Unlawful Contact (28 page)

“They’re dead-on. Same batch. No doubt.” He looked up from the page, dropped the papers on the table next to the chronology Sophie had made a few days ago. “So let’s go over this again.”

“Megan grabs Emily and sneaks out of New Horizons because she realizes she’s in danger. The cops find a half ounce of this shit in her room.” Hunt tapped his finger on the drug tests. “Did Cross’s buddies plant it on her after she bolted? Did they give it to her? Did she buy it or trade sex for it and then decide not to touch it? Unless or until we find Megan or get access to surveillance footage from New Horizons we won’t know.”

Sophie nodded. “Then only a few days later, Charlotte Martin, who is the same age as Megan and has a sealed juvenile record, swallows a balloon of the same batch of heroin while staying at the Denver County Jail. She dies in her cell when the balloon ruptures.”

“
If
it ruptured.” He bit his lower lip, frowned. “I’m betting someone made certain it would rupture—poked holes in it, nicked it with a razor blade or something. Of course, there’s no way to know that either.”

Sophie glanced back at her notes. “A few days after that, Kristina Brody shoots up in her room—same batch of fefe—and ODs on her bed. Was she forced to take the drug? No way to know. All we know for certain is that she was in Denver Juvenile at the same time as Megan.”

“Then the next evening, a few days after filing an open-records request that would have exposed Cross and his cronies, you’re pulled over and thirty grams of the same shit is found in your car and your apartment. That same night, a guard at Denver County Jail tries to enter your cell and lies about his whereabouts to a coworker. A few days later, a guard from the jail—we’re not yet sure it was the same man—is found dead of an apparent suicide.”

Sophie weighed the facts in her mind, tried to see anything she might be missing. “Charlotte and Kristina were sentenced to Denver Juvenile at the same time as Megan. I don’t see any other possibility—they must have been Cross’s other victims. Whoever went after Megan decided to go after them as well.”

Hunt lifted his gaze, looked into her eyes, his expression grave. “And when you started digging, searching for the truth, they went after you.”

Sophie wrapped her arms around herself, warding off a shiver. “That’s what we know. What don’t we know?”

Hunt stood, came up behind her, began to massage her shoulders, his hands working magic on muscles she hadn’t realized were tense. “We don’t know whether the guard on the slab at the morgue is the same one who came to your cell. We don’t know whether he really killed himself. We don’t know whether he was one of Cross’s accomplices. We don’t know how many accomplices Cross had, for that matter. We don’t know where the heroin came from exactly. And we don’t know where my sister is—or whether she and Emily are still alive.”

Sophie could hear the worry in his voice. “We’ll find her.”

“Yeah.” He didn’t sound convinced.

“So how can we get the answers we need?”

“We could answer almost all of these questions if we had that report from Denver Juvenile’s investigation, of course. In the meantime, we won’t know about the guard until the county jail completes its internal investigation, which could take weeks. And we won’t know if he was one of Cross’s accomplices until we talk with an eyewitness—Megan.”

“So our focus now ought to be getting that report and finding Megan. Since I can’t think of any way we can get the report short of breaking in and stealing it, that means we need to focus on finding Megan, tracking down anyone we can find who was on those videos—the family’s minister, her childhood friends, the preacher from the Bible camp she liked so much.”

He bent down, kissed her cheek, then walked into the kitchen. “I say we start with the Bible camp and go from there.”

But Sophie’s gaze was back on the fact sheet. “You know what I find strange. Charlotte, Kristina, the guard—they all died apparently self-inflicted deaths.”

She turned to look at Hunt, who was pouring himself a glass of orange juice.

“I noticed that, too.” He lifted the glass, drank. “Is it coincidence or triple murder?”

