Finding Her Son (6 page)

Dr. O’Meare shook her head. “No. When comparing the two photos, the distance between the zygomatic arches—the cheekbones—is wrong, and so is the position of the eyes. The girl found in the shallow grave is still a Jane Doe.”

“Her grandmother said Kayla didn’t have a tattoo, but I couldn’t be sure.”

“Grandmothers don’t always know everything,” Ian finished.

“Yeah. Even if the body we found isn’t Kayla, I still have a missing girl out there.” Mitch rubbed his eyes. A missing girl, a missing baby and a Jane Doe. Not to mention Joshua Wentworth. With Emily in the middle of it all. Which pieces fit where? He had to pull it apart section by section. Somehow. “At least for the moment, Mrs. Foster gets good news. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope you don’t call anytime soon except for a game of touch foot…” His voice trailed off.

“I’ll keep calling,” Ian said. “You let me know when you’re up for it.”

Avoiding a last look at the photos, Mitch exited the room. He tried not to breathe too deeply until he left the building, then sucked in the crisp winter air. After he inhaled several times through his nose and mouth, he could finally smell and taste the snow tumbling around him.

Once in his car, he slipped on his hands-free device and dialed Kayla’s grandmother’s number.

“Mitchell?” Mrs. Foster’s voice trembled as she said his name.

He hated hearing the uncertainty in the woman’s voice, but he couldn’t guarantee the next time he called, the news wouldn’t be what she dreaded to hear. “It wasn’t her.”

“Thank the Lord.” A small prayer slipped from the older woman’s lips. “You’ll keep looking?”

“Definitely. I have a deal with Ricky,” Mitch promised. “He shows up for practice—”

“Oh, he’ll be at practice, don’t you worry.”

“Mrs. Foster, you know I wouldn’t stop looking for Kayla, even if Ricky never—”

“I know, dear. You’ll find her.”

He disconnected the phone and immediately “Boomer Sooner” filtered through the car.

“Bradford.”

“Get your butt down here,” Dane Tanner barked. “Now.”

“What’s going on?”

“Your assignment just walked in the front door of the police department. Without you.”

Chapter Three

“Let me see Ghost,” Emily pleaded. “Or at least look through the tattoo database. It might jog my memory.”

Detective Dane Tanner clicked the door closed and sat behind the interview table sporting that same patient, dubious expression Emily had grown to hate over the past seven or eight months.

“What are you doing, Mrs. Wentworth?”

“Look, Detective, I know it seems far-fetched, but I’m on the verge of remembering.”

“Why Ghost? And where did this brainstorm come from so suddenly?”

Here we go again. Emily took in a slow, deep breath. “He has a tattoo.”

“Did you see it? Recognize it?”

“No, but my private investigator talked to—”

“Perry Young has a spotty reputation,” Tanner said. “I’ve reiterated this every time you’ve brought one of his leads to me. All going nowhere, I have to remind you. He’s a gambler and a drinker.” The detective shuffled through some papers. “He’s stringing you along for a steady paycheck.”

Not so steady anymore. That’s why she had to convince the detective to help her now.

“I got a flash of memory, Detective. If I could just see Ghost’s tattoo, or at least look at the books, I might recognize something. Ghost’s in custody, right? How tough would it be for me to talk to him?”

“I’m not breaking protocol because you had a
vision
. Go to a tattoo parlor.”

“I know what you think of me, Detective Tanner, but do it for the missing girls. Maybe Joshua and their babies are connected.”

“No infants have been reported missing or stolen. I’m sorry.” Dane steepled his fingers and rested them against his lips.

“A pregnant girl is missing.”

“And Kayla Foster’s grandmother reported her. This MO’s not a fit for Joshua’s disappearance. It’s none of your concern.”

