Deceived Page 29

  “Then why would he . . . how could he do what you think he did?” Confusion clouded her eyes.

  “Even normal, well-adjusted, caring people can crack if they’re forced to endure enough stress or loss or grief. We all have our limits.”

  At Kate’s quiet response, Connor turned toward her. She was thinking about her own battle with Valium—but that was in a whole different league than Sanders’s fall from grace. She needed to understand that.

  “That’s true. We all occasionally cope by doing things that aren’t in our own best interest. But venting rage or expressing anger through violence crosses a very big line . . . and I don’t have a whole lot of sympathy for that, no matter the cause.”

  “I don’t either.” Diane’s heated statement pulled his attention back to her. The confusion in her eyes had been replaced with disgust—at herself or Sanders, he wasn’t sure—until she continued. “I’m sick to death of being a victim—and I’m tired of being manipulated. If Greg did the things you suspect . . . and if he stole your son”—she looked at Kate and straightened her shoulders—“he deserves to rot in prison. I might never get my ex behind bars, but I’m not going to slink away from this fight. Is there anything I can do to help you get the proof you need?”

  He slanted a glance at Kate. She seemed as surprised as he was by the offer—and by Diane’s sudden infusion of gumption.

  “Let me think about that.” He pulled a card out of his pocket, flipped it over, and jotted his cell number on the back. “I’ll be in touch if I come up with any ideas. In the meantime, if you think of anything else that could be useful, call me day or night.”

  She tucked the card in her purse, then stood and faced Kate. “I’m so sorry for everything you’ve been through—and everything you’re still going through.”

  “Thank you. And thank you for coming forward tonight. That means more to me than I can say.” She rose and gave her client a hug.

  “We women have to stick together, you know.” Diane hugged her back, her voice laced with tears. “Guys can be jerks.”

  Kate smiled at him over Diane’s shoulder. “There are some good guys out there too, though.”

  As Diane stepped back, she looked his way. “Yeah. I guess there are.”

  His neck warmed, but he covered the awkward moment by leading the way toward the foyer.

  After the flurry of good-byes, he closed the door behind Diane and turned to Kate. “That was enlightening.”

  “I’ll say. I think she’s totally in our camp. What’s your take?”

  “I agree. You made a good call.”

  “After some of the stories she told us about Sanders’s so-called son, I feel more certain than ever he’s Kevin.”

  “So do I. And now that we know Sanders is aware of the age-progressed photo, we need to be prepared for him to take drastic action.”

  “Like what?”

  “Skip town, for one thing. I know this is going to cost some bucks, but I’d like to crank up the surveillance to 24/7 until we have our DNA, beginning first thing tomorrow morning.”

  Panic flared in her eyes, and her posture stiffened. “Should we wait that long?”

  “Based on the Braddock Bay incident, I doubt the man will bolt without having solid plans in place—and a chance encounter on an escalator, much as that might have spooked him, probably isn’t sufficient to vault him into crisis mode.”

  “But the photo in my office might.” She fisted her hands at her sides, shimmers of tension radiating off her.

  Connor touched her arm. It was cold as ice. “He only found out about that on Saturday, and three days isn’t much time to put together an escape plan.”

  “Are you certain?” She searched his face, her features taut.

  Close enough to be comfortable waiting a few hours to begin surveillance—but if it relieved Kate’s mind to have someone sit in front of the man’s house all night, he wasn’t about to turn her down.

  “I’ll tell you what—I’ll head back over there and hang around, just to be sure.”

  She bit her lip and began to pace. “Am I overreacting?”

  “No. You’re behaving exactly as any mother would who doesn’t want to let the chance of a reunion with her long-lost son slip through her fingers.”

  “Meaning I’m not being logical.” She lifted a hand and massaged her temple. “But . . . but what if Sanders loses it and h-hurts Kevin?” A touch of hysteria raised her pitch.

