Page 3 of In Her Dreams (Jenna Graves #7)

When Jenna emerged from the old coal mine, the early morning sun had pierced the darkness.

She blinked against the sudden brightness, the horror of what they’d discovered underground still lingering.

But what had greeted them as a silent, desolate scene out here hours ago was now swarmed with activity.

Red and blue lights from police vehicles sliced through the dawn air, creating rhythmic patterns across the weathered rock face of the mine entrance.

The wail of an ambulance siren faded as it pulled into position.

She had waited there deep below ground while Jake went out to call for help.

By the time he’d returned with a bolt cutter and a medical team, she’d begun to sense what kind of terror those prisoners had faced.

But at least the two women were still alive, although Jill—the one who had seemed to recognize Jenna—had not regained consciousness.

“You okay?” Jake asked, his voice low enough that only she could hear.

She nodded, though the motion felt mechanical. “I will be.” She brushed dust from her uniform, leaving smudges on the fabric. The grit clung to her skin, a physical reminder of what they’d uncovered below. “Let’s check on the victims.”

Two medical teams were working efficiently. The first surrounded Jill, the woman whose cryptic words still echoed in Jenna’s mind. Her gaunt face was now partly covered with an oxygen mask. Her matted hair had been pushed back, revealing deep hollows beneath her closed eyes.

The second team attended to Ginger, who sat upright on a stretcher, a blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

She squinted against the daylight, her pupils contracting painfully after so many days in subterranean darkness.

A female paramedic spoke softly to her, offering a bottle of water, which Ginger clutched with trembling hands.

“Sheriff Graves.” The deep, authoritative voice cut through the ambient noise of the rescue operation.

Jenna turned to see the man striding toward them. His uniform was impeccable despite the early hour, his posture military-straight. The rising sun caught the silver streaks in his hair, and the lines around his piercing blue eyes seemed deeper than the last time she’d seen him.

“Colonel Spelling,” Jenna acknowledged, straightening instinctively.

“Deputy Hawkins,” Spelling nodded toward Jake. “I was briefed on the drive over. Two female victims found in an abandoned mine shaft, apparently held captive. One mentioned a third victim had been recently removed.” His tone was matter-of-fact, but the tight set of his jaw betrayed his anger.

“That’s correct, sir,” Jake confirmed. He gestured toward the ambulances. “Ginger is conscious and relatively stable. The other woman hasn’t regained consciousness. Ginger only gave us her companion’s first name—Jill. She did mention that Jill might be from Springfield.”

Spelling nodded, his gaze sweeping the scene like a searchlight. “Let’s talk somewhere quieter.”

He led them to a spot several yards away, where the trees provided some privacy from the organized chaos of the crime scene. Morning dew still clung to the leaves, a cool reminder of the early hour.

“The ‘Harvesters,’“ Spelling began without preamble, his voice dropping. “That’s what the FBI calls them. They’ve been tracking this group for years with little success. They operate throughout the Midwest.”

Jenna felt a chill that had nothing to do with the morning air. “Human traffickers?”

“Worse.” Spelling’s face hardened. “Organ traffickers. They target individuals with minimal social connections—homeless, estranged from family, new to a city. People who won’t be missed, at least not immediately.”

Jake shook his head, disgust evident in his expression. “They keep them alive until...”

“Until they find a buyer who matches their profile,” Spelling confirmed. “Organ donation waiting lists are long. Some people with means are willing to pay exorbitant sums to skip the line.”

Jenna thought of the gloomy, cramped space they’d discovered below, the stench of human suffering that permeated the rock walls. “And this mine is their storage facility?”

“It represents an evolution in their tactics,” Spelling said, running a hand across his jaw.

“Previously, the FBI found evidence they’ve used abandoned houses, forgotten buildings.

Places that might draw attention eventually.

A sealed mine shaft...” He glanced toward the entrance. “That’s disturbingly clever.”

Behind them, crime scene technicians began unloading equipment, preparing to document every inch of the underground prison. Their methodical movements contrasted with the urgent activity of the medical teams.

