L.A.P.D. Special Investigations Series, Boxed Set: The Deceived, The Taken & The Silent (27 page)

Rob

Jillian clutched the counter for support.

Adam went to stand behind her and put both hands on her shoulders. She stiffened at his touch. After a moment her shoulders relaxed.

“You all right?”

She nodded. “Yes. I think I’ve known all along. But even so, this makes it real. Final. How long have you known he was…”

“A couple weeks. The DEA were on it—the blond guy at the church in Cabacera.”

She looked surprised.

“Sullivan had gone to him long before we arrived and asked for his help to get out of the country. Sullivan had sent his wife and son into hiding before she got sick because he feared for their lives and his own. Apparently he’d offered information on the cartel in exchange for safe exit for him and his family, but Manolo’s henchmen got to him first. His body was found buried near one of the strongholds that got raided by the covert organization working on this case…and they made a positive ID from dental records.”

Jillian sucked in a deep breath. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier?”

He shook his head. “What was the point? I knew how much it would hurt you.”

She swung around. “Dammit, Adam. It’s not up to you to decide what I should hear and what I shouldn’t.” She shoved the letter into his jacket pocket. “Here. You can have your damned evidence back.”

He winced at the anger in her voice. Anger at him. And it hurt.

He wasn’t one of the bad guys and he didn’t want her to think he was. Her opinion of him meant more than anything.

“You didn’t tell Chloe everything because all it would do is cause her more pain,” he said. “I did the same thing for you, that’s all. I wanted to protect you, and I’m sorry if I judged that wrong. I’m sorry if I took advantage of you when we were together, but don’t lump me in with the people in your life who’ve lied to you. I never lied to you about things between us, not once. And don’t ever think that what happened between us wasn’t meaningful. It was to me.”

She looked at him incredulously as she stepped away from him and reached to shut the kitchen door.

“Meaningful? What the hell does that mean? I didn’t make love with you because I wanted to have a meaningful experience. I fell in love with you, Adam. I wanted to make love with you because I was in love with you, and I wanted more than anything for the feeling to be mutual.”

He jerked back. What? Words stuck in his throat. She was in love with him? She was in love with him? Had he heard that right?

“But what about— I thought you were still in love with—”

Jillian stopped him with a hand in the air, hauled in a great gulp of air, then, looking down at her hands, said softly, “I loved him. I loved the person he was when he was with me. He took care of me when I needed someone. He helped me get on my feet. He deserved my love and my loyalty.

“But when I met you, I realized I was never in love with him. I didn’t know what that kind of love was like, how it felt. I was fifteen when I met Rob, and I’d never been with anyone else.” She whirled around, anger and pain, love and hate, want, need and desire reflected in her eyes and spilling out in a torrential river of words.

“I’m sorry if that’s a total surprise, and I’m sorry if it makes you feel even more guilty and more—” she waved a hand in the air “—more whatever it is that you feel. But I’m not like you, Adam. I can’t shut off my feelings, I can’t stifle them or pretend I don’t even have them, and—”

“The feeling was mutual.”

Her head came up.

“And meaningful means…I love you.”

She looked at him as if she hadn’t heard him right. “What?”

“I said I love you. The feeling was mutual.”

“Oh.”

“Oh?”

A tentative smile formed. Her eyes brightened, then the smile broadened. “Really?”

“Really.”

“But you said…you didn’t ever want to get…you said marriage wasn’t—”

He shushed her with a finger over her mouth. “I said it, and that was how I’d felt since…well, for a few years. But with you it’s different. I want different things. It’s just that—”

He stopped, not sure he could admit the truth to himself, much less to the person he loved. But more than anything he wanted her to believe him, to believe what he felt for her was real, not a lie.

“I’ve always considered myself a strong guy, and I’ve never failed at anything in my whole life—except at my marriage.”

His throat closed. Damn. He wasn’t sure he could get the words out.

“My marriage…” He cleared his throat. “My marriage failed because my wife found someone else, Jillian. She left me for another guy, and I can’t seem to get rid of the fear that sooner or later, the person I fall in love with will find me inadequate in some way and then leave.”

He took a huge breath, then forged on. “You made me realize that I was using my job as an excuse. It was easier not to get involved than to face failure again. But it didn’t stop me from falling in love with you. Even knowing you still loved your husband didn’t stop me from doing that. But I—”

Jillian placed a shushing finger over his mouth and locked gazes with him. He was so fearless and so proud, and she knew the incredible courage it must’ve taken for him to admit what he just had to her. And he’d told her because he wanted her to know the truth. He wanted her to trust him, believe in him.

