You're Not Safe

by Mary Burton

  Her voice had a rusty, whiskey quality giving this wholesome farm girl a seductiveness enjoyed by older more sophisticated women.

  Elizabeth Templeton.

  She was a far cry from the girl in the old image or the pictures Rory had taken. The last dozen years had thinned her frame and face, adding maturity and an appealing naturalness. But Rory’s images had gotten her all wrong. What he’d taken for as anger and bitterness in the photos, in person, appeared to be a fascinating intensity. He suspected this woman did no job halfway.

  “I’m with the Texas Rangers.”

  Elizabeth cocked her head, studying him closely, as if sensing this place wasn’t his kind of place. However, even as her gaze catalogued his large frame and the scar on his face she showed no fear. “How can I help you?”

  He managed a smile. “You Elizabeth Templeton?”

  Mention of her name triggered waves of tension that straightened her spine and narrowed her eyes. Hesitation flickered as if she seemed to toy with a lie. “That’s right. But I go by my middle name now. Greer.”

  Elizabeth Greer Templeton. Greer. The woman who’d offered his boy a job. “Sergeant Tec Bragg.”

  She took an involuntary step back before stopping. “Bragg. You’re kin to Mitch Bragg?”

  He nodded. “He’s my nephew.”

  She drew in a breath as if bracing. “What can I do for you?”

  “I hear you’ve offered Mitch a job.”

  “I have.”

  “Doing what?”

  She held his gaze and took a step toward him. “General farmhand.”

  “He doesn’t have experience as a farmhand.”

  Her lips flattened. “He already told me.”

  “Then why hire him?”

  A line furrowed her brow. “Did he send you up here? Is he not coming today?”

  “As of last night he was planning to be here.”

  She nodded, as if understanding flickered. “And you’ve come to check the place out.”

  “Not the place. You.”

  Her eyes sharpened. “You did a search on the vineyard, my name popped up, and you did a search on me and the alarm bells went off.”

  “Why would they?”

  Her sigh sounded weary. “You came looking for Elizabeth. I’ve not used that name in twelve years, so let’s not pretend. I’ve a full day ahead of me and don’t have time for games. Ask direct questions, then I’ll answer them. You don’t want your nephew working for me then have a conversation with him. But from where I stand, Mitch is twenty-one, a man who can take care of himself, and doesn’t need his uncle running interference.”

  Temper scraped along his insides. “How did you find Mitch?”

  “I found him. If you want more details, talk to him.”

  “Not good enough.”

  Fire sparked in her blue gaze. “Well, it’s going to have to be because I don’t have to share my reasons with you or anyone. I offered him a job, he took it, end of story.”

  “Dr. Stewart arrange this?” He tossed out the doctor’s name searching for a reaction.

  Mention of the man’s name triggered flickers of recognition in her gaze. “Ask him your questions. Again, my reasons are my own and none of your business. Now, if you will excuse me, Ranger Bragg, I’m expecting a delivery any minute.”

  He tapped an impatient finger against his gun belt as he struggled with his words. His temper prowled inside him like a mountain lion anxious to be unleashed. “Mitch has had it rough.”

  Taut muscles in her jaw softened a fraction. “I know.”

  “Watch your step with my boy.” He wrapped the words in threat and menace.

  Her shoulders stiffened as if he’d insulted her. “If that’s all you got, I’ve work waiting.”

  Her annoyance didn’t deter him. In fact, it drew him. “Got one more question for you, Ms. Templeton.”

  She glared at him now, a brow arched and a hand on her hip. “Shoot.”

  He studied her expression closely. “I investigated a murder bordering your land yesterday.”

  A hint of remorse darkened her gaze. “I heard about that. Some fellow hanged himself.” And then as if to head off his next question, “A cruiser came by yesterday and spoke to my farm manager while I was in town. I’m supposed to call him back but haven’t gotten to it.”

  “You hear anything else?”

