In The Arms of a Stranger (16 page)

Dana made a strangled sound beside him.

Luke shook his head, staring at the floor. “I'm sorry,” he apologized to no one in particular and yet to everyone.

He was sorry that he'd acted like a horse's ass in front of a stranger—a stranger he'd asked to drive from Atlanta on the heels of a snowstorm. Luke glanced at Daniel. He was sorry that he was the one responsible for uprooting the baby, for ripping him from Dana's arms and giving him to a stranger.

Most of all he was sorry to Dana for thinking the unthinkable.

“Chief, this is Mrs. Vivian Metcalf. She'll be handling the baby's case.”

Despite having witnessed his outburst, Vivian Metcalf wore a neutral expression that was as professional as her burgundy business suit and matching pumps. Her skin was the color of creamed coffee and smooth, belying her age, evident in the wiry strands of gray in her hair. She clutched her briefcase a little too tightly, the only sign that she'd observed his outburst. As first impressions went, she passed the test. Still, Luke had a hard time imagining the polished businesswoman caring for a baby. The truth was, he had a hard time imagining Daniel with anyone but Dana.

Luke closed the distance between them, grateful to Ben for patching the gaping hole in his professionalism. He shook Vivian Metcalf's hand. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

“You're quite welcome…” Her voice drifted off and Luke followed her gaze to Dana. She gasped softly. “Dana? Dana Langston?”

“Viv…” was Dana's strangled response.

Vivian Metcalf rushed to Dana, and the two women embraced. Luke frowned, puzzled by the scene playing out before him. While it was true that Dana was a public figure in Atlanta, the two women were obviously acquainted.

Vivian brushed a strand of Dana's damp hair from her
cheek. “Sweetheart, what are you doing here? Were you in the accident?”

“Yes.” Dana shook her head. “No. Not the accident that killed the baby's mother. My car— I—I hit a patch of ice and…” She scrubbed at the tears that were now trailing down her cheeks.

“Slow down.” Vivian rubbed Dana's arms in a maternal gesture. “You're shakin' like a leaf.”

“My car slid off the road. That's when I discovered the accident. I pulled the baby out of the car, but his mother was already dead.”

“Well, now,” Vivian smiled. “It sounds to me like you saved his life.”

Dana brightened momentarily then shook her head. “They think I had something to do with his mother's death. Viv, I'm a suspect.”

Luke winced at the stark words. He was tempted to deny it, but it was all too true. He cleared his throat. “I take it you two know each other?”

“Yes, we're old friends.” Mrs. Metcalf looked over her shoulder at Luke, her eyes filled with what Luke could only define as maternal protectiveness. “We once worked together on a case.”

He knew, by the sudden pain etched on Dana's face, that that case had been Michael Gonzalez's.

Vivian Metcalf's gaze raked his body from head to toe, as if gauging the level of his insanity. “What is all this nonsense about, Chief? You can't honestly believe that Dana is a suspect in a murder case.”

“I can't honestly say that she isn't. All we know at this time is that the accident that killed the baby's mother was intentional.” His gaze met Dana's. “What I believe is irrelevant.”

Life sparked momentarily in Dana's eyes. Brief and dim,
but there. She swallowed hard and looked away. “Gonzalez followed me here. He fired at me and the baby.”

The mention of Paul Gonzalez's name needled Luke. The puzzle that once seemed so obvious had changed, and he no longer knew where the pieces belonged. He wasn't certain that the piece with Paul Gonzalez's name on it belonged at all.

Vivian's hand fluttered to her chest. “Oh, honey, you and I both know that the only punishment good enough for that monster will come in the hereafter.”

A fresh tear rolled down Dana's cheek, and Luke knew from the pain in her eyes that she was thinking of Michael Gonzalez.

She straightened and brushed the tear away. “Luke— Chief Sutherlin got us to safety, protected us.”

The simple concession—the fact that she might hate him a little less for having protected them—caused a warmth to spread throughout his chest. He cursed the vulnerability. Truth was, Dana Langston was going to hate him a lot more before this was all over with.

Daniel began to fret, and Dana knelt and scooped him from the rug. She whispered soft words of comfort as she returned to stand beside Vivian Metcalf.

