You're Not Safe

by Mary Burton

  She studied the windowless room. Not more than ten by ten, it had the look of a large industrial freezer. But no meat hung from hooks, no frozen foods stocked the shelves, no ice blocks flanked the walls.

  The room was completely clean save for the bits of ice and frosting clinging to the walls.

  “Oh, God!” She ran to the door, silk stockings sticking to the cold floor and ripping as she moved. She pounded on the door. “Let me out! There’s been a mistake!”

  It couldn’t have been the man. He’d been normal. And she’d vetted him completely, calling his contacts back East and doing a complete check on him. He couldn’t have done this to her. It made no sense.

  The cold burrowed deeper into her bones. She pounded harder on the door. “Let me out! Please!”

  After minutes of silence, the chill demanded she generate warmth in her body. Moving around the room, she searched for another way out, slamming her fist against the walls until her hands burned from the cold. There was no escape from this icy prison.

  Returning to the door, she beat on it with her fist until she couldn’t raise her arm anymore.

  “Who is doing this to me?”

  Her answer was a blast of cold air into the vault. She shivered, her silk blouse little help against the bone-gnawing cold.

  So where was she? How had she gotten here? “Think, Sara. Think.”

  She struggled to remember the man she’d seen last. He’d wanted retail space for restaurants. He’d not thrown off one signal triggering worry or making her think twice. He’d carried a cooler in the trunk of his car, and it had been stocked with bottles of cold water. She’d gladly accepted the water. Though she’d grown accustomed to the Texas summer heat, she’d drank too much last night, and was thirsty. She’d drained the bottle.

  They’d taken a dozen steps toward the warehouse when fatigue settled in her bones. At first she’d blamed it on the heat, but the lethargy had rushed through her, draining all her strength. When her legs had given way, strong arms had caught her.

  And then she’d woken up here.

  Hot tears burning her eyes, she tilted her head back against the wall. “Why are you doing this? I don’t know you.”

  Her answer was the whoosh of the cold air flowing in the vents.

  For a moment she closed her eyes. The cold sapped her energy as the heat had earlier. It drew her inward and coaxed her to shut out the world and draw into herself.

  “You like the cold, don’t you?” The soft, soothing voice came over a loudspeaker.

  Her eyes opened. “Who’s there?”

  “You’ve always been drawn to the cold. Remember that winter when the snows were so heavy, and you couldn’t resist going out into the drifts?”

  She blew on her bluish fingertips. “That was a long time ago. I was wrong to go into the snow.”

  “You weren’t wrong. In fact, it was probably the first time in your life you did something right. It was the first time you followed our true path.”

  “My true path is not to freeze to death.” She flexed fingers and then shook them hoping to keep the blood circulating. That’s when she noticed the red rope bracelet around her wrist. With a trembling hand she touched the uneven braided thread.

  Immediately, her mind tripped back to the day she’d received a similar bracelet. She’d hated that bracelet as much as she hated this one.

  Gripping it in her hand, she ripped it from her wrist and tossed it on the icy floor. “I’m supposed to live my life.”

  “Do you remember why you went into the cold?”

  She thought about the package she’d received on Monday. Sick. Twisted. “I don’t know who you are but I don’t want to play this sick game. I want you to let me out of here!”

  “You don’t really want out, do you? Aren’t you tired of struggling each day just to get up in the morning? You work hard at looking like you’re happy but you’re not.”

  “I’m fine.” Her teeth chattered. “I’ve made the best of my life. Ask anyone.”

  Soft laughter rumbled over the speaker. “You can say it as many times as you like, Sara. But we both know the truth. You don’t want to live. How could you want to live after what you did?”

  A sadness colder than the frigid room twisted around her heart. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

  “Your mother didn’t see it that way. What was it that she called you? Slut? Whore?”

  Sara shook her head. “Shut up. You don’t know my mother.”

  “I know a lot about your mother and you. She hated you after she found out what you’d done. What did she call you?”

