Читать книгу The Cop's Missing Child - Karen Whiddon - Страница 9

Careful not to flash a confident smile, Mac waited for Emily to accept his offer. Though he’d never been anyone’s bodyguard, he felt he’d do a superb job. Being a former cop had its advantages.

“No, thank you,” she said instead and then turned and hurried inside Tearmann’s Animal Clinic, leaving him standing alone on the sidewalk. Scratching his head, he grimaced, wondering why he’d even thought this would be easy. Years of experience should have taught him that nothing ever was.

Turning, he headed back toward the parking lot where he’d left his pickup truck. The other day he’d been talking to his friend and former partner Joe, who still worked for the Albany P.D. Joe had speculated that someone like Emily Gilley was a chameleon. She could change everything about herself to suit the place and the occasion. Now that he’d met her, Mac thought Joe might be dead-on accurate about this.

He’d have to regroup and replan. His quarry was nervous and wary—and rightfully so. He’d been watching her from a distance ever since he’d arrived in Anniversary. Despite the time he’d put in learning about her and her routine, he’d yet to catch a glimpse of Ryan, the boy she passed off as her son.

This, he vowed silently, would become his number one priority.

Heart pounding and hands shaking, Emily walked over to the front desk, summoning a smile for Sally, the gum-chewing redhead who covered the reception area every day while Emily had lunch.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost. Are you all right?” Sally asked, tilting her head and peering at Emily with concern.

“I’m fine,” Emily lied, managing a limp smile. “It’s kind of hot outside, and I think I got kind of dehydrated, that’s all.”

Immediately, the older woman’s frown cleared. “I’ll bring you a bottle of water from the back.” She hurried off, leaving a trail of strong perfume in her wake.

As soon as she was gone, Emily sank down in her chair. She fought against instinct—the urge to run away, to quit her job, drive home immediately, pack her and Ryan’s things and get the hell out of Texas. She wanted to run … again … away from anything she perceived as a threat … away from him.

She took a few deep breaths. Sally returned, bearing the promised water. As Emily opened her mouth to speak, the phone rang. Waving her thanks to Sally, Emily answered, keeping her voice steady and professionally polite.

After she completed that booking—a morning spay—some clients came in: the Jones family with their three pugs. After that, a steady stream of phone calls and customers kept her busy. Somehow the afternoon flew by without her once thinking about Mac Riordan and the danger of his beautiful, casual smile.

Finally, the last appointment left and Emily locked the front door. She rushed through her normal closing duties, straightening the waiting room magazines and making sure the front door glass was smudge free. If she hurried, she’d make it to Mim’s Day Care where her son attended the after school program half an hour before closing time, and she and Ryan could swing by the grocery store and pick up the boxes of macaroni and cheese she’d been promising to make him, along with his beloved hot dogs, for supper.

The next morning, Emily woke with a renewed sense of purpose. She refused to allow herself to be run out of town. She just had to figure out the best way to fight. Sure, Mac Riordan was handsome and a charmer, but Carlos had been the same. She knew how to deal with men like him, even if it meant pushing away the simmering attraction she felt for him.

Feeling strong, she went to wake Ryan.

She sat down on the edge of his rumpled bed and watched him sleep, her heart bursting with love. As usual, seconds after she touched his shoulder, her son opened his eyes wide and held out his arms from a hug. Her throat clogged and her eyes filled as she wrapped her arms around him, breathing in the shampoo scent in his clean hair.

“I love you, mama,” he murmured, his voice full of sleep and sounding younger than his five years.

She cleared her throat, smiling mistily. “I love you too, Ryan.”

As she poured him cereal, a good compromise between the sugary one he’d wanted and the totally healthy one she had chosen, she found herself taking comfort in the familiar routine. No matter what kind of day she had at work, sharing her mornings with Ryan and looking forward to the evening ahead kept her motivated to have a positive day.

After breakfast, she followed him to his room to check out his clothing choices. Once she’d approved those, which happened more and more often these days, she grabbed the car key, buckled her son in his car seat and left.

“Have a good day.” Leaning down to kiss her squirming son’s cheek, she breathed in the apple juice and soap scent of him and wished the knot in her chest would ease.

“I will.” Ryan shifted from one foot to the other, clearly eager to hurry inside his kindergarten classroom but equally loathe to abandon his mother.

“Go on, then.” She gave him a tiny push, smiling as he tore off without another glance at her.

Looking at her watch as she left the elementary school, she waved at Mrs. Parsons, the assistant principal who always took morning duty at the front door, before hurrying to her car. The small gray Honda had been old when she’d purchased it, but it was clean, dent-free and it ran well, which was all she cared about. Every day she had to get Ryan to school and then pick him up from day care after. That, combined with her job and weekly trips to the grocery store, didn’t seem to be more than the little car could handle.

