“What do we have?”
Eloise watched as the team gathered around Jackson at the breakfast table. It was early morning and the sun was spilling over the distant mountains with a brightness that belied the dark mood inside the mountain retreat.
“Autopsy shows Meredith Parker died from a massive skull fracture,” Roark said, handing over the report he’d downloaded earlier. “If he pushed her, then she landed almost headfirst when she fell from the top of the landing.” He glanced at Eloise. “I won’t go into all the technical details, but the report indicates the body was moved after death.”
Eloise couldn’t stop the gasp of horror. She covered her mouth with one hand then looked away.
Jackson looked up at Eloise. “That doesn’t give us much to work with, though. She could have fallen by accident.”
“She wasn’t moved by accident,” Eloise shot back.
Roark leaned forward. “There’s more, sir. The pathologist report shows signs of old trauma on the body—broken bones in one wrist, some scars and just-healing contusions on the face and a hairline fracture to the right jawline.”
“Any trace evidence or DNA comparisons?” Jackson asked.
“Just some hairs and yes, some of them match Parker. But then, we know he’s the spouse and that complicates pinning down trace matter as evidence. Besides, he’s already been questioned and ruled out as a suspect since he was technically on a stakeout that night.”
“Has anyone questioned his partner?”
Roark nodded. “I talked to the captain this morning. That’s the sticking point. Seems the partner left the vehicle and watched the perp from another location for about an hour. They were afraid the perp was going to run.”
“So…the partner is probably covering for him. And no one else knows for sure if Parker stayed near the stakeout.”
“I know,” Eloise said. “He left and came home. I saw him standing over her body. He didn’t stay on his job that night.”
“But we can’t use what you saw yet,” Jackson reminded her. “And even if he was standing over her body, that won’t wash in court. We need to pin down George Andrews.”
“With or without Andrews to back him up, Randall Parker beat her,” Eloise said from her spot in the kitchen. “And he threw her off that landing.”
When everyone turned around to stare at her, she dropped her hand down to the counter. “I’m sorry. I know you’re all used to talking in technical terms, but I worked with Meredith every day and…I saw how she tried to cover up the bruises. I remember when she came in to interview for the job, she was wearing a cast on her wrist. She told me she fell on a hiking trip. I had no reason to doubt her, but later…I figured it all out.” She slumped toward the counter. “I should have done more—”
“You tried,” Jackson said, getting up to refill his coffee cup, his eyes returning to her again and again. “And you’re here now, helping us to piece things together.”
“He can’t get away with this,” she said, her mind whirling as she relived the nightmares she’d had last night.
Jackson stood there, staring at her, then turned toward Roark and Thea. Marcus was outside standing watch around the property.
“What else? Anything on the rope or the roses? And have we managed to narrow down the two capos hanging around?”
Thea nodded. “Roses are hard to come by in Montana, but we found a couple of local florists who have them shipped in from farms around the country. One had an order for red roses two days ago and the other one didn’t remember any rose orders in the last few days. Neither had any white roses with pink-edged tips on-site. Said they are rare and hard to find since they aren’t standard.”
“So Martino could have had them shipped in,” Jackson said. “Which means our leak gave Martino’s men Eloise’s exact location.”
Thea nodded then continued. “And on those capos—from Verdie’s description one of them could possibly be Ernest Valenti—he’s Vincent’s right-hand man.”
Jackson grunted. “Vincent would be nearby, then. Valenti’s been loyal to the family since he first came on board when Vincent was just a baby.”
He’d inched closer to her somehow, Eloise realized. She could feel the warmth of his eyes on her. He didn’t want to put her through this, but it was his job, after all.
Deciding she should truly help them instead of standing here reliving nightmares, Eloise glanced up at him. “Salvatore did grow the most beautiful roses. He had a greenhouse at the back of the Martino compound. I remember Danny talking about that place and how Salvatore would brag on his prize-winning roses. I’m sure someone is still in charge of their upkeep. Vincent could have roses shipped directly from his own garden or the greenhouse. Knowing him, he probably has a rose farm somewhere.”
