Читать книгу Protecting The Single Mom - Catherine Lanigan - Страница 11
ОглавлениеTRENT MADE A fresh pot of coffee and delivered a cup to Ned Quigley, the dispatcher, just as a 911 call came in. With only a skeleton crew on duty, Trent waited until Ned had written down the particulars.
“What is it?” Trent asked, sipping his coffee and thinking that one of these days he had to learn how to make decent coffee. It couldn’t be all that tough, could it?
“Home invasion. Wife’s on the phone. Appleton is a block away.” Ned patched through to the cop on duty and gave him the address. Then Ned sent two more patrols as backup. He looked at Trent.
“Where is it?” Trent asked.
“By the skating rink.”
That was only half a mile from Cate’s address. Trent knew Le Grande was too smart to draw attention to himself on the same night as a shootout with cops. So where would Le Grande have gone after the bust? To Chicago where the CPD practically had him in their sights? The guy had to know that all of Indian Lake PD was on alert for him. Most of the drug dealers coming into small towns across the Illinois border tended to underestimate local law enforcement. They thought they were dealing with hicks and idiots. Granted, the citizenry might not be as astute about drugs and dealers as Chicagoans, but the police investigators were savvy and well-informed. What men like Le Grande didn’t know was that because the number of active cases with a small-town force was much less than in a city, the investigators had time to spend on each one until it was solved.
Trent listened as Ned gave instructions to the patrol cop. Trent’s neck hairs prickled. An intruder, Ned had said.
What if Le Grande had discovered Cate’s—or Susan’s or whatever her name was—existence here in Indian Lake just as he had? Would he go to her? There was a possibility that Trent had shot him. Winged him, maybe. If Le Grande knew about Cate, he might have gone to her for help. Even if she was resistant, Le Grande might think he could get money from her. Steal a car or coerce her to drive him out of town.
Then there was the question of Cate-Susan herself. Was she a cover for Le Grande? Part of his gang? Had she scoped the town for him, pretending to be someone she wasn’t?
There was no criminal record on her or any reason for Trent to suspect that she was dealing drugs. She had a kid, after all. Not that a kid would stop an addict mother from using or dealing.
She didn’t strike him as anything but a model citizen.
But she’d been married to Le Grande.
If Le Grande went to her and needed help, would she do it?
As usual when new information on a case came to light, it posed a myriad of new questions. Trent knew exactly what to do.
Investigate.
Following Richard’s advice, Trent would keep this new info quiet. There were too many leaks in any organization. “The chief at home tonight?”
“Should be. You need him?”
“Nah. Just curious. I didn’t finish my report.”
“Slacker,” Ned joked.
“I’m going out for a sandwich. You want anything?” Trent took out his car keys.
“No, but thanks,” Ned replied as another call came in.
Trent decided to call the chief from his car and fill him in about Cate.
He exited the station and went to his unmarked car. As he climbed in, he had the eerie feeling that Le Grande was close. Trent had looked the man straight in the face. It was the blink of an eye, but they’d exchanged that look—the one between foes—the hunter and the prey. In Le Grande’s case, his look communicated the steely belief that he, Le Grande, was the hunter and Trent was the prey.
He’s here. He never left, Trent thought as he turned the key. The engine roared. He smiled. Two years ago, Trent had bought a high-performance Mercedes-Benz engine at a Chicago junkyard. Being an amateur wrencher, he installed the engine into his unmarked car—at his own expense. He’d had some help from Kenny at Indian Lake Service Garage, but he’d gotten the job done. When the day came that he was in pursuit of a drug dealer in a Porsche, Trent would be well-equipped for the task.
Trent patted his shoulder holster as was his habit every time he left the station. He’d cleaned his gun and filled the magazine at the station after the shoot-out. If, by any chance, he came up against Le Grande, Trent didn’t want to be short. He checked to make sure his cell phone was on, the dispatch radio was tuned into the station and he checked to make certain he had a full tank of gas.
Still, he felt very unprepared.
* * *
TRENT HAD PUNCHED Cate’s address into his GPS. He drove up the street and parked three houses away. There were few cars on the street. The houses were all bungalow types, Craftsman style, built in the 1930s and well maintained. They were over a third of a mile from Indian Lake, and the residents took great pride in ownership. The hedges were clipped, the weeds pulled and late-summer flowers and lush potato vines filled planters and window boxes. It was the kind of area Trent would have liked to live—if a normal life could ever be his.
