Deceived (Private Justice Book #3): A Novel (17 page)

His throat constricted, and he leaned down to plant a kiss on the boy’s temple. “I’d never forget you, either. And now I think we both need to get some more sleep. Want me to walk you back to your room?”

He played with the edge of the blanket. “Do you want me to stay here instead? I could wake you up if you had any more bad dreams.”

No way. The last thing he needed was for Todd to overhear any more of his subconscious thoughts.

Besides, he was done sleeping for the night.

“I think you’ll get more rest in your own room.” Greg swung his feet to the floor, circled the bed, and folded Todd’s hand in his. “Would you like a drink of water after I tuck you in?”

“I s’pose.”

Ten minutes later, after the drink, a quick story, and another kiss, Greg closed Todd’s door halfway and leaned his shoulder against the wall in the hall.

What a night.

And he had three hours to kill before first light.

Shower first, to purge the thin film of sweat clinging to his skin—or coffee?

Coffee. He could use the caffeine for the long, empty hours ahead.

Padding toward the kitchen, he wiped a hand down his face. He could read for a while; that would help pass the time. With all the birthday excitement and the hours spent with Diane’s erector set, he hadn’t finished yesterday’s paper. That should kill half an hour, minimum.

But forty minutes later, as he closed the final section of the
paper and drained his third refill of coffee, he still had a couple of hours of darkness to fill.

Appealing as a shower was, it might be best to defer that. What if the pipes started banging, as they often did, and woke Todd again? Not worth the risk.

Was there anything else in the house to read?

Ephesians 4:31–32.

As the voice of Diane’s minister echoed in his mind, he frowned. What was that all about? He hadn’t opened his Bible in almost five years, nor touched it since he’d stuck it at the back of the shelf in the hall closet when they’d moved in here.

But the way that minister had looked at him . . . it was as if the man had thought he needed to read that passage.

So what was in it?

Might as well find out. He had nothing better to do at—he peered at his watch—three-fifteen on a Sunday morning.

After retrieving the volume, he walked back into the kitchen, flipped to the chapter and verse the minister had mentioned, and read the words.

“All bitterness, fury, anger, shouting, and reviling must be removed from you, along with all malice. Be kind to one another, compassionate, forgiving one another as God has forgiven you in Christ.”

His heart skipped a beat, and beads of sweat popped out above his upper lip.

It was almost as if the minister had pulled back the veil from his soul and seen the darkness within.

But that was ridiculous. No one knew his secret. They couldn’t know. Not after he’d been so careful.

He snapped the book closed and dropped it on the counter. Even if he wanted to follow the advice in the Good Book, it was too late to rewrite history. To rectify mistakes. The damage had been done, and he was in too deep.

Besides, the only way to atone for his sins would be to give up his son, and that wasn’t an option at this point. Maybe two years ago he could have managed it, before they’d bonded. Before Todd had become the center of his world. Before love had trumped revenge as a guiding force in his life.

Now, there was no going back.

All he could do was move forward and deal with whatever obstacles popped up.

Like Kate Marshall.

He blew out a long breath and raked his fingers through his hair.

She was a risk. No question about it. But to get the authorities involved, she’d have to have some hard evidence, some credible testimony, to support any theory she might take to them. And she had neither. If she did, the police would already have paid him a visit.

On the off chance she did find some incriminating piece of information, however, he needed to prepare a backup plan that would ensure she couldn’t touch him.

Sweat trickling down his temples, he paced as he grappled with the worst-case scenario—losing Todd.

But that wasn’t going to happen. He wouldn’t let it.

The question was, how far was he willing to go to protect their life together if the walls began to close in?

Easy.

To the ends of the earth.

Suddenly he came to a dead stop as a name from the past surfaced.

Emilio Perez.

Not his preferred solution, not by any stretch of the imagination, but it was a possibility. Hadn’t Emilio once said that if he could ever return the favor, just pick up the phone?

Maybe, if things went south, he’d call in that chit. The address
he had for Emilio was current, based on their last correspondence. The man had also sent along his new cell number.

And Greg knew exactly where it was.

In a few long strides, he crossed the room, tugged out the top drawer in the built-in desk in the kitchen, and removed the address book buried under this month’s bills. The letter was inside the front cover, where he’d tucked it.

