Thread of Fear (12 page)

Confusion filled his eyes.

“Is that why you ran away?”

He looked down and unwound the straw from his thumb. “I’m not supposed to draw him?”

“You don’t need to draw anything,” she said. “That’s my job. All I need for you to do is talk to me.”

He looked up warily, and she could tell they’d bridged the gap. “I guess I could do that,” he said.

“All right, then.” She felt her chest loosening with relief as she reached for her sketch board. She smiled at Brady, and got the faintest trace of a smile in return. “Just tell me what you saw.”

They had a break. Jack knew it the moment Fiona stepped out of his office. The good-bye she exchanged with Brady was casual, but the expression on her face told Jack something big had happened. It was all he could do to keep his cool as Sharon guided Brady and his mom into the break room to fill out paperwork.

He followed Fiona back into his office and closed the door.

“We got him,” she said, grinning.

“Are you sure?”

“Have a look at this.” She gestured to a drawing on his desk.

Jack took one glance and felt his heart skip. “Holy shit.”

“I know.” She smiled triumphantly. “Isn’t it uncanny?”

“Are you sure about this? I mean, it’s not just because you talked to Lucy?”

“I swear it’s good. I always go into a second interview aware of that possibility, but this isn’t a hybrid image. Brady’s description was completely independent. And it’s the same guy.”

It was, indeed, the same guy. He looked just like Lucy’s attacker, except older.

Jack whistled. “It’s your age progression to a T. The heavy version.”

“I mean, I couldn’t believe it. He was just
brimming
with details. Look at the nose. The eyes. I got a freaking
tattoo
!” She snatched a drawing pad off the desk and flipped it open.

“No kidding?”

“Our guy has a swastika on his left forearm.” She handed him the pad. “Brady originally said it was a spider,
but I showed him some pages from my tattoo catalogue, and he picked out the swastika.”

Jack stared down at the drawing, stunned. The swastika was unusual, with arrow points at the ends of the arms. He couldn’t believe Brady had come up with this. It was too good to be true.

And maybe it was. “How’d the kid see all this?”

Fiona shook her head. “He was paying attention. I mean,
really
paying attention. God, what would you do if you saw someone dumping a body? And Brady was stuck there, up in his tree fort, trying not to make a sound as the whole thing unfolded. He thinks it took about fifteen minutes, from start to finish. And it was right after dawn.”

Jack stared down at the stylized hate symbol. He guessed Fiona had drawn it on a separate sheet because it wasn’t part of the face. “This tattoo is helpful. I can run it through some databases. Is Brady sure it was on his forearm? It was in the thirties that night. I would have thought the guy’d be wearing a coat.”

She nodded. “I asked the same thing, but he insists. Said the man was wearing one of those down vests and a sweatshirt. He was carrying the body, and by the time he made it from the road all the way to the drop site near the fence, he was breathing heavily. Brady says he laid her on the ground, pushed up his sleeves, and went to work arranging her.”

Jack recalled the crime scene, the way the victim had been positioned provocatively, her legs splayed. It was one of the reasons he’d known, immediately, they were dealing with someone theatrical. Some attention-seeking fuckhead who wouldn’t stop. Not until he was forced to.

Jack looked up at Fiona. She was clearly on an adrena
line rush. “How much time do you need?” he asked. “You know, to finish this up?”

They both glanced at the clock. It was nearly three. They could still make the five o’clock broadcast, provided they held a news conference at 4:30. But Jack had to get on the horn quick, if he wanted to round everyone up.

“I need fifteen minutes to refine it,” she said. “Twenty, tops.”

“You got it. Now just tell me one more thing.” He squeezed her shoulder, praying she’d kept her end of their bargain. “Please,
please
tell me you got it on videotape.”

She smiled. “You really think I’d forget something like that?”

Jack swerved into a reserved parking space at City Hall and glanced at the clock on the bank building downtown. It was 4:20. They were cutting it close if they intended to make the five o’clock news. But Jack hadn’t wanted to put this off until tomorrow—he was determined to get this picture out today.