She launched out of her chair and leaned over the desk. “You can’t turn your back on the vulnerable. Joshua is only thirteen months old. He’s alone.” She hated the idea of begging—especially to the detective who didn’t trust her—but she’d do anything for her son. She knew the statistics, the chances of getting him back. Infants taken who weren’t returned within a few weeks were almost never found. The numbers didn’t matter. Joshua would be the exception. She grabbed the age-progressed photo from her satchel and shoved it at him. “Please. Ghost tried to force Heather to go with him. You have to help those girls. I can help, too, if you’ll let me.”

“I’ll pass the information to the officer in charge of the assault case. That’s the best I can do. You, however, couldn’t have come in at a better time.” The detective slid a document across the table. “Is that your signature?”

Emily stuffed the photo back into her bag, scanned the paper and lifted her chin. “You want to quiz me about money or bank forms, call my lawyer. My son is out there, and I need help to find him. If you won’t do it, I’ll find someone who will.”

She slammed out of the interrogation room, the wooden door banging behind her, and sagged against the wall. Her heart pounded as reality set in. The Wentworths had closed nearly every door. She’d have to scrape together enough money for an attorney and for Perry. God help her if they blocked the sale of the house somehow.

“Emily?”

The deep voice that she shouldn’t have recognized so easily sent a flood of hope through her. “Mitch.” She turned, then rushed over to him. “What are you doing
here?
I thought you were SWAT.”

“Temporary assignment while I’m rehabbing.” He clasped her arm and guided her toward a chair next to a desk with his name. “What’s going on?”

Mitch’s concern wrapped around her like a warm blanket. She looked up as he escorted her, strong and able—almost a knight in shining armor. Last night, even though someone had almost killed her, she’d felt safe and protected in his arms after he’d snatched her out of harm’s way. Could she trust him to do the same now?

She had no choice. She had to go with her instincts. She sat down and clutched her evidence satchel meeting his gaze. “Detective Tanner.”

“My temporary boss,” Mitch clarified gently as he hitched his hip on the edge of the desk.

“Oh.” Maybe this hadn’t been such a good idea, but she’d run out of options, and no matter what William had advised, she wasn’t giving up. “I received a tip about Ghost’s tattoo, and it reminded me of something from the night of the accident. I asked Tanner to let me see the mug shots or the tattoo database, but he won’t. He wouldn’t even let me see Ghost.”

“Did you see his tat?”

“Well, no, but I heard one of the girls—”

“Tanner’s a real by-the-book kind of guy,” Mitch said. “He doesn’t bend regs. If you didn’t see the tat, he won’t let you at the photos.”

“Do
you
ever break the rules?”

Mitch quirked a small smile. “Let’s just say in SWAT sometimes a little creative thinking is required. I wouldn’t say I break regulations, but I might bend them a bit.”

Hope flickered through Emily as she stared at the man who had taken down Ghost. She leaned forward in her chair and gripped Mitch’s arm. “I need your help to find my son.”

“I’m not a real investigator, Emily. Just on temporary assignment. You need—”

“I need someone who believes in getting at the truth…and in finding Joshua. No one here does. They never have.” Bitterness crept into Emily’s voice. “I know you’ve heard the rumors, but they’re not true. I loved Eric. Please, help me find Joshua.”

She saw the turmoil and indecision in his eyes, and something that almost looked like guilt. “It’s not your fault this department has let me down, but you can change that.”

“Bradford. In my office. Now.”

Tanner’s order made Emily jump, but Mitch had been expecting the interruption. He patted her arm. “I’ll be right back. Don’t worry.”

He walked into his boss’s office.

“Wentworth came to see me like you said she would. So…what does she want from you?” Tanner asked.

“Help to find her son. Because she doesn’t trust the rest of your unit.”

The detective sank back into his chair and smiled. “This couldn’t be better if I’d planned it. Do it.”

“Tanner—”

“This is your chance. She might let something slip. Maybe her son’s disappearance was part of a plan gone wrong. But even if she’s not involved, she knows something. Tell her you talked me into letting you take over her investigation. Tell her you need to stick close because of Ghost’s escape. Earn her trust.”

