Traceless (4 page)

The words did not have the desired effect. "You go right ahead and do your duty," Troy threatened, "but don't think for a second I'll ignore mine. She was my sister, damn you, and I won't let her killer roam the streets a free man without trying to make his life the living hell it should be. That's
my
duty."

The challenge was on the table, but Ray wasn't going there with all Troy's buddies chomping at the bit for a fight.

"This public spectacle was not only uncalled for; it was conducted without a permit." Ray made eye contact with each man in turn. "You'd all be well advised to remember that Austin has rights the same as you. We may not always agree with the law, but we all have an innate responsibility to abide by that law. I don't want to hear of any of you letting emotion cause you to cross that line."

"That line," Troy butted in with a dramatic slam of his fist against Ray's desk, "has already been crossed."

Troy Baker did an about-face and exited with the same arrogant fury with which he'd entered. His supporters filed out right behind him.

"Damn, Ray," Mike said with a shake of his head. "They aren't going to make this easy. I don't think there's a man in the department who would want to be in your shoes right now."

Ray doubted there was a soul on earth who'd willingly take his place just now. But the truly disturbing part was that this was only the beginning. "We'll just have to do what we have to do." Certainly none of the players, Clint and Troy in particular, seemed inclined to play nice. That left the full burden of acting as mediator and keeping down the risk of unnecessary trouble squarely on Ray's back.

Mike hitched a thumb toward the door. "I'll make sure they go on home."

Ray nodded. "Don't forget to drive by the Austin place."

"Will do," his deputy and friend called on his way out.

Technically the Austin place was just outside Pine Bluff city limits and fell under the county's jurisdiction. But Ray had briefed the sheriff on the situation and they had worked out an agreement on how any trouble would be handled. Ray and his deputies would take care of whatever came up unless they needed backup, and then the sheriff's department would step in. This was the city of Pine Bluff's mess, and Ray wanted to handle it personally. He knew these folks; they knew him. The last thing he wanted was for someone who wasn't familiar with the situation to make a rash decision.

If Troy had a lick of sense he would stay away from Clint. The man Ray brought home today gave the subtle but undeniable impression of danger. Clint Austin had paid his debt to society in one of the harshest prisons in the country. No one walked away without scars. Some thought the killers and rapists behind those bars deserved no better. Ray didn't exactly disagree. Unless they were ...

He stopped himself. Why the hell was he going down that road? There was no changing the past, no righting old wrongs or chances for doing over stupid mistakes. There was only here and now and the choices to be made from this moment forward. Everything else was pretty much a waste of time. That was the point he needed to get across to everyone, including Clint.

As hard as life in prison had been, what Clint was about to face might be worse. Running interference on his behalf was imperative. Ray owed him that.

Truth was, Ray owed him a hell of a lot more. But the truth was something that wouldn't help anyone now. Not poor dead Heather Baker. And not the angry, bitter Clint Austin.

Some things were better left in the past where they belonged.

Shears Salon

"
Oh, my God!
Did you see all that?"

Justine Mallory refused to react, even as most of the ladies in the shop hovered at the front window to gawk at the unpleasant scene breaking up on the street. You would think the Almighty himself had appeared on the courthouse steps. 

They had all wanted to get a final glimpse of
him
. Clint Austin, the resident convicted killer.

"I can't believe they let him out after only ten years," Jean Cook, the shop's manager, declared indignantly.

Justine bit her tongue rather than say what was on her mind. Clint Austin didn't deserve their avid curiosity, much less all the fanfare that had gone on outside.

"Well, personally I don't think we'll ever know the whole story on that one." Cathy Caruthers, perm rods still dripping, strolled back to her chair. "Mike and I discussed the issue just last night. All the deputies are talking about it."

Cathy liked reminding everyone that she was almost an attorney about as frequently as she liked cheating on the husband she crowed over. That was the trouble with a man in uniform; it seemed he never had time to pay proper attention. Such a travesty.

"Didn't look like he's been wasting away in a cell all this time," Violet Manning-Turner commented, one professionally waxed eyebrow arched in distaste. Violet had always thought herself a cut above the rest. A concept perpetuated by the idea that she'd married far better than she deserved.

Truth was, Clint Austin had always been good-looking. Justine doubted prison had changed that. She would, however, keep that assessment to herself.

Megan Lassiter glanced up from her magazine. Like Justine, she'd ignored the brouhaha and remained seated. "The way I hear it, there's more fighting and killing in that place than in any other prison in the country. Austin probably had to stay in shape to survive." Her expression hovered somewhere between distressed and sympathetic. She never had been able to think badly of anyone, even when they deserved it. Unlike her husband, Grady, who made his living seeking out news, by hook or by crook, to sell newspapers.

Misty Briggs, Justine's teaching colleague and friend, adjusted her glasses repeatedly as she lingered at the window. Just went to show how boring small-town life could be. Justine's idea of real excitement involved two things: a special gift and a more intimate setting with the bearer of said gift. She turned the magnificent gold bracelet on her right wrist around and around. She did love pretty things.

"Does that look okay? I didn't take much off the length."

Justine turned her attention back to the here and now, accepted the mirror Jean offered, and surveyed her long blonde locks. "Perfect." She smiled appreciatively. "As always." Jean wasn't a lifetime resident of Pine Bluff. Not many of the local women liked her, but she was a damned good colorist and stylist, so most tolerated her—at least to her face.

Misty finally shuffled back to her chair. "I remember there was gossip," she said, her hazel eyes huge behind those Coke-bottle lenses as she covertly glanced around the shop, "that Austin was actually innocent."

