Vulnerable (Morgans of Nashville) (25 page)

Jake tapped the tip of his pen on the paper. “Well, sir, thank you for your time.”

“Sure thing. Did Amber say if she’s coming back to Dallas?”

“She gave me the impression she was returning.”

A long pause. “Great.”

He placed the phone in its case on his hip. “Interesting.”

“How so?” Rick asked.

“Can’t put my finger on it. Based on what he said, he liked her and her work.” He leaned back in his chair. “It’s the unspoken between-the-lines message that always catch my ear.”

“And that would be?”

“Don’t quite know yet.” He had run a police background check on her to see if anything popped. Nothing had.

So what was bothering him about her?

* * *

Amber paced the bright sunporch, her nerves drawn tight. She picked up her cell phone and redialed the number she’d already called five times.

Mrs. Reed had left the house shortly after the cops to run errands. There was a maid floating around the Reed house somewhere so she was mindful as the phone on the other end of the line rang five and then six times and kicked into voice mail.

“Where the hell are you?” she whispered into the receiver. Frustrated, she tapped the phone gently against her thigh as she paced. Tim promised to answer the phone whenever she called, but he let the last two calls go to voice mail.

She raised the phone, preparing to redial. “Don’t do this to me. Us. You said you’d be there. You promised you wouldn’t let me down.”

She dialed the number again and listened as it rang and rang. No answer this time sent her temper rising and her thoughts in a different direction. If she could not rely on Tim, she could always find another man. She was good at finding men.

 

S
earching surveillance footage was meticulous and mind numbing but a necessary task that couldn’t be overlooked. Jake had amassed footage from ten different cameras lined up along the coffee shop’s street, as well as a couple of side and back streets. Each picked up a different angle and provided a piece of the puzzle that made up Elisa’s last days.

A dry cleaners shop down the street had a camera that faced east away from the shop. He didn’t expect to see much, but on the day Elisa vanished, the camera picked up a partial shot of a red truck headed toward the shop. The truck stopped at a traffic light before moving along with traffic. He backed up the tape and froze the screen at the moment when the camera caught the best view of the driver. The footage was grainy but he could make out that the driver was a bearded male with dark hair and a muscular build. Just like Scott. And the man in Austin.

Jake checked the date stamp. This was ten minutes before Elisa had left the shop for the last time. He printed off the picture.

He continued to move through the footage frame by frame searching for glimpses of Scott Murphy as well as the man from Austin. There was a thin woman with long black hair who stood across the street. She wore large dark sunglasses and a big coat that covered her frame. She stood at the dress shop window across the street seemingly staring into the store. He froze the frame and realized her head was tilted up, almost as if she was studying the reflection in the glass. He watched the woman linger and then move down the street out of the frame.

He reviewed the tape again, but the woman never approached Elisa, nor did she speak to the man.

The next few hours were spent reviewing more footage with no hits. His neck and back ached and he needed a shot of caffeine as he popped in the next DVD from a women’s dress shop.

He fast-forwarded to the time he knew Elisa was on the street and slowly scrolled through the footage. Twenty-nine seconds into the section he spotted Elisa moving down the street, coffee in hand. Fifteen seconds after her, the woman appeared and then, seconds later, the bearded man.

The man paused and appeared to be looking at something in the window and then, glancing in Elisa’s direction, he began walking again.

DNA had been collected from Elisa’s body but it would take weeks at best to get the results. Was Elisa an unexpected diversion? Was she simply his type? And Bethany? The girl in Texas? For whatever reason, this guy liked killing smart women.

“So what the hell is it with you?” he muttered. “Why girls like that?”

“People will think you’re insane if you keep talking to yourself.” Georgia’s words were glib but the undertone drifting beneath telegraphed nervous energy.

The sound of her voice had him smiling and turning. As much as he wanted to rise and pull her to him, he kept his emotions in check. He leaned back in his chair, allowing his gaze to move over her. “I found the guy following Elisa.”

“Really?” Interest cut through the nervous edge that had sharpened her tone.

He tapped his finger on the screenshot he’d just printed. “Have a look.”

She moved close, but not so close that their bodies touched. She smelled of his favorite soap. He liked that she wore his scent.

Nodding, she rested hands on her hips. “Damn. Good hunting.”

“The needle is always there if you’re willing to toss a lot of hay.”

“So why’s he in Nashville?”

“I’ve been asking myself that question.” He could almost smell an arrest coming.

