11. Jane Doe
CHAPTER 11
JANE DOE
F or the first time since I woke up in that hospital bed four days ago, I managed to get a full night’s sleep. It’s four in the morning and still dark out, but I’m wide awake and feeling good enough that I’m ready to try my own route of getting answers.
Certain movements still ache, but I’m back on my feet and able to walk a few miles a day—with Lani or Elliot’s supervision, of course.
My hope for today is that I’ll be able to borrow a computer and just start googling stuff. Even though I’m fairly certain Tucker’s research has been far more detailed than a web search, it’ll feel good to do something. Anything, really.
The front door opens, so I head out of the room and down the hall. Echo jumps up off his bed, barely visible from the hall, and races toward me.
“Morning, boy,” I greet, petting him happily before continuing down the hall and into the kitchen.
Elliot is standing in front of the coffee pot, wearing a tight zip-up sweater, shorts, and tennis shoes. His skin is gleaming in a thin layer of sweat, and the dark hair at his temples is matted to the side of his head.
“You look like you’ve already been productive.”
He turns and offers me a smile. “Something like that. Coffee?”
“Yes, please.” I take a seat on a barstool. “So, listen, I was thinking I could use a computer today. Start poking around on the internet and see if I can remember something?”
“Sure, I’ll have Riley bring one over when he heads this way.”
“He’s coming over?”
“He’s going to stay here tonight.”
“Oh, why?”
“I’ll be in Galveston.”
Unease churns in my gut at the mere idea of this man not being right down the hall. Elliot feels safe to me. Not that Riley isn’t, but Elliot is just—well—he’s different. “Why are you going to Galveston?”
“To meet with Rosalie Wallace’s employer. I want to know if it’s possible something she was working on could have caused someone to target her. I’ll also be showing them your picture. See if somehow you were involved too.” He pours coffee into two mugs then offers me one.
“I should go too, then. Right?”
He leans back against the counter. “No. You need to remain here.”
“But if I am involved, then maybe they’ll be able to tell me who I am.”
“Information I can get with your photograph.”
“Sure. But if I’m there, it might open them up more,” I insist. I need to go. I can feel it.
“Jane, it’s safer for you here.”
“I don’t want to just sit around, Elliot. I’m just waiting for someone to tell me who I am, but I want to actively be doing something to figure it out too. Can’t you understand that?” I can see from his expression that he does. “Please let me go. I promise to follow your lead. I’ll take it easy.”
“It could be dangerous.”
“So was the hospital. Besides, I’ll have you to keep me safe, right?”
He clenches his jaw. “I don’t know. Lani might not approve.”
“Lani might not approve of what?” Lani asks, yawning as she steps into the kitchen.
Elliot pours her a cup of coffee.
“Of me going with Elliot to Galveston to meet with Rosalie Wallace’s employer.”
“Oh, well…” Lani considers it. “Thanks,” she says when Elliot offers her the mug of coffee. “I mean, as long as you’re careful, I don’t see an issue. I want to check your injury first, make sure it’s looking good. But Elliot is skilled enough with medical emergencies that I trust he can keep you alive.”
“See?” I turn to Elliot. “It could work.”
He takes a breath filled with frustration. “I don’t know. You literally almost died three days ago.”
“But I’m still breathing,” I insist.
“She’s moving around really well and hasn’t needed anything stronger than OTC pain meds since she left the hospital. Besides, it could help jog her memory, which would be excellent for her mental health and overall well-being. If you want to get technical about it.” She grins at him.
Another wave of hope surges through me despite the glare Elliot shoots at his sister.
“That’s a six-hour car ride,” he tells Lani. “Can she really be sitting that long?”
“Just stop at least once during the drive so you can both stretch your legs, and it’ll be fine. I need to go get ready for work; then I’ll look you over to make sure you’re good for the trip.” She offers us both a smile then starts humming and heads down the hall.
“So? Can I come?” I ask, hopeful that Elliot will agree. It’s a place to start. And, while it’s possible there is no link between me and Wallace, it’s still hope. A place to start.
Elliot studies me. “Fine. But you follow my lead, okay? If I tell you it’s too dangerous?—”
“Then I will do whatever you need.” Unable to help myself, I cross over and wrap my arms around Elliot. He freezes against me, but I don’t let go.
And when his arms come around me, I feel like I’m home. Safe. Warm.
Before I can lose myself in his embrace, I pull back and clear my throat. “I’ll go get everything ready. When are we leaving?”
“In an hour,” he says. “Is that okay?”
“Not a problem for someone who only owns, like, five borrowed outfits,” I reply with a laugh. “I’m so ready to start doing something. Thank you for letting me come.”
“Sure thing. I’m going to call Riley and let him know. Just be ready in an hour.”
“You got it.”
* * *
“So what made you start up Hunt Brothers Search & Rescue?” I ask then take a drink of the coffee we’d stopped for about half an hour ago. We’ve been on the road for three hours already, and so far, it’s been far quieter than I was expecting.
Just silence and country music between us.
“It was Bradyn’s idea,” he says. “Since he joined the service a year before me, he was out first. When he got home, he was restless, and in his search for something to do, he found a reward being offered for the return of a missing teen. He said he felt driven to help her, so he set out in search of the girl. Found her within forty-eight hours and returned her home safely.”
