Читать книгу Mother by Fate - Tara Quinn Taylor - Страница 12

CHAPTER FOUR

THE DRIVER OF bus twelve didn’t notice when a skinny blonde white woman got off his bus. Michael showed the guy a picture. He couldn’t remember her. He drove the beach route. Skinny blondes were a dime a dozen to him.

Michael didn’t know if Nicole had managed to convince the guy that she was a victim, to play the innocent female needing protection—as she’d obviously managed to do at the women’s shelter—or if she’d merely been that unremarkable. Perhaps the bus driver really was as oblivious as he’d said after driving the same route day in and day out, letting people on and off the bus.

Either way, he couldn’t do a damn thing about the man’s statement. It was what it was.

Neither could he rest with Nicole Kramer so close by. And on the run.

Hailing a cab to get him back to his car, he hit the first number on his speed dial.

“Don’t worry, she’s already had dinner and her bath and is reading a story to the dogs before bedtime,” Ashleigh drawled over the line.

“I wasn’t worried,” he said. His mom would have checked in by now, too. They knew he was on a job. “I just want to tell her good-night.”

“Mar?” Ashleigh’s tone was soft.

“Tell him I’m busy.” He heard the little-girl voice, complete with the lisp.

Not waiting for his sister to relay the message, he said, “Tell her I said to come to the phone.” There wasn’t time for games that night.

He heard his sister’s voice... More important, her tone of voice. A quick scramble sounded, and then Mari said, “Hi, Daddy. I guess it’s not done yet, huh?”

She knew he caught bad guys—like the one who’d killed her mother. She didn’t need to know anything else. Their deal was he’d tell her when it was over. And that any time he could, he’d call to tell her good-night.

“Nope, not yet.”

“It’s dark.”

“I know.”

But her daddy was like Superman. He had special powers. And men with special powers had to get the bad guys so little girls and their mothers could sleep safely in their beds at night.

Reality was a part of Mari’s life.

Because reality was that Mari’s mother had been raped and murdered in their home while Mari had been sleeping in her bed down the hall. Not that the little girl knew any of the details. Only that Mommy had been killed. Not where. Or when.

“Hurry up and get done so you can come home,” she said now. The vulnerability in her voice only meant she was tired.

“I will. I love you, punkin.”

“I know. I love you, too, Daddy.”

“’Kay—” He was ready to tell her goodbye when she interrupted.

“Daddy?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you eat your supper?”

Did he lie to her? Or make her worry? Life was filled with hard choices.

“Yep.” He had eaten it. The night before. And the night before that.

“I love you, Daddy. Please come home for breakfast if you’re done.”

As if he’d be anyplace else.

Michael hung up just as the cab was turning onto the street with the thrift shop. Was it only a few hours since he’d been there? Seemed like days to him.

And he was no closer to catching his perp.

She was out there someplace. Desperate enough to break into someone’s home? To hurt them in order to get money for drugs?

Or would she head straight back to LA and the little boy she’d tried twice now to steal away from the father who loved him? Who worked as a shift manager at a reputable company and could provide a stable and loving home for the boy.

A father who didn’t do drugs.

Standing at the door to the SUV, he glanced over to the thrift shop. There had to be access to the women’s shelter somewhere on that street. It made sense. But he couldn’t find it.

Nor did he know a thing about women’s shelters. Except that they were hidden in ordinary neighborhoods. Hidden where no one would expect to find them.

Sara Haven had been outside the thrift shop the day before.

Sara, who worked with victims of domestic violence.

She’d know where the shelter was.

More than that, she knew Nicole. Sara was a counselor. The wanted woman had obviously talked to her. And probably to others, too, all of whom Sara could put in touch with him.

It meant that he was going to have to come clean with her.

He’d have to confess that their chance meeting had been a ruse. That he’d only been using her to get information.

But when she heard why, when she heard that the woman she’d been protecting was a dangerous criminal who’d probably smuggled a gun into the women’s shelter with her, she’d help him.

She wasn’t going to like him anymore, though.

It couldn’t be helped. Regret was a wasted emotion that he shrugged off as best he could.

Sliding his cell phone out of its holster, Michael dialed the number he’d told himself to forget.

* * *

SARA’S TENSION HAD not dissipated one bit. There was no encouraging news. A frustrating lack of it, as a matter of fact. Trevor Kramer, and his infant son, Toby, were both at home where they belonged. Trevor had been sitting alone watching the Food Network on television when the detectives had knocked on his door. Toby, asleep on a blanket on the couch next to him, appeared to be healthy, rosy cheeked and content.

The three-bedroom rental was clean. No sign of drugs or booze. It had smelled slightly of bacon. Trevor said he’d made an omelet for dinner.

He’d asked if there was any news on his wife.

The detectives had asked if he’d sent someone after her.

His adamant reply to the negative had convinced the LAPD that he was on the up and up.

Which made no sense to Sara or any of the other members of the High Risk Team, who were gathered in Lila McDaniel’s office just after ten that Saturday night.

They’d just received a call from the Santa Raquel police with a follow-up report on the truck that Nicole had reportedly ridden away on. The driver had never known she’d been aboard. Officers were canvassing the neighborhood but didn’t want to alert the public at large, or show Nicole’s picture in case her husband didn’t know she’d been in the area.

“I’m going to be off, then,” Officer Sanchez, one of the members of the High Risk Team, said as he reached out to shake Sara’s hand, and then Lila’s. “You two should get some rest, too. There’s not a lot more we can do tonight.” He looked toward Bethany, Nicole’s new victim witness advocate. “She has your cell number. My guess is that’s the one she’ll use if she wants to get in touch with us.”