He turned off his lights and got out. It was dark, with only a quarter moon. Good night for intruders. It was the kind of night that someone like Le Grande would prefer to skulk around an ex-wife’s house. Or, if Cate was a willing participant in Le Grande’s schemes, an evening the neighbors probably wouldn’t notice him coming or going.
The lights in Cate’s house were on. She was up. Probably the kid, too.
Trent turned to the right and saw the drive led to the detached single-car garage. Her car.
If the car was gone, then he had to find out if she was part of Le Grande’s gang or if he’d threatened her. Trent was walking a fine line by coming here tonight.
Protocol stated he should knock on the door and conduct a proper investigation. Regulations demanded he show his badge, offer his card.
But protocol didn’t consider that Le Grande could be hiding in that garage at this very minute, armed with his 9 mm gun. Ready to blow Trent away and think nothing of it.
Trent crept closer, taking out his gun. He picked up sounds—the scurry of a small animal over the garden mulch; the chirping of a cricket near the garage door. He felt the breeze as it slipped around the house, chilling the night.
A night-light burned in a socket near the entry door. Not only was it a smart idea so she could easily see to lock and unlock the door, but it also illuminated the car.
“Not here,” he whispered to himself and instantly spun toward the house. “But are you closer? Inside?”
Trent stuck his gun in his holster. No need to get anxious. Still, he needed to make sure his instincts were simply being overly alert before going to the front door to announce himself.
He moved toward the back porch, checking the boxwood hedges for any signs of footprints, lost items. Anything Le Grande might have dropped in his haste.
* * *
CATE HAD JUST finished the story for Danny.
“Mom, can I have some water?” Danny asked.
“Sure, pumpkin. I’ll be right back.”
In the kitchen, she took a glass from the upper cabinet next to the kitchen window. She glanced into the yard as she turned on the tap, thinking that she needed to plant more daffodil bulbs. Maybe those Casa Blanca lily bulbs she’d seen in the catalog.
Suddenly, a man’s face was framed by her kitchen window.
She dropped the glass in the sink, and the sound of shattering glass and her scream stung the air.
The man put his palms against the windowpane. He shook his head.
“Mom!” Danny shot into the kitchen carrying his baseball bat. “What is it? I’m here!”
Cate felt as if she’d been socked in the chest. She couldn’t breathe. She was light-headed. She was dying.
She held on to the edge of the sink with one hand and pointed toward the window. “You go away! Get out of here or I’m calling the police. Right now! Go away!” she screamed at the figure on her porch, unsure of the man’s identity. She was so terrified, she could be seeing things.
The man stepped back and disappeared into the darkness. Cate sucked in a breath, holding her hand over her heart. This wasn’t happening. It couldn’t be happening, could it?
Then she heard Danny talking. He held her cell phone to his ear. “Hello, 911? Help!”
Cate looked out the window, but the man was gone. Suddenly, the front doorbell rang.
Danny stared at the phone. “Wow. That was fast!” He raced into the living room.
“Don’t open that door!” Cate shouted anxiously as she rushed up behind Danny and shoved him behind her. “You don’t know who it is. What if it’s him?”
“The bad guy?” Danny asked, wide-eyed.
“Absolutely.” She peered through the peephole. He didn’t look like a bad guy. He was dressed in a sport jacket, white shirt and tie. His hair was dark, groomed and he was handsome. But there was no mistaking it. It was the Peeping Tom.
“Go away!” she shouted through the door. “We’ve called the police.”
“Ma’am, I know. I am the police.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Here’s my badge. My name is Trent Davis. I’m very sorry to have frightened you.”
Cate looked at the badge through the peephole. “You’re really a cop?”
“Yes, ma’am. Detective.”
Detective. The man had barely gotten the word out and already Cate’s hands were shaking and her mouth had gone dry. Her next words felt as if they were tumbling out over sand. “What do you want with us?”
“I’m investigating a break-in a few houses away. Again, I’m very sorry to have frightened you. I thought I’d seen someone in your backyard. I’d like to ask you some questions. May I come in?”
“Questions,” she said to herself as she backed up and bumped into Danny.
“Mom, let him in. He’s a policeman.”