Greg ran a finger over the return address on the envelope as dampness once again seeped into his T-shirt.

He’d have to be desperate to go this route.

But he couldn’t rule it out.

When it came to protecting his life with Todd, all options were on the table.

A drop of sweat seeped into the corner of one eye, and he blinked at the salty sting. A tear formed, and he shoved the address book back into the desk, swiping away the moisture as his mouth flattened into a grim line.

He was done with tears. Done with other people deciding his fate. Done with being passive. Playing by the rules hadn’t worked in the past, and there was no reason to think it would work now.

On the other hand, he wasn’t going to rush things. That could lead to mistakes. He’d wait until Diane met with Kate Marshall, see what she learned. Then, armed with that information, he’d make careful plans—just as he had the last time.

And he would succeed.

He would protect his life with Todd.

Whatever it took.

A
s Kate approached the tables in the church basement where volunteers were setting out the insulated carrying packs containing the meals to be delivered, Pauline gave Connor an appreciative perusal—just as every other woman in the congregation had.

Kate sighed.

What had she been thinking when she’d invited the man beside her to attend the service today?

So far, she’d been cornered into introducing him to the minister’s wife, the widowed organist, the unattached-but-looking female youth group leader, and a woman whose name she couldn’t remember from some committee she’d served on last year.

If Connor noticed all the attention, however, he gave no indication—even when Pauline beamed at him and pumped his hand with far more vigor than necessary.

“You must be the young man Kate told me about. Pauline Andrews. Very nice to meet you.”

His response was gracious—as it had been with everyone he’d met. He treated Pauline to his killer dimple, exchanged pleasantries . . . and continued to draw interested looks from every female in the vicinity. No surprise there. Tall, dark, and
handsome didn’t come any finer than the Secret-Service-agent-turned-PI. In his crisp, open-necked shirt and a navy-blue blazer that emphasized his broad shoulders, he fairly radiated—

“Kate?”

At Pauline’s prompt, she jerked her attention back to the older woman. “Sorry. I was . . . distracted for a moment.”

“I can see why.” The woman flicked a knowing look toward Connor. “I asked if you were clear on the directions for your three deliveries.”

As warmth crept up her neck, Kate dropped her chin and rummaged for her car keys. “Yes. I’ve been to two of the places before, and I used MapQuest for the new one.”

“Excellent. Then you can be on your way. How nice that you have some company for the drive today.”

“Are these the meals?” Connor nodded to three insulated packs on the table in front of Pauline.

“Yes.” The older woman watched as he hefted them into his arms. “I see you’re a true gentleman.”

“I try, anyway.” He grinned at Pauline, then turned to her. “Ready to go?”

Kate nodded. “Yes.” The sooner the better.

As she started to turn away, Pauline leaned across the table and touched her arm. “We must meet for tea again soon, my dear. I want to talk with you some more about that yoga class. I do think you’d enjoy it.”

Yoga class, hah. The twinkle in Pauline’s eye told Kate her friend was a lot more interested in discussing men than meditation. One man in particular.

“I’m still thinking about it.”

“Don’t overthink. You might lose a wonderful opportunity.” The woman nodded toward Connor as he moved away from the table.

Oh brother.

Without responding, Kate wove through the gauntlet of church volunteers lined up to collect their meal deliveries, heading for the exit on the far side of the room. Connor followed in silence as she pushed through the door, easing past her as she held it open—and treating her to another whiff of his appealing aftershave.

Get a
grip, Kate. You’re as bad as the rest of
the women in the congregation.

Huffing out a breath, she followed him to the car and opened the back door.

He bent down to slide the meals onto the backseat, then gestured to his jacket. “Mind if I ditch this?”

“Be my guest. Although in
my
car we’ll have air-conditioning.”

“It did get a little hot that morning at the daycare center.”

“More than a little.” And not just because of the air temperature.

Focus, Kate. This is
a business meeting, not a date.

By the time he circled the car, tossed his jacket into the back, and joined her in the front seat, she’d started the car, cranked up the air, and done her best to switch gears.

