Be Afraid (23 page)

“Good.” He checked his watch. “Speaking of which, she’ll be here in ten minutes.”

She liked standing here in the woods alone with him. None of the outside world existed and, for just a few minutes, all the puzzle pieces fit where they should. As tempting as it was to keep hiding, it was no longer feasible. Time to go public.

They arrived back at her house minutes later and she immediately moved to the coffee machine to brew a fresh pot. It occurred to her that she should run a brush through her hair and maybe dig up some lipstick but the doorbell rang before she had a chance.

“Showtime,” she said.

Rick smiled, hanging back. “I’m here if you need support.”

“Thanks.” She opened the door to a very stylish woman wearing a turquoise suit. Dark hair skimmed narrow shoulders and gold loops dangled. Her makeup was perfect and the smell of an expensive perfume wafted.

The woman smiled as if cameras had started rolling. “I’m Susan Martinez.”

Jenna looked past her to the news van and the cameraman moving up the sidewalk with a camera in hand. “I’m Jenna Thompson. Please come in.”

Susan held her hand for a beat, closely studying her face. “I appreciate you seeing us on such short notice. Your sketch was amazing and I had to meet you.” The reporter’s gaze skimmed over the room assessing every detail. She studied the portrait covered with an oilcloth before shifting to Rick. “Detective. Good to see you again. I’ll be interviewing you as well?”

The earlier ease the detective had enjoyed moments ago had vanished. “If that suits.”

“It does. This is my cameraman, Gabe Richards,” Martinez said as the tall, burly man with a plaid shirt and full beard entered the house.

Introductions made, Martinez’s curious gaze slid back to the covered painting. “You’re doing commission work?”

“I am.”

“I’d love to see the work.”

A knot tightened in Jenna’s belly. It was always the way when she showed a picture for the first time. “I’m afraid the client gets the first peek.”

A brow arched. “That’s fair, I suppose. Do you have a portfolio?”

“Not much of one. I left what I’d had in Baltimore. I’m giving this client a substantial discount because I’m building my portfolio.”

“If it’s anything like the sketch you did of the child then I’m sure it’s stunning.”

“Thank you.” She learned long ago nothing was off the record with reporters. Still, when she glanced toward Tracker and caught his steady gaze, something inside her relaxed. “Where would you like to conduct the interview?”

“Whatever suits you?”

“How about by the fireplace? As lovely as the view is out the back, the glare from the sun could be a problem.”

The cameraman nudged a club chair closer to the hearth. “Have a seat and I’ll mic you up.”

“Sure.”

Tracker’s ears perked as Jenna moved to the chairs in front of the cold fireplace and arranged them so that they faced each other. She sat and accepted the mic pack, which she fed up under her shirt. The cameraman had large hands but clipped the tiny microphone with nimble movements.

He stepped back and checked to make sure the mic wasn’t too obvious. “Mind saying something so I can do a sound check?”

She sat a little straighter. “Jenna Thompson. One, two, three.”

Gabe adjusted the second chair by Jenna’s and indicated for Rick to sit. The detective’s frown deepened as if he faced the lion’s den, but he did as asked and soon was wired for sound. Tracker rose and sat between the chairs.

When Rick looked as if he’d order the dog offscreen Jenna said, “Let him stay.”

“Okay,” Rick said.

As Jenna settled, Susan slid on her microphone and took a seat across from the two of them. The cameraman moved behind Susan. “He’ll start the interview behind my shoulder but may move behind you to get a couple of shots of me, which we’ll edit later.”

“Fine,” Jenna said.

“Sure,” Rick said.

Martinez began her questions with Rick, getting background on where the bones were found, the age of the child, and how long the bones had been buried. He gave clear concise answers, his deep, rich voice carrying confidence and authority. Trusting him would be easy. He was the kind of guy who took care of things. He was the kind of guy who kept all the balls in the air. The kind of guy she never dated.

The reporter then shifted through her notes and switched her questions to Jenna. She asked about Jenna’s background as a forensic artist and how she went about drawing the face of the girl.

Jenna answered easily and when the reporter dropped her gaze to her notebook she imagined the interview was wrapping up. There were only so many ways she could describe what she’d done.