And she did. She truly did. At that moment her heart was so full of love it felt ready to burst.

“I’m in love with you, Adam Ramsey. Totally and completely. No one else.” She sighed. “And I don’t know what to do about that.”

“What do you want to do about it?” His gaze stayed glued to hers and for the longest time neither said a word, as if talking might somehow shatter such a fragile moment.

Finally she whispered, “What are you thinking?”

“Geography.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’ve got to do something about that. Me in California, you in Chicago.” He leaned forward, his forehead against hers.

“We can work on it.”

She felt his warm breath against her lips. “Now what are you thinking?”

“I’m thinking about your mouth—about kissing you.”

“And after that?”

“I have a hundred other ideas.”

When his lips met hers, she had a hundred other ideas, too, and they all started with him.

THE END

Please read on for Rico’s story in

THE TAKEN

Book two in the L.A.P.D. Special Investigations series

LAPD Special Investigations series, Book 2

THE TAKEN

AN ABANDONED CHILD

Alone and afraid, a small boy is found wandering the streets of Los Angeles.

A DESPERATE COP

Detective Rico Santini will do anything to find his niece’s kidnapped child. Anything except break the rules. The one time he took a shortcut, he failed and it nearly destroyed his family. But Rico will never stop looking for the boy...not even when forced to work with a sexy Beverly Hills attorney who challenges his every move.

A SECRETIVE SOCIALITE

Once, all Macy Capshaw wanted was to have a family. It wasn’t meant to be and now all the attorney wants is to protect children, especially the sad little boy in her charge. That means keeping away media types and insistent detectives. But one detective is stirring up questions about Haven’s Gate where his niece’s baby was born–and where Macy gave birth to a stillborn child years ago. Now
she
has questions. And the answers could put all of them in danger.

Just when sizzling passion between the detective and the socialite ignites, a stunning discovery changes everything. Both are faced with the hardest choices of their lives. And Rico’s decision could save Macy’s life…

From nationally bestselling author Linda Style comes the second novel in the L.A.P.D. Special Investigations series. THE TAKEN follows THE DECEIVED, a page-turning romantic suspense that garnered the Orange Rose Best Book of the Year Award.

L.A.P.D. Special Investigations

Giving up is not an optio
n

CHAPTER ONE

“THEY FOUND THE BOY scavenging through trash cans at the bus station.” Detective Enrico Santini shifted his cell phone from one ear to the other and scanned the reception area of Macy Capshaw’s upscale law office. “He doesn’t know his name or where he’s from.”

“You think it could be Chelsey’s kid?” his partner asked.

“He’s the right age.”

“Him and how many others out of the 800,000 kids who go missing every year? You still feeling responsible?”

Rico shifted position in the plush waiting room chair, the supposedly soothing elevator music in the background grating on his nerves.  He’d been the one who suggested his niece stay at Haven’s Gate to have her baby, and less than twenty-four hours after the birth, the infant had been abducted.

“We did everything we could,” Jordan said.

Yeah, to no avail. “I need to check it out.”

The receptionist nodded at Rico, indicating the lawyer was ready to see him.

“Gotta go. I’ll get back to you later.” He stood, pocketed the phone and followed the young woman into the attorney’s spacious office.

“Detective Santini,” the receptionist announced to the woman behind an oversize mahogany desk. Her blond hair gleamed like the patina on the champagne-colored Benz he’d seen in the parking garage with the vanity plate MC2LAW, her tailored suit screamed Gucci or some other designer name and the subtle lift of her chin warned that a cop, the son of Italian immigrants from Hoboken, New Jersey, wasn’t in her league. Not even close.

She stood to shake his hand, a quick, firm move that was all business.

As the receptionist left, Rico noted that Macy Capshaw, with her hair pulled back into a sleek, long ponytail, looked as if she’d just graduated high school. Except the Harvard Law certificate on the wall said otherwise.

How someone her age could afford digs in the L.A. Citicorp Building without any partners was a mystery.

The lawyer motioned for him to sit in the chair across from her. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

“I understand you’re the court-appointed advocate for the boy found at the bus station.” He sat in another plush chair that had no doubt caressed its share of millionaires’ asses.

“I’m the court-appointed attorney…not quite the same.” Her cool blue gaze flicked over him, lingering on his faded jeans and JC Penny button-down shirt.

