Reunited in Danger (12 page)

He took her hands in his, leaned to her, forehead to forehead. She held her breath
for a second, afraid and yet yearning for comfort. Pain whipped through her body,
a physical reaction to the heartache and the memory of losing both Logan and their
baby, too. She would not cry. Not now. Not in front of him

“How could…I mean, we used a condom,” Logan said.

She nodded. “Things happen.”

He backed away. Was the pain on his face because they’d lost their baby? Or was he
finding it hard to believe he’d almost been a father?

“I’m going to do what I should have done a long time ago.” He stared at their clasped
hands. “I’m going to get a vasectomy.”

What
? Had she heard him correctly? She’d carried his baby. Her mind flashed to the weeks
after the loss. She’d mourned their baby.
Logan’s
baby. Somewhere deep in the recesses of her heart, she still held on to the hope—no
matter how slight—that one day they could make another baby. “You want a vasectomy?”
she asked, stunned. “You’re only twenty-nine.” She shifted away from him, needing
more space, more air.

He didn’t meet her gaze. “I hate that you went through that alone, Keely. I can’t
take the chance it’ll happen again. I have anger issues. The kind that will forever
keep me from becoming a parent. I wouldn’t want history to repeat itself.”

His hand scraped over his chin. Stubble covered his jaw. He’d likely run out the door
so fast to meet her this morning that he hadn’t had time to shave.

Why was he so hung up on anger issues? Couldn’t he see he was nothing like his father?
Yes, he used his fists and his strength, but he used them to take down bad guys, not
innocent children. “Logan, that doesn’t make sense at your age. You might change your
mind. Anything could happen.”

“It’s always been my plan. Kids need a father to protect them, to look after them.
That wasn’t how my father was, and that’s not how I would be. Knowing this anger lives
inside me—that knowledge can keep me from making the mistakes my father made.”

She leaned closer and took both his hands. Strong hands. Hands that had caressed her
in the most loving way last night. “Logan, don’t sell yourself short. You are so different
from your father. You would make a great—”

He squeezed her hands once and, then pulled away. “If you knew me, really knew me,
you’d know that wasn’t true.”

“You know, vasectomies aren’t always reversible. You could change your mind, and then
be out of luck.”

He smiled, but his smile was forced. “Not an issue.” He leaned forward, took her hands
back in his. “Last night was great, Keels. And you’re…you’re incredibly special to
me. I’m so sorry I wasn’t there with you, to mourn with you, when you lost our baby.”
His voice hitched on the last words. The smile dropped from his lips and his faced
grew serious. He looked off into the distance, his eyes glistening. “You know my father
lost his temper with me and my mom. He beat her worse. She used to tell me to pretend
to be unconscious when he beat me to save myself from being beaten further.”

“Yes,” Keely whispered. She’d seen the bruises, heard her mom and dad talk about his
father’s incarceration. Had read the details in his file. He’d even told her some
things himself when they were young.

“I’m like that, too.” He pulled his hands from hers and stared down at them.

“Logan you’re not like him at all!” His dad was mean, a control freak. Didn’t he realize
he could never be like his father?

“Oh, yeah?” He leaned forward, his face inches from hers. “Then why did I almost kill
a defenseless ten-year-old boy?”

She shook her head, reeling from his declaration. “Logan, if you hurt a kid, I’m sure
there’s an explanation.”

“An American soldier was on a stretcher, dying. One of several dozen hurt in a roadside
bombing, miles outside Kandahar.” His eyes turned distant and clouded, and he frowned,
speaking as if still remembering the day in detail.

She wanted to reach out to comfort him, but sat still, wanting him to continue.

“This kid crept along the injured soldiers, stealing anything he could. Moving their
bodies. Some of them had spine injuries.” Logan’s jaw tightened. “I yelled at him,
but he wouldn’t stop. I went after him. Grabbed him. Threw him to the ground. His
head hit a rock.”

“Oh, Logan.”

