Deceived (Private Justice Book #3): A Novel (10 page)

Once they disappeared inside, he scanned the other arrivals who’d been waiting in the parking lot for the facility to open. No other blond boys in sight. He turned his attention to the Dakota, taking zoom shots of the license plate and the vehicle itself.

Three minutes later, the man reappeared minus the boy. Connor snapped more photos of him, though the brim of the baseball cap, pulled low over his forehead, kept his face in shadows. Nikki should be able to work some computer magic to brighten up the shots, however.

As he watched the Dakota pull away, he raised his window. Not that the man would pay much attention to a white utility van—his transportation for the new month in the musical chairs he and his partners played with company vehicles—but it always paid to be careful.

The temptation to follow the man was strong . . . but until Kate made a definite ID of the boy in the pictures he’d just taken, he needed to stick with the surveillance. This boy hadn’t been at daycare on Thursday or Friday, and there might be others who hadn’t been, either.

Keeping an eye on the steady stream of arrivals, he pulled out his phone and speed dialed Nikki’s work number, bypassing her message as he punched through to her voice mail.

“Nikki, it’s Connor. I need you to run a plate for me when you get in.” He pulled up the image on his camera and recited the numbers and letters. “I’d do it myself, but I need both eyes for surveillance. Call me as soon as you have anything.”

Message left, he focused on the center, trying to ignore the growing heat and the sweat soaking through his T-shirt.

Over the next two hours, a few other blond-haired boys
showed up, and he snapped photos of the ones he wasn’t certain he’d seen during previous surveillance sessions. None, however, came as close to matching the mall image as the first boy.

At eight-ten, his cell began to vibrate. Nikki hadn’t wasted any time.

Pressing the phone to his ear, he continued to watch the center even though the traffic had slowed to a trickle. “Morning.”

“Back at you. I take it you found a trail to follow.”

“Maybe.”

“I’ve got your information. The truck’s three years old and belongs to a Greg Sanders. Do you want his address?”

“Yes.” He jotted the information down as she recited it. Somewhere in South County, based on the zip code. “What else do you have?”

“As far as I can tell from his driver’s license data, he has a clean record. He’s forty-six, five-ten, has blue eyes, weighs one-eighty-five. That sound like the guy you saw?”

“Close enough. Did you run his picture?”

“Yep. Want me to email it?”

“No. It can wait until I get to the office. Look for me about ten-thirty. When I wrap up here in forty-five minutes, I’m going to swing by his house, then head home for a shower before I come in.”

“Thank you.”

He grinned and picked up the bottle of water he’d opened twenty minutes ago. “You’re welcome. And thanks for looking up the info so fast.”

“Not a problem. It gave me a short reprieve from Dev’s filing. See you soon.” The line went dead.

After taking a long pull from the bottle of water, Connor scrolled down to Kate’s work number and pressed autodial.

She answered on the second ring, sounding a little breathless—and anxious. “Connor? I didn’t expect to hear from you this early.”

Do you have good news?

Though she didn’t ask that question, it hung in the air between them—and he didn’t keep her waiting for the answer.

“I think I may have spotted the boy you saw at the mall.”

She drew in a sharp breath.

“He was one of the first arrivals. I had Nikki run the plates on the truck. Does the name Greg Sanders ring any bells?”

“No.”

The answer he’d expected. “I’m going to do a drive-by of his house after I’m finished here. Once I get to the office, I’ll email you the photos and you can let me know what you think.”

“All right.” A moment of silence passed. “So if this boy is the one I saw, what happens next?”

“I think it would be valuable to have an artist do an age-progressed image of your son. See if the face she comes up with resembles the boy you saw. It’s not a foolproof method, but I’ve worked with Elaine on a number of cases and her digital magic is amazingly accurate. Much better than any age-progression software I’ve seen. If we have a decent match, that’s even more reason to continue to pursue this. Can you provide some photos from his younger years?”

“Yes. I . . . I have hundreds.” Her quiet words were laced with pain.

Connor gritted his teeth. Of course she did. Any loving mother would be shutter-happy with her firstborn. The heat must be addling his brain—and melting his usual finesse.

“I’m sorry, Kate. I should have phrased that more diplomatically.”

