Page 21 of In Her Fears
The frustration of not knowing gnawed at her.So did exhaustion.This past month had been marked by terrible insomnia—night after night of tossing and turning, her mind refusing to shut down.When sleep finally came, it was often fitful and brief.Even prescription sleeping pills had barely helped.Why was that happening?She’d begun to wonder if the insomnia itself was some kind of warning, her subconscious trying to avoid something lurking in the depths of sleep.
At least there had been some bright spots amid the exhaustion.Her mother had kept her promise to call Zeke.They’d had a long conversation that Margaret had been vague about, but which had evidently resolved the awkwardness between them.She was attending AA meetings regularly again, with Zeke still her sponsor.Whatever attraction had developed between them seemed to have settled into a warm friendship that benefited them both.Jenna was grateful for that small piece of stability in her otherwise chaotic life.
Then there was the call from Special Agent Hugh Cody just yesterday.After months of investigation culminating in the rescue of Ginger and Jill from the abandoned mine shaft, the FBI had finally brought down the entire Harvesters organization.Arrests had been made across five states.The trafficking ring that had preyed on vulnerable people for their organs was no more.It was a win, a clear and unambiguous victory that had left Jenna feeling accomplished for the first time in weeks.
Which made this morning’s dream all the more unsettling.Just when one threat had been eliminated, another was apparently looming.
Jenna pulled into her reserved parking space at the Sheriff's station and cut the engine.She sat for a moment, gathering her thoughts, trying to shift into professional mode despite the lingering disquiet from the dream.Today would be about paperwork and routine.She would put that strange dream aside until she had more to go on.
That resolution lasted exactly as long as it took her to walk through the station’s front door and see the man waiting in the reception area.
“Sheriff Graves!”He stood quickly, extending his hand.“Ethan Pierce, Gateway Herald.I’ve been hoping to speak with you.”
Jenna recognized the name—the Gateway Herald was a regional newspaper that covered several counties, including Genesius.Pierce was in his early thirties, with the polished appearance of someone who knew he might end up on camera at any moment.His smile was practiced, professional, with just enough warmth to seem genuine.
“Mr.Pierce,” Jenna acknowledged, shaking his hand briefly.“What can I do for you?”
“I’m working on a feature about the recent takedown of the organ trafficking ring known as the Harvesters,” he said, pulling a small recorder from his pocket.“Your department played a key role in locating victims and gathering evidence that led to the arrests.I’d love to get your perspective on the investigation.”
Jenna suppressed a sigh.Of course.The Harvesters case was big news, and the media was hungry for details.But what could she possibly tell him?That she'd known where to find the victims because a dead man had led her there in a dream?Did she regularly receive tips from the deceased?
CHAPTER EIGHT
“I can spare fifteen minutes, Mr.Pierce,” Jenna told the reporter, keeping her voice neutral.“Though I’m not sure what I can tell you that wouldn’t be in the FBI’s official statement.”
Masking her unease with a smile, she gestured toward her office.She’d faced down armed suspects with less trepidation than she felt leading this polished journalist into her private space, where he would undoubtedly continue digging for answers she couldn’t provide.
Ethan Pierce followed her with the confident stride of a man accustomed to getting his way.“Sometimes the most interesting details are the ones that don’t make it into official statements.”
Her office was small but orderly—desk cleared of all but essential paperwork, filing cabinets neatly labeled, a single potted plant by the window that Jake had given her.But the space felt suddenly cramped with the reporter’s presence.
“Have a seat,” she said, settling into her chair and gesturing to the one across from her desk.“You mentioned the FBI’s Harvesters case?”
Pierce placed his recorder on her desk, its small red light blinking.“Like I said, I’m working on a feature about the takedown of the trafficking ring.I’ve already spoken with Special Agent Cody and Chief Morgan from Pinecrest.”
“Then you’re already well-informed,” Jenna replied carefully.
The reporter leaned forward slightly.“I know the broad strokes.The FBI coordinated arrests across five states.Thirty-two suspects in custody.Evidence of at least seventeen victims over the past three years.”
“That sounds comprehensive.”
“Except for one detail that nobody seems able to explain,” Pierce said, his smile never wavering.“How exactly did you know where to find those two women in the abandoned Trentville Coal Mine?”
Jenna had prepared for this question.She’d known it would come eventually.“Law enforcement work is often a combination of luck, intuition, and diligent investigation, Mr.Pierce.The mine was just one of several locations we were checking out in connection with … other issues.”
“But why there, specifically?Pierce continued, watching her face closely.“Several of my sources have mentioned your unusual knack for solving difficult cases.Cases with few leads.Cases where evidence was minimal or misleading.”
“Good police work often looks like magic to outsiders.”Jenna reached for her coffee mug, buying time with a slow sip of the lukewarm liquid.“I’m just doing my job.”
“Is that all it is?Good police work?”His voice dropped slightly, became more intimate.“Sheriff Graves, off the record, I’ve heard some...unusual theories about your investigative success.”
The coffee turned bitter on her tongue.“Such as?”
“Some say you have confidential informants you protect at all costs.Others suggest you have some sort of intuitive gift that borders on the paranormal.”Pierce leaned closer, lowering his voice further.“Are you psychic, Sheriff Graves?”
Jenna set her mug down carefully, fighting to keep her expression neutral.
“That’s quite a leap,’” she said, injecting a note of amusement she didn’t feel.“I’m a sheriff, not a fortune teller.”
