Be Afraid (29 page)

“You swear?”

“Yes.”

“How can I believe you? You always want more.”

“You can believe me. I’m telling the truth. Just give me Jenna.”

“If we keep on, we’ll be caught.” Reason grew increasingly nervous. They danced on the razor’s edge but Madness didn’t seem to care.

“I will be satisfied with Jenna. I swear.”

“What if she isn’t afraid? What if she’s like Nancy?”

“We’ll make her afraid. We’re good at that.”

Tuesday, August 22, 10
P.M.

Jenna shifted the gears of her Jeep and drove off the exit ramp that took her into the rolling hills and toward home. She was tired. Instead of going by KC’s tonight she’d set up her easel on the Cumberland River at the park. There was an old-car show in town and the streets teemed with tourists. It hadn’t been too hot, so folks were happy to sit and have their picture done. She’d made a few hundred bucks, enough to pay another month’s rent if she wanted to stay in Nashville longer.

She glanced in the rearview mirror, spotted the set of headlights, and gave little thought to the second car as she punched in a different radio station and turned up the radio. She liked music. It pulled her out of dark places quickly and she’d used it often in her life. She never went anywhere without her music.

She took a corner and then a quick turn down a smaller road. Just four miles from her house, she longed to strip off her jeans and sweater, slip into a hot bath and then into her pajamas. She’d made a pot roast the other night and knew it would warm up well. A good night just to cocoon and forget about killers, loss, and sadness. She turned the radio up another notch.

This time when she looked, she realized the lights had drawn closer. Tightening her hands on the wheel, she sped up. The second car not only matched her speed but also increased until it was inches from her bumper.

“No way. No way.” She pressed her foot on the accelerator but her old Jeep wouldn’t move much faster. Cursing, she shoved her foot almost to the floor.

The second car could have hit her bumper but instead cut hard to the left and came along beside her. She glanced into the other car but only saw a dark hoodie. The driver held up a gloved middle finger and then cut his car hard to the right and smacked into the side of her vehicle.

Old training kicked into play. She kept her gaze ahead as she swerved into the other lane. Praying for no traffic, she hit the brakes and watched as the other car zoomed ahead. She quickly got back into the right lane and kept driving as she watched the car up ahead. Damn.

For a moment, the car lights grew distant and the brake lights tapped on. She immediately slowed and cursed the two-lane road that gave her nowhere to go. The brake lights clicked off and then reverse lights appeared. The driver was backing up and heading straight toward her.

Heart pounding in her chest, she spotted an easement on the side of the road that led toward a field. Gunning her engine, she drove toward the patch of dirt and whisked off the road seconds before the other car barrelled past her.

The Jeep’s undercarriage bumped and scraped against the field’s rocks and ruts, jostling her against the side door. Her shoulder hit hard. She gripped the steering wheel and jammed on the breaks. When it came to a stop, her thoughts jumbled into a mix of anger, adrenaline, and fear.

Jenna reached for her glove box where she kept her Glock. She unholstered it as she glanced back toward the road to see if the driver had returned. Heart beating in her throat, she searched for the car. Only when she was certain it was gone did she fumble for her phone and dial 9-1-1. Backup. She needed backup.

“Nine-one-one operator.”

Again old training came into play. Once a cop always a cop. She gave her location and a description of what just happened as she searched in her rearview mirror for signs of the second car. In the distance, the glow of headlights appeared.

“I’ll have someone out there immediately.”

The dispatcher’s even, measured tone fueled rather than calmed her jazzed nerves. “Have them hurry. I think he’s turned around and headed back for more.”

“Can you provide a description of the car?”

She focused on facts not fear. Shutting off the engine, she killed her headlights. In the dim moonlight she could make out the car’s silhouette. “Appears to be a four-door sedan. Dark color. Too much in the shadows to make it out.”

“License plate?”

She tightened her grip on her gun as she waited for a sign the driver was getting out of the car. “Can’t see it.”

“We’ve a car on the way.”

“Good.”

