Vulnerable (Morgans of Nashville 4)

“You’re always dating someone, Jake Bishop. Always.” The guy’s reputation was legendary.

“I’ve been on a dating diet lately,” he said as he raised his cup back up to his lips. “I’ll get back in the saddle soon.”

“Last I heard, you were dating a woman named Christy, or was it Susie in administration? Tall, buxom, and blond from what I remember.”

“Yes, to Christy last year. And Susie and I are friends.”

“What about Sharon in personnel?”

He tugged on his cuff. “She’s old news.”

“Did your lover boy reputation go south?” Her tone teased, but she didn’t exactly like the idea of his dating around.

“I closed the little black book a while ago. I’m telling you, I’m a reformed man.”

She laughed. “So you headed to the priesthood?”

“No. Definitely not.”

She cleared her throat, doing a one-eighty in another direction. “So what’s the story of you moving to Nashville? You showed up here seven years ago and it was clear you didn’t like the place or wanted to be here.”

“That obvious?”

“Very.”

“Let’s say I outgrew Boston. Time for a change.”

“Translation: a chick broke your heart?”

He studied her for a long beat. “Something like that.”

“Why pick Nashville?”

“Laid out a map of the United States, closed my eyes and pointed my finger. It landed on Nashville.”

“Really?”

“As good a place as any.”

The waitress showed up with a large plate of pancakes and another platter with a burger and a massive pile of fries. Georgia was grateful for the food and something to do with her mouth other than talk. God, she needed to stop talking.

“I’m starving,” she said reaching for her fork and knife wrapped in a paper napkin.

“You don’t eat enough.”

“I had a cheese stick on the way into work.”

Jake reached for the mustard on the table and dolloped a big blob beside the fries. He dunked a fry into the mustard and ate it in one bite.

“Mustard on fries,” she said. “A dead giveaway you’re not from the South.”

“And here I thought it was my accent and the way I dressed.”

She laughed. “There is that.” She poured a liberal amount of syrup over her pancakes and cut out a large wedge. She held it up, savoring the scent before she ate it. For several moments, neither talked.

Eating settled her nerves a fraction and by the time she’d had her second cup of coffee, she felt a little more like herself. She thought that if she had to define what she was these days, she couldn’t exactly put her finger on it.

“So what did you find out about Elisa Spence?” She turned the conversation to the homicide, sensing it was the safest territory for them.

Nodding, he wiped his mouth with his napkin and then balled it up and tossed it on his plate. “I’m still digging, but my gut tells me she was a good kid, straight arrow, but for some reason got a wild hair and decided to take a walk on the dark side.”

“The dark side?”

“I think she met a man. From what I’ve heard, a good-looking guy. And he was a charmer. He talked her into something and then I think he killed her.”

“You learned all that in so little time?”

He winked. “I move fast.”

When the forensic data came back from the lab, she’d bet much of it would back up what he’d found out today. But the data took weeks and sometimes months to analyze, whereas a fast-moving detective worked his magic in hours, days at most. “I’ll say.”

“Her financials don’t show any strange expenses except for some expensive lingerie she purchased about six days ago. Whoever killed her hasn’t been using her credit card.”

“The undergarments were sent over from the medical examiner’s office. I’ll admit they didn’t jibe with her clothes.”

“She wasn’t expecting to see this guy last week, but hoping. That would fit with what the clerk at the coffee shop said.”

“The cave at Percy Warner Park proves this guy is from Nashville and knows the city well.”

“Agreed. He’s a local.”

“Any hits on the BOLO?”

“Not so far. But he’s gonna be good at hiding. He’s been doing it for five years.”

“What’s the allure of bookish, quiet girls?”

“Who knows? Guys like that have all kinds of dark quirks that drive them. The girls might have reminded him of a sister or cousin or a girl who was mean to him. Maybe she was smarter and made him feel stupid. We won’t know until we find him.”

He leaned back in his seat and shook his head. “We need to talk to Amber Ryder again. This guy must have known her and the others.”

“In the case files, the cops made mention of Tim Taylor. He was Mike’s best friend. Have you talked to him yet?”

“He’s first on the list in the morning.”

She tucked a curl behind her ear. “I want to be with you when you talk to Tim and Amber.”

He shook his head. “I don’t hover over your shoulder when you’re collecting evidence, and you can’t tag along with me.”

“I want to.”

He slowly shook his head. “Who said you’re entitled to everything you want?”

“Not everything, just this.”

“No.”

Her frown deepening, she stared out the window onto the street. Outside a soft rain began to fall. “Very irritating, Bishop. You’re disappointing me.”

He smiled. “Why is this case so important to you? I know you aren’t afraid of Dalton Marlowe.”

“All my cases are important.”

“But . . .”

For a moment she didn’t speak as she considered a lie and then rejected it. “Three kids went into the woods. Lives were lost, families tortured. Someone can’t just destroy lives and get away with it.”

“All the more reason for you to stick to the science.”

She leaned forward, her gaze sparking with challenge. “But you’re biased against Amber. I see it.”

He scratched the underside of his chin. “You think you know me that well?”

Challenge weaved around the words. “I know you well enough.”

“No, baby, you haven’t scratched the surface.”

“That’s hardly true.”

A smile quirked the edges of his lips but he dropped his voice a notch. “You know me at work.” He paused. “But you don’t know me.”

CHAPTER TEN

Thursday, October 5, 8:00 A.M

.

Jake pushed through the door to the science department at Vanderbilt, and with Elisa Spence’s advisor’s name in hand, headed to the second floor and found room 122. A knock on the door earned him a brusque “Enter.”

He rolled his head from side to side, wondering if Georgia had slept as poorly as he had last night. She went home after they left the diner, but he returned to work to review surveillance tapes from several of the shops around Blue Note Java. So far, no sign of Elisa or her new guy.

Dinner last night was nice. First time they had shared anything real. Whether it would last or she’d retreat back into her shell was anybody’s guess. What was it with his attraction to Georgia? He could have anyone he wanted and he wanted the one ready to bust his balls all the time.

Jake found a lean, gray-haired man leaning over a desk piled high with papers, books, and journals. Light sneaked around a tall window behind him, catching countless dust particles in dozens of thin beams. The walls were lined with bookshelves crammed as full as the desk in front of him. The room smelled of Ben Gay.

“Professor Robbins?”

The man nodded but didn’t glance up as squinting eyes continued to stare at his research papers covered with cracker crumbs and coffee stains.

“I’m Detective Jake Bishop. I’m here to talk to you about Elisa Spence.”

The downcast gray head shook. “I haven’t seen Elisa in a few days. I can’t help you.”

News of her murder would have spread by now, if not from her roommate, then from the girl in the coffee shop. He waited until the professor looked up. “Did you know Elisa was dead?”

“What?” His head shook as he pulled off his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “What do you mean, dead?!”

“Really? You haven’t heard?”

He raised his head, returned to his nose the thick glasses that magnified dark eyes. “No, I haven’t heard. I’ve been working.”

“No one has called you?”

“I’ve been working from home for a few days. People call and text me all the time, but I rarely answer. I don’t have time for calls.” He laid a wrinkled, arthritic hand on the desk as he rose up on unsteady legs.