Edwards frowned. “Don’t know and don’t care. She left, which was good enough for me.”

“I’ll ask her mother,” Bragg said. “She should know where her daughter is.”

“My mother knew the Templeton family. After the accident Mrs. Templeton would talk about Jeff, the son she lost, but she never mentioned Elizabeth.”

Elizabeth had made a terrible mistake as a teenager. She’d killed two people. And then tried to kill herself. As much as he disapproved of the girl’s choice a part of him pitied her. Some people, like his sister, were simply weak by nature.

What he needed to figure was if her past losses drove her to now kill.

Edwards rested his hands on his hips. “Do you really think Elizabeth could be involved in this? It’s been twelve years since the two saw each other.”

“It’s been twelve years as far as you know,” Winchester offered as he set down the crystal award. “You said you’d not seen Rory for a year.”

Edwards nodded. “True.”

“We’ll be in touch in a day or two about your brother’s remains. The medical examiner will likely release the body by the end of the week.”

David shook his head. “There’s no rush at this point. It’s over for Rory.”

Neon lights blinked orange and red in the window of Mulligan’s bar. Greer Templeton pushed through the front door, stopping as her eyes adjusted from the bright afternoon sun to the dim light of the bar. Music played from an old-style jukebox in the corner. There was a long pine bar to her left, backed by a mirrored wall and shelves full of liquor bottles. Every wooden stool around the bar was full of someone with a drink. She searched the faces of the men, her scrutiny catching the attention of several. One grinned and, taking his half-filled beer mug with him, pushed off the stool and walked toward her. He was a tall, burly, jean-clad guy with weathered features and shoulder-length gray hair.

“You searching for me, little lady?” His gruff voice held a hint of humor. “I might be just what you need.”

Greer scanned the room, barely acknowledging the man. “Nope.”

“How do you know?” He didn’t shy away from openly studying her. “I might be just right for you.”

Greer met his gaze. “You’re not.”

The man’s smile faded. “I could make you want me.”

“Doubtful.” With a sharp glance, she dismissed him and the suggestive tone underlying his words. The man muttered an oath, but she didn’t bother to turn around as she moved away. She didn’t come into Austin during the day often and wasn’t accustomed to the crowds, noise, or congestion. Each time she did venture into town the population seemed to have doubled.

She made her way through the dim pub toward the back. The guy she wanted was young, tall, and wide-shouldered with posture like a soldier. And if she didn’t miss her guess, he had chosen the darkest, most secluded booth because it’s what she would have chosen.

She found him in the last booth, slumped over a half-eaten sandwich and staring into his beer. He was young. Barely over twenty, he had dark hair, tanned skin, and a square jaw. He wore a dark T-shirt, jeans, and a thick watch on his left wrist. His face retained a boyish quality contradicting coiled tautness reminiscent of a spring ready to pop.

Drawing in a breath, she questioned the sanity of her decision. She should leave well enough alone. Just walk away. Take care of number one. But a promise was a promise, and the sooner it was met the faster she could retreat.

Gritting her teeth, she slid into the opposite side of his booth. He glanced up, studied her, his gaze narrowing.

“My name is Greer.”

Dark circles under his eyes told her he wasn’t sleeping. And if she didn’t miss her guess, eating was a chore, and he’d pulled away from everyone who tried to help. He amounted to a lot of work and trouble.

Annoyed, he eased back against the back of the booth. He didn’t want her here, likely wanted to tell her to shove off, but something in him kept him from being overtly rude.

“You’re Mitch.”

He swirled the straw a bit faster in the soda as a subtle anxiety rippled through him. “Maybe.”

She really did not want to do this. She did not want to reach out, connect, or have contact with this kid and the pain he carried. But she had a debt. And she paid her debts.

She laid her palms on the table and stared at her deeply tanned hands before raising her gaze to him. “Mitch Bragg, right?”

“If my uncle has sent you to talk to me, I’m not buying. I want to be left alone.” Fatigue coated each word.

She understood that kind of fatigue. It ran bone deep and demanded he crawl into bed and pull the blankets over his head. That had been her once. And it had taken her a year to shake the exhaustion. “I’ve never met your uncle. And I honestly don’t care to.”

He arched a brow. “Who are you?”

“Greer.”

“I don’t know you.”

“I don’t know you, either.”

“Go away.”

“Believe me, I’d love to. In fact, nothing would make me happier right now.”

His scowl deepened. “Then go.”

She flatted her hands on the table. “I don’t come into town much, and I’m not a fan of crowds. They make me irritable. I’m hoping to get out of here before it gets too busy.”

A hint of knowing flickered in his gaze as he studied her, taking in her long braided brown hair, weathered blue T-shirt, jeans, and the two silver bracelets hugging her left wrist. “Get to the point.”

Several loud patrons burst through the front of the pub. Their loud laughter echoed off the dark walls covered with hundreds of photographs. Soon the place would be filling up, and she already itched to be in her truck driving out of town.

“A friend asked me to talk to you.”

“I don’t like to talk.”

“Thank God.” She didn’t hide her relief. “I don’t like to talk. So we will keep this short.”

He studied her, confusion seeping through annoyance. “You aren’t making sense.”

“I heard you needed a job. I need help. I run a vineyard outside of town.”

Amusement flickered behind the annoyance. “I don’t know a single fact about wine.”

“I need a strong man who can work the land. I don’t need experts. I’ve plenty of those. You’d be doing manual labor. You’ll start with picking weeds.”

“Why me?”

“Heard from a friend of a friend you could use a job and seeing Memorial Day just passed it makes sense to hire a vet.”

A bitter smile twisted the edge of his lips. “I’m your patriotic duty?”

“Maybe. Does it matter?”

“I don’t know.”

She pulled a card from her back pocket. “This is my place. About thirty miles outside of Austin in the Hill Country. We’re really not easy to find so you’ll have to be on the lookout for our sign. It’s small. If you want the work, then come. If you want to sit in the dark and drink warm beer and eat shitty food, have at it. Makes no difference to me. I promised I’d offer you work, and I’ve kept my promise.” In truth, she hoped he’d refuse. She didn’t want the weight of his grief when she had enough of her own.

“Who’d you promise?”

“Dr. Stewart.”

“The doc that runs the group?”

“Yeah.”

“How do you know him?”

“We’re on the board of the Crisis Center together. He was a good friend after my aunt died.”

He leaned back against the booth. “Why do you volunteer at the center?”

“I thought you didn’t like to talk?”

He shrugged.

“My personal history is boring, and why I volunteer is even less interesting. You need a job, and I’m here. That’s all that matters.”

Eyes narrowed as he studied her.

“The job is yours if you want it. But you’ll have to be at my place tomorrow at nine sharp.”

He flicked the edge of the card with his index finger. “I’m getting disability benefits. I don’t need money.”

“I’ve had a lot of money, and I’ve had none. There is more to life.”