All Fall Down (28 page)

W
ithin an hour of the order, the CMPD technical team had moved in. Three cameras and their accompanying video and audio transmitters had been mounted in trees near Joli Andersen's grave. From the command post, located in an unoccupied storefront several miles away, Harrison and Stemmons were able not only to view the scene, but to pan the area with individual cameras and zoom in on any subject who came into range. Infrared spots had been mounted with the cameras. IR, invisible to the human eye, would illuminate the scene at night—the most likely time for the UNSUB to make an appearance.

Once the tech work had been completed, the stakeout commenced. Undercover officers, in vehicles and on foot, were stationed at various points around the cemetery's perimeter, including the two entrances. Each officer had been fitted with an earpiece and mike to stay in constant contact with the command post. In a lucky break, the cemetery, which was one of the oldest in the city and located on a parcel of land in historic Dilworth, was bounded by three moderately populated streets. Joggers, couples strolling or an unfamiliar vehicle or two wouldn't arouse suspicion.

Melanie and Bobby were assigned footwork—
Bobby posing as the snoozing night guard inside the cemetery walls and Melanie as a runner, circling the perimeter. After two nights of running and nothing to show for it but the beginnings of a blister on her right heel, Melanie decided that Bobby had gotten the better of the assignments.

As the west entrance came into view, she slowed her pace to a walk, pretending to check her pulse. She wore jogging shorts, a sleeveless T-shirt and a fanny pack strapped around her waist. In the pouch, she carried all her undercover essentials—weapon, cuffs and shield.

She scanned the cemetery entrance. Other than a woman walking two white poodles, the area was deserted. No vehicles had arrived or departed since her last check, twenty minutes ago.

“West entrance, all clear,” she murmured, frustrated and antsy for action. Aware of the clock ticking. Connor had felt strongly that considering the circumstances, the first few nights of the stakeout would be the ones most likely to yield results. She agreed. The UNSUB had experienced a recent failure—he was hungry, growing desperate and was scared. If that didn't immediately propel him to Joli's gravesite, little else would.

In truth, Melanie feared too much time had passed already, that they had somehow missed him. Or worse, that he had zeroed in on a new victim.

Suddenly, Harrison spoke. “All units, we have activity. A lone, male figure moving into view, approaching the site. Hold your positions.”

Harrison fell silent a moment, then continued. “UN
SUB's wearing dark slacks and a dark T-shirt. Running shoes. Dark hair.

“He's holding back, keeping his distance. Something's spooked him. He keeps stopping to look over his shoulder.”

Melanie heard the excitement in Harrison's voice—that the adrenaline had begun to pump. Hers, too. She tensed, excitement growing.

“Come on,” the detective coaxed the suspect, his tone low and seductive. “You're all alone and she's right there. Go up to her…that's right, she's all yours. Yes! He's there. Hold tight, everybody, if this is our guy, we need to get as much on tape as we can.”

Seconds ticked past and Melanie began to sweat. A car eased by, its headlights momentarily pinning her, then moving on. Somewhere nearby, a cat screamed, a car door slammed shut. The sound carried on the damp night air, disembodied, unnatural.

Suddenly, Harrison swore. Melanie jumped. “Parks was right. The sick bastard's on his knees in front of her marker. He's got his dick in his han— Wait…zooming. That's right,” Harrison cooed, “do it nice for the jury. Give us the money shot. That's right, you sick fuck… Go for it.”

Melanie clenched her jaw, focusing on her job, not allowing herself to dwell on the act in progress only yards away. Once the suspect finished reliving his fantasy, his fear would take over and he would be out of there.

Finally, Harrison gave the word. “All units, he's on the move. Heading toward the east entrance, I repeat, the east entrance.” Harrison began issuing orders for
the various units, with each announcing their position. Bobby, on foot, was the lone officer inside the cemetery.

“May, where are you?”

“Outside the west entrance.”

“Good. Cut through the cemetery to cover the rear and assist Bobby.”

“Done.” She broke into a light run, blister screaming in protest. She bypassed the walking paths that followed the perimeter of the graveyard in favor of darting directly across.

“Anybody have a visual yet?” Harrison asked. “Bobby?”

“That's a negative,” he answered. “I'm at the east entrance, all's clear.”

Harrison swore. “I don't like this. What's taking him so long?”

Up ahead Melanie caught a flicker of movement. A figure, she realized, moving toward the north end of the cemetery. She changed her own course, acknowledging what had happened—the suspect had taken a sharp right and was now heading north. Since there was no entrance on that side of the cemetery, she figured he planned to go over the wall.

