Traceless (3 page)

Long dark hair, big brown eyes. He'd wanted her so badly.

That desire had served as the primary motive behind his actions, according to the district attorney. Clint had been obsessed with Emily and had decided that if he couldn't have her, no one could. Only it wasn't Emily who'd been sleeping in her bed that night, and when he had realized his mistake it had been too late; Heather was mortally wounded. That was the State's version of what happened, and they had stuck to it, all the way to closing arguments. The jury had unanimously agreed.

Clint slammed the yearbook closed and walked out of the room full of pointless memories.

Emily Wallace was the main reason he'd spent the past ten years in hell. She was the reason his mother's heart had given out far sooner than it should have, ensuring that he lost the last thing in this world that he cared about.

The whole damned town had been on Emily's side.

The bitterness twisted like barbed wire in his gut. Someone else had killed Heather Baker. Clint might not be able to prove it, but he knew it... because it sure as hell hadn't been him. And maybe, just maybe, if he dug around long and hard enough, stirred the pot until folks got riled up, the real killer would get nervous and bob to the surface.

It didn't matter how long it took. Clint had nothing but time. He would focus primarily on the one other person who had been in the room that night.

She
was the reason he was back.

Pine Bluff

3:15 p.m.

Preparation was essential. In order for Emily's effort to be of any benefit, she needed to familiarize herself with any and all infractions that translated into parole violations. Austin's slightest mistake could work to her advantage. She wanted him back in prison. The sooner the better.

As long as she lived and breathed,
he
would not get away with what he'd done. The only way to make sure that happened was to come back to Pine Bluff and get it done.

She owed it to Heather.

Emily rarely visited her hometown, and when she did she conscientiously avoided other people. Yet here she stood, hesitating at the corner of the block where the streets and the sidewalks crisscrossed on the western end of Pine Bluff's Courthouse Square. The very heart of town. Once she rounded that corner the pedestrian traffic would be heavier and the likelihood of running into someone who recognized her would be much greater. She'd spent her entire senior year in high school the object of the whole town's morbid curiosity, and then there had been the breakdown she still hadn't lived down in her parents' eyes. The painful memories whispered through Emily, reminded her of just how bad it had been. She'd been running away from it ever since.

No more running. She squared her shoulders and strode determinedly around the corner. The sidewalk wasn't as busy as she'd anticipated, allowing her to relax marginally. She picked up her pace, trying not to linger too long in front of any one particular storefront. Most looked the same other than a little new paint or decorating. Cochran's Shoes, Half Moon Cafe, she'd loved both places as a kid. And Hodges's Drugstore. She'd spent part of one summer working behind the old-fashioned soda fountain counter there. An eternity ago.

As she neared the middle of the block, the crowd of people gathered at the eastern corner caused her to falter. The shouting reminded her of a rally she'd accidentally gotten caught up in back in college. She couldn't make out the words being chanted. Hand-painted signs that displayed threatening slogans such as "The Wages of Sin Is Death" and "Prison Was Too Good for You" jogged above the sea of faces.

A demonstration against Austin's return, she realized slowly. The idea that all these people were protesting at this particular spot because Austin's parole officer had an office on that corner of the square suddenly sank in.

That could mean Austin was in there.

Her palms started to sweat and her heart began that pointless race against disaster. She should just go back to her car and go home. She could talk to Mr. Brady tomorrow. She could ask the necessary questions by phone and avoid a face-to-face meeting altogether.

The shouting grew more frantic as the crowd grudgingly parted for someone to pass. Emily's lungs refused to take in any air.

It was
him
.

She recognized the way he moved. Long, confident strides that had once made her heart stop, then thump wildly. Fluid grace combined with the bad-boy good looks that had made her pray that this time, just maybe, she would be the girl he was coming to talk to.

He came closer. Her mouth felt as if she'd gone days without water. She couldn't move. Couldn't run away. He would walk right past her. Would he recognize her? Would he stop?

She fell back a step, flattened against the brick facade in a futile attempt to become invisible. She should go back to her car... slip into a store... run like hell... anything to get out of his path.

A dozen or so yards away he abruptly darted across the street before continuing westward—toward her but with the width of the too-narrow street between them. Relief made her knees weak, allowed her to breathe again.

He reached for the door of a car... his car. The red vintage Firebird he'd driven all those years ago. When he would have gotten into the driver's seat, he stopped as if someone said his name... or as if he felt her watching him.

Emily's heart lurched when his gaze locked with hers. Even from thirty feet away she felt the focused intensity of those gray eyes. She tried to look away but couldn't master the necessary motion.

Every horrifying detail of that night flashed in vivid 3-D color. The blood... the struggle. The pain of knowing that nothing Emily had done had been enough... that her mistake was the reason her best friend was dead.

Austin broke eye contact first, then got into his car.

Time and place returned with jarring force as he backed out of the parking slot and sped away. Utter clarity washed over Emily for the first time since that night. She had tried to pull Austin away from her friend. She'd hit at him with her fists, screamed at him to stop. All to no avail. It would have been so easy. No one would have blamed her for actions that certainly would have amounted to self-defense. The knife he'd used on Heather had been lying right there on the floor... within easy reach. That was where Emily had made her second mistake.

She should have killed him when she had the chance.

CHAPTER THREE

Probation and Parole Office

3:25 p.m.

The trouble had already begun, not a block from City Hall. Police Chief Ray Hale had no intention of allowing this first wave of community reaction to trigger a domino effect. It was his job to ensure this kind of thing didn't happen. 

