Detective Deke Morgan, Rick’s brother, arrived as he opened the first file. The frown lines in Deke’s forehead and around his eyes were deeper than normal and the graying at his temples had thickened. He wore his customary dark suit and white shirt and simple black cowboy boots polished to a high sheen.
A perpetual frown deepened as Deke studied the stack of files. “Good, you’re on the case. Let me know when you have something.” Deke had given Rick the nod to join homicide, but if he’d shown any favoritism in that moment he’d not shown any more. He’d chew Rick’s ass as quickly as Bishop’s or any other member of the team. He was all about equal opportunity when it came to doling out crap.
“I thought you were on vacation.”
Deke’s frown softened for a split second. “I was. I’m back. What’s going on with the case?”
Rick shifted as the tension snaked up his back. “We’ll let you know if we’ve any kind of hit.”
Deke rubbed Tracker’s head. “I’ve had that reporter, Susan Martinez, calling. She got wind of the story and wants in.”
Memories of the reporter hounding him after the shooting set Rick’s teeth on edge.
“I know you don’t like Martinez.”
“I can deal if she can help. I just don’t trust her.”
Martinez and her crews had been on the scene as rescuers were loading him in the ambulance. Later, after surgery, she’d found him in his hospital room and asked for an interview. He’d been pissed at himself and worried for Tracker and he’d said a few choice words. She’d not scared easily but in the end had left him. She’d covered the shooting extensively, showing the dash-cam footage and interviewing other officers. What was his critical mistake? All agreed he’d made no mistake. The job came with hazards. Few of those quotes had made it on air.
“If you don’t give her some information, she’ll find some,” Deke said. He glanced toward the coffeemaker as if he needed a jolt.
The line between cop and brother was thin, but there nonetheless, and Rick had avoided being too familiar with Deke while on the job. Still, he couldn’t resist a tiny jab.
“You’re looking a little rough,” Rick teased. “Rachel and city life wearing on you?”
His brother had initially inherited the family home, called the Big House by the Morgan family, when their father had died. However, Deke had no taste for country living and had deeded the house to Rick. Deke had moved into his new girlfriend’s city place six months ago.
Deke’s frown darkened even as his gaze softened. “She never misses an opportunity to bark at me about the handling of an arrest.”
“Shouldn’t have moved in with a defense attorney.”
A slight smile tugged at Bishop’s lips. He had no qualms about a jab or two. “Not just any attorney. Rachel Wainwright. The meanest in the state.”
Deke shrugged as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “I like her mean. Keeps it interesting.”
“Like living with a python?” Bishop asked.
Deke sipped his coffee. “What’s life without a little danger?”
Danger. They all lived with it every day. It was waiting for them the minute they strapped on a badge and stepped out the front door of their home. Even when they were off duty it was impossible to shut off the defense mechanisms or worries. When Rick ate in a restaurant he always kept his back to the wall and his eyes on the door. He always carried his off-duty weapon and he always knew a room’s entrances and exits.
“Yeah, can’t get enough of it myself,” Rick said.
Rick and Bishop had been reading for three hours when Georgia reappeared. She’d showered and changed into a clean pair of khakis and a blue collared shirt worn by the forensics team. Her pale skin glowed pink as she tried to scrub the mud, as well as the memory, away.
Rick leaned back in his chair. “What brings you here?”
Bishop had loosened his tie but when Georgia spoke he straightened it. His gaze roamed over Georgia, taking in her slim figure.
She scratched Tracker between the ears. Few touched the canine but his baby sister had never hesitated to pet him. “Any luck on the missing persons cases?”
He stretched out his leg and rubbed the stiffness banding his thigh. “Some leads but nothing solid.”
If she noticed he was in pain she gave no sign of it. “What do you think the chances are that we’ll find out who this kid was?”
“I don’t know.”
“If you had to bet?” she asked.
It was Bishop who leaned back in his chair. “Slim.”
She frowned at Bishop. “Why do you say that?”
“Too many variables. We can pour through all the old files we like, but if we can’t ID the kid, we won’t get anywhere.”
Georgia rested her hand on her hip and Rick could almost hear the wheels grinding and turning. “What if you could make an identification?”
“The medical examiner pushed up her schedule and will have a preliminary report in less than an hour. She’ll have basic physical stats for us. And we might get lucky and find a match in the file.”
“And if you don’t?”
“Then we’re SOL,” Bishop said. “A needle in a haystack. We don’t even know if the victim is from Nashville.”
“I can’t believe this,” she challenged. “All the science and we can’t ID the child?”
Bishop held up his hands in surrender. “Sometimes the truth sucks.”
Her frown deepened and her eyes blazed.
Softening the news with a platitude would only stoke her frustration. “Bishop’s right. If we don’t have a file match,” Rick said, “our chances diminish.”
Georgia shook her head, just as she’d done as a child when she received an answer she didn’t like. “This isn’t acceptable.”
“You think this is what I want?” Bishop asked.
“Sounds like you’re giving up.”
“No, I’m not.” Bishop’s eyes blazed with fury. If Georgia had been a man, he just might have slugged her.
Georgia noticed his annoyance but didn’t seem to care. “I hate this.”
“No one likes this, Georgia.” Rick reached for his coffee and raised it to his lips until he discovered it had turned to black sludge.
“We’re doing all we can,” Bishop said.
She waved away his comment and to Rick asked, “What if I could get you a face?”