Chapter 1 - THE MAN WITH THE FLOWERS.
“They didn’t want the recordings.”
Emily Carter could barely get the sentence out.
Her voice was so thin Blake had to lean closer to hear it over the steady electronic beep beside her hospital bed. He had been in that room less than ten minutes. His camouflage uniform still carried the dry dust of an airfield, and the straps of his military pack were still hanging from his shoulders because nobody had given him enough time to think about taking it off.
He had expected to find his wife hurt.
He had not expected to find her afraid.
There was a difference.
Pain made Emily close her eyes when she moved. Fear made her watch the door.
Both of her legs were suspended beneath the blanket, immobilized inside external fixation frames. Metal rods disappeared beneath carefully wrapped dressings. Dark stains showed through near one bandaged section before disappearing beneath clean hospital gauze.
Blake had spent years learning how to look at a room before he looked at the people inside it.
Door.
Window.
Hallway.
Medical cart.
IV stand.
His wife.
Her left hand was wrapped around his.
Her right hand had been hidden beneath the blanket.
Until now.
Emily lifted it perhaps three inches.
A small black voice recorder rested in her palm.
A tiny red light blinked.
Blake’s eyes dropped to it.
“What recordings?”
Emily tightened her fingers around his hand hard enough that he felt the effort it cost her.
“Travis was stealing land.”
For a second Blake said nothing.
He knew the name.
Everybody in Bellweather County knew the name Mercer.
Mercer Development signs stood beside new subdivisions, shopping centers, medical offices, and nearly every large construction project that had appeared along the interstate during the past decade.
Travis Mercer was the face people saw in newspaper photographs when a ribbon was cut.
Thirty-three years old. Expensive suits. Easy smile.
The kind of man local politicians called by his first name.
Blake had met him twice.
Both times, Travis had remembered Blake’s name.
Blake had once considered that impressive.
Now his wife was lying beneath hospital sheets with steel supporting both legs and a voice recorder hidden under her blanket.
Blake looked at the recorder again.
“How much is on there?”
Emily swallowed.
“Enough.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“I know.”
Her eyes shifted toward the door.
Blake followed them.
Nothing.
Only the hallway.
A nurse passed without looking inside.
Blake lowered his voice.
“Did somebody do this to you?”
Emily’s face tightened.
He regretted the question immediately because he saw the answer she was trying not to give him.
Not yes.
Not no.
Something worse.
“I don’t know.”
Blake stayed still.
Emily breathed through another wave of pain.
“The police asked about the crash,” she whispered. “I told them what I remembered.”
“What do you remember?”
“A vehicle behind me.”
“What vehicle?”
“Dark SUV.”
“Did it hit you?”
“I don’t know.”
That mattered.
Blake knew it mattered.
He had spent enough years around investigations to understand the difference between what a person believed and what a person could prove.
Emily apparently understood it too.
She did not say Travis had caused the wreck.
She did not say someone had attacked her.
She said they did not want the recordings.
Blake glanced toward the recorder.
“Who’s ‘they’?”
Emily opened her mouth.
Footsteps sounded in the hallway.
Not hurried.
Measured.
Emily’s fingers locked around Blake’s hand.
Blake turned.
A man appeared in the doorway holding an enormous bouquet of white lilies and pale roses.
Travis Mercer.
Dark tailored suit.
Perfect hair.
No tie loosened. No coat slung over an arm. No sign he had rushed to the hospital after hearing someone he knew had almost died.
He looked as composed as a man arriving at a charity dinner.
Then he smiled.
“Blake.”
Travis said the name warmly, as though finding Emily’s husband beside her bed was a pleasant surprise.
“Man, I heard you got back.”
Blake did not stand.
Travis’s gaze moved to Emily.
“I’m glad you’re awake.”
Emily’s hand disappeared beneath the blanket.
The recorder went with it.
Blake noticed.
He also noticed Travis’s eyes dip for just a fraction of a second before returning to Emily’s face.
Maybe Travis had seen the recorder.
Maybe he had only seen movement.
Blake did not know.
So he stored the detail and said nothing.
