Vulnerable (Morgans of Nashville 4)

* * *

Dalton Marlowe stood in front of the large picture window of his penthouse condominium overlooking downtown Nashville. From up here the lights on Broadway blinked distantly and brightly and reminded him of sparkling gems. He liked looking down on Broadway’s loud and bustling honky-tonks, which ran from the banks of the Cumberland River eight blocks west. From this vantage, he didn’t have to deal with the tourists and beggars who often crowded the streets. He liked the distance his money afforded him.

He raised a glass of bourbon to his lips and sipped, savoring the burn in his throat. Today was a day he’d have avoided if at all possible, but no matter how much money he made or how big he grew his business, there was no stopping the calendar.

Today was October second. In a little over a week his son would celebrate his twenty-third birthday. He tried to imagine what Mike would look like these days. He was a tall and muscular teen, but his face was round with enough baby fat to remind Dalton that his kid was still just that—a kid. Five years since Mike had hiked into the woods with those two other kids. Five years since his son vanished and his life fell into limbo.

From the moment he woke up on that day five years ago, he sensed trouble. Mike was hungover and in a foul mood. He skipped school the day before. It was the second time that week and Dalton had been annoyed as hell.

“When are you gonna get your shit together, Mike?” he shouted as the boy had cradled his head in his hands. “Keep this crap up and you’re going to get kicked off the football team.”

“Jesus, Dad, do you have to shout so much? I’m the f-ing star. I’m not gonna get kicked off as long as I keep throwing passes for TDs.”

“Don’t assume you got a lock on life. With me behind you, it might take you longer to fuck up your life, but keep at it, and you’ll find a way.”

“Dad, stop talking. My head is pounding.”

Dalton was frustrated and angry, because it sickened him to see so much promise get flushed down the toilet. He slammed a few doors and left his son asleep in his room. He went into the office and spent the better part of the day seething and thinking of ways to jerk a knot in that kid for his own good.

And then he came home to silence. He didn’t panic at first. Hell, he was relieved to have a drink and eat his dinner in peace. At midnight, his anger simmered again and by two in the morning he decided to cut Mike off from his allowance. And then before dawn, worry tightened his gut. It wasn’t the first time the kid had stayed out all night but that night brought a persistent worry that chewed at him relentlessly.

The next morning he received a call from Emma Reed. Her daughter Bethany had been on the science trip with Mike. Her voice was steeped with stress and worry when she told him that Bethany had not come home either. His annoyance gave way to enough worry that he started calling around. When he found out Amber Ryder was one of the three kids on the trip, his blood boiled. Mike was forbidden to see her, and yet, the kid went behind his father’s back. Knowing Amber Ryder was in the mix ramped up worry tenfold.

He called the cops, who dispatched officers to the park immediately. The first forty-eight hours were full of hope that the kids would be found. Percy Warner Park was a couple thousand acres and getting lost would be easy to do. The weather wasn’t bitterly cold, so he suspected the kids would be uncomfortable but would survive.

When search patrols found Amber, he and Emma were hopeful. But then Amber insisted she did not remember. Hope cracked and then crumbled with each passing day.

And now the fifth anniversary loomed.

Five years without his boy. Five long years. He never thought he’d miss the arguments, the piles of dirty laundry, and the thud of Mike’s size thirteen feet. But he missed it all. He ached.

He kept tabs on Amber for the last five years, putting detectives on her, thinking she’d make a mistake. Confess her sins to someone. But she never had. She always maintained she did not remember. She went about her life as if none of this happened.

Life. Mike and Bethany remained missing. They weren’t living their lives as God had intended. But Amber was, and she was back in town.

“You’ll pay for all this, you little bitch.”

* * *

That evening, Georgia stopped at the Chinese takeout restaurant just after nine and ordered stir fried vegetables, sauce on the side, and two egg rolls. Climbing the steps to her apartment, she realized how little time she spent there. No doubt, if not for this case, she’d have opted to work or sing. Every candle could only take so much burning and hers was just about extinguished.

She kicked her front door closed and set down the bag. Turning, she flipped the two dead bolts and then slid the chain in place. She’d upgraded all three of the locks when she moved in, knowing it was likely against the rental company’s policy, but figured it was easier to ask for forgiveness than permission.

She kicked off her shoes and pulled the rubber band from her hair, letting the red curls tumble over her shoulders. Her apartment was small, not more than seven hundred square feet with a living area, small dining space, and a galley kitchen. The furnishings in the den were nice but incomplete. When she first moved into the apartment, she was excited and ready to make it her own. She received approval to put up wallpaper on an accent wall and choose paints for her bedroom and bathroom. However, she discovered after painting one wall she did not have the patience for decorating. She could collect fingerprints for hours but putting a roller in paint and then to the wall was mind numbing. No wonder painters drank.

And so the paint cans were sealed up and the unopened rolls of wallpaper still leaned against the wall.

The furniture, straight from the factory showroom, created more of a department store feel than a designed, chic space. Feng Shui it wasn’t. But her one saving grace was the dozens of framed family pictures featuring her brothers, her parents, and even an old publicity still of her birth mother, Annie.

She set the food in the small kitchen and moved to her bedroom where she changed into an oversized Titans T-shirt and a blue pair of workout shorts that dated back to college.