He got out his official vehicle—a tan and green Explorer with
GRAINGERVILLE POLICE DEPARTMENT
painted across the door—and surveyed the lot for familiar cars. Carlos was here already. And Lowell and Sharon had just pulled up in a patrol car. He spotted the dinged hatchback belonging to the guy who ran the local radio station, and Doc Jamison’s ancient station wagon, which sometimes doubled as a hearse.

But where the hell were the news vans? He’d called every media outlet in central and south Texas. Barring something with sexier footage, like a factory fire or maybe a five-car
pileup, he’d expected a full turnout. He’d called ahead to have a podium set up in the large meeting room typically used by the city council. But this looked like a far cry from standing room only.

Lowell and Sharon strolled up with their chests thrust out, both in freshly pressed uniforms. Lowell hitched up his patent leather gun belt, and Jack remembered what Fiona had said about puffed-up cops. She was right. They both looked like they had a pole up their ass. Come to think of it, he knew a lot of cops who looked that way.

Shit, did
he
? He glanced down at his starched uniform, his shiny badge. He’d even shaved for the occasion. But did he swagger around like that? No way.

At least he didn’t think he did.

“Pretty thin,” Lowell observed.

Jack scowled at the parking lot. “I thought this was a slow news day. There something going on I don’t know about?”

“Radio’s been quiet,” Sharon said.

A white Honda turned into the lot, and Jack watched as Fiona slid out of the car dressed once again in her attorney clothes. But it wasn’t a tax attorney this time. More like a crack trial lawyer. She strode up the sidewalk in tall black heels and a charcoal suit. Her skirt was short enough to reveal a pair of very nice legs that, until now, Jack had seen only in his imagination.

She nodded hello. “No television yet,” she said, casting a worried look in Jack’s direction. “You called them, didn’t you?”

“Yep.”

Jack told his officers to go inside to check the podium setup. He needed a minute alone with Fiona.

“You’re disappointed,” she stated.

“Something’s up. There should be way more people than this.” He scanned the area again and spotted a white van in the distance, slowly making its way down Main Street. As it got closer, he discerned the logo for the CBS affiliate out of San Antonio. It parked, and Jack watched a blonde climb out of the van. She wore a snazzy red pantsuit and stood out like a beacon on this slate gray day. Jack didn’t recognize her.

“There’s one, at least,” Fiona said.

“They sent their second string. We’re not the lead story.”

The woman fluffed her hair in the van’s side mirror as her cameraman dragged his gear from the back.

“I assume you all don’t have a public information officer,” Fiona said.

“You’re looking at him.”

“Well, you know how this goes, right? It’s up to you to decide what information to release. I won’t discuss the case; I just stand beside the easel. I don’t talk unless someone has a question specifically related to the sketch or the drawing process.”

“Good.” Jack needed control over this thing. The media could help, but they could also harm the case if he wasn’t careful. “I’ve told everyone else to keep it zipped, too.”

“I’m sorry it’s not a better turnout.”

Jack looked down at her and noticed the worry line between her brows. “Not your fault,” he said. “You’ve done everything you can.”

“That’s why I came.”

Was that the only reason? He was hoping he could talk her into staying the night, even though her official work here would be finished as soon as the press conference ended.

In his peripheral vision, he saw the TV crew approaching, and he knew he was about to get blasted with questions. But he couldn’t take his eyes off Fiona. She’d put on makeup—not a lot, just enough to accent her eyes and her lips. She looked beautiful. And she smelled good again. She reached up to stroke his earlobe, and his heart kicked.

“Shaving cream,” she whispered, and smiled.

“Chief Bowman, is it true you’ve had a break in your murder case? Have you positively identified the victim?”

“I’ll be happy to discuss that inside, if you’ll head into the briefing room.”

Jack turned back to Fiona, but she was already gone.

F
iona had been to enough press conferences to know today’s was a bust. Only a handful of reporters had shown up, and most of them were from regional newspapers that published weekly. But worse, they barely had any television. Only CBS carried the story, and it was relegated to a twenty-second sound bite at the bottom of the broadcast.

She eyed the barroom TV from her cozy booth. Tired of ignoring her hunger pangs, she’d stopped for a meal at Becker’s before getting on the road back to Austin.

