Buried: A Bone Secrets Novel Part 11

Michael thanked her and steered Jamie out the door with his hand on her back again. She blinked at the sun that was starting to set.

"I'm freaking starved," Michael muttered. "Let's eat and find the sheriff, then find your brother."

Jamie silently agreed, feeling her stomach rumble at the thought of enchiladas drowning in melted cheese. A sign a block away indicated it was the town diner. She locked her gaze on it and walked faster.

Michael moved his hand from her back to firmly hold her hand. She gave him a smile, but his gaze was focused ahead on three men lounging in front of the tiny grocery store. One man wore an ap.r.o.n with the grocery store logo, and the other two men each held a soda can-c.o.ke and Diet c.o.ke. Jamie's mouth was instantly dry.

"Simon, your break is up." A heavyset woman with black hair piled on top of her head stepped out of the grocery door. Spotting Jamie and Michael, she grinned and offered a greeting. Her name tag read "Janet."

"You two look parched," Janet said. "The air's real dry here. Not too hot today, but it'll still drain your fluids. Better pick up some waters."

Obviously, this was a town where everyone knew everyone else. She and Michael probably stuck out like pigs in an opera.

"We're headed to eat but probably should put some in the car," said Michael. Janet followed them in the store. Behind her came Simon in his ap.r.o.n and the two men with sodas. They watched Michael select two bottled waters like they hadn't seen outsiders in months.

"Sheriff Spencer been by?" Michael asked. He plopped the bottles on the counter, ignoring the scrutiny. Jamie lifted her chin. What was their problem?

Janet lifted a brow at Simon, who spoke as he scanned their bottles. "About twenty minutes ago. Bought coffee."

"What you needing the sheriff for?" Janet asked. "Everything okay? You just got to town, right? Surely you haven't run into a problem already."

Jamie swallowed her laughter. Small towns.

"We're just looking for someone," Michael replied.

"Well, you're standing in the right place." Janet gestured at herself and the other men. "Between the four of us, we know everyone around here. Who're you looking for?"

Questioningly, Michael met Jamie's gaze. She shrugged. Why not?

"Chris Jacobs."

The four stared at Michael and Jamie and then exchanged glances.

"What? What's the deal?" Michael folded his arms over his chest. He studied each townie intently, almost hawk-like. Jamie swore she saw his nostrils flare like he was scenting prey.

Janet wrinkled her nose. "What do you want with him? I've never seen him even speak to another person. Well, he talks some to old Juan. But that's it. That boy of his doesn't seem to ever speak either. Doesn't even go to school. Delores went out to his house, told him the boy needed to be in school. He said he was homeschooling the boy and meeting the state standards and told her to keep her nose to herself." Janet let out a huff. "Boy should be in school. Needs socializing, otherwise he's gonna be a hermit just like his father. There's more to schooling than books."

Jamie's heart cracked. Her nephew. Janet was talking about her nephew. How on earth was Chris raising him?

"What happened to the boy's mother?" Michael asked.

The question surprised Jamie. Michael had already read what'd happened, but as a reporter, she figured he always wanted to hear what others had to say.

The four townsfolk exchanged looks again.

"Car accident," Diet c.o.ke man stated.

Michael and Jamie waited in silence for someone to continue. Jamie saw Janet start to open her mouth and then close it.

"Sad business that," Simon expanded. All four nodded.

Janet fidgeted with her ap.r.o.n, frowning. "She was driving. Alone. Went off the road into a tree. Not a mile from their house. Sheriff said she probably died instantly. Old car didn't have an airbag."

Michael's hawk brows shot together. "What ran her off the road? An animal? She drunk?" The man wasn't nearly satisfied with Janet's story.

Janet shrugged. "Who knows? She wasn't drunk. No alcohol at all in her."

Jamie grabbed her water. "Let's go. I'm starved." She didn't want to hear gossip. These people obviously weren't fond of her brother. Any words out of their mouths would be biased. She had a hunch they were about to blame her brother for the car accident.

"Nice to meet you," Michael said over his shoulder as they headed out the door.

"You too. Sheriff's probably down at the diner. He usually eats dinner about this time," Janet called after them.

Jamie power-walked down the sidewalk, and Michael grabbed at her hand. "Slow down," he said, pulling back on her. "What's wrong?"

Jamie shook her head. "Those people. They don't know Chris, but they judge him anyway. That's how it's been his entire life. People just look at the outside."

"Well, sounds like he's not letting anyone see inside."

"And that poor little boy. I don't even know my nephew's name! No mother. And it sounds like Chris is raising him to be as introverted as he is."

"Well, at least his dad is spending time with him."

Jamie stopped and turned to look at Michael. He had a shuttered look on his face. "That's true. It's important to have that connection. But the boy needs more in his life. I'm going to talk to Chris about moving back home. Janet has a point. The boy needs to be around other children."

