You're Not Safe

by Mary Burton

  “In a good way.”

  “A very good way.”

  He pulled her hand away from him and tugged down her pants, which slid away. He smiled at the delicate white panties and kissed her stomach and the tender skin above the lacy waistband.

  Impatience seemed to drive him as he rose, tugged off his boots, and removed his pants. “Later it will be slower.”

  “Later. Fast now,” she said.

  He tugged down her panties and laid over her, his erection pressing against her. Instinctively she parted her legs for him.

  He studied her face as he slowly positioned himself. Another hesitation. And another chance to back out. She kissed him and whispered, “Yes.”

  He kissed her again, hard on the lips, and then pushed inside of her.

  She sucked in a breath as she lay savoring the feel of him inside her. Slowly he began to move back and forth. The sensations grew and for a quick moment all the darkness and sadness skittered away leaving her with only light, hope, and the building pressure of desire.

  When he ground into her, every nerve in her body exploded. She tipped over the edge and plunged through layers of isolation. It was mere seconds before the storm passed, but she was left sweaty and breathless underneath him.

  He collapsed against her and burrowed his face into the hollow of her neck. His heart beat strong and steady, thumping through his shirt and against her bare chest.

  “You all right?” He rose up on an elbow and smoothed wisps of hair from her eyes.

  She moistened her lips, wishing this moment could be bottled and saved forever. “I’m good.”

  “Just good?” he teased with a crooked smile.

  Laughter rumbled in her chest. “Okay, great. It was great.”

  He kissed her on the lips. “That’s more like it.”

  She’d had moments of feeling good, almost human, over the last decade. When the vineyard was ripe and full and the farmhands began to pluck the grapes from the vines. When she and her aunt had completed the big room that would house the winery next year. Yes, there’d been happiness, but she’d not allowed herself to bask or enjoy.

  Now, however, she clung to the pure joy making her heart beat fast. She should shove away the peace and happiness, but she just couldn’t.

  “I can feel your body tensing,” he said. He stared at her with his signature intensity warming her soul. She sensed he wanted to peel back the layers and read her mind.

  “I’m not used to feeling good.”

  He smoothed his hand over her forehead as if he didn’t tire of touching her. “It’s time to let yourself out of prison.”

  “But . . .”

  “But nothing, Greer. You’ll honor your brother more if you live your life.”

  Tightness banded around her chest as unspoken words begged to be voiced. “I want to be happy.”

  A gentle smile tugged the edge of his lips. “That’s a good thing.”

  “Is it?”

  “Yeah. Not a thing wrong with it, darlin’.” He kissed her on the lips as his hand cupped her breast. “Not a bit wrong.”

  She relaxed into the kiss and let the pleasure pulse in her like a heartbeat. She wrapped her arms around his neck and tightened her hold, kissing him with all the pent-up emotion and denied desire she’d stored.

  Another growl rumbled in his chest as he opened the front of her bra and kissed her breast. She accepted him willingly.

  Winchester’s search for Michael Sycamore proved to be frustrating. Sycamore’s secretary had had no luck finding him, and a GPS search of his cell had come up empty. It took a handful of calls before he was on the phone with Donald Shepard, the managing partner of Michael’s firm.

  Winchester learned Sycamore had made a name for himself in a prestigious accounting firm and at thirty was already on partner track. Men like that did not just vanish. They stayed in touch with their companies.

  Winchester paced his office. “Mr. Shepard, I’m Brody Winchester with the Texas Rangers.”

  “Yes, sir, what can I do for you? I hear you been raising holy hell with my staff.” The drawl was deep and long and very Texas.

  “I’m calling about Michael Sycamore. I’ve spoken to his secretary but she tells me she can’t find him. Just don’t sound right to me you’d lose a potential partner so easily.”

  A heavy pause. “I don’t discuss my employees.”

  “Let me remind you I’m working three murder cases right now and if I find out you’re holding back, I’m not going to be happy.”