  “Everything we’ve discovered and observed indicates he loves your son, Kate. I don’t think Kevin is in immediate danger—and we’re going to do everything we can to resolve this before that becomes a credible possiblity.”

  She exhaled. Dipped her head. “Okay. I trust your judgment. Go home and get some sleep. Tomorrow’s soon enough.”

  He appraised her. “Are you going to be able to sleep if I do that?”

  She swallowed and locked gazes with him. “I might be able to if you promise me I don’t have to worry.”

  No pressure there.

  He hesitated—but only for a second. He trusted his instincts, and they told him it would be safe to wait until tomorrow to punch up the surveillance. “You don’t have to worry.”

  She nodded, rubbing her arms up and down. “Give me a minute while I take off the mic.”

  As she disappeared down the hall, he moved back into the living room and pulled out his cell to respond to messages—but only made it through two before she returned.

  “Here you go.” She dropped the mic into his hand. It was still warm from her body.

  Sliding it into the pocket of his slacks, he walked toward the door and reminded himself to keep breathing. “I’ll call you tomorrow with an update on the surveillance plan and any other developments.”

  “Okay.”

  She sounded so forlorn—and close to losing it—that he turned back to her.

  Big mistake.

  She’d followed him to the door and stood a mere arm’s length away. Close enough for him to get lost in her jade green eyes. Close enough to hear the shallow, anxious cadence of her breathing. Close enough to smell a subtle, sweet fragrance that made him think of lazy summer days and starlit skies and a world where everything that mattered was wrapped in his arms, close to his heart.

  He needed to get out of here.

  Now.

  But as he reached for the doorknob, she touched his arm. “Thank you for offering to sit up all night just so I could sleep. That means more to me than I can say.” Her voice was tremulous, tear-laced—and as warm as a cozy fire on a frosty night.

  He steeled himself before he shifted toward her. “Goes with the territory.”

  “Right.” She withdrew her hand and took a step back. “I appreciate it anyway.”

  Her warmth had chilled a few degrees . . . and he wanted it back.

  Get out of here, Sullivan.

  Instead, he moved closer to her. “If it . . .” His voice hoarsened, and he cleared his throat. “If it puts your mind at ease, I’d do it even if I wasn’t being paid.”

  A sheen appeared in her eyes. “Thank you.”

  Silence hung between them. And something more. Something powerful enough to compel him to take another step toward her, erasing the distance between them.

  She tipped her head back to look up at him, and at the need in her eyes, his resolve crumbled.

  One kiss. That was all he wanted. Just one simple kiss that would send a message about his intentions once he was free to pursue her. A quick brush of the lips that would barely qualify as a breach of Phoenix rules. A gesture as much about comfort as romance.

  Ignoring the little voice in his brain that said he was rationalizing, Connor lifted his hand, touched her cheek—and stopped breathing.

  Cliché or not, her skin was like satin against his fingertips.

  With a soft sigh, she swayed into his hand as her eyes drifted closed.

  He was cooked.

  Maybe some superhero type with an iron will would be abl
e to resist that invitation, but he was a healthy, normal, human male.

  Nerve endings tingling, he leaned down, keeping a slight distance between them—for safety’s sake. Then he gently pressed his lips to hers . . . and the rest of the world melted away.

  By the time the kiss ended, his hands were framing her face, and the safe distance he’d left between them had disappeared.

  So much for a simple little kiss.

  Breaking contact at last, he kept a firm grip on her arms as he backed off.

  She gazed up at him, her eyes slightly dazed.

  “I-I thought this kind of . . . stuff . . . was off-limits for now.”

  “It is. I broke a rule tonight. Consider it a preview of what to expect once this case is over.” He released her, stepped back and reached for the door. “You sure you’re going to be able to get some rest tonight if I don’t sit outside Sanders’s house?”

  Worry and fear flickered to life again in her eyes. “I’ll do my best.”

  Translation? Not likely. There wasn’t much chance she’d have another restful slumber until her son was back in her arms.

  And it was his job to make that happen.

  “I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

  “Thanks again—for everything.”

