Jenna answered easily and when the reporter dropped her gaze to her notebook she imagined the interview was wrapping up. There were only so many ways she could describe what she’d done.
Martinez smiled, but the action wasn’t joyful. In fact, it reminded Jenna of a cat that had cornered a mouse. “I’m a curious reporter by nature and I did a bit of digging.”
Jenna said nothing, but felt her spine stiffening.
“You’re from Nashville, correct?”
Invisible fingers prickled up her spine, but she brushed them aside. Martinez had found something. “I am.”
Martinez leaned forward a fraction. “I dug into your past.”
Rick sat forward in his chair as if ready to fight. Tracker, sensing his tension, also sat straighter but neither made a sound.
Martinez anchored her gaze on Jenna. “You were born Jennifer Elliot Thompson, correct?”
Jenna held her breath a beat. And so here it was. Her past laid out. “Yes. That’s correct.”
“Your family was murdered when you were five. Father, mother, older sister shot to death. The killer’s name was Ronnie Dupree.”
“Correct.”
“Ronnie spared you but took you to his hideout and kept you there for nine days locked in a closet.”
“Yes.” Jenna saw Rick shift in her side vision but didn’t dare look at him.
Martinez maintained a cool, concerned expression but her eyes snapped with a treasure hunter’s glee. “Ronnie died of an overdose and you were found hours later by the cops.”
“So I’ve been told.” Hearing the story spoken by someone else made it sound all the more tragic, molded into something solid and real, if that were possible. She’d always done a good job of keeping the story at arm’s length and pretending it belonged to another. But it didn’t belong to someone else. It was her story.
Armor clinked and clanged into place. “All correct.”
Martinez smelled blood. “You know the anniversary of the murders is days away.”
“Yes. I know.”
“Why have you come back now?”
“Maybe it was fate. Maybe my returning to make sense of my past will help solve the case of another little girl that wasn’t so lucky.” She ended the sentence knowing Martinez had a good interview with a solid stopping point. She pulled the mic off. “Thank you for the interview.”
Susan indicated for the cameraman to cut the film, but Jenna was smart enough to know the audio could well be running.
Rick shifted in his seat toward Jenna. He looked so disappointed and shocked. Was he wondering what other secrets she held? Had he expected her to open up this vein of sorrow for him?
A clock ticked. No one spoke. She rose.
Susan rose. “I’d like to do another story on you. A full in-depth look into your family and their murder.”
“I’m old news. The case was solved. It’s closed.”
“I think it would be a powerful human interest story.”
Rick rose. No doubt wondering how he could have missed this about her. He moved away from the fireplace to the large window that faced the woods.
Susan, ever the salesman, continued, “The Thompson murders and your kidnapping were huge stories at the time and one of the first I covered in the city. I think the world would like to know how you’re doing.”
“I’m doing fine.”
Martinez cocked her head. “All these years and you’ve never been back to Nashville?”
“No.”
“Why now?”
“Time just seemed right.”
“Did it have anything to do with that last case in Baltimore? The girl locked in the closet?”
Jenna released the breath she was holding. “Let’s say it was time for me to visit my birthplace.”
Rick continued to watch her. She was a cop and knew how cops thought. He was wondering what other secrets she had.
Martinez leaned in a little. “I know a lot about your case. I could share with you what I have if you’ll sit down for an interview. Maybe let me follow you while you visit your old home.”
Make a wish and it will be granted along with all the unintended consequences. “What’s in it for you?”
Martinez’s eyes sparked. “A great story.”
“If I say no, would you still run the story of the Lost Girl?”
“Yes.”
“Good. I’d hate to see her penalized.”
“One story isn’t conditional on the other.”
Her movements were wooden and stiff, like a marionette whose metal joints had not been oiled in years. “Let me think about it.”
Rick shook his head, clearly not happy. But he kept his opinion silent.
Martinez smiled and softened her voice as if they were old friends. “I want to tell your story.”
“I’ll let you know soon.” She’d driven to Nashville searching for something and now was her chance to pry open the past and shine a light on it. If this is what she wanted, then why hesitate?
The lines bracketing Rick’s mouth deepened. He pulled off his mic pack and carefully wound the cord around the receiver before handing it to the cameraman. “If you’ve got what you need, it might be best if you leave, Ms. Martinez.”
Jenna glanced at Rick, annoyed that he would try to defend her. “I can handle this.”
He worked his jaw as if chewing up and swallowing an oath. “Sure.”
“Talk to you soon, Jenna.” Martinez nodded as if understanding now was the time to retreat so that she could return to fight another day. She and her cameraman left with Rick following behind. She heard him close the front door and she wished keeping the past contained was as easy as closing a door.
Rick watched the van drive off and then faced her. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
Defenses slammed tighter in place. “Not something I advertise, Detective.”
A brow arched. “Martinez isn’t your friend. She’s in this for the story. She couldn’t care less about you.”
“Sounds like experience talking.”
“It is.”
She folded her arms over her chest. “I can handle her.”
His jaw tightened, as if swallowing words too angry to speak. “If I’d known, I’d have never agreed to the interview.”
Anger denied just moments ago now bubbled. “You asked and I said yes. I’m a big girl and can handle a couple of softball questions from a reporter.”