Her Stolen Past (10 page)

THIRTEEN

B
randon’s phone rang. Hector’s number winked up at him. “Hello?”

“Are you all right? Heard you got nicked.”

“I’m fine. And yes, thankfully, a nick is all it was.”

“Your lady friend all right?”

Brandon glanced at Sonya, who appeared deep in conversation with Don Bradley. Her father. “She’s hanging in there.”

“You like her, don’t you?”

Brandon snorted. “Do I
like
her? Are we back in high school now?”

“Fess up, partner.”

Brandon turned serious. “Yes. I like her.”

His simple statement seemed to throw Hector for a loop. Silence echoed back at him. Then Hector cleared his throat. “Well. Good. I...uh... Well, that’s nice, Brandon. I’m happy for you.”

Brandon smiled. He’d finally said something to make his partner go speechless. That was one for the books. “Keep me updated.”

“Yeah. Yeah. And you learn how to duck a little faster, huh?”

“I’ll see what I can do.”

Brandon hung up and grimaced. His shoulder throbbed. Thankfully, it was the same side he’d taken a bullet in about a year ago. At least he still had one good arm. And this bullet hadn’t even penetrated, just skimmed the surface. Still stung, though.

He walked over to Sonya. “Are you ready to go?”

“I guess so. The question is—are you?”

“I’m ready.” He looked at Don. “I’m sorry for all the chaos looking into Heather’s disappearance is causing. I hope this doesn’t come back on you. What’s your home security system like?”

The man shook his head. “My security system is state-of-the-art. After we adopted Grayson, Ann insisted. And I’m simply stunned with everything that’s happened. It just doesn’t make sense.”

“It makes sense to whoever is trying to stop us.” Brandon pulled the keys from his pocket. “I’m going to take Sonya home and get a little rest myself. We’ll regroup and figure out a plan where to go from here.”

“I want to talk to the nanny,” Sonya said.

“I’ve got Hector tracking her down. As soon as we have an address, we’ll pay her a visit.”

Don stepped forward and took Sonya’s hand. “I want to get to know you.”

Brandon saw Sonya swallow hard. “I want that, too,” she said, “but I don’t think someone else is too excited about the idea.”

“I don’t care. We’ll fight back together.”

“No. I don’t want to put you in danger. After this is over, we’ll talk, okay?”

He looked at Brandon. “I want to help.”

Brandon frowned. “I understand that, sir, but I don’t really know what you can do at this point.”

“What if Sonya comes to stay with us? My wife and I would love to have her. And I just told you we have a state-of-the-art security system.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Sonya said. “I’d have to think about it.” She bit her lip and backed up a fraction.

Brandon wondered what was going through her mind. Sheer panic blossomed and she shot him a desperate look. He stepped over and put his arm around her. “We’ll talk about it,” he said. “It’s actually not a bad idea, but give us some time to discuss it.”

“Of course.” The man shoved his hands into his pockets. “I didn’t mean to push too hard.”

“No, it’s okay,” Sonya said. She’d gathered herself together quickly and Brandon wanted to think his presence helped her do so. “Like Brandon said, I’ll...think about it.”

Don nodded and took a step toward the door. “I’ll leave now.” He shot a beseeching look at Sonya. “But please do think about it. I’ve lost almost twenty-eight years with you. I guess I just don’t want to lose another minute.”

Sonya said nothing more. She simply nodded.

He patted the front pocket of his blazer, then reached in and pulled out a small packet. “Before I forget. These are some pictures of our family. I thought you might like to see them.”

Sonya took them. “Thank you. I definitely would like to look at them.” She slipped them into her purse.

Don left.

Brandon turned to Sonya. “You don’t have to stay with them, don’t worry.”

She gave a small shrug. “If I thought Mrs. Bradley wanted me to, I might consider it, but I’d never invade her home like that knowing how she feels about me.”

Erica, who’d been standing by, observing and listening, turned to Brandon. “We’ve got resources, you know. If you need a safe house, it could probably be arranged.”