  Sara shut her eyes and shook her head. Perhaps her mother didn’t say the words, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel. How could a mother not love a child? “My mother loves me. My mother loves me.”

  “That’s what you want to believe, isn’t it, Sara? You want her to tell you she loves you.”

  “I don’t need to hear it. I know it.”

  “Sara, you are going to die today.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You are.” The voice was tender and soft. “That fact is a given and won’t change.”

  “No.”

  “It’s okay. You know what it feels like to let the cold seep into your bones and steal your life. This is how you tried to kill yourself all those years ago. You ran into the snowstorm without shoes and in your pajamas. You huddled under a tree, and you waited for death to take you.”

  “That was a mistake! I know that!”

  “When you lay dying, what did you wish for most?”

  “I didn’t make a wish!”

  That was a lie. She’d wished for several things that night. Most of all she’d wanted to turn back the hands of the clock and erase her meeting Colin Little, the nights of awkward sex, the pregnancy, and the abortion.

  Sara, how could you have been such a stupid slut. Your actions are of common trailer trash. You make me sick!

  Uncontainable hot tears now spilled over her cold face, burning a path to her chin.

  “It’s okay to cry,” he said. “It’s okay to give in to the pain you’ve carried for so long.”

  “I’ve not carried the pain.” That was a lie. She had never fully wrestled free of the pain. To this day an icy chill lingered between Sara and her mother. No matter how hard she worked to distance herself from the past it always lurked in the shadows.

  “I have a fiancé,” she said. “He will miss me.”

  “He won’t miss you. Your mother won’t miss you. You are going to fade away, Sara, like you never happened.”

  More tears fell. “Stop it.”

  “No. I can’t stop.”

  Sara rubbed her hands together as her teeth chattered. As she did she noticed the slim red bracelet curled on the floor. It had been a symbol of friendship. Of loyalty. Though she’d pledged like the others, she’d never intended to keep her promises. She’d thrown away her bracelet the moment she’d left camp.

  And now it was back.

  Sara tipped her head back. Tears welled in her eyes. “Is this about that time? Is this about that stupid confession?”

  “Tell me your dying wish. No one should die without their last wish being fulfilled.”

  Her teeth chattered. “I don’t have a wish.”

  “Sara, you do. Tell me.”

  He spoke to her as if they were great friends. As if she could bare her soul, show him all her warts and he’d never judge or think less of her.

  “I want . . .”

  “Tell me,” he coaxed.

  She closed her eyes. “I want to hear my mother say she loves me.”

  For a moment there was only silence and then she heard her mother’s voice. “I love you, Sara.”

  Sara sat straighter and searched the corners of the room half expecting her mother. But she remained alone.

  “I love you, Sara.”

  It was her mother’s voice as clear and distinct as it had always been.

  “I love you, Sara.”
r />   The words sounded sweet and perfect. “That’s not my mother’s voice. It’s a fake.”

  “Not fake, Sara. You requested to hear her voice and that’s what I’ve given you. It wouldn’t be fair of me to rob you of your dying wish.”

  “I love you, Sara. I love you, Sara.”

  Sara glanced toward the discarded red rope bracelet and then closed her eyes, listening to the sweet words rolling over her.

  She huddled close to the wall, not cold anymore but oddly warm. It was as if the cold had wrapped around her like a big blanket and held her close as her mother had done many years ago.

  Sara gave in to the cold and felt oddly grateful.

  I love you, Sara. I love you.

  Chapter Eleven

  Thursday, June 5, 6 A.M.

  The sun crested the horizon as Bragg wound up the gravel driveway to the house overlooking Bonneville. A quick check had confirmed Philip Louis owned the property and Rory’s body had been found on the border between this tract and Bonneville.

  The house at the top of the drive was all new construction. Sleek and modern, it sat on the hill as if it had staked a claim.