  More silence. “What do you need to know about him?” Hesitation in the man’s voice hinted at a bigger issue.

  “How about you tell me where I can find him.”

  “I don’t know where he is.”

  “He works for you.”

  Still another hesitation. “Not as of two weeks ago.” “Why’s that?”

  More silence and then a sigh. “I fired him.”

  “Why?”

  “He embezzled from several clients. Once I found out I let him go. He denied it of course, but I had the evidence.”

  “Evidence?”

  “Financial statements that showed the paper trail leading to him.”

  Michael’s first suicide attempt had been triggered when he’d been caught stealing. And now he’d been caught again.

  Winchester rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. “Has anyone seen him since he’s been fired?”

  “Not that I am aware of. I’ve had to do some fancy talking to keep this information quiet. It would ruin my company if it was discovered.”

  “When was the last time you saw Michael?”

  “The day I kicked him out.” Anger threaded through the statement.

  “He’s not answering his cell.”

  “Likely hiding with his tail tucked between his knees like a old hound dog.”

  “I need to find him.”

  “Has he stolen from someone else?”

  “My call isn’t regarding a theft. People he once knew have been murdered and I need to talk to him.”

  He sighed heavily. “Hold a moment and let me buzz my secretary. That woman is the pulse of the company.”

  “Sure.”

  The man put him on hold and Winchester paced. Michael could be his killer but he’d bet money the man was dead.

  A second later the man came back on the line. “Ranger?”

  “I’m here.”

  “Michael has a cabin about seventy miles north of Austin.”

  Winchester moved to his desk and jotted the address. That would put him in easy striking distance of the murder victims. “And no one has seen him in two weeks?”

  “Not according to Marge, my secretary.”

  “If anyone hears from him, I need to know about it.”

  “Will do.”

  He checked his watch. If he hurried, he could be at the cabin in an hour.

  Bragg hated leaving Greer. She’d felt warm and soft in his arms and he could have stayed in bed with her for days. But he couldn’t stay locked away from the world and neither could she. They both had work. Minutes later, he dressed. As he stood at the door holding her hand, he gave her a list of warnings and cautions, reminding her to keep her cell phone close.

  She smiled up at him, her gaze warm and inviting. When he added emphasis to his warning, she’d pretended to listen and then smiled. He’d given up and kissed her one last time before he left her standing on the front porch of her house.

  The call from Shady Grove Clinic came fifteen minutes after Bragg left Greer. He drove out to the facility annoyed that it had taken days to get the list of campers.

  He pulled into the tree-lined drive and parked by the entrance, took the front steps two at a time, and rang the bell. This time laughter didn’t drift from the woods. A solemn quiet had settled on the place.

  The slim woman, who’d greeted him before, opened the door. She eyed him and stepped aside. “Ranger Bragg. Dr. Leland is waiting for you in his office.”

&n
bsp; “Ma’am.” He followed her down the long hallway, his boots clicking against the wood floor. He found Dr. Leland sitting behind his desk, frowning, tapping his index finger on a slim manila file.

  “I’m not happy about this,” the doctor said.

  “I don’t care,” Bragg said, moving toward the desk.

  The doctor glared up at him and then lifted the file, extending his arm barely so that Bragg had to reach out and take the file. He opened it and scanned the names. Quickly he saw Rory, Jennifer, Greer, Sara, and Michael, the one person in the pod yet to be found. He flipped to the boy’s profile and studied Michael’s sullen headshot. He scanned Michael’s bio, which confirmed much of what Greer had told him. He’d been seventeen when he’d entered the clinic and been assigned to Greer’s pod. Michael had landed in Shady Grove because he’d tried to shoot himself.

  “I’m counting on your discretion,” Dr. Leland said.

  “I’ll do what I can.” If he could, he’d keep this quiet for Greer but he didn’t give a damn about this place or the doctor’s good name.

