If You See Her Page 4

For the past few days, ever since the night his house had burned to a charred husk, he’d been living with her and honestly, he had a hard time imagining a life without Lena Riddle.

  He was already thinking crazy shit like engagement rings. Weddings. Waking up next to her every day for the rest of his life. He loved her—was shit-faced, stupid in love with her and couldn’t imagine his life without her.

  He had fallen for her so hard. So fast. And with each day that passed, he fell for her just a little more.

  And because he knew she’d want to know, because he knew he’d want her to share whatever burdens she had, he knew he couldn’t hide this. It just weighed too heavy on his heart.

  Sighing, he reached up and laid a hand on her arm, squeezed gently. “Brody Jennings.”

  “What about him?” She pressed her lips to his cheek. “He’s just a sad, messed-up kid, Slick.”

  Ezra grimaced. A sad, messed-up kid. Yeah, that described Brody Jennings, all right. Except the sad, messed-up kid’s behavior was kind of escalating. All over the place. Looking down at the gold cross, he studied it. There was no doubt in his mind it was the same one.

  “I saw him in town, the day Law got back to town,” he said softly. “When you and Hope were walking around the square. Remy was there with him—wanted to talk to me. Said he’d make sure Brody came out when I was ready, help me repair some of the damage the kid had done out at my place.”

  He scrubbed a hand over his face and muttered, “Shit. The damage. A few trashed flower beds are the least of the problems, now, huh? Unless the kid’s got a contractor’s license, he’s not going to be much use out there.”

  The house he’d inherited from his grandmother was trashed, thanks to the fire, and he hadn’t been able to salvage much of anything. What hadn’t been destroyed by the flames had been destroyed by smoke or water.

  Lena tightened her arms. “Ezra, what’s your point here? I’m not following.”

  “He had a necklace on. A gold cross.” Rubbing his finger across the delicately etched surface, he stared off into the distance.

  “It was his mother’s.” Lena rubbed her cheek against his shoulder. “I remember Remy mentioning it. It’s like the one thing he still … how did he put it … I dunno, but when Remy sees him wearing it, it’s like he still has hope. Still thinks the kid isn’t too far gone.”

  Early morning light shone through the window, danced off the small bit of gold. So small.

  How in the hell could it weigh so much? Be such a burden?

  “The kid might be gone farther than he thinks, beautiful,” Ezra said, his voice gruff. “I found that cross. It was out by my house the night it caught on fire.”

  Lena trailed her hand down his arm.

  When her fingers touched the cross, a soft, sad sigh escaped her. She rested her head on his shoulder. But she didn’t say anything.

  His dad had already left.

  Brody waited, just to be certain, before he slipped out. He had to air up his tires before he could go anywhere—thanks to Uncle Remy, Dad had taken his four-wheeler away and Brody wasn’t about to walk.

  Too far away.

  Setting off across the fields, he focused on anything and everything but what he’d done.

  Or at least he tried.

  It was really, really hard to think about anything else.

  He needed to tell somebody … his dad was out of the question. Maybe Uncle Remy. Maybe the sheriff … shit, screw that. But … hell. Who could he tell? He hadn’t meant to do it.

  Wasn’t like anybody had gotten hurt.

  King had sure as hell landed on his feet—shacking up with Lena Riddle, of all people. The woman had legs that went for miles. Brody didn’t know why in the hell his uncle had broken things off with her. If he had a girl like that …?

  Easier to think about her, wonder about what it might be like to make it with her than to think about the fire.

  The flames.

  So hot, so fucking hot.

  If he’d stopped, for five damn seconds, to think … and shit, how was he supposed to know the place would burn like that?

  The place had been old.

  That’s what the word around town was. Old places like that? They burned fast.

  But how in the hell was Brody to know that?

  Nobody had gotten hurt. Nobody had even been there.

  And as long as he hadn’t lost his mom’s necklace there, nobody had to know it was him, either.

  He just had to find that necklace.

