All I've Ever Wanted (6 page)

A
fter Eve went home, Kennedy tucked her inquisitive and, thankfully, sleepy son into bed with one of his favorite bedtime stories. Long after he'd fallen asleep, she remained perched on the edge of the bed, gazing down at him.

He was all she had left in the world—all that was truly hers. Now, through no fault of her own, she could lose that fragile gift. The ache in her heart was so profound she thought she'd die from it. Better that than to risk her child's life.

Kennedy leaned down and kissed Tommy's brow. He smiled in his sleep and she escaped from the room before another flood of tears broke free.

Alone in her kitchen, she wished that she was more than a social drinker. Alcohol would have been a great prescription for what ailed her. Then again it was good to have her wits about her while she tried to sort things out—come up with a plan.

Jerking open the freezer, she was disappointed that she hadn't replenished her banana-strawberry short-cake ice cream and to hell with the low-fat version.

Grudgingly, she settled for one of Tommy's chocolate pudding pops as a consolation prize.

In a daze, she entered the living room, her gaze danced over the various items that made it home. But now something was missing—something unseen, yet tangible—security.

They weren't safe here anymore. That realization hurt.

“What am I going to do now?” she questioned in a soft whisper. Packing and getting the heck out of Dodge topped the list. In fact, they could leave tonight—now. But where would they go?

She returned to the kitchen for a second, third, then fourth pudding pop. They weren't half bad after all.

Somewhere between two and three o'clock in the morning, she all but made up her mind to send Tommy to her grandmother's in Tennessee. Of course, Nana had only seen Tommy a few times. But that didn't stop the annual birthday and holiday cards.

Kennedy exhaled a long and tired sigh. A few minutes later, she yawned. Eventually, she surrendered her fight with the sandman and drifted somewhere between the dream world and reality….

 

She was back in the woods, running, but this time there were no bullets flying. There were people. But instead of them chasing her, she chased them. Her parents ran just ahead of her; their musical laughter filled the air like a symphony.

The seemed so happy, so carefree, that she was envious. When they glanced over their shoulders to smile at her, their faces morphed into Lee's and Tommy's.

She started to run faster, and then suddenly her legs grew heavy—too heavy.

“Come on, Mommy.” Tommy waved encouragingly.

She cried out, yet no words passed her lips.

Farther and farther, father and son ran. She feared that she would never catch up—feared that they wouldn't come back for her. Then, she would be alone. She struggled more vigorously. Her arms flailed in desperation.

“She ran this way,” a hauntingly familiar voice instructed.

She turned to see Keenan wave on a group of men. Cloaked in black, eyes menacing, the men more closely
resembled a pack of snarling Doberman pinschers than a human gang. Her gaze fell onto the crossbones stitched on the men's front lapels and she realized that she would have preferred to face the dogs.

Kennedy stumbled, then struggled to climb back to her feet. Her limbs were so heavy…

 

“Mommy?”

A cool touch landed on her fevered brow and Kennedy's eyes flew open. Before she was able to discern the figure standing before her, she inched up on the sofa with a startled gasp.

“Mommy, you're scaring me.” Tommy's voice hitched—a sign that he was close to tears.

Kennedy's mind cleared and she pulled her son against her chest. “I'm so sorry, sweetheart. I didn't mean to scare you.” She lowered her head to touch his.

“Were you having a bad dream?” he asked. His body trembled in her arms.

Her face felt damp. She lifted a shaky hand and felt the slick tracks of tears. It must have been a really bad dream. “It's okay. I'm fine now.” She frowned when the dream drifted just beyond the realm of recall.

“Are you sure? You were crying and calling my name.” He rubbed his tired eyes with the back of his hand. His mouth stretched wide in a yawn.

“Come on. Let's get you back in bed.”

“Maybe I should sleep with you so you can feel safe.”

She laughed at the familiar quote. She used to tell him that whenever he had had a bad dream. “I don't think that will be necessary.”

“Are you sure?” He could barely keep his eyes open.

She smiled at his weary but unquestionable chivalry. “I'm sure.”

 

Max jerked open the fridge and withdrew a beer. He popped the cap and placed the cold bottle against his forehead. He closed his eyes and prayed for sleep. But as usual—his prayers had fallen on deaf ears.

He took a swig from the long-necked bottle and enjoyed the slight buzz he achieved from his fifth drink. Scratching the new stubble on his chin, he left the kitchen and returned to his La-Z-Boy.

Instead of reviewing his notes from the Underwood case, he reached for the silver frame that sat on the edge of the end table. He stared benignly at the small family smiling back at him.

Truth was, right now he didn't remember having that picture taken. He wasn't sure whether that was because of a bad memory or the effect of alcohol on an empty stomach. How old was little Frankie then—two, three?

“My, how time flies when you're having fun.” He returned the photograph to the table. Problem was,
he wasn't having much fun. He downed another long gulp, halfway wishing that this bottle would take him to oblivion—a place where pain didn't exist and nothing mattered.

He cursed under his breath. What was wrong with him? Oblivion was a temporary solution for a long-term problem. How on earth was he supposed to live with just seeing his son one weekend a month?