“She has mine, too,” Sara said. They did things on a case-by-case basis at the Lemonade Stand. If she wanted to hand out her private cell number to residents, that was her business.

“And mine,” Lila added.

“Security’s all been alerted here,” Tammy Severnson, the most senior of the four full-time security agents at the Stand, said as she moved toward the door. “If she shows up, they know to get her to safety ASAP and be on guard for anyone following her.”

They all knew that. And that an APB had been sent, alerting officers in surrounding areas to be on the lookout for the woman.

“So...” Lila also moved toward the door. “We’re repeating ourselves here,” she said, stating the obvious. “Let’s all say an extra prayer that the night brings Nicole safely back to us and then try to get some rest.”

Sara wasn’t going to be sleeping well that night. And, she suspected, neither would Lila. But they had to go through the motions. Sara’s phone rang and everyone froze. She glanced from the screen to her teammates. “I don’t recognize the number,” she said, just before pushing the talk button.

“Sara?” She recognized the voice, though. Strange, considering that she’d only met him once. Maybe because he’d been the only bright spot in an otherwise difficult day.

Something had to account for the fact that he was still in the back of her mind.

“Yes, this is Sara.” The others were listening.

“You home?”

“No...” Everyone was watching her expectantly. She shook her head. Turned her back. She told him she’d been called into work. He wanted to meet. And as she agreed to meet her new neighbor at the condo’s pool in thirty minutes, she was aware of Tammy, Bethany and Officer Sanchez leaving the room.

She’d been thinking she’d stay for a while. Sit with Lila until the older woman was ready to retire for the night. The managing director had already said that she was going to be staying in her small apartment at the Stand that night rather than traveling the short distance to the home she owned and lived in alone.

Instead, she finished her phone call and said good-night to Lila right behind the rest of the High Risk Team members who’d been present that night. Feeling selfish. And leaving anyway.

She needed relief. Distance. She was in deep with this one, and Nicole needed her to be alert and professional.

If the police were successful in doing their jobs that night, if they were able to bring Nicole back safely, Sara was going to have to be refreshed enough in the morning to tend to the woman’s psyche.

And in the meantime, for the first time in a very long while, she was romantically...intrigued. Maybe this was fate’s way of telling her it was time for a little change in her life.

* * *

HE’D HAVE LIKED to have gone home and changed, but Michael didn’t want to risk waking Mari and getting her hopes up that he’d be sitting at the breakfast table with her in the morning. It was shaping up to be a long night.

And at the moment he wasn’t feeling all that hopeful that he’d have the case closed by morning.

When Sara Havens had told him she’d been called into work, he’d offered to meet her there. Sitting in his car across from the thrift shop, he figured she couldn’t be all that far away. She’d opted for the pool at the condo instead, and he hadn’t hated the idea.

He’d find out where she worked as soon as he came clean. If all went well. And Michael was a man who, when he was working, counted on things going well. A moment of doubt could cost him his life. Or his prey.

There was no doubt in his mind that his deception was going to anger Ms. Havens. But surely if she cared half as much about her job as she’d seemed to, she’d agree to help him. What reasonable person wouldn’t?

He was equally confident that he’d never get another personal invite from her again as long as he lived. And couldn’t be distracted by the regret that tried to surface yet again.

Confidence didn’t stop Michael from having a backup plan. He waited long enough for Sara to say the good-nights she’d told him she had to say and then called her back. He watched for her as he did so, on the street outside the thrift shop. Would she be walking or in a vehicle?

“It hasn’t been half an hour yet,” she answered on the first ring.

“I know. I just wanted to let you know that I’m not home, either, so if I’m a minute or two late, don’t think I’m standing you up.” Translation—“I want to know when you’re at your car so I can try to figure out where you’re coming from.”

“I don’t take you for a man who’d call and then not show. I’d have waited.” There was a chuckle in her tone that got to him. He shifted in his seat, pretending not to notice.

“It’s late,” he said. “I didn’t want you out in the dark alone, putting yourself at risk on my count.” Probably a stupid statement based on her understanding of what was transpiring. But not stupid at all. An armed and dangerous woman was on the loose. Because he’d spooked her.

And she knew Sara.

“No need to worry, Michael. I’m used to taking care of myself.”

But how often did she deal with women who’d kill to get their way?

She’d called him Michael. Only Shelley had ever done that. And then she’d stopped. He’d become Mike. Just like he was to everyone else he’d ever known. Mike. Just Mike. Simply Mike...

He’d told Sara his name was Michael.

“So have you left work yet?” He was doing a job. And had to do it to the best of his ability. And when he saw no one in his rearview mirror, he turned in his seat, doing a visual three-sixty.

“Not yet. I’m just getting to my car.”

There were a few cars parked on the street. Vacant cars. Most of the businesses were shut down. An occasional cop drove by. A convenience store on the next block hogged what little traffic there was.

She wasn’t on his street. He didn’t hear any cars starting.

And then he did.

Michael started his SUV. Drove to the corner, keeping an eye in his rearview mirror, as well. He could cover, at most, four streets. Thinking that his range wasn’t going to be good enough, Michael saw a car turn the corner onto a main street one block to his left.

The streetlight showed him a glimpse of light hair that wasn’t blond. The color of honey. Bingo.

Waiting long enough to not become conspicuous on the mostly deserted road, Michael told her he’d see her soon and slowly pulled out. He didn’t follow her, though. He didn’t have to. He knew where she lived.

What he needed to know was where she’d come from.