Roark hit the table with his palm. “We could send some of the petals to our lab, sir. Have them analyzed there. They could probably get a close match if they compared them to any registered hybrids.” He shrugged when Jackson shot him an amused glance. “Hey, my mom grows roses so I know a little about how it works.”
Eloise nodded. “He’s right. Salvatore would have registered his hybrid to establish the trademark. He entered them in flower shows all over Illinois. If he ever won, there might be a record somewhere. But then, he might have sent a representative to enter the shows for him.”
“Good suggestion,” Jackson said, his tone low. But his eyes shined brightly as he studied her face. “Let’s take a break.”
And just like that, Eloise found herself being escorted to the enclosed sunroom at the back of the house.
“This is hard,” Jackson said, closing the French door behind them so they were alone.
Eloise stared out over the trees and the sloping foothills. The jagged rock faces contrasted sharply with the ponderosa pines and yellow and fuchsia wildflowers lining the slopes and meadows. The stream that flowed behind the cabin gurgled with tiny whitecaps as it washed over the rock bed. She could hear it through the open screen windows. And farther around the curve in this particular outcropping of rocks and trees, the nearby falls swirled and plunged toward the Missouri River.
“Yes, it’s hard.” She looked over at him. “But you don’t need to protect me, Jackson. I’m used to this, remember?”
The sympathy in his eyes almost made her come unglued. “You shouldn’t be used to it. No one should have to live like this.”
“But you do, don’t you? You eat, drink and breathe this stuff, every day.”
“Yeah, well, there’s always retirement.”
“You’d never retire,” she said, wondering what he’d do with his life if he gave up the FBI.
“I’ve never considered it…until now,” he said, his shimmering eyes holding her. “I’ve never had a reason to give up my job but…this case…all these months of trying to stay one step ahead of Martino, it’s getting to me. And I’m getting older by the minute.”
It was her turn to feel sympathetic. “You don’t look that old to me.”
He pointed to his temple. “Have you noticed this touch of gray in my hair?”
She looked him over, taking her time, savoring this quiet intimacy. “I’ve noticed a lot about you.”
He lifted one eyebrow—a habit she’d noticed about him. “And?”
“And—I have no complaints. I never did.”
He smiled at that. “You look as pretty as ever, even with those contacts you wear now. I miss your green eyes.”
“I’ve had to keep up the disguise so long I don’t even think about it anymore. I don’t wear a lot of makeup and I can’t remember the last time I put on a pretty dress. I have to downplay everything.”
“You don’t want to bring attention to yourself—it’s a survival instinct.”
“Yes. I wore a scarf most days in the restaurant, to keep my hair off my face and to also keep my hair covered as much as possible. I always look downright frumpy, on purpose.”
“And I’ve always found you downright beautiful—on purpose.”
She looked away, the heat of his gaze searing her in the same way the sun was bouncing off the rocks below.
“When I kissed you the other night,” he started then stopped. “When we kissed, did that make you feel uncomfortable?”
That was a loaded question. She stared down at the stream so long she saw white spots when she looked back up. “I’m not sure. I mean, it was a surprise. A pleasant surprise.” She avoided looking at him.
“I shouldn’t have done that.”
Her head came up. “Why did you?”
“I just wanted to,” he said in his straightforward Jackson way. “I just needed to. It’s been so long.”
“Did you think you’d get it all out of your system?”
“I’ll never get you out of my system,” he said, turning so abruptly she felt the air swishing past her.
“We’d better get back inside.”
Eloise stood there for a minute, shocked but not so surprised. This was pure Jackson. Blunt, brisk and honest. Nothing barred, but nothing exposed, either. She wanted to call him back, to kiss him again. To show him that if she had her way they’d ride off into their own sunset together and all the horror and ugliness they’d both seen would be behind them.
But she didn’t have her way. So she resorted to the one prayer she’d held in her heart since he’d shown up on her doorstep. Lord, keep him and my daughter safe. No matter what, Lord. Keep them both in Your loving arms, protected and safe.