Sonya shook her head. “No. No safe house.” She pulled in a deep breath. “If I go into hiding, I’ll never be able to come out.” Her lips firmed and her chin jutted. “I’m going to stay in plain sight and just pray we catch him before he catches me.”

Sonya wanted to recall her pseudobrave words. The harsh frown on Brandon’s face said he didn’t like them, either. But she couldn’t take the words back and decided then she didn’t want to. She knew if she disappeared, she’d never be able to have a real life again. Not as herself, anyway. She couldn’t live like that. She had to find the truth and find it soon. She prayed that the Lord saw fit to let her live to do it.

Brandon escorted her from the hospital. She thought he looked pale and drawn. His shoulder had to be hurting him.

They stepped outside and Brandon came to an abrupt halt. “I don’t have a car.”

“No, but I do.” Erica, who’d been following silently behind, smiled sweetly and swung her keys at them.

Brandon smiled. “Right. So is Max pulling protection duty tonight?”

Max, Erica’s husband, didn’t mind helping out when needed. And he was definitely needed tonight.

“Max and Peter.” Erica led the way to her vehicle.

Sonya scanned the area. Was he watching? Was he wondering how they’d once again managed to elude him? Or had he drowned in the river? Was it all over?

They arrived at Erica’s dark blue SUV, and Sonya saw Max parked next to Erica.

He rolled the window down as they approached. “Ready to roll?”

Brandon shook his hand. “What are you doing here?”

“Erica’s the chauffeur. I’m the escort.”

Sonya relaxed a fraction.

“I’ve also asked Jordan to be at the house when you’re home tonight. You need to be able to rest without worrying about an intruder,” Max said.

Jordan Gray. Sonya recognized the name. She hadn’t met the other agency operative, but knew he was Brandon’s roommate. The one who was marrying Katie Randall, a detective Brandon had worked with on occasion. When she’d first approached Finding the Lost, he’d given her the rundown on all of the employees.

Brandon motioned for Sonya to take the front passenger seat then opened the door. He looked at Max with a frown. “That’s not necessary.”

“Well, I think it is.” Erica lifted her chin a notch and gave her brother a steely-eyed look. “And Jordan agreed with us. He’ll be there when I drop you off. Peter is on the way to Missy’s as we speak.”

“And I’ll be joining him shortly,” Max said. Sonya listened to them go back and forth and leaned her head back against the headrest. It was all just too much.
I don’t understand why this is happening, Lord, but don’t let my faith waver now. When Dad died, I was devastated. When my mom died, I was ready to crumble. I begged You for peace, but didn’t get it. I still don’t know that I’ve truly accepted she’s gone. That they’re both gone. Please help me, Lord.

The plea seemed to bring a measure of comfort. She didn’t know if that was the Lord or if she just felt better after getting it off her chest. But she’d asked God for peace and now she felt better. She wasn’t going to take that away from Him.
Thank You, Lord.

Exhaustion swamped her.

Brandon’s phone rang and she turned her attention to his conversation. “Who? Right. Okay, I’ll ask him. Thanks.”

“Who was that?” Erica asked before Sonya could get the words out.

“Hector.”

“What did he want?”

“He’s been investigating the Bradleys.”

“And?” Sonya perked up.

“He said they came back clean. Squeaky-clean. No record of any kind.”

“Oh, well, that’s good, right?”

“Yes, it’s great. He did mention that Mrs. Bradley’s sister died shortly after Heather was born.”

“Mr. Bradley mentioned that,” Sonya said.

“Did he mention how she died?”

“No, just that it was a really hard time in his family. Heather was kidnapped—” Sonya simply couldn’t refer to herself as Heather “—and his sister-in-law died.”

“Apparently she fell down a flight of stairs and broke her neck.”

Sonya gasped. “How awful!”

“Mrs. Bradley said she’d been depressed and had talked of killing herself, so they briefly wondered if it was suicide, but in the end it was ruled an accident.”

“Suicide by throwing yourself down a flight of stairs?” Sonya scoffed. “That doesn’t even make sense. Who does that?”

Erica pulled into Missy’s drive and Brandon nodded. “I thought the same thing, but apparently there was no evidence of foul play.”

