A sadness colder than the frigid room twisted around her heart. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

“Your mother didn’t see it that way. What was it that she called you? Slut? Whore?”

Sara shook her head. “Shut up. You don’t know my mother.”

“I know a lot about your mother and you. She hated you after she found out what you’d done. What did she call you?”

Sara shut her eyes and shook her head. Perhaps her mother didn’t say the words, but that didn’t mean she didn’t feel. How could a mother not love a child? “My mother loves me. My mother loves me.”

“That’s what you want to believe, isn’t it, Sara? You want her to tell you she loves you.”

“I don’t need to hear it. I know it.”

“Sara, you are going to die today.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.” The voice was tender and soft. “That fact is a given and won’t change.”

“No.”

“It’s okay. You know what it feels like to let the cold seep into your bones and steal your life. This is how you tried to kill yourself all those years ago. You ran into the snowstorm without shoes and in your pajamas. You huddled under a tree, and you waited for death to take you.”

“That was a mistake! I know that!”

“When you lay dying, what did you wish for most?”

“I didn’t make a wish!”

That was a lie. She’d wished for several things that night. Most of all she’d wanted to turn back the hands of the clock and erase her meeting Colin Little, the nights of awkward sex, the pregnancy, and the abortion.

Sara, how could you have been such a stupid slut. Your actions are of common trailer trash. You make me sick!

Uncontainable hot tears now spilled over her cold face, burning a path to her chin.

“It’s okay to cry,” he said. “It’s okay to give in to the pain you’ve carried for so long.”

“I’ve not carried the pain.” That was a lie. She had never fully wrestled free of the pain. To this day an icy chill lingered between Sara and her mother. No matter how hard she worked to distance herself from the past it always lurked in the shadows.

“I have a fiancé,” she said. “He will miss me.”

“He won’t miss you. Your mother won’t miss you. You are going to fade away, Sara, like you never happened.”

More tears fell. “Stop it.”

“No. I can’t stop.”

Sara rubbed her hands together as her teeth chattered. As she did she noticed the slim red bracelet curled on the floor. It had been a symbol of friendship. Of loyalty. Though she’d pledged like the others, she’d never intended to keep her promises. She’d thrown away her bracelet the moment she’d left camp.

And now it was back.

Sara tipped her head back. Tears welled in her eyes. “Is this about that time? Is this about that stupid confession?”

“Tell me your dying wish. No one should die without their last wish being fulfilled.”

Her teeth chattered. “I don’t have a wish.”

“Sara, you do. Tell me.”

He spoke to her as if they were great friends. As if she could bare her soul, show him all her warts and he’d never judge or think less of her.

“I want . . .”

“Tell me,” he coaxed.

She closed her eyes. “I want to hear my mother say she loves me.”

For a moment there was only silence and then she heard her mother’s voice. “I love you, Sara.”

Sara sat straighter and searched the corners of the room half expecting her mother. But she remained alone.

“I love you, Sara.”

It was her mother’s voice as clear and distinct as it had always been.

“I love you, Sara.”

The words sounded sweet and perfect. “That’s not my mother’s voice. It’s a fake.”

“Not fake, Sara. You requested to hear her voice and that’s what I’ve given you. It wouldn’t be fair of me to rob you of your dying wish.”

“I love you, Sara. I love you, Sara.”

Sara glanced toward the discarded red rope bracelet and then closed her eyes, listening to the sweet words rolling over her.

She huddled close to the wall, not cold anymore but oddly warm. It was as if the cold had wrapped around her like a big blanket and held her close as her mother had done many years ago.

Sara gave in to the cold and felt oddly grateful.

I love you, Sara. I love you.

Chapter Eleven

Thursday, June 5, 6 A.M.

The sun crested the horizon as Bragg wound up the gravel driveway to the house overlooking Bonneville. A quick check had confirmed Philip Louis owned the property and Rory’s body had been found on the border between this tract and Bonneville.

The house at the top of the drive was all new construction. Sleek and modern, it sat on the hill as if it had staked a claim.

He parked and instead of ringing the doorbell, he walked around the property searching for a view of Greer’s house. Following a stone path, he wound around the house until he came to a small backyard. From the yard he had a clear view of the valley below, including Greer’s ranch house.

Hand on hip, he stood and stared. It would be easy to photograph her from here. As he turned, he saw her emerge from her house. From this distance without a telephoto lens he couldn’t tell what she was doing. But he saw her plain as day.

She’d had a late night but had risen early. He gave her credit. She had an iron grip that kept her moving no matter what.

Feeling a bit like a stalker himself, he turned from the view to find a man hustling across the back lawn.

“Excuse me?” A man’s groggy voice drifted out from the house behind him. Bragg turned to find Philip Louis standing there in shorts, an unbuttoned shirt, and barefooted as if he’d just rolled out of bed. His hair stuck up on end. Hardly the smooth winemaker of last night.

Bragg approached several steps. “Ranger Tec Bragg.”

“What are you doing here?”

He nodded over his shoulder. “You have a clear view of Bonneville from here.”

Louis frowned. “Yeah, so?”

A not-too-friendly smile tweaked the edge of his mouth. “How long have you owned this land?”

“A few years. Bought it from Lydia Bonneville. Why are you asking?”

“We found a body not too far from your house on Monday.”

Louis yawned. “Yeah, I heard about that.”

“Did you?”

“My surveyors told me. Used it as an excuse to delay their work.”

“They can’t work in the area of the crime scene until I release it.”

Louis sniffed. “And when is that going to be?”

“Can’t say.” He turned back toward the view of Bonneville and Greer. “Found pictures of Greer in the dead man’s rented room. He was taking pictures of her from right about here.”

Louis shook his head. “That’s impossible. No one has been up here.”

“You sure about that?”

“Sure. Why not?”

Bragg shrugged. “That could lead me to believe that you took the pictures.”

Louis’s eyes narrowed. “Look, if you are insinuating that I had anything to do with that guy you’re wrong. I couldn’t even tell you his name.”

“Rory Edwards. That ring a bell?”

“No.”

“How long you known Greer Templeton?”

“Eight years, since I started buying my grapes from Bonneville.”

A bite of jealousy jabbed at Bragg simply because the man had known her for years, and he’d just met her days ago. “You own a winery in Fredericksburg, right?”

“Yeah, sure. That’s no secret.”

“Why buy this land?”

“Because it’s great land, and if I can duplicate Greer’s success in growing grapes, then it won’t hurt so bad when she doesn’t sell hers to me anymore.”

“Her making her own wine, that a problem for you?”

Annoyance flashed. “Yeah, it is. I like her grapes, and I don’t need any more competition than I already have.”

“Make you mad enough to derail her operation?”

He shook his head. “No. Why would you say something like that?”