Maybe
“What has got you so smiley?” Kimber asked.
“I’ve been texting Dylan.”
“Really?”
“Oh, yes,” she replied before realizing how goofy she sounded. When Kimber gave her a look, Shannon attempted to sound like a grown woman instead of a love-struck teenager. “Dylan has been worried about Jennifer. I’ve been reassuring him.”
“I bet.”
Okay, so she wasn’t fooling either herself or her sister. But that didn’t really matter. She was having fun. When her phone buzzed again, signaling another incoming text, she said, “I’m ready when you are.”
“Give me ten and I’ll meet you at the door.”
“Perfect.” The minute Kimber left the room, Shannon looked at her screen again.
Stay out of my bedroom, Shannon Murphy.
I will! I was just teasing.
You know the only time I want you to see it is when I’m with you.
And . . . they had just ventured into new territory.
Feeling her cheeks burn, she let her finger hover over the screen, then wrote him back.
Don’t worry about Jennifer. We’ll look after her.
She breathed a sigh of relief when he didn’t say a word about that.
* * *
Thirty minutes later, a breathless Jennifer met them at her door. “I’m so sorry. I’m not quite ready.”
“Don’t apologize. We’re in no hurry,” Kimber said.
“Come on in. I won’t be more than five more minutes.”
“Even if it’s ten, that’s fine. Take your time,” Shannon replied. Actually, she was looking forward to seeing where Dylan lived. The minute they were alone, Shannon exchanged a look with Kimber. The interior of the house was so different than what she’d envisioned.
Shannon realized she’d been expecting something kind of bare, or maybe even more of a basic guy’s place, with everything decorated in “bachelor”—old leather furniture and a giant television mounted on the wall.
Instead, it was a modern showplace. All the furniture was dark wood or metal. The walls were white and the floors were either covered in thick planks of dark wood or creamy carpet.
“Whoa,” Kimber murmured as she walked into the living room, obviously focusing on the stone fireplace on the far wall. It was a gas fireplace and it was so tempting to flip a switch and sink into one of the beige suede couches arranged in front of it. “This place is gorgeous. Are you starting to get the feeling that we just walked into a photo spread for Architectural Digest magazine?”
Shannon had never thumbed through the pages of Architectural Digest in her life, but it sounded fancy enough to do this room justice. “I’m not sure about that, but I sure am impressed. Boy, I bet Jennifer thought my bedroom was really shabby.”
“Let’s go look at the kitchen.”
Sure enough, it didn’t disappoint. The floor was red brick and the appliances were stainless steel. There were black granite countertops and a wide butcher block–topped island. “Wow,” Shannon murmured as she ran a hand along the smooth, cool countertop. “I’d even try to cook in a kitchen like this.”
Kimber chuckled. “Jennifer would probably beg us not to touch even one of those fancy pots hanging from the ceiling.”
Kimber was right. Those pots and pans didn’t look cheap. “No doubt.” She sat down on one of the black leather stools next to the island. “I wonder what Jennifer makes every night.”
Kimber sat down next to her. “I don’t think I want to know. I’d just be jealous and hungrier than I already am.”
“Hello?” Jennifer called out.
“We’re in here,” Shannon said as she jumped to her feet.
When Jennifer joined them again, she had on thick black leggings, high leather boots, and a dark-gray tunic-length turtleneck sweater. Her hair was pulled into a complicated knot at the back of her neck. She also had on red lipstick and her glasses, which Shannon thought looked really cute on her.
“Wow, look at you,” Shannon said. “You look amazing.”
“I doubt that. I’m just hoping that I don’t look like I need a long shower and a four-hour nap.”
“Jack won’t be thinking that at all,” Kimber said. “Your glasses are cool, girl.”
Jennifer grinned. “Thanks. I couldn’t bear to put my contacts back in.”
Kimber was still sitting on her barstool. “So, we were just sitting here, admiring your beautiful house.”
“Thanks, but most of the credit goes to my brother. He’s a pretty handy guy and did a lot of the work on this place himself. All I did was upgrade his kitchen a little bit.”
“It’s amazing,” Kimber said.
“So, are you ready?” Shannon asked.
“Yep . . . if you’re sure you don’t have anything better to do?”
“We’re sure. Stop worrying.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Jennifer teased as she locked her front door and followed them to Shannon’s car. Just as they we’re getting in, she said, “So, I got the strangest call from my brother.”
“Oh? What did he say?”
“He told me not to bring you into his bedroom, Shannon. Do you have any idea why he would have told me such a thing?”
“I was teasing him about Kimber and me seeing his laundry on the floor,” she said as they got in the car.
“Ah.”
Behind her, Shannon could hear Kimber trying not to laugh.
As she drove down the street, Jennifer was grinning. “I’m beginning to think there’s more to that conversation than I want to know.”
“You would be right about that.”
They talked about books and cookbooks and the conditions of the snowy roads and how all of them were impressed with Traci’s job.
“You three are all so different,” Jennifer said.
“We are, but as we’re getting to know each other better, we’ve started to realize that we’re not as different as each of us thought,” Kimber said. “For example, I’m no cop, but I am scrappy.”
