Lawman's Perfect Surrender (19 page)

“Your mom and I have some problems, but we can work them out.”

By following Samuel? “Don’t even try to go near her again.” Hearing his mom emerge from the master bedroom, he leaned closer to his dad. “Hit her again, I’ll hurt you worse than you ever hurt her.”

“I’m your father.” He was only worried about appearances. Inside, he was an angry man who needed a punching bag. Well, his mother was no longer going to serve that purpose. From now on, his dad had to make his own way. Without her.

Dillon wondered how long it would take for Samuel to catch on to the imperfection.

His dad must have been wondering the same thing. As soon as his mother reached the bottom stair, his dad lunged for her, yelling, “I won’t let you destroy me!”

* * *

Ford put to good use the overpriced spices and tuna steaks Gemma had gotten from the health food market in town. Only the best could be bought there, and she had relished the hundreds she’d spent. It wasn’t his cooking that had her riveted, though. He was still in uniform and that was playing havoc on her senses. Even with Bo so out of favor with him, he hadn’t stopped going to work.

He stirred the brown sauce simmering on the stove, but it was his hand that she admired. His strong hand that could be so gentle with her.

Lifting a spoonful of the brown sauce to her mouth, he looked into her eyes as she tasted the concoction. It could have been vinegar and she wouldn’t have noticed. She loved how his eyes reached into her, tickling her soul.

“Mmm.” The murmur was for him, not the sauce.

His deep chuckle communicated mutual warmth. She could stare at him for hours, giddy with the way he made her feel.

She slid her hand up his chest, over his badge where her fingers traced the outline. Some day she was going to have to wear that thing. Maybe she’d put it around her neck with nothing else on…

“Stop that.”

“Stop what?” She moved her hand to his stubbly face, loving the manly texture. There was no stopping any of this. Him. Her. This crazy passion they had.

His head dipped. Looping her arm around his neck, she tipped hers up and his mouth brushed hers. She felt his warm breath, stared into his blue eyes, melting.

And then a knock on the door jerked them apart. He seemed too glad for the interruption, then his gaze turned hard with disgruntlement. He didn’t like his lack of control.

He went to the door and opened it to Bo Fargo. What was he doing here?

“Sorry to bother you so late,” Bo said, bowing his head to Gemma. To Ford he said, “I need a word with you.”

Ford stepped aside and Bo entered.

Gemma moved to stand next to Ford and Bo stayed in the entryway.

“Would you like to sit down?” Gemma asked. “Can I get you anything?”

“No, ma’am. This won’t take long. Ford, I heard you took the Taylors to Shady Meadow and identified Felix Taylor’s body.”

“How did you hear that?” Gemma asked. The man sure had gall. They all knew he’d sent Alan to follow them.

“It just so happens that Lacy’s boyfriend went to visit a friend there and saw you.”

It just so happens…

“I planned to close out the Missing Persons report on him tomorrow,” Ford said.

“Ford, I asked you to tell me about your activities, and that includes your interactions with Dillon Monroe.”

“Felix was Martha Taylor’s son.”

“Yes, but her granddaughter has been cavorting with Dillon. They’ve been stalking Samuel, stirring up trouble, as you well know. We need to keep close tabs on them.”

Stalking Samuel? Stirring up trouble?

“Hallie was trying to find her father, and Dillon is worried about his mother,” Gemma said. “How does that qualify as trouble?”

“They should leave that to the law,” Bo answered, affronted.

“They did,” Gemma argued with a note of deliberate innocence. “They let Ford handle everything.”

Bo’s look hardened but he kept his tone patient. “I stopped by to ask you again, Ford, to keep me informed of your activities, particularly when they involve the Monroes. I’ve asked you before. Don’t make me ask you again.”

“I’ll do my best, Chief.”

Gemma wondered if Bo saw the twinkle of mischief in Ford’s eyes. He gave no indication that he had as he bade them farewell and left.

“I should let you handle him more often,” Ford said with a grin.

“He sure was nice.”

“That’s because there isn’t a damn thing he can do about it.”

But that hadn’t stopped him from trying to control Ford.

His cell phone rang.

“McCall.”

Gemma could hear the frantic voice of a woman shouting.

“Calm down, Hallie. Where are you?”