“Here you are,” the waitress said, placing a glass of iced tea in front of her. “That cheeseburger’ll be right out.”

Fiona thanked her and caught a glimpse of the man seated at the bar. He wore a green camo baseball cap pulled low over his face, and he’d been watching her for the past ten minutes. Maybe she should tell the waitress she wanted her food to go. Avoiding the man’s stare, she busied herself adding lemon and sweetener to her tea.

“You must be famous.”

She glanced up. The camo guy peered down at her from beneath the bill of his cap. He wasn’t tall, but he had wide
shoulders and big, meaty hands, one of which was wrapped around a Bud longneck.

“Excuse me?”

“Yeah, I saw you.” He jerked his head toward the TV above the bar. “Six o’clock news. That thing with the Mexican girl.”

He slid into the booth across from her, and Fiona felt a flutter of unease. “So, what, you from the FBI or something? They send you down to solve the case?”

“I’m a forensic artist. Chief Bowman hired me to do the suspect sketch.”

“An artist, huh?” He took a swig of his beer and plunked it down on the table, as if he intended to stay a while. “You don’t look like an artist.”

She was curious to know just what he thought an artist should look like, but she didn’t want to prolong the conversation.

“Here we go.” The waitress reappeared with Fiona’s food. The cheeseburger was the size of a dinner plate and was accompanied by a mountain of seasoned home fries. Fiona was dying to dig in, but first she wanted to get rid of the barfly.

The waitress shot him a stern look. “You’re not bothering this nice lady, are you, Hoyt?”

Hoyt smiled and gave the woman’s rear end a pat. “Nah, I’m just being friendly. You know me. Hate to see a pretty girl settin’ all alone.”

“Aren’t you sweet?” the waitress said, rolling her eyes at Fiona.

“Hey, she tell you she’s a police artist? She drew that picture on the news.”

“That was
you
?” Her eyes lit up, as if she were meeting
a celebrity. “I heard we had someone down from Austin, working on Jack’s case.”

Fiona forced a smile.

“I bet Jack’s steamed, isn’t he? Upstaged by Randy again like that.” She lifted a brow in Hoyt’s direction.

“Yeah, ol’ Jack’s probably spitting nails right now.”

“Who’s Randy?” Fiona couldn’t resist asking.

“Randy Rudd,” Hoyt said. “Our county sheriff. He and Jack sometimes get crosswise on account of their territories overlap.”

The waitress nodded at Fiona. “That big drug bust on the news tonight? That was Randy. He’s always running for reelection, so he loves to get in front of the camera whenever something big happens.”

Fiona tried to recall the top news story this evening. She’d caught only the tail end of it: something about a raid on a methamphetamine lab. Some sheriff had seized equipment and made a few arrests.

But surely the timing was a coincidence. How could the Grainger county sheriff have known Jack had a break in his case? And that he’d be releasing a sketch to the media this afternoon? Fiona herself hadn’t even known for sure until after the interview.

“Well, don’t let us keep you.” The waitress shot Hoyt a pointed look, then turned a smile on Fiona. “You enjoy your dinner, now.”

Fiona mustered a pleasant expression for Hoyt. “It’s been nice chatting with you.”

He leaned forward on his elbows. “You look like a lady who knows her way around a stick. What say we shoot some pool later?”

“Thanks, but I don’t think so.”

He let his gaze drop to her breasts, and she regretted taking off her jacket when she’d sat down.

“Look, I don’t mean to be rude,” she said, “but do you mind if I eat my dinner?”

“Nah, go right ahead.” He nodded at her plate, but made no move to leave.

“I mean, alone?”

His expression hardened. He watched her coolly as he took a swill of his beer. Then he slammed the empty bottle on the table, making the silverware jump. Fiona jumped, too, which seemed to please him.

“You know, I never got your name.” He held out his hand.

She glanced at it, debating the wisdom of further ticking off this guy. She gave his hand a brief shake. “It’s Fiona.”

“Fee-yo-na.” He tested the word on his tongue. “It’s real nice to meet you, Fee-yo-na. You come find me if you change your mind about pool.”

