Vulnerable (Morgans of Nashville) by Mary Burton Read Free Book Online Page A

fingerprints.
    “When can you set up an interview with Amber?” He picked up a clear plastic jar filled with graphite that was also used to lift fingerprints.
    “I can call her now.”
    “She came to you on your turf. Invaded your space,” he said. “Next time we meet on our turf.”
    “Here at the station?”
    “Not yet. Pick a restaurant. A place where the food isn’t good.”
    “There’s a diner in East Nashville. Smilie’s. Awful food.”
    “I know the place. Smells like bleach half the time. It’ll work.”
    She took the graphite jar from him. “Why?”
    “This is our case. We’re in control. Not Amber.” He winked at her, his annoyance fading. Lately, he always got a little juiced when she was close. “I’m good at what I do, Georgia.”
    She jabbed, “I’ve no doubt.”
    “When this is all over, we should get dinner.” He imagined himself tossing a ball in the air and swinging, aiming for the fences.
    “You’re not getting in my pants.”
    Feigning hurt, he dropped his voice a notch. “One mention of dinner and your mind heads straight to the gutter. A guy like me has standards, too.”
    She turned her attention back to a dozen paper bags tagged as evidence. “Go away.”
    Annoyed she could segregate him so easily from her life, Jake slid his hand into his pocket and fingered the small pocketknife he always carried. “Send me the case notes. Set the meeting up for tomorrow. Early.”
    “Done.”
    “You’re a peach, Morgan.”
    Frustration rumbled in her chest. “Why are you still here?”
    * * *
    Dalton Marlowe stood in front of the large picture window of his penthouse condominium overlooking downtown Nashville. From up here the lights on Broadway blinked distantly and brightly and reminded him of sparkling gems. He liked looking down on Broadway’s loud and bustling honky-tonks, which ran from the banks of the Cumberland River eight blocks west. From this vantage, he didn’t have to deal with the tourists and beggars who often crowded the streets. He liked the distance his money afforded him.
    He raised a glass of bourbon to his lips and sipped, savoring the burn in his throat. Today was a day he’d have avoided if at all possible, but no matter how much money he made or how big he grew his business, there was no stopping the calendar.
    Today was October second. In a little over a week his son would celebrate his twenty-third birthday. He tried to imagine what Mike would look like these days. He was a tall and muscular teen, but his face was round with enough baby fat to remind Dalton that his kid was still just that—a kid. Five years since Mike had hiked into the woods with those two other kids. Five years since his son vanished and his life fell into limbo.
    From the moment he woke up on that day five years ago, he sensed trouble. Mike was hungover and in a foul mood. He skipped school the day before. It was the second time that week and Dalton had been annoyed as hell.
    “When are you gonna get your shit together, Mike?” he shouted as the boy had cradled his head in his hands. “Keep this crap up and you’re going to get kicked off the football team.”
    “Jesus, Dad, do you have to shout so much? I’m the f-ing star. I’m not gonna get kicked off as long as I keep throwing passes for TDs.”
    “Don’t assume you got a lock on life. With me behind you, it might take you longer to fuck up your life, but keep at it, and you’ll find a way.”
    “Dad, stop talking. My head is pounding.”
    Dalton was frustrated and angry, because it sickened him to see so much promise get flushed down the toilet. He slammed a few doors and left his son asleep in his room. He went into the office and spent the better part of the day seething and thinking of ways to jerk a knot in that kid for his own good.
    And then he came home to silence. He didn’t panic at first. Hell, he was relieved to have a drink and eat his dinner in peace. At midnight, his anger simmered again and by two in