Authors: Mary Burton
“Because we don’t have much to say at this point. Very little forensic data. No match to existing missing persons files.”
She brushed a strand of hair from her green eyes. She’d not totally dismissed him yet, but it was coming if he didn’t ante up more. “Not sure what I can do to help you.”
“We’ve a forensic artist who is willing to do a facial reconstruction. She’s working on it now.” He didn’t feel the need to get into Jenna’s past in Baltimore, feeling a little protective of her. “She should have a likeness ready to go in a day or two. We’re hoping you could air it on the news.”
Her nod was easy and natural. “Of course. I can do a whole segment. Though, without many details, it will be a quick segment. Nothing else you can tell me? Was there anything found with the body? What was the child’s approximate age? Signs of trauma?”
Instead of feeling annoyed, he grinned. “You should have been a cop. You don’t know the meaning of ‘no’ or ‘you will get more details later.’”
She folded her arms. “Hon, if I’m not pushing and prodding, I’m not doing my job. When you get your sketch, I’m going to want as many details as you can dig up. Age, sex, possible time the child went missing, manner of death. I’d also like to interview the forensic artist.”
“Why?”
“Will add flavor to the story. And, it’ll extend a sixty-second mention into a four-or five-minute piece. More air time.”
“I’ll have all details for you and I’ll ask the artist.”
Her head cocked a fraction. “I know the forensic artists in the area. Most are mighty backed up. How’d you get one so quickly?”
“Connections. And I’m persuasive.”
A laugh rumbled in her chest. “Oh, all I’ve heard about you, Detective, is that you’re one tough stubborn son of a bitch.” She glanced at Tracker. “How’s the hero dog? He’s getting along?”
“Doing just fine. We’re not as fast as we used to be, but we’re smarter and meaner.”
“Good to know.” She held up her finger. “Now, back to that house fire in the West End. I hear the victim was shot in the head.”
Working with the press was give-and-take. “You got yourself some good sources.”
“So you really think you found the killer?”
“We’re still doing some double-checking.” The case could easily be pronounced closed but, for reasons he couldn’t explain, something about it was too neat and easy. Lucky breaks did happen but not so much when he was around.
“And when you confirm, you’re going to call me, aren’t you?” She tossed him a wide grin with a conspirator’s gaze.
“You’ll be the first I’ll talk to.” Give-and-take.
“Darling, perhaps this could be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.”
“Right.”
When pigs fly.
Rick arrived at his home, the Big House, at five minutes to five for a family meeting. Since their mother and father died, the four siblings rarely met anymore. Georgia had tried to cobble together the fraying family ties but with each passing day and month, they grew thinner. After today’s bit of business, he wouldn’t be surprised if they snapped entirely.
The business was the final matter in Buddy Morgan’s estate. The house now belonged to Rick, and according to Buddy’s will, the owner of the Big House could not own more than ten acres of land. Deke had made it clear he did not want the land in exchange for the house so, as stipulated in the will, Rick’s land had to be offered to the remaining siblings, Georgia or Alex.
Georgia had declined the land but the remaining Morgan brother, Alex, had agreed to take it. No one had been more surprised than Rick. He’d assumed Alex’s job with the Tennessee Bureau of Investigation kept him on the move so much he didn’t want to be saddled with land. And so the two brothers, via Georgia, had agreed to meet at the Big House to sign the legal papers transferring the land from Rick to Alex.
Deke and Georgia did not need to be present at the signing but, given the tension between Rick and Alex, both had offered to attend. So, by default, the Morgan siblings were having a reunion.
Rick helped Tracker out of the backseat and let him free so he could roam and take care of business. As Rick loosened his tie, he climbed the front steps and reached for the front door. As he fished in his pocket for keys, his gaze dropped to the lock and he froze. The door was slightly ajar.
Without thought, he reached for the gun holstered in his waistband. His nerves jingling, he eased open the front door. Memories of approaching the car on the dark stretch of road, gunfire, and searing pain flashed in his mind. The shrinks said he’d likely never forget that night, but perhaps the heart-pounding adrenaline would ease, given time.
The rattle of pots and pans had him hesitating even as he pointed his gun down the long hallway.
“Rick!” Georgia’s voice echoed out from the kitchen. “If that’s you, I’ll put my gun away.”