“Shit,” she muttered. “Have visual of suspect,” Melanie said softly. “He is not, I repeat
not,
heading for the east entrance. I believe he's going to scale the north wall, have a unit ready. Am in pursuit.”

Her murmured words carried on the night air and the man stopped and looked back, spotting her. He broke into a run—she followed suit, retrieving her pistol from the pouch at her waist. “Halt! Police!”

“On my way, Mel,” Bobby shouted. “No heroics.”

Harrison echoed Bobby's warning, then added, “Detain him without gunfire, May. I repeat, unless shot at, do not fire. We want this guy alive.”

Harrison's words ringing in her ears, she pushed harder, leaping over and dodging greenery, her breath coming hard and sharp. The suspect reached the wall and lunged. Agile for a big man, he began pulling himself over. Melanie moved into range and leaped. She caught hold of the waistband of his pants, hauling him backward, losing her pistol in the process. He lost his grip and they fell backward. He landed on top of her, knocking the wind out of her. He was up like a shot, scrambling once more for the wall.

From behind her she heard Bobby's feet pounding against the ground as he ran, heard his shout that he had spotted her. She couldn't wait for his assistance; she tackled the suspect again, sending them both sprawling.

This time it was he who was stunned, and Melanie jumped to her feet, moving automatically into her fighting stance. As he began to pull himself up, she got a good look at him—he was so handsome he took her breath away. For one muddled moment she paused, thinking she had made a mistake. This man couldn't be a murderer. He couldn't be the one who had bound, gagged and permanently silenced Joli Andersen.

But he was. He had taken Joli's breath away, too. Literally.

Melanie nailed him with a double kick, the first to his right shoulder, the second to the side of his head.
He went down hard, face first. She was on top of him in a flash, his arms pinned behind him.

All hell broke loose. Bobby arrived, gun drawn. From the other side of the wall came the scream of sirens, the squeal of brakes and car doors slamming. The police beacons sent flashes of red light through the branches above her head.

Melanie snapped cuffs on the suspect, read him his rights and stood, swaying slightly. Her head ached from where it had bashed against the ground, her left knee was bleeding, and her damned heel was on fire.

Bobby frowned at her. “You okay, partner?”

“Are you kidding?” She grinned. “I've never been better, Bobby.”

T
he following Saturday morning, Casey awakened Melanie by leaping on top of her. “Mommy! Time to get up!”

Melanie groaned and rolled from her side to her back, causing him to topple off her. “Watch cartoons,” she mumbled, pulling the pillow over her head. Already exhausted from two nights' undercover work, she'd hardly slept, tormented by concerns about Ashley and her disintegrating relationship with Mia. “Get me up later.”

He responded by doing what looked and sounded like a war dance on the bed. “The zoo!” he shrieked. “The zoo!”

She tossed the pillow on the floor and struggled into a sitting position, not an easy feat with a whooping, dancing child on the bed. “I live in the zoo,” she complained, though with a smile. “A little excited, are we?”

She had to admit that now that she was actually waking up, she was a bit excited, too. Connor was taking them both to the zoo today. Although Casey had spent an hour here or there around Connor, this was the first excursion planned specifically for the three of them.

She smiled at her son and held out her arms. “Come give me a big hug and kiss to get me going.”

He did, then tumbled off the bed and bolted out of the room. Before she had even cleared the sheets he was back, eyes sparkling with excitement. “Hurry up, Mom. He'll be here
soon.
”

Two and a half hours later, picnic lunch made, showers taken, faces and hair made presentable, Melanie greeted Connor at the front door.

“Ready?” he asked.

“You bet!” Casey hopped excitedly from one foot to the other. “Come on, Mom!”

Melanie laughed. “Ready. Let me grab the picnic basket.”

“I'll get it.” Connor searched her gaze, a question in his, then turned to Casey. “Car's open, sport. There's a surprise for you on the back seat. You can go get it now if you want.”

With a whoop, Casey tore off. Melanie watched him go. “A surprise?”

“An FBI insignia cap.” He shrugged. “He seemed awfully interested when I told him about the Bureau.”

“Interested? Try over-the-moon. Only four years old and already playing cops 'n' robbers.” She glanced back at Connor. “Speaking of which, did you hear the latest on the Andersen suspect?” He shook his head and she filled him in. “Turns out he fits your profile to a T. Guy was on suspension from Queen's City Medical Center, where he was a second-year resident. Still lived with his mother, with whom he apparently has a love-hate relationship. He drove a three-
year-old BMW in perfect condition and lived way beyond his means. The list goes on.”

