Cover Your Eyes (Morgans of Nashville 1)

“That is correct.”

“This is Susan Martinez, Channel Five.”

The light at 16th and Broadway turned red and Rachel gratefully accepted the delay. “Susan. We’ve been playing phone tag today.”

“I know and I’m sorry about that. How’s your jaw?”

Hurts like hell. “It’s fine. Barely a mark.”

“I called Miss Miller this morning. I’ll be interviewing her and wondered if I might be able to follow up with you.”

As much as Rachel wanted to keep her story in the spotlight, she hesitated before saying, “What kind of questions are we talking about?”

“Background on your client. What it’s been like for him the past three decades.”

Sounded good but she sensed bait on a lure. Still, the chance for more airtime could not be passed up lightly. “Sure. What time?”

“Say four. I’d like to make the six o’clock news.”

“Sure.”

“Your office?”

Her brain catalogued how much she’d have to clean before the news crew arrived. “Four it is.”

“Great. See you then.”

Rachel rang off as the light turned green and followed Broadway as it branched to the right. Five minutes later she’d parked on the street by Vanderbilt.

She walked down the brick sidewalk through the gates of the university and to a cluster of buildings called the Stevenson Center. The math department was in Building One where Lexis taught math. A short elevator ride found her approaching Lexis’s basement office. She saw the name plaque that read DR. L. HANOVER and knocked.

“Enter.”

The thick scent of cigarette smoke greeted her as she entered the cramped office packed with shelves crammed tight with books and papers. Lexis sat behind a small desk teeming with stacks of books. An in-box overflowed with papers, an ashtray brimmed with ash and a half-dozen coffee cups lined the desk’s edge. Judging by the stale smell, this place hadn’t been cleaned in months.

Dark square glasses and a black turtleneck sharpened the lines on her angled face and whitened gray hair that flowed to broad shoulders. “Rachel. Loved the show on the news last night.”

Rachel grimaced. “Not one of my finer moments.” Lexis stood. “Not at all. You’d not have made the news if that lady hadn’t slugged you. Was she a plant? Did you stage that?”

Rachel rubbed her still-tender jaw. “No, it was not staged.”

“Then count your lucky stars. Jeb Jones wouldn’t have hit most radar screens if you’d not been slugged.”

“Good to know it wasn’t all in vain.”

“Not at all. There a bruise?”

She tapped her chin gingerly with her fingertip. “Oh, yeah.”

Lexis moved closer and inspected the spot. “Rub off some of that makeup and let the bruise show. Badge of honor.”

“Feels like the mark of a fool. I should have seen it coming.”

Lexis shrugged. “That reporter called you for a follow-up?”

“I spoke to Ms. Martinez minutes ago. We have another interview today.”

“Good.” She reached for a fresh cigarette and fumbled for a lighter. “How’s Mr. Jones doing?”

Rachel frowned. “He’s not well. And he fears he’ll die in prison.”

A frown furrowed her brow as she flicked the silver engraved lighter. It didn’t ignite. “You’ll make a difference.”

“Let’s hope a better job than I did for Luke.”

“That wasn’t your fault.” Lexis shook the lighter, flicked again and a flame jumped. She lit the edge of her cigarette.

No take-backs, Rachel! “I could have kept him out of prison.”

“He had no right to ask you to lie.” She drew in smoke and then blew it out slowly. “You could have landed in jail yourself.”

A wane smile curved the edges of her lips. “Woulda, shoulda, coulda.”

“Remember you can’t fix everyone, Rachel. You did a lot for Luke. How many times did you drag him out of bars or out of the gutter?”

More times than she could remember. “I’ll always feel like I failed him.”

“You changed your life for him. Not many go the distance like that, Rachel. I admire that in you.”

An unexpected tear slid down her cheek and she swiped it away, embarrassed. “I didn’t intend for this to be a therapy session.”

Lexis smiled and inhaled. “I like to think I’m a jack of many trades.”

Rachel laughed. “And does handwriting analysis still fall in your wheelhouse?”

“It does, as a matter of fact. Verifying signatures is a growing trend in the last year. No one trusts anyone.”

“Makes good business for us both.”

“I won’t get rich on an adjunct’s salary.” She stabbed the cigarette into the ashtray.

Rachel looked around the room. “Kids treating you well?”

“I’ve a graduate class that is tolerable but the eight o’clock undergraduate class rarely is awake long enough to learn. Bit like talking to potted plants. Tell me about these letters.”

Rachel recapped their early morning delivery and the content. “I wore gloves when I handled all but the first letter. I read them and photographed them.”

“Thinking like a true conspiracy theorist.” Lexis accepted the shoe box. “Who delivered them?”

“Standard courier. He’s delivered to me before. And I called his dispatcher. The package was dropped at the courier’s office early this morning. Paid in cash.”

Lexis adjusted her glasses and studied the box of letters. “I did a little reading up on Annie Rivers Dawson after your television debut. She’d been married less than seven months at the time of her death. Her newborn was five days old. I don’t know much about her husband.”

“I’ve done a little digging too and have a list of people I need to talk to. Annie’s husband, Bill Dawson, is top of the list.”

“Do you really think someone out there is trying to help you?”

“I don’t know. But I’ve touched a nerve.”

Lexis removed the lid but did not touch the letters. “Be careful, Rachel. When secrets have been buried a long time there are people that don’t want them dug up.”

“I hear you,” Rachel said. “And I’ll be careful. When do you think you can get to the letters?”

“Later today. As soon as my office hours are over I’ll head to my home office where I have all my equipment.”

“What about a baseline for Annie’s handwriting?”

“I’ll find one.”

Caution crept up her nerves like an early warning system. “I might need to defend the source in court.”

“Won’t be a problem.” Lexis reached for another cigarette. “What do you think you’ll find?”

“The real killer’s name would be nice.”

r /> Lexis laughed. “You think you could be that lucky?”

“I’m due for some luck.”

“Aren’t we all?”

October 28

Sugar,

My heart just about jumped out of my chest . . . Pow, Zap, Zing! You said the L-word while you were cuddled up to me last night. I pretended to be asleep, but I heard that soft sweet voice in my ear. “I love you, Annie.”

Well, I love you too, Sugar. And no matter what, you and I are gonna be stuck together like glue. You never got to worry about me leaving you.

A.

Chapter Four

Friday, October 14, 1 PM

The heat of his boss’s glare scraped against Deke’s skin. When he worked the streets, survival often relied on a gut feeling, a glance, or a glare. Days on the streets were never predictable, always edgy, but there’d been a freedom he’d liked. He was back in a conventional unit, taking briefings, writing reports, but was still judging angry glowers not from snitches and drug dealers but bosses. Shoving aside annoyance, he looked up.

Captain Harry Saunders was a big man whose wide shoulders and tall stature all but ate up door frames. When he walked, the floor vibrated. When he smacked a fist against your desk, pictures rattled. A not too gentle giant, he was a real hard case who rarely minced words.

“Captain.” Deke closed the file and studied the older man’s deep frown lines. “That’s not your happy face.”

Gray eyes narrowed as he advanced a step into Deke’s office. “It sure as shit is not my happy face. It’s my irritated face.”

Deke folded his arms, unaffected by his boss’s ire, and yet still respectful enough to keep his thoughts to himself. “Why are you irritated?”

“You didn’t see the news last night? That damn woman is making us look like fools.”

“Rachel Wainwright. No, didn’t see the news but I was on hand to witness the live performance.”

Saunders placed large hands on his thick waist. “Why didn’t you stop her?”

Deke rose. “She’s got the right to free speech.”