Tension trickled through Justine. She turned and stared at her friend in utter disbelief. Excited or not, that remark was going too far. "Emily Wallace said he was guilty." Justine's voice reflected her offense. The very idea that Misty would say such nonsense out loud and in the beauty shop, of all places.

Misty put a hand to her throat. "Oh, Justine, I didn't mean that the way it sounded. Of course he was guilty." She reached over and squeezed Justine's hand, her face a study in regret, but the hint of satisfaction in her eyes ruined the effect. She loved manipulating a moment like this. It was the only time she managed to draw any real attention to herself.

Megan piped up, "Heather was my friend. Emily, too. If she said he was guilty, then he was guilty." That was about as close as Megan came to dissing anyone, even a convicted killer.

The others punctuated her pronouncement with a litany of agreeable sounds and pacifying remarks.

As the high school's cheerleading coach, Justine had known both Heather and Emily well, as she did the rest of those present, excluding Jean of course. Might as well have her say. "Clint Austin killed Heather Baker in cold blood," Justine said, with a stern glance at Misty. Absolute silence fell over the shop as all waited in anticipation of what came next. "Emily was the one who sealed his fate at the trial." Justine looked from one expectant face to the other. "You all know she hasn't been the same since. Considering the lack of real evidence, without her testimony I imagine he would've gotten off scot-free."

Megan's eyes rounded with fear. "You don't think that's why he's back, do you? To hurt Emily?"

"No," Cathy rebutted. "Mike and Ray are all over this. Every cop on the force has orders to keep a close eye on Clint Austin. He's not going to get a chance to hurt anyone."

All eyes shifted back to Justine for her take on Cathy's argument. Justine turned her palms heavenward and offered a simple truth: "I don't know why Clint Austin is back.
But
if I were Emily Wallace, I'd be scared to death."

CHAPTER FOUR

Cedar Hill Cemetery

6:00 p.m.

Emily followed him.

Tomorrow would be soon enough to get the information on parole violations and the consequences. But keeping up with Austin's every move had to start now. He'd driven around for over an hour. She was pretty sure he'd recognized that he was being followed, but he made no attempt to lose her or to confront her. He just kept driving. Eventually he returned to town, visited Donna's Floral Shop, and then came here.

To the cemetery.

Emily hadn't anticipated that move. Only people who had hearts cared enough to visit the graves of their lost loved ones. Austin had no heart.

Still, he'd tracked down his mother's grave, laid the flowers he'd purchased on the headstone, and been standing there ever since. For about half an hour now.

Emily had eventually gotten out of her car. After wandering aimlessly, keeping one eye on him, she'd ended up at Heather's grave. The shiny black granite headstone displayed an inset cameo of Heather's senior picture. They'd gone for their portrait sittings just one week before the murder.

Emily dropped down to her knees and traced the picture of her friend. She missed her so much. There were so many things they were supposed to have done together. Like go off to Auburn for college as roommates. When wedding days came they would have been each other's maid and matron of honor. Godmothers to each other's children. Maybe even neighbors. Their whole lives had been plotted out with years of late-night talks and afternoons spent daydreaming.

Heather hadn't gotten to do any of those things, and neither had Emily. She had managed to muddle through two years at a small business school in Birmingham between lapses into depression, one major breakdown, and a couple of trial drug therapies. Eventually she'd gotten a job and ended up in charge of the files department at a research facility.

Things pretty much began and ended there.

Nothing had turned out anything like she'd planned. For all intents and purposes her life had ended that night almost as surely as Heather's had. The only difference was that Emily was still breathing. Few nights passed that she didn't lie in bed and wonder why that continued to be. Or what it was that Heather was supposed to have told her that night.
There's something we have to talk about when you get back... something really important.

Emily glanced across the expanse of bleak headstones. The man who had robbed her of so much hadn't moved. He still stood like a statue next to his mother's grave. He hadn't knelt down for a closer inspection or checked for errant weeds. Just stared at the headstone as if waiting for some news flash or epiphany.

His mother had been a soft-spoken woman with the same dark hair and intense gray eyes as her son. She'd insisted time and again at the trial that her son would never harm anyone. That he was a good boy. But no one had believed her. Even Austin's court-appointed attorney hadn't believed her. He'd just done what the court forced him to do, represent a man who couldn't afford legal representation otherwise.

The judge and the jury had all sympathized with the Baker family... with Emily.

Emily pushed to her feet. Thought about returning to her car just in case Austin decided to leave, but he still hadn't moved, so she didn't bother. Instead, she watched him.

His profile could have been chiseled from the same stone as any of those marking these final resting places. Lean, angular features that tugged at long-banished memories. She had loved looking at him... before. Square jaw softened by full lips that had spent most of their time stretched in a cocky grin. Eyes that twinkled with wicked invitation. The way he'd smelled... the way he'd said her name in that teasing lilt had beckoned to her on every level.

"There isn't a day goes by that I don't miss her."

Emily spun toward the voice, her heart in her throat. Troy Baker, Heather's brother, moved to her side. Guilt and shame scalded her as if Troy might see that she'd allowed
those
thoughts for even a second.

"Troy, Jesus, you scared the hell out of me."

He threw his arms around her. Emily ignored her jangling nerves and hugged him back just as fiercely.

"Sorry, Em." He pulled away as if he'd rather not let go and stared down at his sister's grave. "My folks told me what you did at the parole hearing." His gaze met hers once more. "I appreciate that more than you can know. I couldn't be there... I knew what those bastards were going to do."