Travis lifted the bouquet slightly.
“Brought these.”
Emily stared at him.
There had been a time when Blake would have described Travis Mercer as charming.
That word no longer seemed useful.
“Put them on the counter,” Emily said.
Her voice was weak, but there was nothing welcoming in it.
Travis paused.
Then smiled again.
“Of course.”
He crossed the room.
Blake watched his shoes.
Polished black leather. Not a spot on them.
Travis placed the bouquet on the counter beside a plastic hospital pitcher.
It was almost comical.
The flowers were probably worth more than the old winter coat Emily had refused to replace last year because she said there was nothing wrong with it.
They filled half the counter.
Luxury had entered the room before explanation did.
Travis turned back.
“How are you feeling?”
Emily looked at Blake instead of answering.
Travis’s smile thinned.
“Doctors treating you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Good.”
Another pause.
“I was worried.”
Blake finally spoke.
“How did you hear?”
Travis looked at him.
“About the accident?”
“Yes.”
“Small county.”
“That fast?”
Travis gave a quiet laugh.
“You’ve been gone a while, Blake. Nothing stays private around here.”
Emily’s monitor continued its steady rhythm.
Beep.
Beep.
Beep.
Blake studied him.
“What happened?”
Travis’s expression changed just enough to suggest confusion.
“With what?”
“Emily.”
“I assumed you’d know more than I do.”
“I landed this morning.”
“Right.”
Travis glanced at Emily again.
“Sheriff’s office said she lost control out near County Road Nine.”
Emily’s eyes moved sharply toward him.
Blake felt it through her hand before he saw it in her face.
“Sheriff’s office told you that?” Blake asked.
Travis shrugged.
“I know people.”
There it was.
Not even arrogance.
Something more ordinary.
Expectation.
Travis Mercer knew people.
Of course he did.
People who worked hourly jobs worried whether taking two hours off for a school meeting would cost them part of a paycheck.
People like Travis worried about whether the meeting conflicted with another meeting.
Blake had grown up around enough money to recognize it when it became invisible to the person carrying it.
Travis stepped closer to the foot of the bed.
Emily’s shoulders tightened.
Blake noticed.
He moved his chair slightly.
Not dramatic.
Just enough to put himself more directly between Travis and Emily.
Travis noticed that too.
“Look,” Travis said, “I don’t want to intrude. I just wanted her to know people are thinking about her.”
“Which people?” Emily asked.
Travis’s eyes settled on her.
“The people who care about you.”
Emily almost laughed.
It hurt too much.
Her face twisted instead.
Travis stepped forward automatically.
Blake stood.
That stopped him.
For the first time, the pleasant expression on Travis’s face became something else.
Not fear.
Calculation.
“Easy,” he said.
“I’m standing.”
“Blake.”
“What?”
Travis raised one hand.
“Nothing.”
Blake stared at him.
Emily spoke from the bed.
“Travis.”
He turned.
Her eyes were heavy with medication, bruising dark along one cheek, but her attention was clear.
“You should leave.”
Something passed across Travis’s face.
It disappeared quickly.
“Sure.”
He looked at Blake.
“Anything you need, call me.”
Blake did not answer.
Travis walked toward the door.
Then Emily said something that stopped him.
“I made copies.”
Blake looked down at her.
He had not known that.
Travis stopped with one hand near the doorframe.
For two seconds he did not turn around.
Then he looked over his shoulder.
“Copies of what?”
Emily closed her eyes.
Blake watched Travis.
Nobody spoke.
Finally Travis smiled again.
The same polished smile he had brought into the room with the flowers.
“I’ll let you rest.”
He left.
His footsteps faded down the corridor.
Blake waited until he could no longer hear them.
Then he looked at Emily.
“Copies of what?”
Emily opened her eyes.
“The files.”
“Where?”
She hesitated.
That frightened him more than anything Travis had done.
“Emily.”
“One copy is with somebody Travis doesn’t know I talked to.”
Blake leaned closer.
“Who?”
Emily looked toward the oversized bouquet on the counter.
May you like
Then back at him.
“A woman whose house isn’t hers anymore.”
