All I've Ever Wanted (5 page)

Wednesday, 7:45 p.m.

K
ennedy sighed in relief when she arrived at her English class only to find that it had been canceled. Instead of being angry about having stayed up late working on her essay, she was grateful that she'd be able to crawl in bed early tonight.

As she waited at the bus stop, she couldn't stop worrying about her missing locket. If it were found, could it be traced to her? The blade of anxiety plunged deeper into her heart. She swore under her breath, tired of running over the list of fatal possibilities and constantly looking over her shoulder.

The bus arrived and Kennedy forced the negative thoughts out of her head. As she reevaluated the situation she had to laugh at herself. The chances that anyone could trace the necklace to her were slim.

 

Max slid into the passenger seat of Dossman's car and locked his seat belt one-handed. Neither partner said anything until they'd pulled out onto the main road.

“Are you all right, man?” Dossman finally asked.

Max instantly relaxed his features, convinced that his troubled thoughts had chiseled lines into his face that had given him away. “Nothing I can't handle.”

“That much I know.” He shrugged. “I just thought that maybe you wanted to talk about it. I mean, we
are
partners—right?”

Max thought about denying that anything was wrong, but one downside of being partners with someone is that they tend to really get to know you. “Jacinda.”

“Oh,” Dossman nodded as if he finally understood. “I'd forgotten about your court date. I take it that things didn't go well?”

“No,” Max's words were barely audible. He prided himself on controlling his emotions. That was something his mother had drummed into his head. “Men don't cry. Never show your emotions. Whatever happens in the family stays in the family.”

When he'd been younger, the lessons had been hard to learn. But, as an adult, the controlled mask he often wore protected him from his stressful job and ugly divorce.

His ex-wife had often screamed that she hated that trait in him—hated how he could just shut himself off. He was cold and unfeeling, she'd sobbed. Had that been the reason she'd betrayed her marriage vows and then kept him from seeing his son, Franklin?

Max stopped that train of thoughts before it got any more painful and returned to the subject at hand.

“Actually, the whole thing seemed like a waste of time,” he went on to say. “The judge acted as if she was on automatic pilot. She couldn't care less that I'm a good father, or that I was the one who remained faithful.” He looked out the side window, sweeping his gaze over the landscape. “I didn't do anything wrong, yet I'm the one being punished.”

“It'll pan out. You'll see.”

“I don't know about that.” Despite the traffic, Max felt his partner's gaze on him. “Jacinda is getting married.”

The statement hung in the air like a death sentence. Dossman finally emitted a low whistle. “When it rains, it pours.”

“Tell me about it.” With great effort Max suppressed the anger boiling through him. On top of everything else, he now had to face the real possibility
of another man raising his son. “Life sure knows how to kick a man when he's down.”

The silence that followed grew until Max broke it. “I thought our routine went, I tell you my problems and you inflict bad advice on me.”

Dossman laughed bitterly. “Trust me, I was all set to go through our usual routine, but you really floored me on this one.”

Max shifted around in his seat to face his partner. “You know, as long as we're sharing things, is there anything I should know about you and Scardino?”

As he'd expected, Dossman's smile faltered, but the man's recovery was smooth.

“Not likely. I just like to rile her from time to time. She never takes me seriously though. Why do you ask?”

“Just curious.” Max made sure that he'd made his disbelief clear before turning back toward the window.

“This is it,” Dossman informed him as the car rolled to a stop. He peered up at the building in front of them. “Not much to look at, huh?”

“Not really. But look over there.” He pointed down the road. “The woods that concealed the crime scene.”

“It's practically in her backyard.”

Max nodded. “Let's go have a talk with her.”

From the moment they stepped out of the car, it
was clear that they stuck out like a sore thumb. Max felt, rather than saw, everyone's gazes on them.

“You'd think that we had the word
police
painted across our foreheads,” Dossman said, straightening his jacket.

“Yeah, you'd think.”

They entered the brick building. Despite the age of the building, the walls were freshly painted and the carpet looked new. A few minutes later, they knocked on the door to apartment 8B and waited.

When they heard footsteps approaching, they remained on guard and prepared for anything.

“Who is it?” a feminine voice asked through the door.

“Police,” Max answered in his best professional voice. As expected an awkward pause hung in the air, and both officers knew the woman was taking a good look at them through the peephole.

They heard the unmistakable thud of the dead bolt disengaging before the door opened a crack. The chain lock remained engaged.

“May I see some identification?”

Dossman and Collier took out their badges and held them up.

The door closed again and the chain was removed. When it opened again, they could see a petite girl who couldn't be more than seventeen.

“Is this the St. Jameses' residence?” Max asked.

The girl looked nervous, but she managed to nod.

Max lowered her gaze to the little boy hiding behind the teenager's legs. Despite the boy's youth, Max saw intelligence in his eyes.

“May we come in?”

The teenager stepped back and allowed them to enter.

“Are you Ms. Kennedy St. James?” Dossman asked.

“No, sir. I'm just the babysitter. Is there something wrong? Did something happen?” She closed the door behind them.