For ten years his town and the people he served had gone on with their lives, allowing old wounds to heal and a painful tragedy to fade into memory. Now the worst of Pine Bluff's past had been resurrected and there appeared to be nothing he could do to stop the gathering momentum. He felt the shift in the air like the accumulating charge of an electrical storm.

Ray had thought the weight of responsibility he felt would lessen once Clint Austin was a free man again. But that hadn't happened. If anything, the reverse was true considering the reality Ray had had to face this morning. The man he'd brought home from prison wore a hard mask of chilling indifference. Strict regulations had required that Clint keep his black hair shorter than before. The pallor that spoke of little or no exposure to the sunlight had stolen the glow of youth and vigor he'd once radiated. Sometime during his incarceration a nasty laceration had left a prominent scar just beneath his left cheekbone. His lean, wiry frame had morphed into a more heavily muscled build. But the most telling change was in his eyes. Dull, lifeless gray reflecting an unnerving emptiness.

No, Clint was not the same man Ray had known back in high school or even in those final days before the trial had ended. For that he felt deep regret.

To top off this crappy day, only steps from the courthouse Troy Baker and his friends had orchestrated a protest to publicly lodge their complaints regarding Clint's release. Ray heaved a lungful of frustration. Troy was a good man, under normal circumstances very levelheaded. But this situation was anything but normal. Troy's sister had been the victim. His family had tried everything within their power to stop Clint's bid for parole to no avail, ultimately accepting the decision the parole board had made. Troy's intentions, however, had not changed and were as obvious as if he'd thrown down a gauntlet. He would not rest until he was satisfied with the price Clint had paid. If Ray could talk some sense into Troy, that one step would go a long way in keeping down the trouble. Others would be taking their cues from his actions.

To escape the crowd still loitering outside, Deputy Mike Caruthers herded the ringleaders of the disturbance into Lee Brady's office, giving the whole lot a good chewing out along the way. Mike's red hair and multitude of freckles gave him the look of a rather large Opie Taylor from Mayberry, but he was no pushover small-town deputy. Ray counted on him more than anyone else in the department. They'd been best friends since first grade, had graduated from high school together and gone onto the police academy to serve the town they loved. Mike had no patience for this business, either. He was just as pissed off at these guys as Ray and was making no bones about it.

For the most part, Pine Bluff was a picturesque southern town filled with law-abiding citizens where life was generally peaceful and uncomplicated. A place where folks supported one another through the good times as well as the bad. The problem was Clint Austin's release didn't fit neatly into either of those categories. As God-fearing folks, the citizens of Pine Bluff would want to support a man's bid for a second chance at living righteously. But anyone who offered a hand to Austin was, in effect, turning a hand against the Bakers. In their eyes he would always be a killer. Only time would make a difference, and only if folks would let it.

Lee Brady sidled up next to Ray. "Chief, I hope this isn't any indication of what's to come."

Ray wanted to reassure the man who had been saddled with the job of serving as the parole officer on this case, but he couldn't make any real guarantees, especially in light of Clint's own attitude. "I'll do all I can, Lee."

Troy Baker ambled into the office last, with Mike's prodding, and aimed his considerable fury at Ray. "Did you drive all the way to Holman to pick up that murdering sonofabitch?"

Ray steeled for the full brunt of the storm. Telling Troy to take a breath would be pointless. "Yes, I did. I felt it was my duty as chief of police to escort Austin back to town and to ensure he understood what I'd be expecting of him now that he's served his time."

"I can't believe you'd take his side," Troy roared. His hands planted on his hips, he turned to his accomplices. "My sister is dead and our chief is seeing after the needs of her killer."

The flash from Grady Lassiter's camera signaled that he'd captured the moment on film. Lassiter was co-owner of the
Pine Bluff Sentinel
and was undoubtedly only too happy to be on hand to document the whole drama for the local paper. By tomorrow morning even those folks who'd moved to Pine Bluff since the trial would know all about Clint Austin and the gruesome singular murder in the town's history. Sides would be taken and the community would be torn apart all over again.

Larry Medford, Perry Woods, and Keith Turner, the same Turner whose daddy had donated to the department an entire fleet of brand-new official vehicles, including two four-wheel-drive Jeeps, stood in the background. All except Keith worked at the aluminum plant with Troy, and unlike the others, Keith appeared to have kept his cool. Seemed a little ironic to Ray, considering Keith had more reason than most to be out of sorts. But he'd learned to maintain his composure from the man who wrote the book on perception and power—Granville Turner. Keith's dear old daddy owned half the county and was another citizen who wouldn't be happy about Clint's release. Ray knew he'd be hearing from Granville any time now. Just something else to look forward to.

"Ray," Keith said with all the calm self-assurance he'd learned from his old man, "we don't want Austin back here. All he'll do is remind us of what we've lost. We just want to protect our wives and children, and our community. That's what this protest was really about."

"Don't waste your breath," Troy snarled, still glaring at Ray. "He's been helping Austin all along. I heard he visited that bastard nearly every month the whole time he was in prison. Even gave the parole board a favorable recommendation on Austin's behalf. Didn't you,
Chief
?"

Ray tamped down his irritation. Somebody had to think rationally in this situation, no matter that Troy's blatant disrespect made Ray want to kick him square in the ass.

"Yes, I did," Ray confirmed. "Clint Austin has served his time. He's a free man and he has every right to return to his home if he wishes. I represent all the citizens of this town, Troy, not just a chosen few. I intend to see that Austin is

treated fairly and that he doesn't do anything to violate his parole. You'd be doing the whole town a favor if you settled down and tried to act like the Christian son I know your mama and daddy raised."