Vulnerable (Morgans of Nashville) (3 page)

KC flipped a white bar towel over his shoulder. “Don’t you think you better get some sleep?”

“It would be the logical thing.” As Georgia slid off the bar stool, her brain hummed with nervous energy from the performance. A live gig always left her juiced and thinking she could run a marathon. Experience told her that the adrenaline crash would come in about an hour. Just enough time to get home and fall into bed.

Turning to leave, she caught sight of a tall, slim, athletic woman with shoulder-length blond hair and blue eyes. She wore an oversized sweater, jeans, and heeled brown cowboy boots. A backpack slung over her left shoulder, the woman approached Georgia.

She paused. “Can I help you?”

“You’re Georgia Morgan?”

“That’s right.”

“Amber Ryder. You’ve called me a couple of times.”

The name took her by surprise. “Wow, Amber Ryder. Sorry to looked so shocked. I wasn’t expecting you out of the blue like this. Or you to be so blond.”

Amber tightened her grip around the strap of her backpack. “I changed the hair a couple of years ago. New start.”

After the case of the missing teens hit the airways, Amber was besieged with reporters as well as haters who did not believe her story. According to police reports filed, bricks were thrown through her mother’s front window and she was harassed and chased several times. Some distrusted her. Some pitied her. But everyone, good or bad, had weighed in with an opinion about Amber Ryder. Finally, forced to drop out of high school, she homeschooled herself until a Good Samaritan offered her a scholarship to the University of Texas and she left Nashville for good.

“How did you find me?” Georgia asked.

“I called the station. They said you were singing tonight.”

She wondered who had given out her location to a stranger. Wondered who would get an earful.

“You said you’re reopening the case.”

Georgia rose off her barstool. “That’s right. We’re going to be treating the case as a homicide now.”

“You found the bodies?”

“Not yet.”

Amber nodded toward an empty booth. “Can we sit in one of the booths? I’m starving and could use a meal.”

“Yeah, sure.” Amber had done more than change her black hair to blond. Gone were the thick bangs and heavy eye makeup that made her pale skin look sallow, the multiple piercings in her left ear, and the half dozen rings on her fingers. Now, natural gold-blond hair and faint traces of mascara accentuated vivid blue eyes and a peaches-and-cream complexion as smooth as a stone.

Georgia caught KC’s gaze and noted the raised eyebrow. He was curious as well. Sights set on an empty booth, she led Amber to it and stood waiting until the woman lowered into the seat.

This unexpected meeting had Georgia thumbing through all the questions she wanted to ask Amber. Instead, she raised her hand toward Carrie. “Can I get two menus? Starving.”

Carrie grabbed a couple of menus and came toward the table. “Don’t you want the regular?”

Burgers, fries, and more soda. She ordered the same thing every single time she ate at Rudy’s. “Sure. Amber?”

Amber settled her backpack in the corner of the booth. “I’ll have the same.”

“Carrie, bring one check,” Georgia said.

Amber smiled. “Thanks. Been a day or so since I had a decent meal. I didn’t stop much on the drive up from Dallas.”

Georgia watched Carrie walk away, noting the bruise on the back of her arm.

Amber tapped her finger on the table. “Who’s hitting her?”

Georgia turned back to Amber, feeling protective of Carrie’s privacy ignored the question.

“I’m betting a boyfriend or husband. It bothers you.”

“This conversation isn’t about Carrie.”

“You’re right. Sorry.”

Georgia sat back in her booth and waited until Carrie arrived with their drinks and a basket of rolls. “Thanks, Carrie.”

Amber smiled up at her. “Thanks.”

“KC says to drink and eat up, ladies. He said you both are too skinny.”

As Carrie walked away, Amber unwrapped her straw and placed it carefully in her soda. She reached for a warm roll. She took a bite, her eyes closing for a second as she enjoyed the pure pleasure. “That really hits the spot.”

“Good.”

Georgia grabbed a piece of roll, tore off a section and bit into it. Soft and warm, it tasted good and filled some of the emptiness in her belly. She’d not really eaten since breakfast. “So you came from Dallas. You been there since you left Nashville.”