“No apology necessary. I just hope we need them.” She sounded more normal now. Back in control. But he suspected that was an act for his benefit, to alleviate his guilt. “If the boy in the photos you send me matches the one I saw at the mall, I can run home at lunch and gather up some pictures. I have
both prints and digital. The studio stuff is all prints. Would she want both?”

“Yes. A selection from all stages of development would be best. That will help her get a feel for how he was aging. But there’s no need to make a special trip home. Take your time and look through them tonight. You can drop the JPEGs to a flash drive and put the prints in an envelope. I’ll be happy to stop by your office tomorrow morning and pick them up after I tail our friend once he drops off the little boy. Assuming we have a match, I’d like to find out where the man works.”

“That would be fine. My first appointment isn’t until ten.”

“I’ll be there long before that. What time do you usually get in?”

“Seven-thirty.”

“You put in long hours. You were there past six last Wednesday.”

“Not all days run that late. And I’ll be leaving on time tonight if we have a match. It will take me a while to go through the photos. I haven’t pulled most of them out in years.” Her voice caught on the last word.

It was on the tip of his tongue to ask if she wanted some company—and moral support—for the difficult task ahead, but he bit it back. It wasn’t an offer he’d make to any other client, and he needed to keep things professional and impersonal . . . for now.

Even if he was suddenly tempted to ignore the house rules.

“I’m sorry to have to ask you to do this. I know it won’t be easy, but I think the age-progression step could be helpful.”

“I agree. I’ll be fine.”

He wasn’t convinced of that, but he let it go. “Expect me around eight tomorrow, assuming our guy doesn’t work somewhere in the far reaches of the county. If he does, I’ll call and let you know I’ll be delayed. But let’s not get ahead of ourselves. I think the boy I saw this morning is a match, but you may not
agree. Call me once you review the images and we’ll go from there.”

“Sounds good. Talk to you soon.”

As Kate ended the call, Connor picked up his water again, watching the daycare center as he drained the bottle. Despite the lack of activity, he’d stick it out until nine—just in case. But he was pretty certain the boy he’d spotted in the early hours of the morning was the one they’d been trying to locate. All he needed was Kate’s confirmation.

On the plus side, a positive ID by his client meant no more hot mornings under the Golden Arches.

But it also meant this investigation would move to a whole new level. One with a lot of potential risks.

Because if the boy did, in fact, match the age-progression image Elaine produced, and if Kate’s suspicion that he might be her son became more than groundless speculation, someone had a dangerous secret to protect. Most likely the guy in the baseball cap. And if he discovered he’d been identified, things could turn nasty very fast. Anyone who threatened to expose him could be in peril.

Especially Kate.

R
ing
!
Please
ring
!

Diane glanced at the phone an arm’s reach away on the kitchen counter as she finished rinsing her dinner plate, but despite some powerful wishing and strong telepathic signals directed toward Greg’s house, it remained silent.

Face it, Diane. He isn’t going to call.

Sighing, she set the dish in the drying rack. So what if they’d spoken every day in the past month? It wasn’t like he’d promised to call today when he’d phoned last night after getting Todd settled. But his tone, while friendly, had lost the touch of intimacy, of promise, she’d come to expect.

Things were changing between them—and she had no idea why.

She pulled the towel off the rack beneath the sink and dried her hands, eyeing the phone again. She could always call to ask how Todd was doing. That would be a considerate gesture, given the youngster’s traumatic experience yesterday.

Or would referring to the disturbing incident make Greg pull back from her even more?

Wandering over to the phone, she chewed on her lower lip. Maybe things were calmer today. Maybe he’d be glad to hear
from her. Besides, what was wrong with letting him know she was thinking about him, that she cared about both of them? At this point, with him pulling back anyway, what did she have to lose?

Before she could change her mind, she picked up the phone and pressed his speed dial number.

Todd answered less than a heartbeat into the first ring, sounding like his usual cheery self. At least things seemed to be back to normal in
his
world. Dare she hope the same was true for Greg?

“Hi, honey. It’s Diane. Are you guys eating dinner?”

“Nope. We just finished. We had chocolate cake for dessert.”

“Wow. That’s my favorite.”

“Me too. We have a whole lot left. Do you want to come over and . . .”

He stopped speaking, and she could hear a muted exchange in the background. Then Todd returned.

“Dad wants to talk to you. See you later.”

