Page 4 of Christmas Homecoming Secrets
“Sorry. Right.”
So, her messages to him sent through Frank had meant nothing. He’d ignored her requests for him to get in touch with her, to call, write, send homing pigeons. Whatever he had to do, she needed to hear from him. And he’d blown her off. That hurt.
He frowned. “I was undercover a lot. On missions that…” He shook his head. “Without going into detail, communication was spotty at best most of the time.”
“Of course.” But he’d had no trouble staying in touch with Frank.
Dylan snapped his fingers and she jumped. “Anyone remember we have a possible crime scene here?” He glared at Bryce. “One you shouldn’t be privy to.”
“I have training. I was with the Criminal Investigative Division, CID, remember? And Captain Colson gave me permission. Good PR for the force and all that. So let’s focus, shall we?”
Dylan’s scowl stayed firmly put. Jade ignored him, stepped up to the edge of the hole and looked down. “It’s clothing. Only reason to bury clothing is to hide something. Let’s find out what.” She looked at Dylan. “You got a bag?”
“In the cruiser,” Dylan said. “Hold tight and I’ll get it. While I’m out there, I’ll put the paramedics on alert that you need attention.”
She started to argue, but the pounding in her skull had increased to the point that she wouldn’t mind some ibuprofen. “Fine.”
Bryce’s head snapped up. “It’s hurting that bad?”
“Bad enough. The sooner we get this taken care of, the sooner I can find an ice pack.”
He nodded, all traces of annoyance gone. In its place, worry peered at her. She swallowed and looked away. So many memories were attached to those eyes. That face…
Bryce aimed the beam of the flashlight to the hole in the ground and sucked in a breath.
“What is it?” Jade asked. Dylan returned with the bag, and she took it from him. He also handed her a water bottle and four little orange pills. “Thanks.” She downed them and turned her attention back to Bryce, who was on his knees, his face pale. “Bryce?”
“That looks like Frank’s jersey.”
Jade dropped beside him and squinted. She reached in, snagged the shirt and pulled it from the dirt. The Panthers jersey was achingly familiar. “Well, he has one like this, but so do a lot of other people. Doesn’t mean it’s his.” Number nine. Frank’s favorite kicker.
“Look at the left sleeve,” Bryce said, his voice low and tight. “Frank’s was autographed.”
She inspected the sleeve and bit her lip. “Yeah, it’s autographed.”
“Then it’s his.”
She turned it over and sucked in hard. “No. Oh no.”
“What?”
She swallowed. “Holes.”
“What kind of holes?” Bryce narrowed his eyes and drew back.
“Bullet holes, I think,” she croaked. “Two of them. In the chest. And…” Her tight throat wouldn’t allow any more words to pass.
“And?” Dylan and Bryce nearly shouted the words as one voice.
“And,” she said, “the front is soaked in blood. It’s dry, but it’s blood.”
TWO
Bryce turned the flashlight on the shirt. Outside, doors slammed and footsteps headed their way. Two holes, just as she’d said, with brown blood staining the front. Frank’s shirt. “I saw him yesterday,” Bryce said. “And I talked to him on the phone this morning.” The conversation that led him to where he was now.
“Maybe he loaned the shirt to someone,” she said.
“Maybe.”
