Be Afraid (16 page)

Alex shared his brother’s olive complexion and dark hair but he had a long, lean build that stretched to six foot three inches. He wore his thick hair short, his shirts starched, and his suits were handmade. Since he was a kid, all the Morgans had assumed Alex would not only run for public office but would land in the governor’s mansion before he turned forty.

Deke grinned when he made eye contact with Rick. “You’ve done a hell of a job with this place. How do you like living in the sticks?”

Rick’s stomach knotting, he accepted Deke’s hand and shook heartily. “Seems to suit Tracker and me. Never asked, but how was vacation?”

“Nice to get away with Rachel for a few days. No phones. No work.”

Rick barely heard the answer as he faced Alex and wrestled a surge of annoyance and anger. “Alex.”

Alex gave no hint to what was happening behind eyes as black as coal. He possessed an icy demeanor that had always made him very hard to read. “Rick. Place looks great.”

“Thanks.”

“I hear you closed the Diane Smith case,” Deke said.

Word was getting around about Jonas Tuttle, but Rick still had too many missing pieces to close the case in his mind. “Looks that way. We’ll see.”

“Any idea why the guy killed her?” Alex asked. He extended his hand to Rick.

Homicide had always served as neutral territory for the Morgans. No better way to dodge emotions than to dig into the latest murder. He accepted his brother’s hand and this momentary truce. Each squeezed hard, giving as good as the other before releasing the grasp. “He was stalking her for months. Acted out killing fantasies with a hooker. But why he chose Diane, I don’t know. And he had expensive camera equipment that would have been beyond his means.”

“Sounds like you don’t want to mark it closed,” Deke said.

Alex stood silent. He’d done his due diligence by breaking the first chunk of ice.

“In a day or two,” Rick said. He stepped aside so his brothers could enter. As they moved down the hallway, he added, “I want to dig just a little deeper. Something doesn’t seem quite right.”

“Is that Mexican I smell?” Deke asked.

“Georgia brought food.”

“Did she cook it?” Alex asked.

“No,” Rick said.

The relief on his brothers’ faces almost made him smile. This moment was the most normal the three Morgan brothers had had in so long. Homicide and jokes about Georgia’s cooking . . . didn’t get better than that. “She figured we’d behave with food on the table.”

“She has a short memory,” Alex said.

Rick let the comment slide and to Deke asked, “How is Rachel?”

Deke’s expression softened in a way it had never done before. “Working on another case and determined to save all the downtrodden in the world.”

Rachel’s intensity reminded him of Jenna. The women were different in many ways but both carried with them a drive that set them apart from most people. “She should’ve come.”

“She’s in court tomorrow. Will be hard to get her to focus on much until she’s got a resolution.”

As the three Morgan men entered the kitchen Georgia grinned up at them. She, more than any of the four siblings, missed the family gatherings. For that reason, and that alone, he was sorry for the rift with Alex.

Georgia moved to the sink to fill Tracker’s water bowl. The dog knew he was most likely to be heard if he came to the kitchen, the place where Rick had all but lived the last few months during the renovation.

“Wolf-dog was at the back door,” Georgia said. “Should I feed him?”

Rick checked his watch. “Sure. His food is in the pantry. He gets exactly one scoop.”

Georgia frowned. “That sounds kinda mean? Can’t I give him a chew or a bone?”

“If I keep his weight in check, he feels and moves better. Extra weight equals pain. So no more sneaking him chips.”

Looking innocent, she vanished into the pantry and appeared with a bowl of food that looked to be exactly one scoop. “Seems kinda sad never to be able to have a fun snack again.”

Rick shrugged off his jacket, the shoulders suddenly feeling tight. “We’ll play with his chew toy tonight and he can bark at squirrels later. He’ll be fine.”

She dumped the food into the bowl. She winked at the dog and rubbed him between the ears. “Whatever you say, boss.”

Deke set a file folder on the counter. “Don’t look so sad, Georgia. He loves the chew toy.”

She shrugged and snapped up a chip, which she ate in one bite. “Whatever.”

Rick nodded toward the folder. “Those the papers?”

Deke lifted the case slightly. “Rachel drew them up just as we asked. They’re ready to sign. I brought copies for everyone to read after we eat.”