The car paused for a long, tense second, its lights blaring in her direction and its engine humming. He had to see her. Her phone rang, making her jump. A glance at the screen told her it was a local number.

The car then backed up, turned around and sped off, kicking up gravel. The large engine rumbled down the deserted road. Hands trembling, she reached for the phone. “Hello?”

“Ms. Thompson, what’s your status?”

She dropped her head back against the seat and held her semi-automatic close. Adrenaline snapped and bit and then just as quickly faded as it evaporated. “The driver has left. He just drove off.”

“I’ll stay on the line with you.”

“Okay.”

“Is your car damaged? Is there any gasoline leaking?”

She sat up for a moment, sniffing for any signs of leaking gasoline. When she didn’t smell anything, she dropped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “No. No gas leaks.”

“Good.”

Damn it. Damn it.

“I’m getting out of the Jeep.”

“You feel strong enough to walk?”

“We’ll see.”

Talking calmed her thoughts. Gun in hand, she opened the door and stepped out. She climbed up the small embankment to the road and stared down the winding road. One hundred yards ahead, the road hooked to the right and vanished.

She didn’t have to wait long before she heard the police sirens and then saw the flash of blue lights. “I see the lights of the police car. Thanks.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

She closed her phone and tucked it and her gun in her waistband at the base of her spine and held up her hands. The cops on duty knew they were headed into trouble. They could just as easily see the gun in her hand and figure she was the problem. Hoping to avoid more problems, she waited until they stopped and shone lights on her. The deputies got out of their vehicle.

“I’m Jenna Thompson. I called the accident in.” She explained she was carrying a legally registered weapon.

The officers took the gun from her and once they had control of the situation, asked, “That’s your vehicle at the bottom of the hill?”

“It is. I left my purse inside. It’s on the floor. It has my identification.”

“We’ll get that for you.” The officer was midsized, had a flat belly, and sported a thick mustache and a Tennessee drawl.

“Would you mind notifying Detective Rick Morgan of the accident? I just consulted with him on a case.”

Dark eyes narrowed and his frown deepened. “You’re that artist.”

“That would be me.”

“Yeah, I’ll get him on the horn. Have a seat in my car. It’ll be a few minutes before a tow truck arrives.”

“Thanks.”

“You need an ambulance?”

She’d be sore tomorrow but nothing was broken or really banged up. “No. Nerves are shot but I’m fine otherwise.”

As the tow truck pulled her Jeep out of the hollow and onto the main road a set of headlights appeared on the road and the car pulled off to the shoulder. Rick got out of his car, the badge fastened to his belt buckle. His expression was tight and drawn as he moved along the side of the road toward her.

She unfolded her arms and did her best to look relaxed as if they’d just run into each other on Broadway. “Funny meeting you here.”

Rick’s gaze traveled over her as if assessing and cataloging injuries. When he didn’t find anything he nodded toward the car. “What the hell happened?”

“A car ran me off the road.” Her training shifted into play, pushing aside the emotion and forcing her to focus on the facts. Later, she might melt into a pool of nerves, but not now.

“And you aren’t hurt?”

“I’m fine.”

The winch of the tow truck groaned as the Jeep settled at the top of the hill. Surprisingly, other than a few clumps of grass and dirt in the front fender, it didn’t look too much worse for wear.

“Any idea why?”

“I honestly don’t know. If the guy was tailing me, then I missed it. I was playing the radio and just trying to get my head in a good place when the headlights appeared.”

“See anything?”

“Gave what I have to the officer. Four-door, American car, dark color. That’s all I have.”

“It’s the news report about the Lost Girl,” he said. “It’s shaken a couple of nuts loose from the tree.”

The theory made sense. “I gave a face to a set of bones that might not ever have been identified.”

“You’ve made someone nervous.”

The cops had found the bones. She’d simply been the messenger. But messengers got shot all the time. “I’m handy to blame. Everyone saw my face on television.” Deep satisfaction teased a smile to the edges of her lips. “This is a good thing.”

His frown deepened. “I’d hate to see your idea of a bad thing.”