“So it was just a tragic accident.”

“Looks like.”

* * *

Brandon’s phone rang before he could climb out of the car. “Hello?”

“Me again,” Hector trilled in a falsetto pitch.

“That’s so annoying.”

“I know. That’s why I do it,” Hector said in his normal voice. “I’ll get right to it. We found your jumper or the shooter—whichever label you want to put on him.”

“The guy I chased from the parking garage.”

“Yep. He washed downstream and our guys pulled him out.”

“Anything else?”

“Yeah. He left his weapon in the car. We’re running ballistics on it even as we speak.”

Even though Brandon and Hector both knew without a shadow of a doubt the guy was guilty, they needed hard evidence. Linking the gun and the bullets to him would prove he was the shooter.

“Have them check it against the one used in the park shooting,” Brandon said.

Silence echoed back at him, and then Hector said, “Excellent idea. I’ll have them do that as soon as we get off the phone.”

“That’s twice Sonya’s been shot at. It wouldn’t surprise me a bit if the bullets came from the same gun.”

“But what about the other two women who were shot?”

“I don’t know what the connection is. Why don’t you do a little investigating on that, too?”

“All right. I’ll see if Sonya has any link with those two and I’ll call ballistics as soon as we hang up. What else?”

“Any information on Rebecca Gold?”

“Nothing yet. Still looking.”

“Okay. Let’s get back to the shooter, then.”

“Right. Well, he’s dead.”

Brandon rolled his eyes. “I figured that. That was a pretty long drop off the bridge.”

“Yeah. And the water’s not more than four feet deep.”

“Did he drown?”

“Broke his neck along with some other bones, but the neck injury killed him. He’s definitely our guy from the photograph, though. The tattoo on his shoulder matches the one in the picture.”

Brandon blew out a sigh. “Okay, what’s his name? Did he have any ID on him?”

“No ID on him, but we ran his prints and he’s in the system. Name’s Buddy Reed.”

“Should I know him?”

“No reason to. But he has a record. Armed robbery is his biggest offense when he was eighteen. It was a one-time deal and he got a slap on the wrist since no one was hurt. He seemed to get his act together and got his degree in sports medicine. Right now, he’s a trainer at one of the local gyms. Or, rather, he was.”

“Any experience with guns? Weapons?”

“Well, since he missed hitting you, I’m guessing not much. Then again, he had pretty good aim in the park if he’s the same shooter.” Hector paused and Brandon heard the rustling of papers. “But no, there’s nothing other than the armed robbery. No military service, no guns registered in his name. I’m guessing the rifle he had was off the black market. The serial number was filed off. I’ll keep looking into everything.”

“Good. That would be great.”

“You sound distracted.”

Brandon blinked. “I’m just wondering if it’s over.”

“What do you mean? The shooter’s dead. The danger’s over, right?”

“Unless he was working for someone, and that someone just hires another killer when he learns of Buddy Reed’s demise.” Of course that was a possibility. “We’ll keep the protection-detail plans for tonight and revisit it in the morning. Thanks for the info.”

“My pleasure. See ya.”

Click.

Brandon hung up the phone and turned to Sonya. She’d heard every word. “He’s dead?”

“Yes.”

“So is it over? I can go home?”

“Hector and I discussed the possibility that the guy could have been working for someone.”

She blanched. “Oh.”

“So, let’s keep up the precautions and see where we are in the morning.” The same thing he’d said to Hector.

She nodded. “Fine.” But she couldn’t help feeling massive amounts of relief. The man who’d shot at her was dead. She could sleep tonight. Maybe. If it hadn’t been someone who’d been hired. If that was the case, then both she and Brandon were still in danger.

FOURTEEN

T
hankfully, the night passed without incident. Brandon woke to find his phone had no missed calls. His shoulder throbbed but wasn’t painful enough to keep him down. In the bathroom, he popped three Advil tablets, showered, shaved and decided he was ready to face the day.

After a cup of coffee—or three.

In the kitchen, he found Jordan sitting at the table reading the morning paper on his iPad. “You get any sleep last night?” Brandon asked him.