Relief flooding like a spring storm, he slid the gun back into its holster and shut the door. “I’m putting mine away too.”
Laughter drifted on the heels of more pots and pans clanging. “Sorry, my hands were full when I came in and I forgot to close the door.”
Down the hallway, he entered the dimly lit kitchen. “Where’s your car?”
“In the shop. Caught a ride with a friend. I figured I could hitch a ride back to town with you in the morning.”
His nerves danced as residual electricity jolted through sinew. “That works for me.”
Georgia had had a rough year and found staying at the Big House gave her the security she needed. Rick was glad for the company and had told her the door was always open. “I’m meeting a few friends in Franklin tonight so I’ll be back late. So don’t shoot.”
“Sounds good.” He moved to a high-tech console on the wall and pressed a button. Overhead lights blinked on, chasing away the gray light and the dark shadows.
Georgia set a serving platter on the new granite island he’d installed. “You’ve really done a great job. When you were tearing stuff up, I was a little freaked out.”
Rick arched a brow. “You hid it so well.”
She shrugged, knowing she’d been difficult and second-guessed him at every turn. “I must admit, you’ve dragged the old homestead into this century.”
He moved to the refrigerator and pulled out a beer. “Hell of a project.” But the sweat and frustration had been deeply satisfying. He’d taken what had been his parents’ home and put his mark on it.
“I like that you saved Mom’s pots and pans and her china. It’s your space, but she’s still here.”
“That was the idea.” He twisted the top off the beer and took a long sip. “Do I smell food?”
“I stopped at the Mexican restaurant in Franklin and grabbed food for us.”
He picked up a tortilla chip and bit. “You figure we can’t fight if we’re eating.”
That jostled a laugh. “Then clearly you don’t remember our family dinners. Remember when you and Deke came to blows at Thanksgiving? You were fourteen and I guess he was sixteen.”
The fight had been over whose football team was the best. Banter had escalated into punches. Buddy had yanked the two apart and ordered them to eat the damn meal. The old man had also made the two clean up after every meal for a week.
“I think Alex and I can be civil. We’re just signing papers.” There’d been a time in the last year when he’d imagined pummeling Alex, but he wouldn’t tonight. He hoped.
Georgia blew out a breath as if she’d read his thoughts. “Food won’t stop you two from fighting but, maybe, it’ll slow you down.”
Rick sipped his beer, not wanting to recount any more family dramas. “Jenna said she’s almost finished with the picture of the Lost Girl.”
“Lost Girl?”
“Jenna’s expression for the little girl from the park.”
Georgia smiled. “I’d heard she was one of the best. I’ve watched her in action in front of KC’s and she’s so good.”
“Amazes me she just sauntered into KC’s and offered to draw pictures.” Seemed a bit too neat for him.
“Girl’s gotta eat, I guess.”
He took a pull on the beer. “Seems a waste of talent.”
“I was thinking the same, but she’s on leave and no doubt will be back on the job in Baltimore before long. Unless we can get her to fall in love with Nashville.”
“Meaning?”
Georgia always thought three steps ahead of the Morgan men. “If you solve this case because of her drawing, it makes me wonder what other cold cases out there could be solved with her help. And she might find that living and working here is a better fit. She’s said she likes the open spaces.”
His tone remained neutral. “I got the impression Jenna was doing a one-time favor and she wasn’t staying.”
“It’s only because I’ve not asked for another favor or really started to sell her on Nashville. Give me time.” She grinned. “You know how persuasive I can be.”
“I do.”
“KC and I were talking yesterday about cases that weren’t solved because of time, money, or the science.”
Rick shifted his stance. “We’ve a cold case squad.”
“Doesn’t mean they couldn’t use a fresh set of eyes on their cases. And if we were our own group, we wouldn’t be limited to Nashville.” Her eyes danced as she nodded.
“Before you take this idea and start running, let’s see if we can solve this case.”
“Yeah, sure.”
He could almost hear the grinding of the wheels in her head. “What else do you know about Jenna Thompson?”
“Professionally?”
“Personally?”
Her grin turned wicked. “Rick, are you interested?”
“No. I just sense there’re pieces missing to that puzzle.”
