Then she read the fourth gravestone.
Kathleen Janet Delany.
Katy.
Her Katy.
She turned from the graves and tried to suck air back into her lungs. She bent forward, propped her hands on her knees, and let her head hang.
This is just another lie someone created. An extensive lie, but a lie nonetheless.
Her little sister had never belonged to her mom and dad. Katy was hers, her bad guy to tie up or her doll to dress. Her partner in crime. An easy victim to point the finger at when Mom was pissed because crap ended up broken. A sloppy little roommate who would crawl into bed with her when the dreams got bad.
The same frigid tears from all those years ago streaked down her cheeks. She turned back to Katy’s grave. The ground was damp and slushy, and still she kneeled and brushed dead leaves and snow from around Katy’s headstone. Her left hand smoothed over the carved letters of her own name; her right hand traced Katy’s name. When would the one spirit she really wanted to hear from ever come through?
Katy had called out for her just seconds before the last gunshot rang out. Of all the things Jordan regretted, not opening that closet door and going to Katy was at the top of the list.
“I’m sorry, Katy. I really am. If I could change what I did that night and be with you, I would.”
She had no idea if Katy could hear her, because unlike her parents, Katy was still holding a grudge. She had been since the night of the murders.
“Why won’t you talk to me? Dad tries to talk to me in my dreams all the time. Hell, I can’t get Ty’s sister to ever shut up. Why can’t you forgive me and show up in a dream just once? One time, that’s all I’m asking.”
An older man with a long beard walked by and looked over at her. Embarrassed, Jordan swiped at the tears and stood. She was pleading with her dead sister. Beard guy probably thought she’d lost her mind.
Actually, she did feel a bit like she was losing her mind. She had to know if her family was here or if this was just a charade that had been put in place to protect her. She looked down at the graves, determined to see them for nothing more than the cover-up they were.
She’d spread her family’s ashes, said goodbye to them that day on her uncle’s boat. This
. . . this
couldn’t be anything more than a farce. But how could she prove it? There were laws against exhuming graves, even for cops. She’d have to get a lawyer and go before a judge. And screwing around with graves that the Feds had made a public production out of would be trickier yet.
There was, however, one person who could clear everything up without any of that hassle.
Her uncle Bill.
Too bad she’d sworn to never speak to the son of a bitch again.
She swiped at her wet, dirty knees, and snapped pictures of each of the headstones with her cellphone. The answers were out there. The real answers. She had a right to know what her father had been working on and why he’d been killed. And she had a right to know if she really had spread her family’s ashes, or if it was one more lie she’d been told.
Chapter 5
Ty drove through the gate of the ranch he shared with Jordan. Just the sight of their new property gave him a feeling of pride and contentment he’d never experienced before. The house needed work and the stables needed work. But he remembered what the place had looked like in its heyday. Jordan was going to love it when he was done.
Maybe a little more than she loved him right at the moment. She’d been pissed when she left the precinct earlier. It had taken her about two seconds to zero in on Isobel’s behavior. Seemed living with a psychic detective apparently didn’t give you much wiggle room to make dumb guy mistakes.
As predicted, he was running almost an hour late. So he’d called Jordan to make sure she was ready.
She was waiting for him on the porch as he pulled up. She climbed into his black F-350 and they took off toward his parents’ house.
“Look,” he said, “I want to explain about the female detective you saw today.” There was no point in delaying the inevitable. Jordan wasn’t stupid.
She sighed and held up her hand.
He paused, wasn’t quite sure what to make of her gesture.
“Let me start by saying I’m sorry. I know you don’t control who MHP sends to help with cases. I walked into your office and behaved like a jealous child.” She reached over and lightly traced a finger over the back of his hand. “You had a long, stressful day, and I made it worse. You’ve never given me any reason to doubt you.”
A bitter laugh erupted from her. “But in my defense, I’ve warned you that I suck at relationships.” Her thumb rubbed a soft little circle on the back of his hand. “I suppose the only thing I can do now is try to make it up to you somehow.”
Great.
Now he felt like a real dickhead. “Well, to tell you the truth . . .” He glanced at her without turning his head.
She laced her fingers with his, lifted their hands, and kissed the back of his. Then she teased him by gently sucking on his index finger.
His heart rate spiked.
He hadn’t done anything wrong, but figured it might be a good idea to come clean before they went any farther.
“I just think you should understand—”
“I do understand. You’re a good-looking guy. Women are going to come on to you. I get it. And I know in my heart you’re not stupid enough to sleep with a co-worker, even if I wasn’t in the picture.”
She sighed. “Just don’t be mad at me while we’re at your parents. I can’t take that. I’m already nervous as hell.”