“I’m not sure.” She chewed her thumbnail. Cate had woven a perfect cocoon around Danny and herself. No one had invaded their privacy because she hadn’t given anyone a reason to look past the face she presented to the town. When she’d first arrived in Indian Lake on that frightening night, the owners of the mini-mart and the adjacent marina and docks—Captain Redbeard, Redmond Wilkerson Taylor and his wife, Julie—realized her plight, without her saying much at all. They didn’t care that Cate didn’t have a penny to her name. They saw through her anxiety to the honest person she was.
They asked her if she had a place to live. When she’d hemmed and hawed, they insisted she stay with them.
Cate had never seen such unquestioning trust.
They’d offered her a job working the register in the mini-mart and she took it. During the course of one long night, her life spun on that thin dime of fate—and all for the better.
Yet, even they didn’t know the whole truth. She’d never told anyone about the abuse. She’d only said she’d run away.
Questions.
As if someone had thrown a breaker, electricity ignited every cell in her body. She reasoned it was adrenaline. It felt like terror.
Danny circled her and put his hand on the knob. “Talk to him, Mom.”
Cate turned the dead bolt and opened the door. The man was still holding his badge for her to inspect. Gingerly, she took it from him and read the specifics. She returned it, noticing how big his hands were and how his shoulders seemed to fill the doorway. He looked strong and buff under his jacket. She supposed his looks and strength would probably put some people at ease. Instead, her nerves were erratic.
He was a cop. Poking around in her backyard. What if he was one of those cops who’d snapped? What if he’d had some kind of meltdown and was now exactly what she’d thought earlier: a Peeping Tom? Or worse.
“May I come in?”
“No,” she replied with more force than she’d intended.
Danny was looking at him like he’d hung the moon. “Can I see your badge, too?”
“Sure.” Detective Davis handed the badge to Danny.
“Wow. Cool.” Danny traced the brass edges and lettering with his fingers as if memorizing every carving.
“Danny, give the man his badge,” she ordered, folding her arms over her chest, feeling as defiant as she probably looked.
“Thanks,” Danny said.
The detective closed the door behind him, leaving it slightly ajar. “I should explain that I’d come to your front porch initially, but I was certain I’d seen someone in your backyard. You should get some motion lights.”
“I have them,” she replied.
“But, Mom,” Danny said. “That light burned out. Remember? We got the new one.”
“Right,” she said sheepishly, and dropped her arms. “I haven’t had time to put the replacement in.”
“I could do that for you,” Trent offered.
“That’s not necessary,” she said curtly. “I’m quite capable of changing a light bulb.”
The detective scratched the back of his head and smiled. “Boy. We’ve really gotten off on the wrong foot. Not only am I trying to apologize for frightening you, but I want to warn you about home invasion.”
“You said there was a break-in.”
“There was. About half a mile from here, there was the report of a home invasion.” He looked at Danny, then at Cate. “Anyway, what I wanted to know was if you’d seen anything unusual. Anyone on the street you’ve never seen before? Strange cars?”
“No,” she said, shaking her head.
He handed her his card. “I’d appreciate you letting me know if you do see anything. Maybe ask your neighbors to do the same. That’s my cell,” he said, pointing to the last number on the list of contact information.
“Okay,” she said, realizing that her hand was still shaking.
“Look, Mrs. Sullivan. I’m very sorry to have frightened you.”
“I’ll live,” she quipped, and forced a smile. She’d be fine after he left. Detectives were gifted with keen curiosity, laser eyesight and brains that put puzzles together. At least that’s how she saw him. He was the kind of detector who could unmask her. Expose her. Ruin her life. “Well, if I see anything, I’ll be sure to call.”
She reached around him and pulled the door open.
He didn’t move.
What was with this guy? He wasn’t taking the hint to leave.
Goose bumps skipped across her arms. She’d bet a hundred bucks he knew something about her past. He was smooth and polished, formal and courteous as he talked to Danny. Still, Trent didn’t take a single step to leave. She didn’t trust him in the least.
“So, what school do you go to?”
“St. Mark’s. I’m in kindergarten.”
“That’s cool. Your school is only a block from the police station.”
“Yeah,” Danny said with a big grin. “I watch the cop cars go in and out of the parking lot.”
Cate could see that Danny’s eyes were filled with admiration. She glanced at the detective and realized that he had picked up on it, too.
“You know, Danny, next weekend is the Sunflower Festival, and our station has a booth to raise money for widows and orphans of other cops. If you stop by, I’ll save a brownie for you.”
“We go to the Sunflower Festival every year.” Danny looked at his mother. “Don’t we, Mom?”