  “No. I don’t have time for gossip and news. So if you’re here to ask me about the dead person, I’m afraid I can’t do much for you. I spend most of my days here working. I don’t venture out much.”

  And yet you’d made your way into town yesterday to talk to my boy. “I think you might know the victim.”

  “Could be, but I only know a handful of people in the area.”

  He studied her face closely. “The victim’s name was Rory Edwards.”

  Irritation gave way to surprise. Pursing her lips she drew in a deep breath, letting it out so slowly he barely saw her move. “Is this some kind of trick? Are you trying to prod information out of me because I hired your nephew?”

  “No trick. The medical examiner confirmed the identity of the body yesterday.”

  She folded her arms over her chest. “I’ve not seen Rory in a long time. At least twelve years.”

  “You’ve had no contact with him in this time?”

  Her lips pursed. “I had a message on my voice mail a week ago. The caller said he was coming to see me. He was an old friend. I did not return the call.”

  “Why not?”

  Blue eyes clouded before sharpening. “Some matters are better left in the past.”

  “I get the impression he still cared about you after all this time.”

  She shook her head. “I have no idea.”

  “I searched his room last night. He had a box full of recent pictures of you.”

  Her face paled. “I don’t know about that.”

  “Can I ask how you two met?”

  The grip on her biceps tightened. “I get the sense you already know.”

  Apprehension rolled off her and all but slammed into Bragg. Rory Edwards and her past were sore subjects. “Answer the question.”

  She glanced around as if making sure no one was around. “We met when we were teenagers. We were both in a clinic for troubled teens.”

  “You both tried to kill yourself.”

  The lines in her forehead deepened. “I’m not proud of that time, but what does it have to do with Rory’s death? Like I said, I haven’t seen him in a dozen years.”

  Bragg unclipped his phone and scrolled to the picture he’d taken of the photo found at the crime scene. He held out the phone, coaxing her closer toward him. “You remember this picture?”

  She didn’t approach right away but then moved closer. The soft scent of soap rose up around her. No flowery perfumes or exotic scents but simply clean soap. His body tightened, unmindful of logic or reason.

  For a long moment she didn’t say a word and then she cleared her voice. “It was taken the last night we were both at the camp. Rory left the next morning.”

  “How’d he end up with the picture if he left?”

  “I sent him a copy from camp. I didn’t want him to forget me.”

  “His brother said you wrote to him several times a week but Rory’s father threw out the letters.”

  Her jaw tensed, and he suspected an old wound opened. “I guess one letter made it through.”

  “Rory never forgot you.”

  She stepped back. “I wish he had.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “Really, do you have to ask? It was a painful time, and I’ve done my best over the last twelve years to forget about it.”

  He locked his phone and tucked it back in its cradle. “Were you really able to forget?”

  She cleared her throat. “Rory’s family did us a favor by keeping us apart. But the rest? No, I have not forgotten that I wrecked a car and killed my brother and his girlfriend. I ruined so many lives. I carry that w
ith me every day.”

  “That why you tried to kill yourself ?”

  A darkening in her gaze told him his words struck their mark. “The months after the accident were a painful time. My parents’ marriage fell apart and my mother ate tranquilizers like candy. I saw it as my fault. When you’re sixteen life is black and white. I thought it was better for everyone if I left.”

  She raised her hand to brush back her hair. The silver bracelets jangled and for a faint second he saw the pale lines marking where she’d cut into her wrists.

  “Were you drunk the night of the accident?”

  She swallowed. “I’ll give you credit, Ranger. You ask the questions most people think or talk about behind my back.”

  “Had you been drinking?”

  “The police cleared me.”

  He’d been fishing for a yes or a no. And he suspected she evaded an answer to annoy him. “And your family had a really damn good lawyer. Were you drunk?”

  “No, I didn’t have one drink that night. That’s why my brother asked me to drive. My crime was that I’d had my learner’s permit a matter of days, had no experience, and didn’t have the sense to tell Jeff no.”