The blank look in his eyes disappeared and he glanced at Keely. “I almost killed him.”

She let out the breath she’d been holding. “Did you intend for his head to hit the
rock?”

Logan slashed a hand. “Doesn’t matter. I reacted the same way my father used to react
when we did something wrong. With violence.”

She pressed her lips together. She wasn’t a psychologist. She didn’t know the right
thing to say.

He stared through the windshield.

“You didn’t abuse the kid, Logan. You tried to stop him with words first. He could
have made those men’s injuries worse. You only did what anyone else would have done.”
She laid her hands on his arms, feeling his biceps flex in response.

She bit the inside of her mouth, afraid to ask the question, but knowing she had to.
“What happened?” she asked quietly, gazing up at him.

“Knocked him out. He had a bad concussion. The medics took care of him.”

“Any discipline from your superior?”

He shook his head.

“If your troop leader can let it go, why can’t you?” she asked.

He straightened his shoulders. “I’d better let you get to work now.”

Fine. Discussion over
.
I can take a hint.
“Yeah, okay.” She dropped her hands from his arms.

She’d let him drop the conversation for now, but she’d work on him. He had to see
that catching a kid who was robbing and possibly injuring already wounded soldiers
wasn’t the same as taking a strap to a kid who’d left out the milk carton.

Time for a change of subject. She couldn’t convince Logan he wasn’t like his father.
Only he could do that. But she could steer his attention in another direction. Take
some of the pressure off them.

She tilted her head. “I’d like to talk with members of the Loving Arms Board of Directors,
see if any of them know who else received the custom briefcases. Starting with Dave.
He’s at my dad’s today. I can swing by later after I check on Margaret Beyer at the
hospital.”

Logan frowned. “No, I don’t want you anywhere near this case. I’ll keep digging, find
out who’s behind the attack, as well as Margaret Beyer’s.”

She let him give his little lecture, then smiled up at him. “We could be a team.”

He rolled his eyes and huffed out a loud breath. “Let the police do their work, Keely.
Your job is to stay safe.”

She wouldn’t agree to stay away from the case. And now that she’d had a taste of Logan
again, she wasn’t sure if she could stay away from him, either.

Nobody came even close to making her feel the way he did. And she had a sinking feeling
nobody ever would.

Was she the only one who felt it?

For now, she’d settle for being with him. Strangely enough, her dad’s case seemed
to be neutral ground for them. He let his guard down, forgot to keep his distance
when they talked about her father and his attacker.

Logan glanced at the dashboard clock. “You have to be in your office for that appointment
soon, don’t you?”

Okay. End of conversation. For now. What they’d shared last night—what they’d shared
ten years ago—was worth fighting for.

What would it take to make him realize he wasn’t the angry man he thought he was?

…

Logan quelled the panic in his whole body. He had almost been a father.
Hell
.

He massaged his temples and stared at Ben’s front door before knocking. And Keely
had gone through a miscarriage and mourned their baby all alone. Nobody should have
to experience that kind of loss by themselves. He’d let her down in so many ways.

A baby.
Their
baby.

The only way to deal with this news was to stay distracted. He’d focus on helping
Dunnigan with Ben’s case and tying up his last official investigation involving human
trafficking. Easier than thinking about Keely and the baby they’d lost.

Before he could knock on the front door, Beatrice opened it.

“How’s everything going?” He stepped inside.

“Very quiet. Ben and Dave are in the dining room.”

As Logan entered the dining room, Dave walked out of the kitchen, a pot of coffee
in his hand. “Detective.”

Ben glanced up from a pile of papers strewn all over the table. “Have a seat.” He
gestured to a chair.

“I’ll get you a cup of coffee,” Dave said, lifting the pot.

“No, thanks,” he said, sitting across from Ben.

“You sure? Wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

“I’m sure.”
Christ
. The man had better back off.

“I spoke with the hospital,” Ben said to Logan. “Margaret’s still in a coma and not
allowed visitors.”