“At Dillon’s!” Gemma heard her yell, followed by more frantic shouting.

“We’re on our way. Don’t go inside. Wait in your car, okay?”

Hallie must have answered agreeably in a lower tone. Ford tucked his phone away.

“Dillon and his dad got into a fight and his mother tried to stop them. Curtis started beating her.”

“Oh, my God. What’s Hallie doing there?”

“She was meeting Dillon there because they had plans to go to the community center to keep an eye on his mom. She heard fighting when she reached the door and didn’t go in.”

Gemma hurried out the door with him. “Are you going to call Bo?”

“Hell, no.”

She loved his unwavering boldness. Hopping into his SUV, they raced across town.

When Ford screeched to a halt at an angle in front of the Monroe home, Hallie emerged from her car. Hearing elevated voices from inside the house, Gemma knew the fight wasn’t over. She and Hallie followed Ford.

He stopped and turned. “You both wait here.”

Then he drew his gun and went up the stairs. Opening the door, he raised his weapon and disappeared inside. Gemma exchanged a look with Hallie and in unison they both started toward the house.

“Stay behind me,” Gemma told Hallie.

She peered inside the open door. Ford was already cuffing Curtis on the kitchen floor. His face was bloody. Dillon stood next to his crying mother, his face also bloody from their fistfight. Gemma spotted bruises on Mrs. Monroe’s face and arms.

Ford helped Curtis to his feet. “Dillon, you take your mother to the hospital.” Then he looked at Gemma. “You come with me.”

He was sure sexy when he was in charge. She followed him as he pushed Curtis, who was craning his neck to look over his shoulder, toward the door.

“Remember what I told you,” Curtis warned his wife.

“Be quiet.” Ford jerked him forward again.

“You better listen to me!” Curtis yelled.

Dillon put his arm around his mother and walked to the door. “Don’t listen to him. He can’t hurt you if he’s in jail.”

Gemma saw the way his mother cowered at Curtis’s warning and wondered if she’d go through with her statement against her husband.

* * *

Early the next morning, Ford’s cell phone rang again. Rolling toward the nightstand in Gemma’s guest room, he checked the digital clock. Really early—4:00 a.m. early.

What now? “McCall.”

“It’s Dillon. Bo let my dad out last night. He said there wasn’t enough evidence to charge him.”

He swung his legs over the bed. “What?” He stood up.

“Bo came to see Mom at the hospital. To get her statement, he claimed. He said there probably wasn’t enough evidence against my dad to hold him and told her to
think carefully
about what had happened. She said she fell down the stairs.”

Damn. His mother was afraid to press charges. “Where are you now? Where is your mother?”

“We’re back at the hospital. My mom went home after she was treated the first time. We were going to meet at Hallie’s after she went home to get more things. I didn’t think my dad would be released so soon. He beat her bad.”

And now she was in the hospital, this time with more serious injuries. Ford cursed vehemently. “That son of a…!” Holding the phone between his shoulder and ear, he yanked on his jeans.

“I should have gone with her.”

Hearing the catch in Dillon’s voice, Ford said, “You didn’t know. Is she going to be okay?”

“Yeah. They want to keep her today to monitor her head injuries. My dad used a bat on her. I hid it in the garage behind the trash cans.”

A bat…

Ford praised Dillon’s quick thinking while the significance of the bat sank in. Was Curtis responsible for the other murders? If so, he’d made a mistake using a bat on his wife. He’d beat his wife with a bat! Such a tide of rage filled Ford he wasn’t sure he could contain it. This would not have happened had Curtis been kept in jail.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

His hands trembled as he disconnected. Putting on a shirt, he climbed the stairs to wake Gemma.

* * *

Feeling Gemma glance over at him every few minutes, Ford tried to maintain a normal appearance of calm, while inside, fury burned. Bo tried to thwart him at every turn, and this time he’d succeeded. His blatant disregard for the law was taking its toll. He had to be patient, wait until the FBI had enough on Samuel’s cult to arrest everyone involved. But the injustice reminded too much of what he’d lost.

He stopped in front of the Monroes’ house.

“What are you going to do?” Gemma inquired.