“I don’t have time to eat,” Alex said, checking his watch. “Deke, do you mind if we sign the papers now? I’ve got to get back to town.”

“You can’t eat?” Georgia asked. “Alex, I did takeout and didn’t cook just for you!”

Alex’s gaze softened a fraction. “Sorry, Georgia. Got a dinner date in town.”

The word
date
reverberated through the house and no one spoke for a moment. They all knew Melissa had been dating Rick and after his shooting had taken up with Alex.

Deke spread the papers on the counter. “Copies for everyone to read.”

Alex reached in his coat pocket and pulled out an expensive-looking pen. “It’s as we discussed?”

“Land transfers from Rick to you, in accordance with Dad’s will.”

Without reading it, Alex reached for the top copy and flipped to the last page. He scrawled his name in the spot indicated for him.

“Don’t you want to read it?” Deke asked.

“I don’t need to read it. I trust Rachel got it right.” He handed the pen to Rick.

Rick accepted the pen. “You brought the money?”

“I did.” Rick signed and handed the pen to Georgia and then Deke who signed as witnesses.

Alex reached in his pocket, pulled out a dollar bill, and laid it on the counter.

Rick pocketed the money and signed. “Land’s all yours.”

Alex carefully tucked his pen back in his breast pocket along with his copy of the deed. “Excellent. Sorry I can’t stay.” Relief, not remorse, hummed below the surface. They’d avoided World War III but had also not signed a peace treaty. In fact, it might not take much to make the fireworks fly again.

“Alex, want a plate for the road?” Georgia offered.

For her, Alex’s smile was genuine. He gave her a kiss on the cheek and she hugged him fiercely. “Thanks, but no.”

Georgia smiled as she stepped back, but Rick knew their brother’s early departure had dashed whatever hopes she’d had of a family gathering. That sparked irritation, which peeled away whatever good intentions Rick had brought with him to the meeting. Dinner date. Melissa. Shit. “Don’t want to keep her waiting.”

The sarcasm-laced words melted the ice and for a moment, Alex’s eyes burned with fury. Instead of commenting, he turned. The steady clipped strike of his shoes echoed through the house and seconds later the front door slammed so hard that the windows rattled.

For a moment, no one said anything. Then Georgia pulled a beer from the refrigerator and popped it. “No blood was shed. I’d say we’ve made some progress.”

Progress. All-out war had cooled to bitter resentment. “Who’re you kidding, Georgia? We’re a fucked-up fractured excuse for a family.”

A small shrug lifted her shoulder. “So you admit we’re a family? Good. That’s progress.”

To Jenna fear tasted like fast-food hamburgers and fries.

Since Jenna had been held prisoner in that closet for nine days, she’d not been able to eat hamburgers in any way, shape, or form. And the smell of fries turned her stomach. Her aunt had taken her to a local fast-food place when she’d first moved to Baltimore as a treat but Jenna took one look at the meal and had cried.

She stopped at the traffic light and her stomach grumbled. She had a chicken and a salad in her fridge at home but as she glanced over at the hamburger chain restaurant, she wondered if she could finally walk into the place and order a meal like a normal person.

Her stomach curdled just imagining the smell but stubbornness had her turning into the parking lot. Before she had a chance to overthink, she grabbed her purse and pushed through the doors, soon finding herself standing in front of the light-up display menu. The choices seemed overwhelming.

When it was her turn, a teenage girl behind the counter barely looked her way when she asked, “May I take your order?”

Jenna had no idea what she wanted so she opted for the food that churned the worst memories. “Hamburger.”

“What kind?”

“Kind?”

“We serve it a dozen different ways.”

A dozen ways? All she remembered was the small, round disk of meat floating in a bun of white bread that her jailor gave her each day. “What do you recommend?”

The girl shrugged. “Number one is our best seller.”

Jenna glanced at the board overhead but found the choices staggering. “I’ll take a number one.”

The girl dropped her gaze to her register as if her thoughts had already moved to the next order. “You want me to supersize that?”

“What?” God, she wasn’t sure if she could eat a small. “No. Small is fine.”

The girl drummed her fingers and attempted a smile. “For here or to go?”

The place wasn’t too busy or crowded and if she waited until she got home, the meal would be cold. “I’ll eat here.”