  Tears stung his eyes, but he blinked them away. Wasn’t going to cry over it. It would turn up. Always did. The chain was old. He kept meaning to get a new one, but they weren’t cheap and he hated asking his dad for anything.

  It was the necklace, though, that had him tearing up. Even though he wouldn’t cry about it, it was the necklace.

  It couldn’t be anything else—it wasn’t like he needed to cry about that bastard King’s place, or the fire, or the trouble he could be in.

  Nobody knew.

  And he hadn’t meant for it to happen …

  Swallowing the tears that clogged his throat, he wished he could go and talk to Uncle Remy.

  Or even his dad, although Dad barely even realized he was alive anymore.

  Most of all, Brody wished he could talk to his mom. Wished she was there. Wished she was there to wrap her arms around him, tell him everything would be okay.

  Even though he knew nothing would ever be okay again.

  Not for him.

  Nothing had been right for him since she died, and he didn’t see that changing any time soon.

  CHAPTER

  FOUR

  “RUN THAT BY ME AGAIN, MR. JENNINGS?”

  “I’m just looking for more information on your ex-wife’s past,” Remy said, keeping his voice level.

  Although honestly, he didn’t know how much more information he needed, or even what he was looking for—or why. Even if Hope had been involved, he wouldn’t have to go this far. He just couldn’t help himself.

  Officially, Hope Carson was no longer his concern.

  He just, hell, he couldn’t leave it alone. He didn’t even know why, but he couldn’t leave it alone. Couldn’t leave her alone.

  “Just how much more do you want me to share?” Carson said, sadly, softly. “I’ve already shared far more than I feel comfortable with. What else do you want from me?”

  Remy sighed and spun around in his chair, staring out the window. “I just need to know everything I can. The more I know, the more I can help her.”

  “Oh, bullshit.” Carson laughed, but even over the phone, there was no mistaking the complete lack of humor in the sound. “Don’t hand me that. It’s not help you want from me. You just want me to give you the nails to close her coffin. I won’t do that. Not to my wife.”

  The phone went dead.

  Remy softly murmured, “Ex-wife.”

  Then, as a knock sounded on his office door, he hung up.

  “Come in,” he called out.

  The last person he expected to see was Brody.

  The subdued kid came into his office looking like somebody had kicked a puppy—and he was the puppy.

  Remy eyed his nephew, wondering where that brash, borderline mean attitude had gone. “You okay, Brody?”

  “Yeah.” He gave a jerky shrug and roamed the office, absently jiggling the change in his pocket, the same way Remy did when he was nervous or distracted.

  Remy no longer carried change in his pockets for that very reason. Little things like that tripped up a man in court. Showing any nerves, tension—not wise.

  Brody stopped in front of the desk, scuffing his feet on the carpet. “You haven’t seen Mom’s necklace, have you? I can’t find it. That stupid chain went and broke.”

  Ah … Suddenly understanding the woebegone look in the kid’s eyes, Remy leaned back in his chair. “No. I can’t say I have, at least not that I can recall. How long has it been since you saw it?”

  “A
few days.” Despondent, Brody flung his long, skinny body down in one of the leather chairs and stared off into nothingness.

  “Remember when you saw it last?”

  Brody huffed out a breath. “Shit. How the hell do I know? After I showered one morning, I guess. Then it wasn’t there.” His gaze met Remy’s, then bounced away, never resting any place for longer than a few seconds.

  “You talked to your dad?”

  “No.”

  And just like that, Brody shut down. Crossing his arms over his skinny chest, he shot up out of the chair. “I guess I better get. You’ve got lawyer shit to do around here.”

  “Brody …”

  The kid paused at the door.

  Remy sighed. “Hell. I’ll keep an eye out, ask around.” It wouldn’t do any good, but he felt like there was something he should do. Say. “Maybe it will turn up.”

  Brody nodded and then pushed through the door, his head bent, narrow shoulders slumped.

  Poor kid.

  Remy wished he could do more for the boy, say more. But his nephew shut everybody out these days, and the kind of heart-to-heart they needed to have would have to wait until Remy had a few more minutes available. He had to get to Nielson’s office.

