Cover Your Eyes (Morgans of Nashville 1)

“I’m not. I’m trying to find out what happened to Annie. Your alibi was solid.”

He released a breath as if he’d been holding it for thirty years. “That piece of crap client you are representing was obsessed with her and then while I was gone he came into my home and beat her to death. He beat my wife to death and took her body and dumped it in the woods.”

“While your daughter Sara slept in her crib.”

Your daughter triggered the tiniest of flinches. “Get to the point, Wainwright, or I’m calling the cops.”

She pressed the point she’d been mulling for days. “Were you the biological father of Annie’s baby?”

“What the hell?”

“I was given letters written by Annie from an unknown source. The letters were written to a lover. The way Annie talked I assumed this affair was a secret and yet you two dated openly, meeting in church from what I understand. And then the day after her body was found you signed papers relinquishing parental rights.”

“None of that is your business.”

The raw anger on his face divulged more than words. The nerve she’d struck might be thirty years old but it remained sensitive. “Please,” she prompted. “We need to find this man. I think he could have been involved in her murder.” His angry silence sliced the air between them. “Did she have a lover?”

“What if she did?” The loud question blasted like a double-barreled shotgun. “What the hell difference does it make now?”

“It could make a lot of difference to my client. This secret lover of hers could have been the one that killed her.”

He shook his head, aggravated. “You are chasing a pipe dream. Jeb killed her.”

The door that had cracked might burst open if she pushed a little harder. “Did she identify him?”

He glanced down the path as if common sense told him to leave now, but he lingered, no doubt weighed by an old secret pain. “This is none of your business.”

“If that guy was linked to Annie’s death then it sure is my business. Did you ever get a name?”

Under the anger simmered temptation. He wanted to talk. Wanted to vent.

“You carried the secret all these years. Was it to protect the baby?”

He clenched his fingers. “She didn’t deserve the mess she was born into.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“I couldn’t love her. Not like she deserved. I gave her away to parents who wanted her.”

“That was kind.”

“Or selfish. Depends.” He studied her. “The media has been all over me for another interview. You are the reason the past got stirred up. I missed your news broadcast.”

“My television debut was a hit.” When curiosity darkened his gaze she said, “I’ll give you the shorthand version. Annie’s sister decked me on live television.”

“Margaret.” The word came out like a growl.

“She’s not too thrilled with you either. She demanded contact with her niece.”

His eyes narrowed. “Annie looked out for her sister but she did not want her to have the baby.” His jaw tensed and released. “The last month before the baby was born Annie worried a lot about dying. She begged me never to give the baby to Margaret or her mother. I thought it was hormones, but I promised Annie that they would never raise the baby.”

“You loved Annie.”

Pain deepened the lines on his face. “Go away.”

“Who was Annie’s lover?”

“Christ, you are a bitch.”

Rachel shrugged. “Tell me what I don’t know.”

He flexed his fingers. “I don’t know who the hell he was! She was pregnant with his child when we married. I didn’t know that at the time. I thought I was one lucky bastard who’d landed a hell of a catch.”

“She told you?”

“Hell, no. When the baby was born, two months early by my count, healthy and whole, I knew it wasn’t mine.” White teeth flashed and contrasted with his tanned olive skin. “And do you really think I could make a pink baby with blond hair?”

Rachel had barely pulled a C in biology but she understood that his dark traits would likely have overshadowed Annie’s fairer ones.

“Annie tried to convince me otherwise but I knew. I’m not that stupid. That’s why I wasn’t in town when she was killed. I’d left to think and figure out what to do next.”

She doubled back to the critical question hoping for an answer this time. “She never told you who he was?”

“I demanded she tell me but she refused. Said it would do no good to ruin another life.” He shook his head, his disgust clear. “Okay for her to lie to me and mess with my life but she didn’t want to hurt her boyfriend. If I found out who he was today, I think I’d shoot the bastard. He did a royal job of fucking up my life.”

