a time, he’d played that game. Joy had been part of it.
He’d learned his lesson and hadn’t engaged since. Two women at the bar, midtwenties, attractive and built, wearing skimpy outfits, gave him flirtatious looks. He shot them a half smile then walked to the opposite end and slid onto a bar stool to face the door so he’d have a view of the dance floor where couples gyrated to the music.
The bartender, a bearded, broad-shouldered gym rat named Boone, flicked his hand up in recognition, and Griff ordered an IPA. He waited until Boone brought him the beer, then motioned that he wanted to talk.
“What’s up?” Boone asked.
“You heard about Joy Norris being murdered?”
Boone nodded. “Yeah, sorry to hear it. Didn’t the two of you date for a while?”
“Very briefly,” Griff said. “But I learned she was married at the time and that was it.”
“Most of the dudes here don’t give a damn if a woman has a ring.” Boone made a low sound in his throat. “Truth is, half the women don’t either.”
A damn shame. His parents would still be married and faithful to each other if they were alive. He had a feeling Jacob and Cora, and Fletch and Jade would be the same. “Did you see Joy hanging out with anyone recently?”
Boone scratched his fingers through his beard. “She didn’t come in that much. But she was here a couple of weeks ago with some guy in a suit. That’s the reason it stuck out.” He gestured toward the casual atmosphere. “He didn’t seem to fit in.”
“Were they getting along?”
“He was all over her,” Boone said. “And seemed protective. Some other guy offered to buy her a drink, and the date turned all huffy and macho. I thought he was going to punch the poor bastard out.”
Griff’s suspicious nature surfaced. “What was the date’s name?”
Boone scrunched his face in thought, then gestured to one of the waitresses that he’d work on her drink order. “Can’t really remember. Something kind of uppity, like Winston or William.”
“Can you describe him?”
Two guys leaned on the bar and called Boone’s name. “You gonna get us a beer or talk all night?”
“Sorry, man, customers are waiting.” Boone tossed the towel over his shoulder, picked up a mug and began to fill it from the tap.
“Just a quick description,” Griff said.
“Tall, dressed well, sandy blond hair. Real intense guy. Not a body builder or anything but strong looking. He had these beady eyes. Kind of dude you wouldn’t want to mess with.”
The waitress appeared for the beer, and Boone hurried to take care of the guys who were calling his name again.
Griff stewed over the information as he studied the crowd in case the man Boone described was in the room.
But someone else caught his eye. A woman with ivory skin and soft black hair who’d just come in the door.
Ginny.
Dammit to hell, what was she doing here?
Chapter Eight
Ginny had not been on a date since her experience with Robert. Not that this was a real date, but she had to pretend.
Nerves tightened her shoulder blades as she surveyed the interior of the bar. The country music and relaxed decor didn’t fit with Robert. Typically, he preferred more upscale places although Whistler wasn’t exactly big-city living so the choices were limited. And it was possible he was trying to keep a low profile to avoid detection.
She headed toward the right to the adjoining dining area where the music volume was lower as were the lights, creating a more intimate atmosphere. White tablecloths, each adorned with a vase of a single rose, added a hint of romance.
Her stomach churned. Robert would choose the more intimate side.
The hostess for the restaurant side was a tall blonde who wore a simple black dress with glittery jewelry. Robert’s type. Although he had told her he had a thing for redheads.
She requested a table facing the door, and the hostess escorted her to a small table in a dimly lit section.
Clutching her purse, which held her .22, in her lap, she seated herself so she could see anyone who entered or left.
Karl Cross said he’d be wearing a navy sport coat and khakis, a little underdressed for Robert, but it might be his attempt to fit into the town and not draw suspicion to himself.
She ordered water and a glass of white wine although she left the wine untouched. Didn’t want alcohol interfering with her reflexes if she needed to defend herself. She sipped her water and waited, surprised at the number of single women crowding into the bar area.
She had never been a fan of the bar scene, had always thought it dangerous. The online dating site had been just as bad. The attractive profiles could easily sway a woman into believing she’d met her Prince Charming, yet in reality the person behind the face on-screen might be an amphibian beneath the facade.
A man with silver-tipped dark hair entered, then a cowboy in a Stetson. The cowboy headed toward the bar while the other man paused and looked around, then turned to the dining area. He was wearing a dark sport coat. She tensed as he scanned the room.
Not Robert. Was he Karl Cross?
She took another sip of water as he started to cross the room, b
ut he bypassed her table and joined a middle-aged woman at the table near her. She was so busy watching the couple kiss that she didn’t notice another man approaching until she felt his presence beside her table. A shadow moved into her vision, and she looked up, her chest clenching.
He was tall, dark haired, medium build, nice looking.
But he wasn’t Robert.
He offered her a cocky smile. “June?”
“That’s me,” she said, itching to leave already. Although if Robert hadn’t killed Joy, she could have met another predator online. This could be him.
He slid into the chair and raked his gaze over her. Her first instinct was to jut her chin up in challenge, but she was supposed to be quiet, shy, bookish June so refrained.
“A pleasure to meet you,” he said. “You have an interesting profile.”
She gave him a shy smile. “So do you. Do you live in Whistler?”
He shook his head. “I have a cabin in the mountains nearby, so I come here for relaxation between business trips.”
“Do you travel a lot?”
The waitress appeared and he ordered a whiskey. “Just in the States, wherever the deals are to be made,” he said as the waitress left.
“What kinds of deals?”
“Oh, a little of this and that.”
Her distrust rose. He was being evasive. “Where’s your home base?” Ginny asked.
“Charlotte. What about you?” he asked.
“I’m here visiting family, my grandmother,” she said ad-libbing. Better he think she had someone who would miss her if she disappeared unexpectedly.
They made small talk for another few minutes, then she decided to broach the real reason she’d met him. “You don’t look like you’d have trouble meeting women,” she said. “Do you engage in a lot of online dating?”
He chuckled. “I don’t have trouble,” he said. “But I’m looking for a specific type.”
Her skin prickled. “And what type is that?”
A flicker of interest sparked in his eyes. “Someone quiet. Humble. Women these days are flashy and forward. They don’t appreciate a man taking care of them.”