He slid out of the booth and nearly bumped into a stout older woman holding a plate of pie.

“Quit bothering the customers, Hoyt.” She set the pie beside Fiona’s tea and scooted into the space Hoyt had just vacated. Good God, where was the waitress? Fiona needed a bill.

“Ginny Kuzak,” the woman said. “I’m the cook. Allyson tells me you’re that police artist down from Austin.”

“That’s right.” She glanced longingly at her food and wished she’d gone to a drive-through.

“Well, welcome to Graingerville. It’s a nice place to live, most times. We don’t usually get all this murder and may
hem. I’m just sick over what happened to that poor girl.”

Fiona studied the woman’s plump face, surrounded by gray curls. She wore a white, grease-splattered apron and looked like she’d been on her feet all day.

“The apple pie’s on me,” she said. “I want to thank you for coming all the way down here to help Jack like this. I’ve known that boy thirty-five years now, and I haven’t ever seen him so wrapped up in something. Course it’s personal to him, but he probably already told you about all that.”

The waitress stopped by, and instead of requesting a to-go box, Fiona found herself asking for a glass of wine. Ginny seemed to want to sit for the foreseeable future, and Fiona didn’t think she could wait another minute to get some food in her system. She bit into a fry, and sighed at the crunchy, salty goodness of it.

Ginny smiled. “That’s my grandmother’s recipe. You won’t get anything that compares over at Lorraine’s.”

Fiona didn’t know who Lorraine was, but she kept eating. “You were saying?” she said after another bite. “About this case being tough for Jack?”

This was a shameless fishing expedition, but who else was she supposed to ask about him? He was so tight-lipped about everything, and she was curious. If she asked Nathan, he’d just tell Jack she’d been inquiring, and she didn’t want to let either of them know she cared. Her interest was completely unprofessional, and it would compromise her reputation with the guys over at APD.

“Well, I assume you heard about the Arrellando girl? Jack may not have told you, but they were sweethearts way back when, and everyone knows it’s been eating at him for years how no one ever solved her case.” Ginny leaned
forward conspiratorially. “Now some folks think there never was much case to
solve,
but I don’t believe all that. What girl goes out and lets somebody knock her around that way?”

The waitress delivered a glass of wine. She seemed amazingly attentive, and Fiona figured she was eavesdropping.

“Sure, I know it
happens.
” Ginny waved a hand, as if batting away a gnat. “But that Arrellando one’s a tough cookie. She wouldn’t put up with that. She was attacked, you ask me, and I don’t care what all they say about her.”

Fiona picked up her burger. Ginny seemed to be on a roll, and Fiona had no desire to interrupt.

“Anyway, if what happened to those gals is connected, Jack’ll get to the bottom of it. That boy’s a good cop. Always has been. That stuff back in Houston was blown way outta proportion.”

Fiona tried not to look too curious. All she knew about Jack’s years in Houston was that he’d worked homicide at some point, and that Nathan had helped train him.

“It sounds like you know Jack and his family pretty well.”

Ginny nodded. “They’re fine people. Salt of the earth. Course they’re a stubborn bunch, too, every last one of them. And you never met a more persistent man than John.”

Fiona swallowed a succulent bite. The meat was perfect, the cheese warm and gooey. The bun was homemade and toasted with just a hint of butter. It was the best burger she’d ever put in her mouth, but she didn’t want to interrupt Ginny by telling her so. She dabbed her lips with a napkin. “And John is…?”

“Jack’s daddy. Cotton farmer. He was a hardworking, hardheaded SOB, and Jack takes right after him. Takes after him in other ways, too. Got more than his fair share of good
looks.” Ginny smiled, suddenly looking younger and less worn out. “But I bet you already noticed that, right?”

Jack spotted her at the back of the bar. She had an empty wineglass in front of her and looked to be deep in conversation with one of his mother’s best friends.

He sighed.

“They’ve been at it half an hour now,” Allyson said, wiping down a booth near the hostess stand. “But we just sat a big table, so you’d better tell Ginny to hustle it back to the kitchen before Ralph pitches a fit.”