“Yeah. Earned my degree last summer.”

“In four years.”

“Summer school helped. I wanted to be done so I could move on and get a real job. No more waiting tables.” Amber glanced toward KC and locked gazes with him. She smiled and then looked away. “He’s a cop.”

“How can you tell?”

“I talked to enough of them.”

“He’s retired.”

Nodding, she said, “I met a lot of cops during the investigation. I don’t remember him.”

“He’s homicide. The case was classified as missing persons.”

Frowning, she shook her head. “I spoke to a homicide detective.”

Georgia had read in the case files that it had been her father who’d interviewed Amber. “You dealt with Buddy Morgan.”

Recognition flickered. “Once, I think. Big, tall, gruff guy. I remember he was nice.”

Nice.
She’d heard her father described a lot of ways but nice had never been one of them. Buddy had been a crack detective, one of the best in the state, but he was tough as nails and single-minded.

As if sensing her thoughts, Amber asked, “Was he your father? Can’t be a coincidence that you are a Morgan as well.”

“You should be a detective.”

Absently, she traced the curved edge of the table. “He told me he had a daughter who was about ten years older than me. That must be you.”

“I guess so.” Georgia played her cards close, not wanting to give more information than she received. Buddy had taught her that trick. “So why did you come all this way to find me? You could simply have called.”

Amber took a bit of bread. “I thought maybe I could help if I came to town. I’ve tried to move on, but what happened in those woods still dogs me.”

As the adrenaline from the stage ebbed, fingers of fatigue now worked on her back and neck and reminded her of the early morning shift waiting for her. “Has any of your memory returned?”

Amber took another bite. “No. And I have tried hypnosis and relaxation techniques, even visualization. Nothing works.” She tucked a blond strand behind her ear. “You said in your phone message that you’re reviewing all the files associated with the case.”

“That’s right.”

“How much have you read?”

“All of it.” She could now boil down dozens of hours of reading into a few lines. “Three teenagers went into the woods and one, you, came out. The other two have not been found yet. You claimed memory loss. The trail went cold.”

Amber collected the remaining bits of bread in her hands, watching the crumbs land onto the tabletop. “I had a grade-three concussion. The head injury not only erased the actual day but the days leading up to our trip into the woods. I’m damn lucky to be alive.”

Georgia studied the young woman and recalled the facts. “Your head injury was significant. Rescue workers found you at the bottom of a ravine and theorized you hit your head on the rocks at the bottom. Broke your arm. Compound fracture. Some thought you were lying. That you did remember what happened and perhaps were even responsible.” She was never good at dancing around tough questions.

“I know. The police questioned me more times than I can remember. They thought if they asked me the same question enough, I’d trip up. But I never did because I told only what I knew, which was the truth.” She flattened her palms on the table. “I simply don’t remember the woods, and the last memory I had starts three days before we went into the park.”

Many a liar had crossed her path while on the job so she wasn’t quick to bite on any story. “You have no memory of anything in the woods?”

Amber’s voice was steady and unwavering. “No. My hard drive was wiped clean.”

“Okay.” That didn’t mean she believed her, but she wasn’t ready to argue the point now.

“I’m glad you’ve reopened the case. Once and for all, I want to prove that I was also a victim and not some manipulative teenager responsible for what happened to those kids.”

The intensity snapping with each quietly spoken word intrigued Georgia more than the words. “Tell me what you do remember.”

Hearing the interest in Georgia’s voice, Amber relaxed a fraction as if she took comfort that someone might actually believe her. “I remember waking up three days before we had planned our hike at Percy Warner Park.”

“We?” She knew but she wanted to hear it from Amber.

“Mike Marlowe and Bethany Reed.”

“You were all students at St. Vincent High School. Bethany was AP/Honors science. You were a solid if not underachieving student, and Mike was the dumb jock. Three unlikely classmates working on a science project.”

“Yes.”

