Chapter Five

It was oddly silent as the techs went over the car.

Jensen’s phone had rang three times and on the fourth, she’d pulled it from her pocket, muted it, and then put it on the nearby table. Now she stood, staring at the car with her arms wrapped around her midsection and her gaze locked almost blindly on the mud-caked vehicle.

She barely moved.

She barely seemed to breathe.

Her skin was pale and her knuckles all but bloodless as she gripped her elbows, like she had to have something to hold onto, otherwise, she’d fly apart.

One of the techs dropped a whisk brush and the sound of it clattered through the surreal silence. Jensen jumped, the sound of her gasp striking him in the heart.

From two feet away, he couldn’t reach out and touch her the way he wanted to, the way he needed to. He tried to catch her eyes, but she couldn’t seem to look at anything but the car.

Dean wasn’t really surprised. But he hated the silence, the almost oppressive atmosphere that had fallen across the area. He suspected Burt had spoken with the team. Little wonder they were showing respect for Jensen and the work itself was grim, even though there was little more than mud and a lot of debris in the car.

A whole hell of a lot of water. Damn. It was still leaking from the car, even now. From inside the car, from the trunk, under the hood. Everywhere, puddling all over the floor. It was a mess he was glad he wouldn’t have to clean up.

The crime scene techs were careful and thorough, he couldn’t fault them on anything and he was watching, watching them damn close.

Jensen’s gaze kept traveling over the car and he knew she wanted to be the one searching over it, even though she had to realize the same thing he already knew.

The chances of finding much of anything were slim to none.

That car had been in the river a good long time. It had disappeared the same night her mother had and if the car had gone into the river the night she went missing …

Hell.

“It’s time to open the trunk,” Burt said, his voice echoing, too loudly, in the strained, silent air.

Burt cut Jensen a look, almost like he was asking permission.

Dean knew that wasn’t the case.

He was asking if she was ready.

She stood there, her slim fingers going up to toy with the necklace she always wore. The charm that hung from it was silver, a slim little bar, set with a ruby in the center.

Her index finger rubbed over the ruby, again and again and after almost thirty seconds had passed, she finally dragged her gaze away from the car and looked at Burt.

A single nod and then she went back to staring at the car.

Fuck this, he thought, closing the distance between them. Her left hand hung in a fist at her side now and he reached down, caught it in his.

The second he did, her hand clamped around his in a vise, her grip tight and desperate.

“Breathe,” he whispered, keeping his voice low.

“I am.”

Just barely.

But she sucked in a deeper breath and focused her gaze on the trunk, staring past the crime scene cameras, the techs, and Burt. From where they stood, they could see as Burt fought with the trunk. It didn’t want to open at first, but finally, it yielded. Water and mud gave way with a hideous sucking sound.

It might have been better if they couldn’t see at all.

The trunk, like much of the car, was flooded with mud and water and it continued to leak out.

But there was no mistaking the secrets the trunk had held inside it all these years.

Still half-buried in the mud there was a skeleton, eye sockets empty … staring.

Waiting.

*   *   *

“Is it Mom?”

She’d lost track of the time. Judging by how gritty her eyes were, she’d been awake going on nearly twenty-four hours. Judging by the looks on her family’s faces, they’d been awake through the night, waiting for answers. Waiting for her.

Seated in her father’s living room, Jensen stared at Chris, tried to find the words to answer that question. Tate leaned against the mantel, his face buried in his arms, hiding away from the world. And their dad stood at the window.

She couldn’t recall how many times she’d seen him standing just there.

Waiting.

And now it was time to acknowledge the truth.

Over in the corner, Dean sat quietly. He’d driven her over here and it never occurred to her to tell him to leave. Frankly, she couldn’t stand the thought of him leaving. Just looking at him calmed some of the chaos in her brain and if that chaos broke free just now, she thought maybe she’d start to scream and never stop.

His solid, quiet strength had kept her sane throughout the afternoon and right now, she was relying on his solid, quiet presence to keep her steady.

She couldn’t break down here.

She should be able to, she knew. This was her family and if she broke around anybody, it should be them. But she didn’t want to.

Swallowing, she licked her lips and blew out a breath, trying to find some semblance of control before she started to talk.

“The body is female,” she said quietly. “They won’t be able to tell much more until tests are done. But…”

Tears blurred her eyes and she tipped her head back, staring up at the ceiling until they cleared. “There were rings . Still on her hands. The—” She blew out a breath and then kept going. “The mud kept them on her all this time. I’m pretty certain they were Mom’s.” She flicked a look at Dad, saw those stooped old shoulders flinch. “I brought pictures. It would be better if Dad could give his opinion. It’s been so long…”

Chris started to sob.

Tate lifted his head and she saw the tears on his face. He crossed the room and sat down by Chris, wrapping his arm around her.

“Can I see the pictures, Jensen?” Doug asked softly.

She pulled them out of her purse, but her hands shook so badly, she couldn’t open the envelope.

Dean’s hand appeared in her line of vision. “Here, let me,” he said gently.

She nodded and pushed it into his hands.

He took the envelope to her father and showed him the pictures of each of the three rings.

And when Doug would have sank to the floor, Dean caught him. “Let’s sit down, Mr. Bell,” he said, using that same gentle, calm voice as he guided Doug over to a nearby chair.

“They’re hers,” Doug said, his voice dull. “My wife. She’s really gone.”