Cache a Predator (22 page)

Max wagged his tail at Brett’s mother. She stooped to rub his ear, and he sat at her feet.

Before the reporter moved the mic in front of Brett, Sarah approached. She stared at him openly, tears in her eyes. She reminded him of his favorite candy—caramels. The way the sun bounced off her hair, her expression—genuine, caring, and warm. What was it about her that made him pause? A look? An expression in her eyes that lay underneath her independent persona, a glimpse of a hurt little girl? She smiled at him. Openly. He felt his face blush. Quinn had touched her somehow, thawed Sarah’s heart in some way. Quinn had the magical ability to make other people feel good about themselves. Maybe it was because she’d had so much practice with Ali.

The camera’s red light blinked. Brett shifted his attention to the crowd and peered into the camera. His father’s hand still rested on Brett’s shoulder. It gave him strength. He took a deep breath and let his eyes scan the crowd from left to right, and then he spoke.

“I’m here today begging all of you to help me find Quinn, my daughter. This is what she looks like.” He held up her photo. “The last time she was seen she was wearing jeans and a bright-pink top. She has brown curly hair the color of a chocolate bar, and a pale complexion, but it’s her blue eyes that stand out. They’re as light as her hair is dark.”

He cleared his throat, and the wad of tears lodged there. “She’s five years old.” He stared into the camera. “If you have her, please return her to me. She hasn’t done anything wrong. She needs to be with me, her father. If, for some reason, you think she’s in harm’s way, you’re wrong. Child Protective Services placed Quinn in a foster home while she was in her mother’s care, not mine. I’m a good father.”

He took a breath and licked his lips. “The CPS’s job is to investigate every case, and until they knew Quinn was safe, they placed her in a temporary foster home. That foster mother’s son is a sex offender. The state didn’t know this. His mother and he did not share the same name or address. Typically, foster homes are safe.

“Please, if you’re the one who took Quinn, bring her home. She’s not in any danger with me. She’s safe. I’m safe. I’m not a sex offender. I’m begging you to bring her home.”

One newscaster in a navy suit with a red tie said, “Is it true that your ex-wife has a drinking problem?”

Brett nodded. “Yes, she struggles with depression, and sometimes she doesn’t use the best coping tools.”

“Is it true that she was sexually abused as a child?”

Brett’s jaw twitched, and his whole body tensed. “I don’t understand how that has anything to do with getting Quinn back.”

“Are there any suspects?” someone else asked.

Clay stepped forward and identified himself. “Not for now, but we have one person of interest.” He placed his hand on Brett’s arm. “If you see anything suspicious, please call the police department. The suspect may have changed Quinn’s hair color or disguised her so she’s unrecognizable.”

Brett’s father stepped forward. “I’m Quinn’s grandfather, Mason Reed. We’re offering a ten-thousand-dollar reward for anyone who comes forward with the information that leads to his arrest.”

Brett turned to his father, his mouth agape. His mother wrapped her arm around Brett’s waist. He’d forgotten how good it was to have the support of both parents. But was this a show? Was his father only pretending to care so he could make his legal firm look good?

Sarah stepped forward. “Excuse me, but I want to speak on behalf of Hursey Lake’s Child Protective Services.”

The camera crew shifted their positions, and a mic was placed in front of her.

She introduced herself, and as she spoke, her eyes never left Brett’s. “Unfortunately, as humans we make mistakes, but Quinn’s foster mother had an impeccable record. Obviously, if we had known her son was a sex offender, we never would have placed Quinn in her care. Officer Reed is a loving and caring father who would never harm his daughter.” Sarah paused, her eyes misting. “I spoke to Quinn before she was temporarily placed in foster care. She had nothing but good things to say about her dad, and as soon as she’s found I’m confident the judge will allow him permanent custody, especially after he reads CPS’s report.”

Days of fear, exhaustion, and pent-up worry poured off Brett’s shoulders.
We’ll find you, Quinn. You’re coming home!

A man with dark sunglasses, dressed in black, stepped forward. “Your wife is a murderer. She killed my fiancée—the woman who should have been the mother of my children. Your wife took away all my hopes and dreams. If you knew she was a substance abuser, how could you have let her drive?” The man’s voice broke, becoming shaky. “Why didn’t … you take away her keys?” He threw a fist into the air. The crowd hushed. People stared at the man and then back at Brett.

