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  BONE DEEP

  Debra Webb

  “Debra Webb is a master storyteller.” ~Allison Brennan, New York Times Bestseller

  “Debra Webb’s name says it all.” ~ Karen Rose, New York Times Bestseller

  This book is dedicated to my daughter, Erica Green. Thank you for helping bring this story to life. May you have a long and successful career following in my footsteps as a storyteller.

  This book is a work of fiction. Any references to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright 2013, Pink House Press, Webbworks, LLC

  All rights reserved, including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form.

  Prologue

  Sunday, July 10, 9 p.m.

  Blood... so much blood.

  She peered down at her hands, marveling at the thick, warm fluid that seeped between her fingers, slipped along her arms. Her heart slammed mercilessly against her ribcage, sending her own blood gushing through her veins.

  She blinked, tried to focus.

  He was dead.

  She stared at the motionless body on the floor. A pool of crimson encircled the still torso.

  Dead.

  She inclined her head and stared at the knife buried deep in his chest.

  She’d killed him.

  Chapter 1

  Tuesday, July 12, 10:32 a.m.

  Jillian Ellington watched an elderly couple stroll along the sidewalk on the east side of the historic town square. Why their slow, steady pace mesmerized her so defied logic. At Pritchard’s Pharmacy, the man held the door and smiled as the woman entered the store ahead of him.

  It was the same wherever she looked. Life went on as if nothing had changed. It felt wrong to her that the rest of the world hadn’t paused for more than a second or two to observe the tragic, life-shattering event that had turned hers upside down. Mothers walked hand-in-hand with their children on the sidewalks. Traffic continued to flow. Shoppers shopped. Unreasonably, she resented and, at the same time, envied their innocence to the horror that had invaded her existence.

  This was a mistake.

  Disgusted, she powered up the windows and started the engine once more. Hot air blasted from the vents. It wasn’t even noon and already the temperature was a sweltering ninety degrees. She’d been sitting in her car, parked across the street from city hall, for more than an hour. Her frustration level had maxed out.

  He was late. The big deal investigator who was supposed to be exactly the advantage she needed to prove her twin sister hadn’t murdered her husband, and maybe her three-year-old son, was thirty-two minutes late. Jill closed her eyes and rode out the wave of dread and apprehension that threatened. Her sister was in a coma and her three-year-old nephew was missing. And the so-called miracle worker who was supposed to help was a no show.

  God, she was tired. Most of last night was spent on the internet doing research on the guy. After what she’d discovered she shouldn’t be surprised that he hadn’t shown but this was what desperation did to the most rational human. She waited, clinging to an unraveling thread of hope that a stranger, a profoundly damaged one by all reports, would actually turn out to be the miracle she needed.

  Deep breath. Didn’t help. First thing this morning she should have called Richard Lawton, her old friend and law professor, and told him to cancel this meeting. What had he been thinking recommending this guy? Admittedly, Richard had gotten her on the calendar with an excellent attorney. Cullen Marks was the best criminal attorney in the state. His Nashville firm had a reputation for always winning. A quick call from Richard and Marks was ready to accept her sister’s case. But, Richard had insisted Jill needed more than a topnotch attorney. She needed an investigator who would look beyond the official investigation.

  Problem was the one he recommended seemed so far off what she had expected that she’d almost called Richard back in the middle of the night to demand an explanation. All that prevented her from picking up the phone and doing just that right now was the irrefutable fact that Richard had never steered her wrong. Not once.

  Jill sagged against the headrest and let the cool air wash over her. Their relationship had started as one of diligent law professor and eager student, but had quickly developed into more. Regret trickled through her. No one had been to blame, not really. It simply happened. Her father had died and she’d needed someone to fill that void—one that had started expanding well before his death.

  Though she’d left home practically before the ink dried on her high school diploma, Jill could still remember the look of stark disappointment on her father’s face. He hadn’t agreed with her decision and they had scarcely spoken after that. His death had hit her hard.

  She forced herself to breathe. Blinked back the emotions that crowded in on her even now when she thought of her father.

  The relationship with her mother was an entirely different story. She and Jill had never been close. That position had belonged to her sister, Kate. Another old, familiar ache swelled inside Jill.

  “Jesus.” Why was she rehashing ancient history? Her nephew was missing. Her sister was in serious trouble on more than one level. And Jill wasn’t sure she could fix any of it.

  As an attorney she was aware of the pitfalls of emotional involvement in a case, yet, with every fiber of her being she needed to do something. To be out there searching for her nephew. Her chest ached. To be at her sister’s bedside trying to reach her. Kate would never have harmed her child. The entire concept was utterly ridiculous.

  The ache in her chest twisted deeper. How could Cody have simply vanished? Surely someone had seen or heard something.

  The real question was why hadn’t she been here?

  No matter how logically Jill considered the situation, it felt exactly as if it was her fault. She should have been here. Tears burned her eyes. Why hadn’t she come home two months ago when her sister called and practically begged her to visit? Jill had sensed Kate’s urgency even then. But she’d been too busy with work to worry about her sister, the stay at home mother and wife. The perfect daughter.