“You? You probably weigh a hundred and ten pounds wet.”
“That has nothing to do with it. I grew up in New York City. I’m scrappy as all get-out.”
Shannon rolled her eyes. “Way to sound like a country girl with a New York accent, Kimber.”
“My point is that I’m awesome to have in a fight. I don’t back down.”
Jennifer, who’d been turned around to face Kimber, looked like a believer. “Good to know. So, um, how are you like your sisters, Shannon?” she asked.
Shannon had to think about that. Suddenly, it came to her. She wasn’t exactly scrappy, but she did have something they had in spades. “I’m as stubborn as they are. When I want something, I dig my heels in.”
“She’s loyal, too,” Kimber said. “If not for Shannon’s prodding and pushing and telling me and Traci that she loved us all the time, I doubt we’d have moved here.”
“That’s so sweet,” Jennifer said.
“It was. Shannon Murphy is a tiny thing with a big heart.”
“We all have big hearts, Kimber,” Shannon retorted. “We might each express ourselves differently, but I think we’re more the same than we are different.”
Kimber nodded. “You know what, I’m starting to think you’re right about that.”
Shannon let that thought settle in as she continued the drive. The snowstorm yesterday had cleared, and while it wasn’t exactly blue skies, it was clear.
“Y’all, I’m really glad we did this. Maybe we could get lunch or something when we’re done.”
“I’m in,” Kimber said.
Jennifer nodded. “Me, too.”
Ten minutes later she parked in the lot just to the south of the shop. Just as she was buttoning up her coat, she received a new text fro
m Dylan.
If you wait, I can rearrange my schedule and go with.
No need. We’re already here.
His response was quick and to the point.
Jen okay?
She’s fine. Stop worrying. We’re at the bookstore, not cruising back alleys in downtown Cincy.
Ha-ha. Call if you need something.
She didn’t know a lot, but she absolutely knew Jennifer wasn’t going to want her brother around when she saw this mysterious Jack again.
I will. bye.
“Shannon, get off your phone!” Kimber said.
“I’m trying,” she said as her phone buzzed yet again.
Wait.
This was almost too much fun.
Sorry. Can’t. We’re here and the girls are mad I’m texting so much.
When her phone started ringing, she glanced to make sure it was Dylan. When she realized it actually was, she promptly ignored it. She was beginning to think that this little trip with Jennifer was also good for Dylan and her.
“Did he finally decide to leave you alone?” Jennifer asked.
“Yes. He’s really protective of you.”
“He is, but I don’t think I’m the only reason that he’s been texting you.”
“Maybe not, I don’t know.” Suddenly realizing that she might have overstepped herself, she said, “Hey, I wasn’t even thinking. Would you like him to stop by? I can call him and ask him to join us after all.”
“No. No, don’t do that.” Jennifer kind of wrinkled her nose. “This is good for me.”
“You sure?”
“It might even be good for both of us, if you want to know the truth. I’ve gotten too used to being afraid of everything and Dylan’s gotten too used to taking care of everything for me. I decided the other night that no matter what happens, I need to move forward.”
“For what it’s worth, I’m really impressed,” Shannon said, and she was.
“Don’t be. We’ve all got something, right?”
“I suppose,” she said as they started walking toward the bookstore’s entrance. When they neared the door, she noticed that Jennifer seemed more tense. “You okay?”
“I’m fine.”
Shannon exchanged looks with Kimber. Jennifer wasn’t fine at all, but if she wanted to play it that way, she supposed she could go with it. That decision made, the three of them entered the shop, ready for anything.
CHAPTER 21
“Life may not be the party we hoped for, but while we’re here we may as well dance.”
—Jeanne C. Stein
“So, what do you know about these guys?” Traci asked Dylan. They were sitting at their desks in the main room at the precinct, which faced each other. They’d just finished their first meeting and got the latest reports and ongoing investigations from the lieutenant.
While two other officers went out to do patrol, Dylan had gotten permission to make some calls about the letter Jennifer received.
Now, thinking about Traci’s question, he struggled to keep his composure. There was a deep part of him that just about lost it every time he even thought about the two guys who were convicted and sentenced for attacking Jennifer.
“One guy was a thug. He had a list of petty crimes and warnings, and by the time he attacked my sister he’d served a year for a class-two burglary. The other one? He was part of a third-rate motorcycle gang and high on some crap. When we dug deeper, we uncovered a charge against him for sexual assault that had later been dropped.”
“So they were scum.”
Dylan didn’t even bother responding. As far as he was concerned, they were worse than that. It was difficult, but he continued. “Their DNA was on her. After we tracked them down and picked them up, things went relatively smoothly. They got sentenced to five to ten.”
“It’s only been two years, though, right?”
“Yeah. Two years and change. They’re still inside. I texted a buddy of mine late last night just to make sure.”
“So . . .”
“There was a third guy.”
“And he’s who we’re worried about.”
“Yep. It’s in the report, but Jennifer—whenever she does talk about it, which is pretty much never—doesn’t usually mention him.”