“Thanks for inviting me today.” He pulled the seat belt across his lap and clicked it into place. “The service was excellent, and you have a very welcoming congregation.”

Especially the women—but she left that unsaid.

“I’m glad you enjoyed it. Now tell me the latest. I’ve been anxious to hear what you’ve discovered.”

She put the car in reverse and prepared to back out, but he stopped her with a light touch on the arm. Surprised, she looked over at him.

“Before we leave, let me give you the biggest piece of news. Sanders’s son died three and a half years ago.”

Kate stared at him. Thank goodness he’d stopped her from
exiting the parking space. Otherwise, she might have clipped the bumper of the car beside her when he dropped that bombshell.

“Does this mean . . .” She took a deep breath and loosened her grip on the wheel. Better not to let her hopes soar until she got his take. “So what do you think all this means?”

“I think it means we have more reason than ever to keep digging. The so-called accident on Braddock Bay is smelling less and less like an accident every day.”

She digested that as she cautiously exited the parking spot and drove across the lot. “You’re thinking someone targeted my husband.” Even as she voiced the words, she couldn’t grasp that notion. The idea that anyone would want to hurt a kind, caring, generous man like John was surreal.

“I’d say that’s a distinct possibility. And since the perpetrator could easily have chosen a different time and place to do that, I don’t think your son’s presence was a coincidence.”

Pulling onto the road, she glanced over at him and frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Your son may be an integral part of this whole thing.”

As she drove on autopilot toward her first delivery, she considered that theory. Dear, sweet Kevin in the midst of some kind of conspiracy?

That didn’t compute, either.

She sent him a quick look. “If Sanders lived in Cleveland, how could there be any connection between him and my husband or son?”

“That’s what I’m trying to establish—and it’s why I need your help today. Now that we know David Sanders died young, I’m wondering if your husband’s work might be the link between him and Sanders. We’re going to try to establish a cause of death tomorrow, but did he ever treat patients from outside the Rochester area?”

“A few. He was gaining quite a reputation for his research on
neurological disorders—Batten disease in particular. A lot of parents from around the country who had children with that disorder came to him for a consultation.”

“Tell me about that disease.”

“It’s a terrible genetic illness that affects the central nervous system. In many cases it shows up when children are very young—sometimes by age two—and progresses rapidly. Long before victims reach adulthood, they become blind, bedridden . . . and die. There’s no treatment and no cure.”

She paused to make a right turn onto a residential street, a pang echoing in her heart as she recalled the tragic stories John had told her of suffering children and their desperate parents. “I don’t know how John dealt with the heartbreak day after day. But he cared so much about his patients and their families—and they all loved him, even when he had to tell them the situation was hopeless.”

Her voice choked as she pulled up beside the curb. Thank goodness this regular customer lived close to church. A couple of minutes’ break would give her a chance to regain control of her emotions.

“First delivery.” She motioned toward the small bungalow.

“Do you want me to carry the meal for you?”

Leaving the car running, she opened her door. “No, thanks. It will be simpler to make a fast escape if I say someone is in the car—though I don’t expect that to be an issue today. Mr. Harrison will probably be glued to the Cardinals game, so it should be a quick handoff.”

She slid out of the car, retrieved the dinner, and walked toward the front door, slowing her pace to give her emotions a chance to quiet down.

The older man answered on the second ring, the muffled sound of the baseball game wafting out as he took the meal. After a quick thank-you, he shut the door in her face.

At least some things were predictable.

Back in the car, she handed Connor a sheet of printed directions from MapQuest and pulled away from the curb. “Could you guide me to the next place while we talk?”

“Sure.” He gave the directions a scan, set them in his lap, and focused on her. “You up for this? Because it’s only going to get harder.”

Great.

But what had she expected? She’d known that day in the mall how difficult this could get—and crumbling now wasn’t an option. Not when the impossible hope that had seemed so misplaced a mere two weeks ago was slowly edging into the realm of possible.

Gripping the wheel, she nodded. “Yes. I’m fine.”

“Then let’s talk some more about your husband. Do you still have any contacts in his office? Someone with access to records who could find out if he ever saw Sanders’s son?”

