Page 3 of In Her Fears (Jenna Graves #8)
The air conditioning labored against the August sun as Jenna guided the Genesius County Sheriff’s Department cruiser along the winding road toward Pinecrest. Beside her, Jake Hawkins sat with his forearm propped against the window frame, his expression contemplative as he watched the familiar landscape of Trentville gradually transform into countryside.
The silence between them was comfortable.
In the two years since Jake had transferred from Kansas City, they’d fallen into an easy rhythm of partnership.
Now that seemed to be on the verge of becoming something much deeper.
“You’ve been quiet,” Jake finally said, turning his attention from the window to study her profile. “Still thinking about Jill?”
“That obvious, huh?”
“You get this little crease right here—” Jake touched the space between his own eyebrows, “—when you’re frustrated about a lead going cold.”
Despite her mood, Jenna felt the corner of her mouth twitch upward. “I didn’t realize I was so transparent.”
“Only to someone who spends a lot of time looking at you,” Jake replied, his tone light but his eyes serious. “So what happened at the hospital this morning? Any breakthrough?”
Jenna sighed, easing the squad car around a bend in the road. “More like another dead end. Jill was awake, sort of, but claimed she doesn’t know anyone named Piper.”
“But you still think she does.”
“When we found them back in the mine, she looked at me and saw my sister.” Jenna said, the frustration evident in her voice. “That wasn’t confusion or coincidence, Jake. She actually called me Piper once, after she came out of her coma.”
They passed a sign welcoming them to Cable County, where Pinecrest was located.
“She’s obviously been through hell,” Jake said carefully. “The doctors said her memory’s compromised, right? Maybe she knew Piper years ago, before whatever trauma damaged her mind.”
“That’s just it—I need to know what happened before. Where she met Piper, when, under what circumstances.” Jenna’s voice took on an edge. “But now I might never get the chance to find out.”
Jake frowned. “What do you mean?”
“They’re transferring her today. To New Horizons Rehabilitation Center in Valley Bend.”
“Valley Bend?” Jake’s eyebrows rose. “That’s what, two counties over? Why the transfer?”
“Apparently they specialize in cases like hers—trauma-induced memory loss, cognitive rehabilitation.” Jenna’s tone was bitter. “Nurse Daniels assured me it was for Jill’s benefit, but the timing is painful. Just when she might start remembering something useful.”
Jake was quiet for a moment, processing. Then he reached across the center console, his hand hovering briefly before settling on her shoulder. The touch was gentle, warm through the fabric of her uniform shirt.
“We’ll figure it out,” he said quietly. “Valley Bend isn’t that far. You’ve got connections. And I’ve got your back, whatever you need.”
The simple gesture sent a familiar warmth through Jenna, complicated by the tangled emotions that had been building between them over the past months. She appreciated Jake’s support more than she could express, but the growing attraction confused her in ways she wasn’t ready to examine.
His hand lingered a moment longer than strictly professional, and she felt the loss of its warmth when he pulled away.
“Thanks,” she said, the word inadequate for what she meant.
Jake nodded, seemingly understanding all she didn’t say. He’d always been good at that—reading between her lines, anticipating her thoughts.
They drove in silence for several minutes, each lost in their own thoughts. The GPS on the dashboard beeped, indicating an upcoming turn.
“So,” Jake said as they approached the outskirts of Pinecrest, clearly shifting topics, “what do you think is waiting for us at this crime scene that has Colonel Spelling calling in favors?”
“A male victim staked through the heart,” Jenna reminded him, grateful for the professional redirect. “Found tied to a tree in Pinecrest Cemetery. Doesn’t sound like your average homicide to me.”
“No, it doesn’t,” Jake agreed. “But I’m more curious about why Spelling wants your take specifically. We’re outside our jurisdiction, and you know how Chief Morgan gets about outsiders on his turf.”
Jenna grimaced at the mention of Pinecrest Police Chief Rudy Morgan. Their previous encounters had been less than cordial, his territorial nature making collaboration difficult at best.
“Spelling said the case had ‘unusual characteristics,’” Jenna said carefully. “He’s never directly acknowledged what I can do, but he’s seen enough to know that I sometimes have access to information that can’t be explained through conventional means.”
“Ah,” Jake said, understanding immediately. “And has there been any... unconventional information about this one?”