The man scowled at Brett. “I hate you, and I hope … your wife …” He leaned on a man who must have been his friend. The friend ushered him away from the crowd.

As he did, the crowd came to life. Questions were thrown at Brett from every direction.

“Will your wife be arrested?”

“Is it true she’ll be a vegetable for the rest of her life?”

“Are you afraid of a lawsuit?”

Brett stared across the crowd at the back of his accuser’s head. His ears buzzed, and his legs felt like rubber. He wanted to say something, but what? What words would compensate for his loss? Had it been his fault? Should he have taken the keys from Ali? He’d tried. Should he have tried harder? He’d known she was out of control. How could he have let his wife get behind the wheel of a car knowing the shape she had been in?

Lost in his own thoughts, he hadn’t seen his father step in front of the camera. “There will be no more questions. From this point on all questions need to be directed toward me, Officer Reed’s attorney, Mason Reed.”

His dad was going to represent him? Brett had sworn he’d never ask his father for help, but he hadn’t. His father had offered even though everything he’d predicted had come true. Brett had ruined his life. One bad decision had dominoed into a lifetime of problems.

Was his father offering to help so his firm would look good? It didn’t matter. Regardless of his father’s intentions, Brett was grateful for his support. He turned to his father, his eyes stinging from the salt of his tears. “Thank you.”

His father’s bottom lip curled, and his eyes watered. He reached for Brett and embraced him, heaving in a sob and answering Brett’s questions when he said, “I’ve missed you, Son.”

Brett’s chest heaved. A sob escaped. “I’ve missed you too.” The scent of the old man’s shaving cream flooded Brett’s senses with childhood memories of make-believe, of when his father had lathered shaving foam onto his face for a pretend shave. They’d laughed and smeared cream all over the bathroom.

Brett hugged his father in return, feeling the cancer’s curse in how frail he’d become, the beefy part of his body gone.

When his father finally let go, Brett’s body lost all strength, wanting to collapse. Clay slid a strong arm under Brett, whispering in his ear. “Lean against me, man, until we get in the office. You can do it. Just walk away. Use my weight.”

Brett sucked air and puffed his chest, willing strength to fill him. “I can walk.”

Clay released his arm as they moved toward the precinct. His parents followed with Max.

Sarah came to his side, sliding her arm through his. She whispered in his ear. “You are not responsible for Ali’s actions, or her happiness. Ever. You did not kill that man’s fiancée. You will get Quinn back too. I promise.”

The warmth of her breath near his ear and her kind words, the words he needed to hear, made him pause and turn to her. The sun shone behind her head, encircling her golden hair like a halo. He itched to run his fingers through the curls and feel their silkiness. He swallowed the lump in his throat. He had to stay strong. “Thank you.” How could he have ever been suspicious of her?

#

I stood in the kitchen, rocking side to side in rhythm to the ticking wall clock, licking my lips and drying them, licking my lips and drying them.

Get a grip. Keep it together.

I couldn’t. I didn’t know what to do. The man on TV, the cop, wanted his daughter back. Should I return her?

My head shook back and forth. No. Her father was bad. I had to save her. They took her away from him. I had to keep her away from him. Her father was a liar. They were all liars. Liars, liars, pants on fire.

Father said he loved me. Then he stroked me. It burned and left a scar.

I stomped my foot. I have to protect her. Now was my chance to show that I could. But how do I make her my friend?

Feed her. Maybe she’ll come out if she’s hungry.

But what if she doesn’t like me?

I’ll make her macaroni and cheese. Then she’ll be my friend.

In the kitchen, I clicked the radio on and boiled the water, staring into the pot as bubbles grew larger, the heat forming sweat on the front of my neck.

After I added the noodles, drained them, and scooped butter into the pot, I ripped open the packet of cheese and dumped the powder into the noodles. I set a place at the table for her, neatly placing the silverware on the right side of the plate.

I squeezed my eyes and tapped on the bathroom door. “Come out and eat. I made mac and cheese.” I used my little-boy voice. “I want to be your friend. Please.”

Nothing.