“A little.”

“You didn’t have to play bodyguard, you know.”

“I know, but you slept better knowing I was doing it, didn’t you?”

Brandon let out a short laugh. “Yeah, actually I did.”

“Then it was worth it. How’s the shoulder this morning?”

“Sore.”

“You need me for anything today?”

Brandon shook his head. “No.” He glanced at his phone. “I’m waiting for Hector to get back to me on a few things. I need to know where Ms. Gold is and I want to know about the ballistics report. Once I have those two things, I’ll be able to plan the next course of action.” He poured himself a cup of coffee and added cream and sugar. “Other than that, I plan to send Max and Peter home and spend the day with Sonya, making sure she’s safe.” He took his first sip of the brew and closed his eyes with pleasure. Three more sips and he felt himself start to wake up.

“You don’t think it’s over.”

Brandon looked at his roommate and lifted a brow. “Do you?”

Jordan shrugged. “I don’t know. But I think you’re doing the right thing.”

“What’s that?”

“Staying on guard, until you know for sure.”

He nodded and slipped into the chair opposite Jordan. “Do you mind if I ask you something?”

“Of course not. You’ve never asked permission before.”

Brandon smirked. “Right.” He sighed. “How’d you know Katie was the one?”

“Ahhhh...”

“What’s that mean?”

“Sonya.”

Brandon flushed. “Yeah.”

Instead of teasing him like he thought he would, Jordan turned thoughtful. “You know, when we first met, she was looking for Molly. Erica was a basket case and I wasn’t exactly in a good frame of mind. But last year—” he shook his head “—when Katie was in all that danger because she was looking for her sister and we were working together, something just sparked, you know?” He lifted a shoulder. “She was spunky and determined and—hurting. But she was a fighter and I really liked that about her. Like eventually turned to love.”

“She and Sonya sound a lot alike.”

Jordan nodded. “Then she’s a keeper.”

“It’s looking like it.”

“But?”

“But you know my history. And you know about Krystal. How do I know Sonya will be able to deal with my baggage? My family?”

“You don’t. Until you trust her with it.”

“Right. Easier said than done.”

Jordan hesitated. “You know, it’s not my place to lecture you, but your parents are trying to do the right thing. If you’d let go of all that anger, there’s still time to build a relationship with them.”

Tension immediately filled Brandon. “You sound like Peter.”

“Sounds like Peter’s getting some smarts.” Jordan shut off the iPad and stood. “On that note, I’m going to go into the office.”

“And I’m going to head over to Missy’s.”

“You want me to follow you?”

Brandon paused. “It’s on the way, so why not? Keep an eye on my tail and see if you spot anything.”

“Will do.”

Brandon arrived at Missy’s house with no tail in sight. As Jordan pulled away with a wave, Brandon wondered if he’d crossed the line onto the paranoia side. Max gave him a salute and left. Brandon knew he and Erica were having breakfast together. Peter lingered at the curb, so Brandon walked over to speak to his brother. He had the window down and was sipping on coffee he’d brought in a thermos. “How’s it going?”

“It’s been quiet.” He lifted the thermos top posing as a cup. “Good thing I had this stuff or I would have been snoozing.”

“But you didn’t snooze, right?”

Peter’s face darkened. “Of course not. You gave me a job to do and I’m doing it.”

Brandon let his gaze linger on his younger brother’s face. “Yeah. You are. And you’re doing a good job, too. Thanks.”

The darkness cleared and Peter swallowed. “It’s the least I can do. You’re giving me a second chance.” He snorted. “Or maybe it’s a third, fourth or fifth chance. I don’t know. I’ve lost count at this point, I guess.”

“I’m not keeping track. You’re putting your life back together. That’s all that matters.”

“Are you coming to Mom and Dad’s for dinner Sunday night?”

Brandon straightened and, at the mention of his parents, felt the familiar squeeze in the vicinity of his temple. “No.”

“Why not?”

“You know why not.” He kept his words low and even, not letting them explode like he wanted to.