Jackson did a head roll and touched a hand to his aching neck. He was exhausted but he had to keep moving, to keep thinking this thing through. At least things had been quiet today. No sign of anyone lurking about and no phone calls with dire news. But even the quiet made him antsy.
Marcus let out a yawn from his chair across from Jackson. “Everything’s set for the sting, sir. Decoy should be in place by morning and Micah and his team have set things in motion with the proper paperwork and a dummy meeting in the Marshal’s office. It’s all been cleared with the Chief Marshal. It might take a few days for our man to make his move, but I’m thinking we should have this all tidied up by week’s end.”
“Thanks, GQ,” Jackson said. “Just keep me posted.”
“Micah is doing a great job,” Marcus replied. “He’s a lot like you, you know.”
“He’s a lot like our father,” Jackson countered. “Stubborn and determined.”
“And like I said, he’s a lot like you.”
Jackson accepted the grin that came with that comment and smiled back at Marcus. “You think I’m stubborn?”
“It’s one of your most endearing qualities, sir.”
“And do you think I’m determined?”
“On this case, more than ever, sir.”
They sat silent for a few minutes, the ticking of the grandfather clock in the foyer the only sound. Roark was on night duty and Thea was guarding Eloise as usual, Duff with them in the bedroom upstairs.
Marcus cleared his throat and stretched his legs out toward the pine coffee table. “You care about her, don’t you?”
Not sure how to answer that, Jackson stared at the empty fireplace. “I care about all the people I’m sworn to protect.”
Marcus let that slide but he didn’t give up. “But you have a history with Ms. Smith. I’m just wondering does that make this job worse for you.”
“What do you think?” Jackson asked, unable to give out any more information—out of respect for Eloise.
“Okay, I get it. You don’t want to talk about this.”
“No, I don’t,” Jackson replied. “But…if you’re worried about me slipping up again like I did the other day when I sent you to the police station, you can relax. That’s not going to happen again.”
“You know your job, sir,” Marcus replied. “I’d never even suggest otherwise.”
“But?”
“But, it’s none of my business. I just…worry.”
“You, worry?” Jackson laughed. “You’re as cool as they come, GQ.”
“Yeah, I am that.” Marcus grinned again. “But I like having you as my boss and I’d hate for that to go bad.”
“Ah, do you need a hug?” Jackson asked, going sappy as he grinned back.
“No, sir.” Marcus got up then whirled to stare down at him. “But I don’t need to go to your funeral, either. I’m watching your back—we all are.”
Jackson couldn’t find a comeback for that one. “Thanks. I appreciate that. But…I’m still in charge and I won’t let any of you down.”
“I never doubted that, sir.”
“Well, I have at times,” Jackson admitted. “Now, get some sleep.”
Marcus saluted then headed up the stairs.
While Jackson sat warring between going back over everything involved in this case or just sitting and thinking about the woman he’d been involved with because of this case.
The two went hand in hand, unfortunately. And the two had colored and shaped his whole career. Was he coming full circle here? He stood up to stare out at the night, the yellow security light showing him the angles and ridges of the mountains and trees. Roark was out there somewhere, walking and watching.
Back in Chicago, Jackson had a bird’s-eye view from his fourth-floor office window of a church steeple sitting amongst the buildings and skyscrapers. He could always just see the top of the shimmering white steeple, the part where the white filigree iron cross stood out in stark contrast to the drab buildings around it.
How many times had he stood there, staring at that cross, watching and praying?
Watch and pray. But he wasn’t much of a praying man.
Jackson remembered his dad telling him that once when he asked about being a cop. “How do you do it, Dad? How do you do such a dangerous job?”
“Watch and pray, son,” his dad had responded. “Watch and pray.”
Now it seemed Jackson had been watching for years, but he’d never prayed that much. Until now. Now his haphazard, rusty prayers echoed through his mind in a steady cadence. “Help me to do my job. Help me to keep her safe. Take care of Kristin and Zane. Let them find a happy life together. Protect my team…and me. Only so we can keep her safe.”