“I’m working a cold case in which an infant was abducted five years ago. The boy would now be about the same age as the child in your charge. They tell me I need your okay to see him.”

She relaxed against the back of a camel-tan leather chair, arms at ease.

“LAPD?”

He nodded. Leaned back.

“But you’re not from California, are you?”

“New Jersey, born and bred.” He gave her his best smile. “Did the accent give me away?”

The corners of her mouth moved, but didn’t make it into a smile. “I’m sorry, Detective…Santini…is it?”

He’d barely nodded his assent before she went on.

“As you know, the child is in protective custody and under a physician’s care. Being questioned by more police is not in his best interests right now.”

He narrowed his gaze, surprised by the denial of what should be a routine procedure. “Isn’t it in his best interests to find his parents?”

Now
she
looked surprised. Guess she wasn’t used to someone challenging her authority.

“Of course,” she said, recovering quickly. “We want to find his parents as much as anyone…but as I said, he’s under a physician’s care.” Her firm words belied her relaxed body language.

Rico leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Was he abused?”

“Possibly. He has several physical problems, and he doesn’t remember anything about himself or his family. We don’t know if he wandered away from his parents or if he was abandoned. But since it’s been well publicized and no one has come forward, the likelihood is the latter.” Her ice-blue eyes locked with his. “We may not know anything for quite a while.”

He lifted his chin. “Are you refusing to let me talk to him?”

She frowned. “Whatever he’s been through was obviously traumatic and more people questioning him might send him over the edge. If your case is five years old, Detective, it can’t hurt to wait a little longer, can it?”

Rico’s blood rushed. He was too close to this case. But he had to know. He took a calming breath. “The case might be old…but the child’s mother has been grieving for five years over the loss. The boy in your charge could be her son.” He angled his head. “If it were your son, you’d want every stone unturned, wouldn’t you?”

Her eyes crinkled just a hair around the edges … an almost imperceptible wince. Maybe he’d touched her nurturing side. He hoped.

As if she knew what he was thinking, she pulled herself up and squared her shoulders, her posture suddenly all business formal. “I can sympathize, Detective. But that’s all I can do. Right now numerous authorities are involved. Child Protective Services, the court that appointed me, the hospital with its usual number of physicians, and the police who took him into custody. I’ve had three other detectives call me because each had an old case with a missing child and they want the same thing you do. As the child’s advocate, my responsibility is to the boy, and if we found his parents right this minute, we wouldn’t spring them on him immediately. Not until we have some answers.”

Her voice had softened and maybe she really did sympathize. Whether she actually did or not, he had to admire her conviction. Her apparent concern for the boy. He drew a breath. It was obvious he wasn’t going to get anywhere by pushing the issue. If he’d learned anything in his ten-plus years in law enforcement, it was that making nice on someone won him a helluva lot more points than bullying ever did.

“And exactly what
is
your responsibility?” he asked. “I’ve never worked with a child advocate before.”

She moistened her lips with the tip of her tongue, which oddly had him wondering what it might be like to unravel that cool, you-can’t-touch-me attitude of hers.

“It’s my job to represent the child’s best interests — to ensure that any abuse suffered at home, or elsewhere, doesn’t continue as abuse and neglect at the hands of the system.”

Back to the canned legalese.

“And you are the system, Detective Santini.”

Maintaining eye contact, he stretched his legs and forced himself to appear at ease, the posture at odds with the tension building in him. “I’d like to see him, not interrogate him.”

She picked up a folder on her desk and thumbed through it. Finally she said, “All in due time. Right now it’s more important to determine his physical and mental state. Surely you can understand that.”

His muscles tensed even more at her condescending tone. “I can. And surely you can understand that, like you, I’m doing my job — and I’d hoped you’d be able to help me.”

“As much as I’d like to, Detective Santini, I can’t. Not today.”

Right. She’d like to help him about as much as she’d like to spend an afternoon at a baseball game swilling beer and chowing hot dogs. “Well, if you won’t let me talk to him, could you come to the station and take a look at the case file? Maybe you’d see something that would allow us to rule out the possibility?”

Her lips formed a thin line and he knew she was going to refuse his request. So, he said, “I can’t tell you how devastated this mother has been, searching the faces of every child she sees. Five years is a long time to be doing that. Can you at least think about taking a look at the file?”

After a moment, she gave a reluctant nod. “My schedule is full. But I’ll see what I can do.”