“Kind of drink?”

“Drink?” So many choices. “Water is fine.”

“You get a soda.”

She watched as the cooking crew prepared the burgers behind the counter. Such efficiency. “No, thanks. Just water.”

The girl rang up the order, took Jenna’s money, and handed her the red tray filled with a neatly wrapped burger, a sleeve of fries, and a small iced water.

Jenna moved to a seat by the window and carefully unwrapped the burger. She smoothed out the paper. She hesitated and then reached for the burger and held the soft warm bread in her hands.

“Little Jennifer?”

The man’s voice drifted through the cracks of the door. Even as she remained huddled in the corner, exhausted from weeping for her mother, a part of her was grateful to hear his voice. It had been too silent for so long and she’d lost track of time.

Now he was talking to her.

“Little Jennifer?”

She clung to her pink blanket. “Yes.”

“I have food for you. Are you hungry?”

Her stomach grumbled. “Yes.”

The sound of locks turned and clicked and the closet door slowly opened. Dim light from the other room drifted into the closet, which smelled of her urine.

She looked up into the vivid blue eyes that danced with an unnerving excitement. He set down a fast-food bag and a cup of soda with a straw. The scents of the food made her mouth water and chased away some of her fear.

“Go on. Take it.”

She reached out with a trembling hand and then snatched the bag.

“Just a little longer, Sugar Pie,” he said. “Just a little longer and then you and me is gonna move to California and be a family. You’re gonna be my girl and I’m gonna be your man.”

Jenna sat straighter in her chair. With a trembling hand, she set the burger down and reached for the water. She sipped the cool liquid, which soothed her dry throat.

Seconds passed as she looked at the food. She picked up the burger again, closed her eyes, and bit into it without thinking. She chewed once, twice before she heard his voice again.

“Little Jennifer?”
Her jailor’s voice rattled in her memory.

Her stomach rolled as nausea rose. She quickly pulled several napkins from the holder and spit the uneaten burger into the paper before balling it up into a wad.

“Little Jennifer?”

She tipped her head back, feeling her rapid heartbeat in her throat. Unable to touch the burger again, she scooped it all back in the bag and quickly dumped the entire meal into the trash. She hurried outside to her car where she stood for several minutes. She pulled in a deep breath, filling her lungs, hoping for fresh air but getting a lungful of the thick burgers-and-fries scent. She coughed and got into her car.

Behind the wheel, she closed her eyes and tried to calm her racing heartbeat. “It’s just a damn burger. Just a damn burger.”

But a glance back at the fast-food place told her she’d never go back inside there or anywhere like it again.

With a trembling hand, she reached for her sketchpad and started to draw the outline of a face. She quickly drew the face of Ronnie Dupree, the man who’d locked her in the closet. Memories of his image had faded over time and for years she’d not thought about him. Now, however, his face came into sharp focus as if it had only been seconds since she’d last seen him.

Her fingers moved quickly, drawing his deep-set eyes, flat nose, and wide, full lips. She traced a large forehead and thinning hair that brushed narrow shoulders. When she was finished, her breathing had grown rapid and shallow and a headache had formed over her left eye. “Why did you do it? Why did you kill my family? Destroy my life?” she whispered.

As she stared at the sketch, the eyes of another came to mind. In the margin, she began to draw a darker set of eyes. She couldn’t say if they belonged to a man or a woman, but their deep, piercing glare unsettled her. She’d been drawing these eyes for three weeks but never once before with Ronnie’s face.

“Who are you?”

The faceless shadowed figure refused to step into the light so she could draw it.

As a forensic artist, she’d been able to coax vivid memories from the most traumatized of victims. She could sit with them for hours and gently draw out details that she used to create a face. What song was on the radio? What did the air feel like? Did the breeze blow against your skin? Think about his chin? What did the room smell like?

She flipped the page in her sketchbook and stared at the blank page for a long time.
What did the room smell like?
Hamburgers and fries?
Was it hot or cold?
Hot. Stifling hot. The pink blanket scratched against her sweaty skin.
Did the Shadow person ever speak to you?
Not to me. Only to Ronnie.
What was said?
Precise words escaped her, but she remembered a tone of voice. The person was mad at Ronnie. Furious. And then the shadow was quiet.