  He parked and instead of ringing the doorbell, he walked around the property searching for a view of Greer’s house. Following a stone path, he wound around the house until he came to a small backyard. From the yard he had a clear view of the valley below, including Greer’s ranch house.

  Hand on hip, he stood and stared. It would be easy to photograph her from here. As he turned, he saw her emerge from her house. From this distance without a telephoto lens he couldn’t tell what she was doing. But he saw her plain as day.

  She’d had a late night but had risen early. He gave her credit. She had an iron grip that kept her moving no matter what.

  Feeling a bit like a stalker himself, he turned from the view to find a man hustling across the back lawn.

  “Excuse me?” A man’s groggy voice drifted out from the house behind him. Bragg turned to find Philip Louis standing there in shorts, an unbuttoned shirt, and barefooted as if he’d just rolled out of bed. His hair stuck up on end. Hardly the smooth winemaker of last night.

  Bragg approached several steps. “Ranger Tec Bragg.”

  “What are you doing here?”

  He nodded over his shoulder. “You have a clear view of Bonneville from here.”

  Louis frowned. “Yeah, so?”

  A not-too-friendly smile tweaked the edge of his mouth. “How long have you owned this land?”

  “A few years. Bought it from Lydia Bonneville. Why are you asking?”

  “We found a body not too far from your house on Monday.”

  Louis yawned. “Yeah, I heard about that.”

  “Did you?”

  “My surveyors told me. Used it as an excuse to delay their work.”

  “They can’t work in the area of the crime scene until I release it.”

  Louis sniffed. “And when is that going to be?”

  “Can’t say.” He turned back toward the view of Bonneville and Greer. “Found pictures of Greer in the dead man’s rented room. He was taking pictures of her from right about here.”

  Louis shook his head. “That’s impossible. No one has been up here.”

  “You sure about that?”

  “Sure. Why not?”

  Bragg shrugged. “That could lead me to believe that you took the pictures.”

  Louis’s eyes narrowed. “Look, if you are insinuating that I had anything to do with that guy you’re wrong. I couldn’t even tell you his name.”

  “Rory Edwards. That ring a bell?”

  “No.”

  “How long you known Greer Templeton?”

  “Eight years, since I started buying my grapes from Bonneville.”

  A bite of jealousy jabbed at Bragg simply because the man had known her for years, and he’d just met her days ago. “You own a winery in Fredericksburg, right?”

  “Yeah, sure. That’s no secret.”

  “Why buy this land?”

  “Because it’s great land, and if I can duplicate Greer’s success in growing grapes, then it won’t hurt so bad when she doesn’t sell hers to me anymore.”

  “Her making her own wine, that a problem for you?”

  Annoyance flashed. “Yeah, it is. I like her grapes, and I don’t need any more competition than I already have.”

  “Make you mad enough to derail her operation?”

  He shook his head. “No. Why would you say something like that?”

  “Suppose I got a suspicious mind.” He grinned. “But then I guess that’s why the Rangers pay me the big bucks.”

  Louis did not laugh, but he tempered his annoyance and tried to relax his stance. “I don’t like Greer going toe-to-toe with me, but I’ll live with it. I like her. Respect her. I don’t want to hurt her.”

  Hadn’t that been what Bragg’s daddy had said when he’d been beating the tar out of him? You make me lose my temper.

  “Sure about that?”

  Louis ran long fingers through already ruffled hair. “Yes, damn sure. Look, do I need to get a lawyer?”

  Bragg worked the stiffness from his shoulders. “Only if you feel like you need one.”

  Bragg studied the guy, not liking him for no other reason than he’d stood too close to Greer last night and had spoken words that had made her laugh. He pulled a card from his breast pocket and handed it to the man. “If you see anyone up here, Mr. Louis, best let me know. Someone is spying on Ms. Templeton, and I don’t like it one bit. Not one bit.”

  Bragg’s cell rang as he approached the front doors leading into Ranger headquarters minutes after eight. He unclipped the phone, glanced at the number, and recognized it as dispatch. “Ranger Bragg.”