"Think he'll be open to that?" Michael's tone wasn't optimistic.

"I hope so." Jamie felt a heavy weight on her heart as they started walking toward the diner. It'd been so hard for Chris to adjust when he came home from the hospital. School became the enemy. No, the children and many of the adults in school had become the enemy. People in general were the enemy because they stared at him and talked about him like he wasn't right in front of them, hearing every word.

She'd been confused as a child, unable to figure out her big brother's thoughts. Her big brother was home...but he wasn't. For two years, she'd prayed for G.o.d to send her brother home. He finally did, but Chris was seriously damaged inside and out, and Jamie didn't understand.

She could see the outside damage. The marks on his face, the scars on his arms, the bony protrusions at all his joints, the lopsidedness to his jaw where it'd been broken and never healed right. She remembered the first time she'd seen him in the hospital. He'd been so still, his eyes closed and his face swathed in bandages. She'd gently held his fingers, the only part of him that looked like it didn't hurt, and they'd softly squeezed back. Jamie had studied his hospital bed, so many tubes and machines.

Her mother hadn't left his bedside since he'd been found. Her father had driven back and forth between the hospital and his job, seeing Jamie at dinnertime where he'd promise Chris would be coming home soon.

Looking at him in that hospital bed, Jamie knew it was going to be a long time before her brother truly came home.

Over those next few weeks, she lost count of the number of times she said, "Chris is doing good, and he'll be home soon." This was in reply to neighbors, teachers, and even strangers who somehow knew about her brother. That was probably from the TV. Chris's story was frequently on the TV, even though the reporters never talked to him or her parents.

Her parents whispered to each other all the time. Outside his hospital room, in the car, in their bedroom. Sometimes it sounded like they were arguing in whispers. Jamie heard them mention brain damage and burns and therapy. Her mother cried a lot, not nearly as much as when Chris first went missing, but more than a mother should when her lost boy has finally come home. Jamie played silently with her Barbies, read books, watched TV, and waited for someone to tell her when her family would be back to normal.

Chris missed another year of school. Three years total. His parents had pushed for him to return when he could walk without needing to rest every ten feet, but Chris said he wasn't ready. He was nearly fourteen and should have been starting high school with his friends. Instead, he'd avoided his friends, telling them he was too tired and telling his parents he didn't like the way his friends stared at his scars. Eventually, they stopped coming around. When he could look at a book without getting headaches, he'd started studying. And studying. His parents had bought their first computer, and Chris took it over. After a lot of discussion, his mother had designed a path for him to get his GED. That decision seemed to alleviate some of his stress.

He'd helped Jamie with her homework, tugged on her black braids, and called her "Licorice," like he had before he'd vanished. His own light-brown hair grew back uneven and patchy from where he'd had the surgery on his skull. He kept it buzzed short, making him look like he was from Auschwitz, not Oregon. He never gained enough weight to resemble the healthy, heavy athletic boy he'd been before. Until the day he moved out, he'd looked anorexic and pale.

Looking back, Jamie understood why her parents didn't force Chris to go to school, but was it the wisest decision? Would he be the hermit that he is today if he'd been forced to socialize? Or would he simply have more internal scars?

She knew absolutely nothing about her brother.

Everyone had tiptoed around him. Were they simply enablers of his condition? Jamie had spent years learning about educating children and their behaviors, but suddenly it all went out the window when it came down to the emotions stirred up by her brother. Had they done right by Chris? First her parents and then her. Had she done the right thing by letting him dictate the limits of their relationship? Should she have pushed for him to give her more?

"Ouch!" Michael said, jerking them to a stop and dropping her hand.

"What?"

"You're about to break my hand. You've got a grip like a nun who likes to whip with a ruler." He cradled it like it was broken.

Jamie glanced at his hand. Sure enough, she'd caused the blood to blanch out of his palm.

"I was enjoying holding your hand, but you seemed to not be focusing on the romance of the moment."

"Romance?"

"Yes. You and me in this quaint little town. Walking to dinner, holding hands."

She tried not to roll her eyes. "I was thinking about Chris's recovery and the situation with his son. Sorry, I wasn't seeing the romance of the moment."

Green eyes gazed deep into hers. "I liked holding your hand. I can hold your hand and still look for your brother, right?"

Jamie caught her breath and felt her heart do the tiniest flutter. That shade of green...

Who the heck was Michael Brody? Jedi knight and hand-holder?

"I like you, Jamie Jacobs. I like you a lot. And I have no problem letting you know."

She blinked. He was so direct. It was...refreshing.

Michael was figuring out how to push her happy b.u.t.tons in a fast way. Charmer or not, she was buying what he was selling. Something told her he was much deeper than the casual image he presented. She'd learned to look to the heart of people; it was part of her job. She could spot a bulls.h.i.tter at ten yards. Michael was sending out true, clear signals of honesty.

