Because he’d done little more than pace Greta’s loft while she’d slept off the pain pill Ashley insisted Greta take, Jack found himself at the station at sunrise, determined to grab a few hours’ sleep before resuming the investigation. If only his mind would stop spinning. The information Vince had given him about Greta was intriguing, although less than fruitful.
It wasn’t so unusual, he kept telling himself. People reinvented themselves all the time; changed their names. Moved around. Kept to themselves. But that wasn’t often done with teenagers. Not without a court-compelling reason. She’d mentioned her parents had died when she was a little girl, and she’d referred to her guardian as just that, her guardian. Reinventions like this were extraordinary and only fed Jack’s stifled curiosity.
A curiosity he’d satisfy himself. He asked Vince to shift his focus completely on to Doyle Fremont. Whatever Greta was hiding, she’d been keeping it to herself for a long time. Or maybe that was it, Jack reasoned. Maybe she was in hiding. Witness protection, maybe? Who knew?
But he needed to know. Not only to satisfy his curiosity, but to make sure nothing in her past was going to interfere with any case they might bring against Doyle Fremont. Not asking her the questions would put his career and future at risk, not to mention the people he worked with. He was banking everything not only on the word of a witness who was being less than forthcoming about her past but on his own shaky judgment. It would take learning about one to solidify the other.
At least he could stop worrying about Greta for a little while. Ashley, who was tired of being cooped up in his condo, was more than happy to stay with her patient if it meant easing some of Jack’s concern.
Greta. That wasn’t her name. Not her real name. But so far, Vince hadn’t been able to unearth who she might have been prior to ten years ago. Or, maybe and more importantly, what would have caused her to change her identity. Given the roadblocks Vince had encountered, Jack would bet the only thing that would give him the answers he needed was an honest tough-love conversation with Greta Renault.
Exhaustion crept over him, which was no doubt what had him falling into a deep sleep the second his head hit the anemic so-called pillow.
It felt like only minutes later when a sharp rap on the door to the coffee room dragged him awake. He bit back a groan, pressed hard fingers into his eyes and pushed himself up. “Yeah?” If whatever Bowie had to tell him wasn’t case-altering, he was going to find out firsthand how long it took to strangle a man to death. “I’m up,” he called. “What is it?” He shoved his head into his hands and scrubbed at his hair. When he looked up into the open doorway, he wasn’t entirely sure he wasn’t still dreaming. “Cole. You’re back? But I thought—man, what time is it?” His head felt as if it had been wrapped in cotton. He rubbed a hand against his aching chest.
“Almost ten.” Detective Cole Delaney lounged against the doorframe and looked at Jack with a critical, albeit friendly, eye. Why did the guy always look like he’d stepped out of a designer-menswear ad? The super-high-end kind. Not the Here’s the sales rack kind. “I got an SOS from the LT yesterday.”
“Why would he do that?” Jack asked.
“Other than Bowie’s ditched you for a family emergency in San Francisco?” Cole aimed a doubtful look at Jack that told him his partner didn’t buy that explanation for one second. “He didn’t really say, just thought you could use some help with a new case. Man, you do look raw. Eden and I took a late flight back. Got in around midnight.”
“Santos must think I’m going off the rails if he called you. You didn’t have to do that. You were on vacation.” Even as he said it, he was glad to have his partner back. After hearing Vince’s report last night, the need for a steady rudder in this case was even more important.
“I was into my sick days,” Cole shrugged. “So it’s just as well. So are you?”
“Am I what? Coming off the rails? No.” The response was automatic, but because he knew he could trust Cole, he slipped back into uncertainty. “Yes.” This time yesterday he was brimming with optimism and excitement, ready to take on not only Doyle Fremont but also the world. Now? It was as if that car that missed hitting Greta had somehow slammed into him and thrown him completely out of whack. He sighed, dropped his hands and looked up at his friend. “I don’t know.”
“Let’s get out of here. Find some coffee and talk.”