“Com'on, you guys!” Casey's wail was part exasperated adult, part frustrated child.

They put him out of his misery, and began to make their way out to the Explorer. Connor glanced at her from the corners of his eyes. “You okay?”

“Sure. Why?”

“You look like you've had a sleepless night or two.”

Melanie opened her mouth to tell him about it all— Ashley and Mia. Her suspicions. She shut it again, acknowledging that now was not the time.

“Still catching up from cemetery detail,” she murmured instead. “That's all.”

He stopped and looked at her. Heat crept up her cheeks. He saw clean through her, she realized. How did he do that? How did he know her well enough already to know what she was feeling and when she was holding back?

“I'm here if you want to talk about it.”

“Thanks.”

They reached the Explorer. Connor stowed the basket in back, then they both climbed in. Melanie noticed Casey had taken off his Panthers' cap and put on the one Connor had given him. She saw that Connor had noticed, too, and was pleased.

Connor fastened his seat belt, started the car and glanced back at Casey. “Okay, sport, you ready to have a really great day?”

The day was better than great. It was perfect. Magical. Casey was crazy about Connor and the feeling
was obviously mutual. The two had a ball together. She wouldn't have believed a crackerjack FBI profiler could act so silly, down to pretending to be an elephant while Casey rode on his shoulders.

The day ended too soon, even though they prolonged it by going to Crazy Bill's Play Place for games and a dinner of hot dogs, French fries and watered-down milk shakes.

When they arrived home, Casey tugged on Connor's hand, all but dragging him toward the front door. He begged Melanie to allow him to stay up long enough to show Connor his room and action-figure collection.

Melanie capitulated, amused. She unlocked the door. “But be warned, young man, after the action figures, it's bed for you.”

While Casey showed Connor his treasures, Melanie checked the mail, then the answering machine. The message light was blinking and she pressed play and waited, leafing through catalogs while she did. Suddenly, Ashley's voice filled the room. She was crying, her disembodied voice thick and broken. Gooseflesh raced up Melanie's arms.

“Mel…Mellie, it's me. You've got to…got to…I'm so sorry. So sorry.”

Her youngest sister dragged in a shuddering breath. “You can't imagine what I've done for… You've never understood, never been there for me… I've always loved you anyway, Mel. I've always…”

The machine cut her off.

Melanie stared at the box, barely breathing, heart in her throat. According to the machine's automated date and time, Ashley had left the message the night before.
Casey had been out with his dad, who hadn't been able to see him today because of a conference; she had been at tae kwon do. Distracted and upset, Melanie had forgotten to check her machine when she returned home.

Melanie hit rewind, listened to the message again, trying to make sense of Ashley's words, their meaning. Her concern became icy-cold terror.

Melanie rubbed her arms.
Why was Ashley sorry? What had she done?

Melanie picked up the phone and dialed Ashley's town house. Her machine picked up and Melanie left a message begging her to call. She then dialed her sister's cell number, left another message, then tried her beeper.

“What's up?”

Melanie spun around, hand flying to her throat.

“Connor! I didn't hear you.”

He motioned the phone, still clutched in her right hand. “Something wrong?”

“No.” She dropped the receiver into the cradle. She would have to tell him, but not now. “My sister Ashley called, that's all. She's having some…personal problems.” She pasted on a nonchalant smile. “Where's Casey?”

“Setting up a supercommando-force team. He sent me to get you.”

She laughed, the sound false even to her own ears. “Wouldn't want to miss the big battle.”

“Definitely not,” he murmured, his gaze full of questions. “After you.”

The battle ensued, complete with death, destruction and the little boy's specialty—sound effects.

After two world wars, Melanie called a cease-fire so that the general could get some well-deserved shut-eye. Though he protested through his yawns, he agreed with a minimum of fuss—as long as Connor read him a bedtime story. She opened her mouth to get Connor gently off the hook, but he agreed before she could utter a word.

One story became three. Melanie sat back, listened and watched, a strange, discomfiting sensation stealing over her. That Connor was enjoying himself was obvious. That Casey had found a new best friend was also obvious.

That it was too much, too soon, was abundantly, painfully clear. To her.

She was falling in love with Connor.

He was falling in love with her son.

Emotion choked her and she looked away. She remembered what Connor had told her of his marriage—of the reasons it had ended, of his love for his stepson. Of how much he missed him.

And she thought of today, of how Connor had come to life around Casey, of how the shadows had fallen away from him, leaving him years younger and carefree.

She felt as if her heart was breaking.

“One more story.
Please.
”

“Absolutely not,” she said, standing and crossing to the bed.

