I'll Never Let You Go (Morgans of Nashville 3)

Now, as he watched Leah kiss this man, old memories soured. Leah, like Deidre, was a fickle creature. They were users. One marriage ended and they moved on to the next.

He balled up his napkin and threw it on the remnants of the burger and fries. As tempted as he was to attack her tonight, he quieted the desire. Move with patience and care. Slow and steady wins the race.

She’d have seen the dog by now. No way she couldn’t love that damn dog. Hell, he almost missed the mutt who’d stared at him with dopey, adoring eyes.

He rose and spotted another couple talking. The man clearly was attracted to the woman and the woman, though tentative, clearly liked him, too. A stab of envy sliced through him, and he knew, despite his slow and steady mantra, he’d get a pound of someone’s flesh soon.

Chapter Seventeen

Saturday, January 21, 8 A.M.

A flat tire was the last thing David needed. He rushed out of his apartment across the lot, and when he spotted the tire he swore.

David was running late for work. The morning run had gone long and he’d lingered at the coffee shop after that, flirting with the redhead who worked behind the bar. And now the damn tire was flat and he not only had briefs to file that morning, he had to make an appearance in court. With the cops asking him questions, he didn’t need any more trouble.

He fished his cell out of his pocket, ready to call AAA, when he saw the truck pull up behind him and the driver roll down the window. “You need a hand?”

David nodded, praising his dumb luck. “Hell yes, man. There’s fifty bucks in it for you.”

Grinning, the man leaned on the steering wheel. Rolled-up sleeves revealed tattooed forearms. “I’ll have it changed for you in ten minutes.”

“That’s great,” David said. “This flat was such bad timing.”

“Isn’t it always?”

The driver got out and moved to the back of his truck. From a built-in silver toolbox, he removed a jack and a tire iron. “You look like you’re in a rush.”

David glanced up from his cell, already distracted, and reminded himself to be nice. He needed this guy. “I am. So much to get done, and now this. I’m lucky you happened along.”

“Lucky is right. I’d just finished my shift and was headed home.”

David’s halfhearted interest in conversation hummed behind his need for quick help with the tire. “You live in this area?”

“Not too far from here.” The driver jacked up the car and quickly and easily removed the lug nuts. Soon, the flat tire was off and the spare from the trunk seated on the hub.

Be friendly. Make conversation. He didn’t have time for AAA. “Do you think I picked up a nail?”

“Naw, man. Someone sliced the tire.”

“What?”

The driver ran a finger along a neat, clean slice. “Right here. You must have pissed someone off.”

That had him sliding the phone back in his pocket. “Why do you say that?”

A grin tugged at his full lips. “You see any other flat tires in the lot?”

David glanced around and realized he was the only one with the issue. Shit. Had he pissed someone off? If not for Deidre’s death, he’d never have clung to worry. A first glance at the driver’s badge gave him a name: Brian. Brian was his only ally on this cold, shitty morning.

“Brian, I appreciate the help.”

Strong, callused hands screwed on the lug nuts before he reached for the tire iron. “No worries, man.”

“You from Nashville?”

“I’m new to Nashville. Been here a few weeks. How about you? You been here long?”

“All my life.” He watched as Brian finished. A little more small talk. “I’m an attorney.”

“I figured you were some kind of hotshot. Nice suit.”

David caught the man’s grin, his tone more teasing. He fished fifty bucks from his pocket as Brian lowered the jack. When David opened the trunk, Brian loaded the flat tire in the trunk bed.

Closing the trunk with a hard slam, Brian took a rag from his back pocket and wiped the grease from his hands and the trunk hood. “You’re good to go.”

David handed over the cash. “Thanks, man. I really do appreciate it.”

Brian pocketed the money. “The extra cash will come in handy. Just bought a necklace for my wife and spent a little more than I should’ve.” He grinned. “Happy wife, happy life.”

“No truer words, Brian.”

“You got a wife?”

“We’re separated. Trying to work it out.”

A slow, thoughtful nod conveyed understanding. “That’s rough. My wife and I are separated, too. But we’re getting back together. Made it through the fire, so to speak.”

David had no desire to rekindle the flame with his wife. He liked being single. Playing the field. “Nothing better than a solid marriage.”

“Ain’t that a fact.”

The tire change complete, David’s interest skittered back to the office. He opened his car door. “Thanks again, man. I appreciate the help.”

Brian flashed a wide grin. “Glad I could help.”

He watched David drive away, proud of himself for not killing him. Today, at least. It would have been easy to jab a knife in his gut, watch him fall to his knees, and bleed out in the parking lot. It sure had been easy enough to slice his tire.

Sliding his hands in his pockets, he fingered the pocketknife he’d jabbed in the tire hours ago. But killing David wasn’t part of the plan. Yet.

Minutes past eight, Deke made his way down the narrow, rocky path that led to the river and the two forensic technicians working the scene. Georgia was on the job today, wearing a thick black skullcap, heavy coveralls that read FORENSICS on the back, and thick, steel-toed boots. She held a digital camera to her eye and focused on a numbered yellow cone placed next to what looked like a severed hand. The other tech, Brad Holcombe, was a tall slim guy with blond hair. He also wore a thick black skullcap. Dark plastic gloves covered his hands.

“Georgia,” he said.

“Give me a minute, Deke.” She snapped a couple more rapid-fire photos and then turned to Brad, who held a clipboard in his hand. “You got that marked on your area map?”

He was in his early thirties, but all traces of the fresh-faced guy who’d joined the force five years earlier had vanished. The job had aged him. “I do.”

“Great. Take five. Drink hot coffee. I’ll finish up here.”

Brad tossed Georgia a grateful grin. “Thanks.”

She faced Deke. Her nose glowed red from the cold. “Great way to start a day.”

He thought about the warm bed he’d left, in which he’d been nestled close to Rachel. She’d accepted his ring last night, and he’d been filled with hope and joy. He’d had very different plans for this morning, but the job had its own ideas. “I can think of better.”

“Join the club.”

“I see a hand.”

She nodded and pointed. “A hand there. Near the river’s edge a foot, and a few yards west is another hand. And there’s no torso or head. But then, I hear you found a torso a few days ago.”

“Stands to reason we have a matched set, but we shall see. Any idea who the guy might be?”

She sniffed, her nose runny from the cold. “Not a clue. But these cold-as-hell temperatures have kept the remains intact, and I was able to pull a clean print from the index finger. Who knows, our guy might have prints on file.”

“Anything you can tell me about him?”

“He had calluses on his palms, and the foot was still encased in sneakers. Nothing remarkable about the shoe. The thumb looked as if it had been broken a long time ago.”

“Any idea how he was killed?”

“Not a clue. That’s for the lovely Dr. Heller to decipher.”

“If he’s a match to our John Doe in the morgue, it was a gunshot to the chest.”