Fractured Memories (Badge of Honor #1)

Chapter 2

TWO

“Read again!”

Noah Hodge inwardly chuckled at the sweet demand his daughter gleefully threw out, along with a wide smile. Dimples winked on her cheeks. Harper was only two, but knew exactly the right way to tug at her daddy’s heartstrings. He gently booped her nose with his finger. “Read it again, please.”

She giggled. “Please.”

He glanced at his watch. Felicity had said to take his time, but Noah was already ten minutes late for their meeting. It was rude to leave her waiting for much longer. He also didn’t want to disappoint his daughter. Their bedtime ritual was sacrosanct. Noah worked long and unpredictable hours as a detective. He did everything short of breaking the law to be home in time to bathe Harper and read her a bedtime story.

“I can do it, Cousin Noah,” Amber said from the doorway. The teenager was dressed in ripped jeans and a monster T-shirt. Her feet were bare, nails painted a sparkling purple that matched the colored streaks in her dark hair. “Mama Imogene asked me to take over. She said you have an important meeting to get to.”

“Auntie Amber.” Harper patted the book in Noah’s hand with chubby fingers. “Read please.”

Noah shot Amber a grateful smile before turning his gaze on his daughter. “Once more, but then it’s bedtime.” He kissed the riot of curls on the top of her head and then wiggled his fingers in her midsection. Harper collapsed against her pillow with a peel of laughter. “Love you, sweetie.”

He rose from his position on the floor next to the toddler bed, ignoring the way his body protested the move with a faint twinge in his back. Noah was getting old. He barely recognized the man in the mirror with the lines around his eyes and gray hair at the temples. The last two years had been incredibly difficult. Losing his wife in childbirth had been devastating. Grappling with his grief while learning how to be a single parent to Harper had been the hardest thing Noah had ever done.

He handed the book to Amber. “Thanks.”

She lifted a slender shoulder. “No problem, Cousin Noah.”

He wasn’t her biological cousin. Noah’s aunt, Imogene Garner, had taken in hundreds of kids over the last several decades. Many of them didn’t stay with her long due to various circumstances, but there were a dozen who considered her family because she’d raised them. Much as she had with Noah when his parents died. He thanked God daily for his aunt. She’d taken the broken pieces of his heart and glued them back together. Twice. Once after his parents died. Once more after losing his wife.

Shortly after Sally’s death, Aunt Imogene insisted Noah and Harper spend Thanksgiving and Christmas with her. They never went back to Fort Worth. A few weeks after New Year, Noah accepted a job with the Knoxville Police Department. Sometime later, he wasn’t sure when, Amber began calling him Cousin Noah.

It was touching, and the endearment served as a reminder that families were made. Sometimes by blood. Sometimes by choice. Always by God.

The lilting sound of Amber’s voice reading to Harper followed him down the hall. Noah took the stairs two at a time, his footsteps muffled by the carpet. Gospel music poured from the kitchen.

The house had an open floor plan, the kitchen visible from the staircase. Aunt Imogene hummed along with the song. Her thick hair was bound into a braid that hung over one shoulder. An apron, speckled with tomato sauce and flour, covered her T-shirt and long skirt. She was nearly sixty, but showed no signs of slowing down. Along with taking in foster kids, she was active in church and ran the ranch she’d continued after her husband passed away twenty years ago.

Imogen glanced up as he entered the kitchen, a broad smile stretched across her face. “Everything okay?”

“Yes. Thanks for sending up Amber. She’s reading one last story to Harper before bed.” He opened the closet next to the mudroom. A safe rested on the top shelf. He typed in the security code and removed his gun and holster before strapping them on. “This shouldn’t take long.”

“Don’t you dare walk out of this house without taking Felicity these cookies.” Imogen extended a Tupperware packed with homemade Snickerdoodles. “They’re her favorite.” A shadow crossed her face. “I imagine she’ll need a bit of TLC over the next few days. Investigating Brooke’s murder will drudge up painful memories for her.”

Noah frowned. “Who told you we’re investigating Brooke’s murder?”That piece of information wasn't public knowledge yet. He wasn’t certain they’d make headway given the slim case file.

“About a dozen people in bible study asked me about it this afternoon.” She arched her brows. “Haven’t you learned by now that nothing stays secret for long? Especially when you involve Maple Jennings.”

He groaned. Maple Jennings owned the flower shop in town, as well as Brooke’s old house. Noah had requested access to the home this afternoon so he and Felicity could do a walk-through of the crime scene together. “She promised to stay quiet.”

“Asking Maple to stay quiet is like requesting a magpie not to sing. It’s impossible, and likely added fuel to the fire. I guarantee the moment you walked out of her shop this afternoon, Maple was on the phone to half the town.”

Small-town life. It had its benefits and its pitfalls. Noah took the container of cookies from Imogene before kissing her forehead. “Call me if Harper gives you any trouble.”

“That child couldn’t be trouble if she tried.” She winked.

Noah laughed. He adored Harper with all his heart, but she was rambunctious, opinionated, and stubborn. Under the right circumstances, those traits would serve her well. Under others… well, she could try the patience of a saint. He often wondered what his late wife would think of their daughter. Sally had been quiet and artistic. A deep thinker, firm in her convictions, but with an uncanny ability to understand others. Harper took after her in looks, but the brash attitude was Noah through and through.

The night air was sticky. Milo bolted out of the darkness to greet Noah with enthusiasm. The black Labrador was as rambunctious as Harper. The two of them spent hours playing together. Noah held open the back door so the dog could slip inside. He’d eat dinner, then trot up to Harper’s room and sleep on the rug in front of her bed.

Maybe it was silly—Milo wasn’t a trained guard dog—but Noah sensed the sweet Lab would protect Harper with his life if need be. Knoxville was a safe town, but Noah wasn’t ignorant of the dangers his profession caused. Arresting criminals and testifying at their trials created enemies. Keeping his family safe was a constant worry.

He fired up his SUV and steered toward Brooke’s old house. The lake sparkled in the moonlight. As his tires ate up the asphalt, his mind turned to the case. Would they be able to identify the killer? It’d been fifteen years. The physical evidence was scant. No murder weapon, no unidentified or unexpected fingerprints in the home, no witnesses besides Felicity. Back then, she’d been a waif. Petite and rail thin with large brown eyes that took up her whole face.

She couldn’t remember anything that’d happened on the night of the murder. Traumatic amnesia, the doctors called it. Noah didn’t know the ins and outs of how it worked, but whatever memories were trapped in Felicity’s mind affected her. The weeks that followed the murder were awful. Felicity jumped at every loud noise. She couldn’t sleep. Barely ate. Six months later, her father sent Felicity to live with her grandmother for the summer. He later joined her and the family never came back.

From Noah’s perspective, the desperate move had worked. The terrified teenager who’d fled town had morphed into a smart and savvy Texas Ranger. Felicity was one of the best law enforcement officers Noah had ever worked with. She was compassionate and always willing to go the extra mile.

He prayed this case wouldn’t be too much for her though. PTSD was a sneaky disease. It could rear its ugly head even after years of dormancy. Felicity was determined to get answers, but Aunt Imogene was right. This wouldn’t be easy for her to face.

He hung a right on a two-lane country road leading toward the lake. An unnatural light glowed in the distance. What was that? As Noah grew closer, he suddenly realized what he was looking at. Terror gripped him. His hand tightened on the steering wheel as he flipped on his lights and siren while simultaneously slamming his foot down on the gas. Pulse racing, he radioed into dispatch.

Brooke’s old house was on fire.