“Baby, I’m not mad.” He squeezed
her
hand this time. “And you have nothing to be nervous about. They’ll love you.” He paused for a second, then decided to attempt to put her at ease regarding his parents before stirring her up about Issy. “They already like you. A lot. I told them you were the one responsible for me being able to catch the guy who killed Tara.”
Jordan pulled her hand away from his. “What? You didn’t tell them how, did you?”
“Of course not. Just that you were another cop who helped me.”
“What am I supposed to say if they start asking questions about how I helped?”
He shrugged. “Tell them we can’t talk about the specifics of the case. Or that you’re uncomfortable talking about cases with family members of the victims. Or . . .” He glanced at her again. “We could tell them the truth.”
“Funny. You’re funny.”
He stopped at a light and glanced over at her. “I’m not trying to be. I’m serious. Losing Tara was awful. I still miss her, but knowing she’s around sometimes makes it . . . I don’t know, tolerable somehow. I’d do anything to make it tolerable for my parents.”
Her mouth dropped open.
Okay, not a good sign.
“You are
not
serious. You do
not
expect me to go in there and say, ‘Hi. Nice to meet you. By the way I’ve connected with your dead daughter and she’s doing fine.’ Why don’t you just burn me at the stake now, ensure your entire family thinks I’m a nut job from the very beginning. And guess what?” She poked him in the arm. “You just moved in with me, so they’re going to think you’re as crazy as I am. Trust me on this. Sometimes it’s kinder all around to spare everyone the ugly truth.”
He had never been a good liar, wasn’t brought up to hide the truth from the people he loved, even if it was ugly. But maybe Jordan was right. Maybe some truths were better left unsaid. Like the fact that Jordan communicated with the dead.
And the fact he’d slept with Isobel.
He was beginning to see the wisdom in her logic. As he turned onto the long gravel drive to his parents’ house, he decided that at the very least, both conversations were going to have to wait. “Whatever you say, baby. Whatever you say.”
***
Ty’s mom was attractive, almost elegant with her height, long limbs, and willowy figure. She wore a simple pink blouse and jeans. Jordan immediately classified her as one of
those
women, the kind other women noticed. And envied. Her dark hair was bobbed with simple elegance. Her accessories were stylish. Even her nails were manicured to perfection.
But it was her eyes that Jordan couldn’t stop studying, the darkness that shadowed them and the red rims that no amount of expensive make-up could ever cover. They were the same striking gray as Ty’s, only they’d long since surrendered the humor and mischief.
“Mom, this is Jordan,” Ty said. “Jordan, my mom, Maggie.”
Maggie took her hand and pulled her into a quick hug. “I’m so glad to meet you. Ty has told us so many good things. And he sure didn’t lie about how pretty you are.”
Embarrassed, Jordan waved a dismissive hand in Ty’s direction. “Oh well, he tends to exaggerate.”
“And you already know Trevor,” Ty said, when his brother approached.
“Hi, beautiful.” Trevor kissed her cheek.
“You’ve already met Jordan? When did that happen? Why don’t you boys tell me anything?” Ty’s mom asked.
Jordan recognized Trevor’s shit-eating grin and knew he was about to say something obnoxious about their first encounter. She’d made a grand ass of herself by walking out of the bathroom buck naked with the intent to seduce Ty. Only it hadn’t been Ty crouched in the corner of their bedroom trying to fix the radiator. It had been Trevor.
“Let’s see?” Trevor tapped a finger against his chin. “When did we meet for the first time? Oh, yes, it’s coming back to me now. Ty asked me to come over and help fix the radiators in their house. I started in their bedroom first, and—”
“And that was it. End of story.” Ty shot Trevor a warning glare.
Red-hot humiliation flamed in Jordan’s cheeks. It hadn’t been one of her finer moments.
“What?” Trevor’s voice dripped with mock innocence. “I was just explaining to Mom how Jordan introduced herself to me. And I assure you, Ty does not exaggerate about Jordan’s beauty.”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Come on into the kitchen. I’ve got rolls in the oven.”
When Maggie turned around, Ty whacked Trevor on the back of the head like they were twelve.
“So Mom said you’re working a murder? That’s why you’re late?” Trevor asked as they turned to follow Maggie.
“He says it was the case that held him up. I think it may have been the redhead who clearly has a thing for him.” Jordan teased.
Trevor’s gaze snapped to Ty’s. “
The
redhead? The one from the highway patrol? Holy crap, she’s back?”