As the phone on the other end exchanged hands, her palms started to sweat. The timing of Greg’s interception wasn’t random. He hadn’t wanted Todd to ask her to come over. In fact, she had a feeling if Todd hadn’t answered the phone so fast, Greg would have let it roll to the answering machine.

“Hi, Diane.” Greg’s voice was cordial, nothing more.

Calling had been a mistake. He didn’t want to talk with her.

Her lungs balked.

“Hi. I, uh, just wanted to see how Todd was doing.” She did her best to mask her usual warmth and match his polite tone. “He sounds much better today.”

“Yeah. He had a good day at STL and ate a big dinner.”

“Great. How’s everything with you?”

“Fine.”

As the stilted exchange ended, she leaned her shoulder against the wall and closed her eyes. It was her turn to speak—and hard as it was, she forced herself to do what she had to do.

“Well, I have a few chores to take care of tonight. You two have a nice evening.”

“Thanks. You too.”

No inquiry about her day. No promise of a future call. No more reassurances that things would get back to normal soon.

Despite the tightness in her throat, she managed to inject her “talk to you later” sign-off with a lot more brightness than she felt.

But once she dropped the phone back into the cradle, the tightness turned into a sob.

What in the world was going on? One day she and Greg had been a cozy couple, then overnight he’d pulled back. It didn’t make sense.

But what did she know? Her track record with men was dismal. Maybe there’d been signals she’d missed. Or maybe he thought she was too needy—and there might be some truth to that. While the support group was helping, she had a long way to go before she regained the confidence and self-esteem Rich had demolished.

And perhaps that should be her priority. Perhaps she needed to get her own house in order, find some meaning in her life apart from other people, before she tried to figure out someone else’s problems.

One way to do that was to get a job, as Sarah had done.

Squaring her shoulders, Diane wiped away her tears, marched into the study, and booted up the computer. Once upon a time, she’d been a competent, fast-tracked accountant with a responsible position. That career had fallen by the wayside when Rich came along and convinced her to stay home so she could focus on starting a family. Not that she’d put up much resistance; what paycheck or promotion could compete with the joy of holding a child in her arms?

Too bad she hadn’t realized Rich’s true motivation sooner.
Her husband had had no interest in a family; he’d just felt threatened by her independence and success and wanted total control over her life.

But by the time the truth sank in, she’d felt trapped.

The user ID screen came up. Leaning forward, she entered her password and connected to the Net. Surfed until she found several examples of résumés. Began to type her own.

And come tomorrow, she was going to dig out the New Start phone number Sarah had pressed on her Saturday night and make an appointment with the woman her support group friend claimed could work miracles in building confidence and finding jobs.

Kate Marshall.

Connor flipped off the TV news, shoved the empty container from his nuked dinner aside, and drummed his fingers on the small island in his condo’s kitchen. There were plenty of things he could do tonight. Work out at the gym. Run a few miles. Visit the range and log some target practice. All worthwhile, productive activities.

Except he wasn’t in the mood for any of them.

He was in the mood to see Kate.

Expelling a frustrated breath, he rose, rinsed out the plastic dinner tray, and deposited it in the recycle bin. She’d put up a brave front at the end of their conversation earlier in the day, but now that she’d confirmed the boy in his photos was the same one she’d seen at the mall, she had a tough job tonight. One that might be easier to get through if she had some moral support close at hand.

Not an option if he played by company rules.

But why not call her? See how she was doing, ask if she had any questions? That would be a compassionate gesture,
and a phone conversation didn’t violate Phoenix’s informal no-fraternizing policy.

Without giving himself a chance to second-guess those motives, he pulled out his phone and tapped in her number.

She didn’t answer until the third ring, and when she did pick up, the unsteadiness in her greeting confirmed his suspicion—she was having a tough time with the chore he’d given her.

“Hi. It’s Connor. I thought I’d touch base, see how you were doing with your photo search.”

“I finished going through the digital stuff and dropped quite a few to a flash drive. Now I’m getting ready to dive into the prints.” She stopped. Exhaled. “It took me a while to sort through the boxes in the storage closet, but I have the albums in front of me now. I was about to open the first one.”

He walked over to the window and surveyed the dark clouds encroaching on the blue sky. The meteorologists had warned that a storm was approaching, and for once they seemed to be right.