She pulled a clump of dirt from her front fender. “This means the killer of that little girl was paying attention to the news the other night.”

The frown held steady. “It does?”

“Oh, yeah. I’ve rattled someone’s cage but good.”

He rested his hands on his hips. “That’s all fine and good, but how did this person get a bead on you, Jenna?”

“Martinez’s news report released just enough information to the public. If a motivated person wanted to find me, then they could. I’m not exactly in hiding.”

“You should be more careful.”

She studied his face in the moonlight. “Why’re you frowning? I got into a little fender bender but I’m fine. And honestly, I saw worse on the job in Baltimore.”

He didn’t respond right away. “What if it doesn’t have anything to do with the Lost Girl but more to do with your past?”

She rejected the uncomfortable theory quickly. “My family’s killer was found dead from an overdose. The case was closed twenty-five years ago.” She shook her head. “I have no family in Nashville and anyone I would have known dates back to kindergarten.” An amused brow lifted. “A playground squabble is hardly worth all this trouble.”

Her attempt at humor fell flat. “I pulled the records on your family’s case.”

Curiosity mingled with annoyance as she slid her hands in her back pockets. “Funny. I considered asking you to do that.”

“Why?”

“My aunt never talked about it growing up. I asked a few times but she dodged the questions.”

“KC and my father dug deep into Ronnie’s life. Best they could come up with was that he worked at the school your sister attended.”

She stuffed down her disappointment. “Random killings are frustrating but they do happen.”

“Ronnie didn’t have the brains to kill your family alone. He barely graduated high school and had a habit of shooting his mouth off after every crime he committed. Did you know he tried to burn your parents’ house down after the murders?”

“No. I didn’t.”

“The fire didn’t take. Burned around the kitchen but the fire went out.”

“By then, I was in the trunk of his car, bound and gagged.”

His hand slid into his pocket and he rattled change. “He died of a drug overdose nine days later.”

“And I was found.”

He leaned toward her a fraction. “I’ve had two murder victims in the last week and a half. Both were shot and both of the crime scenes were burned to the ground.”

“Sounds like a pattern.”

“You’d think, but we found the first killer dead of an overdose before the second victim died.”

“So it’s not the same guy.”

“No. In fact, we’ve film from a delivery-store surveillance camera just an hour ago. It showed a man cutting in front of a woman named Nancy Jones, who we think is our second victim. The two got into an argument. We’re looking for him now.”

“You think he was working with the first guy?”

“I don’t know.”

“So why’re you telling me this?”

“I don’t know. The whole setup reminds me of your family. Stalking. Shooting. Fire.”

Hope flickered, but she tamped it out. “A bit of a stretch.”

“There’re lots of similarities between these two cases and your family’s.”

There’d been a time when she’d have laughed off his theory. Her case was closed. End of story. But in the last few weeks, with the appearance of Shadow Eyes, she didn’t feel much like laughing or calling him a nut. “The anniversary of my family’s death is coming up.”

“Four days.”

The tow-truck driver called Jenna over and she went immediately, suddenly wanting to be home and away from all this death and violence.

The driver was tall, lean, and wore a red T-shirt covered in grease smudges. “The Jeep appears to be drivable,” he said. “You didn’t do any damage to it. Just got it stuck.”

Escape. As long as her wheels were functional she could deal. “That’s the best news I’ve heard all day. What do I owe you?”

The tow-truck driver named a price and she went to the Jeep, got her purse, and dug cash out of her wallet. The cash had come from the bride portrait. She paid him one hundred dollars.

She tossed her purse back on the passenger-side seat of her Jeep. “I’m not sure what to say now, Detective Morgan.”

“Where are you headed?” Rick asked.

“Home. I need a cold glass of wine and a hot bath.”

“Is that smart? Going home alone?”

“I’ll be fine.”

The deputy returned and gave her back her gun. She tucked it in her purse.

“I don’t like you going to that cabin alone.”

“Don’t worry, Detective. I managed to survive working on the streets of Baltimore for nine years. I think I can get myself home. Besides, this guy has got to be long gone if he has even half a brain.”