A sad smile played about her lips. “Viv, this is Daniel.”

“So it is,” she said. Her eyes seemed to take in every detail, darting over Dana and the baby, even as she smiled and offered Daniel her finger to grip. “He knows you, Dana. Have you been taking care of him since the accident?”

Dana nodded. “He's a sweetie.”

Vivian leaned close. “You should foster him,” she whispered.

The words weren't meant for Luke's ears but he heard them.

“I'm afraid that's not possible,” he interrupted. “Mrs. Langston will need to remain here for questioning. Besides,
Mrs. Metcalf, under the circumstances, I doubt your superiors in DFCS would approve.”

Vivian Metcalf's eyebrows shot up. “Is that so? Perhaps I failed to introduce myself properly. I'm deputy director of the DFCS. And as for approval, Mrs. Langston has been approved as a foster parent for some time. She's highly qualified.”

Judging from the expression on the older woman's face, he'd just opened a can of worms. Worms with sharp teeth. “I apologize. I'm sure someone in your position doesn't normally handle individual cases. If you don't mind my asking, why are you here?”

“According to the information I received, the infant's last known residence was in Atlanta.”

“Right.”

“Well, Chief, I have four-wheel-drive. An overpriced feature on an overpriced vehicle if you ask me.” She waved her hand as though she were chatting with a friend instead of taking him to task. “I don't generally ask my employees to take risks that I'm not willing to take myself. And as you know, it's quite a little drive from Atlanta, and the roads are just terrible.”

The last word was dramatically drawled, understating the gravity of the situation. He got the point like a poke from a sharp needle.

She carried her briefcase to the dining room table and unsnapped it. “So unless you have something to substantiate your suspicions, I intend to honor Ms. Langston's endorsement as a foster parent.”

“Is that a risk you're willing to take?” Luke tensed, aware that he was about to inflict more pain on Dana. “I understand Ms. Langston suffered an emotional breakdown.”

Dana gasped, a strangled sound that twisted Luke's gut. But to his surprise, Vivian Metcalf's expression softened.
“I don't envy your job, Chief Sutherlin, and your point is well taken. I intend to oversee every aspect of this case, including Ms. Langston's well-being.”

“Still, I don't think—”

“Chief Sutherlin, is Miss Langston under arrest?”

“No,” he answered. “Not at this time.”

“Have you finished questioning her?”

“For now,” he conceded, trying not to admire the woman's spunk. Until the body of the deceased could be removed and examined and the car inspected, there were few questions remaining for Dana.

Few official questions.

“Good.” She handed him her business card. “Miss Langston is a public figure and I'm certain you'll have no trouble locating her for questioning at a later date. Until the baby's case can be reviewed and an advocate assigned, she and the baby will be staying at my home at this address.”

Luke accepted the card, tapping it against his thumb, his gaze settling on the baby. No doubt Vivian Metcalf had the resources and intelligence to protect Daniel, even from Dana if need be.

Vivian turned her back on Luke and leaned close to Dana, speaking so softly that Luke couldn't hear. She discreetly pulled another business card from her briefcase, but this time passed it to Dana.

Dana stepped forward and handed Luke the second business card. “Here's the number for my lawyer if you need to reach me.” Her voice was as devoid of life as her eyes. “I assume you intend to keep my car until this is over with?”

He nodded.

Where had the woman he'd made love to gone? The woman standing before him was a shell—functioning but empty. Luke felt a stab of fear for her well-being. Dark circles had materialized beneath her eyes, and her complex
ion was pale. She'd been through a difficult ordeal emotionally and physically, perhaps even needed medical attention.

And he had no right to hold her in Sweetwater against her will.

Dana turned to Vivian. “Will you give us a ride back to Atlanta?” Her voice was as small as a child's. “I don't have a car.”

If looks could kill, the one Vivian shot Luke would have ended his life on the spot. “Of course, honey,” she answered. “Chief Sutherlin, if that's all…”

Luke looked at Daniel, and a curious ache settled in his chest, an ache he suspected would be permanent. He would likely never see the baby again. He fought the urge to ask to hold him one last time.