“But—”

“Get out there before our chicken panics and runs away. Work Emily any way you can. Find out if she’s into something that got her husband killed and her son taken. I’ll work the money angle. I want to know who murdered Eric Wentworth.”

His boss’s jaw twitched as he passed over a single cardboard box. “Here are copies of the key forensic and evidence reports on the accident and kidnapping. No real leads. Most of that file’s full of initial interviews and her PI’s false tips. It’s been vetted. Show it to Wentworth. Use it to gain her trust and get her reaction.”

“I’ll do my best.” Mitch snagged the evidence and stared at his boss. “Why so rabid on this, Tanner?”

His boss let out a long sigh. “Eric Wentworth called me the day before he died. I’d taken time off. Turned off my cell. Wentworth said he had some vital information for me, but he needed to be discreet. No details on the message. He died before I could return the call. I never turn off my phone anymore.”

“Damn, Dane.”

“Find out who killed him.”

Mitch gave a stiff nod to his boss and pasted a satisfied expression on his face as he returned to the bullpen. He lifted the box. “It took some convincing, but I got the case.”

Emily’s face broke into a relieved smile. Guilt burned through Mitch’s gut. He liked straightforward and honest, not games.

He shifted the evidence in his arms. “Look, we
should
talk in the conference room, but let’s get out of here first. It may be bending the rules a bit, but there are things I need to tell you, and—” he peered around the room “—we have an audience.”

Emily looked about then turned to Mitch. “I’ve been watched more than enough in this police station. Follow me to my place. Let me show you what I’ve done. Maybe you’ll see something I haven’t.” She snagged a sticky note and pen from the top of his desk and scribbled her address. She handed him the yellow paper. “Just in case I lose you.”

He took the slip but didn’t need the information. He’d memorized her address.

Mitch didn’t like the sour taste success left in his mouth. Emily trusted him, and every word he spoke had a lie hidden behind it. He’d have to live with the consequences.

As they passed the desk sergeant, one of his SWAT-mates, Reynolds, ran past. “Mitch. Wish you were back, man. We got a bad one at the Denver Federal Center.”

Reynolds shoved through the doors to the SWAT Den, and Mitch could see the flurry of activity.

“Okay, children. Mount up,” Lieutenant Decker, his SWAT commander, yelled.

The steel door closed out the noise. Mitch’s knuckles whitened around the box handles. “I should be there.” But until Ghost was caught, he couldn’t let this case go…whether he was reinstated to SWAT or not. Emily was in danger, and he couldn’t turn his back on his responsibility to her.

He felt the warmth of her hand on his arm.

“You’ll get back to them,” she said. “Soon.”

Was her concern real or had she recognized his desperation to return to SWAT? Was Tanner right? Was she a black widow? A beautiful, tempting black widow, but a dangerous predator nonetheless?

God, he hoped not. They walked out together.

After shoving the box in his SUV, Mitch followed her around winding curves to an isolated neighborhood that backed up against the Rocky Mountains. She slowed to fifteen miles below the speed limit when they reached the curve where the accident had occurred. A single white cross with a red wreath of poinsettias decorated the side of the road. He’d watched as she placed them there. Would she stop as she sometimes did?

After slowly passing the spot, she sped up and took a few more turns to her house. A picket fence surrounded her ranch-style home. As she pulled into the driveway, Mitch frowned at the Priced to Sell sign in the front yard. That was new since this morning. So, money was as tight as Tanner believed.

He grabbed the evidence box from the backseat and met her at the front door. “How long has it been on the market?”

“Not long.”

“You’re in a nice neighborhood. That should help it sell faster.”

“I hope so,” Emily said. “Let’s go into the dining room.”

They passed a kitchen, and Mitch noted a single cereal bowl and coffee cup on a drying towel. Nothing out of place. He glanced past a living room with a layer of dust on most of the wood surfaces. He hadn’t expected that. No magazines, no DVDs thrown about. The house didn’t really look lived in. He opened his mouth to pry as she slid open a walnut door. The words stuck in his throat when he entered the dining room.