“Why not?”
“I guess he was just lurking and keeping watch. He was there but didn’t put his hands on Jen. Not that she remembers, anyway.” With effort, he tried to pull the emotion out of the explanation. “He was acting as their lookout.”
She frowned. “I’m trying really hard not to say anything to make you angrier.”
“I promise that’s not possible. Anyway, this guy, this Lance, was only sixteen and looked like he was about thirteen when the DA was making his case. Since he hadn’t actually touched Jennifer, he wasn’t given much more than a slap on his hand—just a couple of months in juvie. I think that’s who has been following my sister around.”
“What do you want to do?”
He grimaced, hating that in order to be the man he needed to be he couldn’t do what he ached to do, which was to find the guy and beat the crap out of him. “Let’s go for a drive and see what we can find out.”
“I’m game. Where do you have in mind?”
“It just so happens that Lance’s parents live in Bridgeport.”
She smiled as she held up the day’s reports, signifying things they should be looking for. “That suits me. We’ll take a visit, and while we’re at it, I’ll keep an eye out for anything on the lieutenant’s list.”
“Sounds like a plan.”
Fifteen minutes later they were on their way. Traci was driving and Dylan was riding shotgun. She’d raised her eyebrows when he asked if she wanted to drive, but honestly, he wasn’t one of those guys who insisted on always being behind the wheel. Today, especially, his mind was so full of details and memories that he was afraid he wouldn’t have the reflexes he would need if they came across something.
Instead, he looked out the window, reported their destination to the dispatcher, and gave Traci the directions.
She pulled in front of a nondescript house in the heart of one of the largest subdivisions in town. “This is it?”
“Yep.” He unbuckled his seat belt and took a deep breath. He needed to control himself and keep it together. He needed to remind himself that Lance having been the one to leave the note was only a hunch. It was a good one, but it wasn’t based on evidence or facts.
Traci had unbuckled but was still staring up the house. “I’m just going to say it. This place surprises me.”
“Why? Did you expect us to pull into a run-down trailer park or something?”
She shrugged. “Maybe. Probably.”
He gave her a sideways look. “What’s on your mind, Lucky? Maybe that it looks like the house you grew up in?”
“Uh, no.” She glanced at him and quirked a brow. “You know I didn’t grow up in a place half as nice as this, right?”
“I don’t know much about you besides your service record, and that you didn’t know about your sisters until recently.”
“The three of us were separated when we were real young. Shannon and I were toddlers and Kimber was just a newborn.”
“Separated by whom?”
“By the adoption agency, I guess. Back then, I guess they didn’t think there was anything wrong with separating siblings.”
“I know Shannon grew up in a small town in West Virginia.”
“She did.” Looking straight ahead, Traci added. “Kimber was adopted by a couple up in New York. I was never adopted. I grew up in a group home in Cleveland.”
He knew enough that he was able to read between the lines. “That sucks.”
‘Yeah.” She shook her head. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to run us down memory lane. Let’s go pay a visit t
o Mr. and Mrs. . . . ?”
“Wengard.”
She nodded and then got out and slipped her cell phone into a pocket. He did the same and led the way up the walkway, looking around the yard as he did.
Everything seemed quiet. Not abandoned, but definitely not a lot of life. Two lights shone through the windows. One on the bottom floor in what looked like the living room. One upstairs in what was probably a bedroom. Those were sure signs that they were out of town.
Still . . . he could be wrong.
He knocked. Listened for movement. When he didn’t hear anything, he knocked again.
After another minute went by, Traci looked his way. “Seems pretty quiet.”
“Yeah. I was thinking the same thing.”
“I’m going to take a walk around the back.”
He nodded, stepping back to see what the neighbors were doing. The woman to the right looked to be watching television. The house on the other side looked quiet, but from the looks of the sports equipment on the lawn and in the driveway, it was a foregone conclusion that the kids were at school and their parents were at work.
Traci came back. “Nothing to see back there. Blinds were down. Porch needs shoveling.”
“I looked at the neighbors’ houses. Nothing much to see there, either. I’m guessing everyone’s at school and work.
“Want to do you want to do?”
That simple question meant a lot to him. Even though Traci likely had plenty of her own reports to type up and other work to do, she was willing to put it aside for his needs. Here she was, pretty much telling him that she’d sit and stake out the property, knock on doors, do whatever he wanted. That kind of generosity in a department was rare.
He didn’t want to take advantage of it, especially since they were only visiting the Wengard’s place on a hunch. “Come on. Let’s move on.”
“All right . . . Do you want to drive now?”
“Nah. You go ahead.”
She smiled at him, obviously pleased about that. “How about we visit a couple of parks?”
He laughed. “Sure.” He was partial to visiting the public areas around Bridgeport a couple times a week. If a teenager was in trouble, he or she might be hanging around there. Sometimes he might even find an older person walking or sitting by themselves. He liked taking a minute to talk to folks. It was good small-town police work. Bridgeport officers were a part of the community, and the citizens appreciated them.
Shall We Dance? Page 13