Thread of Fear Read online

  The door swung open before his knuckles touched the wood.

  Fiona jumped back. “What are you doing here?”

  Holy hell, she’d ditched the suit. In a very big way. Jack stared, slack-jawed, at the two creamy scoops of flesh disappearing into folds of purple fabric. He managed to drag his gaze away from her cleavage only to get hung up on her shiny red lips. The cherry on top of a sundae.

  “Jack?”

  Then she stepped into the hallway, and he noticed the boots.

  Plenty of women in Graingerville wore boots. The western kind. These were black leather lace-ups that went clear to her knees, with skinny heels about four inches tall. A black miniskirt hugged her hips.

  “Hel-lo? Earth to Jack?”

  He snapped his attention to her face. “That’s…quite an outfit, Professor.”

  Scowling, she shrugged into a long black coat that covered everything up to her chin. Then she turned her back on him so she could lock the door.

  All that hair hung in waves around her shoulders. It was reddish blond, or blondish red. There was a word for it, but damned if he could think of it when most of his blood had left his head.

  She spun around to face him. “I thought you went back to Graingerville.”

  Jack cleared his throat. “I was on my way out of town, and I realized I forgot to mention something.”

  She made a point of looking at her watch. “I’m late to pick up my sister—”

  “Where are you parked?”

  “The garage.”

  He flashed her a smile. “How about I walk you to your car? Then I’ll leave you alone, promise.”

  She huffed out a breath. She seemed to do that a lot when he was around.

  “Fine.” She slid her keys in her pocket and started down the hall. “What did you forget to mention?”

  “I forgot to tell you about the poppies.”

  “The poppies.” She stopped in front of the elevator, jabbed the Call button, and turned another scowl on him. “What poppies?”

  The elevator doors slid open, and he stepped in beside her. She pressed the button for the lobby.

  “We’ve got the best poppies in the entire state. Right outside Graingerville. Artists and photographers come from all over. We even have a festival.”

  She was looking at him like he was nuts. And she was right. As sales pitches went, this was a little out there.

  Her eyebrows arched. “And you thought I should know this why?”

  “Nathan told me you’re a nature painter.” Wow, she had a pretty mouth. He wondered if she planned to use it on anyone tonight. “The best fields are off the back roads. I figured I’d give you a private tour. You can bring along your painting stuff, maybe do something for your show.”

  The doors dinged open, and she strode across the lobby to the side entrance. Her heels made little clicks on the marble floor, and the sound reminded Jack just how long it had been since he’d gone to the trouble to ask out a woman.

  He pushed the door open for her, and they entered the breezeway to the garage. A cold gust of air lifted her hair off her shoulders. Jack darted his gaze around as he walked her down a row of parked cars. This garage needed better lighting and a security camera.

  She halted in front of a white Honda Civic. A hybrid, no less. “Let me get this straight. If I agree to help you with this case, you’ll give me a tour of the poppies?”

  He rubbed his jaw. “Now, I hadn’t thought about a trade. But it’s a good idea. Course, we’d still pay your drawing fee. Whatever you normally charge.”

  “Don’t poppies grow in the spring?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  She shook her head, but he saw the smirk on her face. She pulled her key chain out of her pocket, and he noticed the whistle attached to it.

  He frowned. “You know, a tube of Mace can be a lot more effective. You can pick one up at any hardware store.”

  She tipped her head to the side. “I’m aware of that, but I’m in and out of airports all the time, so I settle for this.”

  Jack’s personal security device of choice was a SIG P229, which trumped the hell out of a panic whistle. But he doubted Fiona cared for guns, being a California girl.

  She opened her door and stood there watching him for a minute. “You don’t give up, do you?”

  “Nope.”

  He rested his hand on the door. Their fingers brushed, and a little quiver of something passed between them. He caught her look of alarm.

  She slid behind the wheel and shoved her keys in the ignition.

  Jack leaned his forearm on the Civic’s roof and looked down at her. She was moments away from caving, he could tell by those pursed red lips.

  “Okay, I’ll do it.”

  He smiled, and she started the engine.

  “How about ten a.m. tomorrow?” he suggested. “You can meet me at the Graingerville police station. It’s a two-hour drive from here, an hour forty if you speed.”

  She tugged the door handle, and he stepped out of the way. She pulled the door shut and lowered the window a few inches. “Eleven. I’ll probably get in late tonight, and I’ve got an errand to run in the morning.”

  “You driving home alone?” It was none of his damn beeswax, but he had to ask. He’d spent nine years on a major metropolitan police force. Women leaving bars alone at night were easy pickings.

  “That,” she said, “is none of your business.”

  He stepped away from the car as she put it in gear. “Right. Well…be careful.”

  She smiled up at him. “I’m always careful.”

  CHAPTER 3

  The sky outside Fiona’s window was still black when she gave up the charade of sleep and tossed back the covers.

  It was futile. Nothing would be gained from another two hours in bed besides a stiff neck. She wrapped herself in her green satin robe, slipped on her flip-flops, and shuffled into the kitchen to start a pot of coffee. As the machine hissed and gurgled, she stared down at her feet.