He studied the man from across from him. Ben’s bruises were still dark purple, his
eyes still swollen, but Logan wasn’t sure if it was from crying or the injuries. How
difficult it must be to fall in love so late in age, and then to see that love stolen
away in a heartbeat.

Glancing around Keely’s childhood house, he couldn’t help but notice how everything
looked the same. Photos of her with her parents, trophies she’d won through her athletics,
and craft figures she’d made in art. The items reminded him of the love he and Keely
had once shared and the baby they’d made. But mostly, the house made him realize it
was Keely as she was
now
he was drawn to.

He let his gaze travel to the different photos. Ben and Lillian laughing with their
heads tilted together. Keely at different ages. A smiling Dave holding a basketball
in one hand and a trophy in another and surrounded by a group of sweaty and happy
young men. Charlie with two proud young parents holding a swaddled infant. And lastly,
Ben and Margaret, smiling, their arms around each other’s waists.

Logan turned to Dave. The man might be a friend of Ben’s, but he did own one of the
matching briefcases. Long shot, yeah, but hell, there wasn’t much else to go on. “Do
you mind if I ask where you were on Thursday afternoon at three p.m.?”

Dave swept a hand across his face, then heaved a sigh. “I was coaching a boy’s football
game, over at Northern.”

“Logan, how could you even—” Ben started.

Dave held up a palm. “He has to, Ben. He has to investigate everyone. Especially those
close to you.”

Ben shook his head. “Don’t you think if it was someone I knew, I would have recognized
them? It had to be those two kids, the ones who are dead now. Druggies looking for
money to get their fix. And when Margaret spotted them, caught them in that video
on her phone, they retaliated.”

Logan shifted in his chair. He agreed, but he couldn’t discuss the specifics of the
case. Not while it was still under investigation. “Is that the first time you’ve helped
a girl from Los Angeles at Loving Arms?” He pulled out his notepad.

“I don’t know. Charlie would know for sure.”

“That’s another thing. Charlie has a briefcase similar to yours,” Logan said.

“Yes, of course.” Ben rubbed leaned forward, elbows on the table. “The McNulty’s had
monogrammed briefcases made for several church members and Loving Arms board members.”

“The McNulty’s?” Logan asked, scribbling in his notepad. So far, everything Charlie
had told him was jibing with what he was learning from Ben.

“One of the families we helped with Loving Arms. They moved away a few months ago,
though. Job transfer to Alaska,” Dave said.

“You have one of these briefcases, too, Dave?” Logan asked.

“It’s right here.” Dave pulled his briefcase onto the table and opened it without
being asked. “A little disorganized, but feel free to look.”

Logan leaned forward, glancing through the loose-leaf papers and few pamphlets on
Loving Arms. The initials DP were engraved, along with the Loving Arms logo, matching
Ben’s and Charlie’s briefcases. Either Dave had nothing to hide, or he’d already hidden
it.

After thanking the two men for their time, Logan headed outside, the sense that something
was tugging in the back of his mind but he couldn’t quite pull it out. Outside by
the car, he stared up at Ben’s brick row house.

Dave hadn’t even paused to think before answering. As if he’d been waiting for someone
to ask the question about where he’d been on the afternoon of the attack. Sometimes
someone with an obvious alibi was more suspicious than someone without. Easy enough
to check with the high school about Dave’s whereabouts during Ben’s attack, but it
sounded like a solid alibi.

Logan wiped a hand over his face. Or maybe what had been irritating Keely all along
about him really was the problem—he wasn’t seeing people, he was seeing only suspects.

Chapter Eleven

Logan pulled up beside a well-groomed hedge in the neat and clean alleyway behind
the Bittinger brownstone and rolled down his window. Jacko had called but wasn’t ready
to meet yet, which meant Logan had time to observe the Bittingers. His conversation
with Dave hadn’t garnered as many answers as he’d expected. Instead, it made him suspicious
of all the church members and people around Ben. A light breeze rustled the yellow
and orange leaves of the surrounding bushes. He couldn’t officially interview the
Bittingers because he wasn’t on the case. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t take a
break in a spot where he could keep an eye on them.