Now though, she had one more errand she wanted to run before she had to be at work. Emily planned to pay a visit to the sheriff’s office. One thing she’d learned being married to Carlos had been that the squeaky wheel got the grease. If she didn’t push, she knew they’d ignore her worries over the anonymous letter. They had no idea of her life story and the reason she took such things seriously, and if she had her way, they never would. That said, she had no intention of ending up one of those horrific stories you see on the evening news.

She’d make sure the Anniversary Police Department viewed her threatening letter as … well, as threatening as she did.

Already in her office, Renee Beauchamp looked up as Emily approached. Though her brown eyes appeared bright, the faint dark circles under told a different story.

“Good morning,” Emily said firmly, stepping into the sheriff’s office uninvited and taking a seat in one of the two chrome-and-cloth chairs facing the desk. “I’d like a moment of your time.”

Renee nodded, her expression showing nothing but professional interest. “What can I do for you, Ms.

Gilley?”

“I’m here to find out what you’ve learned about the letter.” Another trick Emily had learned was to state things as though they were fact, rather than ask questions. This conveyed both a sense of confidence and of purpose.

“Nothing, actually.” Renee steepled her fingers on the desk in front of her. “We’ve had very little to go on, and since there was no specific threat—”

“Oh, but there was,” Emily interrupted firmly. Pulling her copy from her purse, she read the relevant line. “I know what you’ve done. You’ve stolen what is mine and you’ll pay for what you did. Tell the truth, or risk everything.”

Nodding, Renee leaned forward. “While I appreciate and understand your concern, the letter is too vague. If, for example, it read ‘I’m going to plant a bomb in your garage’ or something, we’d have cause to act. But the wording ‘you’ll pay’ conveys nothing.”

Biting back an instinctive response, Emily swallowed back her anger. Just because the sheriff spoke factually didn’t mean she didn’t have a private, visceral reaction. As a woman, she must. Emily knew she had to appeal to this if she wanted help.

“Do you have children, Renee?” Emily asked softly.

A quick shadow appeared in Renee’s eyes, then vanished. “No, I don’t.”

She held up her hand as Emily opened her mouth to speak. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t get where you’re coming from.”

“Then how can you tell me it’s not a threat?”

“Because the letter did not directly threaten you or your son,” Renee said gently. “And if you read it again, you’ll see there is absolutely no specific threat in there—at all.”

Incredulous, Emily had to force herself to close her mouth. “You honestly don’t believe ‘you’ll pay for taking him’ puts me—or him—in any danger?”

“Ms. Gilley—”

Bulldozing through whatever platitude the other woman was about to offer, Emily stood. “Ryan is adopted, Renee. I know you had no way of knowing that, but I can’t help feel this letter is somehow related to that.”

A tiny frown appeared between the sheriff’s perfectly arched eyebrows. She sat up straighter, giving Emily a piercing look. “All right. I’ll check it out. I’ll need to ask you a few questions.”

“Of course.” Emily watched while Renee grabbed a pen and pad.

“Did you go through a service, or was the adoption privately arranged?”

“It was private.” Emily managed to sound confident. “My former husband—I’m a widow—handled everything. But I located all the records he gave me back then and would be glad to provide you with copies.”

“I’d like that.” The sheriff stood, holding out her hand. “Just bring them by at your earliest convenience.”

Standing also, Emily shook hands. It was almost time for her to head to work. “Thank you. I will.”

“Have a good day.”

“Oh, I have one last question.” Turning in the doorway, Emily tried for both a casual expression and carefree voice. “What do you know about Mac Riordan?”

To her surprise, Renee laughed. “He’s an okay sort of guy. He’s new in town, and I don’t know him that well, though my friend Joe speaks highly of him. Mac used to be a cop, up in Albany, which is where Joe works. I heard Mac kind of spooked you a bit.”

“He did, a little.” With a cheery wave and a manufactured smile, Emily let herself out, sighing. The damn letter had succeeded in erasing nearly four and a half years of security, all at once. Mac Riordan’s appearance had made things even worse. After all, Albany was only several hours north of Manhattan.

She didn’t just have her own security to worry about. She had to keep her son safe. Clearly she had a decision to make—and quickly.

Once at work, Emily pushed the letter from her mind … and Mac Riordan, as well. Though as her lunch hour approached and she prepared to head out for her daily walk, she couldn’t help but think of him. Surely he’d taken the hint and wouldn’t show up in the park today.

If he did, she’d have to accept that he was stalking her. And then she’d have to quit her job, pick up Ryan and go home and pack, running away in the middle of the night without a single goodbye to anyone.

Heart pounding and feeling queasy at the thought, she shook her head. Maybe if she tried to think logically, it was possible the man simply liked her. She’d felt a sort of electrical connection, despite having all her barriers up. From the way he’d looked at her, blue eyes dark and full of promise, he’d felt it, too. Exhaling, she laced up her sneakers and nevertheless prayed he wouldn’t be there.