  As he studied the picture of the young camp kids he thought about the unseen participant. The photographer. “Who would have taken this picture?”

  Dr. Leland shook his head. “I have no idea.”

  He dialed Greer’s number and was frustrated when it went to an answering machine. She was busy. But she needed to answer her phone. He listened to her succinct message and was about to ask his question when he heard a click and a breathless, “Bragg.”

  He turned away from the doctor. “You sound out of breath. You all right?”

  “Yes, it’s fine. I’m a little crazed right now.”

  He imagined her in her vineyard sweatshirt, snug jeans, and boots. She’d be covered in dust and sweat by now but still the thought of her made him hard. “Greer, who took the picture of you and the other kids at Shady Grove?”

  A pause. “I think his name was Jack.”

  “Jack.”

  “Yeah. Jack. He was there before me but I didn’t have any details about him. He kept to himself.”

  “Okay. Thanks. I’ll call soon.”

  “Be careful.” The simply spoken words caught him off guard. He couldn’t remember anyone saying those words to him.

  “Will do.” He hung up and faced the doctor. “I’m looking for the kid that took this picture. His name might have been Jack.”

  The doctor hesitated.

  “The more you work with me, the more I’ll work to keep this out of the media. Jack would have been here a dozen years ago.”

  The doctor nodded and turned to his computer, plugging in the dates and the name. He hit SEARCH and waited for several seconds before he shrugged. “We had a Jack Jenkins here that summer. According to his records he tried to kill himself after his sister died.”

  “When did he leave the camp?”

  “Late August that same year.”

  “Do you have any other information on him? Forwarding address? Family address?”

  “I have his father’s address.” The doctor hesitated. “I’m going to have to contact the family for permission. I cannot just release information. You specified the people in Ms. Templeton’s pod.”

  “I need anyone there that summer.”

  “I’m addressing the names in your search warrant. Jack Jenkins’s name was not listed.”

  Bragg clenched and released his jaw. “I’ll have a warrant in twenty-four hours.”

  “If it gets out our former residents were murdered, we’ll be ruined.”

  “That’s out of my control.”

  The doctor stood, his fists clenched at his side. “It is within your control. You can keep this quiet.”

  “I’m not one of your fancy rich clients who values privacy at all costs. I’ll shout all the details of the case from the rooftop if it means I can solve this case.”

  “You’ll ruin us.”

  “I don’t care.”

  Bragg left the doctor angry and sullen. In his car he called Winchester. “Are you headed north to find Michael?”

  “I’m on the road and about fifteen minutes away.”

  “He’s the only kid in the pod unaccounted for. I also found out the kid who took the picture’s name was Jack Jenkins. I’m calling the magistrate now for a search warrant. Call me when you have details.”

  “Will do.” He rang off.

  When he hung up he called Mitch. “Bragg.”

  “Where are you?”

  “The vineyard.” In the background he could hear the puppy barking. “What’s up?”

  “I need for you to keep an eye on Greer.”

  The sound of the dog barking faded as if Mitch moved away from him so he could hear better. “Is there some kind of trouble?”

  He cut in and out of traffic. “I think there might be. I’ve a bad feeling we’re running out of time.”

  “Do you have details?” Mitch’s clipped tone told Bragg his nephew’s marine training had kicked into gear.

  “There is someone out there who is targeting people from Greer’s past. I think she might be next. Keep a close eye on her. Someone comes around that doesn’t smell right, I want to know about it.”

  “Consider it done.”

  “Thanks. I know I can count on you.”

  “Who are you thinking about?” she said.

  “You.”

  Jackson drove down the dusty road away from the mountain cabin. His gaze on the road, his hands tightened on the wheel. Blood was splattered on his shirt and hands, but he’d not stopped to wipe it off. He had a schedule to keep.

  “Why?” It always pleased her when she was in his thoughts.

