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Her phone almost immediately rang with the caller ID “Marshal Tommy Granger.”
She didn’t answer, but the voicemail the deep-voiced man left gave her chills.
“Ms. Johns, answer your phone. We need to know what you know, for the safety of everyone involved. You understand, don’t you?”
The caller waited a few seconds, then ended the call.
This couldnotbe happening. Was that man working with Deputy Granger? Why wouldn’t he identify himself as a marshal? Why wouldn’t he let Jenna talk to Tommy?
She didn’t know who to call, but now she was no longer anonymous. Because she’d called him, someone else had her name. They might be able to find out where she lived. Tommy had promised if her name became public, that he would protect her. Now...he wasn’t answering his phone.
She couldn’t stayhere. When Tommy Granger knocked on her door three weeks ago and asked for her help in putting together pieces of information about the weeks leading up to the bank robbery that ended Becca’s life, Jenna had trusted him. He’s been straightforward and kind and she appreciated both.
Now, unable to reach Tommy, Jenna worried she wasn’t safe at home. Half-panicked, with no idea where she was going, Jenna packed a suitcase.
Until she talked to him, she might never feel safe again.
She left, heading west, and hoped she was doing the right thing.
TUESDAY
Three
Carry-on in hand, former US Marshal Regan Merritt waited for her lone bag to appear on the carousel. She’d taken the red-eye out of Phoenix, landing at Dulles Airport in Virginia at 7:55 a.m. She’d never been comfortable sleeping on planes or in the presence of strangers so she’d downloaded a book on tape and hoped the story would lull her into a half sleep, but she couldn’t stop thinking about Tommy. Her former boss, her friend, her...well, damn. Trying to blank her mind and suppress all the memories had given her a headache, which throbbed as she stood to the side, waiting for her bag at the customer service counter.
Tommy was dead.
She hadn’t wanted to believe it. Hadn’t the last year been hell on her? Hadn’t she suffered more than anyone should with the loss of her son? Now Tommy, too?
She called Tommy immediately after listening to his voicemail. No answer. She then called her old office. Maggie, the office manager, had been crying and immediately forwarded her call to Charlie’s cell phone. He didn’t hedge, he didn’t lead in with platitudes.
“Tommy was shot and killed outside his house this morning. Not more than two hours ago. I’m sorry to tell you like this.”
Regan needed to find out if his death had anything to do with his investigation into her son’s murder—an investigation she should have told him to drop but didn’t.
While Regan had told Tommy she couldn’t be involved in his efforts, she also didn’t tell him to stand down. She wanted the truth.
You didn’t have the courage to help Tommy. Now he’s dead, and you’re going to bury the one person who shared your belief that Chase’s death had nothing to do with your job. Tommy was the one person who supported you from the beginning of this god-awful last year.
Regan grabbed her bag as soon as the clerk called her name. She tore off the bright orange firearm tag and tossed it in the trash; no use advertising to the world that she was carrying a weapon. She walked outside, pulling on sunglasses as she stepped into the morning glare. She followed the signs to the shuttle that would then take her to the rental car lot. Fifteen minutes later, she drove away in a large comfortable sedan.
She had sent Charlie a message that she would come by the US Marshals office in Alexandria as soon as she could, but first Regan was heading to Tommy’s house.
Regan wanted to see where Tommy had died. To grieve, fast and hard now instead of letting it surprise and sabotage her later.
She would never forget the last time she’d seen Tommy.
When you left someone, you never thought it would be the last time.
It was just six weeks ago. She’d flown from Arizona to Virginia. A quick, twenty-four-hour trip to visit her son’s grave on what would have been Chase’s eleventh birthday.
From the cemetery, Regan had driven to Tommy’s. She planned to stay in the guest room.
Instead, she’d stayed with Tommy in his bed.
It was not expected, but it happened. Maybe she’d known that it would happen because she and Tommy had always been close and at that moment after leaving Chase’s grave she had been desperate for a real human connection, something that would make her feel alive and whole, even just for a few hours.
She didn’t regret sex with Tommy, but she also didn’t know what to feel about it. Their relationship hadn’t been sexual for the nearly fourteen years they’d known each other. Suddenly, it was—partly awkward, partly interesting, partly exciting. Whatever it was, it made her self-conscious. Regan didn’t generally overanalyze or romanticize relationships—possibly why her marriage had failed—but she couldn’t stop thinking about what might have been had her life not gone sideways.