Nodding, she didn’t discount his statement. “I did a little digging with Baltimore. She’s had a distinguished run with them. Went to high school there. Some college. All good. No trouble.”
Absently, he scratched at the beer label with his thumb. “Why’d she take leave?”
“From what I’ve been able to piece together, she and her partner took a call to a run-down part of the city. They found a little girl locked in a closet. She was alive but she was in rough shape. Seems she’d been in the closet for months. Jenna quit two days later.”
A case like that couldn’t have been easy. “When was that?”
“Almost four weeks ago.”
“And she moved to Nashville three weeks ago. She pulled up stakes pretty quickly after the call.”
“The ones with kids are always hard.”
He’d been tempted to chuck it all after the shooting. A few times he’d been seconds away from packing up Tracker in his car and just driving. But his roots in Nashville ran too deep. “I couldn’t imagine leaving Nashville.”
Nodding, she picked up a tortilla chip from a bag on the counter. “A couple of the guys on her team were shocked when she quit.”
“How do you know?”
“I called in a favor.”
“I didn’t think you just skimmed the surface. What did you learn?”
“My buddy learned when he called her commander that she handled all kinds of nasty cases and never blinked. A lot of the guys thought she was bulletproof. And then this case, and she splits.”
“Hit a nerve.”
“Seems so.”
Unanswered questions swirling around Jenna shouldn’t have mattered, but they did. Fact, they bugged the hell out of him. “She said she was born in Nashville. Spent the first five years of her life here.”
“Really?” She gobbled the chip and opened the stove and with oven mitts pulled out a pan filled with enchiladas.
The smell filled the kitchen, his stomach grumbled, and he realized he’d not eaten since breakfast.
She set the dish on hot pads on the counter. “I guess it would be pretty rude to dig into her past and find out what happened when she was five.”
He sipped his beer. “What makes you think anything happened?”
Georgia arched a brow. “Something happened.”
Great minds think alike. “How do you know?”
She held up her index finger. “A five-year-old leaves Nashville.” Her next finger rose. “Raised by an aunt in Baltimore.” Another finger. “Has a tough call involving a child and returns to a place she’s not seen in almost twenty-five years.” A fourth finger. “And then she’s busting a gut to help solve the case of a murdered five-year-old.”
“Wouldn’t be too hard to search cases from twenty-five years ago involving a young girl.”
“Bet you a dollar you find something connected to her.”
“It’s really none of our business.”
She laughed. “And you believe that line?”
“No.” Smiling, he drained his beer.
“Dig a little. It’s no skin off anybody’s nose and if you don’t find anything, then no one’s the wiser.”
“I will.”
Her head cocked. “You like her?”
“Like? That’s a strong word. I appreciate her work and she’s a good-looking woman. But I’m more curious than anything.”
She shrugged as she opened another tin of food. “I could not care less about the pasts of people I don’t like.”
He snagged another chip. “I don’t care about her.”
She leaned forward. “It would be okay if you did. Really. Nice to see you move on after Melissa.”
The mention of Melissa’s name soured his good humor. “Don’t go there. Not tonight. I want to be civil to Alex.”
“Understood. No sense in poking the hornets’ nests.” She pulled a serving spoon from a utensil drawer. “How long has it been since you and Alex really talked?”
“Right after Buddy died.”
“That’s too long, Bro. I met Melissa a few times. Hot, but not worth this kind of strife. You two are brothers.”
Which had made the sting of betrayal all the more painful. The sound of two cars pulling in the driveway was followed by the slam of car doors. Rick straightened. “Speak of the devil.”
“Be nice. If you don’t want to fight, eat.”
The front doorbell chimed. “Why ring the bell?”
“Respect. It’s your
casa,
Bro.”
Frowning, Rick moved to the door and snapped it open. He found Deke and Alex inspecting the rehab work he’d done on the front porch.
Deke turned first. The oldest of the Morgan children, he was tall, broad-shouldered, with a perpetual grim expression, a carbon copy of their father. Many of the old-timers on the Force still called him Buddy as if caught off guard when they saw him. Twice divorced, Deke had moved into the house while Rick was recuperating. He’d blamed the move on decimated finances after his second divorce but he’d basically been keeping the place afloat until Rick could stake his claim. He’d happily moved back to the city last fall and was seriously dating a local attorney, Rachel Wainwright.