Vulnerable (Morgans of Nashville) Read Online Free PDF Page B

my mom before I head back to Dallas.”
    “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
    Amber’s gaze met Georgia’s and held it. “I’ll help in any way I can.”
    “Thanks. I’m counting on it.” She rose as Amber inched out of the booth and stood.
    “Thanks for opening this up again. It’s time for closure.”
    “Definitely.” Georgia followed Amber to the front door. “Where are you parked?”
    “Right out front. I’ll be fine.”
    She stood at the door, watching the woman move down the street and into a mid-sized dark car. When the headlights came on and she pulled out into traffic, Georgia stood there for a long moment watching her drive off.
    Earlier fatigue evaporated only to be replaced by a buzzing energy. She moved back to the booth and was greeted by her own half-eaten plate of food.
    “Go home,” KC said, placing a takeout container on the table.
    She looked up, realizing Rudy’s had nearly cleared out. “Right.”
    “You okay?” KC slid into the booth across from her.
    “Sure. I’m fine. Amber Ryder is an enigma.”
    He rested hands on the table. “She’s prettier than I remembered.”
    “She reminds me a little of Annie. Independent. Alone. Living on her terms.”
    His voice had a gruff sound as if somewhere along the way the tones had been chewed up in a meat grinder. “She’s pretty like Annie. But she’s not Annie.”
    “Oh, I know. I’m not harboring any mommy issues.”
    He grunted. “She’s matured. One hell of an attractive woman.”
    A smile teased the edges of her lips. “Well, look at you ogling a twenty-something.”
    He smoothed a weathered hand over his bald head. “Just an observation. Bishop know you called her?”
    Laughing, she drained the last of her soda watered down from the melting ice. “Didn’t realize I needed his permission.”
    A smile tugged at the edges of his lips. “I thought you were a team.”
    She shifted, tamping down the irritation that Bishop’s name always stirred. “Not a team. Coworkers with a shared goal.”
    KC boxed up the leftovers of her meal and pushed the carton toward her. “Buddy said Amber’s amnesia was convenient as hell. He said if you were gonna go into the woods looking for trouble and found it, then a good dose of not-remembering might be the only plausible excuse given the grade-three concussion. But the boys in missing persons could never trip her up. And with no bodies, homicide didn’t participate much in the investigation.”
    “She said she’s glad I’m investigating. Wants me to set the record straight. Wants a clean slate.”
    His Hawaiian shirt pulled tight against his small paunch as he shifted. “Maybe.”
    “She’s not stupid. She said she still gets threatening texts around the anniversary.”
    “Not surprising. Lots of crazies in the world.”
    “Fair enough.”
    “My one piece of advice: Don’t count out Bishop. He’s a top cop.”
    “You should have seen the smug grin on his face when he delivered me the case files.”
    “There must have been a mountain of files.”
    “Twenty boxes, packed tight.” Each time she considered the task of quitting, she thought about Bishop’s smug grin. She’d be damned before admitting defeat.
    He pointed a stubby finger at her. “Go home and sleep.”
    She dug a twenty dollar bill out of her pocket and tossed it on the table. “Right. Home. Sleep.”
    * * *
    Amber parked her car in front of the one-story ranch home in the east end of Nashville. The house was covered in white siding that had long ago grayed and dulled. A broken shutter on the right side clung to the house by one nail and the front porch light dangled, waving back and forth in the slight breeze. The weekly trash was curbside and the dented silver cans overflowed with pizza boxes, Chinese carryout, and empty bottles of rose wine. Her mother, Tracy Ryder, no, Tracy McDaniel now, had done little to fix up the property. How many times had she promised to hire help and see that the place was cleaned up