At that, Rico stood, stuck out a hand and, pasting on his most charming smile, said, “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

She reached to shake his hand. This time he was surprised at the warmth. Apparently ice didn’t run through her veins. He turned and on his way out, he gave a two-finger salute. “I’ll be in touch.”

***

AN HOUR LATER, Cheryl, Macy’s receptionist, buzzed her. Macy hit the intercom.

“It’s that detective again. The cute one.”

The cute one. Yes. He had it going on, all right. But she wouldn’t describe him as cute. He commanded attention. And like most cops she’d worked with, he wanted to call the shots. He hadn’t been in her office for two seconds before she knew he was a man who had to be in control.

Hell, he’d barely left and was already calling back for a decision. “Put him through, Cheryl.”

She let the phone ring twice, then picked up. “What can I do for you, Detective?”

“How about meeting me at the coffee shop downstairs?”

His voice, a deep resonant baritone, was smooth, his East Coast accent more noticeable when he said certain words, like coffee. She knew the drill. He wanted something from her and she’d bet he usually got what he wanted. Many women would find a man like Rico Santini irresistible. Tall and dark, with a big white smile and those soft brown “I’m available” eyes, he was hard to resist. Unfortunately for him, she’d had her fill of tall, dark and irresistible.

“I want to show you something,” he added. “Can you spare a few minutes this afternoon?”

She had a deposition to do, a brief to write and she had to file a restraining order on Ginny Mathews’ estranged husband.
And
she had to be in court at one o’clock. She didn’t have time to have coffee with anyone, especially someone with an agenda. God, she needed a paralegal. Desperately.

But his words rang in her head.
This mother’s been grieving for five years over the loss of her child
.

She closed her eyes. Remembering things she didn’t want to remember. “I’ll have a few minutes around 3:00 p.m. if that works for you.”

“I’ll be there.”

Macy let the handset slip into the cradle, a dull ache of loss heavy in her chest as painful memories played in her head. The darkened room, the contractions that never went anywhere, the scent of alcohol and somewhere in the drug-induced fogginess of her brain, hushed, disjointed voices, words like Cesarean and breech. All she’d wanted was to have her baby and take him home. Instead she’d been given drugs to ease the pain and then it was all over.

And her baby was gone.

Twelve years ago and the memory was still as vivid as if it were yesterday.

The jangle of the phone brought her to attention. She punched the speaker button. “Yes?”

“Miss Creighton is here to see you.”

“Good. Send her in.” Macy pulled out Cody’s case file and waited for the social worker to enter.

Karen Creighton was on a mission. Get the abandoned boy out of the hospital and into foster care ASAP. The hearing to make Cody a temporary ward of the state was on Monday, and the financial considerations when a child was a ward of the state were always a prime concern for the social workers.

Karen Creighton came in, nodded at Macy and then headed for the chair in front of Macy’s desk. From her first introduction, the woman eschewed the formality of a handshake.

“Karen, what can I do for you?”

Gaunt, with pale skin and lifeless brown hair, the social worker looked as if she could use a good nutritionist herself. “I’m working on foster care placement for Cody. It isn’t easy. The lists are full and his special needs make it more difficult.”

“He’s not ready for that anyway, so there’s no rush.”

“From what I understand, he’s physically able to be discharged, and I have to make a decision.”

“A financial decision. Only Cody’s physician hasn’t said he’s ready for discharge. In fact, the doctor told me that while proper nutrition may have him back to normal in no time, his mental state isn’t that easy to evaluate.”

“He’s been interviewed by several psychiatrists and psychologists—”

“And none have been able to determine if his inability to answer questions about his past has an organic cause or if it’s psychologically induced. And there’s also the possibility that the memory loss is deliberate on Cody’s part. More tests have to be done.”

“Whether he remembers or not, we have to find placement for him.”

“Yes, but nothing can happen until after the hearing Monday morning. And I’ll need to interview the prospective caregivers before any decision is made.”

The woman’s lips formed a straight thin line. “I have two interviews set for Monday afternoon.”

Macy’s muscles tensed. Karen had been told Macy’s afternoons were usually booked. If she was a suspicious person, she might think the afternoon scheduling had been done deliberately.

“The first is at one o’clock and the second at three.”

“Fine. Give me the addresses and I’ll be there.”

The social worker looked surprised, then shoved a piece of paper at Macy. “I’ll see you at the hearing, then?”

“Absolutely.” Watching the woman leave, Macy’s irritation spiked. She shouldn’t be annoyed. Karen had a job to do. But then, so did she, and she was going to do it to the best of her ability, regardless of what other people wanted.