Her Stolen Past (12 page)

SIXTEEN

B
randon felt exposed. As if he had a big target on his back or his forehead and the killer was laughing at him as he took his time deciding when to pull the trigger. And Sonya...how was he going to keep her safe? He heard her whispering on the phone with the 911 operator.

She backed into the kitchen as a police car pulled up. Brandon kept his weapon trained on the hallway. The back door off the porch was still open. “Stay here.” Officers were on the way. They’d have a plan and Brandon needed to be in on it. “Hand me the phone, please.”

When she did, he identified himself to the dispatcher and gave his badge number. “I need to know the plan.”

“Patching you through to the responding officers.”

He heard the click on the line. All the while, he kept his gaze on the hallway entrance. No more noises had come from the back of the house, but that didn’t mean he was ready to drop his guard.

A voice came on the line. “Officer Tim Miller.”

“Officer Miller, this is Detective Brandon Hayes. Right now, this is your playing field. How do you want to do this?”

“Is the house clear?”

“Just the den and kitchen area. The victim is on the couch in the den.”

“So you haven’t yet cleared the bedrooms?”

“Right. We’re holed up in the kitchen.”

“We’ve got officers approaching now. Others are canvassing the neighborhood.”

Brandon’s blood hummed.

Ten minutes later, there’d been no more strange sounds and no more flying bullets. Two officers approached the back door, back-to-back and weapons drawn. Three more cruisers had arrived. Brandon opened the door and they entered.

Brandon flashed his badge and focused in on the officer whose name tag read Tim Miller. Miller eyed him. “You’re Hayes?”

“I am.”

Miller’s gaze flicked to Sonya. “Stay with her while we clear the house.”

Brandon itched to be a part of it, but he wanted Sonya safe more than he wanted to go looking for anyone who may be hiding. So he stayed and kept his weapon nearby while the officers cautiously headed down the hall.

“Clear!”

“Clear!”

The shouts came from the bedrooms.

Seconds later, Miller came into the room holding a white-and-gray cat. “I think this may have been the noise you heard.”

Brandon felt some of the tension leave him.

“Who knew?” Sonya asked.

His gaze snapped to hers. “What?”

“Who knew we were coming here? Ms. Gold is dead because we said something about coming to see her. So who did we tell and who did those people tell?”

Brandon pulled in a deep breath. “I don’t know, but we’re going to figure it out.”

* * *

Exhaustion didn’t begin to cover how Sonya felt. The shooting and the subsequent questioning by the police had taken their toll. Finding Ms. Gold dead had been a horrifying experience and all she wanted to do was go to bed. But the thought of going home—or even back to Missy’s—had terrified her. Then, of course, there was the depressing fact that they no longer had any leads to figure out who’d kidnapped her all those years ago. She tried to push the thoughts aside and focus on her present situation.

Brandon had brought her to his house, planted her on the couch in his den and told her to nap while he fixed dinner. She’d closed her eyes, but knowing he was there—sensing him walk back and forth between the deck, where he grilled, and the kitchen, from where tantalizing smells emanated—stirred her appetite and she couldn’t sleep. Instead she’d drifted, enjoying how, despite the danger, being with him made her feel safe.

Safe. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like. The sound of his approaching footsteps lifted her lids. He came out of his kitchen drying his hands on a towel. “Dinner is served.”

She rose, walked into the dining area of the kitchen and gaped. Two steaks sat in the middle of the table along with two baked potatoes and a bowl of salad. “How did you do this so quickly?”

He laughed at her expression. “I’ve been a bachelor a long time. It was either learn to cook or starve.”

“I’m deeply impressed.”

He flushed. “Don’t be. It was really easy.”

“Well, thank you. I’m honored you’d cook for me.”

He held out a chair and she slid into it. “I heard you order your steak medium well at one of the restaurants we went to, so this one is yours.” He stabbed it with a knife and placed it on her plate.

“Perfect,” she murmured.

He cleared his throat. “I suppose you want to say a blessing?”