Without responding, he picked up his cell phone and called a detective he thought he could trust. After instructing the man to come to this address prepared to process a crime scene, he disconnected.

“Wait here.” He got out of the SUV and shut the door.

Gemma got out, too. “Ford…”

“I’m going to keep Bo from preventing another arrest,” he said. “The detective won’t be here for a few minutes. That gives me time to gather my own evidence.” Just in case.

Her eyes softened with understanding. Going up on her toes, she gave him a quick peck of a kiss. “Be careful.”

Did she trust him not to cross a line? She must. He had his doubts, but she trusted him, had faith in his ethics as a cop. She’d suffered at the hands of a wife-beater. She had no sympathy for men like Curtis, but preferred the way of the law. That struck a chord in him, connected them even more than they already were. Not analyzing it too much, he strode up the walkway to the front door. He rang the bell several times.

The door opened and Curtis appeared, standing in a robe. Seeing Ford, he demanded belligerently, “What are you doing back here?”

The man had beaten his wife. Put her in the hospital. And now he felt untouchable. With Samuel and the Chief of Police behind him, he had good reason. There was nothing Ford could do. Or so Curtis thought…

“May I come in?” Ford asked.

Curtis stepped aside. “Sure.” He was cocky with self-confidence, but Ford detected a note of uncertainty.

Wanting to punch the man until he begged him to stop, beat him until he cried out in pain, until he had to be taken to the hospital just like his wife, Ford steered his course straight. A police officer didn’t do things like that. Police officers upheld the law, they didn’t break the law. His inability to uphold the law the first time he’d been here made him furious. There was no justice when a criminal got away with his crime. It left victims helpless. And Ford knew all too well what that felt like.

Suddenly he was back in time, a fourteen-year-old waking to the sound of crashing furniture and the pleas of his father. Gunshots. Screams. He’d gotten out of bed and gone into the hallway. One of the gunmen had just passed his room. The screams were concentrated in his parents’ bedroom.

Ford had waited in his room, scared and not knowing what to do. He had no phone and the closest one was downstairs. When he peered through the crack of his door, he saw his little brother run down the hall. A gunman chased him down the stairs. Ford followed slowly. But once he’d reached the lower level, he’d ducked into the stairwell to the basement. He’d shut the door behind him. Waiting there, rigid with fear, he’d heard the gunshot that had killed his little brother. His mother was screaming. Alone and crying, he’d listened to the two robbers ransack the house. The last of the screams from his mother had faded. When he’d heard footsteps approach the basement door, he’d run downstairs and hidden.

Long minutes passed before the robbers left and he’d emerged from the basement to find his family dead. He’d learned later that his mother had been raped before she was killed. The sound of her screams haunted him to this day.

Seeing Curtis eyeing him with mocking impatience, Ford put the memories back where they belonged, away from his heart and in a dark hole that fueled his passion for justice.

“Where’s your wife?” he asked.

Curtis hesitated and Ford could see him scramble for a lie. “I don’t know. She wasn’t here when I got home.”

Seeing three deep scratch marks on his cheek that hadn’t been there before, Ford grabbed Curtis’s chin and angled his face to see them better. “Where’d you get those?”

“I tripped coming out of the community center.”

“After hours?”

“Samuel sometimes has…parties.”

The man was a really bad liar. “Mind if I have a look around?”

Curtis shrugged, theatrically overconfident. Foolish. “Sure.”

Ford walked farther into the living room. Nothing was out of place, but it looked freshly cleaned. He saw an area on the carpet that appeared to have been scrubbed. Bending over, he felt the carpet. It was damp and he could see the remnants of bloodstains. Removing the camera he’d brought with him, he began snapping pictures.

“What are you doing?” Curtis asked.

“Routine.”

“You didn’t take pictures before.”

A baseball bat wasn’t part of the equation then. Not responding, Ford checked the kitchen and two bedrooms downstairs before heading upstairs.

In the master bedroom, there was an open suitcase on one side of the bed. It was partially filled with clothing. Curtis had caught his wife in the middle of packing, the catalyst to the fight. The use of a bat definitely revealed the man’s passion. He took more pictures.

Back downstairs, he went into the garage and found the bat right where Dillon had directed him. He took pictures, leaning over the garbage cans to get close-ups of the blood drying on the end.