  “You were shouting in my ear when I raised the gun. I couldn’t hear myself think. You need to know when to shut up.”

  “I only tell you what you need to hear. And you need to hurry up. I’d bet money the cops see the pattern and are on their way up here.”

  He pressed his foot into the accelerator. “I can’t think when you’re shouting in my ear. He nearly got the gun from me.”

  “But he didn’t. You shot him right in the face.”

  “It won’t look like a suicide.”

  “Deal with it.”

  Jackson, angry and resentful, grew silent and sullen. For many miles he didn’t say a word, focusing only on putting distance between the cabin and his truck.

  He was running again. Always running. Since that day. And she had been chasing him since.

  “What are you thinking?” she said, breaking the silence.

  “That day.”

  “By the pool?”

  He spotted a produce delivery truck headed in the opposite direction on the road. He eased up on the gas and relaxed his grip on the wheel. “I remember.”

  That sunny afternoon he’d found her by the pool sunning. He’d had no intention of hurting her. He’d only wanted to talk . . . to tell her his deepest thoughts. She’d sat up blurry-eyed and confused as he’d sat on the edge of her chaise. At first he couldn’t find the words. Fear came naturally to him, and he was now afraid. But he’d been tired of hiding his feelings and so he’d told her.

  Instead of acceptance, her narrowing gaze possessed a dark loathing. She’d called him a pig and told him to leave her alone.

  At first the rejection had left him frozen with pain and unable to move, but as she kept calling him names, hurt had turned to anger and then rage.

  He didn’t remember what happened next. The events blurred by adrenaline. When his mind cleared he realized he’d dragged her to the pool and had held her face under the water until she’d drowned.

  “Ah, the dark and dangerous moment?” she cooed. “You’re thinking about it again.”

  “Yes.”

  “And you wonder yet again how you could have killed me—someone you loved so much.”

  “Yes.” Panic washed over him as he remembered how cold and still her body had felt in his arms.

  Slowly the shock had ebbed and he thought in terms
of his own survival. What if someone had heard her rant? His heart thrumming in his chest, he’d quickly released her body and climbed out of the pool. He’d gone to his room, stripped, and toweled off. Dressing, he took his wet clothes and tossed them in the laundry hamper.

  He slid behind the wheel of his car and drove. It was all he could think to do. Later he’d try to recall what had led to his rage, but he couldn’t. As hard as he tried to imagine the moment he’d snapped, he couldn’t summon it.

  When he’d arrived home, he’d wanted to retreat to his room and hide under the quilts on his bed. But his father had been waiting for him, his face white and angry. Behind him his younger sister had stood teary-eyed and quaking. As he studied his little sister’s face, he’d had the idea she somehow knew what he’d done to their other sister. But with his father standing there staring at him, he feigned shock when he heard of Meg’s death.

  For an instant, Jack thought he could convince the old man of his innocence. He had always been good at pretending and making people believe. Then he noticed the videotapes from the security cameras. His father had seen. He knew.

  He had been terrified.

  “Dad was so mad at you,” she said, pleased. “And the more you denied it, the madder he got.”

  As his little sister had stared at him from behind their father, the old man had backhanded him across the face, splitting his lip in two.

  The moment Jack had stopped talking to his father, Meg had begun talking to him. She’d spoken only in whispers at first and for many years he’d been able to ignore her. But in recent years, her voice had grown louder and louder. There were days when he thought her talking would drive him insane.

  The old man’s edict had been clear and strangely unavoidable. Jack would go to the Shady Grove treatment facility for therapy until the old man decided he should be released. They’d concocted a story so no one knew the truth . . . that Jack had murdered his sister during an attempted rape.

  Jack had refused. He declared that he wasn’t sick or broken like the poor losers dumped at Shady Grove. He had no desire to die or hurt himself. Sure he’d lost his temper and Meg had paid a price, but he was fine. It wouldn’t happen again. He promised. He swore.