“Uh, yes.” Cate was perplexed as she raised her eyes to Trent.
He pushed on. “Mrs. Beabots makes the brownies for us as her donation. They’re the best in town.” Trent smiled broadly.
“She gave me a brownie tonight at the party,” Danny said.
“Party?” Trent cocked his head toward Cate.
Cate paused, her eyes locked on Trent. “It was a baby shower.”
“Oh,” he said, and turned to Danny. “So, I’ll see you at the Sunflower Festival?”
“Sure,” Danny replied quickly.
Cate noticed that Danny didn’t look to her for approval. He was too busy smiling at the detective.
“I’ll be going,” Trent said as he opened the door fully. “Make sure all the doors are locked, and double-check your windows, too.”
Cate’s eyes widened. “The windows.”
“They are locked, right? You always check them, right?” he asked warily.
“Uh. No.”
“What about the basement windows where someone can crawl in?”
“Those I had boarded up and sealed when we moved in. I try never to go down there if I can help it.”
“Yeah,” Danny chimed in. “It’s spooky.”
She nodded. “It is.”
“Do you want me to check the windows for you?”
“No, I can do it. There aren’t that many,” she said.
“Okay.” Trent stepped out. “Lock up behind me.”
“Goodbye... Detective Davis.” She closed the door and locked it.
Cate felt as if she’d run a gauntlet through swinging knife blades. Police. The last thing she needed in her life right now was a cop. Now or ever.
* * *
TRENT WENT TO his car. As he drove away, he noticed that Cate and Danny were watching him leave from the living-room window.
Purposefully, he drove down two blocks, then doubled back, turning off his headlights so she wouldn’t see him returning. He parked four doors away.
As his eyes tracked over to the house, he noticed as each of the lights was turned off. The last one was at the far right end of the house. Presumably, Cate’s bedroom.
Cate.
He’d never paid much attention to her when he’d seen her around town. Thinking about it, he realized she was the kind of woman who didn’t meet a man’s eyes. She didn’t flirt. Didn’t smile much, either. Now he knew why.
She was pretty enough. Soft peachy skin. Thick brunette hair that hung in a straight cut just past her chin.
Trent flung even the hint of Cate out of his head. With his PTSD, he wasn’t relationship material—for anybody. To save everyone heartache, it was best for him to bury romantic emotions.
Cate was simply part of his investigation. That was all.
Trent’s life worked best with him alone. No one to hear his screams in the night. No one to talk him down from another nightmare. No one to whom he’d have to describe what it was like to have his best buddy blown to pieces right before his eyes. The IED should have been detected. It would have been better if Trent had been the one to die. Trent didn’t have a wife and kids. But Parker had.
The vision of Parker’s bloody body pieces strewed over the sand was burned on his soul. It was part of him. He couldn’t right click and delete it. Shoot it or kill it. It lived deep in his psyche where it haunted him.
Trent dropped his face to his hands. Sweat had sprung out on his forehead and ran down his temples. It was always like this. He’d heat up and then when the memory faded, he’d cool off. His mouth was dry.
It was always the same. Predictable. But the onset was like a rogue wave. He never knew when it was coming. Only that it would be back again and again. That was the hell of it.
Because no treatment worked. Cognitive processing therapy and prolonged exposure therapy didn’t help. He’d tried a selective serotonin reuptake inhibitor, but it hadn’t made a dent.
He drank deeply from his water bottle and looked at Cate’s bedroom window.
The light had gone out.
“Time for some shut-eye,” he mumbled as he stared at the house.
Trent sat up in his seat as he remembered Cate’s brown eyes.
That was it. There was something wrong with her eyes. Tonight, in the harsh overhead foyer light, she’d looked straight at him.
That’s when he’d noticed it. She wore colored contacts. The kind that muted the eye. Made it difficult, if not impossible, to read someone’s thoughts. Trent was usually spot-on with deciphering expressions, voice tones, nuances that disclosed valuable information.
He’d frightened her tonight. He’d blundered and hoped he’d smoothed it over. He needed her to trust him. It was a bonus that her son had taken a liking to him. He might need some support in the days to come. Cate was wary and suspicious, as well she should be. He couldn’t imagine what life had been like for her all this time—living this lie.
Looking at the situation from Cate’s side, he imagined that to her, he was just about the worst thing that could happen to her. His investigation would blow her story to pieces.
Cate was right not to trust him.
In order to throw the snare on Le Grande, he might hurt Cate.