A wrinkle furrowed in the center of Amber’s brow. “The project’s focus was ecosystems. Bethany determined that Percy Warner Park would be our ecosystem and we were planning to make extensive observations during that initial visit and then return each week during the fall semester.”

Georgia had been a B student in high school and did what she needed to get by. It wasn’t until she reached college and took her first forensic class that her fascination with learning kicked into high gear. “Sounds ambitious.”

“Bethany pitched the idea to us. She wanted the project to stand out.”

“Why did she need you or Mike?”

“She was afraid to go it alone. She had applied to some very prestigious colleges but had blown several interviews. She was painfully shy. She knew I’d go with her because we were friends.”

Georgia tried to picture the girl and the nerd as friends. “And Mike?”

“Trying to get his grades up so he could apply to one of the schools here in Tennessee. His dad had a lot of pull in the state and if his grades could be halfway decent, the old man could call in favors.”

“What about you?” She knew all the answers but wanted to hear it from Amber.

“My grades were good but not great, and I needed big scholarship money if I wanted more than living with my mom and working at Blue Note Java.”

“The coffee shop.”

“Right. The one near the school.”

“So the three of you were all motivated.”

“I’m not sure how motivated Mike and I were, but we were all desperate for something. Desperation makes strange bedfellows.” She threaded her fingers together and rested them on the table. Her nails were neat, trimmed and the cuticles manicured.

“Okay. It’s a few days before the hike. What’s your last memory?”

“I went by Mike’s house to drop off notes from Monday’s class. He missed it. Said he was sick but I suspected he was hungover.”

“Was he?”

“He liked to drink and he got wasted over the weekend on a road trip for a college football game. That was so typical of Mike.”

Georgia shook her head. “My dad would have woken me up and insisted I go to school sick or not. He’d have wanted to teach me a lesson about underage drinking.”

“Mike’s dad wasn’t like that. Dalton, Mr. Marlowe, protected Mike. Covered up his messes. Doted on the boy. If Mike needed an excuse for school, his dad came up with one.”

Dalton Marlowe did well as a local corporate attorney, but the real money came through Mike’s mother, which Dalton still controlled until Mike was found dead or alive. Mike’s mother died when he was fifteen.

“So you gave hungover Mike the notes. That’s Tuesday. You three didn’t go into the woods until Friday.”

“One of the reasons I came by Mike’s house was to confirm he wasn’t backing out of our project. He did that a lot and I was there to make sure he would hike.”

“That’s the last time you saw him before the hike?”

“I don’t know.” She recognized Georgia’s word trap. “I have no memory.”

Georgia’s tone held no hint of apology. “What did Mike say that last day you remembered seeing him?”

“That’s the thing. I never saw Mike that day. His father answered the door. I asked to see Mike, but he wouldn’t let me. Said Mike was sleeping. So I gave the notes to his dad. His dad appreciated my help and even gave me fifty bucks for my trouble.” She crossed her legs and then slowly settled back in the booth.

“That’s sounds like a very generous tip for just delivering homework. But it bothered you. Why?”

“I wanted to say no to the tip, but I needed the money. My mom is a cocktail waitress and she never made a lot of money. I spent that fifty bucks on groceries.”

Georgia would battle her growing fatigue so she could compare her father’s case notes against Amber’s comments when she returned home. Buddy had always kept careful notes when he investigated a case. “What do you remember next?”

“I took the money from Mr. Marlowe, bought groceries, and went home. I knocked out my math homework. I stayed in that night and went to bed early. And that’s all I remember until I woke up in the hospital. It’s unnerving to have no recall, especially for several days. I keep waiting for something to trigger a buried memory.”

X-rays and MRIs confirmed the head injury to her left temporal lobe. “The doctors say memory loss is not uncommon.”

“I suppose. It was several weeks before I could think clearly again. Felt like I was in a fog.”

KC reappeared with their food and settled hot plates in front of each woman. He looked at Amber. “Loaded extra fries on your plate.”

When she smiled up at him, her face lit up. “You’re sweet.”

KC settled his hand on his hip. “Took me a minute to place you. The hair threw me off.”