Martinez smiled, but the action wasn’t joyful. In fact, it reminded Jenna of a cat that had cornered a mouse. “I’m a curious reporter by nature and I did a bit of digging.”

Jenna said nothing, but felt her spine stiffening.

“You’re from Nashville, correct?”

Invisible fingers prickled up her spine, but she brushed them aside. Martinez had found something. “I am.”

Martinez leaned forward a fraction. “I dug into your past.”

Rick sat forward in his chair as if ready to fight. Tracker, sensing his tension, also sat straighter but neither made a sound.

Martinez anchored her gaze on Jenna. “You were born Jennifer Elliot Thompson, correct?”

Jenna held her breath a beat. And so here it was. Her past laid out. “Yes. That’s correct.”

“Your family was murdered when you were five. Father, mother, older sister shot to death. The killer’s name was Ronnie Dupree.”

“Correct.”

“Ronnie spared you but took you to his hideout and kept you there for nine days locked in a closet.”

“Yes.” Jenna saw Rick shift in her side vision but didn’t dare look at him.

Martinez maintained a cool, concerned expression but her eyes snapped with a treasure hunter’s glee. “Ronnie died of an overdose and you were found hours later by the cops.”

“So I’ve been told.” Hearing the story spoken by someone else made it sound all the more tragic, molded into something solid and real, if that were possible. She’d always done a good job of keeping the story at arm’s length and pretending it belonged to another. But it didn’t belong to someone else. It was her story.

Armor clinked and clanged into place. “All correct.”

Martinez smelled blood. “You know the anniversary of the murders is days away.”

“Yes. I know.”

“Why have you come back now?”

“Maybe it was fate. Maybe my returning to make sense of my past will help solve the case of another little girl that wasn’t so lucky.” She ended the sentence knowing Martinez had a good interview with a solid stopping point. She pulled the mic off. “Thank you for the interview.”

Susan indicated for the cameraman to cut the film, but Jenna was smart enough to know the audio could well be running.

Rick shifted in his seat toward Jenna. He looked so disappointed and shocked. Was he wondering what other secrets she held? Had he expected her to open up this vein of sorrow for him?

A clock ticked. No one spoke. She rose.

Susan rose. “I’d like to do another story on you. A full in-depth look into your family and their murder.”

“I’m old news. The case was solved. It’s closed.”

“I think it would be a powerful human interest story.”

Rick rose. No doubt wondering how he could have missed this about her. He moved away from the fireplace to the large window that faced the woods.

Susan, ever the salesman, continued, “The Thompson murders and your kidnapping were huge stories at the time and one of the first I covered in the city. I think the world would like to know how you’re doing.”

“I’m doing fine.”

Martinez cocked her head. “All these years and you’ve never been back to Nashville?”

“No.”

“Why now?”

“Time just seemed right.”

“Did it have anything to do with that last case in Baltimore? The girl locked in the closet?”

Jenna released the breath she was holding. “Let’s say it was time for me to visit my birthplace.”

Rick continued to watch her. She was a cop and knew how cops thought. He was wondering what other secrets she had.

Martinez leaned in a little. “I know a lot about your case. I could share with you what I have if you’ll sit down for an interview. Maybe let me follow you while you visit your old home.”

Make a wish and it will be granted along with all the unintended consequences. “What’s in it for you?”

Martinez’s eyes sparked. “A great story.”

“If I say no, would you still run the story of the Lost Girl?”

“Yes.”

“Good. I’d hate to see her penalized.”

“One story isn’t conditional on the other.”

Her movements were wooden and stiff, like a marionette whose metal joints had not been oiled in years. “Let me think about it.”

Rick shook his head, clearly not happy. But he kept his opinion silent.

Martinez smiled and softened her voice as if they were old friends. “I want to tell your story.”

“I’ll let you know soon.” She’d driven to Nashville searching for something and now was her chance to pry open the past and shine a light on it. If this is what she wanted, then why hesitate?

The lines bracketing Rick’s mouth deepened. He pulled off his mic pack and carefully wound the cord around the receiver before handing it to the cameraman. “If you’ve got what you need, it might be best if you leave, Ms. Martinez.”

