Читать книгу The Mother - BEVERLY BARTON, Beverly Barton - Страница 12

Audrey disagreed with Garth. And not for the first time. They came at life from two different angles. Always had and always would. Her step-uncle was relentlessly stubborn and refused to accept anyone else’s viewpoint. He felt that he was right and everyone else was wrong. No opinion mattered except his. Audrey could be stubborn and fought for what she believed in, but she tried to keep an open mind and was willing to listen to other opinions and be proven wrong in any argument.

“Wayne doesn’t need to know about this,” Garth repeated adamantly. “We have no proof that either of those toddler skeletons is Blake.” His brow furrowed deeply as he scrunched his face in a surly scowl.

“I think my father should be told,” Audrey said, keeping her voice calm and even. “If he finds out that we kept this information from him, he’ll be very upset. He won’t appreciate us trying to protect him.”

“God damn it, Audrey, there’s nothing to protect him from!” Garth shouted. When Willie gave him a concerned glance, Garth lowered his voice. “The odds of either child being Blake are slim to none. Why put Wayne through hell all over again?”

“But what if this turns out to be a one-in-a-million coincidence and somehow—”

“Neither of them is Blake!” Garth cut her off midsentence. “The very idea that those two little skeletons might somehow be connected to a string of toddler kidnappings more than twenty years ago is a far-fetched notion. We are not digging up ghosts that are better left buried. We are going to keep Wayne out of this. Do you hear me?”

“Wayne Sherrod is one of my closest friends,” Willie said. “He has been for a good thirty-five years, and I think I know him as well as anybody.” Willie glanced from Audrey to Garth. “I’m calling him. We’ll tell him together, the four of us. No matter what, he would want to know, even if there’s only a slim possibility that either of those poor little boys is Blake.”

Garth grumbled a string of partially incoherent obscenities so quietly that the words were barely audible, but his disapproval came through loud and clear.

When Garth stomped off, went downstairs, and headed toward the exit, Audrey followed him, leaving Willie to telephone her father. She caught up with her uncle in the parking lot adjacent to the Police Service Center. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, removed one, and stuck it in his mouth. After replacing the pack, he lifted a lighter from his pants pocket and lit the cigarette.

Audrey walked up beside him. “Are you okay?”

Garth puffed on the cigarette, his eyes downcast, his shoulders hunched. “Yeah, sure.”

“I almost wish one of those skeletons would turn out to be Blake.”

Garth took several more drags off his cigarette, tossed it on the pavement, and ground it into pieces with the toe of his shoe. He gave Audrey a sideways glance. “Do you really think that would make it any easier for Wayne?”

“Maybe. I don’t know. In most cases, closure is a good thing.”

“Closure my ass. That’s psycho mumbo jumbo. How’s it better to know for sure your son is dead than to hold on to hope that he’s still alive out there somewhere?”

“Because we both know that statistics, logic, and hard, cold facts tell us that there is practically no chance that Blake is still alive,” Audrey said. “You and Willie and Dad and everyone on the force, back when Regina Bennett was arrested, said that more than likely Blake was one of her many victims. Of the six toddler boys who were abducted, only one survived. The last one. And only because he was rescued before she killed him.”

“Yeah.” Garth lifted his gaze and faced Audrey. “Blake probably was one of her victims, but we have no proof that the skeletons found with Jill Scott and Debra Gregory belong to any of those missing toddlers.”

“No, not yet.”

Audrey’s gut instinct told her that there was a connection, that after twenty-five years, they were finally going to bring Blake home.

J.D. kept the different parts of his life separated as much as possible. Of course, there were times when the various parts of a guy’s life overlapped whether he wanted them to or not. His job as TBI agent J.D. Cass comprised the bulk of his waking hours, five days a week and sometimes on Saturday and Sunday. The man J.D. was a loner for the most part who ventured into short-term relationships for a little female companionship in and out of the bedroom. The family guy J.D. had lost his parents years ago, but he kept in touch with his kid sister, Julia, and usually spent Christmas with her in Nashville. And now J.D. had to include fatherhood as a sub-compartment under the family guy heading. Admittedly the role of parent didn’t come easy to a confirmed bachelor who had sworn off committed relationships when his shipwreck of a marriage finally sank.

Just when a man thought he had everything under control was usually when fate threw him a curveball. Zoe had sure as hell been one of those totally unexpected pitches. And he had a stomach-knotting feeling that Dr. Audrey Sherrod just might be another one.

Holly Johnston, on the other hand, was exactly what he wanted, a woman who wasn’t any more interested in a commitment than he was.

Holly had invited him to a late lunch today, lunch that she had assured him would include dessert.