“I’d love to.” She bowed her head. “Thank You, Lord, for the food and for continuing to keep us safe. Amen.”

“Amen.”

She looked up and found his thoughtful gaze on her. “What?”

“Through all of the troubles you’ve had lately, you haven’t lost your faith or blamed God.”

She shrugged. “Why would I blame Him? He didn’t kidnap me or shoot at me.”

“But He could have stopped it.”

She sighed. “Of course He could have, but He chose not to. For whatever reason, He’s decided to allow this trial in my life at this time, and I’m not going to blame Him for it. I’m just going to ask Him to get me through it. Just because I have some trouble in my life doesn’t mean He’s not God anymore.” She took the bowl of salad and transferred some to her plate, then chose the ranch dressing. As she poured it over her salad, she said, “It doesn’t mean I like it, but—” she lifted a shoulder “—it is what it is and I’m going to trust Him to see me through.”

“And if you die?”

“Then I die. Again, I don’t want to die, but if I do, I pray something good comes from it that turns people to Him.”

He frowned. “You’re just like them.”

“Who?”

“Erica and Max. Jordan and Katie. They all would have the same attitude you have.”

She gave a small smile. “It’s part of being a believer, a part of who I am.”

“Not all believers have that attitude.”

“No, I guess they don’t. I’m not saying it’s easy, but faith is a journey. I think when things are going well, it’s easy to have faith. When things are going bad, you have to decide how you’re going to react. Are you going to trust God or not?”

“I wish it was that simple for me.”

“It’s not simple. It’s a choice.”

“What about how you feel?”

“What do feelings have to do with it? You can’t trust your feelings. Feelings can lead you to do or say things you shouldn’t. Trust what’s true and what’s right because whatever is true and right is of God.”

He simply stared at her, his mind spinning. “I’ve never thought of it that way before.”

“Maybe you should.”

“Maybe I should.”

Her smile tipped into a frown and she looked around. “Speaking of Jordan, where is he?”

“Playing watchdog. He knew I was bringing you here, so he’s guarding the perimeter.”

“Oh, poor thing. It’s really hot out there. I hope he’s got some shade.”

“And a vehicle with good air-conditioning. And you don’t have to feel too sorry for him. I made him one of these steaks for later.”

She nodded and took a bite. “Delicious.”

“Thanks.” He looked distracted then blurted, “But don’t you
ever
doubt?”

She hesitated and thought about that. Then shook her head. “No, not about who God is or that He’s in control.”

“Then what?”

“Sometimes I doubt that my faith is strong enough. I get frustrated on occasion and want to whine or throw a temper tantrum and demand my way, but ultimately, it comes down to accepting that this is what it is right now and doing what I can to stay strong in the midst of it.”

“Don’t you hate the person who’s doing this to you?”

“Hate him? No. Want him to stop? Most definitely. And yes, I’m angry and want to see justice done, but I’m not wasting my energy hating someone. What’s the point in that?” He stared at her long enough to make her uncomfortable. She wanted to squirm. Instead, she took a few more bites of the steak. “You’re a very good cook.”

He blinked and looked down at his own plate. “Oh. Thanks.” He lifted his head and caught her gaze once again. “You’re amazing.”

She flushed. She knew she did because she could feel the heat in her cheeks. How did he do that to her? She never blushed. “Well. Thank you.”

“You make me want what you have.”

Her heart flipped. “You already believe in God, Brandon.”

“I know, but I’ve been mad at Him for a long time.”

“Because of your parents.”

“Mostly.”

“And the fiancée?”

“Mmm-hmm. Yes.” He continued to stare into her eyes.

“What?” she asked.

“I’m thinking that my fiancée leaving me could be the best thing that ever happened to me and I just couldn’t see it until now.”

Now it was her turn to stare.

He laughed, then shrugged. “I’m learning that there’s more to just believing in God. There’s the whole faith thing, trusting Him and believing that He has a plan in all of this.”

“Exactly. It’s not easy, but it’s very...freeing, I guess is the word.”

“Freeing?”