“That’s wonderful.”
“It was,” he agrees. “Anyway, he tried to turn down the reward money, but the mother insisted he take it and use it to help more families.”
“And so, Hunt Brothers Search & Rescue was born,” I finish.
He chuckles. “And so, it was.”
Silence surrounds us once again. “It’s great what you guys do. You’re making such a difference in people’s lives.”
“I hope so. I know it feels good when we can do something good for someone else.”
“What did you do when you were in the service? If you can share, that is.”
He smiles, but it’s empty. “I was good at getting into places without anyone ever knowing I was there.” Since he doesn’t elaborate, I imagine those places didn’t leave him with the best memories, so I drop it.
“I wonder what I did. Before, I mean.”
He casts me a sideways look before returning his attention to the road. “I’m thinking rodeo clown.”
I snort, nearly spewing coffee from my nose. “Excuse me?”
He shrugs. “You’re funny.”
“Hold on a second.” I turn in my seat so I can see him more clearly. “You think I was a rodeo clown because I’m funny?”
“That tree ring joke was gold.”
“But a clown ?”
He laughs, a deep, booming, joyous sound that once again takes me by surprise. The man laughs so infrequently you’d think he rarely felt joy. “Fair enough. Maybe not a rodeo clown. Though I could see you facing down bulls without batting an eye.”
I grin, wondering if he realizes just how much I needed to hear that. “That’s quite the compliment coming from a soldier like you, sir.” He chuckles but doesn’t say anything else.
After taking another sip of my coffee, I stare out the window. It’s been miles and miles of smooth driving, just a flat road and no traffic. It’s been easy to forget that we’re technically going to try to find out why a woman was murdered rather than taking a vacation.
I take a deep breath. “Tell me something else you think about me. What have you observed?”
“You like your coffee black, which means you likely drink it on the go. That makes me believe you’re a person who balances a busy schedule.”
“So I’m motivated and brave, go on.”
He smiles. “You also tend to dress in muted colors, so I’d say rodeo clown really is off the table of possible careers.”
“You’re the one who put it on in the first place.”
“You’re quick to trust some people but are cautious around others, which means you either have a great judge of character or aren’t afraid of anyone hurting you.”
“Which do you think it is?”
He meets my gaze for a moment then looks back out at the road. “Both.” The way he says it leaves a heaviness in the cab of the truck. “I would guess that you’re a good judge of character because you’ve had to be.”
“Why is that?”
“Why would it be? You’ve been hurt. At some point in your life, someone betrayed you. But you refused to let it steal your light, so you turned that knowledge into a weapon of self-preservation.”
I stare back at him, imagining all of the things he’s saying. Is it possible he really read me that well? Or am I merely confused and acting out of character? “You have unpacked me so elegantly, Hunt.”
He chuckles. “Bradyn is better at reading people than I am, but I do have some observation skills of my own.”
“Do you all have your own special expertise? Or do you all train in everything?”
“As I said, Bradyn is great at reading people and situations. If he weren’t prepping for his wedding, I would’ve insisted he come with us. There have been plenty of times his skill has meant the difference between life and death. Tucker is a master behind a keyboard, and Dylan moves faster and quieter than anyone I’ve seen.”
“And Riley?”
“Riley could sell ice to a penguin,” he replies with a smile. “I hate to admit it, but charm is his superpower. Just don’t tell him I said it.”
I laugh. “Your secret’s safe with me. And you said you’re great at getting into places without anyone knowing.”
“I’m also handy with a lock. There’s not much I can’t get into.”
“Color me impressed, Hunt. That’s quite a skill.”
He shrugs. “It does the job when it’s needed.”
“And how often is it needed?”
“More often than I’d care to admit,” he replies. His phone rings, so he hits a button on his steering wheel. “Hunt. You’re on speakerphone, and Jane is in the car.”
“It’s Gibson,” the sheriff says, his voice coming through the speakers. “Hey, Jane.”
“Hi,” I reply awkwardly.
“What is it?” Elliot asks.
“We got the tox report back on Rosalie Wallace.”
“And?”
“Her blood alcohol level was seven times the legal limit. Even if she’d have wanted to fight back, she wouldn’t have had the strength.”
“So they waited until she was drunk then killed her.” Elliot casts a look at me, likely to check to see how I’m handling the information.
Truthfully, even as horrifying as it is, I’m trying to focus on the facts. “Were there any other markers on her body?” I ask.
“Nothing that would help us ID the killer. She had no DNA under her fingernails or anywhere on her body or clothing. Whoever did it was thorough.”
Elliot lets out a frustrated breath. “Keep me posted if anything pops. We’re halfway to Galveston.”
“Sounds good. You’ll let me know if you find anything?”
“Of course.”
“Good luck.”
The call ends, and Elliot is silent for a few moments. “How are you feeling?”
“Fine. Lani checked the injury before we left and said everything looked great. She sent me with some fresh bandages, which I’ve been told I have to put on tonight, and other than being afraid I’ll mess that up, I’m good.”
“You won’t mess it up. Maybe you were a doctor.”
I roll my eyes. “Maybe. And maybe I was a sometimes-broody former Special Forces soldier.”
He laughs. “Given that you took down a professional hitman? It wouldn’t surprise me.”