  Now that they no longer had Hope Carson as a suspect, he needed an update.

  Maybe later, he’d go by Reilly’s, see how she was doing …

  But even as that thought tried to work its way into his mind, he shut it down. Had to shut it down, because he could not be thinking about her like that.

  Whether she was responsible for what had happened to Reilly or not, the woman was unbalanced.

  That right there was a complication he did not want or need in his life.

  “The victim’s next of kin claimed the body today,” Dwight said.

  “Finally.” Remy scowled, counting the days in his mind. A little over two weeks had passed since the woman’s lifeless body had been found on Reilly’s property. Far too long. “What took her so long?”

  “Delays,” Nielson grimaced. “And give her a break, kid. She was out of the country and it took forever for me to get her name from the fiancé. I get the feeling he didn’t know the cousin very well. I was going through all the red tape on my end, but he ended up getting in contact with her before I did and she called me just a few days ago. Took her a few days to make it back to the country.”

  “She’s the only family?”

  “Yeah.” Nielson sighed. “There’s the boyfriend, but … well, he seems like a nice enough guy, but he’s not handling this too well.”

  “How well would you handle it if your fiancé disappeared, then was murdered only weeks before your wedding?” Remy asked absently.

  Nielson shrugged. “Lousy.”

  “Anything new other than locating the next of kin?”

  “Not a damn thing,” Nielson said, shaking his head. He looked utterly disgusted.

  “So basically, we’re back where we started,” Remy muttered, skimming the report.

  Then he tossed it onto the sheriff’s desk and studied Nielson’s face. It was a lean, intelligent face, one that might look more suited to a scholar, perhaps a minister. Quite a few had underestimated the sheriff, and Remy had more than once stood aside and watched as more than one learned the error of their ways.

  He was a sharp man, and a fair one.

  And right now, he was probably about as frustrated and pissed off as Remy was feeling.

  “We have no idea who killed Prather, no idea who attacked Reilly—basically, we know jackshit. That’s where we stand,” Remy said.

  “That’s exactly where we stand.” Dwight shrugged and said, “I can’t say I’m terribly disappointed we had to let go of Ms. Carson. I never did like the girl for this attack on Lawson, and it still left too many questions unanswered. She couldn’t have done Prather, and my mind just wasn’t taking in the idea of separate perps—two different people, one who beat the shit out of Reilly, and one who killed my deputy, and in the same house?”

  “Hell, I didn’t like the idea, either.” Remy brooded, staring out the window at the stingy square of scenery Dwight commanded. He could see a small slice of the square, carefully tended with flowers, the sidewalk. This time of day, it was crowded with people going to lunch or just finishing. Ash was a small town, but a busy one.

  The past few weeks had cast one hell of a pall on the quiet little town, though.

  A dead woman, her body found on Reilly’s property.

  Then a cop gets killed by person or persons unknown … in Reilly’s home.

  And Reilly gets assaulted.

  Reilly.

  It all circled back to him. This bloody mess going on all circled back to Reilly. If and when Remy ever had anybody to prosecute, they needed to figure out how Reilly was connected to this.

  “We need to talk to Reilly more. Figure out how he’s connected to this. I want to know everything you already have on him and everything you can find out on him. What he does for a living, where he went to college, how he knows Hop … Ms. Carson, all of it.” He pulled out his phone and went to make a few notes and realized that Dwight was staring at him.

  Lifting a brow, he said, “Yes?”

  The sheriff puffed out his cheeks. “I already know some of that.”

  Remy leaned back in the chair. “Well, that makes sense. It stands to reason you did some background work on him, although I thought he had a pretty solid alibi.”

  Dwight jerked a shoulder in a shrug. “Actually, this is stuff I knew before that and yes, he had a damn solid alibi. He had nothing to do with that girl dying, Remy. I’d almost lay my badge on it.”

  He bent over, rummaging inside his desk. When he straightened, he had a battered paperback in hand and he tossed it at Remy.