“Yes. You know. To have an absolute. To believe what God says is true. When you look at life through that filter, it keeps everything in perspective.”

For the next few minutes, they ate in silence. Sonya’s phone rang and she snagged it from her pocket to see Mrs. Talbot’s number on the screen. “Hello?”

“Is this Sonya?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Well, good. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

“Not at all. What can I do for you?”

“You know when you were here asking all those questions about your mother?”

“Of course.”

“I got to thinking about it and seems like I do recall her mentioning something about a phone call she’d gotten not too long before she passed.”

Sonya sat up straight. “A phone call. From who?”

“She didn’t say, just that she had to make a decision about something and was torn as to what to do. I didn’t think much of it. I guess I thought it had to do with planning her funeral. And it may have. But I thought of it and wanted to tell you.”

“Thank you so much. I’m glad you did.”

“Hope it helps you figure out whatever it is you’re figurin’.”

“Me, too,” Sonya said. “Me, too.”

She hung up.

“What was that all about?” Brandon asked.

She told him. “You think it’s important?”

“Maybe. Let me think about it.”

“I wonder who called her.”

He set his fork and knife on the edge of his plate. “Why don’t we find out?”

“How?”

“Give me your mother’s number and I’ll get her phone records. We’ll go through the numbers and see who called her the last couple of weeks before she died.”

Sonya rattled off the number and he placed a call to whoever it was that could get him the information he needed.

He hung up. “So, let’s get you over to Missy’s and settled in.”

“I think I’ll go to Mom’s house instead.” Sadness gripped her. “One day I suppose I’ll have to start calling it my house.”

“Do you plan to keep it?”

“I might as well. It’s paid for and I have some lovely memories of when I used to visit. We’ll see.”

“Looks a little small to raise a family there,” he said.

She lifted a brow. “Well, since I don’t have a family to raise, it’s not a problem.”

“What about later? Say if you meet someone, get married and start having kids?”

Sonya swallowed. She didn’t want to read anything into his words, but she almost couldn’t help it. “When—if—I get to that stage, then I suppose my husband and I would have to talk about it and decide what to do.”

“So you’d be willing to move?”

She gave him a sad smile. “It’s just a house, Brandon.”

He stood up and carried his plate to the sink. She looked at her mostly eaten steak and half the baked potato and realized she was full. “I’d be willing to move, yes.” Then she frowned. “But I want to be there tonight. I’ve been thinking that if she left the baby bag in the closet, there may be other things that I’ve missed.”

“But you’ve cleaned out the house, right?”

“Most of it. But I haven’t touched my mother’s furniture. You know, her drawers.”

“Just the closet?”

“Yes. And not all of that. I stopped when I found the bag.”

“What about the attic?”

“No.” She grimaced. “I don’t like going up there. Anything in the attic wouldn’t be worth looking at anyway, I don’t think.”

“You never know.”

“And besides, what would I be looking for? I’ve already found the bag, and that was in the bedroom closet.”

“So what are you thinking?”

“Whenever Mom got a phone call, she would write down important things on a small tablet she kept in her end-table drawer. I want to see if she wrote anything about that call that seemed to upset her.”

“Good thinking. Come on. I’ll take you.”

“Now?”

“Why not? I want you safe, Sonya, and the only way that’s going to happen is if we figure out who wants to hurt you. If you don’t want to go to Missy’s, then I’m going to make sure you’re safe at your mother’s.”

“Right.” She put her plate in the sink. “Don’t you want me to help you clean up?”

He laughed. “Naw. That’s what my cleaning service is for.” He grabbed his keys. “Let’s go. I’m impatient to see if we find something.” He paused after he opened the door. “Stay here until I check the car out.”

“You’re going to look for a bomb, aren’t you?”

“It only takes one time to make a man a little paranoid.”

SEVENTEEN

B
randon pulled into her drive and looked in the rearview mirror. Max had pulled to a stop across the street. He waved and Brandon gave a relieved sigh. Frankie couldn’t pull guard duty tonight, so Brandon had had to come up with a plan B. Having contacts and friends that could help out at a moment’s notice wasn’t something he took for granted, but it was definitely something he appreciated.