She hates me. Everyone hates me.

My phone rang. I’d left it on the fireplace hearth. Dashing across the room, I reached for it. It was the office. I hadn’t gone into work.
Oh, no!
I’d forgotten to call. I’d never done that before. “Yes?”

“You sick today?” Doc Spear asked.

“Sorry, I am. I forgot to call. I’ll b-b-be there tomorrow though. I’ll work extra to m-m-make up for today.”

Doc paused. “You feeling okay?”

“I am feeling good.”

After disconnecting the phone, I returned to the bathroom and knocked on the door again. “If you come out, you can see your daddy.”

The doorknob jiggled. “Are you lying?”

“I’m not. He was on TV.”

She opened the door, but not all the way. “When?”

“A little bit ago, but they will probably show it again. Come to the kitchen. I’ll turn the TV on in there.”

Go to the kitchen. She will follow. You can do this now. Be brave. Daddy is gone.

#

Brett sat at his desk at the precinct, exhausted and raw but wanting to do something to contribute to Quinn’s search. He stared at the note he’d left himself at his desk to research Levi Samuel. Why had the chief said Samuel was an asshole?

The officers had cleared the office to go to their respective posts. His parents had gone to the hospital for Dad’s treatment, but his mother had begged him to come to the house in an hour for lunch. He’d promised he would.

The door to the precinct opened, and Chief entered carrying a coffee and a bag—probably a scone from the coffee shop.

Brett glanced up at him and lifted his hand. “Chief, can I talk to you a minute?”

“Sure.” He waved him toward his office as he continued down the hallway.

Brett picked up his notes and stood, but he had to wait a second for the room to quit spinning before he could continue down the hallway. His fatigue made him dizzy.

“Sit down, Reed. How are you holding up?”

Brett shrugged.

Chief opened the bag with the scone and took a bite. He sipped the coffee, wincing like it was too hot.

“I appreciate everything the force is doing.”

Chief shook his head. “This never should have happened. I should have intervened when CPS placed Quinn in a foster home, but my hands were tied. Policies are policies to them.” He swung a hand into his fist. “It’s easy to look back now and think I should have done things differently.”

“It’s not your fault.” Brett paused and shifted in his seat. “You’ve lived in this county your whole life, right?”

Chief nodded.

“How did you know Levi Samuel?”

The chief’s face turned red. “The asshole.” He squirmed and his chair squeaked. “We go way back.” He looked out the window as if lost in thought, then turned back to Brett.

“What do you know about him? He wasn’t a registered sex offender, but did he have any enemies?” Brett blinked his burning eyes, focusing on staying alert, sleep wanting to take over.

“He killed his wife, but I couldn’t prove it. Most people liked him. I’m the only one who had a grudge against him that I know of. At one point, when I was much younger, I wanted to kill the guy.”

Brett had never heard the chief talk about anyone this way, and if the chief disliked the guy, he must have been a dirtbag.

“I was the one who found Rebecca, his wife.”

He said her name with the tenderness of a lover.

“I was the first one there after she fell down the stairs. After she died. She was even more beautiful in death.”

Brett forgot about feeling tired.

“Her old man didn’t deserve her.” He balled the scone bag into a tiny ball, smashing it with ferocity, and flung it into his wastebasket.

“How do you know he killed her?”

“We couldn’t find evidence to nail his ass, but I hated her old man and the way he treated her. I wanted to lock him up for life. And those kids. I’ll never forget the way they stood over their mother, the pain in their eyes. And the fear.” He took a sip of his coffee. “Her old man hated me too.”

“Why?”

“Because I was in love with his wife, and he knew it.”

Brett’s mouth gaped open. The bad-ass chief in love?

The chief stood, sauntered to the door, and gave it a kick with his foot. Not a hard one—just with enough force to close it.

He continued. “Rebecca and I grew up around here. Our parents were close friends, and everyone thought we’d be together one day. But when we left for separate colleges, we dated other people. I didn’t want to tie her down. I thought she wanted to date a bit, but she later told me she only dated other guys because she thought that’s what I wanted.

“We kept in touch in college, and then one day, just before Thanksgiving, in our senior year, she called and asked me to meet her. She said she really needed to talk to me.”