“Take good care of him,” he warned, his voice betraying his emotion. “Or you'll have to answer to me.”

Luke saw the first glimmer of respect flash in Vivian Metcalf's eyes. She smiled. “I won't let him out of my sight, Chief.”

Luke caught the unspoken meaning in Vivian Metcalf's words. She was in charge. Dana was as much in her care as Daniel. He nodded in understanding and agreement.

Dana was oblivious to the undeclared pact, focusing instead on Daniel as she hugged him against her shoulder and kissed his cheek. She looked up and mouthed “Thank you” in Vivian's direction, tears choking down the words she would have spoken aloud.

The ache in Luke's chest doubled when Dana met his gaze and then looked away.

This time there was nothing left in her eyes but regret.

L
uke drifted through the empty rooms of his home like a ghost, finally coming to a stop at his bathroom door. He needed to shower and shave, but the humid aroma of shampoo and warm skin still lingered in the bathroom.

Dana.

He slapped the door frame with the palm of his hand and turned away. His gaze settled on the unmade bed.

Dana again. And Daniel.

A pang of longing settled in his gut, not sexual longing but a need that seemed to pierce him through to his soul. It was as if something dormant within him was struggling for life, some part that was once dead and had now reawakened. And if the feeling in his gut was any indication, it was wounded and angry at having been denied. It turned and dug inside him until he thought he'd cry out with pain.

He was losing his mind.

But which part of him was crazy? The part that insisted Dana was a suspect or the part that screamed she was in
nocent? Luke tried to separate what he wanted from what was real, but the two seemed hopelessly tangled. When images of Dana and Daniel flashed in his mind, he realized that he'd played this head game before. Somewhere between cruel longing and denial, ice and thaw, he'd pictured the three of them as one.

My God, he wanted them in his life. Permanently.

Luke took a deep breath, summoning the fantasy, allowing the pain. The knife in his gut twisted again, and Luke recognized it for what it was. Grief. He was grieving for someone he'd loved and lost.

Two people he'd loved and lost.

He staggered to the bed and sank down onto the mattress. Not only had he lost them, he'd lost what could have been. Luke Sutherlin had fallen in love under the least likely of circumstances with the least likely woman. And, true to his screwed-up heritage—or maybe because of it—he'd managed to sabotage what they had by chasing her away with suspicion and his damned code of honor.

Dana isn't guilty of anything but caring.

The thought whispered through his head, growing louder with each passing second. Luke cradled his head in his hands as stubborn refusal gave way to instinct, then realization. The clarity that hit him was almost supernatural, as real yet miraculous as a sunrise. A dawning.

Dana had not killed Michelle Alexander. She simply wasn't capable of it. But someone had. The question was who?

One thing was for certain: he would find out, and he would clear Dana's name in the process. That was his job. Not just as a lawman but as a man.

The phone on the bedside table rang, its signal grating through the silence of the room. Luke whirled on it as if it
was an intruder, jerking the receiver from the cradle. “Sutherlin,” he barked.

“Lucas…” Camille's deceptively sweet voice oozed over the phone line. “Son, are you okay?”

Son…
Luke tensed. He wasn't her son and never would be. Nor was he okay. And he definitely was in no frame of mind for Camille. He wanted off the phone, needed time to think through far more important things.

“I'm fine, Camille,” he lied. “What do you need?”

“I don't
need
anything, Lucas, other than to know that you're okay.” She paused. “You simply fell off the face of the earth, and those rude officers of yours would hardly tell me a thing.”

Score one for his men.

“I'm fine, really. Just taking care of business.”

“Well, it's hardly been business as usual. The storm was just terrible.” Another pause for effect. “I understand you've been caring for an accident victim all this time.”

Pete Guthrie. His hands twitched to strangle the big-mouthed rookie. But there was one consolation. If Guthrie had given Camille too many details, she wouldn't be pumping Luke for information now. As long as he'd known her, his stepmother had never done anything that wasn't self-serving, including making a simple phone call to her stepson.

“Yes, that's right.”

“Who is she?” Camille asked, her voice a model of innocence.