Georgia’s cell buzzed with a text and she glanced down at the display. “KC is calling.”

“More stage time.”

“Let’s hope.”

“I love to watch you sing. I get so damn hard.”

She leaned down and kissed him. “I’ll be sure to let you know when I’m onstage.”

He cupped his hand behind her head, deepening the kiss. “We’re going to have a real date. One that involves those high heels.”

“Count on it.”

* * *

Georgia was in her office when she called KC back minutes later. He picked up on the first ring. “KC, what’s going on?”

“Georgia, I’m worried about Carrie. She didn’t come in to work last night and I’ve called her cell a dozen times and she didn’t pick up.”

Worry darkened her light mood. “I thought she had a cold.”

“I’m not buying her cold story anymore. Can you go over there? I know you’re at work.”

“Sure, that’s fine.” She moved toward her desk and pulled her purse from her bottom drawer. “Call the police, and I will meet them there.”

“She was talking about leaving him,” he said.

“What?”

“After Hal came at you in the parking lot something in Carrie shifted.”

An abused spouse was at most risk when they were leaving. Abusers, sensing a loss of control, often struck out more violently than ever to regain control. “On my way. Text me her address.”

Second doubts hounded her as she drove across town to the small three-room house. Jesus, she was so afraid of showing weakness that she pushed Hal hard when he’d confronted her in the parking lot. Had she had a hand in pushing him over the edge?

Her worst fears were confirmed when she pulled up and saw three marked cars, lights flashing, and the yellow crime scene tape strung by the first responders.

She bolted out of her car and rushed up to a uniformed cop, quickly showing him her identification. “What the hell happened?”

“Looks like a murder/suicide.”

A baby’s cry cut through the chaos and she realized a uniformed officer was cradling Carrie’s baby, trying to calm her cries. “The woman who lives here works at Rudy’s bar. Her name is Carrie Jacobs.”

“That fits the name on the driver’s license I found in a purse by a suitcase. It looks like she was going to leave him.”

“Her boyfriend is Hal West.”

“That also fits. He appears to have died of a single gunshot wound to the head.”

Tears burned the back of her throat. Had she caused this?

“It’s a holy mess in there,” the officer said.

“And the baby?”

“Neighbors heard the baby crying and called 911. She was found in her crib, very upset but physically fine.”

She crossed to the young officer jostling the crying baby. She knew next to nothing about babies but figured she knew more than this rookie did. She reached out and he gladly handed her the child. She nestled it close and began to rock her body as she’d once seen her mother do with a neighbor’s child. She spoke softly to the child until she settled. “Oh, baby Sara, I am so sorry. I should have made your mommy listen to me sooner.”

“Young female is in the kitchen,” the second officer said. “She’s been beaten to death. A male is in the living room with a single gunshot in the mouth.”

Invisible fingers clenched around her heart as she thought about her birth mother, Annie, who had been beaten when she was only days old. Instinctively, she made sure the baby’s face wasn’t smothered under the blanket. She smiled at the child. “It’s okay, baby. It’s okay.”

“We’ve a call into social services and are trying to track down family.”

“Okay.”

The forensic van arrived and Brad got out. As he moved to the back of the van to suit up, an unmarked black SUV arrived and Deke and Rick got out. Her brothers strode to her. Both appeared taken aback by the image of her holding an infant.

“Deke,” she said.

His face softened with concern. She could barely hold back tears as she recapped what had happened.

Georgia looked at Rick. “If you can take the baby, I’ll suit up and go inside.”

Immediately, Rick reached out for the child. “Yeah, sure, of course.”

“You’re not going inside,” Deke said. “If you knew the victim, then you need to be out here and let Brad and another tech work the scene.”

“I can put aside my feelings. I can do this.”

“No. I wouldn’t let another officer in this situation go in there and I’m not letting you go. Stand down.”

Sadness cut and sliced her. “I kept telling her to leave the guy. He’s been putting bruises on her for months.”

“You didn’t cause this, Georgia,” Deke said.

She ran a trembling hand over her head. “I pushed her too hard. Every time I saw, her I pushed. I never know when to stop pushing. I’m always pushing. Goddamn it!”

* * *

Jake closed the door behind him, rattling keys in his hand as Georgia stood in the foyer of his house. She had called him from the crime scene, shaken and so upset he could guess at the tears threatening to overtake her. He told her to come by his place and where to find the spare key. He would be right over.