“What do we know about the victims?” Jenna asked.

Spelling pulled a small notebook from his pocket.

“Ginger Lomax, twenty-eight. Server at the Blue Plate Diner in Kansas City. Reported missing three months ago when she didn’t show up for her shift.

No family in the area, lived alone. Police initially treated it as a possible runaway case.

But we were already that the Harvesters might have gotten her. ”

“And Omar?” Jake prompted. “The man Ginger said they took away?”

“Likely Omar Shetland. Auto mechanic from Rock Port, Missouri. Missing six months. Left behind an apartment full of belongings and a half-eaten breakfast. His boss reported him missing when he didn’t show for three consecutive shifts.”

Spelling flipped his notebook closed, his expression grim. “If it’s him, and if Ginger’s timeline is accurate, they took him away a few months ago. Which means...”

“He’s probably already dead,” Jenna finished quietly.

He was certainly dead if he was the one who visited her dream. But he was still trying to help stop these living monsters.

“And his organs harvested and sold,” Spelling confirmed. “And their activity crosses many state lines. Which is why the FBI will be taking point on this investigation from here on out.”

As if summoned by his words, two black SUVs with government plates rolled up the gravel road, sending plumes of dust into the brightening sky.

“What about Jill?” Jenna asked, her mind circling back to the woman’s strange words.

Spelling’s brow furrowed. “That’s where we’re drawing a blank.

No missing persons reports matching her description.

My working theory is she’s a long-term transient, possibly with mental health issues.

Makes her an ideal target for these bastards—no one looking for her.

She’ll be hospitalized. Maybe she’ll be able to tell us something when she regains consciousness. ”

The conversation paused as they watched FBI agents in windbreakers emerge from the vehicles, their movements brisk and purposeful.

“I’ll work with them,” Spelling said, “and keep my officers involved where I can. But for now, there’s not much more for you two to do here.”

He began to turn away, then stopped. His penetrating gaze fixed on Jenna, then shifted to Jake before returning to her. “One question before I let you go. How exactly did you discover these victims?”

The air between them suddenly felt charged. Jenna felt Jake tense beside her, his shoulder almost touching hers. They’d prepared a vague explanation about following up on homeless encampment reports, but in the moment, the lie tasted bitter on Jenna’s tongue.

Before she could speak, Spelling continued. “Anonymous tip, I’m guessing? Something that came through unusual channels?”

The question wasn’t really a question. It was an offered narrative, a plausible explanation that required no elaboration.

Jenna met his gaze steadily. “Yes, sir. Something like that.”

Spelling nodded once, his expression unreadable. “I thought so. That seems to happen around you with some regularity, Sheriff Graves.”

He didn’t wait for a response, just turned and walked toward the FBI agents, leaving Jenna and Jake in a pocket of silence that felt both relieved and uneasy.

They walked back to their patrol car in silence, the gravel crunching beneath their boots. The morning had warmed slightly, burning away some of the mist that hung between the trees.

“He knows,” Jake said finally as they reached the vehicle. “Not what, exactly, but he knows you have sources of information that aren’t... conventional.”

Jenna opened the driver’s side door, pausing before getting in. “I think he believes I have informants in the criminal world. People I protect by not naming them.”

“Which is a lot easier for him to accept than ‘I talk to dead people in my dreams,’“ Jake said with a humorless smile.

“He’s giving me space to operate,” Jenna said, sliding into her seat. “As long as we get results, he doesn’t have to know how.”

Jake settled into the passenger seat beside her, his familiar presence a comfort after the tension of the morning. “How long do you think that arrangement will last?”

“Until it doesn’t work for him anymore,” Jenna said simply, starting the engine.

As they pulled away from the scene, leaving behind the lights and the controlled chaos, Jenna’s mind circled back to Jill’s words: “It’s you. You’ve come back.”

The phrase nagged at her, like a splinter buried too deep to easily remove.