Jenna shook her head, worry creasing her brow. “That’s the problem. Nothing. No lucid dreams, no visits from the departed. I’m flying completely blind here. I’m not sure how much help I’ll be to Spelling without... you know.”
“Your special brand of insight?” Jake supplied with a small smile. “You’re still a damn good sheriff, Jenna. Dream visitations or not.”
The GPS directed them onto a tree-lined avenue, where Victorian houses with wide porches and meticulous gardens gave way to the heart of Pinecrest. The university’s red-brick buildings rose in the distance, students milling about despite the summer break.
The town had a polished, academic feel that contrasted sharply with Trentville’s more working-class character.
“Pinecrest Cemetery, one quarter mile ahead on right,” the GPS announced in its robotic tone.
As they approached, ancient iron gates came into view. Modern police vehicles created a jarring contrast, parked haphazardly along the narrow cemetery road. Yellow crime scene tape fluttered in the slight breeze, marking off a section near a crumbling stone wall.
Jenna maneuvered the squad car carefully between a Pinecrest PD cruiser and a Highway Patrol vehicle, then cut the engine. The sudden absence of air conditioning was immediately noticeable, heat flooding into the car as though it had been waiting for an invitation.
“Looks like the whole cavalry’s here,” Jake observed, nodding toward a cluster of uniformed officers standing near the crime scene tape.
Jenna recognized Colonel Spelling’s tall figure immediately.
He stood slightly apart from the others, his posture radiating authority even from a distance.
Two Highway Patrol officers flanked him, while a pair of Pinecrest police officers huddled together several feet away, their body language clearly communicating their displeasure.
“And those are Morgan’s men,” Jenna said, indicating the local officers with a slight tilt of her head. “Looking thrilled as ever to have state involvement.”
Jake unbuckled his seatbelt. “Wait till they see us Genesius county folk. It’ll really make their day.”
Despite the grim circumstances, Jenna felt a smile tug at her lips. “Let’s not keep them waiting, then.”
The wall of heat hit them as they exited the vehicle, the sun beating down from a cloudless sky.
Jenna slipped her sunglasses on, scanning the scene with a professional eye.
The grass around the cordoned-off area was trampled flat, indicating significant foot traffic since the discovery of the body.
Spelling broke away from his group as Jenna and Jake approached, moving to meet them halfway. His weathered face was set in grim lines, eyes narrowed against the glare despite his own sunglasses.
“Sheriff Graves,” he said, extending his hand. “Thanks for coming on such short notice. And you too, Deputy Hawkins.” The men exchanged nods of acknowledgment.
“Quite a scene you’ve got here,” Jenna said, her gaze drawn to the distinctive oak tree at the center of the cordoned-off area.
Even from this distance, she could see it was ancient, its trunk gnarled and massive.
Bulging burls marked where branches had been carelessly cut off, giving it a wounded appearance.
“Like nothing I’ve seen in twenty-five years with the Highway Patrol,” Spelling admitted, gesturing for them to follow him toward the crime scene.
“Victim’s name is Martin Holbrook, forty-three, local contractor.
Reported missing yesterday evening by his business partner when he didn’t show up for a client meeting.
Body was discovered just after midnight by a teenager. ”
As they drew closer to the tree, Jenna noticed something carved into its trunk—a crude pentagram, its lines deep and jagged in the bark. Fresh, by the look of the exposed wood.
“Body’s already been removed by the county coroner,” Spelling continued, “but we’ve kept the scene intact otherwise.”
Jake studied the pentagram with a frown. “Ritualistic?”
“That’s what it looks like,” Spelling agreed, reaching for his phone. “I’ve got the crime scene photos here if you want a clearer picture of how we found him.”
He brought up a series of images, handing the phone to Jenna.
She flipped through them slowly, each one more disturbing than the last. Holbrook’s body was slumped against the tree, arms bound behind him with weathered rope.
His head lolled forward, but his eyes were open, fixed in the vacant stare of death.
Most disturbing was the wooden stake protruding from his chest, driven deep into his heart.
Blood, dark and congealed, had soaked the front of his light blue button-down shirt.
Jake leaned in to look over her shoulder, his presence warm at her back. She heard his sharp intake of breath as he took in the gruesome details.
“Damn it,” he murmured, his breath tickling her ear.