Allyson cut another look at him and seemed to notice his jeans. “You off tonight? My brother’s having some people over to watch UT basketball, if you’re interested.”

“Thanks, but I’ve got plans.” Jack stripped off his jacket, trying not to make a puddle on the oak plank floor. It had started sleeting outside, and the roads were a mess. He predicted an injury accident by midnight.

He made his way to the back, nodding at friends and acquaintances wedged into booths. Kenny Chesney played on the jukebox, and a shout went up from the poolroom in back as someone sank a shot. He stopped at Fiona’s table.

“You bad-mouthing me again, Ginny?”

Ginny looked up, and her face went from surprised to guilty in about half a second.

Jack slid into the booth right beside Fiona, and she beamed at him.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Ginny’s just filling me in on a little background info. I didn’t know you had a
rabbit
.”

Jack glared at Ginny. “I don’t.” He picked up Fiona’s fork and stole a bite of her pie.

Ginny tipped her head to the side and folded her arms over her chest.

“Great pie, Gin.” He took another bite. “Hey, Allyson wanted me to tell you you’re needed in the kitchen.”

She stood up and pretended to be in a huff. “Don’t you lie to this girl, Jack Bowman. She’s a smart one.” She bestowed a smile on Fiona. “Nice meeting you, hon. You come on by here again next time you’re in town.”

When she finally left, Jack gave Fiona a long, steady look. She had her elbow resting on the table and her cheeks were flushed, probably from the wine. Her suit jacket was crumpled up beside her, and she wore a cream-colored blouse that was a tad see-through.

“Good thing you decided to stay. The roads are bad tonight.” He draped an arm over the back of the booth and picked up a strand of hair that had come loose from her braid.

“I just stopped for dinner. I’m going back after this.”

Jack forked up another bite of pie. “What all did Ginny have to say?”

“Oh, not much. Just how you used to be a real big shot in high school.”

“Hmm.”

“And how you led your football team to the state championship. Very impressive.”

Fiona obviously didn’t know much about football. Jack’s team had been good, but Grainger High was only a 3A school, not exactly a powerhouse. That winning season was still well remembered around town, though. And his
role as quarterback during the glory days had made him pretty popular. It was probably the reason the town council had overlooked his age when he’d applied for the chief-of-police job.

Jack stroked a finger down Fiona’s neck and wondered what else she’d heard about him. Knowing Ginny, it hadn’t all been good. “Don’t believe everything Ginny says. She has a tendency to stretch the truth.”

Fiona lifted an eyebrow.

“Get you a beer, Jack?”

He glanced up at Allyson. “I’ll have a Budweiser. And a piece of this pie. À la mode, please.”

Fiona scrunched up her nose. “Beer with
pie
?”

He looked down at her, resisting the urge to lean down and kiss that nose. “Sure, why not?”

She shook her head and reclaimed her fork. He watched her take a dainty bite, then run her tongue over the corner of her lip. Just sitting here watching her eat was getting to him. If he had any sense, he’d move to the other side of the booth and give her some space, but it had been a long, grueling day, and her hair smelled just a little too nice. So instead, he inched closer, brushing his thigh against her knee. She gazed up at him and sank her teeth into that plump bottom lip. He didn’t know for sure what she was thinking, but he could make a guess.

“Here you go.”

Jack dragged his gaze away from Fiona’s mouth and thanked Allyson for his order. The service sure as hell was prompt tonight.

When she was gone, Jack looked at Fiona. Her attention was fixed on her dessert, as if she didn’t want to look him in
the eye. He dropped his hand under the table and touched her knee. Her skin felt warm and soft, and she wasn’t wearing the panty hose he could have sworn she’d had on earlier. Either she’d taken them off someplace, or her legs were naturally smooth.

“You’ve been drinking,” he murmured, and slid his hand around to the inside of her thigh. “How much wine have you had?”

She shot him a glare and pushed his hand away. “
One
glass. I’ve got to get on the road.”

“I’m thinking you should stay here. We can get you a room.” He laced his fingers through hers and rested their hands on his lap. She gazed up at him, and the color in her cheeks deepened.

“Hey there, J.B.”