“Something hot and spicy and oh so sweet,” she’d promised. “I’ll serve it to you au naturel on silk sheets.”

Since Holly hadn’t phoned him until ten o’clock that morning, he’d already halfway promised Zoe that they’d go to the movies that afternoon. Lucky for him, a group of her classmates was going to Hamilton Place to shop until the mall closed, and she’d been happily surprised when he’d changed his mind and told her she could go. Since Jacy Oliver’s aunt was chaperoning, he figured the woman would keep an eye on the girls.

With Zoe off with friends and far happier than she would have been spending the afternoon with him, J.D. had the rest of the day for himself since, at that point, he wasn’t officially assigned to either Jill Scott’s or Debra Gregory’s murder case. Until his boss told him anything different, he wasn’t going to stick his nose any farther into CPD business.

When he arrived at Holly’s, as promised, she provided a late gourmet lunch—no doubt ordered from a nearby restaurant—and did indeed deliver a delectable dessert in her bed, on her hot pink silk sheets. The lady sure did have a way with her hands and mouth. Years of experience had honed her bedroom skills. If there was one thing Holly Johnston did well outside of her profession as an ADA, it was sexually pleasing a man.

After a second vigorous round of hot and heavy, J.D. lay there completely spent, his hips and legs tangled in the top sheet. Holly rested beside him, her luscious body uncovered, a fine sheen of perspiration glistening on her skin from forehead to knees. As she sighed contentedly, she turned over and propped her elbow on the pillow as she looked down at J.D.

When she continued staring at him without saying anything, he grinned. “What?” he asked.

“If I were a different kind of woman, I think you would be on my top ten list of candidates.”

If he didn’t know Holly so well, her statement might have unnerved him. “Candidate for what?”

She laughed. “For a husband, of course.”

“God forbid.” He lifted his hand and ran his index finger over her throat and down between her large, round breasts. “I tried that once. I made a lousy husband.”

She caught his caressing hand and lifted it off her naked body. “I have no doubt of that.” She sat up, twisted around, and placed her feet on the carpeted floor. Glancing over her shoulder, she ran her tongue across her lips in a playfully seductive manner. “If all I wanted in a husband was a big dick and mind-blowing sex, you’d be my number one candidate, but when I eventually get married, it won’t be for sex or even for love.”

Holly got out of bed, picked up the satin robe lying on the floor, and slipped into the semisheer knee-length garment.

“I believe that was a backhanded compliment.” J.D. untangled his legs from the sheet and shot up off the bed. When he reached out and grabbed Holly from behind, she didn’t protest.

Just as she turned in his arms and lifted her face for a kiss, his phone rang. He eyed the pile of clothes on the floor where his phone lay atop his slacks.

“Let it go to voice mail.” Holly rubbed herself against him.

“I would, but I’ve got a kid, remember?”

Holly moaned. “You have my sympathy.” She disengaged herself from his loose hold and headed toward the bathroom.

J.D. bent down and picked up his phone. The caller I.D. read Cara Oliver. Damn! He figured Cara Oliver was Jacy Oliver’s aunt, the one who was chaperoning Jacy, Zoe, and their friends at the mall.

So help me, Zoe, if you’ve done something stupid, I’m going to—!

The incessant ringing reminded J.D. that instead of assuming the worst about his daughter, he should simply answer the phone and find out what was what.

“J.D. Cass,” he said when he took the call.

“Mr. Cass, this is Cara Oliver,” the soft, concerned voice said. “I’m Jacy’s aunt.”

“Is something wrong, Ms. Oliver?” Please, God, please let her say no.

“I—I don’t know quite how to say this, but … well, Zoe is missing.”

“What!”

“I take full responsibility,” Cara Oliver said. “The girls were sitting in the food court. We’d just gotten ice cream and … I went to the restroom and when I came back, the girls were gone.”

“Are all the girls missing?”

“No. I found Jacy, Presley, and Reesa, but when I asked them where Zoe was, they swore they didn’t know. But …”

“But?” J.D. demanded.

“But I think they know something.”

“Are you still at the mall?”

“Yes. We’re here at the food court.”

“Stay there. I’m on my way.”

“Mr. Cass, I am so very sorry about this.”

“It’s not your fault, Ms. Oliver. Zoe is a very resourceful girl and if she wanted to slip away from your watchful eye, she’d have found a way regardless of what you did or didn’t do.”

J.D. tossed the phone on the bed, picked up his clothes, and dressed quickly. He didn’t have time for even a quick, much-needed shower. Just as he slipped the phone into the belt holder, Holly came out of the bathroom.

“Leaving?” she asked.