Peter snorted. “They’re trying, Brandon. They were young and on their own and didn’t know what they were doing. Can’t you find a way to forgive and move on?”

For a second, he almost relented. But the bad memories crowded out the moment. “I...I...can’t. It’s too late.”

Peter sighed. “Don’t you want a relationship with them?”

Brandon flinched. “No. Not really.” As soon as the words left his lips, he realized they were a lie. He did want a relationship with his parents. He just didn’t know how to get over the past. How did he let go of all the disappointment and hurt that had been such a part of his life? The pain that had shaped him into part of who he was today? He shook his head. “No, I’m not ready for that. Not yet.”

“Will you ever be ready?”

“That’s a question I can’t answer right now.”

“You know, in rehab we talked a lot about forgiveness—forgiving ourselves and asking forgiveness of others. Been going to church, too, and listening to sermons on the topic. It’s been pretty eye-opening.”

Brandon took a step back and planted his hands on his hips. He opened his mouth, but Peter lifted a hand to cut him off. “I’m not giving you a speech, just saying bitterness and an unforgiving heart can be as destructive as cocaine or meth. I may be the recovering addict, but you’re the one who needs some rehab. Some heart rehab. Think about it.” He cranked the car and drove off without another word.

Brandon let his brother’s words rattle around in his brain for the next ten seconds. Then he turned to find Sonya standing behind him, face bright red, looking awkward and uncomfortable. She sighed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt. Or eavesdrop.”

“It’s a long-standing argument. Don’t worry about it.” He managed to get the words through his clenched teeth.

She chewed her bottom lip for a moment and he waited for the question. “Is he right?”

“No.” His conscience shouted
liar,
but he ignored it.

“Hmm. Okay.”

He motioned to his car. “Come on. I don’t want you standing out here in the open.”

“The shooter’s dead, remember?”

“Right, but until we know for sure that this is over, I want you inside.”

“Okay.” She sighed and turned to go back into the house. He followed her, head swiveling left then right. He saw nothing that alarmed him, but wasn’t dropping his guard. “Want to grab some breakfast?”

She eyed him and shrugged. “Sure. Are you feeling okay?”

“Food will take my mind off the aggravation.”

“All right, then. Just let me get my purse.”

“Hey, bring those pictures Don gave you, okay? I want to look over them.”

“Sure.” She disappeared inside.

Brandon’s internal struggle didn’t cease just because Peter had left and Sonya’s all-seeing eyes were no longer on him. He stepped onto the porch and sat in one of the white wicker rockers. He let his gaze roam the street, probing into the shadows, watching for anything that looked as if it shouldn’t belong. Even as he stayed alert and focused on his surroundings, Peter’s words continued to ring in his mind.
Bitterness and an unforgiving heart can be as destructive as cocaine or meth.

On an intellectual level, Brandon knew his brother was right. On an emotional one, he wanted to deny it. He remembered after Peter came home from rehab, one of the first things he’d done was ask his family for forgiveness. And Brandon had granted it without reservation.

He wasn’t bitter or unforgiving; he was apathetic. Toward his parents, anyway. They hadn’t needed him when he was younger, hadn’t been supportive or even very caring. They’d been indifferent—and selfish. More focused on having a good time and partying than they’d been on raising kids.

It wasn’t that he was even still angry with them. Was he? Brandon snorted. Yes, he was. He was angry, but he didn’t need them. Or their sudden desire to be involved in his and his siblings’ lives.

He flashed back to a day at the park. He’d been about eight years old. They’d had a family picnic, and he recalled laughter and his father pushing him on a swing, high-fiving him after his descent down the slide.

Brandon blinked. Where had that come from? Had he made it up? No. He remembered the park. He frowned. Were there other good memories he’d suppressed in his determination to hold on to his anger?

“I’m ready.”

Her soft voice pulled Brandon from his thoughts. Casually dressed in a pink tank top and khaki capris, he thought she looked beautiful. Even the stitches covered by a small Band-Aid at the base of her throat didn’t detract from her loveliness.

