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“Okay.”
“Is your car damaged? Is there any gasoline leaking?”
She sat up for a moment, sniffing for any signs of leaking gasoline. When she didn’t smell anything, she dropped her head back against the seat and closed her eyes. “No. No gas leaks.”
“Good.”
Damn it. Damn it.
“I’m getting out of the Jeep.”
“You feel strong enough to walk?”
“We’ll see.”
Talking calmed her thoughts. Gun in hand, she opened the door and stepped out. She climbed up the small embankment to the road and stared down the winding road. One hundred yards ahead, the road hooked to the right and vanished.
She didn’t have to wait long before she heard the police sirens and then saw the flash of blue lights. “I see the lights of the police car. Thanks.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She closed her phone and tucked it and her gun in her waistband at the base of her spine and held up her hands. The cops on duty knew they were headed into trouble. They could just as easily see the gun in her hand and figure she was the problem. Hoping to avoid more problems, she waited until they stopped and shone lights on her. The deputies got out of their vehicle.
“I’m Jenna Thompson. I called the accident in.” She explained she was carrying a legally registered weapon.
The officers took the gun from her and once they had control of the situation, asked, “That’s your vehicle at the bottom of the hill?”
“It is. I left my purse inside. It’s on the floor. It has my identification.”
“We’ll get that for you.” The officer was midsized, had a flat belly, and sported a thick mustache and a Tennessee drawl.
“Would you mind notifying Detective Rick Morgan of the accident? I just consulted with him on a case.”
Dark eyes narrowed and his frown deepened. “You’re that artist.”
“That would be me.”
“Yeah, I’ll get him on the horn. Have a seat in my car. It’ll be a few minutes before a tow truck arrives.”
“Thanks.”
“You need an ambulance?”
She’d be sore tomorrow but nothing was broken or really banged up. “No. Nerves are shot but I’m fine otherwise.”
As the tow truck pulled her Jeep out of the hollow and onto the main road a set of headlights appeared on the road and the car pulled off to the shoulder. Rick got out of his car, the badge fastened to his belt buckle. His expression was tight and drawn as he moved along the side of the road toward her.
She unfolded her arms and did her best to look relaxed as if they’d just run into each other on Broadway. “Funny meeting you here.”
Rick’s gaze traveled over her as if assessing and cataloging injuries. When he didn’t find anything he nodded toward the car. “What the hell happened?”
“A car ran me off the road.” Her training shifted into play, pushing aside the emotion and forcing her to focus on the facts. Later, she might melt into a pool of nerves, but not now.
“And you aren’t hurt?”
“I’m fine.”
The winch of the tow truck groaned as the Jeep settled at the top of the hill. Surprisingly, other than a few clumps of grass and dirt in the front fender, it didn’t look too much worse for wear.
“Any idea why?”
“I honestly don’t know. If the guy was tailing me, then I missed it. I was playing the radio and just trying to get my head in a good place when the headlights appeared.”
“See anything?”
“Gave what I have to the officer. Four-door, American car, dark color. That’s all I have.”
“It’s the news report about the Lost Girl,” he said. “It’s shaken a couple of nuts loose from the tree.”
The theory made sense. “I gave a face to a set of bones that might not ever have been identified.”
“You’ve made someone nervous.”
The cops had found the bones. She’d simply been the messenger. But messengers got shot all the time. “I’m handy to blame. Everyone saw my face on television.” Deep satisfaction teased a smile to the edges of her lips. “This is a good thing.”
His frown deepened. “I’d hate to see your idea of a bad thing.”
She pulled a clump of dirt from her front fender. “This means the killer of that little girl was paying attention to the news the other night.”
The frown held steady. “It does?”
“Oh, yeah. I’ve rattled someone’s cage but good.”
He rested his hands on his hips. “That’s all fine and good, but how did
this person get a bead on you, Jenna?”
“Martinez’s news report released just enough information to the public. If a motivated person wanted to find me, then they could. I’m not exactly in hiding.”
“You should be more careful.”
She studied his face in the moonlight. “Why’re you frowning? I got into a little fender bender but I’m fine. And honestly, I saw worse on the job in Baltimore.”
He didn’t respond right away. “What if it doesn’t have anything to do with the Lost Girl but more to do with your past?”
She rejected the uncomfortable theory quickly. “My family’s killer was found dead from an overdose. The case was closed twenty-five years ago.” She shook her head. “I have no family in Nashville and anyone I would have known dates back to kindergarten.” An amused brow lifted. “A playground squabble is hardly worth all this trouble.”
Her attempt at humor fell flat. “I pulled the records on your family’s case.”
Curiosity mingled with annoyance as she slid her hands in her back pockets. “Funny. I considered asking you to do that.”
“Why?”
“My aunt never talked about it growing up. I asked a few times but she dodged the questions.”
“KC and my father dug deep into Ronnie’s life. Best they could come up with was that he worked at the school your sister attended.”
She stuffed down her disappointment. “Random killings are frustrating but they do happen.”
“Ronnie didn’t have the brains to kill your family alone. He barely graduated high school and had a habit of shooting his mouth off after every crime he committed. Did you know he tried to burn your parents’ house down after the murders?”
“No. I didn’t.”
“The fire didn’t take. Burned around the kitchen but the fire went out.”
“By then, I was in the trunk of his car, bound and gagged.”
His hand slid into his pocket and he rattled change. “He died of a drug overdose nine days later.”