His phone rang and he grabbed it while Sonya pulled her things together. It was Holt from the lab. “Hello?”

“Hey there. Somehow I got to be the designated caller.”

“About?”

“Ballistics.”

“Ah, yes. You want to tell me how, with your love of weapons, you didn’t go into that part of forensics?”

“DNA opened up first, but I’m qualified to work ballistics, too. I just don’t advertise it in case they decide they need to do some cutbacks or move people around. I’m happy where I am.”

“Right. So what do you have for me?”

Sonya had stilled in the passenger seat and looked at him.

Holt said, “The bullets outside Mr. Bradley’s office came from a Savage model 16FCSS Weather Warrior series bolt-action rifle. It’s a .308 Winchester caliber twenty-two-inch free-float and button-rifled barrel with—”

“Just the facts,” Brandon drawled. “And in English.” He knew if he let him, Holt would go on and on about the rifle and never get around to the actual reason he’d called.

Holt quieted then cleared his throat. “Right. The bullets fired at you guys in front of Mr. Bradley’s office from the rifle your shooter left behind and the ones fired at the people in the park where Sonya was jogging were a match.”

Brandon let out a low whistle. “I was right.”

“Yep.”

“So why shoot the other women if he was after Sonya?” Brandon mused out loud.

Sonya frowned. Little lines formed above the bridge of her nose and he wanted to reach out and smooth them. Instead, he curled his fingers into a fist and concentrated on Holt’s words.

“I wondered that myself. The only thing I could come up with was that he wanted to cover up the fact he was after Sonya.”

“He wanted her to be a third victim in a random shooting,” Brandon muttered. “The police would investigate and come up empty on any connection between the three women and chalk it up to a crazy.”

“That’s my theory.”

“It makes sense. Thanks, Holt.”

Brandon hung up and interpreted the rest of the conversation for Sonya, but it looked as though she’d gotten the gist of it. Her face paled and she swallowed hard. “Those women in the park were shot because he was after me,” she whispered. “And one died because—” She pressed her fingers to her lips and a tear slipped down her cheek.

“It’s only a theory, Sonya. We don’t have any proof.”

“But it makes sense,” she said. “I didn’t have any connection to either of those women. None.” She sniffed and swiped at her eyes.

He was almost ready to take her in his arms when she slammed a fist against the dash. “I still don’t hate whoever is doing this,” she said, “but I sure do want to see him in jail, where he belongs.”

“Let’s go inside.” He climbed from the car and saw Max watching them with a look of concern. Brandon waved that all was fine and followed Sonya to the front door.

She paused, key in the lock. “I still haven’t picked up my car from the hospital.”

Brandon reached around her and unlocked the door. He knew he was big enough to block any bullets headed her way, but he wasn’t in the mood to get shot again. He ushered her inside and shut the door behind them.

Sonya dropped her purse on the foyer floor on her way into the den. She paced from the mantel to the sofa and back. “I want this over with. I want my life back.”

“I know. And we’re making progress. It’s just going to take time.”

She touched the wound on her throat and then her fingers slid over the butterfly bandage on his cheek where the flying wood from the door had gashed him. “I’m tired of us getting hurt, tired of being afraid you—or someone else that I care about—is going to get killed because of me.”

Brandon’s fingers gripped hers. “I’m glad you care about me.” Heat suffused her cheeks, but she refused to look away. She did care about him and wanted him to know it. “But,” he said, “this situation isn’t your fault. You’re not responsible for the actions of whoever is doing this.”

She sighed. “I know it’s not my fault in that I’m not the one going around hurting people, but if I hadn’t started looking for Heather Bradley, none of this would be happening and Ms. Gold would probably still be alive.”

He grimaced. “Maybe she would. But if I understand things correctly, her death didn’t take God by surprise.”

Sonya stilled. “No. That’s true. It didn’t. None of this has taken Him by surprise.”

“So let’s focus on what we need to do to end it.”

Sonya took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.”

