location of three bodies.’
He smiled and pulled in a labored breath. ‘Cut to the chase. Direct. I do like that about you, Dr. Jo Granger.’
She resisted the urge to shift in her seat. ‘I’ve always found direct works best.’
He leaned forward a fraction. ‘I agree. But as much as I’d like to cut to the chase, I don’t want this interview over before it really gets started. I don’t get visitors very often.’
He flexed the bony fingers of his right hand and she thought about those same hands holding a shovel and burying his victims alive. She tried to imagine the horror of being dragged away from the world, terrorized and then lying in a shallow grave as this man heaped dirt on your body and finally your face. She tried to imagine fighting for air as every cell in your body screamed for oxygen.
Smith was charming, and he was pure evil. Though she wanted to remind Smith she didn’t care a whit for him or this chat, she thought about the three families that had lost loved ones but had never found their bodies. They’d gone for years without closure, and if she could play this game a little longer she might be able to give them some sense of peace.
Taking a cue from Brody’s behavior, she leaned into her elbows, the phone pressed to her ear. ‘What would you like to discuss, Mr. Smith?’
‘You.’
‘Me?’ She kept her smile fixed and polite, but tension banded the muscles in her back. ‘Why would I be of any interest to you?’
His dark gaze sharpened. ‘My directness has made you uncomfortable.’
‘No, not at all. However, your interest in me is a surprise.’
‘On the contrary. You’re a bright woman, Dr. Granger. You graduated top of your class from UT a year ahead of schedule and what scholarships didn’t pay for, you paid for yourself by working as a beautician.’
Discomfort slithered over her skin. ‘You know a lot about me. Why the interest?’
‘I admire your intelligence. I find there is less and less of it in the world, and when I see it I give credit where credit is due.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Your parents should be proud.’
Discussing her life was one matter, but bringing her parents into the discussion was another. Her father, an electrician, had passed away five years ago. He’d never been thrilled about her choice of psychology as a major, fearing she’d never be able to make a living with such a froufrou degree. Her mother was a beautician and owned her own shop in Austin. Candace Granger had never earned her high school degree, and though she wanted the best for Jo, she didn’t understand Jo’s interest in school.
‘They were always supportive.’
Keen eyes narrowed a fraction. ‘Did you find it tough being the only intellectual in a working-class family?’
Her grip on the phone tightened. ‘I’m not sure where this is heading, Mr. Smith.’
‘I see parallels between us. You see, I was the only one in my family to go to college and graduate school. My father was a truck driver, and he did not appreciate a son more interested in books than football. I often had to hide in the fields behind our farm when I wanted to read.’
Why had he seen fit to draw a parallel between them? Was it to feed his ego or to unsettle her? ‘Your academic career was distinguished.’ The career that followed wasn’t exceptional. His itinerant lifestyle had been part of the reason he’d stayed clear of law enforcement’s notice for so long.
‘Learning came easily and naturally for me, as it did you. I still can spend hours and hours rereading the classics.’
She thought about the half-read copy of
Huckleberry Finn
on her nightstand. How many times had she read it? But she wasn’t here to vent or to share her true thoughts. She was here to discover the location of the missing bodies.
‘What about your writing, Mr. Smith? How has that been going? I understand at one point you wanted to write a novel.’
He shrugged. ‘Without the muses I’ve not been as