Max slid his gaze back to the picture, then narrowed his eyes at the woman who had ripped his heart out. Even sober he couldn't laugh at the memory of his once-upon-a-time yearning for her—dreaming and planning on happily ever after. It was sickening, really. Since then, willingness to trust or even love again had ranked in the bottom five hundred on his list of life's ambitions.

Another gulp and he emptied the bottle. He was no closer to oblivion now than he'd been five hours ago. Better luck tomorrow night.

In the fireplace, the once roaring fire had been reduced to glowing embers—such was his life. He waved off self-pity and depression with a sweep of his hand and grabbed the manila folder.

As his eyes peeled over notes and facts, he wondered
why
Underwood had been killed, instead of
who
had done it.

He shifted his gaze back to the fireplace. The embers brought back an unexpected memory of a certain pair of eyes that held their own kind of spark.

He smiled to himself, then worried about the truth of his own warning. How much trouble was Kennedy St. James really in? Did she understand what she was up against?

He remembered her little boy and thought more on his own son. It didn't take much to understand why she wasn't talking; to be honest with himself, he really couldn't blame her. But he had a job to do, and that job was to get her to talk.

A
aliyah rubbed her tired eyes and continued to stare at her computer screen. At this point, she wished that she could take her coffee intravenously to avoid the trouble of getting up to fill her cup.

She'd spent the last few days researching everything she could get her hands on regarding A.D.A. Marion Underwood. Some articles painted him as a hero. Professionally, he'd won countless, impressive cases, ranging from domestic violence to organized crime. All were possible leads to his murder.

Then there were the articles regarding his personal life that portrayed him as a hypocrite, a liar and a thief. Those were the ones that interested her.

Marion Underwood, born and raised in Atlanta, had been married four times: once to a cop, the other three to the same woman, Judge Sandra Hickman.

From what she could tell, his life hadn't become interesting until his second marriage. He'd wed a Det. Jaclyn Mason, a cop with all the right connections. The bride's father was Lieutenant Governor and her mother was District Attorney. How lucky could one ambitious man get? Though the marriage was brief, Underwood had emerged from it with a new job and a whole new lifestyle.

At dawn, Aaliyah decided to call it quits. Other than marital woes, she couldn't really find any dirt on the man, which was a great disappointment and meant that she'd wasted her time.

Another article appeared on the screen just as she was ready to log off.

Aaliyah leaned forward in her chair and read the date of the article. July 13, 1992. She reached for her mug and sipped absently at the lukewarm coffee.

According to the article, the inmate claimed that he'd been railroaded by the D.A.'s office. He also pointed a finger at A.D.A. Underwood for requesting a bribe.

The way the piece was written, it dispelled the inmate's ramblings as delusional and desperate. She quickly clicked another icon and pulled up all public information on the inmate, Keenan Lawrence.

 

Kennedy was dead on her feet. Dead asleep that is. By 10:00 a.m. she'd declared the day a total disaster, which didn't leave much to look forward to.

She'd lost count of how many customers had deserted her station, fuming.

“Do I need to send you home before the lunch crowd swamps this place?” Bennie asked in a low and irritated voice. “You're not much help to me if you're going to be chasing away the customers.”

“Cut me some slack. I'm in the middle of having a bad life. Do you mind?”

“By all means, go ahead. Don't let my measly little business get in your way.” His meaty hand covered his heart, but his look of sincerity was a mockery.

“You're a real piece of work, Bennie.” She snatched the coffeepot from the burner and went to refill the cup of one of the diner's regular's, Mr. Riley.

“A penny for your thoughts,” he said when he looked up at her somber expression.

“Why pay for what you can get for free?”

He smiled. “You got me on that one.”

Kennedy returned the gesture, though the corners
of her lips trembled a bit beneath the strain. “You're sweet for asking. Thanks.” She patted his hand. “It's just one of those days.”

Bennie suddenly appeared at her side. “Kennedy, when you two are done flirting, you might want to attend to the customers at table twenty-three. They've been waiting for ten minutes.”

She clenched her teeth, wishing like hell she could bite him.

Bennie laughed and snapped a towel at her behind. “Get a move on it.”

If she hadn't known Bennie for most of her life, and considered him a good friend, she would have reamed him a new one for that smack.

She arrived at table twenty-three and reached for her order pad without looking up. “Hi. Welcome to—”

Her mouth fell open when she raised her eyes and recognized her customers as Detective Collier and his smug partner.

“What the hell are you two doing here?”

Dossman frowned. “I'm willing to bet that you've never made employee of the month. Am I right?”

Her back stiffened. “Isn't this police harassment?”

Collier was a picture of innocence wrongly accused when he looked to his partner and said, “I thought that this was called breakfast.”

“Times are a-changing, I suppose,” Dossman said with a shrug.

Kennedy controlled herself in time to stop herself from screaming a stream of obscenities. “Maybe this is a matter I need to take up with your superior.” If nothing else, at least the threat sounded good.

“Does that mean that you won't be taking our orders?” Collier's innocent expression remained unchanged.