  Why can’t you go barefoot like normal people? You’re so freaking anal.

  Aaron’s words came back to her, and she felt relieved that they no longer mattered. So what if she couldn’t stand bare feet, or loud music, or empty milk cartons left in the fridge? Those were her preferences, and it was no longer anyone’s concern if she was anal, or picky, or flat-out impossible to live with.

  She was alone now and better off.

  The coffee finished brewing, and she poured a mug while mentally rearranging her day. She’d swing by the police station, as planned, but instead of delivering the letter to Nathan personally, she’d leave it for him at the front desk, along with her list of cases. That would give her a jump on this morning’s road trip and also save her from a conversation she didn’t really want to have. At least not yet. Once she’d finished this last job—once it was totally complete—she’d march into Nathan’s office and tell him she’d officially retired. Period. No more referrals.

  Less than an hour later, Fiona exited police headquarters and returned to her car. It was still dark. Once inside the Civic, she flipped the heater to high and rubbed her hands together, wishing she’d remembered gloves. As the car warmed up, she skimmed the directions she’d printed off MapQuest. Estimated trip time, two hours and thirteen minutes. By eight o’clock, she would be entering the bustling metropolis of Graingerville, Texas, population 10,320.

  With any luck she’d beat Jack Bowman into work.

  She didn’t know why, but the idea of one-upping him—even in such a minor way—pleased her. She supposed it had to do with his talking her out of what she’d thought was a firm decision. She’d really, truly intended to refuse him. She had, in fact. But when he’d told her this case involved teenage girls, she’d lost her backbone. All it took was one more nudge, and he’d had her.

  She suspected he’d planned it that way.

  Despite his tough-guy persona, Jack seemed unusually sensitive for a cop. Fiona had picked up on it when he’d talked about those girls in his town, as if he felt personally responsible for what had happened to them. She’d met a lot of dedicated cops over the years, and most of them displayed a certain detachment that enabled them to do their jobs day after day. Jack didn’t seem detached. On the contrary, he seemed personally invested in this case. Fiona recognized the signs because she had that tendency, too, which was one of the reasons she longed for a break from law enforcement.

  She took the on-ramp for Interstate 35 southbound and cast a glance at Town Lake as she crossed the bridge. Even at this early hour, people were out jogging on the spotlit path by the water.

  She’d intended to exercise today. But making it to the gym—just like making time to paint—kept falling off the agenda as her life got busier and busier. If it wasn’t a faculty meeting or a student-teacher conference, it was a late-night phone call from some detective who needed her help yesterday. A few high-profile cases, a few big arrests, and Fiona’s forensic art career had taken off, leaving her barely enough time to keep up with her day job, much less devote a few hours to the painting she loved so much. And her fitness regimen? Her feet hadn’t touched a treadmill in months. She needed to get back to the gym. Although, judging by Jack’s tongue-tied reaction last night, she still had a few assets worth noticing.

  A pair of headlights flashed in the rearview mirror. She squinted against the glare as the driver closed in, beaming her with his brights.

  “Jerk,” she muttered, adjusting the mirror. It looked like a pickup, the testosterone-mobile of choice in the Lone Star State.

  He continued to blind her, so she relented and swerved into the right lane.

  Fiona’s shoulders tensed as the truck passed her, horn blaring, and swerved in front of her. He flipped her off and then gunned his eng
ine, sending back a puff of exhaust.

  Her breath whooshed out as the taillights faded. It was a tailgater, for God’s sake. She needed to get a grip. She took a deep breath and rolled her shoulders to ease some of the tension.

  The inky purple sky was turning yellow in the east as Fiona exited the interstate a short time later. She passed several dumpy gas stations before finding one that looked sufficiently new and well lit. She needed something caffeinated to keep her alert for the remainder of the drive.

  A cow bell clattered against the door as she entered the store.

  “Mornin’. Help you find anything?”

  She glanced at the clerk behind the counter and shook her head. She’d been in Texas two years, and the unwarranted friendliness of strangers still caught her off guard.

  After grabbing a Diet Coke, Fiona paused in the snack aisle beside a box of Nutri-Grain Bars. She passed over the healthy stuff for a king-size Snickers and headed for the register. After all, breakfast was the most important meal of the day. As she dug through her purse, she felt someone behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and froze.

  She’d sketched this man.

  Her brain scrambled for a context. Was it an Austin case? Los Angeles? Her gaze swept over his features, searching for a clue. He had a hooked nose and a high forehead. Thinning brown hair…She knew she’d sketched him.

  Or had she?

  She watched him pull out his wallet, trying desperately to remember—

  “That be all, ma’am?”

  At the clerk’s voice, the man’s head jerked up. He caught Fiona staring at him and arched his brows. “What?”

  She’d never seen him before. She’d never sketched him. He wasn’t some wanted fugitive, just some regular guy buying gas.

  “Ma’am?”

  Fiona whirled around. The clerk was watching her expectantly.

  “I’m sorry.” She slapped a five on the counter and rushed from the store.

  Jack’s nationally renowned forensic artist arrived early and in a foul mood.

