Vulnerable (Morgans of Nashville 4)

“She knows he hates her,” Georgia said. “She has to know. So why does she push his buttons in plain view when he can’t react without making a scene?”

“Time to find out what the hell is going on between those two.”

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Tuesday, October 10, 1:00 P.M.

As they drove across town, Jake’s phone buzzed with a text. “Interesting.”

“What?” Georgia pulled her stare from the raindrops sliding down the passenger-side window. The rain had a way of bringing down her mood. Never quite knew why.

“I entered the dates of the Reed case into ViCAP. I also referenced what we had on the Spence case as well.”

“And?” Rick asked.

“According to Deke’s text, we have a hit from the Austin Police Department. There was a murder in Texas very similar two years ago. Girl fits almost the exact description of our victims, Elisa and Bethany.”

A bitter smile curved the edges of her lips. “Our?”

Jake shrugged. “We’re in this together to win it, Morgan.”

She studied him a beat, as if trying to decipher what he meant. “I want this case solved.”

“Join the club.” Rick shifted, something he did when sitting too long stressed the hip grazed by a perp’s bullet a couple of years ago. “Deke is back at the office?”

“Yeah, and he’s got files to share on the Texas case.” Jake tucked his phone back in his breast pocket.

“Good,” Georgia said, rubbing her hands together. “I’m not in the mood for sitting at home today. Always better to work.”

Rick tapped his finger against the steering wheel. “Are you ever going to slow down and take a breath?”

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“You’re either at work or at Rudy’s.”

Jake’s attention zeroed in on the question and her answer.

“I was home on Sunday, if you must know, but I like to work. What’s the big deal?”

“How about some balance in your life?” Rick challenged.

She waved her hand, brushing aside reasons for worry. “Balance, for me? Please. There’s no middle setting for me.”

Rick studied her as he would a crime scene that wasn’t giving up its secrets fast enough. “And . . .”

“And nothing, Rick. I’m fine. Really and truly fine. Just your garden variety workaholic.”

His fingers tightened on the steering wheel, suggesting his dissatisfaction. He was aware that Jake was paying very close attention to their conversation.

They arrived at the station and Rick gingerly got out of the car. “I’m going to stroll to stretch out my hip. See you two inside.”

“Sure,” Georgia said. She would have pressed him about the hip if they’d been alone.

This time, as Jake opened her door and she stood, he asked in a voice only loud enough for her to hear, “Hot or cold? That’s the best you got? Really?”

She glanced toward her brother who was now on his cell as he paced. “Like you have room to talk?”

He shut the car door and yawned, sending her a message that he was tiring of her. “That about sums it up.”

“Maybe one day I’ll take a tropical vacation, just to prove I can slow down. White sand and blue waters. Even have a few mojitos with funny umbrellas sticking out of a big glass. That might do the trick.”

He didn’t speak for a long moment before he said, “I can recommend a nice little beach in the Caribbean. Blue waters and drinks with little umbrellas might not be the absolute fix but it does help.”

She laughed. “I can’t picture you holding a drink with an umbrella.”

“I did. Once. Too sweet. I switched right back to beer.” A slight smile tugged his lips, but his eyes burned with unspoken emotion. “I can picture us on a tropical beach. You in a bikini.”

For a split second she allowed the not-so-bad image to play in her mind before she elbowed it aside. “Dream on.”

“Always.”

She paused as he opened the door for her. Waving to the officer behind the duty desk, they crossed to the elevators and rode to the fifth floor before making their way to Deke’s office.

“How was the funeral?” Looking up from a report, he leaned back in his chair. Taking his glasses off, he rubbed the bridge of his nose.

“Both Amber and Dalton were there. There’s some bad history between them,” Jake said.

“Why don’t we talk about the Texas case,” Georgia said. “How’s that victim similar to Elisa and Bethany?”

Deke reached for his glasses and a yellow legal pad covered in scrawled notes.

“So when did you start wearing those?” Georgia quipped.

Deke glanced over the rim of the glasses. “Not happy about them, Georgia. Don’t poke the bear.”

She laughed, unable to resist adding, “Kinda makes you look even more like Dad.”

He growled for effect, taking the remark as a compliment. But then, he glanced at Jake, daring him to say something.

Jake held up his hands. “I know baby sister gets away with saying things I’d get shot for.”

Deke nodded. “Damn right.”

She laughed. “What does Rachel think about them?”

A faint grin proudly arched across his face. “She thinks I look like a professor.”

“Well, then, it can’t be all bad,” she said.

Tossing her another annoyed glance, he settled the glasses on his face. She had to admit, they gave him a distinguished air. “I’ll give you this. You’re definitely a hipper version of Dad.”

Deke cleared his throat, ignoring her. “The girl in Texas was named Anne Smith and her body was found two years ago. She was nineteen years old, a sophomore in college and top of her class. She’d been missing for three weeks and the autopsy confirmed she’d been strangled and then stabbed close to the time of her abduction. Her body was found in a wooded area near a small town in the hill country.” He pulled a copy of Anne’s driver’s license from the Telex and handed it to Jake. He studied it and gave it to Georgia.

“She looks like Elisa and Bethany,” Georgia said.

“The description of her school record is almost identical to the Nashville victims.”

“The killer doesn’t like smart women,” Georgia noted.

“It may be their intelligence,” Jake pointed out. “They have a similar look. But it could be something else entirely. Maybe they’re weak and easy to control.”

“Any suspects?”

“There was a person of interest in the case,” Deke said. “He’s not been identified but was picked up by a surveillance camera near the shop where Anne Smith was last seen. The picture taken of him is grainy, but he doesn’t fit the description of the man seen hanging around Elisa’s coffee shop.”

Jake looked at the picture, holding it low enough so Georgia could see. “No. He sorta looks like the sketch Jenna drew of Scott Murphy, but it’s hard to tell. The coffee shop waitress in Nashville thought he was a wannabe musician. Carried a guitar, she said.”

“Anyone can get a guitar,” Georgia said. “Cheap ones are a dime a dozen in this town.

“Chicks eat that sensitive crap up,” Jake said.

Georgia shook her head. “We do?”

“What? It’s true. I bet this guy opened with the song ‘Feelings.’”

“That’s crap,” she said. “Elisa probably didn’t get much male attention and then this good-looking guy befriends her. Basically, low hanging fruit.”

* * *

Jake parked at the top of a circular driveway in front of the tall brick home that belonged to Dalton Marlowe. Marlowe kept a place in the city but according to his assistant was here today working from home.

The rain had stopped, leaving a sheen of moisture clinging to the driveway and lawn. Jake climbed the stairs, tugging his jacket forward over his gun. He rang the bell which echoed inside the home.

A young maid answered the door and, when he showed her his badge, she es

corted him to the study. A thick Oriental rug warmed the floor in front of a six-foot fireplace. Four overstuffed club chairs nestled close in the center of the room around a large round coffee table.

“Detective.”

Dalton Marlowe stood on the threshold of the double doors. He wore suit pants, a white shirt with sleeves rolled up his forearms, and a red tie that now hung loose. “I saw you at the funeral. It was well attended. Any thoughts?”

“You have my condolences.”

“I don’t want your condolences. I want you to find a way to prove Amber killed my son.”

“I hear you visited Amber in the hospital.”

Gray eyes narrowed. “She tell you that?”

“You bumped into one of my people on your way out.”

“The redhead with Mrs. Reed?”