  “Sir, this is Officer Paul Smith with DPS. I’ve been asked to give you a call.”

  Bragg paused, hand on the front door. “What can I do for you?”

  “We have a body. A woman froze to death in a meat locker on the east end of town.”

  Bragg turned from the air-conditioned lobby sensing he’d not see his desk anytime soon. DPS didn’t call the Rangers on a whim. “I’m not sure why you’re calling me.”

  “The responding officer first thought the woman had committed suicide but on closer inspection he believes she was murdered.”

  Like Rory Edwards. “Have you identified the victim?”

  “Her purse was in the room beside her. Her driver’s license identifies her as Sara Wentworth.”

  “I’m not familiar with the name.”

  “Judging by her clothes and home address she comes from money.”

  Like Rory. “Where’s the body?”

  The officer gave Bragg directions, and he was in his car and headed toward East Austin in less than a minute. As he drove, he called Winchester and filled him in on the details.

  “I’ll be there soon,” Winchester said.

  The drive took Bragg twenty minutes in morning traffic. When he pulled up in the East Austin parking lot, his mind already ticked through a checklist that might connect this victim to Rory Edwards or Greer Templeton.

  Surrounded by cop cars and media, the area had a frenetic quality. Cops, clearly not assigned to the case, had gathered here, curious as anyone about what was happening. Two media vans were set up across the street.

  He scanned the perimeter tape to make sure the area was under control. He didn’t need anyone, curious cops or media, contaminating the scene.

  He got out, settled his white hat on his head, and moved toward the first uniformed officer. He approached a tall slim officer with graying hair and a thick mustache. The nameplate on his chest read SMITH.

  Bragg extended his hand. “Officer Smith. You called me?”

  Smith’s handshake was firm. “Yes, sir. I wasn’t sure if this case fell into your jurisdiction, but I remembered the Edwards murder from the morning briefing. Rich. Apparent suicide. Murder. This victim hit all those notes. Plus you don’t often see a rich white woman
in East Austin frozen to death.”

  Bragg nodded as he pulled rubber gloves from his pocket. “Appreciate the call. I’ll have a look.”

  He ducked under the yellow crime-scene tape and moved toward the three-story building once housing meat. The paint peeled and the sign that had read SAWYER’S PACKING had faded. A thick, rusted chain, cut in two, and a padlock lay puddled by the front door and several of the windows were busted.

  He nodded to several other uniforms and paused as his gaze adjusted to the dimmer light. He glanced around the large space, full of dust and cobwebs. Crossing the cracked tile floors, he moved toward the bank of freezers and the one sectioned off with more crime-scene tape. The forensic tech’s camera flashed several times inside the freezer.

  He waited outside the freezer door and glanced inside. Rebecca Rio, with DPS forensics, stood over the body, her camera focused on the light blue, frosted face of a young woman. The woman lay on her side, curled in a tight ball as if she could draw deeply in herself and protect her body from the frigid temperatures. The room had been open for a couple of hours but still held a chill, making his skin prickle.

  The victim was nude from the waist up. Discarded near her body were a beige, lightweight suit jacket, blue silk blouse, and bra. She still wore her skirt and pantyhose, but no shoes. Her fingers curled into tight fists clutching the folds of her jacket close. Hair was blond, pulled back in a neat ponytail and make-up applied with a skilled hand. However the mascara, frozen and now thawed, streaked over pale cheeks leaving a trail of black tears.

  Despite the state of undress, she was no homeless woman or hooker from the streets. This woman did indeed come from money and quality. Women like her did not come to this part of town.

  “Officer Rio,” Bragg said. “So what are your impressions?”

  Rio brushed a springy black curl off her face with the back of her hand. “She froze to death.”

  He studied her naked torso, curled into a C shape. “Signs of sexual assault?”

  “None I saw but the medical examiner will have to check. I think the undressing isn’t a case of sexual assault but of paradoxical undressing.”