“Look . . . if you want to spread this out over a couple of days, that’s not a problem. I set up a meeting with Elaine for tomorrow afternoon, but I can switch it to Wednesday.”

“No. There’s no sense putting off the inevitable. It’s probably time I dug these out. I just didn’t realize it would be so . . .” As her voice choked, he tightened his grip on the phone. “Sorry. Looking at these brings everything back—good and bad.”

Somewhere in the distance, a faint rumble of thunder heralded the looming squall, and the branches at the tops of the trees began to sway.

“Listen . . . would it make things easier if I came over?”

The offer was out before he could stop it—a blatant violation of company policy.

Unless he could come up with some sort of work-related rationale. Fast.

Grasping at the first thing that came to mind, he continued
without giving her a chance to respond. “I could sort through the photos with you, help you select the ones that might be most useful to Elaine.”

Although the justification was weak, it held a modicum of truth—and it was the best he could come up with on the fly.

Kate’s silence suggested she was as surprised by the offer as he was—yet she hadn’t turned him down flat. At the same time, he could understand her reluctance to let a man she’d known all of one week hang around while she hovered on the brink of a meltdown. On the plus side, if she did decline, he wouldn’t have to worry about crossing any lines.

But he hoped she wouldn’t do that. If she did fall apart, he didn’t want her to be alone.

“I’m sure you have better things to do with your evening, and you’ve already clocked a lot of hours on my case today.” Her words were hesitant—but infused with a distinct touch of yearning.

She wanted him to come over.

Yet she was giving him an out. One he should take.

Instead of being smart, however, he not only leaped into the danger zone, he laid his cards on the table. “Nothing I was thinking about doing tonight is urgent. And I won’t be charging you for these hours.”

More silence on the line as she digested that. Perhaps, with the offer of gratis personal time on the table—and the underlying message—she’d back off.

But she didn’t.

“If you’re sure, I wouldn’t mind the company. Going through the digital images was difficult, but I have a feeling handling the photo albums will be worse. Maybe I’ll hold myself together better if someone else is around.”

He wasn’t certain her rationale was any more sound than his, but he wasn’t going to dispute it.

“I live in Manchester, so it shouldn’t take me more than fifteen minutes to get to your place. See you soon.”

As he slipped the phone back on his belt and another rumble of thunder sounded in the distance, a twinge of guilt tugged at his conscience. Never once in the five years since he’d joined Phoenix had he been tempted to spend personal time with a client. His tenure with the Secret Service had taught him to toe the line and had honed his already well-developed sense of discipline.

So how could one lovely blonde-haired widow he’d known for less than a week undermine his self-control so quickly?

Shaking his head, he snagged his keys off the counter and detoured to the bathroom to dispatch his five o’clock shadow. Too bad he couldn’t ask Cal and Dev how they’d avoided succumbing to the same temptation while working the cases for the women they’d fallen for. They must have struggled with the same dilemma he faced, and it would be helpful to know how they’d managed to keep their emotions under wraps until the cases were solved.

If he asked for their advice, however, he’d be publicly agreeing with Nikki’s assessment that he and Kate made a cute couple.

No way was he going to open himself up to that kind of ribbing. Not when he’d always been the one who’d played his social life close to his vest. Who’d never once let a woman disrupt his professional demeanor. Who’d watched in tolerant amusement as both Cal and Dev struggled with the very dilemma he was grappling with.

He leaned close to the mirror, inspected his jaw, and shut off the electric razor. For now, he’d keep his predicament to himself—and hope Kate’s mystery was solved ASAP so her role could change from client to . . . something else.

She should have told him not to come.

And she shouldn’t have bothered changing from cutoff shorts and sport shoes to capris and sandals. Why should she care what he thought about how she looked? This wasn’t a social visit.

Or was it?

Kate paced from one side of the small living room in her condo to the other as she pondered that question and came to the only possible answer.

Maybe.

Why else would he tell her she wouldn’t be charged for these hours? Companies didn’t offer their services for free.

On the other hand, Connor was a perceptive man. He’d caught her at a weepy moment, and she had no doubt he’d picked up on that. Perhaps comforting distraught clients was a complimentary service Phoenix offered on occasion. Given their steep fees, they might consider a little free hand-holding smart business.