After the mandatory minute of begging, Casey settled down. Prayers said, kisses delivered and blanket
tucked snugly around him, Melanie and Connor tiptoed out of the room—though Melanie knew the child would be asleep the moment he closed his eyes.

“Can I get you a drink?” she asked when they reached the living room. “A glass of wine or a beer?”

“Thanks, but I'm on the wagon.” He drew her into his arms. “I had a really good day.”

She smiled and looped her arms around his neck. “Me, too.”

“That's a great little guy you've got.”

“Thank you. I think so, too.”

“And smart.” Connor shook his head. “He'd keep me on my toes, that's for sure.”

Her smile slipped and she disentangled herself from his arms. “How about some coffee?”

“Sure. Can I help?”

“Just make yourself comfortable.”

He followed her into the kitchen and leaned against the counter, watching as she filled the carafe with water, then ground the beans.

“You forget,” he said after a moment, his expression pensive. “When you're not around kids, you forget how they can light up a room. How they can turn night into day.”

She murmured something noncommittal, her head beginning to pound. Talk about us, she silently urged. Talk about the case, the Bureau, the weather, for heaven's sake. Talk about anything but how much you enjoy being with my son.

“Jamey was like that,” Connor continued. “I could come home with the weight of the world pressing in on me and fifteen minutes later be as carefree as a
man can be. I've missed that. More than I even realized before to—”

“Stop, okay?” She turned and met his eyes. “Just stop.”

Connor frowned. “Did I do something wrong?”

She wanted to shout, “Yes! You've fallen in love with my kid but not with me.” Instead, calmly, she murmured, “We need to…I think we need to be clear on what's going on here. With us.”

He waited and she pulled in a deep breath, hoping it would bring her courage. She needed to do this, had to do it. But the truth was, she wanted nothing more than to take whatever Connor was willing to give her—even if it was only misplaced affection.

“Casey isn't the stepson you lost, Connor,” she said. “I'm not your ex-wife and
we
are not a means for you to come back to life.”

She paused, hoping he would jump in with a denial, a protest of innocence. Instead, he simply looked at her, his expression unreadable.

She swallowed past disappointment, so bitter it burned her throat. “I can't allow you to use us, to use Casey, as a way to feel better about yourself. It won't work, you know it and so do I. We also know that Casey will end up hurt.”

“I see.” He straightened. “You're giving me my walking papers.”

“I don't want to, Connor. I want you to stay. I want us to make love. But what I want isn't important. Casey is.”

“Are you asking for a commitment from me?”

“That's not what this is about.” She glanced away,
then back. “Look me in the eyes, Connor. Look me in the eyes and tell me you're not doing with us what you did with your ex-wife. Tell me you're interested in
me,
not just the package. That's what I want, Connor.”

He was silent a moment, then he shook his head. “I can't do that. I'm sorry.”

A sound of pain slipped past her lips. She crossed to the back door, opened it and turned to look at him. “I think you'd better go.”

He crossed to the door but didn't move through it. He cupped her cheek. She realized with a sense of horror that her eyes had filled with tears, that one had slipped past her guard and rolled down her cheek.

“I can't say,” he murmured, “because I don't know. Today was good. Really good. It brought back memories that are so…sweet. And in the last few years there have been damn few of those kinds of days. And even fewer of those kinds of memories to recall.”

He dragged his thumbs across her cheekbones, catching her tears. “I can't say, Melanie, because I don't want to make a mistake. Because I don't want to hurt you. Either of you.”

The phone rang. He dropped his hand and stepped through the door. She reached out to stop him, to call him back. The plea died on her lips. He was already gone.

The phone jangled again and Melanie snatched it up, certain it was her sister. “Ashley?”

“No, Stan.”

“Stan?” She glanced at the clock, suddenly disoriented. “I thought you were out of town—”

He cut her off. “I've had enough of your little campaign of terror, Melanie. I want you to stop it.”

She blinked, confused. “Stop what? Stan—”

“Cut the crap, Melanie. I know what you're trying to do, and it won't work. Did you really think you could
scare
me out of wanting custody of Casey? Did you really think you could scare Shelley enough that she could convince me?”

“Scare Shelley?” A flutter of panic settled in the pit of her stomach. “I promise you, I don't know what you're talking about! I haven't—”

“I didn't believe Shelley until I saw you with my own eyes. If you come around again, if I see you lurking about again, I'm calling the cops. Got that?”

“Stan, please. We had an understanding, why would I jeopardize—”

“
Had
an understanding. No more. You blew it, Melanie.”