Cole wasn’t just back, Jack noticed of his partner and best friend, but he was also ready to work. Cole had his badge clipped to his belt and his sidearm in place. But it was the gold wedding band on his finger that Jack knew brought Cole the greatest sense of pride. Not to mention accomplishment, Jack thought as he dragged his jacket off the hook by the door and followed Cole into the bullpen, where he unearthed a clean shirt from the bottom drawer in his desk. Eden St. Claire had not made things easy on anyone over the years, especially Cole. In the end, though, it hadn’t mattered. “Where’s Eden?”
“Back on the boat.” Cole’s prized possession was the 1960s gentleman’s cruiser he’d somehow convinced Eden to live on. “She’s got new notes to organize on the cold case she’s checking. She probably won’t surface until tomorrow.
“Eden is a bit of a Rottweiler when it comes to her cases,” Cole said. “Five kids, all from the same town, all vanished within a year. And no movement on the evidence at all. She won’t let that stand. Solving cold cases, bringing closure to families, it’s her calling.”
Yes, Jack thought. Yes, it was.
“So.” Cole pushed open the station-house door and they headed outside into the blissful, cool morning air. “You want to fill me in?”
“That depends.” Jack smirked. “How fond are you of your career?”
“Either you move like a ghost or I sleep like the dead.” Greta might have leaped ten feet in the air if she hadn’t caught sight of Ashley, her Jack-appointed babysitter, moving into the studio out of the corner of her eye. “As I know it’s not the latter,” Ashley said, “you must be feeling better. How’s the shoulder?”
Paintbrush in hand, Greta faced Jack’s sister and tried to ignore the frown on the other woman’s round face when she noticed Greta had ditched the makeshift sling. “Better.” Truth be told, it still hurt, but she was pushing through. Focusing, however distractedly, on her painting was helping.
“Headache?”
“Barely noticeable,” she lied, wondering what Ashley was thinking as the physician walked around her studio.
“You didn’t take any more pain pills?”
“I told you, I don’t like—”
“Pills.” Ashley turned, all traces of sleep gone. She looked at Greta as if peering through a microscope to examine an unknown organism. “For someone who doesn’t like taking them, you certainly have a stash of them.”
“Everyone has a hobby.” The joke didn’t land, but Ashley didn’t push back.
“How long have you been up?”
“Since—” Greta glanced at the clock on the counter by the door “—three, I think?”
Ashley nearly tripped on one of the tarps covering the floor. “Three this morning? That’s almost seven hours.”
“Okay.” Greta paid special attention to swirling her paintbrush in the glass of paint thinner. Her stomach clenched as it always had when she was forced into a conversation she didn’t want to have. “I’m most productive when the rest of the world is asleep.” And she had been productive. For the first time in months. Just not in the way she’d expected.
“I was the same in med school,” Ashley said. “Used to drive my roommate nuts. Greta, as your current medical provider, those pills—”
Greta closed her eyes. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“Too bad. Those are powerful antipsychotics, Greta. Does Jack know?”
“No.” That question got her attention. She blinked and glanced at Ashley. “Why would he?”
Ashley arched a brow. “Because you’re involved. Or if you aren’t yet, you soon will be. The two of you are like a flashing billboard when you’re together.”
“We are not.” Greta’s face went hot.
“Please.” Ashley rolled her eyes.
Unfamiliar nerves fired under her skin. “Jack and I haven’t known each other very long. We haven’t reached the are you sure you have a grip on reality? phase of our relationship yet.” Except they had. Yesterday. And they’d blasted beyond it. If she’d seen who she thought she saw yesterday, the same man she’d seen the first night... Terror slithered up her throat, but she swallowed hard. Greta rearranged the tools on her small worktable beside the nearly finished painting she’d done only hours before. It had been mountains that called to her this time. Fire-tipped mountains with a swirling blue smog and scaled, purple dragons in the distance. It all felt so much safer than the real world. Afterburn, she was calling it.