  Jill had opted not to worry. Kate had their mother, who hovered over her like a secret service team monitoring the president. What did she need with Jill? In her defense, the caseload just kept getting in the way in spite of her best intentions. On the rare occasions when she managed time for a visit to Paradise all those old feelings of inadequacy and failure resurrected. She never measured up. Felt unwanted, like an outsider.

  So she avoided coming more often than not.

  A decades old hurt tightened around her chest, making it hard to breathe. As children, she and her sister had been inseparable. The Appalachian Mountains that bordered their little town held a kind of magic about them. A mystique that went beyond the clouds that hugged their craggy peaks and the greenery that draped their sloping shoulders. She and Kate had played like little faeries, flitting from one secret place in the woods and meadows to another. Jill had gone over every one of those secret places with the chief of police. There was no sign of her nephew at any of those locations.

  How could one little boy be so hard to find in such a small town—a place where everyone knew everyone else?

  Each hour that Cody remained missing lessened the likelihood of his being found unharmed. Along with most of Paradise’s police force, three teams of local citizens were out looking for him. An Amber Alert had been issued. Cody’s picture had run on the area news channels along with a plea for help in finding him. The chief had assured her there was nothing else to be done—except pray and she’d done plenty of that.


  An older model Land Rover that had once been white parked at the curb behind Jill’s Lexus. She drew her thoughts away from the hurt and focused on her rear-view mirror. It was him. About damned time. According to Richard, Dr. Paul Phillips could be the answer to her prayers. As much as she wanted to believe her old friend was right, she’d read too much last night to be encouraged.

  Richard hadn’t exaggerated Phillips’ reputation, at least not from the early years of his career as a forensic psychologist with the FBI. His list of solved cases from a decade ago was incredible. Countless families and their hometown law enforcement spokespersons had chalked solving the unsolvable up to Dr. Paul Phillips, the man with the sixth sense. Some had called him a phenomenon. He, apparently, could see and feel beyond the obvious. Richard had called him special and gifted.

  That was where the good news ended. Around five years ago, at the very height of his rise into celebrity status, he’d had some sort of breakdown and fallen off the radar, only to resurface as a sort of psychic advisor for hire in Memphis. He took few cases, charged exuberant prices and failed a whopping forty percent of the time. Hit after hit about his being inebriated at a reading or failing to show had infuriated her. Her fingers tightened on the steering wheel. How could Richard do this to her when she needed his help the most?

  Jill watched in her side mirror as Phillips emerged from the SUV. Deep, deep breath. Out of respect for her friend, she would give Phillips an hour. Whatever Richard had paid him to come here, she would gladly reimburse.

  Phillips stopped at her door. Asking for ID wasn’t necessary. Richard had given her the make of his vehicle and pictures of him had been splattered all over the web. This was definitely the man…the freak, as some had called him.

  Dismissing all else, Jill powered down her window and met his hooded gaze. “I’m Jillian Ellington. Why don’t you join me, Dr. Phillips, and we’ll talk?” She hit the unlock button.

  He gave her a negligible nod before starting around the hood. Her heart sank. Even her low expectations had been a little high. The doctor wore jeans that had seen better days and a wrinkled shirt along with a sports jacket likely leftover from his heyday. He hadn’t shaved in a couple of days and though he’d barely made eye contact, Jill had seen enough hung-over witnesses to know a man suffering from long term alcohol abuse.

  Oh God. This was such a mistake and yet it was the only option she had at the moment.

  He dropped into the passenger seat. When he’d closed the door, he stared forward rather than looking at her as if anticipating a lecture for some wrongdoing.

  Oh yeah. He was just sober enough this morning to feel guilty for being late or maybe for existing. Great.

  Just get this done.

  “I appreciate your coming all this way.” Since he hadn’t bothered so much as a glance at her, she settled her attention on the row of shops that lined the street opposite city hall. Phillips would certainly demand his full fee whether he was here five minutes or all day. There was no reason for her to regret the four-hour drive from Memphis he’d made at what he no doubt considered an ungodly hour. “I apologize for meeting like this but things are...” What was the proper term for a place that was ones childhood home but where one felt like an uninvited stranger? “Things are tense at my mother’s.”

  “No problem.”

  His words rumbled through her, made her suddenly uneasy sitting here alone with him in the close confines of the car. Or maybe it was the idea that he seemed unable to muster enough wherewithal to summon a professional response.

  As if sensing her dismay, he tacked on, “Your friend explained the situation when he called.”

  There was no mistaking the hint of sarcasm and accusation in his tone. Irritation inched its way up her spine. Her friend? “Dr. Lawton is a good friend.” She turned and stared at his profile. “I have a great deal of respect for his opinion.” The Lawton name was a powerful one in the field of law. Just now she needed to bear that in mind.

  Phillips hesitated then met her gaze. It was the first time she’d actually gotten a good look at his face. Tension coiled more tightly. The photos on the internet failed to convey the raw edges and hard angles revealed by an up close encounter in the bright light of day. His dark eyes were guarded. His mouth remained set in a grim line, yet his face was attractive in a way that promised carnal acts.