  “When did you see the other car had switched into your lane?”

  Her head cocked. “The cops didn’t believe there was a second car.”

  “Humor me. When did you see it?”

  She hesitated as if weighing each word. “I don’t know. Not soon enough.”

  “Radio blaring, brother and girlfriend laughing?”

  “I think so,” she whispered.

  “Lots of distractions.”

  Greer closed her eyes and nodded. For an instant, she grew still and calm as if drawn back to another place and time. For a moment she didn’t speak. He watched her closely, and to his surprise pity mingled with his suspicions.

  When she met his gaze again anger had sharpened her blue irises into sapphire shards. “I’m sorry Rory killed himself. I am. No one deserves to carry that kind of pain. No one. But I won’t stand here and rehash the past. I won’t.”

  “And when did you say you saw Rory last?” He repeated questions often. Questioning someone involved in a murder investigation was like a fishing expedition. Sometimes tossing the same bait in the water garnered better results the second time. Police work and fishing were often about patience.

  “I haven’t seen him in a long time, and I really can’t help you.”

  Elizabeth Greer Templeton was a hard one to read. She said all the right words and hadn’t triggered any alarm bells. But the best liars spun the best tales.

  Bragg realized pushing Greer could ruin the job for Mitch. But he had to push, not just for Rory’s sake but especially for Mitch’s. If she was unstable in any way, he needed to know it.

  He studied her face closely. “I don’t believe Rory killed himself.”

  Her head cocked. “He wasn’t the man hanging from the tree?”

  “Oh, he was strung up from the tree all right. Hell, he was a sight to see. Hell of a mess.” Graphic details shocked, tossed people off balance and triggered unexpected reactions.

  Her lips flattened but she kept silent.

  “I don’t think there is a way a man could have secured the rope, shimmied up the tree, and then hung himself. If he’d jumped with the rope around his neck, it would have just about snapped his head off. The rope did slice into his neck, but the marks cut like a man dangling versus falling.”

  “And the purpose of that graphic description was meant to do what?” No missing the pop of annoyance.

  He wasn’t ready to talk about the cigarette butt or the tire tracks. Though he did note the flatbed truck behind her.

  Shifting gears he said, “What have you been doing all these years, Ms. Templeton? You sure haven’t been in the news at all.”

  “I lived here. I earned several certificates in viticulture in summer courses in California. When my aunt died last winter I took over the place.”

  “You’ve changed your name, and you keep a low profile. What are you hiding from?”

  “I’m not hiding. I needed a fresh start after the accident. I didn’t want to be with people who suffered loss and pain because of me. I have no intention of reconnecting with my past or the people I’d known a dozen years ago.”

  “Then why not leave? Your aunt is dead.” He nodded toward the new construction. “Looks like you’re putting down roots.”

  “It was my aunt’s dream to make wine, and so we cleared ground for a winery and tasting room this past winter. She’d been suffering from cancer, but we thought she had it licked, and clearing the land was our way of celebrating.” Her voice hitched. “And then she suffered an unexpected heart attack at the hospital during routine tests and died.”

  “Again, why stay here?”

  “This is my home. Bonneville is as much a part of me as I am of it.”

  “What do you do here?”

  She arched a brow. “You want a rundown?”

  “I’d also like a tour of the place.”

  “You’ll have to come back another time for the tour, Ranger Bragg. I’ve a horse farrier arriving in about five minutes.”

  With or without an excuse, he’d return to Bonneville. “That’s five minutes for a quick overview.”

  She shook her head. “Tell me what you’re looking for, and I’ll show it to you. You want to listen to my phone messages in case Rory called me more than I admitted? Want to check my boots for dirt or look in the barn for rope?”

  He smiled. “We’ll keep it simple today. Tell me about Bonneville.”

  Her lips flattened. “The new tasting room is behind me, but it’s not furnished yet and there’s little to see. The winery won’t be finished until December.”

  “Show me all your trucks.”