“Those words Jill said to me,” Jenna said, breaking the contemplative silence. “It wasn’t just recognition. It was like she was seeing someone else when she looked at me.”

Jake turned toward her, his brow furrowed in thought. “Piper, maybe? Could she have known your sister?”

His recognition of that possibility sent a jolt through Jenna’s body, a surge of the painful hope she’d carried for twenty years. “If she did... when she regains consciousness...”

“We’ll be the first to know,” Jake assured her. “I already told the hospital staff to call us the moment either woman is able to talk.”

Jenna nodded, forcing herself to breathe evenly. After two decades of searching for her twin, she’d learned to temper hope with caution. Too many leads had evaporated, too many possible sightings had proven false.

She navigated the patrol car back through the awakening streets of Trentville, the familiar landmarks grounding her as her thoughts threatened to spiral.

Small-town life continued undisturbed—a mail carrier sorting letters in the back of her truck, a baker flipping his CLOSED sign to OPEN, two elderly men walking matching golden retrievers.

The normalcy created a stark contrast to the underground horror they’d witnessed.

Jenna found herself acutely aware of Jake beside her, his steady presence an anchor.

She remembered the gentle press of his lips against her cheek a week ago after they’d closed their last case.

It had been brief, almost chaste, yet it had lingered in her mind like a persistent melody.

She glanced at him now, noting the way the morning light caught in his sandy hair, how his hands rested comfortably on his knees.

There was something between them, something neither had put into words.

In another life, perhaps, where she wasn’t haunted by her sister’s absence and visited by the dead, maybe she could explore what that something might become.

The shrill ring of her phone shattered the moment. Jenna activated the car’s Bluetooth system with a tap.

“Sheriff Graves,” she answered.

“Jenna? It’s Rusty. Rusty Galvin.” The voice that came through the speakers was thick with tears, barely recognizable as her childhood friend.

“Rusty? What’s wrong?” Concern tightened Jenna’s grip on the steering wheel.

“It’s—” A sob broke the word. “It’s Dad. He’s dead, Jenna. Dad died last night.”

The news hit Jenna with unexpected force.

Richard Winters had been a fixture in Trentville for as long as she could remember.

When she was eight, he’d helped Jenna and Piper open their first savings accounts, patiently explaining interest rates with colored markers and a notepad.

He’d attended their high school graduation, bringing each of them a card with a twenty-dollar bill that he insisted they save rather than spend.

“Oh, Rusty, I’m so sorry.” The words felt inadequate. “What happened?”

Rusty drew a shaky breath. “They think a heart attack. The doctor said it’s not surprising, given his condition, but they’ll need to do an autopsy to be certain.”

“Of course,” Jenna said. She exchanged a glance with Jake, who was listening intently. “Is there anything I can do? Do you need me to come over?”

“Could you?” Relief softened Rusty’s voice. “Could you come to Dad’s house? I’m here now, going through his things, and...” She hesitated. “There’s something not right, Jenna.”

The hairs on Jenna’s arms stood on end. “Not right how?”

“I can’t explain it over the phone. But I’m worried that... that maybe it wasn’t just his heart. I know how this sounds, but I need you to see for yourself.”

Jenna didn’t hesitate. “I’m on my way. Twenty minutes, tops.”

“Thank you,” Rusty whispered before ending the call.

Jenna immediately signaled and made a U-turn, heading toward the west side of town where Richard Winters lived in a stately home with a meticulously maintained front garden.

“Sounds like you might have another case,” Jake observed quietly.

“Maybe.” Jenna frowned, her mind sorting through the implications. “Or maybe it’s just Rusty struggling with the shock. Either way...”

“Either way, you’ll be there for her,” Jake finished. “Want me to come along?”

Jenna considered, then shook her head. “Let me talk to her alone first. Get a sense of what she’s worried about.”

Jake nodded his understanding. “Drop me at the station, then. I’ll start the paperwork on the mine situation.”

Although it was still early, this had already been an unsettling day. As she drove through the brightening morning, Jenna couldn’t shake the feeling that the unpleasant surprises were far from over.