  He strode down her walk, pausing beside the van to look back. She stood framed in the doorway, the light from behind illuminating her slender form. Calling him back.

  This time he resisted.

  Instead, he slid behind the wheel and started the engine. It was getting late, but after that charged clinch he wasn’t tired. Why not run by Sanders’s house, just to verify everything was quiet? Maybe the detour would give his pulse a chance to drop back into the vicinity of the normal range.

  And if it didn’t, there was always a cold shower.

  22

  Greg stared at the arc of blood shooting from his left forearm.

  Of all the stupid . . .

  “Hey! You’re bleeding, man! Bad!” From the adjacent sawhorse, Sal gestured toward the spray of red with his circular saw.

  Like he couldn’t see that.

  Setting his own saw on the ground, Greg looked around for something to stanch the flow of blood from the cut. He’d never, ever slipped up like this on the job before. His injury-free record had always been a source of pride for him.

  One more thing in his life that had gone down the tubes.

  Seeing nothing appropriate nearby, he yanked off his T-shirt and wrapped it around his arm. If he’d been concentrating on the job instead of thinking about Diane and formulating escape plans and wondering about the progress Emilio’s friend was making on his documents, the saw would never have slipped and . . .

  “What happened?” The foreman hustled over as a small crowd gathered around him.

  Great. Now he was the center of attention.

  “Just nicked my arm. I’ll be fine.”

  “I don’t think so.” The foreman planted his fists on his hips, his gaze on the makeshift dressing. “It’s already bleeding through the shirt.”

  Greg examined it. The man was right. Slapping a bandage on this cut wasn’t going to fix it.

  “Let me take a look.” Some hard-hat-wearing guy he didn’t know elbowed through the group. “I used to be a medic’s assistant in Iraq. Are there latex gloves in the first-aid kit?”

  “Should be. Somebody go get it from the office.” The foreman gestured toward the construction trailer.

  Two of his co-workers took off at a sprint.

  “Why don’t you sit down?” The guy with the hard hat put a hand on his shoulder and guided him toward a sixty-pound plastic bucket of drywall joint compound.

  He didn’t want to sit. He wanted everyone to disappear and leave him alone.

  But when his legs suddenly grew shaky, he sat.

  His co-workers returned with the first-aid kit, and the medic’s assistant snapped on a pair of latex gloves with practiced ease. If the guy was a pro, maybe he could stop the bleeding and they could all get on with their day.

  But as he carefully unwrapped the T-shirt and examined the gash, he shook his head. “I can’t do anything for this except apply a compression bandage. It needs stitches. Possibly even surgery, if you nicked an artery—but I’m not seeing a lot of evidence of that. You need to get to an ER or an urgent care center ASAP.” As he spoke, he quickly slapped on a thick sterile dressing and began to wrap a stretchy bandage around it.

  “There’s one a few miles down the road. I’ll take you.” The foreman motioned over his shoulder to someone Greg couldn’t see. “Keep an eye on the place while I’m gone.”

  This whole thing was getting out of control.

  “Look . . . I’m sure this will stop bleeding on its own.”

  “Don’t count on it.” The ex-soldier rose and held out a hand. “Keep your arm elevated as much as possible until you get this treated. That will help reduce the bleeding.”

  With the hand extended and everyone watching him, he didn’t have much choice except to take it. After accepting the assistance, he tapped his watch. “Listen . . . this isn’t going to work. I have to pick up my son from daycare in an hour.”

  “Is there someone you can call?” The foreman took his uninjured arm and started tugging him toward the area where the workers parked.

  No, there wasn’t. That was why he’d listed his neighbor as a contact on the daycare application—unbeknownst to her—since the school required a secondary contact. But he’d been on the verge of asking Diane if he could put her name there instead.

  Would she pick up Todd?

  “Greg? You with me?” The foreman tightened his grip.