He had to concentrate on that—keeping Eloise safe. So he would watch and pray. Day and night, until he knew for sure he’d done his job. Before he could focus on the woman, he had to keep focused on the case. But once he had Martino locked up and he’d brought Randall Parker to justice, well, then he intended to give his full attention to Eloise. Only Eloise, one way or another.
Eloise struggled to breathe.
The dream was back. The suffocating dream where she was running in the night and she was alone and filled with terror. She could hear Duff barking somewhere in the background, could hear heavy footsteps behind her. Then she was lost in a maze of rosebushes. They shot to the sky, their branches lush with blossoming white petals and heavy spiked thorns. The pink tips of the roses turned to blood, dripping like teardrops as she hurried by. She could smell the roses, feel the cut from the thorns.
Then she heard a scream and Meredith calling out to her. “Help me, Eloise. Help me, please.”
“I’m coming.”
The words Eloise tried to scream were held silent inside her head. And the footsteps were getting closer and closer behind her.
Then a face appeared in front of her. Vincent Martino—the younger version she remembered so long ago and the older version of the man today. He laughed as he reached for her. Then he changed into Randall Parker, jeering at her. “I need to talk to you!”
But Meredith was no longer screaming. The screams turned to a baby crying and then a young woman calling out to her. “Mommy. Mommy, please don’t leave me.”
Kristin. Kristin was calling for her.
Eloise woke up and her own screams filled the night.
Jackson shot out of bed, grabbed his gun and ran toward the door to the bedroom, the bone-chilling sound of a woman’s cries and Duff’s excited barks piercing his soul. “Thea?”
Thea opened the door, alert but bleary-eyed, her own weapon held close. “It’s all right, sir. Just a bad dream.”
Eloise rushed past Thea and right into Jackson’s arms.
“I…I… He was after me.”
Jackson held her close then motioned for Thea to leave them alone. Glancing behind him, he did the same with Marcus. “Tell Roark everything’s okay.”
Marcus nodded then turned back to his room, shutting the door behind him.
“Come sit down,” Jackson said, guiding her to the big chair by the daybed.
Eloise sank down then looked up at him, her green eyes wide with fear, her hands shaking as she brushed at her hair. “I’m such a baby but it was horrible. So real.”
“You had a bad dream,” he said. “That doesn’t make you a baby. It obviously shook you to wake you like that.”
“I woke the whole house.”
“It’s okay. That’s what we’re here for.”
She glanced around, blinking. “It was just a dream.”
“Yes.” He looked her over. “Take a deep breath and tell me about it.”
“Everything was all mixed up in my mind,” she said. “Martino, Parker, Meredith. The roses, everywhere. And blood.” She grabbed his hand. “The roses were crying blood, Jackson. And I felt as if all of that blood was on my hands. All those women who died because they looked like me. Meredith. And then—” She stopped, tears flowing down her face. “And then, I heard a baby crying. My baby. Kristin. But then the baby changed to a child, begging me not to leave.” She grabbed at his cotton T-shirt, her eyes wet and wild. “Jackson, how could I do that? How could I leave my baby?”
Jackson didn’t answer. Instead, he scooped her up into his arms and turned, settling into the chair as he held her there and let her cry. She’d been holding this in for so long, he wondered how she’d stayed sane. But then he remembered she had the faith to move mountains.
And she’d moved a lot of mountains in her lifetime.
“I’ve got you,” he said, his lips touching her hair and her face. “I’ve got you now, Ellie. And I won’t let go, I promise.”
“I…I want to see her, Jackson. Please let me see my daughter.”
Her plea tore through all of his resolve, breaking him in half with its intensity. He couldn’t honor her request right now. It was too dangerous.
“I’ll see what I can do,” he said, meaning it. He’d figure something out.
She held to him, her sobs turning to silent tears. “Thank you.”
He looked down at her, saw her as the young girl he’d fallen for then saw her as the woman he would always love.
Then he kissed her cheek, the feather of his lips against her warm skin bonding them together with a silent promise.
“I’ve got you,” he said again. “Go back to sleep.”
As he held her there, Jackson could almost feel God’s presence around them, telling them both the same thing.
He closed his eyes and prayed God was holding them in His arms. He sure could use that kind of strength right now.