Jenna glanced at Rick, annoyed that he would try to defend her. “I can handle this.”

He worked his jaw as if chewing up and swallowing an oath. “Sure.”

“Talk to you soon, Jenna.” Martinez nodded as if understanding now was the time to retreat so that she could return to fight another day. She and her cameraman left with Rick following behind. She heard him close the front door and she wished keeping the past contained was as easy as closing a door.

Rick watched the van drive off and then faced her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Defenses slammed tighter in place. “Not something I advertise, Detective.”

A brow arched. “Martinez isn’t your friend. She’s in this for the story. She couldn’t care less about you.”

“Sounds like experience talking.”

“It is.”

She folded her arms over her chest. “I can handle her.”

His jaw tightened, as if swallowing words too angry to speak. “If I’d known, I’d have never agreed to the interview.”

Anger denied just moments ago now bubbled. “You asked and I said yes. I’m a big girl and can handle a couple of softball questions from a reporter.”

“You consider that softball?”

The question had tipped her off balance, but she’d not admit that to him or Martinez. “Nothing I can’t handle.”

“Then why did you look like you’d been punched in the gut? Every ounce of color drained from your face.”

She battled the urge to touch her fingers to her cheeks. “Shocked by her question, yes. Very few people know about what happened to me in Nashville, so it never comes up. But, I’m fine. Now, if you’ll also leave I have lots of work to do.”

His jaw tensed and his lips flattened.

“You don’t need to take care of me.”

“You’re making a mistake.”

“Won’t be my first.”

“Jenna.”

“Please. I’m fine. Just go.”

With the shake of his head he left, Tracker on his heels, each moving down the front steps with more stiffness in their gait. Rick didn’t look back but when he opened the door for the dog, Tracker glanced in Jenna’s direction before getting into the car.

She quietly closed the door. No door-slamming dramatics for her. But as soon as the door clicked closed, she turned and slid to the floor. Tears streamed down her face. She should not be this upset about the past. Days, even weeks, went by without her thinking of it and she wasn’t sure if the images she had of her family were real memories. Everything she had of her family was secondhand or from a few yellowed photos.

Grabbing her phone, she dialed Mike’s number. He answered on the second ring.

“Jenna.”

“A Nashville reporter called Baltimore and asked questions about me.”

A pause and then a door closing. “It wasn’t me.”

She ran fingers through her hair. “I know. I know.”

“What happened?”

A sigh shuddered through her. Even seven hundred miles wasn’t barrier enough for her to open up with Mike. “She put two and two together about my family’s past pretty fast.”

“I’m your friend.” His voice dropped a notch. “Your lover.”

The intimacy coating the word had her chest tightening, making it impossible for her to speak. Why had she called him? Why hadn’t she just talked to Rick?

“You don’t belong in Nashville, Jenna. You belong here. Come home and let me take care of you.”

In all honesty, she didn’t know where she belonged. Baltimore had been her home for as long as she remembered but the night she’d found that girl in the closet, the ties to Baltimore had begun to fray. “No. I can’t. Not now. I’ll call later.” She hung up the phone.

Immediately, it rang again and Mike’s number popped up on the display. She turned from the phone, folding her arms over her chest. “Damn it.”

As the phone buzzed, she pressed her fingertips into her eyes and allowed the tears to flow. A shrink would have had a field day with the motivations driving so many of her decisions lately.

She wanted to prove once and for all that Shadow Eyes wasn’t real. She glanced at the display on her phone, now silent. Mike didn’t like to lose. Didn’t like to hear no. She’d not heard the last from him.

She found the number for Susan Martinez, dialed, and heard it go to voice mail. “It’s Jenna Thompson. Let’s set up a meeting at my old home.”

Rick returned to the station, angry and frustrated. Bishop glanced up from a file on his desk. “I heard it didn’t go well.”

“How?”

“Martinez called me for a quote. I had no comment.”

Rick loosened his tie. “I don’t know how I could have missed it.”

Bishop closed the old file in front of him and handed it to Rick. “You didn’t. I did.”

He glanced at the tab on the file. It read:
THOMPSON, J. E.
He opened the file and saw the picture of a smiling little five-year-old girl. The dark hair, the eyes, no missing now that she was Jenna.