Be Afraid (Morgans of Nashville 2)

. “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.

An answer danced at the edges of her mind, just out of sight. She closed her eyes, summoning it out of the darkness. Show yourself. She waited. But nothing came forth.

Drawing in a deep breath, she set her sketchpad aside and turned on her car and the radio. She chose a station with classical music, and allowed the music to drift over her.

“Keep real quiet now, Jennifer. We don’t want anyone finding you. There’re bad, bad people in this world who can hurt you,” Ronnie had said.

She absently stared into the parking lot of the fast-food restaurant. “Who’s the bad person, Ronnie?” she whispered.

Ronnie remained silent and the whispered words in her memory faded as if they’d never been spoken.

When she was little, her aunt had taken her to the zoo in Washington, D.C., and they’d gone to the lion exhibit. Another little girl had cried in fear but Jenna had not been afraid. The fence, she’d reasoned, would keep her safe. However, that night, as she’d dreamed of watching the lions, she’d touched the fence and it had fallen. All her protection had vanished and the lion had charged. She’d awoken, screaming.

Her aunt had held her close and told her over and over to keep the fences in place. They will protect you. And so she’d stayed behind the fence where she was safe and no one could really reach her. No pain. No love. No intimacy. But life had gone on as normally as possible.

Until she’d found that little girl weeks ago and the fence had collapsed into rubble around her feet. No amount of mental effort could rebuild it and she was left bare, vulnerable, and waiting for a lion to charge.

She knew, now, the fence could never be put back in place. It was gone forever. Obliterated.

“You’re here to get to the bottom of it all,” she said.

Time to remember the closet and understand why Ronnie had been so worried that last day that he’d tied Jennifer up and put tape on her mouth. Who had argued with him and then vanished?

Jenna glanced over at her sketchpad. The eyes she’d just drawn floated on the empty page and glared at her. Breathe in, breathe out.

With the tip of her finger she traced the eyes. Her hand didn’t tremble nor did her heart race. “I’m gonna find you.”

Chapter Seven

Wednesday, August 16, 7:20 P.M.

Unable to return to a dark and silent home, Jenna ducked into a grocery store and grabbed a fresh loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese. Not super-fancy fare, but it would fill her belly. She ate in her car in the grocery’s parking lot, her thoughts returning to Morgan’s Lost Girl. She could keep tweaking her sketch of the Lost Girl for days. A bit more shade here. A softening of the nose or chin. More curls or less curls in the hair.

But as she drained the last of her coffee, she realized it was time to let her go. She knew herself well enough now to know if she kept playing with the sketch, she’d overthink it and ruin the image. Better to put it on Rick Morgan’s desk and be done with the assignment.

She dropped her head back against the headrest. It wasn’t like her to overthink or be indecisive. It wasn’t like her to sit alone in grocery store parking lots too afraid to go home.

“What the hell is happening to me?”

She’d come to Nashville to answer a question that might not ever have a real answer. Why did Ronnie kill her family? Because he was troubled, insane. Not fair, b

ut the truth. Who was Shadow Eyes? Maybe in Ronnie’s drug-addled mind, he’d imagined the second person and was talking to thin air.

Whether her questions had clear answers or not she had to dig into both and be sure. “I don’t quit, Detective Morgan.”

She checked her watch. There was still time to draw a few faces in front of KC’s. She couldn’t say no to the money.

Thirty minutes later, she’d parked behind Rudy’s and set up her easel and stool. Broadway hummed with a mixture of tourists this time of night. The family crowds were looking for a place to eat, knowing many excluded the under twenty-one set after seven. The later customers were ready to rock and party. While one set looked bedraggled and ready to ease up for the day, the other group was freshly coiffed, smelling of perfumes and aftershaves in anticipation of a fun night on the strip.

Jenna set up her easel right outside of Rudy’s because it was a prime location. It was impossible to pass her by and not see the older drawings she’d done, which she’d matted and leaned against the brick wall.

Jenna wrestled the three wobbly legs of her easel into place and made sure it stood steady. She opened her box of colored chalks and clipped a clean white sheet of paper to the easel. The afternoon sun had eased and the air cooled. The night promised to be lucrative.

As she unfolded and adjusted her small stool, KC spotted her through the window and nodded. He filled a large glass with water and made his way through the tables outside.

“Wasn’t sure if you were going to make it tonight.”

“Been a crazy week. I almost bailed but decided the weather was too nice to pass up.”

He handed her the water, her standard drink when she worked. “I hear you’re helping on an old case.”

She shrugged. “I am.”

He pursed his lips as if a swell of emotion threatened to break his voice. “That’s good of you.”

She opened her bag and pulled out a rag to wipe her hands clean. “Let’s hope we catch the bad guy.”

“I worked a fair number of missing persons cases back in the day. When I heard about the kid found in the park I tried to remember her but I couldn’t.”