Three #3
“I’m sorry to hear that your mother was shot.” He kept his voice low and soothing. “Are you saying they never found her killer?”
“Correct. Mostly because my mother didn’t have any ID, and nobody had reported her missing.
Her face was badly bruised, too, as if she’d been in a fight.
From what I was able to discover, the police artist created a sketch of my mother’s likeness and flashed it on the media.
But no one ever came forward to identify her.
” Nina grimaced. “Obviously the identity of my biological father remains a mystery. Uncle Mark was the only DNA match on the site.”
Jackson considered that. Twenty-eight years ago, social media wasn’t as prevalent as it was now. Maybe the sketch hadn’t been enough for someone to have noticed the resemblance. “Until you found your uncle all these years later.”
“Yes. Through a DNA site.” She played with the hem of her shirt.
“The first time I called him, he thought I was playing a prank. The second time, he believed me when I described what I looked like. He insisted we meet in person to discuss what happened to my mother. When he said he was responsible…” Her voice trailed off.
“I didn’t really think he meant it. I got the impression he hung out with a rough crowd and maybe my mother got caught in the cross fire. ”
“Maybe, but that wouldn’t explain her bruised face.” Jackson could see why Nina had been so eager to take time off work to drive halfway across the state to meet her uncle. “He didn’t say anything else?” He was specifically wondering about Nina’s biological father.
“No.” She tucked a springy curl behind her ear.
“To be honest he sounded rather paranoid. And when I first glimpsed his cabin, I wondered if he was one of those live-off-the-grid types. I even thought he might ask for money.” She turned on the edge of the bed to face him.
“When I found him dead, I couldn’t believe he’d killed himself.
I just don’t think he’d do that if he knew I was coming. ”
“I would suggest his guilt got too much for him, but after the gunmen showed up, that’s a load of baloney.” Jackson reached for her hand. “I’m sorry you had to go through that.”
She clung to his hand. “The worst part was the fact that I’ll never know what he meant about being responsible for her death.”
“You’re the tech whiz—I’m sure you looked into his background.”
“I tried, but you’d be surprised at how many Mark Langes there are in the system.” Nina grimaced. “I’ll try again now, but I was hoping to learn more about him and his life with my mother when we talked. At this point I don’t even have a date of birth for him.”
Jackson cocked his head. “I admit I think it’s odd that he doesn’t have a driver’s license on file.”
“Right? I thought so, too. When I drove up to the cabin, I noticed there wasn’t a car parked there, which matched his not having a driver’s license. That’s what made me think he might be one of those guys who prefer to fly under the radar.”
The more he heard about Nina’s Uncle Mark, the more suspicious he became about the man’s motives. Maybe the older man had lured Nina there with the hopes of cashing in. Money in exchange for details about her mother’s death.
Yet even if that was the case, who had killed him?
If the motive was money, and Mark was in debt, the bad guys wouldn’t just kill him. Dead men didn’t pay back loans. Were they wrong about the suicide angle? Maybe Mark Lange had killed himself.
“I think my uncle’s death is connected to my mother’s cold case murder.”
He arched a brow. “How did you come to that conclusion?”
“Uncle Mark didn’t want to talk about my mother over the phone.
I think he knew far more than he let on about what happened twenty-eight years ago.
And I also think those gunmen showed up to find me, because they think Mark had already confided in me.
That I know whatever he knew.” Her green eyes held a stubborn glint.
“I’m not sure how they knew my uncle and I planned to meet, unless they were watching the house or managed to tap his phone.
Either way, we need to work together on this, Jackson. ”
He was about to suggest she let him handle the legwork moving forward when he noticed the flash of headlights between the crack in the curtains. He frowned and moved toward the window, carefully peering outside.
The large frame of a pickup truck had his pulse jumping into triple digits. He pulled his Glock and hunkered down, glancing at Nina. “Get in the bathroom and call 911.”
Her eyes widened, but she did as she asked, dialing as she ran toward the bathroom.
Seconds later, bullets shattered the glass of the window. Jackson ducked below the windowsill, desperately gauging how much time he had to hold them off until help arrived.
When more gunfire rang out, he grimly realized he had seconds, not minutes. He silently prayed for God’s strength and wisdom. Then drawing in a deep breath, he lifted his head and returned fire.