“I exchange cards and occasional emails with the office manager from the group practice.” She caught her lower lip between her teeth. “But I don’t want to get her in trouble, and the privacy laws are very strict now.”

“I know—and I don’t want to subvert the law, either. But I don’t think it would be a problem for her to tell you if he
wasn’t
a patient. If your husband did see him, she could reply with a no comment.”

Meaning they would get the information either way.

Clever.

“That might work. I’ll email her as soon as I get home.”

“Good.” He waited while she followed his direction for a turn, then made his next request. “What I’d like you to do is walk me through a typical day in your husband’s life.”

Her heart began to pound. Talking about the day John died was easy compared to this. After rehashing that account so often
for the authorities, she’d learned to tell it with an almost clinical detachment. Their daily life as husband and wife—different story. Did Connor have any idea how hard that would be?

As if he’d read her mind, he reached out and stroked one long, lean finger across her whitened knuckles. “I’m sorry to have to ask you to do this, Kate. I know dredging up those memories will be painful, but it’s possible some activity you mention, even one that seems ordinary to you, might suggest a line of investigation that will help me establish a connection to Sanders.”

She looked over at him as she stopped at a red light. Caring, compassionate eyes met hers—and gave her the courage to venture into territory she’d vowed never to revisit. “I’ll do my best.”

So as they drove to the second house, Connor occasionally interrupting to feed her directions, she told him how she and John had always had breakfast together despite the early hours he kept. How he divided his workweek between seeing patients and doing research. How he often came home late but always made time to chat with her about their respective days. How, once Kevin came along, he cut back on his patient load to have more time for his son.

She also told him about the accolades and honors he’d received for his work. How he was loved by his patients—even the ones he couldn’t help. How every child he lost to the terrible illnesses ate at his gut. And she talked about the weekly fishing outings during the last summer of his life, a father-son interlude both he and Kevin had cherished.

When she pulled up in front of the second house, her hands were trembling as she pried them off the wheel.

The quick glance he cut that direction told her he’d noticed.

Fighting against the sudden pressure behind her eyes, she fumbled with the door handle. “I’ll be back in a minute. This is a new delivery, so I’ll introduce myself and make a fast exit.”

Without waiting for a response, she slid out of the car, grabbed
the insulated container from the backseat, and walked toward the front door of the small house. She was
not
going to cry. Not now. Later, in the privacy of her condo, maybe. One last time.

For all that had been . . . and would never be again.

Two minutes later, after removing the meal from the container and handing it over to the woman recovering from hip surgery, she returned to the car to find Connor behind the wheel.

When she opened the back door to deposit the insulated case on the seat, he looked over his shoulder. “Why don’t I take the last lap?”

She thought about arguing. How often had she driven while in much worse emotional shape? But in those instances, she’d had no choice. Today she did. Why not take advantage of a strong shoulder to lean on, if only for a few minutes?

Capitulating, she slid into the passenger seat. “Thank you.”

“Not a problem.” He pulled away from the curb. “If you’re wondering about where we go from here, first thing tomorrow I plan to dig deeper into Sanders’s background. We might also get some helpful information from the woman in your husband’s office.”

“But will it be enough to give law enforcement the evidence it needs to demand a DNA test?”

“Not likely. I’m just hoping we get a few more leads—because every lead brings us a step closer to solving the case. If we end up needing DNA, though, we’ll find a way to get that hair sample I mentioned before.” He wove through the traffic on the road, his hands on the wheel steady, confident and capable.

Kind of like the man himself.

“I’d be happy to help you go through Sanders’s trash, if it comes down to that.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Now why don’t we switch gears for the last few minutes and talk about more pleasant things? Like that yoga reference Pauline Andrews made. Is there a lotus position in your future?”

Her PI didn’t miss much—even offhand remarks.

“Not a chance. I prefer my lotuses in the form of flowers. Besides, I can’t fit it in with the demands of my job.”

“I already know you work long hours. So what’s your typical day like?”

Prodded by his questions, she told him more about her job than she’d told anyone other than Pauline. The man had amazing listening skills, and based on his astute, insightful questions, he was attuned to things both said and left unspoken. He was also a master at reading between the lines—a skill that no doubt had served him well as a Secret Service agent and was just as valuable in his current profession.