Jordan stopped, and both guys halted in her tracks. She studied Ty and then Trevor. The uncomfortable tension told her that Tinkerbelle, or Annabelle, or whatever the fuck her name was, had been a topic of discussion before. If Trevor’s insinuating words hadn’t been the tipping point, the furious, guilty look on Ty’s face certainly would have been.
She stood in silence and waited for Ty to say something.
He managed to look everywhere except in her direction.
“I need to use the restroom,” she murmured. But just barely. A miserable, grinding burn was spreading through her chest and making it ridiculously hard to speak. She’d stood over graves containing the names of her family today and hadn’t felt an ache this vicious.
“I’ll show you where it is.” Ty reached for her hand.
“I can find it.” She blinked away the ludicrous sting and arrowed toward the restroom. She knew the way. On their last case, she’d spent more than a week here recovering from injuries while Ty’s parents vacationed in Florida.
She certainly couldn’t control who Ty had or had not been with. No doubt he’d had sex with many women before her. He was too damn good at it to not have had a lot of practice.
But her heart told her that he’d lied today. Or at the very least, omitted the truth. From her experience, when a suspect omitted an important truth in interrogation, there was always a reason. Usually not a good one.
Like maybe he still had feelings for the redhead.
As she suspected he might, he followed her inside the small bathroom and shut the door behind them.
“Uh, I don’t need an audience, thanks.”
“Don’t listen to Trevor,” he said. “You know how he is, always joking around—”
“Did you have a relationship with her?”
God
, she hated that she felt like this. Simply
hated
that she blurted that question out.
“No. It wasn’t like that . . .”
“Okay, then, let me ask this to clear the record. The redhead I saw in your precinct today, the one that grabbed the sandwiches out of my hands and said you’d pay because you
owed
her—
that one—
have you had sex with her?”
He didn’t answer.
Which in itself was answer enough. Her throat swelled even tighter, and although she was fighting the burning sensation with everything she had, her eyes welled up.
“I’ll tell my mom I got a call from the station about the case and we can’t stay,” he said.
“No, you won’t.” No way in hell was she doing the meet-the-parent thing twice. She hadn’t been ready for this, and he’d insisted on dragging her here, anyway. So he could sit and be just as miserable as she was.
“Your mom probably cooked and cleaned, going to a lot of trouble for tonight. It’s not her fault you’re a jackass. We’re both going to go in there and be pleasant, make small talk, and get through this.”
She opened the bathroom door and pushed him out. “But if I were you, I wouldn’t hold my breath for a massage or any other form of physical contact for a very long time. At least not from me. You might have better luck with the redhead.”
***
Ty sat at his mom and dad’s dinner table staring at his favorite pot roast in misery. He glanced across the table at Trevor. The dumbass seemed to recognize he was going to get his ass kicked as soon as they were alone together. They were both just pushing their food around.
On top of it all, their dad wasn’t even making an effort. He’d decided to live in misery since the day he learned of Tara’s murder. As far as anyone could tell, he had depression down to a science. The man hardly spoke anymore. Ty had no idea how his mom put up with it. He was a little ticked off that his dad hadn’t at least tried to be sociable with Jordan.
Jordan had done just what she’d said she would. She’d been funny, polite, answered all questions with a smile. It was like she’d flipped a switch in that damn bathroom and decided to be nothing less than charming.
Except
when it came to interacting with him. The one time he laid a hand on her thigh under the table, she’d almost twisted his thumb clean off.
“Would anyone like more rolls?” his mom asked.
“Thank you, but I’m stuffed. It was wonderful, though,” Jordan said. “Ty will probably sneak over here a lot to eat. I’m a horrible cook. I work a lot of hours and have never really gotten the hang of it.”
“I haven’t cooked much the last year, either,” his mom answered. “This was nice. I really enjoyed having the whole family here.”
Ty’s dad dropped his fork and turned immediately to the one empty chair. Tara’s chair. “It was nice to meet you, Jordan,” he said. “If you’ll excuse me, I’ve got to finish feeding the horses and take care of some things out in the barn.”
“It was nice to meet you, too.” Jordan smiled at him. “You should come out to our stable and help Ty figure out what needs to be done to get the place functioning again.”
His dad pushed back from the table and stood. “You planning on having horses out there?”
“Maybe,” Ty answered. “Haven’t decided yet.”
“That would be good. You could take your horses, then. I just can’t see us keeping this farm and all the land. Time to think about retiring, not about what crop gets planted next.”
Ty’s mom stood and nailed his dad with a dangerous glare. “Give it a rest, Rick. We are
not
selling this farm.”
His dad turned and walked out without another word. Couldn’t the man have made an effort for one frigging night? Right about now, Jordan was probably thankful she didn’t have any family to deal with.