He wasn’t. The pressure in her chest and the sick feeling in her stomach eased a little as she enjoyed a quiet, uninterrupted walk. The sun shone brightly; a few white, fluffy clouds dotted the sky like sheep; and birds sang, dogs barked, and people all around her enjoyed the bright spring day.

After, perspiring slightly and feeling pretty good, she stepped into Sue’s Catfish Hut and greeted her friends. As she took her usual seat, she couldn’t help but do a quick scan of the restaurant for a sight of those broad shoulders and dark gray hair.

Again, Mac Riordan was conspicuously absent. For the first time all day, she allowed herself to relax, even though a tiny part of her felt disappointed at his absence. She enjoyed her meal, chatting with Jayne and Tina and sipping iced tea.

She went back to work with a light step, allowing herself to believe everything just might turn out to be all right. By the end of the workday, she felt almost normal.

After helping close up the veterinary clinic, she hopped in her car and headed over to the day care.

As soon as she arrived, Ryan flung himself at her, holding on to her legs with a fierce grip.

“Finally,” he groused. “It took you forever to pick me up. I’m all played out.”

She couldn’t help but laugh at his choice of words. The after school programs at Mims’s Day Care tended to lean toward organized games, most of them physical. The tall trees made the heavily shaded playground the perfect place for youngsters to run off pent-up aggressions or simply play.

“Well, now you get to rest,” she said. “Grab your stuff and we’ll go.”

He did as she asked, snatching up his camo backpack and waving goodbye to his friends.

Once she’d buckled him into his booster seat, she climbed in the front and started the engine.

“How’s a tuna casserole sound for dinner?” This should be a sure hit since he always loved the one she made, using the leftover mac and cheese from last night and adding a can of peas and a can of tuna.

“No. I want a Good Times meal.” Looking mutinous, little Ryan crossed his arms and lifted his chin. “With fries. No tuna.”

Tired as she might be, still Emily managed to summon a smile for her son. “Rough day at school?” she asked, leaning over the backseat and ruffling his hair.

“Yep. And at Mim’s, too. I’m tired of playing.”

This was a new one. “Tired of playing? You? Why?”

“Because they always make me be the bad guy.”

Emily blinked. “Really? Why?”

He looked away, his lower lip quivering. “I dunno. Mommy, can we please get a Good Times meal?”

Though she’d planned on making the casserole and eating it for a couple of days, she relented. “Sure, I guess I’ll just get a salad or something.”

Apparently everyone’s children wanted Good Times meals. The drive-thru line had six cars already waiting. Emily debated going inside, but judging from the crowded interior, she’d be better off waiting in her car—especially since Ryan kept fidgeting, whining and protesting he was too big for a booster seat, even though the law stated he had to weigh a hundred pounds before graduated to just being buckled into the seat belt.

“You’ve still got some growing to do,” she informed him.

“I haven’t been weighed lately,” he said huffily. “Now I’m a big boy. I bet I weigh a hundred and five now.”

Considering him solemnly, she somehow kept from smiling. “Okay,” she finally said. “When we get home, we’ll check.”

He pumped his little fist up in the air. “And next time I go in the car, I can buckle up like a big person?”

“If you weigh over one hundred.” Which she knew he didn’t.

“And I can ride in the front with you?”

“We’ll see.” Finally, they reached the window. Placing her order, she glanced back at her son, who’d finally fallen quiet. He was staring at something in the parking lot. As she followed his gaze, she recoiled. Mac Riordan stood next to a large white pickup truck, talking to another man. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t seen her.

Struggling to hide her fear, she handed the money to the window cashier, accepted her order and put the car in Drive. Heart pounding, she pulled away, using only her rearview mirror to make sure she hadn’t been spotted.

All the way home, jumpy and unsettled, she kept checking to make sure they weren’t being followed. Nothing out of the ordinary occurred, and they pulled into the driveway slowly.

Not for the first time, Emily wished she could afford an automatic garage door opener. How much simpler and safer it would be to just hit a button, pull into the concealed garage and close the door behind you, all before even getting out of the car.

If she stayed in Anniversary, she’d have to put money aside to buy one.

Parking, she gave the rearview mirror one final check before unlocking the doors. The smell of fast-food made her stomach growl, and she was glad she’d opted for a grilled chicken sandwich instead of a salad. She needed something a bit more substantial today, especially since she knew she wouldn’t be getting much sleep.

Making decisions had never been her strong suit. She literally had to force herself to act at times—especially if she didn’t have a clear picture of potential repercussions.

She wished she could be one of those kinds of people who could go with their gut, trusting their instinct. Not her … she always required the facts.

Helping Ryan out of the car, she took his hand. Together, they walked up the sidewalk to the front of their circa 1960 rental house. Then she realized something was wrong.

“Hold on.” Grasping Ryan’s hand firmly, she stopped. “Don’t move.”

Though she’d locked it securely that morning, the front door was slightly ajar and obviously unlocked. Someone had been—or was still—inside her house.