“You’re the main witness in a case that, in his words, is a political powder keg. This case could destroy Jack’s career if he’s wrong about anything, Greta. If he’s wrong about you.” Ashley caught sight of the large canvas Greta had thought she’d hidden better. Most of the image was obscured by a bold, green fabric, but given Ashley was more than familiar with the subject, of course it would have captured her attention. “Well.” She stooped down, pushed the fabric aside and stared into the eerily accurate image of her brother. “That’s impressive. And quite personal. Not very long, you said?” She looked over her shoulder at Greta.
“Jack makes an impression.” She wished he hadn’t. She wished anyone other than Jack had been the one to turn up at her loft the other night. Whether they’d have believed her or not, she wouldn’t be dealing with the added complication of developing, well, she guessed they were feelings for Jack McTavish. Feelings that went far beyond the desire of any kiss. Feelings neither of them could afford for her to have.
“He’s certainly made an impression on you. This is stunning, Greta. Truly. I won’t even try to comprehend how you captured everything about him in just his face. The strong jaw, that silent nobility in his eyes. He’d die of embarrassment if he ever knew about this, but he’s always reminded me of one of those medieval soldiers, fighting against all the wrongs in the world, be it with a sword or spear or—” Ashley indicated the barely there yellow stars in his eyes “—a badge. Please don’t tell him I said that. I’m kind of saving that bit of information for when I know it’ll completely humiliate him.” She grinned.
“There’s nothing humiliating about nobility.” Greta couldn’t help it. The sight of him, even in a painting, drew her in. That Ashley saw him in roughly the same vein eased her mind.
“And there’s nothing wrong with taking medication when you need it. But if you are taking—” Ashley turned, rested a gentle hand on Greta’s arm.
“I’m not,” Greta insisted. She was so tired of being doubted. Why didn’t anyone ever believe her?
“Greta—”
“I’m not taking those pills. They’re a...” How did she explain when she didn’t understand it herself?
“They’re a what?”
Greta drew a deep breath. She’d never told anyone. Not Uncle Lyndon. Not even Yvette. But maybe she needed to tell someone, if only to maybe have them help her make sense of it all. “They’re a precaution.”
“A precaution for what?”
Greta squeezed her eyes shut long enough to pray for strength. “For when I lose my mind.”
“Well, okay then.” Cole refolded the statement Greta had typed up and tapped the paper against his hand before returning it to him. Their coffee was long gone, but they remained seated at the small café table a few blocks from the station. “I can see why you’re worried about career suicide. Doyle Fremont. Wow.”
“Do you believe her?” Jack wasn’t entirely sure what he wanted Cole’s answer to be. Either way... Jack was in deep trouble.
“Oh, I believe her.” Cole shrugged and even behind his sunglasses, Jack could see him flinch as he looked up at the sun. “There’s no reason not to, given that picture you took and the conversation you had with Fremont. But that’s also the problem, Jack. It’s Doyle Fremont. That new complex alone is employing a good chunk of the population. It’s done wonders for the city and only promises to do more. And let’s not forget who he calls his friends and that his lawyers are already on alert. Now that you know Greta isn’t exactly who she says she is? This could turn into a serious cluster—well, mess.”
“This is why I’m glad you’re back,” Jack muttered. “To help clear things up for me.”
“I do what I can.” Cole’s smile was quick. “What about this thing that happened at the Camellia, yesterday? Who did she see? Fremont?”
“I’m assuming. Not that I could get her to tell me. She shut down, like whatever she saw flipped an off switch inside of her.” And try as he might, he hadn’t been able to turn it back on.
“Did you see anyone?”
“I saw plenty of someones, but not Fremont. Besides, according to the LT, he’s out of town. I can’t believe he’d be so careless as to commit murder in front of a witness.”
“He didn’t expect a witness,” Cole said. “The time and location pretty much solidify that.”
“But what is all this about? If we could just figure out who the victim was, that has to be what unlocks this whole thing.”
“If there was a victim.”
Jack’s blood went icy. “You don’t believe her?”
“I don’t not believe her. I’m also not so naive as to think you might have a bit of a hero complex and still blame yourself for what almost happened to Allie. Not to mention—”
“Don’t go there, Cole.” This was not a road he planned on going down. With anyone.