He gripped the receiver until his hand ached, battling the urge to slam the phone down. Dealing with Camille was part of the job, he reminded himself. Damage control. As it was, she would spread what little she knew until it hardly resembled the truth. And when the town learned that there had been a murder in Sweetwater, he'd have to wade
through gossip to get to any facts that might be useful to the case.

So how much had Guthrie told his stepmother? Dana deserved her privacy, at least to the degree that it was possible. If the locals found out that the suspect was news anchor Dana Langston, or even that she was involved in the accident, the gossip would be out of control.

Luke would start with the basics and gauge Camille's reaction. The trick would be to give his stepmother enough detail to shut her up but not enough to fuel an avalanche of gossip.

“A woman from Atlanta,” he answered. “She's fine. She's on her way back home.”

“I see.” She cleared her throat. “Well, your father and I are relieved that you're safe.”

Luke resisted the urge to throw the phone across the room. “Listen, I have to go.”

“Goodbye, then,” the curt response was followed by a sigh and then the click of disconnection.

Luke hung up the phone. Relieving himself of Camille was like knocking a spider off his shoulder. At least she hadn't pressed for more details. He stood and began pacing again and eventually drifted back to the kitchen. His car keys lay on the table, tempting him to follow Dana, to bring her back and beg forgiveness. Beg her to stay. But he couldn't. Not yet. He had to bring down what stood between them before he could make amends.

And there was something else. Luke rubbed his temples and tried to concentrate. Some memory swirled around in his head, something unrealized that he needed to summon. He instinctively knew that once grasped it would become the piece of the puzzle that he needed, the one that made the others fit. But the thought bobbed and dipped like a helium balloon drifting just out of reach.

When he opened his eyes, he found himself staring at the sheepskin rug and the miniature tape player that lay in its center. The lullaby tape. Paternal longing hit him like a fist. Daniel needed it. Luke knelt and grabbed the tape player with trembling hands, hitting the eject button.

Daniel wouldn't be able to sleep away from home without the music. Home? The thought stalled him. Maybe he really was losing his mind, but he didn't give a damn. Home for Daniel was with him. And Dana.

He was going after them.

He'd figure out the details after they were back. And until then the elusive memory could rot along with the rest of the bad memories in his head. The tape player failed to eject the cassette, and Luke tossed it aside, lacking the patience and the time to deal with it. Besides, it would be waiting for Daniel when he returned.

Luke scooped his jacket off a dining room chair and slid his arms in it. He grabbed his keys and turned to leave.

“You know what I'm calling for. Stop playing games.”

Luke froze. The unexpected voice sent chills down his spine. He turned slowly, recognizing that the tinny, mechanical tone wasn't a person, but a voice coming from the tape player. He felt his throat tighten as he walked back toward the tape player, his footfalls as soft as if he were stalking a criminal. Luke cocked his head, listening.

“You stole everything from me, and you'll pay. You got that? You'll pay one way or another.”

Luke knelt next to the cassette player and lifted it, his gaze darting over the row of buttons. He'd hit the reverse-play command instead of eject, and the cassette player was playing the second side of the audio tape.

And it wasn't lullabies.

Luke's blood ran cold. Anger infused each syllable of the woman's threat, and he could literally feel the waves of fury
vibrating into his hand. Yet the voice was familiar, one not normally altered by anger.

He gripped the cassette player until the plastic threatened to crack. He knew that voice…

“I saw you that night, saw you chain the exits and light the fire. You think you're all high-and-mighty but you're not. You came from dirt and you'll always be dirt. You and I both know it, and the rest of the world's gonna know it if you don't pay up.”

The floor beneath his knees seemed to tilt, and blood pounded through his brain. The recording was a blackmail threat, and the woman was referring to the factory fire. His father… Luke felt sick to his stomach with dread.

“Sweetheart…” Manic laughter followed the term of endearment. “I told you before, I don't know what you're talking about.”

Camille. The sickeningly sweet response on the tape was his stepmother's. Luke felt his world turn upside down, watched everything he knew—or thought he knew—fall and scatter without order.

“I'm talking about my mother and your, dear sweet Lawrence. I might have been a kid but I wasn't stupid. She left me in the car that night, thought I was asleep. But I wasn't. I saw you. Why don't you just admit it?”

