I'll Never Let You Go (Morgans of Nashville) by Mary Burton

out. One. Two. Three. I don’t need to freak.
    She moved toward the front door and clicked the lock back and forth until she was certain it was secure. She moved from window to window, checking the locks. Finally satisfied the place was safe, she released the breath she’d been holding and whispered, “I don’t need to freak.”
    The mantra would have calmed any normal, rational woman.
    Normal. Rational. Woman.
    Philip’s knife blade had left scars, worries, and a stupid journal filled with nonsensical entries.

Chapter Six
    Monday, January 16, 10:20 A.M.
     
    The air cut and bit as Alex got out of his SUV and stared at the flashing blue lights of the cop cars ringed in the cul-de-sac of the town house community. He burrowed gloved hands in his coat pockets and moved across the yard, wondering why his brother had summoned him to another crime scene in less than forty-eight hours.
    He nodded to a couple of uniformed officers who scowled and folded their arms over their chests. Irritated by the childish behavior, he didn’t ask for approval as he ducked under the yellow crime scene tape. Without thinking, he swapped the warm leather gloves for black plastic ones. Pausing at the threshold, he noticed that the front door lock had not been pried open, nor did there seem to be any other signs of forced entry.
    As he stepped forward, a uniformed officer blocked his path. The tall man’s frame was well muscled like that of a much younger man, but it was his well-worn eyes and lined mouth that gave him away as a couple of decades older.
    “Orders are not to let anyone inside,” the officer said.
    Alex looked up, knowing his gaze reflected restrained annoyance. “Detective Deke Morgan sent for me. I’m Agent Alex Morgan.”
    The officer shifted his stance and met Alex’s gaze. “I got orders to keep everyone out but essential personnel.”
    “You telling me I’ve got to call Detective Morgan and have him come out here? He called me.” This bullshit was getting old.
    The lines in the officer’s face deepened with defiance but he had the sense to step aside.
    Alex brushed past him, tired and more annoyed than usual. He’d spent most of the night reading through Deidre Jones’s case files. So far, no red flags. She was one hell of a cop.
    Instead of quizzing the officer about the victim’s identity, he opted to wait for Deke’s explanation. He paused in the entryway and noted that the victim had left a purse on a long slim table. Beside the purse sat a ring of keys. Above the table hung a mirror, clean and sparkling and perfectly aligned. Whatever had happened to her, it hadn’t been here.
    Alex’s gaze settled on the picture of two young girls, who were clearly sisters. Smiling, arms wrapped around each other, the girls appeared to be separated in age by about ten years. The older sister had dark brown hair and wore hoop earrings and a peasant top and the younger one sported a Mickey Mouse T-shirt and a gap-toothed smile.
    Beside the first picture was another one of a group of people. Six men and one woman clustered around the courthouse sign. All were grinning. He remembered the picture. The task force had caught a major cocaine dealer who’d later been sentenced to life in prison. He scanned the collection of blunt haircuts, practical shoes, and holstered guns until he settled on Deidre Jones. He allowed another look at the sensible black purse that couldn’t have cost more than twenty-five bucks. No gun.
    Drawing in a breath, he distanced himself from the waiting crime scene. He’d learned distance when he’d been eleven. Against his mother’s orders, he’d decided to be the first of the Morgan boys to climb Miller’s Falls. He’d been inches from the top, feeling mighty proud of himself, when a rock under his right hand had given way. He’d fallen fast and hit hard.
    When he’d awoken, stars twinkled in the sky and he’d been perched on a ledge, his arm twisted and broken. Pain had sliced through him