Beverly Barton 3 Book Bundle

“I’m concerned about Ron,” Bernie said. “I know her sister said that he’s the one who broke off things with Thomasina, but he must still have some feelings for her. I mean, wouldn’t you think that even if he doesn’t love her now—”

“I’m sure that knowing a former girlfriend’s life might be in jeopardy makes this case a bit more personal for him. But just because they dated and, as her sister implied, had a sexual relationship, doesn’t mean they were in love.”

“No, of course not.”

“Too bad Thomasina disposed of everything except that final batch of sketches and the ankle bracelet.” Groaning contentedly, Jim burrowed his head into the cushioned softness of the recliner. “Of course, I doubt the guy was stupid enough to leave fingerprints. And like with the stuff we found at Stephanie’s, the ankle bracelet, the artist paper, and the envelopes are all probably items that could be purchased just about anywhere by anybody.”

“Why on earth didn’t she go to the police as soon as she started receiving those notes and presents?” Bernie flipped over onto her side and curled her legs at the knees. “What would make her think that any of it was romantic, that the notes and gifts and sketches were from some guy playing secret lover?”

“You’d have to ask her,” Jim said. “I’m the last man on earth you should ask about why women think the way they do. I never could figure out my ex-wife’s thought processes.”

“You shouldn’t assume that all women think alike.” Bernie felt an odd twinge of something in her gut. Jealousy? Get a grip, girl. She had absolutely no right to feel anything even remotely related to jealousy where Jim Norton was concerned, certainly not because he was talking to her about his ex-wife.

“Yeah, you’re right. Mary Lee was—is one of a kind.”

She wanted to ask if he meant one of a kind in a good way or a bad way, but it was really none of her business. If he wanted to elaborate, he would. If not…

“You’ve never been married, have you, Bernie?” Jim asked.

“What makes you think that?”

“Well, your last name is still Granger and—”

“I married my high school sweetheart before we left for college and I divorced him seven years later.” She had been nuts about Ryan, had twisted herself like a pretzel, every which way, to please him. And in the end he’d thanked her for being a good wife by not contesting the divorce. “I haven’t seen Ryan in years. I heard from one of his cousins over in Pine Bluff that he remarried about five years ago, has a couple of kids and is living in Nashville.” Remembering her two miscarriages still hurt, still made her feel inadequate. “I took my maiden name back after the divorce.”

“Mary Lee and I got married right after I graduated from UT. Seems like a lifetime ago. Hell, even the divorce seems like a lifetime ago. Kevin was only six when his mother and I split and now he’s fixing to turn thirteen.”

“At least you have a kid.” Bernie hadn’t meant to say that out loud. It had just slipped out, gone straight from her thoughts to her tongue.

“Did you want kids?”

She knew he was looking at her, but she couldn’t face him, not when she had tears in her eyes. Had she wanted children? God, yes, she’d wanted them. At least three, maybe four. But apparently it just hadn’t been in the cards for her to be a mother.

Glancing down at the floor, she swallowed, then said, “Yes, I wanted kids. It just didn’t happen.”

“Guess we’d better get a little rest,” Jim told her, as if sensing her discomfort in answering his question. “I’ll help you with breakfast before we head over to the office. Seven o’clock will roll around before we know it.”

She took his comments as a cue that he wanted peace and quiet, a little downtime to rest and regroup before they returned to work and dealt with the horrible fact that another Adams County woman had been abducted.

Bernie closed her eyes, took a deep breath and tried to relax. But her brain wouldn’t shut off, wouldn’t allow her any peace. Various thoughts flickered through her mind, everything from who might have abducted Thomasina Hardy to what her life could have been like if Ryan had never cheated on her and if one of her babies had lived.

Stop thinking, damn it.

She hummed silently, a repetitive tune that was soon overpowered by her thoughts. Then she tried counting. That, too, didn’t work. It never did, but she kept trying it anyway. Finally, she gave up the effort to switch off her mind and allowed the thoughts to take over, which they always did anyway.

Wonder about what Jim’s marriage had been like. Wonder whether he still cared about his ex-wife. Mary Lee was probably gorgeous, the way Robyn was. Guys like Jim always went for the obviously sexy types. Hey, who was she kidding —all men went for the sexy types. So why had a jock like Ryan married someone like her, someone who’d been an athlete in high school?