Lawrence? Camille's first husband. Luke realized why the conversation had been taped. The woman was blackmailing his stepmother and was trying to get a taped confession.

“You don't know what you saw.” Camille spat the words like venom.

“He came to the back door of the factory when my mother knocked. He took her by the hand and they kissed. Don't you remember?”

The question was delivered with cruel sarcasm, and Luke heard his stepmother make a strangled noise of response.

“Then he led my mother inside. That's when you showed up. You chained the doors and threw the gas on the side of the building. You lit the match, Miss Camille. You held the match between those manicured little fingers of yours and set the building on fire. You killed my mother and your cheating husband. And you killed fifteen other innocent people, including my father.”

The woman's tirade was punctuated by deep breaths of fury, and Luke felt his own chest rising and falling rapidly as he tried to grasp what he was hearing.

“Give me an excuse to tell the world and I will,” the voice on the tape threatened. “You know I want to.”

“If you do, I'll have to kill you.” Camille clicked her tongue as if she were chiding a child. “You are such a little idiot.”

A child… The balloon dipped and Luke sensed it was within reach.

An unexpected click on the tape broke Luke's connection with the memory.

“Camille?” This time the voice on the tape was his father's. He sounded calm but concerned. “I'm sorry. I didn't know you were on the line. Is—is everything okay?”

“Everything's fine, darling,” Camille replied. “I'll only be a minute more.”

“Take your time. I'll just use the business line in my office.” There was a pause, then another audible click as his father hung up the extension.

His father was innocent. The realization literally dropped Luke to his knees. He didn't even know about the blackmail, didn't know what Camille had done.
Innocent.
The word tumbled over and over in Luke's head. His father had always denied the accusation that he'd chained the factory's exits, but Luke, his own son, hadn't believed him. Just as the people of Sweetwater hadn't…

“You might've run me off last time but not this time.” The woman hesitated. “This time I'll have a little backup plan with me.”

“You have nothing,” Camille drawled.

“Let's put it this way, you can either be part of my plan or I could become part of the family.
Your
family.”

Camille snorted. “Don't be ridiculous.”

“Oh, I'm serious. Luke and I were very close last time I saw him.
Very
close. And believe me, I can prove it.”

The sound of his name brought chills and mind-numbing confusion.

“Luke? You expect me to believe you're pregnant with Luke's child?” Camille laughed but the sound was mired in fear. “You little twit. Even if you were pregnant, he wouldn't marry you. The man is cold as ice.”

“He was anything but cold. I saw to that.” The woman laughed. “So are you willing to take that chance? I can think of lots of interesting things to talk about over Sunday dinner.”

There was a long pause before Camille spoke again. When she did, her voice had altered, turned back to the syrupy sweet socialite. “I'll make a deal with you. A onetime payment and you're out of my life forever. After that, I don't want to ever see you again.”

His mind reeled as he listened to the two women make plans to meet in Sweetwater, arranging to exchange money for silence. The woman seemed breathlessly victorious, and Camille sounded as calculating as a snake.

“Meet me at the old ranger's station,” Camille said. “You know the one. I'll be waiting for you.”

And indeed she had.

Luke felt sick at the thought, remembering the locked doors and dark interior. Camille hadn't planned on meeting her there or anywhere else. She'd planned on killing her,
sniper-style, by running her off the edge of the cliff. And she'd succeeded.

There was a final click as the connection was severed and the recording ended.

His mind turned to the landscape of the area, to the ranger's station. The new observation tower, he realized. The metal structure was isolated, so inaccessible that he hadn't considered that the sniper had used it. But a local would know how to access it. A local like Camille.

Yes, she'd been a pampered socialite. But she'd also been a child of the mountains when poverty still ruled, before the factories brought economic stability. Like a lot of children in the Appalachians, she'd probably learned to hunt and fish out of necessity. Luke felt sick as an image formed in his mind. The tower reached well above the tree line, giving her a perfect view of the road below. And a perfect shot.

Luke took an unsteady breath and allowed the next pieces of the puzzle to fall into place: the tape, the diaper bag, the car accident. The murder.