I
T WAS LATE
afternoon by the time Hunt dropped Sophie off down the street from Lakeview Christian Church. The sky was overcast, the scent of snow in the cold air. Hugging her coat tightly around her, Sophie glanced back at the Jaguar where Hunt waited, then hurried down the sidewalk toward the church, careful to sidestep patches of ice. She’d dressed to look professional—pinstriped pants, blazer, tailored blouse—and that meant heels.

Lakeside was one of those mall-sized mega-churches, its sprawling brick building surrounded by an enormous parking lot, now mostly empty. It had its own traffic light and its own bus stop. Out front a marquee advertised the theme of this coming Sunday’s sermon: “Are you too busy for God?”

Sophie and Hunt had spent the past two hours tracking down the Bible camp where Megan had seemed so happy only to learn that Pine River, located outside Jamestown, had closed two years ago when the minister who’d owned it had retired and sold off the land. It had been their most promising lead, and it had turned into a dead end. Sophie had wanted to cry.

Because none of the girls in the videos with Megan were mentioned by last name, Lakeview’s pastor was their last hope. If he didn’t remember Megan or her friends, if he’d forgotten them, Hunt would have no other option but to start looking on the streets again, placing himself in greater danger of being caught—or killed.

The very idea filled Sophie with dread. She’d heard of people who’d committed suicide by cop, pointing a weapon at police in a reckless attempt to end their own lives and dying in a hail of bullets. Was Hunt desperate enough to do something like that? Until today, she’d have answered with an unequivocal no. But after this morning, she was no longer certain. She’d heard the hell he’d lived through, seen the brutality of it on his face, felt the viciousness of it when she’d held his shaking body.

I can’t go back there, Sophie.

No, he couldn’t. And she would do everything in her power to make sure he didn’t.

She hurried up the neatly shoveled walk to what she thought must be the main entrance—four sets of glass double doors. Inside was a wide lobby, its walls covered with children’s art work. An arrow labeled Offices pointed her down a hallway off to the right.

She found the minister’s office about halfway down, its door wide open, an older man seated at the desk, reading something through his bifocals. She recognized him from the videos and the church’s website. “Pastor Paul?”

He glanced up, stood, and smiled. “That’s me.”

She held out her press card. “I’m Sophie Alton from the
Denver Independent
. I wondered if I might be able to speak with you about one of your former congregants, a young woman named Megan Rawlings.”

He gestured her through the door, a thoughtful frown on his face. “Megan Rawlings? Would that be Frank and Emma Rawlings’s daughter?”

He remembered her!

Thank God!

“Yes—their adopted daughter and only child.” Sophie sat in the chair across from him, trying not to look too desperate. “She recently disappeared with her baby girl, and I’m trying to find her. I was hoping you might remember who her friends were or be able to give me some idea where she might turn for help.”

Then Pastor Paul looked at her as if noticing her for the first time. “You’re that reporter who was taken hostage, aren’t you? I recognize you now.”

“Yes, sir. I was trying to find information about Megan then, too.” Sophie hoped that was all he knew about her.

The troubled look on his face told her it wasn’t. “They arrested you. Drugs, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, sir, but the drugs weren’t mine. Someone planted them in my car to keep me out of the way so that I couldn’t help Megan.”

His thick gray eyebrows rose, and Sophie couldn’t tell from his expression whether he believed her or not. Then he frowned. “My memory isn’t what it once was. Besides, Frank and Emma have always been active in our congregation, volunteering, tithing, attending regularly. I feel uncomfortable talking about their daughter without their consent.”

“They’ve disowned Megan, sir. And Megan is an adult. Besides, this is for background only. I’m not going to publish anything you tell me. I’m just trying to find Megan.” And then Sophie’s professional façade crumbled. “Please help me bring her and her baby safely back. She’s in danger out there alone. You’re my last lead. You must know something.”

He seemed taken aback. “Your last…? Well, I’m sorry but…Why don’t you tell me where you’ve looked so far?”

She told him what she could, bending the truth when she needed to. She told him how she’d searched for Megan on the streets, how she’d tracked down Emily’s father, and how she’d even tried to find the summer Bible camp Megan had liked so much only to discover it had long since closed.

