“What kind of favor?”
“None of your business.”
“Do you always find strangers and offer them work?”
That made her smile. “Do you always ask so many questions?”
“Yeah.”
The crowd in the bar grew louder and without turning she knew more people had come into the place. The more people came in here the greater the chance she’d be recognized. And she wasn’t ready to answer questions about the past. “As much as I’d love to chat, like I said I don’t care for crowds or places like this. If you want the job, be at the vineyard tomorrow by nine.”
“This makes no sense.”
She shook her head as she rose. “No, I guess not.”
“Don’t hold your breath.”
“I won’t. You’d be doing me a favor by not coming.” The uncensored honesty caught him off guard. “You always mean?”
For a long tense moment she did not speak. Old feelings kicked and scratched her insides. “You remind me of myself.”
He shook his head. “We are nothing alike, lady. You can’t pretend to know me.”
“But I do,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. “I know what it’s like to see loved ones die. I know what it’s like to have others tell you the accident wasn’t your fault and to know deep in your heart it was. I know how to second-guess and to wonder. If I’d been faster. Quicker. Or sharper. If it hadn’t been dark or so late at night. I’ve lived with the ifs every day for the last twelve years.”
He paled as if he’d been punched in the gut, but he remained silent.
“I know what it feels like to carry pain so heavy my knees wanted to buckle.”
Dropping his gaze, he cleared his throat before he met her steady stare. “You plan to fix me?”
Greer shook her head. “I’m no savior. And I can’t say for sure if I’m fixed. But I can offer you a job that will work you so hard you’ll collapse into bed at night. The job isn’t glamorous, but it has purpose. A reason to get up in the morning and put one foot in front of the other.”
He tapped his thumb against the table, studying her. He didn’t respond.
Without asking she could read his thoughts. Why would anyone want me? I’m worse than damaged goods. I’m a failure. A killer.
In the darkest part of the night when her brain wouldn’t stop spinning despite an exhausted body, Greer still harbored those same thoughts about herself. A dozen years, and the demons refused to leave her in peace.
“Take it or leave it. You’re not doing me any favors either way.”
Her heart racing, she turned, dodged a couple of laughing guys, and moved toward the door. A bone-deep cold made her hands tremble, but certain Mitch was watching, she kept putting one foot in front of the other.
“Damn,” she muttered as she pushed into the bright sunlight. She walked the half block to her truck and slid behind the wheel. Her chilled body soaked up the warmth and for a moment she merely sat. Finally she dug her purse out from under the front seat and from it fished out her cell phone. She dialed and the phone rang three times.
“Did you do it?”
“I did it.” She glanced at the two silver bracelets on her wrist.
“I’m proud of you.”
Greer leaned into the seat, letting the hot leather burn into her skin. Physical pain was a tried and true distraction. “Don’t be, Dr. Stewart. I didn’t issue the most welcoming invitation.”
He laughed. “If you’d been nice, it probably wouldn’t have worked. He’s had his fill of nice.”
“Well, then I’m the one for him because I don’t have a drop left to give.”
“It’s going to be fine, Greer. This will work out for both of you.”
“I’m not so sure.”
“Why?”
Her voice hitched. “He reminds me of my brother.”
Silence snaked through the line. “Maybe that’s a good thing.”
“How?”
“Wait and see.”
Greer fished out her keys and started the truck’s engine. “I’m pretty damn sure this is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done.”
A spotlight shone on the picture hanging above the desk. It was a happy picture. Five teens, two boys and three girls, arms clasped, smiles bright. They were fresh-faced kids dressed casually. The clothes were carelessly wrinkled, splashed with water from the nearby lake, and smudged with dirt from the game of touch football finished mere moments before the picture was taken. A look beyond the wrinkles and the dirt revealed name-brand clothes costing hundreds and hundreds of dollars. One boy wore a family signet ring and all the girls wore jewelry, not the department store knockoffs but real gold and diamonds. But then only the most affluent families could afford Shady Grove Camp nestled thirty miles northwest of Austin.
“You are always studying that picture,” she said.
He kept his gaze on the image. Behind each of the smiling faces lurked wrenching pain. The boy with the signet ring had threatened to shoot himself. The girl with blond hair and the peaches-and-cream complexion had taken an overdose. Another had tried to freeze herself. Another cut her wrists.
So much agony. So many lost souls.
“They were a good group of kids.”
“I never understood why you liked them so much.”
“Because I understood them. Their pain.”
Her laughter rumbled in his head. “If anyone should know pain, it’s me.”
He winced. “Just stop talking.”
“Why?”
“I’m sick of your voice.”
More laughter. “Tough.”
He traced the images of the young blond girl. Elizabeth.
“You’ve been fixated on her from the beginning.”
“Shut up.”
“It’s because she reminds you of me.”
“Bullshit. She doesn’t favor you.”
“No, we didn’t look alike. But she has my spirit. She’s a fighter. Won’t let go.”
He could deny her assessment but he’d be lying. “Maybe.”
“They all have such pretty smiles.” Shady Grove taught them to smile. Extra desserts, extra time in the craft center, extra phone calls home if they smiled. Shady Grove taught them all how to hide behind a smile.
“What are you thinking?” she said.
He didn’t raise his gaze from the photo. “It breaks my heart to know they’re still so sad.”
“That last night together when that picture was snapped . . . it was a perfect time.”
“Yes.”
“Not everyone is fooled by smiles,” she said. “Not everyone believes life is preferable to death.”
“I don’t.”
“And they don’t, either. You see. I see. Now it’s your job to take away their pain for good.”
“They don’t have to go on pretending any longer.”
“No.”
Chapter Three
Monday, June 2, 5 P.M.
A background check revealed Spike had been released from prison last year but remained on parole for another three months. It took less than fifteen minutes of calls to locate Spike’s parole officer and get the address of the car wash where Spike worked as a buffer.
Bragg pulled up at Chicken’s Car Wash located off Exit 6 on Interstate 35. He pulled up in his SUV, paid twenty bucks for a basic clean, and drove down into the washer. Water splashed on his windshield and then soap spattered. He sat back in his seat staring past the machines to the crew of men who waited with buffing rags to dry the car and wash the windows. He glanced at Spike’s Texas state prison system photo and then to the trio of waiting men. Black hair, short, a dragon tattoo on his right arm made it easy to spot Spike, who stood apart from the other two. Spike tapped his foot and glanced around as if wishing away the time so he could get on with his life.
Spike had done time for forgery and embezzlement. There’d also been a drug charge, but the prosecutor had dropped it in exchange for the plea bargain on the other two crimes.
No violent offenses, but he was the kind of guy you kept away from the till.
The machines hummed and whirred and finally rinsed the last of the dirt from this morning’s crime scene. He pulled up close to Spike who spit once to his right and then tugged the drying rag from his back pocket.
Bragg watched as the guy dried the windshield. He studied his hands and face, searching for signs he’d been in a fight. The medical examiner had called minutes ago and said he had found skin under Rory’s nails. Rory had scratched someone, likely his killer.
Spike didn’t appear to pay much attention to Bragg until he saw Bragg’s white hat resting on the front seat. Worry flowed through Spike, but he kept drying. When Spike finished, Bragg got out of his car and pulled a five from his pocket. He held it out to Spike who, eyes downcast, reached for the money.
“Spike Anders?” Bragg said.
Spike chewed his bottom lip as he quickly tucked the money in his pocket. “Tell my parole officer I’m working hard, and I ain’t been in any trouble.”
“How do you know your parole officer sent me?”