  “Yeah.” Unfortunately, she’d ignored the message he’d left last night about going out for pizza this evening. His flowers should have arrived by now, though. They may have softened her up. And she cared for Todd. She’d do it for his son even if she wouldn’t do it for him. “I can call the friend I brought to Bob’s picnic.”

  His boss gave a low whistle. “Now there’s a looker. You sure know how to pick ’em.”

  He ignored that comment as they approached the man’s car, using the dead airspace to retrieve his cell, praying she’d answer.

  She didn’t.

  Mind racing, he considered his options as he waited for her voice mail to kick in. Worst case, he could call STL, tell them he was delayed, and shell out the extra bucks for overtime. They were there until six, and hopefully he’d be past this crisis by then—but in case he wasn’t, it would be better to connect with Diane.

  The answering machine beeped.

  “Diane, it’s Greg. Listen . . . I had a little accident at the job site. Looks like I’m going to need some stitches. I’m on my way to an urgent care center now, and I was hoping you might be able to pick Todd up at daycare for me at three-thirty. I’ll wait about fifteen minutes, and if I don’t hear back from you, I’ll try something else. Thanks.”

  “No answer, huh?” The foreman helped him with his seat belt, then put the car in gear.

  “I’ll give her a few minutes.”

  “If she’s like my wife, you’re hosed. Martha never turns her cell phone on. Says it’s just for emergencies—on her end, mind you, not mine. But I can’t complain too much. At least she’s not one of those women who talk your ear off, if you know what I mean.”

  “Yeah.” He bent his left arm, supporting his elbow with his right hand to keep the gash elevated.

  The man glanced at the spreading crimson stain on the bandage and pressed harder on the accelerator. “I bet that hurts. We’ll be there in less than ten minutes. Hang on.”

  Like he had a choice—about anything these days.

  He turned his head and watched the passing scenery, fighting back a wave of despair. This wasn’t how he’d expected his move to St. Louis to play out. It was supposed to be a new start, a second chance.

  Instead, another Marshall was wreaking havoc in his life.

  Resentment curdled in his bell
y, and as rage began to simmer in his heart, he made a vow.

  Kate Marshall wasn’t going to win this game she was playing.

  Yes, she might come up with enough evidence to get the attention of law enforcement. Maybe even enough to have the case officially reopened. It would be difficult, considering how careful he’d been about covering his tracks—though not outside the realm of possibility.

  But if it came to that, he’d find a way to make her pay before he disappeared with his son.

  Just as he’d made her husband pay.

  “So who do you have on tap for the night shift?”

  Connor looked up as Cal, soda in hand, stopped in his doorway. “Dale. His wife is out of town visiting her sister this week, so the night schedule suits him.”

  “Suits me too. I’d rather spend my nights with Moira.”

  “I figured as much. And Dale’s reliable. I trust him not to fall asleep.”

  “So do I. He was a force to be reckoned with when he and I worked cases together for County. They lost a good man when he took early retirement a few years ago.”

  “They’ve lost a couple of good men in the past few years.”

  Cal shrugged, uncomfortable as usual with compliments. “So Dev’s on for now, and you’re picking up the afternoon/evening shift?”

  “Right. You’re on tomorrow.”

  “Got it. Have you . . .”

  As his cell began to vibrate, Connor held up a hand and pulled it off his belt. When Diane Koenig’s name appeared in the LED display, his eyebrows rose.

  “I need to take this.” He punched the talk button.

  With a lift of his hand, Cal disappeared down the hall.

  “Hi, Diane. Connor here. What’s up?”

  “I’ve had two calls from Greg.”

  “Since we talked last night?”

  “Yes. There was a message on my answering machine when I got home, inviting me to join him and Todd for pizza tonight. I never returned it. Then, about noon, a bouquet of flowers arrived. A peace offering, I take it. And he just called again, on my cell. There’s been an accident on the construction site, and he asked me to pick up Todd from daycare while he goes to urgent care. Being new in town, he doesn’t have many friends, and I hate to leave Todd stranded. Do you see any problem with me doing this?”