Page 5 of Chasing Wildflowers
Jameson
Could that gorgeous bartender be her?
The second I walked intoThe Broken Bottleand locked eyes with her, that question took root and it's been circling in my mind ever since.
I’d just rolled into town and stopped for a quick drink before checking into my motel, and there she was.
Unlocking my room, I drop my duffle on the bed and sink onto the edge, the mattress groaning beneath my weight. The ancient window unit coughs and rattles, protesting against the heat outside.
I look around the room, briefly wondering if I should have checked if my vaccines were up to date. It feels like I’ve stepped onto the set of a low-budget ’80s porn flick; shag carpet, wood-paneled walls, and furniture that should’ve been condemned a decade ago. It smells like stale smoke and regret.
I shake my head and dig into my bag, pulling out a photo of Ceciley Knox. Holding the picture between my fingers, I stare down at it, taking in her features.
The green eyes give her away, their shade intense and unforgettable. That’s where the similarities end.
Ceciley Knox looks like the typical prim and proper heiress with golden blonde locks and mandatory pearls. That’s a far cry from the smoke show in cut-off shorts and a black halter, I just met. Vibrant floral tattoos snake up both arms, her long, deep brown hair falls around her shoulders in soft waves.
She caught me off guard. A first for me. It wasn’t just the possibility that she might be Ceciley, it was the pull I felt. The undeniable lust coursing beneath my skin.
I finished my whiskey and got the hell out of there, without asking her name. I didn’t drive to the motel, instead I parked my Bronco and took a stroll along Main Street, just waiting for the town gossip to approach me. Every town has one. It didn’t take long for Betsy, a very animated woman in her early fifties, to find me. It was easy to get the sassy little bartender’s name out of her.
Lane Maddox.
But only after forty straight minutes of her rambling on about her grandkids and family dog.
With very little convincing she also gave me Lane’s story. She arrived in town five years ago. Moving from Philadelphia after her parents passed away.
The timeline fits. The story doesn’t.
I run a hand through my hair, eyes still glued to the photo. Ceciley’s father died in a car crash when she was seventeen. Her mother is alive, remarried, and still in California.
It’s not surprising that’s how Ceciley chose to rewrite her story. People tend to cut out the parts that hurt the most.
I set the photo aside and pull out the police report Miles, my partner and childhood best friend, hacked from the LAPD’s files. I scan the yellow-highlighted lines:
“I don’t understand how she turned out like this. I did everything I could as a mother…but no matter how I hard tried, there has always been this kernel of darkness. You can see it in her eyes.”
She kept going:
“I can’t believe I’m the mother of a murder…I knew her father was too easy on her. Always doting on her.”
The rest is the same; self-pity, no concern for her daughter, painting her as evil.
A kernel of darkness.That’s not what I saw when I looked into Lane’s eyes. I saw the flash of fear when I held her gaze too long. I saw joy when she spoke to the older man down the bar, the one who kept giving me the side-eye. And I saw the pull of attraction when she looked at me.
I toss the file aside and rub the back of my neck, muscles aching from too many nights spent on lumpy motel mattresses. Our client hired us to locate Ceciley after she vanished five years ago. The same day, herhusband, Byron Knox, was found with two bullets in his chest.
There was no proof. No footage. No financial trail. She didn’t even touch the joint account, didn’t use her cards, didn't even take her damn car.
At first, everyone thought the shooter had kidnapped her. But there was no sign of a struggle. No ransom calls. No demands.
Eventually, suspicion turned on her.
She vanished, and Byron ended up in a body bag.
Our only clue: Western Pennsylvania.
Don’t ask me why he’s so sure of that. He isn’t very forthcoming with information.