Her hair was damp from a shower and she wore only a towel. She’d called him thirty minutes ago. The murder scene was processed and she needed to see him.

Slowly, she dropped her towel to the ground, moving toward him. She didn’t smile. Didn’t flirt.

Instead, she closed the gap between them, wrapped her arms around his neck, and pressing her naked body against his, kissed him on the mouth. He banded his arms around her, pulling her close. Whatever emotion she couldn’t express with words, her body conveyed. The unspoken need reached out to him and connected.

His body throbbed hard against her as she reached for his jacket and slid it off his shoulders. He kissed her on the milky pale skin at the nape of her neck and savored the soft moan in the back of her throat. “Do you want to talk about it?”

She shook her head. “No. Not one word. Or I’m leaving.”

He unclipped his gun and locked it in the entryway table. When he looked back at her and saw the raw yearning in her eyes he nearly lost control. God, he wanted her.

He smoothed back her damp hair spiraling in ringlets and draping over her shoulders. He kissed her shoulder and then the top of her breast. They would talk later, but right now, he wanted to be inside her so badly he didn’t dare risk losing her to unwanted talk.

He unfastened his pants and pulled his shirt free. Her hands, desperate and needy, slid up his torso as he unbuttoned his shirt. She pushed it off his shoulders and kissed him. He cupped her breast. Squeezed until she moaned.

He shed the rest of his clothes and ran his hand up her flat belly over the curve of her breast. She closed her mouth and swallowed. “Bedroom, now.”

Taking her by the hand, he pulled her to his bedroom and sat on the edge of his bed. She lowered to her knees in front of him and smoothed her hand up his muscled legs. When she leaned over and put her mouth on him, he arched back, moaning her name. She seemed to crave anything at this moment that would bring her pleasure and erase the murder scene.

He cupped her shoulders and guided her onto the bed. She scooted up on the pillows and laid back as he straddled her. She reached for him.

“No,” he said.

Frustration darkened her gaze. “No?”

“Slow and easy, baby. We’re gonna enjoy this.” He would touch and kiss every part of her body and chase away, at least for a little while, all the evil she’d witnessed today.

“I can enjoy fast.”

He shook his head. “You’ll like slow better.”

“But—”

“Do you want me to stop?” He kissed the hollow between her breasts.

“No.” The word escaped on a growl.

“Then, slow it is.”

She moved her hand down his body, but he captured and kissed it before lowering his mouth to her neck. He pulsed hard against her and she wiggled as if the emotions were so powerful that they scraped against the underside of her skin.

“You’re a sadist,” she said.

He laughed. “Yes, I am.”

“Don’t men want it fast?”

“Sometimes.” He kissed her neck. “Sometimes, not.”

He moved his hand over her flat belly and she sucked in a breath. He circled his fingers over her belly button and then deliberately moved his hand lower. When he pushed his hand into her folds, she whimpered. “I’m not going to make it much longer.”

He chuckled. “We’ll find out.”

* * *

Tim parked almost a half mile away from Dalton Marlowe’s house to ensure that no one saw him on the property. With darkness around him, he worked his way through the wooded backyards until he reached the fence circling the large green backyard.

In the far back right corner there was a gap in the fence that offered just enough space between two iron slats through which his body could squeeze. He and Mike had used it too many times to count when they snuck in and out of the house. That dumbass Mike was always in some kind of trouble with his old man and grounded so they’d resorted to sneaking. Mike had never cared about rules or restrictions. He came and went as he pleased.

Sucking in a breath, he wedged through the iron rods. In the last five years, his body had thickened with muscle, forcing him to push harder. Iron scraped over the buttons of his shirt.

Once inside the fence, he tugged his shirt back into place, taking time to make sure it was neatly tucked into his pants. He jogged across the manicured lawn to the back door. It was five minutes after midnight.

Now standing on the back porch, he stared at the brick mansion that had been such a big part of his teen years. Five years had passed since he’d last stood here. So much had changed since then. Mike and Bethany were dead. He’d followed Amber to Texas and now back to Nashville. He’d grown up. Gotten smarter. And yet this place was exactly as he remembered it. The gardener still trimmed the hedges in a straight line, flower boxes remained filled with the same kind of red flowers, and the grass was as thick and lush as a flawless green carpet.

Everything changed and yet nothing changed.

He considered testing the basement window with the faulty latch. Had his old man fixed it? Mike used that window often to sneak out of the house. His mother and father’s excessive restrictions and her unending pressure for him to be perfect always sent him running.