He rose and took her elbow to help guide her down the steps and over to his car. Warmth radiated from her and he swallowed. She was warm and compassionate, caring and generous. Everything his ex-fiancée had appeared to be on the surface. She’d enjoyed the status dating him had given her among her friends. Dating a police detective had been a big deal to her.

Until she’d gotten tired of the long hours. And the fact that he didn’t make enough to support her in the lifestyle she wanted.

He wondered if Sonya would be able to handle it. As a nurse, she understood long hours and hard work. The irony of her profession hadn’t escaped him. A nurse. Just like his mother. And yet, the two women seemed vastly different. He just couldn’t picture his mother as compassionate.

Then again, he hadn’t really been around her that much lately to make that judgment.

But he didn’t think he could possibly be wrong.

* * *

Sonya wondered if Brandon could possibly be wrong. Wrong about it not being over. Ever since the shooter’s death, things had been quiet.

Ominously quiet?

Maybe. She shivered.

He drove with precision. She watched him navigate the roads, clearly thinking deeply about something, yet attentive and aware of their surroundings.

He glanced at her and caught her watching. She flushed and looked away.

“Why did you become a nurse, almost a doctor?” he asked.

She blinked at the random question. “Because I care about people, about helping them.” She shrugged. “And I like science and medicine. The human body is a fascinating, intricately designed machine. That intrigues me.”

“Do you plan to go back to school and finish the classes you need to become a doctor?”

“Yes. As soon as I can.” Sadness engulfed her. “My mother would want that. She felt so bad that I had to quit school to come back and take care of her.”

“Did she have any brothers or sisters?”

“No, both she and my dad were only children.”

Brandon pulled into the parking lot of one of the downtown cafés. As they walked into the building, he placed a hand at the small of her back to guide her. She shivered, feeling the warmth of his touch. First her elbow, then her back. He was comfortable enough with her to offer the simple touches. Innocent gestures that spoke of a growing closeness.

And she was comfortable enough to accept the touches—and the growing closeness. If only he could resolve his issues with his family. But he said he didn’t date clients. Which was something she could understand. Didn’t mean she liked it, but she could respect it.

She had a feeling he didn’t like it so much himself. A small smile pulled at her lips at the thought. “You like this place.”

He nodded. “I like their coffee. And just about everything else they serve here.”

“Are you really still concerned that someone is still after me?”

“Not as concerned as I was before we found out the shooter was dead.”

“But?”

“But I don’t think it hurts to stay cautious until we know for sure.”

Once they’d ordered, picked up their food and settled into a booth—facing the door, she noticed—Sonya said, “Do you mind if I bless it?”

He shifted, but didn’t seem uneasy. He nodded and she bowed her head. “Thank You, Lord, for this food. For Your protection. Please let this thing be over. And thank You for putting Brandon in my life at just the right time.”

When she lifted her head she found his eyes on her, warm and smoky. “That was a nice prayer.”

Embarrassed, she shrugged. “That was a really nice thing you did for Spike and his mother.”

“Spike’s a good kid. He got into a lot of trouble two years ago, was hooked on meth and any other kind of drug he could get his hands on. I busted him during a drug sting.”

“And now he thinks you hung the moon.”

Brandon flushed and shrugged. “I gave him a chance.”

“He reminded you of you—or what you could have been, didn’t he?” she asked softly.

He jerked and took a sip of his coffee then a bite of his bagel. “Yes.”

She nodded. “Why didn’t you end up like Spike?”

He sighed. “I don’t know.” He tapped his fingers on the table, then seemed to make up his mind. “I mean, my parents weren’t into criminal stuff—other than underage drinking—but I don’t think they ever used drugs. At least none that I saw. They just weren’t there. And while I was angry about it, I was still looking for something to connect with. That was sports. Football, basketball, anything to keep moving and not think too much. As much freedom as I had growing up, I knew if I got into drugs, I’d ruin my future.”

“So you decided to make the right choices?”

“In a roundabout way. I wanted to play sports and couldn’t do that if I was strung out or high. Once I got out of high school, I had a full ride to college on a football scholarship. I didn’t want to mess that up. Throw in Erica’s preaching and seeing what drugs had done to Peter—” He shrugged.