“Why not? You have. You’re afraid of missing something again. Of someone getting hurt or, worse, killed. What happened in Chicago with your witness was not your fault, Jack. The DA underestimated how dangerous the defendant was. You couldn’t protect her for the rest of your life.”
It wasn’t something he hadn’t told himself a million times before. But nothing would convince him he hadn’t failed Clara Pilsken. The fact the young woman had a grave marker rather than a college diploma was all the evidence he needed.
“You’re worried if you don’t cover all your bases, if you look away even for a second, something’s going to happen and maybe this time you won’t escape with your life intact.”
He wouldn’t call two months in the ICU followed by four months of physical therapy a life intact. “That’s not it.” For the first time since they’d met, Jack lied to his partner. A lie he tried to pull back almost immediately. “That’s not entirely it. Greta needs someone to believe her, Cole. It’s important to her.”
“And that’s important enough to you that you’re willing to put your entire career on the line to make it happen.”
“Is that a question or a statement?”
“You tell me. Look, I’m not saying don’t believe her, but maybe let’s look at this from a different angle. You’ve said yourself, she’s eccentric, and I can see it on your face. You don’t know what the heck happened at the gallery, and you were there. Maybe this is some kind of stalker situation? Are you sure she and Fremont have never met? She is an artist, after all. Didn’t you say he has a pretty extensive art collection?”
Jack nodded. “He has a bunch of framed pieces boxed up in his office. I wouldn’t be surprised if one of hers is in there. With her star on the rise, it’s not out of the realm of possibility he’d see it as an investment in the future.”
“Agreed. She’s been building up a name, had some pretty prestigious placements, and one thing we know about Fremont is he enjoys the benefits of wealth. It’s also possible it’s some kind of obsession thing. Does he have any previous record or charges?”
“I have someone looking into that,” Jack said. “Off the record.”
“Huh. That’s interesting.”
“What is?”
“You going to Vince.”
“Jeez, what am I? An open book?”
“No. You’re a man willing to do whatever it takes to protect someone who needs it, and we both know, outside the department, Vince is someone we can count on. Nothing’s going to stand in your way of doing what you think is right. Even if it might not be.”
“I don’t want her hurt, Cole.”
“Can that even be a factor? We’re talking about a career make-it or end-it case. You bring in Doyle Fremont, and you’ll either be a bright, shiny star in the department or out on your tail. We do what we have to do to close the case, fallout notwithstanding. Although, there’s always collateral damage.”
“Was there collateral damage with you and Eden?” Jack asked and tried to control his temper. “Or did you do whatever it took to protect her?”
“It’s not the same thing.” Cole waved dismissively. “I was in love with Eden, which meant my judgment wasn’t exactly...” He trailed off, inclined his head and, after a long pause, let out a sigh they probably heard back at the station. “Well, dang, Jack. That was fast.”
“Yeah,” Jack agreed. “About sums it up.”
“So, that’s the issue.” Cole looked a bit disbelieving. “You’re in love with her.”
“No.” Jack altered his response at Cole’s snort of disbelief. “Yes.” He groaned. “Maybe. First time I saw her, bam! It was like she’d been branded into my brain. And no, before you say what you’re thinking, there’s nothing I can do about it. Even if I wanted to change things, and I don’t, I couldn’t. This stupid thing hasn’t worked right since I was shot.” He pounded his fist against his heart. “I would love to play bodyguard and let whatever this is happen without pushing anyone’s buttons, but I can’t shake the feeling there’s something more going on, Cole. The pieces just don’t fit. I need your help to make them fit.”
“What if they don’t fit the way you want them to?” Cole asked.
What if? Was there ever a more disturbing and challenging question? “If I’m wrong, then I’ll take what comes. Me alone. You have my word.”
“You just refuse to take the easy road, don’t you, Jack? Even when it comes to the fall.”
“I’ve always liked a challenge.” And Jack had never met anyone as challenging, or as life-affirming, as Greta Renault. “Just promise me you’ll do one thing for me.”
“What’s that?”
“Stop me from doing anything stupid.”
“Sorry, partner.” Cole shook his head. “Some things a man just has to do on his own.”