“Why are you looking for my mommy?” The little boy asked, lifting his chin fearlessly.

Max smiled. As he knelt in order to come down to eye level with the boy, he was startled by a strong sense of déjà vu. Those eyes were familiar. “We just wanted to talk to your mother—ask her a few questions—that's all.”

The boy's gaze became more intense and Max had the funny feeling that the boy was trying to discern whether he was telling the truth.
Smart boy,
he thought.

“What's a good time to catch Ms. St. James?” Dossman asked the babysitter.

“She normally doesn't get in until late.”

“About what time?”

“A little after midnight.”

Both men nodded in satisfaction at that revelation.

Max stood. “Is that every night?”

The teenager shrugged. “Pretty much, except on the weekends.”

“What about last Friday? Were you babysitting for her last Friday?”

She hesitated before nodding.

“Did she get in around the same time then?”

“No. Uh, she came home kind of late—later than normal.”

“How late?” Dossman and Collier asked in unison.

“About one o'clock.”

Max and Dossman exchanged looks as Dossman mouthed the word
Jackpot.

Just then, a key rattled in the lock and everyone turned toward the door.

“Guess who's home,” an unmistakably feminine voice sang as the door opened.

Max blinked in surprise at the familiar, angelic face of the waitress he'd met at the diner peered around the door. The woman stopped dead as she noticed him and his partner. Judging by her expression, she was none too pleased to see them.

K
ennedy practically suffered a mini-coronary as she gazed at the two large men standing in the middle of her living room. She recognized one of them instantly from the restaurant. A cop. They were probably both cops. She stiffened, unsure what to do.

“Ms. St. James?” the handsome detective she'd met before asked.

She swallowed hard, and then answered in a thin whisper. “Yes.” She knew he had recognized her by the way his gaze danced over her as it had at the restaurant.

As she lowered her gaze she caught sight of a brief smile that fluttered across his lips. Suddenly, she
was incensed. “Is there something I can help you with, officers?”

“Yes, ma'am,” the shorter man said, stepping forward, his confusion obvious from his expression as his attention shifted between her and his partner. “I'm Detective Dossman. I take it that you already know my partner, Detective Collier?”

“We've bumped into each other.” Her tone flat-lined. “Eve, go ahead and put Tommy to bed.” She smiled down at her son and added, “I'll come in and read you a bedtime story in a few minutes.”

Both Eve and Tommy nodded, then disappeared down the hall.

Kennedy returned her attention to the policemen. “Now, can I get you two something to drink?” She slid her bookbag from her shoulders and turned to hang it up on the coatrack by the door.

“We just wanted to ask you a few questions, ma'am,” Detective Collier reinforced.

Slowly, she turned to face him. “I can't imagine what for.”

“It's about the murder of A.D.A. Marion Underwood.” He gave her the full measure of his solemn gaze. “I'm sure you've heard about it.”

“I watch the news.”
Cool. Play it cool
.

“Then you know that the murder happened not too far from here, around the time you usually arrive home.”

“What a coincidence.”

Collier's expression darkened. “I don't believe in coincidences.”

“Pity.”

Dossman crossed his arms as if he enjoyed the strained exchange between the couple. “Ms. St. James, what kind of car do you drive?”

Caught off guard, she flinched. “I don't have a car.”

“Public transportation?”

She thought about lying. Maybe she should say that she usually caught rides with friends. But she knew that it was fruitless to lie about something so trivial and something that could easily be checked.

“‘MARTA is smarter.'” She quoted the city bus line's popular slogan.

Collier smiled, and took advantage of the opening. “Isn't the closest bus stop somewhere up on M.L.K.?”

Again she was forced to tell the truth. “Yeah, so?”

“So, you usually walk the rest of the way home?”

Kennedy drew in an angry breath, but managed to answer in a patient tone. “Yes.”

“Mind if we ask which route you generally take?”

“I follow the main road where there are street-lights. A girl can never be too careful.”

“You've never been tempted to just cut through the back woods?” Collier asked. “I'd imagine that it would be quicker—wouldn't you?”

“It might be. I wouldn't know.”

“No?” He smiled and reached inside his jacket.

Heat rushed through her a she struggled to stifle the urge to slap his smug expression off his face.
Why did these men have to come here?

“You wouldn't happen to know then, how this ended up in the woods?” He dangled the delicate locket in front of her.

Her breath hitched and she immediately realized her mistake. They'd caught her. Just like that. There was no sense in denying that the necklace belonged to her. No doubt it had been her father's picture that had led them to her doorstep.

“Ms. St. James?” Collier's smile had disappeared. Kennedy pulled her gaze from the locket and lifted it to meet his.

“You want to know what I think? I think that you didn't follow the main road last Friday night. I think you made a detour through the woods and saw something you wish you hadn't. Am I right?”

If she said yes, her world—her life would change. They'd want to drag her down to view a lineup. They'd make sweet promises they couldn't keep, or they'd die trying…just as her father had.

Max read volumes in the woman's delicate features. Behind her cool, almond-shaped eyes, she was planning, thinking, calculating.

