He hadn’t seen her in several months when he’d heard she’d been murdered. Hillary had been victim number two.

He needed to get her face out of his mind. “The article doesn’t say anything about Cal Trenton or his badge they found.”

“State police haven’t released the info about the badge. They’re holding it back to sort out the crazies who call in to confess to dumping the skeleton. Trenton’s murder made the local paper down here, but it wasn’t in The Oregonian. The press hasn’t made the connection to the skeleton yet, and we’re not gonna help ’em make it.”

Jack was silent.

“Trenton was one of the good ones,” Terry offered.

“You don’t have to tell me,” Jack said.

“How many years did you ride with him? Two? Three?”

“Two and a half.”

“He could be a royal asshole…”

“…but he was doing it for your own good,” Jack finished Cal Trenton’s oft-repeated line with a wry smile. The senior cop had taught him the ropes when he’d been fresh in the department. He swallowed hard as he remembered Terry’s description of Trenton’s death.

The old man hadn’t deserved that. No one deserved that.

Jack scratched at his right leg. The skin was tight, itchy. Why did it itch if the nerve endings had been obliterated? The old scar bothered him at weird times, usually when he thought about the Lakefield police.

“I’m hearing that the doctor at the discovery site was the anonymous witness this article is talking about.” Terry’s voice was low.

“That tall Amazon? She was a gymnast?”

“Fuck, no. Not the black-haired one. The little blonde. The specialist who figured out who the bones belonged to and almost fainted. They’re saying she was the one who was there the night Mills got abducted.”

Jack swung his leg off the desk and sat up, mind spinning. “You mean Dr. Campbell.” The woman had been at the abduction and then ten years later at the discovery of the remains? “That can’t be right. That’s too weird.”

“Seriously. I’ve heard it from two different sources. They say she admitted it to the state detectives on Saturday.”

Jack scanned the newspaper. “Then why isn’t her name in the paper? Why keep her anonymous?”

“Shit. You should know that. Who wants that kind of publicity?”

After the phone call, Jack eyed the byline at the top of the article. Michael Brody.

Jack pushed out of his chair and strode to his office window, gazing down at the winding Willamette River, the bright sun warming his face. Many years ago, his life had suffered a big upheaval when Hillary died. This time the upheaval could be more than big; it could be huge.

He had to prepare to see his name in print again. The facts that he’d dated a Co-Ed Slayer victim and a skeleton had been found on his property would be too juicy for any reporter to pass up. Wait until Cal Trenton’s badge and death were brought into the mix. What would the media print when they discovered Jack had partnered with the man?

What the hell was happening? First the body found on his property and now Cal? Was someone trying to set him up? For fucking murder? Why?

The chance to take shots at Harper Developing was something the media would jump on and relish. They’d ripped at him two years ago in a huge front-page feature about the poor recycling practices of some Portland companies. It wasn’t that Harper Developing didn’t recycle, but that his company could have recycled more.

Jack had admitted the issue, hired the biggest recycling guru he could find, and set up a committee to improve the company’s practices.

Only in Portland was it unforgivable not to recycle efficiently.

Harper Developing had been the big, bad, thoughtless business for two solid weeks in the headlines. Jack had been slammed on the editorial page by dozens of letters. He shook his head at the memory. Wasn’t like he’d dumped raw sewage in the Willamette River.

His successful company was a target. The public was fascinated by stories about serial killers, and reporters were going to dig into every aspect of his background, tying his name with the Co-Ed Slayer.

He threw the paper in the garbage can, swore, and then hauled it back out and tossed it in a recycling bin. He raked his hands through his hair. He and his company were going to be dragged through the mud. Over nothing. And he couldn’t hire an overpriced guru to time-travel into the past and change whom he worked with and dated.

He’d worked hard to make a good name for his company…their company. His dad started it, but Jack had built it and expanded it into the mini-empire it was today. With his father no longer active in the day-to-day decisions, Jack had paved his own way, wanting to be among the biggest and best developers in the city. And he’d done it.

No one else could’ve brought that level of success to the Harper name. He gave money to the right causes, built affordable quality housing and his luxury high rises, and got his picture in the society pages with the right people.

Now it was threatening to implode.

He wouldn’t let all his hard work be for nothing. He wouldn’t let his father’s legacy crumble under whispers and rumors.

Why was the skeleton in his building? Jack rubbed at his eyes. If it’d been in the apartments across the street from his building, today he’d be skimming the front page of the newspaper, then flipping to the sports section. Not pulling his hair out.

Oh, Lord. His breathing froze. He’d forgotten about Melody. He glanced at the clock. She must be sleeping in, since she hadn’t called, demanding an explanation. His older sister was going to be mad as hell. One of her nosy friends was bound to let her know Harper Developing was in the news. Melody managed the philanthropy and public relations aspects of the company and wouldn’t appreciate the published link to murder. Make that serial murder.