“Now, where’s your mother’s room?”

“This way.”

* * *

Sonya opened the door to her mother’s bedroom. She’d saved this area for last, knowing it would take all of her strength to get through the memories, to wade through the grief and accept that her mother was gone from this side of heaven. The only thing that made the grief easier to bear was the fact that she would be reunited with the woman she loved one day for all eternity.

Hopefully, later rather than sooner as the person trying to kill her seemed to be determined to make happen.

She went to the end table and pulled out the drawer. Papers, pens, hair ties, face cream, a fingernail file.

Her notepad.

Sonya pulled it from the drawer and sat in the chair at the vanity table next to the door. She flipped through the yellow legal pad. Notes about doctors’ appointments, things her mother had wanted to tell Sonya.

Tears welled at the sight of the handwriting. Brandon’s hand settled on her shoulder and she sniffed. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

She nodded and flipped through the pages. “I don’t see anything,” she whispered. “This was a dumb idea.”

“It was a great idea,” he countered. “It’s never—” His phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket. Sonya started over at the beginning of the notepad, hoping she’d missed something. And she did. Two pages stuck together. With a gentle tug, she separated them and stared.

“‘Blackmail,’” she read aloud. “‘Sonya.’” Just the two words written one on top of the other.

“Stay put, Spike. I’ll be right there.” Brandon hung up. “What did you say?”

“The word
blackmail
and my name underneath. Look.” She turned the notepad so he could see it.

“Why would your mother write that on her notepad?”

“I have no idea.”

“You think her agitation could have been because someone was blackmailing her?”

The thought sent knives of pain through her heart. “There was nothing to blackmail her about.”

“How much money did she leave you?”

Sonya shrugged. “About a hundred thousand in savings bonds. And the house is paid off.”

“So not an exorbitant amount, but enough that could be attractive to someone who didn’t make but twenty or thirty thousand a year.”

“I guess.” Sonya swiped a stray tear and saw the frown between his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

“Spike’s been arrested.”

“For what?” she gasped.

“Trespassing and resisting arrest are the charges. Apparently Spike was snooping around your house, looking in windows and such. A neighbor called it in. An officer drove by and saw him, tried to ask him what he was doing, and Spike panicked and ran. The officer chased him, caught him and took him downtown.”

“When did all that happen?”

“Right before we got here.” He held his phone up. “Spike just got his phone call.”

“Then go. You need to help him. I’ll just stay here and see if I can find anything else.” She sighed. “I need to go through her stuff anyway.”

“Are you able to do it?”

“I’m able.” She gave a small smile. “The memories are good. I just miss her.”

He pulled her into a hug and squeezed. “You’re going to be all right, Sonya.”

She leaned back and looked up at him, ignoring the pull on the stitches. “When you say it like that, I believe it.”

“Good.” He placed a light kiss on her lips, a quick touch that offered comfort and expressed his concern for her. She also sensed a passion carefully held in check. She shivered and relished the moment.

When he pulled back, she asked, “That was lovely, but what about the no-kissing thing?”

He stopped and frowned. “Oh. Right. I must have been out of my mind.” He ran his thumbs over her cheeks and gave her one last hug. “We need to talk, but it’ll have to wait. I’ll be back as soon as I take care of Spike. Max is right outside.”

“All right. Thanks.”

Brandon left and she locked the door behind him. They needed to talk? About? The kissing thing, probably. She went back to her mother’s room and looked around. She sighed and went to the dresser. She opened it at the same time that her cell phone rang.

She snagged the device from her pocket and recognized the Bradleys’ number. “Hello?”

“Am I speaking with Sonya?”

The female voice took her aback. “Yes, this is she.”

“This is Ann Bradley.”

For a moment, Sonya couldn’t get her throat to work. Finally, she said, “Hello, Mrs. Bradley.”

“I overheard Don talking to someone on the phone. He said that you’re definitely Heather.”

“Yes, ma’am. That’s what they said.”

“Well, I...I’ve been doing some thinking. Even a little praying.”

“I see. About?”

“You, of course.”

