He frowned when he thought of Rory taking the picture. He didn’t like the idea of the guy watching her, stalking her.

No way he could have gotten close and she’d not seen him. So where had he been? He conjured the image of the terrain around her ranch house. There’d been a hill at three o’clock. He’d had to have been there. And the photo had to have been taken with a telephoto lens.

There’d been no camera in Rory’s room. Where was the camera? Where had he gotten it? He shifted his attention from Greer to the background. Thunderclouds formed in the distance. Monday’s rain clouds hadn’t materialized and there’d been no dark clouds in the sky. The last hard rain that area had seen had been three weeks ago. Everyone had reported Rory had been in town only a week. Had they been wrong? Had he been here longer? Or had someone else taken the photos?

“Get the fuck out of there!”

Mitch’s strangled cry shot down the hallway like a bullet.

Bragg jumped off the couch and ran down the hallway to the kid’s room. Mitch lay on his back, shirtless, a sheet twisted around his midsection as he thrashed back and forth. “Get the fuck out of there!”

Bragg crossed the room in three strides and reached for the boy’s shoulder.

“Mitch! Wake up!” he commanded.

As quick as a rattler, Mitch balled up his fist, drew it back, and swung. It hit Bragg square in the jaw.

The Ranger wasn’t prepared for the blow, and the pain cut through him, making him ball his own fists as he staggered back. Anger rose up in him like an animal and his first instinct was to strike back hard. Heart racing in his chest, he took a step back until he could corral the fury.

“Mitch,” he shouted. “Wake up!”

The kid started awake and sat up in bed. Sweat beaded on his forehead and his breathing was labored and quick. His wild gaze slowly cleared.

“Mitch.” The calmness in Bragg’s voice surprised him.

“Yeah.” He shoved his fingers over his short hair.

“Bad dream?”

“Yeah.”

He rubbed his knuckle over the tender skin on his jaw. “Want to talk about it?”

Mitch shook his head and lay back down. “No.”

“Want a glass of water or a soda?”

He rolled on his side away from Bragg. “No. Thanks.”

A heavy silence hung between them as Bragg searched for the right words. He couldn’t find one so he backed out of the room. He closed the door partway, leaving it cracked so that light from the hallway could seep inside.

Bragg hadn’t planned on attending Greer’s fund-raiser but knew now he would. And though he could tell himself his interests were for Mitch or the case, he’d be lying. He wanted her for himself.

“When is she going to wake up?”

“I don’t know,” Jackson said.

He stared through the small window at Sara lying on the floor of the freezer. He’d turned the temperature down low, but not so low that it would kill her before she woke.

“Can’t you wake her?”

“I want her to wake up on her own.”

“Why?” she challenged.

“Why are you so impatient?”

“We don’t have a lot of time. If you’re going to keep to the schedule, we have only five more days.”

Jackson traced Sara’s image on the glass. “She’ll wake up soon, and we’ll meet our schedule.”

“How can you be sure?”

He smiled. “Because I am.”

“What about the one after her? Have you laid the groundwork?”

He frowned. “Yes. I’ve prepped all the rest. And I will deal with each in their own time.”

Chapter Nine

Wednesday, June 4, 8 A.M.

Greer sat in her office going over the details for the fund-raiser she was hosting for the Crisis Center. She’d started at the center years ago answering phones during the late-night hours. She’d planned to simply answer phone calls. Stay on the fringe. But somewhere along the way she’d caught the attention of Dr. Stewart, who became chairman of the nonprofit’s board last year. Dr. Stewart had liked Greer and invited her to join the committee.

Greer had said no at first but Dr. Stewart wasn’t an easy man to refuse so she’d promised to help a little. Give Dr. Stewart an inch, and he’d charm you out of a mile.

Greer had found herself on the marketing committee and somehow had agreed to host a fund-raiser at Bonneville.

No sense worrying how she’d gotten sucked into this event. She was here and all she could do was make the best of it.

Tables. Chairs. Signs. Food. Wine, of course. Her checklist was complete. She was good at logistics. Ask her to arrange the field workers for harvest. Done. Coordinate Bonneville’s booth at the growers’ association meeting. Easy. Handle a truck, broken irrigation lines, or bug infestation. No sweat. But ask her to deal directly with people, and she was damn near a mess.

She’d not always been like this. Before the accident she could walk up to anyone and start a conversation. Her parents had held many business cocktail parties, and they expected Greer and Jeff to make an appearance. Ironically, it was Jeffrey who didn’t like the limelight and Greer who filled the conversation lulls with lively chatter and laughter.

The crunch of gravel under tires had her looking out her office window toward the main entrance. No one came or left the vineyard’s main entrance without her seeing. She didn’t like surprises. Too many lawyers and reporters had surprised her at her parents’ Austin home after the accident. Twelve years had softened the leeriness but not broken it.

A white four-door sedan drove up in a cloud of dust, parking in front of the main tasting room. She didn’t recognize the car and found herself tensing as she rose. She still hated surprises.

The driver’s-side door opened and a tall, slender woman dressed in soft pinks appeared. Dark sunglasses hid her face but Greer would have recognized the stiff-backed posture anywhere. Her mother.

Smoothing her fingers over her hair drawn back into a tight ponytail, she moved toward the front door. Though the urge to hide was strong, she refused. She’d made a promise to stop hiding from the world, and though she had her faults, she never broke a promise.

Greer pushed open the front door and found her mother studying the building with a critical eye. Mom had not been to the vineyard in well over a decade and the times they’d met had been at the family home in Austin or at Jeff’s grave. The vineyard had changed a good bit since then. Greer took pride that she’d been so much a part of the vineyard’s transformation.

“Mom,” Greer said. “This is a surprise.”

Glancing from side to side, Sylvia Templeton approached her daughter. Those who didn’t know Sylvia would describe her smile as bright, but Greer saw the frost. “How are you doing, Greer?”

She allowed her mother to wrap a stiff arm around her. “I’m fine. What brings you out here?”

Sylvia released her daughter and stepped back as if she didn’t like the physical contact. “Can’t I come and see my daughter?”

“Of course.” Already formality had hardened Greer’s tone. Before the accident her mother had not been the most approachable person, but after she’d all but ignored her second child. Hard disappointments had enabled Greer to build the wall between them brick by brick. “You’ve not been out here in over ten years, Mom.”

“Maybe it’s time, Elizabeth.”

The sound of her first name grated. “What do you want, Mom?”

Sylvia and Lydia had been sisters. Lydia was the younger of the two and from what little Greer had gathered Lydia had been the vivacious one. The outgoing one. The sisters had had a falling out long before Greer was born and had barely spoken over the next three decades. Family lore hinted Sylvia had stolen Lydia’s fiancé. Greer had always discounted the idea. She could never picture her father with her aunt. Once she’d asked her aunt, who’d not laughed at the absurd question. Instead, Lydia’s expression turned sad. Greer had never received a real answer.