Jenna suppressed a shiver that had nothing to do with the images and everything to do with Jake’s proximity. She forced her attention back to the photos, noting the precision of the wound.
“Single entry point,” she observed. “Directly into the heart. Not random or frenzied.”
“ME’s preliminary finding is that the stake was the cause of death,” Spelling confirmed. “Clean thrust, angled slightly upward. Killer knew what they were doing.”
Jenna handed the phone back, her mind racing. “It’s all very... theatrical, isn’t it? The pentagram, the stake through the heart. It’s like something out of a horror movie.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Spelling said, pocketing his phone. “Which is partly why I called you in. This kind of staging, this level of... showmanship, it’s unusual. And unusual seems to be your specialty, Sheriff.”
Jenna caught the meaningful look in his eyes.
“Any signs of struggle?” Jake asked, moving closer to the tree but carefully staying behind the crime scene tape. “Drag marks? Blood trail?”
“Nothing,” Spelling said. “Even so, the ME thinks he was killed elsewhere and brought here post-mortem. For one thing, there was no blood on the ground, as there would have been if he’d been stabbed right here. The staging—tying him to the tree, carving the pentagram—all happened after death.”
“So not a crime of passion,” Jenna mused. “Everything about this was planned, calculated.”
“Exactly,” Spelling agreed. “Which brings me to the other reason I asked you here.” His expression darkened. “The kid who found the body—Teddy Rose, seventeen, local high school student. Chief Morgan’s got him in custody over at the county jail.”
“In custody?” Jake’s eyebrows shot up. “As a witness or a suspect?”
“Morgan seems convinced he’s the killer,” Spelling said, his tone making it clear what he thought of that theory. “Kid was trespassing in the cemetery after hours, supposedly to go meet his girlfriend. Claims he stumbled across the body and called 911.”
“And Morgan thinks he did it?” Jenna frowned. “Based on what evidence?”
“That’s just it—there isn’t much. No blood on his clothes, no history of violence, honor roll student.” Spelling shook his head. “But Morgan’s fixated on him. Says only someone with ‘sick fascinations’ would be in a cemetery at midnight.”
Jenna and Jake exchanged a look, silently communicating their skepticism. A teenager sneaking out to meet his girlfriend was hardly evidence of homicidal tendencies.
“What does your gut tell you, Colonel?” Jenna asked.
“That Morgan’s barking up the wrong tree,” Spelling replied without hesitation. “That’s where you come in, Sheriff. I’d like you to interview the Rose kid, get your impression.”
Spelling’s unspoken question hung in the air between them: Would Jenna’s particular abilities reveal anything about Teddy Rose’s involvement? She wished she could explain to the colonel that it didn’t work that way.
“Morgan’s not going to like that,” Jake pointed out.
“Morgan’s already not happy,” Spelling said with a grim smile. “When I told him I was bringing in Sheriff Graves for consultation, I thought his head might explode. But the county prosecutor’s office is interested in your take too, Sheriff. They’re not convinced by Morgan’s case either.”
Jenna nodded slowly, her gaze drawn back to the oak tree with its carved pentagram.
The image seemed to burn itself into her mind, joining the crime scene photos in a macabre mental collage.
But unlike previous cases, she had no dreams, no visitations to guide her.
She was operating on conventional investigative skills alone.
“I’ll talk to Teddy,” she agreed, turning back to Spelling. “But I should be clear, Colonel—I don’t have any special insights on this one. Not at this point.”
Spelling studied her for a moment, then nodded once. “Your professional opinion is valuable regardless, Sheriff. And who knows? Maybe something will come to you.”
As they walked back toward their vehicles, Jenna felt an odd weight settle over her.
Without her lucid dreams, she was just another law enforcement officer offering a second opinion.
Would that be enough to help Spelling? To help Teddy Rose, if he was indeed innocent?
The pressure of expectation pressed on her like the oppressive August heat.
“You okay?” Jake asked quietly as they reached their car.
Jenna hesitated, then gave him a small smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just wishing I had more to offer than standard police work on this one.”
“Hey,” Jake said, catching her elbow gently before she could open the driver’s side door. “Standard police work from you is still better than most. Dream visits or not, you’ll see something the others missed. You always do.”
Jenna nodded, not trusting herself to speak as she slid behind the wheel. She only hoped his faith wouldn’t prove misplaced.