“You know, I'm starting to think your names should be Detective Abbott and Detective Costello.”

“She has jokes,” Dossman marveled.

“I've noticed.”

Collier turned a smile in Kennedy's direction and she had to fight to suppress the butterflies in her stomach.

“You look like hell,” Max said. “Didn't you get much sleep last night?”

The butterflies vanished. “I slept fine. Sorry to disappoint you.”

“Hmm. I'm glad one of us did. I worried about you and your son all night.”

She clenched her jaw and stared at him. “My son and I are fine.” She flipped her order pad closed. “If you came here to pester me about that murder, then you're just wasting your time.”

“Because you weren't there, right?” Max questioned.

She slapped her palm against her forehead. “By
George, I think he's got it.” Her expression hardened. “Now, if you two are finished wasting my time—”

“You haven't even taken our order,” Dossman said, pretending to be insulted.

“Heck, we haven't even gotten a cup of coffee,” Collier added. “Maybe
we
should have a word with
your
superior.”

She stood there, infuriated, while they simply looked at her. “Fine. Two cups of coffee and then I want you two out of here.”

Dossman glanced down at his menu. “And a ham-and-cheese omelet.”

“Make that two,” Collier added with a wink.

Delivering a left hook would no doubt land her in jail, but she entertained the thought all the same. “Two coffees, two omelets, anything else?”

“Toast,” Dossman ordered as an afterthought.

“Bacon,” Collier said, then snapped his fingers. “Better yet, make it link sausages.” He shrugged. “You know what they say—breakfast is the most important meal of the day.”

She couldn't manage a reply even if she wanted to. Instead, she turned on her heel and went to place their order.

Max watched her as she stormed off, unexpectedly drawn to the rhythmic sway of her hips.

Dossman waved his hand in front of Max's face to break the spell. “Earth to Collierville.”

“Cut it out,” Max admonished with an unexplained smile.

“Help me out with this one. I thought that you always played the good cop and I was the bad one,” Dossman said.

“You're not sore, are you?”

“Of course not. I'm just wondering if this is the way we ought to go on this one. I mean, the object
is
to get her to trust us. Or, did I miss something?”

Max glanced around to ensure that Kennedy was out of earshot. “I don't think kneeling on bended knee is going to affect her.”

“And playing like Columbo and pestering her to death will? I'm not following your logic.”

Neither was Max, now that he sat back and thought about it.

When Max didn't respond, Dossman tried a different approach. “Okay, let's do it this way. What's the plan? You
do
have a plan, don't you?”

“We have breakfast.”

“That's it?”

“That's it,” Max reaffirmed.

On cue, Kennedy returned to the table. The cups clinked as she sat them down.

“You wouldn't happen to have those cute little French-vanilla creamers, would you?” Max's smile dropped at her stony expression. “I guess hazelnut is out of the question, too?”

Her hands balled into fists and nestled on her hips before she stormed off without uttering a word.

“I'm beginning to like her,” Max said absently.

“Come again?”

His gaze swung back to meet his partner's. “Figuratively.”

“Uh-huh.” Dossman looked in the direction where Kennedy had disappeared, then back at his partner. “I don't think we're going to get her to talk this way. In fact, I think this is a lost cause. We have no real proof that she has ever been in those woods.”

“What about the necklace?”

“She said she lost it.”

“I don't buy it.” Max waved a dismissive hand in Dossman's direction.

“I don't, either. The point is that we can't prove otherwise.”

“Then maybe we need to search harder.” At Dossman's exasperated look, Max leaned over the table toward him. “I'm not just trying to be a hard-ass here. She's running scared. And what other option do we have? We can't turn our backs and make a wish upon a fallen star that we get another break in this case.”

Dossman threw his hands up in surrender. “Okay, okay. You made your point…and I agree with you.”

Moments later, Kennedy returned to their table. “Two ham-and-cheese omelets, toast, a side order of
bacon, link sausages, and—” she reached into her apron pocket “—French-vanilla and hazelnut creamers for your coffee. Please tell me there is
nothing
else I can get for you.”

Both men smiled.

“Good,” she said. She slapped their check down on the table, then headed for the next table.

“She does kind of grow on you,” Dossman said with a wink.

 

After Kennedy made sure that all her customers were taken care of, she joined Tyne in wrapping silverware in linen napkins.

“I see your Romeo has returned.” She nudged Kennedy with her elbow. “I should have known you were trying to pull a fast one on me. At least this time he brought a friend.”

“Trust me. It's not what it looks like.”

“Well, it looks to me like he can't keep his eyes off of you.”

Kennedy followed her coworker's gaze to the two detectives. She felt a strange fluttering again in the pit of her stomach. What was it about Det. Collier that affected her so?

The men noticed her and raised their coffee cups in salutation.

Annoyed, she ground her teeth and looked away. “I wish that they would leave.”

“Mind if I take the shorter one?” Tyne asked.

“I thought you didn't go for the pretty-boy type?”

“Girl, I go for just about any man with a job. I'll even settle for one who's at least looking for one.”

Kennedy laughed. “You have issues.”

Tyne shook her head. “I got bills, girlfriend.”