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, his body language telling Sophie that he felt uneasy talking with her. He obviously took the privacy of his congregants seriously—a quality Sophie would have appreciated under most circumstances. “Have you tried talking with Pastor John Stevens? He ran the camp.”

“I was told he’d sold the land and retired two years ago.”

“Yes, that’s right. He did.” The pastor’s gaze moved from Sophie to the phone and back. “But he’s still here. He still lives in his old house, in fact. He sold the land around the house, but kept a few acres for himself and his wife. He said he couldn’t stand the idea of moving down to the city.”

Sophie’s pulse picked up a notch. “He’s still…up there?

“Oh, yes, he and his wife, Connie, are still there.” Pastor Paul glanced at the phone again. “They come down from Jamestown to join us for services now and again, but it’s getting harder and harder for Connie to get about with her rheumatoid arthritis. Can you excuse me for a moment? I need to run to the restroom. I’ll be right back.”

“Of course.”

He stood, hurried toward the door, glancing back at her as he stepped into the hallway, a troubled look on his face.

Sophie chalked his uneasiness up to the fact that he was talking with her behind Mr. and Mrs. Rawlings’s backs, her mind focused more on what he’d just told her. The pastor who’d run the camp, who’d hugged Megan in the videos, who’d cared about her
was still living in the mountains
. He was still living where Megan had last seen him.

Finally,
finally
, it felt like they were getting somewhere. If she’d had her cell phone, she’d have sent Hunt a quick text message to share the news. Instead, she sat…and waited.

A few minutes had passed when she thought she heard the pastor’s voice coming from the room next door. Suddenly uneasy, she stepped into the hallway and walked quietly toward the sound, stopping at a door that stood slightly ajar.

“—already called the girl’s parents in Florida. They don’t want me talking to her at all. You’d asked me to call you if she came around, so that’s what I’m doing. I’m not sure what kind of trouble she’s in, officer, but she doesn’t
seem
dangerous. She acts like she really wants to help the Rawlings girl. Yes, she’s sitting in my office right now.”

Oh, God! Oh, God! Oh, God!

Sophie backed away from the door, her heart tripping, panic scattering her thoughts.

She had to get to Hunt. She had to warn him.

Her wits returning with a surge of adrenaline, she ducked into Pastor Paul’s office, grabbed her coat and purse, then slipped off her shoes and tiptoed back into the hallway, walking as quickly and quietly as she could, hoping he wouldn’t suddenly open the door and catch her.

When she reached the lobby, she ran.

M
ARC SAW
S
OPHIE
running hell-bent down the sidewalk in his rearview mirror, her shoes clutched in her hand, her hair swinging wildly behind her. “Shit.”

What kind of trouble could she have gotten into at a church, for God’s sake?

He shifted into first, his foot on the clutch, then threw open her door.

She jumped in and shut the door, a look of panic on her face. “Drive!”

He eased the Jag into traffic, leaving the church behind them. “You want to tell me what just happened?”

Out of breath, she nodded. “The pastor…called the cops. Someone had told him…to call if I came to see him.”

“Your friend Julian?”

She shook her head. “Whoever it was…made the pastor believe I was dangerous.”

Marc turned onto a side street, pulled over, and slammed on the brakes. “That means it had to have been one of Cross’s accomplices.”

She nodded. “Exactly.”

“I knew one of them had to be a cop!” He slammed his fist against the steering wheel. “So why am I driving away? This is the son of a bitch I’ve been looking for!”

He put the car into gear.

“No, Hunt! Whoever he is, he’s a cop! You can’t just lie in wait and shoot him when he steps out of his car. That’s murder!”

“That’s what he deserves!”

“Maybe so, but it’s not what
you
deserve. You’re not a cold-blooded killer. You can’t do this! Besides, I have a lead on Megan, and if the pastor gave me the information about the camp, he’ll probably share it with the guy on the other end of the phone.”