  Catching it, Remy studied the cover. Then he looked back at the sheriff. “What’s this?”

  “Law’s handiwork. You wanted to know what he did for a living. There you go. Goes by the pen name Ed O’Reilly.”

  Remy blinked. He looked at the cover of the book and then back up at the sheriff. Then back at the book. “You’re shitting me.”

  “No. I’ve known for a few years—was curious. Seeing as how he never seems to leave the house for any kind of job, but he damn sure has a regular income.” He grimaced. “I’ve got a nice, quiet town here and I like it that way. I like knowing what’s going on in my town and I decided to figure out just who he was. The day that girl died, he was out of town attending the funeral of a colleague.”

  Still studying the cover of the book, Remy scowled. He was pretty sure he’d read one or two of these books. At least. Absently, he tapped it against his thigh. “Maybe this is where we need to focus. Could be an overzealous fan—”

  “Not likely.” Dwight shook his head. “Guy’s too private. Hardly anybody other than some colleagues even knows who he is. Yeah, it can be found out if somebody really wants to look, but I suspect somebody who’s this far gone would have stirred up the waters some and Reilly … well, he’s a sharp guy. He would have noticed something, seen something. And he hasn’t.”

  “Okay. Still, it’s an avenue we’ll keep open.” He tossed the book back to Dwight and went back to his phone, made his note. “Shit. Reilly’s a writer. Trying to decide if that surprises me or not.”

  Dwight snorted. “Doesn’t surprise me a bit.”

  Remy eyed Dwight’s face. “I don’t think much of anything surprises you. Okay, so we need to figure out where Reilly plays into this—but he has to play into it. It all comes back to him.”

  “No. Not all.” The sheriff plucked a file off his desk, handing it to Remy. “The fire at Ezra King’s place. Some weird occurrences at Lena Riddle’s. Something’s going on out in that part of the county for certain, but I don’t think it’s just Reilly involved. Shit, maybe he’s just a bystander.”

  “A bystander.” Remy shook his head as he flipped through the file. “No, he’s a little too involved to just be a bystander.”

/>   He studied the brief report about the fire. No doubt that it was arson, there. “When did you get this?”

  “Just today.” Dwight’s face showed little expression, but there was a look in his eyes, one that Remy recognized.

  Frustration. Fury.

  Remy could sympathize with both. Somebody was fucking with their nice, quiet little town and it was pissing him off.

  Handing the report back to Dwight, he said, “There may not be much of a connection, though. Arson? For all we know, it could be connected to something in King’s past. He was a state cop—he’s bound to have some enemies.”

  “True. Not something we can discount there.” Dwight laid the file down, continued to stare at Remy.

  “Shit. What is it?”

  Dwight just smiled. “I just don’t see his past waiting this long to catch up with him. Besides, if that’s what it was, I think he would have suspected something … and he would have already been here to talk to us.”

  Then he handed Remy another file. “There’s something else you should be aware of. I received this today. It’s … this is Jolene Hollister—or was.”

  The name hit Remy like a sucker punch. He knew that name—he’d carry it to his grave. He’d never met her, and he never would meet her—but he owed her. All of them did. She’d been found dead in their town. Dead, brutalized.

  No. He wouldn’t forget her name.

  Dread dragged at him and if he had had the option, he would have tossed the file back down, never looked at it. But he didn’t have that option, so he flipped it open. The sight of the woman there … it was a brutal, breath-stealing shock.

  “What the fuck …?” he muttered.

  Jerking his gaze up, he stared at the sheriff. “Is this some kind of sick joke?”

  “No. Relax. It’s not who you think it is. Look closer.” He nodded toward the picture and said softly, “That’s Jolene Hollister. I know it’s almost spooky, but look again. The shape of her chin is just a little softer. Her eyes are a different color. The hair, too. The color is similar, but the cut, the style is all wrong.”

  He was right, Remy realized.

  But still … the similarity, it was eerie.

  “Has King seen this yet?” Remy asked, forcing the words out. His throat was tight, tight and dry and raw.