He married you because you worshipped the ground hewalked on. He liked having his own little groveling slave. She had given in to Ryan’s wishes in a way she’d never given in to anyone else, not even her dad. In her teens and early twenties, she’d had some major self-esteem issues, and it wasn’t until after her divorce that she’d come into her own. Well, as much as it was possible for a people-pleaser to choose her own path in life.

Had Jim’s ex-wife adored him, tried to please him, loved him beyond all reason? Had he broken Mary Lee’s heart? Or had it been the other way around? Something instinctive within her sensed that Jim had been the one who’d gotten his heart broken and that maybe he still carried a torch for this ex-wife. Mary Lee, who’d remarried. Mary Lee, who was now facing a battle with breast cancer.

Stop thinking about Jim Norton. He’s not interested inyou.

Concentrate on something else, someone else. What can you do to find Thomasina Hardy before she becomes another murder victim? She was doing all that could be done, wasn’t she? Her chief deputy was a top-notch detective who’d proven himself on the Memphis PD. And Charlie Patterson was an experienced ABI agent. It wasn’t as if she was in this all alone, so why was it that she felt an overwhelming need to call her father and ask for his help?

Your lack of self-confidence is showing, Bernadette.

Her mind continued jumping from one thought to another, asking her questions she couldn’t answer, posing problems she couldn’t solve, demanding that she listen instead of sleep. But finally, exhaustion claimed her and she dozed off for a few minutes.

When she woke fifteen minutes later, her house was quiet and still. All she heard was the tick of the mantel clock and the hum of Jim’s hard, steady breathing. She sat up, put her feet on the floor and stretched. A sudden chill hit her, making her wonder if Jim might be too cool sitting there in his short-sleeved shirt. She removed the cream knit afghan from the back of the sofa, got up and walked over to him. For a couple of seconds, she stood by the recliner and watched him as he slept. She liked the way he looked, the way he talked, the way he moved. He appealed to her on so many different levels, including the physical. He was a big, tall man with an athlete’s body. And he was good looking in a rough, rugged sort of way.

Bernie unwrapped the afghan and laid it over Jim, spreading it out from his chest to his ankles. He grumbled and turned onto his side.

That’s when several almost irresistible urges hit her—the urge to touch him, to caress his face, to lean down and kiss his slightly parted lips. She moved back toward the sofa, putting distance between them.

Damn it! Why is it that you bring out all my female instincts,Jimmy Norton? All those nurturing, loving, sexualinstincts that I work so hard to control?

Charlie Patterson was waiting for them when they arrived at the jail promptly at seven A. M. And he wasn’t alone. Ron Hensley had also come in early, and from the looks of him, he hadn’t gotten any more rest than they had. Bloodshot eyes, a heavy five o’clock shadow and a wrinkled shirt said it all. The guy had probably been up most, if not all, of the night.

R.B. Granger sat behind Jim’s desk, drinking coffee and talking to Ron and Charlie. Jim glanced at Bernie as they stood side by side, just a few feet over the threshold. When she saw her father, she stopped dead in her tracks. Jim noted her reaction change from what he thought was gladness in seeing her dad, knowing he was here to help, to a sense of disappointment, as if she understood that her father didn’t trust her to handle this case without him.

“Good morning.” Charlie saluted them with his cup.

“Are we late?” Bernie asked, her tone tense.

“We just got here,” R.B. said. “I met up with Charlie outside a few minutes ago. Ron was already here and had put on a fresh pot of coffee.”

Jim walked over to R.B. and asked, “How’s Kevin this morning?”

“He was still asleep when I left,” R.B. replied. “Brenda’s planning on making him blueberry pancakes this morning.”

“I really appreciate you and your wife looking after him for me.”

“It’s our pleasure. He’s a great kid. Smart and friendly. Has really good manners, too.”

Jim grinned like the proud papa he was, even though it was a bittersweet pride. Kevin was his son, flesh of his flesh and all, but Mary Lee had been the one who’d raised him.

“How long have you been here?” Bernie asked Ron.

“About fifteen minutes,” he replied. “I came straight here from”—he glanced at R.B. and grimaced— “from where I found Brandon Kelley.”

“You finally found him?” Bernie focused on her deputy.

Ron nodded.

“Where? Was Thomasina—”

Ron shook his head. “The guy has an alibi. He was with a young lady from yesterday evening until I tracked him down around four-thirty this morning.”