Grabbing a plastic fork from the takeout bag, she didn’t bother with a plate as she moved straight to the small couch and sat down Indian style. She grabbed the remote and flipped on the cooking channel. Whenever her brothers caught her watching a cooking show they laughed. Her cooking skills fell far short of her mother’s culinary talents and though her brothers always smiled when they ate her cooking, she never missed the hesitations and grimaces. Why couldn’t she be more like her mother? Why did she always choose singing in a smoky honky-tonk over decorating or cooking? Why wasn’t she patient or even-tempered?

She stabbed a plump piece of shrimp. “Sorry, Mom. I’m trying, but I don’t ever think I’ll be you.”

Georgia popped the shrimp in her mouth. She ate in silence for a few minutes and watched Bobby Flay battle it out with an amateur cook for bragging rights. Growing restless, she switched the channel to the country music channel. With her appetite satisfied, she brewed a strong cup of coffee and reached for one of the last file boxes. She had read through the box’s content once before, but she wanted to be ready for her meeting tomorrow with Amber and Jake, which she confirmed hours ago by phone when Amber finally returned her call. Jake had his files. Tomorrow was set.

Flipping off the lid, she reached for the first slightly yellowed file and opened it. Though her father’s reports were typewritten, Buddy never missed a chance to double back and write more notes in the margin. Dark bold handwriting punctuated with question marks filled the edges of his interview assessment of Amber Ryder. “Consistent. Unwavering. Credible?”

In the body of his report, Buddy stated that the seventeen-year-old was “openly upset that she can’t remember.” He noted she cried often and asked if there were drugs available or hypnosis, anything to make her remember. She appeared desperate to find her friends. She couldn’t remember how she fell. Her last memory had stretched back to days before th

e fateful hike.

All this was consistent with the story she told Georgia yesterday.

Georgia sat back knowing the process of recreating a cold case took time. Her eighty-plus hours had given her a basic overview of the case so that she could discuss it, but so far nothing jumped out at her as a new development. Her hope was that the DNA retesting would also shed more light.

This case had a pull. It had sunk its claws into her; she would stick with it until she figured out what had happened to those missing kids.

* * *

Candlelight flickered from a few small half-melted candles. Light danced on the walls of the small cave and Elisa’s pale lifeless body lay prone, hands crossed over her chest. The space was so small one could not stand up straight for fear of scraping the rocky ceiling.

In the moments before life had left Elisa, their minds were painfully close. They were one. They shared the same desires, the same fears.

Letting go of her was harder than imagined. Maybe it was because a shared resemblance to Bethany stirred too many memories.

“You look so happy now. No more worries about who is the smartest.”

The cave’s cool temperatures would keep her safe, intact for several days. Even now, other than the stiffness of her limbs and the pulling around her mouth, she looked alive, her eyes partly open, staring sightlessly. She looked almost as if she could rise up and beg for more affection.

But a kiss to those lips found only coldness. Her chest did not rise and fall. Her spirit had left.

In the distance the wind cut through the trees. It would be dawn soon. As tempting as it was to linger, it was time to say good-bye. She’d been dead three days and soon the cops would be looking for Elisa and this area would be ground zero.

The blue ribbon of bruises around Elisa’s neck hugged the pale skin like jewelry. “I won’t ever forget you. We are together in my heart. Like the others.” A glance toward the back of the cave found a narrow entrance walled up five years ago with neatly stacked stone. Dangling from one of the jagged rocks on the right was a gold pendant and chain that glistened in the soft candlelight. For five years it hung here undiscovered and untouched.

“I know you miss me, too. Don’t think I forgot. I remember it all. In fact, I think about you every day. Of all the people in town, I know you especially are glad I’m back.”

CHAPTER THREE

Tuesday, October 3, 7:00 A.M.

“Damn it!” Joey ran through the park, his fingers wrapped around the dog leash, searching the woods for his golden retriever, Cooper. Experience told him not to let the dog off the leash. But as Joey and Cooper moved deeper into the woods, the animal pulled more and more, wanting to run. And so Joey, feeling for the dog, let him go.

The dog never looked back and took off like a bat out of hell into the woods. In the distance, the dog barked, his cry high and desperate, the sure sign he was on the trail of a squirrel or rabbit. Joey peered into the thicket. “Cooper, come here!”

The dog yelped and barked but showed no signs of returning. Checking his watch and knowing he only had an hour to shower and get to work, he moved into the thicket, cursing as the branches pulled and tugged at his jacket. “Shit, I know better than to turn that dog loose.”

Joey picked up his pace, cutting through the woods until he came to a small clearing. He spotted the dog’s full golden tail wagging as he poked his head into a grouping of rocks. Cooper pawed at the rocks, sending a few tumbling. Maybe a nest of rabbits, he thought. Cooper barked louder.

Hoping the dog would remain distracted, Joey hurried and quickly grabbed hold of its red collar. He pulled hard to free the dog’s head from the small opening. When he did, Cooper looked at him, wagging his tail as if he’d found the mother lode.

Joey clicked the leash onto the collar. “Remedial training for you, pal.”

Cooper strained at the leash as he lunged again for the hole.

Curious, Joey rubbed the dog on the head and peered past him into the dark hole. A few inches closer and he was struck by the smell. “Something sure died in there.”