Footsteps sounded behind them and Bryce whirled, pulling his weapon and aiming the flashlight.
“It’s just me,” Dylan said, raising his hands and turning his head from the full force of the light. When Bryce lowered the gun, Dylan swiped an arm across his forehead and blew out a breath that was visible in the beam.
Bryce slid the weapon into his shoulder holster. “You catch him?”
“Afraid not. He had too much of a head start.” Dylan stepped forward, brows together over the bridge of his nose. “You okay, Jade?”
“I’m fine.” Her low voice pulled Bryce’s attention back to her. With the shovel, she’d moved dirt from in front of the trunk. “What does this look like to you?”
“Looks like someone’s been digging.”
“Yes, but why? What could they possibly be looking for out here?”
“Who knows?” Bryce studied the pile of dirt and the bricks. “Actually, I don’t think they were looking for anything. I think they were in the middle of burying something.”
Bryce was here. Bryce. Bryce. The father of her child. The child he didn’t know about. Six years ago, Bryce had shown up at her college to tell his sister, Kristy, goodbye before leaving for army boot camp. Jade remembered that day like it was yesterday. Just before he was supposed to leave, she’d received word her grandmother had died. Bryce had offered comfort. Then kissed her. A kiss that had led to them going too far and making a mistake that had resulted in Mia. She’d never regret having Mia, but that one impulsive action had been completely out of character for both her—and Bryce. Since then, she’d kept men at arm’s length.
Jade kept her face as blank as possible, raised a brow and took another look at the scene in an attempt to gather her composure. “I think you’re right,” she said slowly, doing her best to ignore the pounding in her skull and the rush of memories she’d had tucked away for so long. “But what? It’s not big enough for a grave.” He grimaced, and she shrugged. “Just an observation.”
“Maybe it’s the start of a grave,” Dylan said, pulling on blue vinyl gloves. He passed a pair to Jade, and she slid off her warm thermal ones to don the others. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” Dylan shone his light into the hole in the ground and grunted. “Looks like there’s something in there.”
A wave of light-headedness hit Jade, and she stumbled backward. Bryce grabbed her arm. “Whoa. Come on. We can deal with this later. Right now, you need medical attention.”
Dylan eyed her with concern.
She waved a hand. “It’ll pass. I want to know what was so important that someone was willing to attack me over it.”
“You’re so stubborn,” Bryce said.
“I learned from watching you and Frank.” The retort rolled off her tongue effortlessly. Some habits were hard to break.
“I think you have that backward,” he muttered.
This time it was Dylan who rolled his eyes. “You two sound just like you did back in high school—like an old married couple.”
Bryce coughed.
Heat invaded Jade’s cheeks at the taunt.
“Not quite,” Jade snapped then drew in a deep breath. She wrinkled her nose and tried not to think about the fact that Bryce was back. Here. In Cedar Canyon. One of her best friends turned...what? Turned into the biggest mistake of her life?
No. She couldn’t think that. She’d do it all over again for Mia. “You never called,” she said softly, her stomach knotted. “Six years and I never heard from you.”
Bryce snagged her gaze. “I’m sorry.”
“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.”
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.