“Oh.”

“And I’ve decided that I want to welcome you into the family. That is...if you’re even interested in being a part of our family.”

Sonya swallowed hard. “I want to know you. I do. But I really want to know why I was kidnapped and who would do such a horrible thing.”

“Do you think you can get past that? What if you never find out?”

Sonya thought about that for a minute. “Then I suppose I’ll have to accept it and move on.”

“Do you think you can do that?”

“I don’t know. I suppose I would always wonder.”

“Would you come to my house so we could talk?”

Sonya considered it, then thought about Max outside. “I really shouldn’t leave. Someone still wants me dead.”

“I could send a car for you.”

“No, but...”

“But what?”

“I would tell you that you could come over here, but being around me can be dangerous. I have someone watching the house, but it’s still not safe. I think we’ll just have to wait until this is all over.”

“I’ll take my chances. Will you let your guard know I’m coming?” Sonya paused, undecided. A sigh filtered through the line. “Please, Sonya, I need to talk to you.”

“All right, I’ll let Max know. He’ll probably ask for some identification.”

“I’ll have some.”

“See you soon.” Sonya hung up and felt her stomach swirl with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Inviting her birth mother into the house of the woman who’d loved and raised her for almost thirty years seemed almost wrong. But Sonya had been stolen from Ann Bradley and that wasn’t her fault. She missed her mother, she always would, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t get to know the woman who’d given birth to her.

She called Max and told him the plans.

* * *

Brandon found Spike in the holding cell. He’d have to stay there until he could have someone bring the money for bond. Brandon wanted to know more before he decided to pay it himself. He didn’t think Spike would be able to afford it and he knew his mother couldn’t. He looked the teen in the eye. “What were you doing at Sonya’s house?”

Red crept into the boy’s cheeks and he shrugged.

Brandon sighed. “Come on, man. Talk to me.”

“I wasn’t going to break in and I wasn’t going to hurt her if she was there.”

“Okay, I believe you.”

Spike’s head snapped up. “You do?”

“Yes.” Brandon did. Mostly. But he kept that niggling of doubt to himself and refused to let it show on his face.

Spike’s shoulders slumped. “If I tell you, you will laugh your head off.”

“Laugh?”

Spike nodded.

“Try me.” Brandon couldn’t imagine what was going through his young friend’s mind.

“I was...” He mumbled the last part of the sentence.

“Say it again. Clear so I can understand you.”

Spike lifted his head and his dark eyes bored into Brandon’s. “I was trying to be like you. I was doing what a detective does. You know, check things out, seeing if your lady was all right. Keeping an eye on the place. Only someone saw me and called the cops.”

Brandon pinched the bridge of his nose. All the time and effort he’d put into helping Spike had paid off. And Spike had just laid the biggest compliment ever on him. Brandon blew out a breath. “Well, dude, I’m not going to laugh.”

“You’re not?” Skepticism showed.

“Nope. But I am going to get you out of here.”

“How?”

“I’m going to pay your bail. How else?”

For the first time since Brandon had met Spike, he thought he saw a sheen of tears appear. Spike blinked and looked away. “Aw, man, you don’t have to do that. I deserve to be here.”

“For what?”

“For being so stupid.”

“You weren’t being stupid. You were being a kid.” Probably for the first time in his short life. “All right. Hang tight. I’ll be back.”

“Yo, Hayes, you got a minute?”

Brandon turned to find Hector waving at him. “Yeah. Coming.”

“I’ll be at my desk.”

To Spike, Brandon said, “I mean it. I’ll be back.”

Spike nodded and leaned his head back against the cell’s wall. Thankfully, he didn’t have any cell mates, and Brandon would see to it that he didn’t.

Brandon hurried to find Hector. He found his partner and seated himself across from him even as he pulled out his phone and shot a text to Max.
How is she?

Just fine. Quiet. Mrs. Bradley’s coming for a visit.

Now, that was interesting. He looked at Hector. “Hang on a sec while I finish this text to Max.”

“Sure.” Hector went back to his computer.