Stunned, Marc listened as Sophie recounted her brief conversation with the pastor from the moment she’d introduced herself until she’d overheard him talking about her. After all this time, to finally have a true lead on Megan, to think he might actually find someone who’d cared about his sister, someone who might be able to help him find her, someone who might even have been willing to shelter her…

Did you have a good time at camp?

The best time ever.

God, what if Megan was there? The chances had to be next to nil. There were so many other places she could be—hiding out in some pimp’s stable, hunkered down in some filthy alley, hiding under an alias at a battered women’s shelter.

Yes, but what if she
was
there? What if she’d been there all along?

Then it might well turn into a race to see who found her first—him or the son of a bitch this pastor had just tipped off.

Marc hit the gas, part of him listening to Sophie, part of him planning his next step.

“For a moment, I panicked. But I knew I had to get to you, so I grabbed my stuff from his office, snuck down the hallway, and then ran.”

“That may have drawn more attention to you than just staying put, but given the circumstances it was probably your only choice.”

She let out a gust of breath. “I didn’t want the bad guys to show up and then have you do something stupid and noble like come inside to save me.”

He couldn’t help but laugh. “You’d rather have me leave you to them? Not a chance!”

“There’s nothing they could do to me in a church.” She paused. “Shouldn’t we be headed into the mountains?”

“We need to stop by the house first and get our stuff.”

She stared at him, eyes wide, the excitement vanishing from her voice. “You’re not coming back, are you?”

“If by some miracle Megan is there, I want to have my gear so that she and I can hit the highway. With a little luck, by this time tomorrow, she and I can be home free. If she’s not there, you and I will just come back and take up where we left off.”

He didn’t want to think about leaving Sophie, saying good-bye, turning his back on the only woman he’d ever truly loved. Instead, he tried to think about how it would be to see his sister again, to hold Emily for the first time, to cross the border with the two of them and know that the long nightmare was finally over.

Except that for Sophie it wouldn’t be over. Someone was still after her. She was still facing drug charges. She might still lose her job. To top that off, there was a chance that he’d gotten her pregnant.

When you trash someone’s life, Hunter, you’re thorough.

But no way in hell would he trade her freedom or her life for his.

He’d given a lot of thought over the past few days to how he was going to get her out of this mess. She wasn’t going to like his plan, but he didn’t give a damn. He needed to keep her safe, and he needed to keep her out of prison. That’s what mattered.

They drove in silence to the house, then gathered their things, Sophie taking a few minutes to switch into more suitable clothes and shoes before helping Marc pack the car. While Sophie waited in the Jag, Marc made a systematic sweep of the house to make certain they hadn’t forgotten anything. Only after the house had disappeared from his rearview mirror did he realize that the happiest hours of his life had been lived within its walls.

I
T FELT LIKE
déjà vu—the darkness, the snow, driving west on US-6. Only this time, instead of being terrified of the man sitting beside her, she was terribly afraid of losing him. If Megan was hiding at Pastor Stevens’s house—and Sophie hoped against hope that she was—Hunt would be leaving her life in a matter of hours and making his way to Mexico, where he and Megan and Emily could live free of the horrors of the past.

How strange to hope so desperately for the something that would break her heart.

And yet living without Hunt and knowing he was free would be much easier than living without him and knowing he was suffering behind bars.

No happy endings.

They neared the mouth of Clear Creek Canyon, where Hunt had defied the police blockade, jumped the curb, and shaken the helicopter off their tail. The memory was vivid, but it seemed as if it had happened a thousand years ago. So much had changed since then.

Hunt glanced over at the canyon as they passed, and Sophie knew he was remembering, too. “I want you to know that if there’d been any other way, I never would have put you through that. I was desperate, and you were the only answer. I’m sorry, Sophie.”

Sophie swallowed the lump in her throat. “You don’t owe me any more apologies.”