The drive across town took twenty minutes, and by the time she parked, a half hour had passed. Gentry’s office was located in a high-rise with sleek glass windows and a marble foyer. A scan of the directory in the lobby and a punch of the buttons and she arrived at Gentry’s tenth-floor office.
The offices were as nice as the entryway, and she could see that Gentry’s practice was profitable. He’d garnered a great deal of publicity from the Smith trial and had shown himself to the world to be a quick-minded attorney.
The receptionist was as sleek as the office and the moment she saw Jo she announced her to Gentry. The attorney greeted her within seconds of her arrival.
Gentry was a short man in his midfifties with a thick belly and dark hair that had thinned considerably. But his suit wasn’t off the rack as it had been during Smith’s trial, but custom. Gold, monogrammed cuff links winked in the light from a large picture window behind his desk.
He extended his hand to her. “Dr. Granger. So glad you could come quickly.”
She accepted his hand, noting it was too soft for her liking. “You made it difficult to resist.”
“I am following my client’s instructions.”
“Understood.”
He escorted her into his office and to a plush mid-century modern chair by a chrome desk. Behind him, glass windows offered a spectacular view of the river.
“Can I offer you coffee or tea? A soda perhaps?”
“I’m fine. I need to collect what Smith left me and be on my way.”
“Yes.” He reached behind his desk and lifted a small beaten-up shoe box wrapped in duct tape. The box stood in stark contrast to the office’s sleek surroundings. A spider in a lush bowl of cream. A cancer. A reminder that no matter how much money Mr. Gentry had spent on his new life, it had been built on the back of something very ugly.
She accepted the box, noting it wasn’t too heavy. God, but she did not want this box. Did not want this morbid connection to a dead man who’d dedicated his life to evil.
“I have a letter opener if you’d like to open it now,” he said.
She stared at the secured lid. “Thank you, but I’d rather not open it now.”
His face frowned his disappointment. “You aren’t going to open it?”
“Not now.” As he continued to stare she added, “I was to sign for it but I don’t need to open it in your presence.”
“ No.”
“Excellent.”
He cleared his throat. “If you do not want the box I can take it for you, examine the contents and destroy it.”
She really looked at him for the first time. Keen interest sparked in his gaze. “What was Mr. Smith like when you represented him?”
“Honestly, he was delightful. He was courteous. Kept up with the current events and was always curious about what was going on in the world.”
“I would think he’d have worried about his defense.”
Gentry adjusted a cuff. “He never had a real interest in his case.”
“Odd, considering the consequences he faced.”
“Believe me, we had this discussion many times. I wanted him to be engaged and to worry about what could happen. But he didn’t care, as if relieved to be behind bars. As long as he could read and write he was happy.”
She dropped her gaze to the box and smoothed her hand over it.
He leaned forward. “Do you mind me asking you a question?”
“You may ask.”
“Why ask me to hold a box for you? Who are you to him?”
“I don’t know.”
“Only once did he mention you. He’d been convicted and sentenced to death. I’d come to talk to him about appeals, but he showed more interest in an award you’d earned. It had been written up in the paper.”
She smoothed her hand gently over the rough cardboard as if it could bite. Finally she rose. “Thank you.”
“You’ll let me know what is in the box?”
“Why do you care?”
“The most notorious serial killer in the last fifty years leaves a box in my charge. I’m curious. Curious enough in fact to have it X-rayed soon after he gave it to me.”
“X-rayed.”
“I wanted to make sure there wasn’t anything really unseemly in the box.” He dropped his voice a notch. “I’ve read how killers like him like to keep trophies. Body parts and such.”
Somehow she doubted Mr. Smith would have left her anything gruesome. It would have been rude, uncouth.
She signed the receipt stating she’d accepted the box and with it in hand, she left a disappointed Gentry. Outside the building, she inhaled deeply, savoring the warm air, which eased the chill seeping from the box.
She didn’t think about where she was going because she knew if she thought too hard about her destination she’d find a way to second-guess herself. Going to Brody was getting to be a habit. A bad habit. And if she had sense, she’d find another way. But right now, she couldn’t think of another person to be with when she opened the box.
Fifteen minutes later, Jo walked through the main doors of the Rangers’ Austin office and stopped at the reception desk. “Is Ranger Winchester here? Jo Granger to see him.”
“Let me check.” The officer cast her a skeptical gaze when he announced her on the phone. His eyes widened with a startled surprise. Brody was coming.
Seconds later, Brody emerged from a side door. Jacketless and hatless, he had rolled up his sleeves to reveal tanned, muscled forearms. “Jo, is everything all right?”
A week ago he’d called her Dr. Granger. Formality had been a polite barrier between them. Somewhere along the way that fence had dropped and awareness had developed. They’d never be lovers again, but maybe there could be room for friendship. She certainly needed a friend right now.
“Is there somewhere private where we could talk?”
“Up in my office.” He pulled the box out of her hands as if he understood she hated touching it.
She flexed her fingers as they made their way to his office and didn’t release the breath she was holding until he closed the door behind them.
“Who sent you the box?”
She explained about Gentry and the call.
Brody’s jaw tightened, released. “First the visit. Now the box. Smith can’t stay out of your life.”
“Don’t forget the letter.”
“Smith didn’t write it. It’s a great forgery.”
She smoothed her hands over her skirt, trying to erase the weight of the box from her hands. “They’re taking over my life.”
“No, they are not.” Brody reached in his pocket and pulled out a pocketknife, flipped it open and pressed it to the old, cra
cked tape. “I’m going to open this?”
A single nod was all she offered as she folded her arms over her chest and watched.
With a quick, sure stroke he pulled the blade over the tape’s crease between the lid and the box and sliced it open. Carefully, he removed the top.
Inside were stacks of letters. He picked up the first and studied the address. “It’s addressed to you. Dated twenty years ago. March 24.”
She frowned. “My birthday.”
Inside was a birthday card featuring a pink bunny and a large number twelve. Smith had written a note, which Brody read. “Jo, wishing you all the best on this important day of your life.”
It had been her twelfth birthday and the card included a picture of her at her one beauty contest. Her hands trembled a little when she studied the picture of her hideously teased hair and heavy makeup. She’d been holding the fifth-place trophy. Off to the side her mother grinned and beamed.
She closed her eyes, absorbing the enormity of the moment. “He believed he was my father.”
Brody studied the other envelopes. They were all birthday cards, written and dated in sequential order.
Her gaze remained locked on the picture. “He couldn’t have been more than twenty feet from me.”
“Do you remember anything about that day?”
“Only that I did not want to be there. My head itched from the hairspray, and my dress was so tight I couldn’t breathe. Mom was in her glory, and I was miserable.”
“Did your mother act strange that day? Did she notice anything?”
“If she did, I never knew. She was all about the pageant that day.” She shook her head. “And Smith was right there watching.” She closed her eyes. “I’ve asked Mother directly if he is my father and she becomes offended. Which, of course, is classic avoidance.”
“Happens in the best of families.”
Her attempted smile fell short. “Brody, could he really be my father? I mean I know I never fit into my family, but lots of kids feel that way. Doesn’t mean anything. But now as I look at this, I’m afraid.”
“Jo, don’t borrow trouble.”
She lifted her gaze to find his boring into her. “I didn’t go looking for it. It came to me.”