Vulnerable (Morgans of Nashville 4)

She studied him, her eyes narrowing. “Let’s go.”

* * *

When Jake and Georgia arrived at the diner, it was eight in the morning. The tiny restaurant on the side of I-40 smelled of greasy fried eggs, overdone pancakes, and bacon a little too extra crispy. Behind the packed counter stood three short-order cooks who faced a hot grill, each flipping and preparing meals with precision and speed.

Georgia’s stomach grew unsettled as she smelled the strong scents of grease and bleach. Tightening her hand on a backpack that served as purse and go-bag equipped with a camera and a few basic necessities she always carried, she realized a few nuked leftover veggies for breakfast would have to hold her.

She approached the hostess, digging deep for a smile. “Table for three.”

The hostess studied her seating chart and shook her head. “It’s a half hour wait.”

“Half hour? Who sits for a half hour eating breakfast?”

Jake moved toward the hostess, a tall leggy blonde with ample perky breasts, a bright smile, and red manicured nails. He glanced at her name badge and smiled. “Cassie, I don’t suppose we could get a table for three.”

Cassie moistened red lips while counting out three menus. “I can get you a table, doll.”

He winked. “You’re the best.”

Annoyance stabbed at Georgia. Did the man ever throttle it back?

Jake glanced past her out the picture window and nodded. “My guess is that blonde walking toward the door is her.”

Georgia turned to see Amber. She wore jeans, an oversized gray top, and cowboy boots. Her blond hair was swept into a ponytail that caught the sunlight, and she moved with a self-confident ease.

“Amber,” she said. “Glad you could make it.”

Amber tightened her fingers around the strap of her purse, nodding as she approached. “Thanks for taking a look at the case.”

“Detective Bishop would also like to talk to you.”

“Sure. I’ll talk to whomever you say.”

His gaze sharpened and the easy friendliness faded. He might have been joking seconds ago, but he was all business now.

“I’m Detective Jake Bishop. You must be Amber Ryder.”

She raised her chin a notch as little bits of tension worked their way through her body. “Detective.”

The three moved through the diner, following the hostess who seated them and gave each a laminated menu. As tempted as Georgia was to eat something, this meeting was business, not pleasure. She ordered coffee and a bagel. Jake asked for coffee, black. At first, Amber ordered only coffee, but when Jake insisted she eat, she added on pancakes.

When the coffees arrived, Jake sat back in his seat. The sharpened angles of his face softened and his posture relaxed. Anyone glancing at him now could easily imagine they were just three friends sitting down for a coffee and talking about the weather.

Jake grinned, his demeanor relaxed. “Georgia tells me you’ve been going to school in Dallas. Graduated?”

“At the end of last summer.” She sipped her coffee.

“And working, too, I hear?”

“An account manager in an advertising company.”

“That sounds exciting,” he said scratching the side of his head. “Have you been back to Nashville since you left five years ago?”

“No. I don’t think I’d have returned if Georgia hadn’t called.”

Jake turned his cup so that the handle faced right. He picked it up and sipped. “You still keep tabs on the case?”

“At first, I checked online a lot. It was kind of an obsession. Those missing kids were friends of mine. I’ll never forget them. But life does move on, and I started checking less and less.” She swiped away a small blond ringlet from her eyes.

“No one else has contacted you?”

“I received texts. I told Georgia about the old ones and showed her the latest. For whatever reason, some people attached themselves to the case and contact me as if we know each other.”

“Seems all the more reason to steer clear of Nashville.”

“I couldn’t stay away. If I can help find my friends then I will.” She fished her phone from her purse and scrolled through messages. “I received another text last night. I didn’t recognize the number, but I think my arrival has been noticed.”

“What did the text say?” Jake asked.

Amber turned her phone so he could see the message. It read: You should be with Bethany and Mike.

Jake frowned. “Have any idea what that means?”

“No, but it gave me the creeps,” Amber said. “There were plenty of people that didn’t believe my story, including Dalton Marlowe. I was harassed a lot. Amazing how unkind people can be. The constant harassment was a big part of the reason I left.”

“Do you recognize this number?”

“No.”

Jake tapped his finger on the table by the phone. “Do you mind?”

Amber shrugged. “No.”

He picked up the phone and hit redial. The phone rang five times but no one answered, and no voice mail picked up. He set the phone back down on the table between them.

She glanced at the display. “I called it back a couple of times, but no one answered. I even searched it on the Internet, but I couldn’t figure out who owned the number.”

“I’ll search it.”

Amber shook her head. “I thought five years was enough time. People would forget and leave me the hell alone.”

“It was a high-profile crime. And some people never move on.”

Jake sat back and waited as if he had all the time in the world. Georgia had seen him do this before when interviewing a suspect. Patient and easygoing, he rarely raised his voice with an interviewee and had a way of drawing them closer as if they could trust him. Sly as a fox, as her dad used to say.

The waitress, a brunette with a petite, full build, arrived with their order, setting a big pile of pancakes in front of Amber and the bagel in front of Georgia. She smiled at Jake as she reached for a coffeepot and warmed up his cup. “I’m sure I can get you something, hon.”

Jake grinned. “Thanks, but I’ve got to watch my weight or I’m gonna lose my boyish figure.”

The waitress laughed, her cheeks blushing as she tucked a curl behind her ear. Did the man enchant every woman? “Baby, you look just fine to me.”

He winked. “You’re a doll.”

“You call me if you need anything, you hear? The name’s Tammy.”

Jake sipped his coffee, winking. “Sure will, Tammy.”

Irritated, Georgia kept her gaze on her plate.

“Do you have any memories of anyone else in the woods?” Jake asked. “Was someone watching you? Following you?”

“I don’t remember seeing or hearing anyone that day or any of the days I remember before the park. And before you ask, there was nothing that caught my attention, that struck me as odd in the weeks leading up to the trip.”

“You know my questions before I ask ’em,” Jake said.

She traced the edges of her fork handle. “I was interviewed by so many cops after all this happened, I feel as if I can almost guess your next question.”

Jake’s grin didn’t quite reach his eyes. “We can be a bit on the predictable side.”

She shook her head, cutting into the pancake with the side of her fork and raising it. “I didn’t mean that as an insult. It’s just that there’s a pattern of thought. After a while, I began to anticipate what was next.”

“Have you been back to the park since that day you were found in the woods?” Jake asked.

She hesitated, and set the fork back down on the plate. “I went back with the cops a couple of times but never alone.”

“Would you consider going back now? Ms. Morgan and I would come along.”

Amber tapped an unpolished nail against the side of her coffee cup. “Yeah, I’d go back. I don’t think it’ll help much. But sure, I’ll give it a try.”

“When do you

want to go?” Jake asked.

“I can go now. All I need to do is hit the restroom.”

Jake sipped his coffee. “There’s no rush. Tell me about how it was attending St. Vincent.”

A small shift in posture suggested resentment. “It was a school for rich kids. I never fit in and it didn’t help that I could kick their butts academically.”

“Kids can be shitty,” Jake said.

“They were,” Amber said, grinning. “Weren’t you a little shitty as a kid?”

Jake grinned. “I was an altar boy. A regular saint.”