He glanced around staring at the woods. “You know the history of your house?”
She nodded, remembering. “The homicide. Did you work it?”
“No. Deke did, but Tracker and I walked the land with him. We needed the exercise and we acted as a second set of eyes for him.”
“Did he solve the crime?”
His hair was damp as if he’d stepped from the shower and he smelled faintly of soap. “He did. The woman that lived here was killed because she had information the killer wanted.”
According to what she’d read, he’d omitted a world of details. “That information must have been something important.”
“It was.”
Twigs crunched under her feet as she stepped toward him. “Where’s Tracker?”
“I left him at the edge of the woods. Terrain’s a little rough on his hip.”
She moved toward him, negotiating the uneven rocks easily. “What about yours?”
The careless smile flashed. “Getting better every day. You come out here every day?”
“When I can. Clears my head. And I love open spaces.”
“I hear ya.” He slid his hand into his pocket. “Ready for Susan Martinez?”
“Ready as I’ll ever be. I’ve given a couple of interviews before. Most of the questions are standard. Should be straightforward.”
“Good.” He checked his watch. “Speaking of which, she’ll be here in ten minutes.”
She liked standing here in the woods alone with him. None of the outside world existed and, for just a few minutes, all the puzzle pieces fit where they should. As tempting as it was to keep hiding, it was no longer feasible. Time to go public.
They arrived back at her house minutes later and she immediately moved to the coffee machine to brew a fresh pot. It occurred to her that she should run a brush through her hair and maybe dig up some lipstick but the doorbell rang before she had a chance.
“Showtime,” she said.
Rick smiled, hanging back. “I’m here if you need support.”
“Thanks.” She opened the door to a very stylish woman wearing a turquoise suit. Dark hair skimmed narrow shoulders and gold loops dangled. Her makeup was perfect and the smell of an expensive perfume wafted.
The woman smiled as if cameras had started rolling. “I’m Susan Martinez.”
Jenna looked past her to the news van and the cameraman moving up the sidewalk with a camera in hand. “I’m Jenna Thompson. Please come in.”
Susan held her hand for a beat, closely studying her face. “I appreciate you seeing us on such short notice. Your sketch was amazing and I had to meet you.” The reporter’s gaze skimmed over the room assessing every detail. She studied the portrait covered with an oilcloth before shifting to Rick. “Detective. Good to see you again. I’ll be interviewing you as well?”
The earlier ease the detective had enjoyed moments ago had vanished. “If that suits.”
“It does. This is my cameraman, Gabe Richards,” Martinez said as the tall, burly man with a plaid shirt and full beard entered the house.
Introductions made, Martinez’s curious gaze slid back to the covered painting. “You’re doing commission work?”
“I am.”
“I’d love to see the work.”
A knot tightened in Jenna’s belly. It was always the way when she showed a picture for the first time. “I’m afraid the client gets the first peek.”
A brow arched. “That’s fair, I suppose. Do you have a portfolio?”
“Not much of one. I left what I’d had in Baltimore. I’m giving this client a substantial discount because I’m building my portfolio.”
“If it’s anything like the sketch you did of the child then I’m sure it’s stunning.”
“Thank you.” She learned long ago nothing was off the record with reporters. Still, when she glanced toward Tracker and caught his steady gaze, something inside her relaxed. “Where would you like to conduct the interview?”
“Whatever suits you?”
“How about by the fireplace? As lovely as the view is out the back, the glare from the sun could be a problem.”
The cameraman nudged a club chair closer to the hearth. “Have a seat and I’ll mic you up.”
“Sure.”
Tracker’s ears perked as Jenna moved to the chairs in front of the cold fireplace and arranged them so that they faced each other. She sat and accepted the mic pack, which she fed up under her shirt. The cameraman had large hands but clipped the tiny microphone with nimble movements.
He stepped back and checked to make sure the mic wasn’t too obvious. “Mind saying something so I can do a sound check?”
She sat a little straighter. “Jenna Thompson. One, two, three.”
Gabe adjusted the second chair by Jenna’s and indicated for Rick to sit. The detective’s frown deepened as if he faced the lion’s den, but he did as asked and soon was wired for sound. Tracker rose and sat between the chairs.
When Rick looked as if he’d order the dog offscreen Jenna said, “Let him stay.”
“Okay,” Rick said.
As Jenna settled, Susan slid on her microphone and took a seat across from the two of them. The cameraman moved behind Susan. “He’ll start the interview behind my shoulder but may move behind you to get a couple of shots of me, which we’ll edit later.”
“Fine,” Jenna said.
“Sure,” Rick said.
Martinez began her questions with Rick, getting background on where the bones were found, the age of the child, and how long the bones had been buried. He gave clear concise answers, his deep, rich voice carrying confidence and authority. Trusting him would be easy. He was the kind of guy who took care of things. He was the kind of guy who kept all the balls in the air. The kind of guy she never dated.
The reporter then shifted through her notes and switched her questions to Jenna. She asked about Jenna’s background as a forensic artist and how she went about drawing the face of the girl.