“Yeah, sorry, babe. Fatherhood duties call.”

Holly raised an inquisitive eyebrow.

“Zoe’s pulled a disappearing act. I have to go find her.”

“I hate to hear that. Since our acts one and two were so exciting, I was really looking forward to act three.”

“Yeah, me, too.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and then swatted her behind. “I’ll call you later.”

“And I may or may not be available.”

J.D. chuckled as he walked toward the door, but by the time he exited Holly’s apartment, his thoughts had turned completely to his daughter.

Damn it, Zoe, what are you up to now?

At sixty-one, Wayne Sherrod was still a good-looking man. Tall, robust, broad shouldered. He kept his thick, silvery white hair cut short and was, as he always had been, clean-shaven and neat. A medic in Vietnam when he’d been barely nineteen, Wayne never spoke of what had to have been a horrific experience. Audrey could never remember a time in her entire life when she’d heard her father talk about his past. Nothing about being a child, a teenager, or a soldier. During her lifetime, he’d always been a police officer, and according to those who knew him best, he’d been a damn fine lawman.

But he’d been a terrible father, especially after he and her mother had divorced. Maybe, if Blake had lived …

When her father entered the second floor of the PSC, she wanted to rush to him, put her arms around him, and tell him she was there for him. How stupid was that? After a lifetime of being mostly ignored and often neglected by her dad, a part of her still longed for a genuine father/daughter relationship. Just once, she wanted to hear Wayne Sherrod tell her that he loved her.

Head held high, shoulders squared and straight, he marched toward Garth’s office, the door open and the four of them waiting anxiously as he approached.

Willie cleared his throat. “Let me do the talking.”

“For the record, I’m against doing this,” Garth told them for the umpteenth time since Willie had phoned Wayne.

Standing at her side, Tam reached down and grasped Audrey’s clenched fist. Audrey looked at her best friend, relaxed her fingers, clutched Tam’s hand, and gave it a hard squeeze.

Wayne paused in the doorway, surveyed the foursome, and settled his gaze on Willie. “What’s this about?”

“Come on in and close the door,” Willie said.

Hesitating only momentarily, Wayne did as his old friend had asked. Once they were enclosed privately in Garth’s office, he glared at Audrey. Instead of averting her gaze, she stared right back at him. The days when her father could intimidate her with a hard, cold glare were long gone.

“Take a seat.” Willie indicated a wooden chair to the right of the desk.

“I’ll stand, thanks.”

“We’re not all in agreement about this,” Garth said. “If it had been up to me, we wouldn’t be doing this.”

“Doing what?” Wayne’s brow furrowed with curiosity and concern as he focused on Garth. “What the hell’s going on? Whatever it is, just spit it out.” Wayne narrowed his gaze and directed it toward Willie.

“We’ve had two young women abducted and murdered,” Willie said.

“Two?” Wayne asked.

“Yeah. Debra Gregory’s body was found this morning. Same MO as the Jill Scott murder.”

“I hate to hear that, but what does either murder have to do with me?”

“Not a damn thing!” Garth stomped across the room until he stood in front of his brother-in-law.

Puzzlement clear in Wayne’s brown eyes, he ignored Garth and asked Willie again, “What do the murders of these two women have to do with me?”

“The information I’m going to share with you hasn’t been released to the public and it won’t be for as long as we can possibly keep it under wraps,” Willie said. “Both women were found sitting in rocking chairs, as everyone knows. Both were holding blanket-wrapped bundles in their arms. The press has stated that they assume the women were holding dolls.”

“But they weren’t, were they?” Wayne glanced at Audrey.

She forced herself not to look away, to hold her gaze steady and not to back down from the coldness in her father’s eyes.

“No, both women were holding the skeletal remains of what have been identified as human males, probably between two and three years old.”

Wayne didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as blink. He stood there so quiet, so rigid, that he could have been mistaken for a marble statue.

“Wayne?” Willie called his name.

He didn’t respond.

“Daddy?” Audrey said. And when he didn’t reply, she walked over and laid her hand on his arm. He stiffened instantly. “They haven’t identified the remains,” she told him. “Not yet. It’s possible that neither—”

“You think one of them could be Blake, don’t you?” Her father glanced at where her hand rested on his upper arm. He pulled away from her and confronted Willie. “That’s what this is about. You think …” He gulped hard. “You believe it’s possible that one of the bodies—one of the skeletons—is my son.”

“I tried to tell them that there’s no way in hell that either could be Blake.” Garth gripped Wayne’s shoulder.

