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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.
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 in
dicated 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.”