  “You sure you don’t want some coffee?” Jack asked, as they exited the station house.

  She glared at him. “I repeat: no. If I change my mind, you’ll be the first to hear about it.”

  “Suit yourself.” He shrugged into his official cold-weather attire—a khaki windbreaker that matched his uniform. It wasn’t heavy, but it kept him from freezing his ass off.

  They descended the steps and started across the parking lot. Fiona’s breath turned to steam in the brisk morning air, and he wondered why she hadn’t worn something warmer than a turtleneck. Not that he minded the way it fit her, but she had to be freezing.

  Jack led her to his pickup. She’d wanted to take her car, but after much wrangling he’d convinced her it’d be easier if they just rode together. He wanted to give her a feel for the town, and anyway, it was a short trip.

  Now he wondered if he could stand her that long.

  He popped the locks with his remote. After driving a two-toned Buick for nearly ten years, Jack was now the proud owner of a stone gray Ford F-250 with leather interior. It was a nice truck. And he’d decided to use it this morning because he wanted to keep a low profile, not because he wanted to impress Fiona, who seemed determined to bust his balls today.

  Jack opened the passenger’s-side door, and she sighed as she looked inside the cab. He offered her a hand getting in, but she batted it away.

  Well, shit.

  He rounded the front of the truck and hitched himself behind the wheel. “Someone get up on the wrong side of the bed this morning?”

  She shot him a pissy look. “Stressful trip.”

  Jack turned his key, and the V8 hummed to life. “What, like car trouble?”

  “No. On my way out of Austin some wacko practically tried to run me off the road.”

  “Nathan told me you got a mail threat. You think…?”

  “Different wacko. This was just some idiot out joyriding in his truck.”

  Not a fan of trucks, then. Jack cranked his truck’s heater and adjusted the vents toward Fiona. As he exited the parking lot, he waved at Lorraine Snelly, who was crossing Main Street. She gave him a nod, no doubt curious about his passenger. Jack resigned himself to the unavoidable reality that his new “friend” would be the hot topic of conversation at Lorraine’s lunch counter later today.

  “Tell me about the witness,” Fiona said, her voice crisp. He’d noticed she had different tones for different settings, just like she had different wardrobes. Besides the pine green turtleneck, she wore jeans and practical brown ankle boots today. He missed the spiky black ones from last night.

  Jack reeled his thoughts in. “Her name’s Maria Luz Arrellando. Lives just outside town.”

  “You have jurisdiction there?”

  “No. But she was abducted from Graingerville, so it’s ours.”

  “Okay. Give me a sense of the crime. I want to make sure I steer clear of her triggers.”

  “Triggers?”

  She opened the leather case she’d brought along and scrounged around for something. “You said she’d been sexually assaulted. Most rape victims suffer from posttraumatic stress disorder. Some experience feelings of panic set off by unexpected reminders of the attack.” She pulled a cell phone out of her bag and fiddled with the setting. “I met a teenage victim once who’d been drugged with a hypodermic needle. I was interviewing her in the hospital the following day, and a nurse walked in with some meds in a syringe. The girl went ballistic.”

  Jack glanced at her, realizing she still had some major misconceptions about this case.

  Misconceptions he’d helped foster.

  “You planning to medicate my witness?”

  She rolled her eyes. “No. I’m just saying, help me prepare. Give me a feel for where she’s coming from. What can you tell me about her attack?”

  Okay, time to come clean.

  “Well, for starters, she was abducted late at night, from a road not too far from here. Guy pulled up in a gray sedan and offered her a ride, which she accepted because she was cold.”

  Fiona shook her head, probably having heard this sort of thing before. In all his years of policing, Jack had never been able to understand how people could be so reckless with their safety.

  “Instead of taking her home,” Jack continued, “he pulls off into some brush and ties her up with this tough green twine. Blindfolds her. Then he takes her to an unknown location and keeps her there for about two days. She’s in and out during the assaults. He’s force-feeding her something—she thinks it’s cough syrup. Finally she comes to, and he’s gone. She gnaws through the twine, grabs some clothes, and manages to escape. Some deer hunters pick her up about forty miles from here.”

  Fiona sighed.

  “What?”

  “I didn’t know she’d been sedated. That could affect her description.”

  “She insists she got a good look at the guy right off. Then later when she was in and out. Fact, she says she faked being out of it at some points so he’d go easier on her.”

  Jack took the highway leading south out of town and picked up speed. Acres of farmland stretched out on either side of them. The fields looked soggy and desolate.

  The recent freeze had wreaked havoc on several of the region’s crops, most notably the citrus. Not an hour south of here, groves of navel oranges and ruby reds had been decimated by the ice. At first, area growers had attempted to battle the frost. Farmers had pumped water into the fields to raise the ground temperature and circulated warm air with giant fans, but after the frigid temperatures dragged on, the effort became hopeless. After salvaging what little they could, they’d ruefully said good-bye to all the rest.

  Jack had grown up on a farm and knew firsthand it was a tough business. But knowing that didn’t make things easier when disaster struck. The repercussions of last week’s three-day dip into the teens would be felt throughout this area for years.