"When you called me after your attack, I was ready to rip someone's head off. The thought of you being hurt didn't sit well with me. At all." Sparks lit inside his eyes.

Oh my. Her heart did the flutter again. Bigger this time.

He leaned closer, running a warm hand up and down her arm. "Hungry?" His tone said nothing about food.

"Starved," she said. "For dinner," she clarified.

A slow smile stretched across Michael's face, and he took a firm hold of her hand, leading her toward the diner.

Michael looked around the diner. The sheriff was easy to spot by the beige uniform and cowboy hat on the table. Half the tables had patrons, and at the counter, nearly every stool was full. The diner had a tired aura, like it was working on autopilot. Taking in the dated decor, Michael figured that nothing had changed since the midseventies.

Several people glanced over as he and Jamie stepped inside, their looks lingering a little longer than was polite, but eventually turned back to their food. Sheriff Spencer made eye contact, held it for two seconds, and then waved them over. Michael let Jamie walk ahead of him. Watching the customers, he realized Jamie in her snug shorts drew every man's gaze, not just his own. He met the gaze of one younger man who'd discreetly watched Jamie walk by.

Yep, she's with me.

Let them stare. He was the one who'd be walking out with the woman.

Michael inwardly frowned. Well...Jamie was with him. But not in the way he wanted. Not yet. Once he set his mind to something, he succeeded. And his mind was set on Jamie. She just needed a little convincing. He was good at that.

Sheriff Spencer was shaking Jamie's hand, introducing himself. He reached out to Michael, and they shook. "I knew the minute you walked in the door you were the folks from Portland. We don't get a lot of visitors through here."

"So we've found out," Jamie commented.

The sheriff gestured for them to sit at his table and waved the waitress over. "You hungry? The enchiladas here are incredible. The owner's married to my receptionist and really knows his food."

That explained Sara's restaurant recommendation.

The sheriff didn't look at all like he'd sounded on the phone. His voice was low and raspy like an older, bigger man, but he couldn't be a day over forty or a pound over one-sixty. Thin and wiry, he looked like a runner who'd been jogging in the sun. A lot.

Michael and Jamie both ordered cheese enchiladas and dug into the bowl of tortilla chips the waitress plopped down on the table. Michael took a bite and felt it melt in his mouth. d.a.m.n, they were good. Hot, fresh, crisp.

"Watch the salsa," warned the sheriff. "It's got some kick."

Jamie dipped a tentative corner into the salsa, took a bite, and sighed in appreciation.

They made polite small talk as Michael tried not to make a pig of himself with the chips. Their drive, the weather, the food. The salsa rocked. The sheriff was right; it had kick, but an awesome kick.

The sheriff rubbed his hands together. "I know you're not here for the food. Let's talk about this guy you're looking for. Chris Jacobs. Now, the reason I asked you to check in with me before heading out there wasn't just for the directions. You'll need to watch your odometer, keeping track of the tenths of miles to know where to turn; there's no signage out that way. You could drive around for hours and not find it. What I really wanted to do was warn you to be careful. That boy's a crack shot with a rifle, and the rifle usually greets any visitors before he does."

Michael noticed Jamie stop with a chip halfway to her mouth and slowly lay it back on her plate. "He shoots at people?" Her voice cracked.

"No. I'd say he's just well prepared. I haven't been out there for a while, but around the time of Elena's death, I made several trips. I always saw the rifle before I saw the owner. That's okay. There's a lotta people around here like that. You just need to make your presence known. He doesn't have a landline. If he has a cell phone, I don't know what it is, and I doubt he gets much coverage if he does."

"Back to the rifle," interjected Michael. "He hurt anybody?"

"Nope."

"But you know he's a crack shot?"

"Yep, my deputies have watched him out at the firing range. Said they've never seen anything like his accuracy. Rifle and handgun. Seems to have quite the a.r.s.enal. They've seen him with half a dozen different weapons."

Michael glanced at Jamie. She shook her head. "That's news to me. I didn't know he could shoot."

Shrewd eyes studied Jamie. "How do you know him? He doesn't speak to anyone except old Juan, his closest neighbor. Even he lives half a mile away. Jacobs has lived out there as long as I've been sheriff, and that's been over ten years."

"He's my brother," Jamie said simply. "He moved out when he was eighteen."

The sheriff nodded slowly, his eyes sympathetic. "He keep in contact?"

Jamie shook her head. "Not really."

Sheriff Spencer looked away for a few seconds, pressing his lips together as he thought. Michael watched the man wrestle with a decision. There was something he didn't want to share, and it didn't speak highly of Chris Jacobs.

"Spill it," Michael ordered. He took Jamie's hand under the table and gently squeezed. Her hands were cold.

"Well, I'm not one to gossip-"

"Then don't. If you don't know it to be true, then I don't want to hear about it," stated Jamie. Her grip tightened on Michael's hand.