  She blinked, cleared the static from her mind and got to the point. “I won’t waste your time, Dr. Phillips. Every squandered moment could mean the difference between finding my nephew alive and” she swallowed in hopes of loosening her throat, “the alternative. Do you believe you can help me or not?”

  Whatever his internal reaction to her blunt approach, he kept it carefully checked. Those dark eyes remained unreadable. “They have the murder weapon? Prints?” His tone was hard, impatient.

  The urge to cry came swiftly, unbidden, and from a place too deep inside her to touch or restrain. Was he trying to alienate her? “I’m certain you know the answers to those questions the same as I do.”

  “Whatever you think you know,” he stared forward once more, “in most cases, it is one of the parents who harms the child. The sooner you face that strong probability, the better off you’ll be.”

  Logically she knew he was correct, but with every fiber of her being she believed he was wrong. Her determination rallied. “My sister did not do this. I know she didn’t. At the moment my first priority is finding my nephew. Are you here to help me or not?” Despite the shot of fortitude, the words came out too vulnerable, too brittle.

  He turned to her again, stared at her for a stretch of time that felt far too much like forever. Maybe it was the mix of emotions churning inside her or the sheer insanity of the situation but the scent of soap... of well-worn cotton and a hint of tobacco suddenly overtook her, stole her breath.

  “I know what you and people like you think of me, Miss Ellington.” He lifted one shoulder in a listless shrug. “You’re entitled to your opinion. But don’t expect me to sugarcoat the obvious.”

  As if the band around her chest had suddenly sprung loose, she sucked in a breath. Before she could assimilate a coherent response, he went on, “Just so we understand each other, I don’t take cases like this anymore.” He shifted his attention back to the street. “But I’m here. I’ll have a look and give you my assessment. Then I’m gone.” His gaze fixed on hers once more, jolting her as surely as if he’d touched her. “Does that work for you?”

  Frustration beat against her sternum. For a few seconds she had to hold her tongue to prevent telling him to get the hell out of her car. But Richard had sent this guy and, if there was any chance whatsoever that he could help, she needed him. “That is…acceptable.”

  At least the messy part was out of the way.

  Paul had hoped she would tell him to get screwed and he could get the hell out of here. No such luck. The sooner he took a look at what the local cops had the sooner he was out of here. Couldn’t happen fast enough to suit him.

  After this he and Lawton were done. The old bastard had called in his marker and Paul was here.

  Five minutes in her presence and already he understood this was going to be bad.

  Mostly for him.

  The woman said something he didn’t catch, probably just as well, then she got out of the car. He did the same. Get this over with and get on the road. First stop was a chat with the chief of police. It wouldn’t take him long to see what he needed to see.

  All he had to do was make himself look.

  He barely restrained a laugh at the idea of how easy that sounded.

  Get your shit together, man.

  Jillian Ellington had done her research and she didn’t like what she’d found on the net about him. It wasn’t necessary to ask if she’d read all that crap. The answer was right there in the arrogant tilt of her chin. Well, he’d checked her out too. Graduated at the top of her class from Ole Miss Law School and was immediately recruited by Carlisle, Jacobs
, and Teller, the most prestigious law firm in Mississippi. They rarely recruited right out of law School, preferring wisdom gained from experience over knowledge gleaned from textbooks. The offer spoke highly of the uptight lady.

  Never been married. On the other hand, the sister, Katherine, had completed her education right here in Paradise at Kessler University, a private school whose national academic standing rivaled its much larger Ivy League counterparts. The sister had stayed in Paradise, accepting a position at MedTech, a huge medical research conglomerate. Four years ago she’d married the CEO, Karl Manning. Together they had a son, Cody.

  Claire Ellington, the mother, still lived in the family home. Parker, the father and a long time, highly respected county judge, had died seven years ago. That was the extent of the information available on the Ellingtons. The dead husband, Karl Manning, had grown up in Boston. He’d attended Harvard and after graduation had joined an uncle who was the founder of MedTech. The research facility had garnered a renowned reputation in the area of stem cell research. It was all good. Tidy and forthright.

  A quiet little Tennessee town where bad things never happened and peopled with fine, upstanding folks. Yet one had committed murder. And the other—the one in the blue dress that fit like a glove and the high heels that made her almost tall enough to look him square in the eye and with whom he kept pace—appeared to be estranged from her family as well as her hometown. Being here made it difficult for her to breathe. He could feel the anxiety tightening around her. There was something bad hanging over this family.

  What the hell was he doing here?

  Lawton was way too smart to have called in his marker for a case as blatantly cut and dried as this one. There had to be more. Paul glanced at the woman at his side. She was more than an old friend and student. Paul didn’t need a hit on Google to tell him the old man had a soft spot for the lady any more than he needed a news flash to inform him what her first impression of him amounted to. She distrusted and disliked him. Her conclusions about him radiated from her as thick and oppressive as the heat rising from the asphalt.