Amusement twisted the corners of his mouth. She
was actually contemplating lying to him. He expected better from a cop's daughter.

“I don't know how that ended up in the woods.” She reached for it, but he jerked it out of reach.

“I lost it months ago.”

Anger made her even more beautiful. She lifted her chin as if daring him to call her a liar.

He smiled. “I'm relieved.” Two could play her game. “Because, the way we figure it, there may be a witness to what happened to Underwood. Isn't that right, Dossman?”

His partner moved toward them and answered Max. “Uh, that's right.”

“We also think—” Max's steady gaze returned to hers “—that whoever killed Underwood is quite aware of the existence of this witness.”

“Yeah,” Dossman jumped in. “Judging by the number of shots fired down there that night.”

Kennedy swallowed.

“But we're glad to know that it wasn't you.” Max gave his sarcasm free rein. “I'd hate to think that your life was in danger for being at the wrong place at the wrong time.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You can stop playing games. I know what you're up to.”

“And what's that?” Max challenged, crossing his arms to stare down at her. She had beautiful eyes, he realized. They were a unique shade of brown—
light, with gold specks glistening in them. She glared at him.

Instead of answering, she turned and opened the front door. “I want you to leave.”

Max's lips widened and Dossman actually laughed as they headed toward the door. “Are you sure you're making the right decision about this?”

Kennedy continued to glare at him, her expression motionless.

Dossman's hand dropped heavily against Max's back. “Come on, partner. Maybe we were wrong about this. Have a nice day, ma'am.” With a confident smile, he sauntered out through the open door.

Max knew he was right. Not only did he feel it in his gut, but also he saw it in her eyes. He suddenly regretted how he'd handled this situation and tried once again to win her over.

“You know, you can trust us. The police,” he added when he saw her eyes widen.

“I think you were just leaving,” she answered in a flat voice.

He reached inside his coat pocket and drew out a card. “Call me when you've had a chance to think things through. I'll be ready to listen.”

The card remained perched between his fingers for an eternal minute, until she realized he wouldn't leave until she took it.

She snatched it, and he saw her jaws clench even tighter when he had the audacity to smile again.

“Have a nice evening, ma'am.” His shoulders pulled back, drawing his frame into an intimidating height.

For a nervous moment, she shifted her weight on her Jell-O filled legs, but miraculously kept her chin up. “What about my necklace?”

The bastard had the nerve to widen his smile as he asked, “What about it?”

She held out her hand. “May I have it back?”

He laughed and she actually entertained the idea of bashing a vase or a frying pan against his thick skull.

He lowered the chain into her open palm, then closed her hand around it.

She sucked in an involuntary breath, astonished by the jolt of electricity that surged through her at his touch. Belatedly, she jerked her hand back, but it still burned—or tingled. That realization disturbed her.

“Good night,” she managed to say, but her voice came out lower and wispier than she intended.

His smile vanished and his handsome face might as well have been made of stone. For a moment she had to resist the urge to caress his perfect profile.

“Call me.” With that, he turned and vanished behind the door.

Kennedy closed the door, and then slumped back against it, her breaths low and labored. What in the hell had she just done—lie to the police? Had she lost her mind? Her answer was an unequivocal
yes.

The last twenty minutes replayed in the theater of her mind but, this time, her mind's camera focused more on the intensity of Det. Collier's eyes and the undeniable strength radiating from his towering frame. A war between her mind and heart ensued. Trust was what it all boiled down to…and she simply couldn't trust the police.

“Whoever killed Underwood is quite aware of the existence of this witness.” Det. Collier's voice echoed in her head.

She felt the ice of fear trickle through her veins and her brain churned with great difficulty through her muddled thoughts.

If the police had been able to locate her, then how far-fetched was it to suspect that The Skulls could, too?

From the way her heart pounded at the thought she suspected that, at this rate, she'd die of a massive coronary instead of a bullet from Keenan Lawrence. Lord, she'd just run into the man on the bus the other day. Had that really been a coincidence? She was surprised to feel tears streaking down her face.

“Ms. St. James?” Eve questioned in a small voice.

Kennedy opened her eyes, as if she'd been caught doing something forbidden, and she hastily wiped her face dry. “Yes?”

Eve smiled as sympathy pooled in her eyes. “Tommy is waiting for you to tuck him in.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you.” She moved away from the door, her smile too heavy to lift.

“Are you all right?” the teenager asked.

The innocent concern on the girl's endearing face was Kennedy's undoing. Her tears rushed from her eyes at such a velocity that her vision drowned in its depths.

Eve's lithe arms encircled her, surprising Kennedy with their strength.
Gratitude
seemed too weak a word to describe what she was feeling—
appreciation
even worse. But, whatever word best suited the situation, Kennedy felt it tenfold.

 

Dossman hissed at Max, “Do you want to tell me what the hell you were doing up there?”

“What?” Max's feigned look of innocence clashed with Dossman's cynical stare.

“If she did see something, you just ruined any chance of her coming to us with her information.”

“Oh, she definitely knows something. I'm more convinced than ever that she was there that night. I'm willing to bet my life on it.”