“Until that case. It was that case that drove you out of Baltimore.”
The Lost Girl. The child locked in the closet. “I didn’t realize the ghosts had such power until I found that little girl.”
She imagined Mike sitting in his recliner, his large hand tracing the outline of the television remote buttons. They’d been friends for nearly five years and three weeks ago as he helped her pack her belongings into her Jeep, he’d leaned in to kiss her. The kiss had started as benign, but the skin-to-skin touch overwhelmed her senses. Desperation and fear had welled and before she’d stopped to think they’d been half-naked and moving toward her bedroom. A coherent thought shouted, Don’t screw up the best friendship you’ve ever had! A tidal wave of lust had obliterated the warnings.
She’d not pulled her lips from his or tugged away from his embrace. She’d allowed him to tug off her shirt, unsnap her jeans, and push inside of her with a desperation that had surprised them both.
“Stay,” he’d whispered in her ear, as their hearts had hammered in wild unison. “We’ll figure this out together.”
“I can’t,” she’d whispered back.
He’d risen up on his elbows and stared into her eyes. “Stay.”
A shake of her head and he’d drawn in a breath and pulled away. No anger. No begging. In Mike’s mind, no was no. End of story. She’d moved from the bedroom, fearing that if she didn’t get away from the bed, she’d toss reason to the curb and ignore Nashville.
Mike had left immediately, as if he warred with his own angels and demons, but he’d returned early the next day as she’d closed up her Jeep. She’d hugged him and told him she loved him. He’d kissed her on the cheek and told her to be careful. Call whenever.
“I’ll be back soon,” she’d said. “Only six weeks.”
His smile had been sad as if she’d already left forever.
She’d not called him in the last couple of weeks. She’d been tempted many times but she’d held back. Now, she hoped the distance between them would make it easy to fall back into the roles of friends. No more danger of being lovers tonight.
“What does the little girl have to do with you?” Mike asked.
“I think she’s why I’m back in Nashville. She made me realize there’s something lurking in the shadows I’ve got to find.”
“Back in Nashville. When were you ever in Nashville?”
She rubbed a stiff muscle on the left side of her neck. “I was born here. Lived here until I was five.”
“I didn’t know you were from Nashville.” His frown radiated through the line.
“I didn’t talk about it much because I didn’t remember much. All I really remembered was Baltimore.”
More silence, a signal of a deepening frown. “What happened in Nashville?”
Scant memories of Nashville remained: echoes of laughter, a mother’s embrace, a father’s tender kiss, and a sister’s good-natured jab. And then, of course, there was the closet. The nine days in the darkened, stinking box where she’d been deprived of light, decent food, and her family.
“I’m not exactly sure,” she hedged.
His voice dropped as if he questioned a suspect. “Aren’t sure or aren’t saying?”
Her lips curled into a smile. Mike was one of the best cops she’d ever known. Could piece together the fragments of a murder faster than anyone. So intuitive, it was as if he could read minds. “Don’t do your suspect voodoo on me.”
He chuckled. “I just asked a question.”
“You never just ask a question. You’re always searching for the extra layer that lurks beneath the words.”
“What’s the extra layer, Jenna?”
She didn’t know. All she knew was that she’d chosen to work outside of KC’s bar because he’d not only been a cop, but a cop old enough to have worked her case. She’d said yes to Rick Morgan not only because of the child but because he was a step closer to the case files that held the details of her past. “When I’ve a few more answers, I’ll call, okay?”
“Not ready to say?”
“Not yet. But I’ll call.”
“Promise?”
She tucked the phone close to her lips. “I promise.”
A heavy silence hummed and she dreaded a reference to her last night with him. Finally, he said, “Get some sleep.”
Relief washed over her. “I will, if you will.”
They both laughed. Neither would get any more sleep tonight. Soon, he’d give up on his late-night movies and go into the office. And as soon as she could get into the medical examiner’s office she’d be drawing again.
After she hung up, she rose and moved into the kitchen to make a fresh pot of coffee. Steaming coffee in hand, she moved into her studio and flipped on the lights. She had several hours to work on the commissioned portrait she now had and, knowing mornings were her best time, she opted to see what she could finish.
She turned the picture of the young bride around and studied the image. She’d captured the gown with long, sweeping strokes of white and ivory. She’d drawn lovely elegant hands grasping irises of vibrant purples. She was even pleased with the sweep of hair the color of wheat and gold. This project was coming together nicely and no doubt would earn her more commissions.
However, her gaze was drawn away from the bridal job. Instead, her gaze was drawn to the board where she’d pinned pictures she’d snapped at the medical examiner’s office and printed off on her laser printer at home. They were the pictures of the Lost Girl’s skull.