Wayne took a deep breath. “No one can be that certain. And if there’s one chance in a billion … I want to know. You’ll need a DNA sample. I assume mine will do. If not, I still have …” He closed his eyes for half a second. “I have Blake’s hairbrush, his toothbrush ….”

Oh, Daddy … Daddy.

Tears choked Audrey, tears that threatened to escape and overflow.

Poor Daddy. Poor little Blake.

If he hadn’t been so damn pissed at Zoe, he might have appreciated what a lovely woman Cara Oliver was. Late twenties, big brown eyes, and a mane of thick auburn hair that framed a face blessed with attractive features. Even in jeans and an oversized cotton sweater, she couldn’t hide the appeal of her slender yet curvy body.

“Mr. Cass, I am so very sorry about this.” Cara gazed up at him pleadingly.

J.D. offered her a forced smile. “Don’t blame yourself.

It’s not your fault. Zoe’s a handful. This isn’t the first time she’s pulled a stunt like this.”

“I’ve spoken to the girls again and I’m sure they know something. But they’re not talking.” She glanced at the threesome, who sat with eyes downcast at a nearby table in the food court.

“Mind if I talk to them?”

“No, please, be my guest.” Cara huffed in exasperation.

When J.D. approached the girls, they scooted their chairs closer together. He looked from one to another. Jacy had the same dark red hair and brown eyes as her aunt, but was not as pretty. Presley was cute as a button, with curly brown hair and a smattering of freckles across her pert little nose. And blond, blue-eyed Reesa possessed the promise of becoming a real femme fatale in the tradition of a long list of bosomy Hollywood blondes.

J.D. grabbed an empty chair, turned it around, and sat down, straddling his legs around the back and resting his arms on the top of the frame. “Where’s Zoe?”

Silence.

“Jacy, where’s my daughter?”

Jacy hazarded a glance at J.D. “I don’t know.” She quickly cast her gaze downward again.

“Presley?”

She stared at him, a look of sheer terror in her hazel eyes. “I—I don’t know where she is, Mr. Cass. I don’t.”

“Reesa?”

She smoothed nonexistent wrinkles from the long sleeves of her colorful T-shirt, then lifted her head and smiled at him. “Zoe’s all right. You don’t have to worry about her. She’ll come home when she’s ready to.”

“Hush,” Jacy warned.

“You promised,” Presley chimed in simultaneously.

“Oh, get over it,” Reesa told her friends. “I didn’t promise Zoe anything. You two did. And I’m not going to be given the third degree by her dad, who I’m sure knows all kinds of ways to make us talk since he’s a TBI agent.” Reesa batted her eyelashes at J.D.

Good God, the child is actually flirting with me.

“Aunt Cara,” Jacy wailed. “You won’t let him give us the third degree, will you?”

Cara managed to keep a straight face. “Actually, I’ve already given Mr. Cass … uh … Special Agent Cass permission to do just that, if he believes it’s necessary.”

Tears filled Presley’s eyes. Jacy whimpered.

Reesa snorted. “You two are pathetic. He can’t do anything without your parents’ permission.” She looked at J.D. “Can you?”

“Is that what you girls want?” he asked. “You want to involve your parents?”

“Zoe’s with my brother Dawson,” Presley blurted out.

J.D. grimaced. His daughter was with some boy doing God only knew what. “How old is Dawson?”

“He’s sixteen,” Presley said.

Well, at least the boy was just that—a boy. “Where did Zoe and Dawson go?”

“I honestly don’t know.” Presley looked him in the eye.

He could tell that she wasn’t lying. She was too frightened to lie.

“They just went for a ride in his new car,” Reesa said. “They wanted to have some fun, to be alone together. There’s no crime in that, is there?”

Reesa was a little smart aleck, but she was not his problem. Zoe was.

“He’ll take her home,” Presley said. “It’s not as if they’ve eloped or anything like that.”

“Thank God for small favors,” J.D. grumbled under his breath, then told Presley, “Call Zoe. She won’t answer her phone if she sees I’m the one calling her. Tell her that her father said to get her butt home ASAP if she knows what’s good for her.”

“Er … ah … yes, sir.”

Presley placed the call and they all waited for Zoe to answer. And then Presley gasped, “What? Oh my God, no! Are you okay? Is Dawson okay?”

“What’s wrong?” J.D. asked, his heart beating ninety-to-nothing. When Presley stared at him wide-eyed and her mouth agape, he snatched her phone out of her hand and said, “Zoe, this is your father. What the hell is going on?”

“Oh, J.D., please help us.” Zoe sounded desperate.

“Are you all right? Where are you? What’s happened?”

“Don’t be angry. Please don’t be angry.”

“Zoe!”

“We’re in jail.”