  She cocked a brow but didn’t miss a beat. “You see the one there. It’s ten years old. I use it for general transportation. I’ve three other trucks, but they’re out with the morning crew who are weeding. They break at lunch. If you come back at noon, I can arrange a viewing.”

  Pushy and hard-edged, she didn’t resemble the kid in the photograph. Hard not to have sympathy for that kid; however, the woman was a ballbuster.

  In no rush, he walked over to the dark pickup and using his phone he photographed each tire. “What if I want the trucks brought in earlier.”

  Her gaze narrowed, and he sensed she was gauging if this was worth a fight. “It’ll cost me money to bring in the crew and have them sit while you do whatever it is you do. The crew will be in at noon. I run on a tight budget, Ranger Bragg.”

  He didn’t care about her bottom line or her crew. But before he could rebut, a truck pulling a large horse trailer rolled up the hill toward them. Dust billowed around the wheels and coated the already grimy truck with more grime.

  Greer shot him a glance. “Give me a minute.”

  “Sure.”

  She tossed him a wary gaze and headed for the truck.

  There was no middle ground for Greer Templeton. Hot or cold. Sad or angry. She acted stunned by the news of Rory’s death, but then she could be one hell of a guilty-as-sin actress.

  Chapter Five

  Tuesday, June 3, 7 A.M.

  Greer could barely breathe as she put one foot in front of the other and walked toward the truck hauling the horse trailer. The Ranger had remained behind but his gaze trailed her like a hungry wolf. Those eyes. Gray. Hard. Penetrating. In those eyes, she’d seen that he’d tried and convicted her like all the others had done over the years.

  Her aunt had told her time after time she’d needed to forgive herself. Live your life. Find a man. Have sex. Smile more.

  Doubtful a smile would have swayed Bragg. His six-foot-three-inch height and broad shoulders radiated substantial power and a total absence of tenderness. His warrior energy didn’t threaten danger but promised it.

  Smile. Don’t let him see you sweat.

  Right.

  She’d tried smiling aft
er the accident, hoping to soothe her parents’ grief, neighbors’ questioning stares, and finally the judge’s final opinion. But smiling hadn’t worked. No matter how nice she was or how much she tried to atone for her sins, no one ever looked at her the same again.

  And so she’d stopped smiling, choosing instead to come out swinging. Might as well cut to the chase, air the suspicions, and accept the inevitable rejection.

  She nodded to the farrier. “Mac, thanks for driving up here today. I know we’re a bit out of your way.”

  White hair and a handlebar mustache accentuated the farrier’s tanned, deeply wrinkled skin weathered by sixty-plus years of harsh Texas sun. He wore a long-sleeved cotton shirt, jeans, and a battered cowboy hat. “For the life of me I don’t know why you want to get into the horse business, Ms. Templeton. You’ll be tossing good money after bad feeding these old nags. I don’t want to think about the vet bill.”

  “Oh, so that’s why they were free?” She might not smile, but she could still tease.

  Muttering, he climbed out of the truck. “The fella that gave you these horses is doing a jig right now. You’ve saved him the cost of burying these old gals in the next year or so.”

  Mac unlatched the back door and standing in the trailer were two old mares, both sway back with knobby knees. One was a brown-and-white dapple and the other black except for a patch of white on her nose. The dapple was still and quiet, but the black horse swished her tail, as if to tell Greer she didn’t appreciate the change in routine or the journey.

  “I’ve a temporary corral set up for them next to the main house. Got a man coming today to work on expanding it so these gals should be sitting pretty by the end of the week.”

  He pulled out the ramp, opened the door, and led the dapple out. Her ears twitched as she glared at Greer. Whereas Greer didn’t have much interest in people, her heart always went out to animals. They were all about the here and now, and if you were good to them, they loved you with no reservations.

  “Hey, old lady. How you doing?” She rubbed the horse’s snout. The other horse stomped its foot. “Your friend has a bit of attitude.”