One week Dawson had been a man in love with a baby on the way and the next he’d lost both. “I see why you were mad.”

“Yeah, I was pissed. Real pissed. But not so pissed that I forgot Annie’s warning about Margaret.” He shoved out a breath. “That’s all you are getting from me.”

She followed. “Who adopted the baby?”

“I don’t know.”

“How could you not know?”

“The cops took her away and I never saw her again. I signed the papers but didn’t read them. End of story.”

“Just like that.”

“I had enough trouble on my hands in those days with the media hounding me.” He cursed. “What a nightmare. Annie was pretty but she was a lying bitch.” He grabbed his earbud. “If I see you again, I’m calling the cops.”

She watched him jog away, no desire to follow. The letters had not been to Bill. Who had been Annie’s lover? And what had the cops done with the baby?

Pastor Gary had arranged the marriage. Perhaps he remembered Annie.

Rachel showered and dressed in dark dress pants and a dark V-necked sweater. She chose simple jewelry and enough makeup to cover her bruise. She arrived at the large white church minutes after three. The parking lot was full, but she’d heard the church ran an aggressive outreach program. She pushed through large double doors and followed signs marked PASTOR’S OFFICE. In the distance she could hear a choir practicing. According to the church’s website they were known for their music. She’d watched video clips on the church’s site. The Saturday night and Sunday morning services rivaled many Broadway productions. Pastor Gary knew how to draw people in to fill his one thousand seat auditorium.

She made her way to the office and found the reception area empty. She glanced around, looking for a receptionist, and when she found none she peeked down the hallway to a door marked PASTOR’S OFFICE. After one last look and seeing no one she made her way toward the door that was slightly ajar. She glanced through the opening and found a richly carpeted office furnished with deep mahogany furniture. A man’s baritone voice echoed out. She looked in and saw a tall, gray-haired man staring out a large window, a cell phone pressed to his ear.

Rachel knocked once. The man turned, he muttered into the phone before closing it. “I’m looking for Pastor Gary.”

He smiled, as if that were his go-to response for everyone. “I’m Pastor Gary. How did you get in here?”

“Just walked in.”

“No one was at the receptionist desk?”

“No.”

He shook his head. “I’ve had a series of temps since my secretary had to take medical leave.”

“Kate. I met her.” She tig

htened her grip on her purse strap. “My name is Rachel Wainwright. I’m . . .”

“I know who you are.” His lips curled easily into a soft smile that made her feel at ease. “You made quite a showing on the TV.”

She adjusted her purse strap, which weighed heavily on her bruised shoulder that still ached from her run. “One of my more memorable moments.”

“You are representing Jeb Jones.”

Relieved by his lack of censor, she inched into the office. “I am.”

“He was a poor lost soul. What he did was horrible but he was a sick man and I know God has forgiven him.”

“How well did you know Annie?”

His gaze turned wistful and sad. “Cops asked the same question.”

“Deke Morgan visited you?”

“That’s right.” He adjusted his cuff. “Like I told him, she sang in the church choir. She had the voice of an angel and we always loved having her sing. Good music has a way of freeing the soul.” His soft even tones resonated like a lullaby.

“You introduced her to her husband, Bill Dawson.”

“They met at my church. He was a good kind soul as was Annie. A natural fit. I married them.”

“And her baby was born seven months later.”

He frowned as if she’d struck a sour note. “It is not my place to judge, Ms. Wainwright.”

“Bill Dawson was not the baby’s father.”

He raised a brow. “Who told you that?”

“He did.”

“When?”

“This morning.”

He glanced toward a cross on the wall and then back at her. “I think he has allowed time to rewrite his story.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know. Guilt. He all but threw that baby away after Annie went missing. As soon as her body was found he signed the adoption papers.”

“He said he figured out the baby wasn’t his after she was born. He confronted Annie and she confessed. He was furious. Felt as if he’d been played for a fool.”

His head tilted as if she’d struck a sour note. “Did she tell him this mystery man’s name?”