His head still pounded with the information Keely had shared with him about her miscarriage.
Being at her father’s house—the house where he’d fallen in love with her as a teenager,
had him unable to push their conversation out of his head. He gritted his teeth, angry
with himself that he’d left her alone to deal with it all. He’d let her down. Had
failed her, even when he’d tried to do right by her.

And last night…his thoughts drifted to the way it had felt to hold her.

Unbelievably good…

He could get used to having Keely around. Her smile warmed his blood. She wasn’t supermodel
gorgeous. Instead, she had an approachable, girl-next-door type of beauty. Her wispy
light brown hair often fell across her face, making him want to reach out and stroke
her hair…touch her face.

Shit.
Where was his self control? Hadn’t he stayed away for years to ensure her happiness?
He couldn’t afford a repeat of last night. The thought of her strengthened his resolve
to leave. She was better off without him, and if he stayed close, he’d never be able
to resist her.

He tapped his smartphone and entered Amy Bittinger’s name into Maryland Case Search,
a public record of arrests and criminal history. Nothing. He input Craig Bittinger’s
name next.

Bingo.
A couple of speeding tickets and a DUI
.
No Citizen of the Year award for Mr. Bittinger. He scrolled down even further. Ten
years ago, Craig Bittinger had paid a large fine and agreed to community service for
making fake IDs. Today a charge like that—identity theft—would carry heftier charges
and jail time. Making fake IDs for college buddies wasn’t the smartest decision, but
Logan knew full well how easy it was to make bad choices during one’s youth. The search
showed that for the past ten years, Craig had been the father and local business owner
he depicted to the community.

The sound of a motor pulled him from his research. A late-model Mercedes screeched
out of a parking pad behind Bittinger’s house and raced down the road. But not before
Logan recognized Craig Bittinger as the driver.
What was the big hurry?
He pulled out to follow the car. Anything to get his thoughts off Keely.

He stayed a few car lengths behind the Mercedes as it changed lanes and exceeded the
speed limit. Once Bittinger made the turn onto a one-way street, Logan figured the
man was heading to his restaurant. Hmm. Just an ordinary guy on his way to an ordinary
work day? In this much of a hurry?

Bittinger pulled up to the back door of a diner and honked his horn.

Three petite girls with black hair pulled back in ponytails filed out of the back
kitchen door. Craig got out to hold open the door to the backseat, and the girls climbed
in.

Who were these young girls, and why were they getting into Craig’s car? Logan sped
to park behind Craig, blocking his exit, then got out of the car.

Craig shut the car door on the girls, shot a look at him, and hustled to the driver’s
side.

“Craig Bittinger, right?” Logan jogged up next to the man. “We met the other day.
I’m Detective North. I’m helping out Ben Allen.”

Craig’s expression turned friendlier, his frown disappeared, and his gaze darted around
the lot. “How’s Ben? I’ve been meaning to stop by.”

“Getting better. And who are these lovely young ladies?” Logan asked, peering into
the car. All three girls looked foreign. Asian.

Craig opened his mouth, then pressed his lips together.

“Do they happen to have ID?” Logan asked. What the hell. He was in too deep to back
out now. He didn’t have a legal reason to force them to show identification, but to
his surprise, Craig leaned his head inside the car.

“Show this man your ID, girls.”

After some rustling, they passed their Maryland state IDs to Craig.

Logan glanced at the first card. “Claire Li?”

The girl leaned forward. “I am Claire Li,” she said, her words precise.

Logan frowned and tried to place her Asian accent. What she’d said sounded practiced,
forced. Her ID claimed she was eighteen, but she looked younger.

“Chris Cho?”

The next girl leaned forward, glanced at Craig, then nodded. “I am Chris Cho.”

Huh
. Different name, same forced tone.

“And you must be Kim Pak.” He looked to the third girl.

The girl nodded. “I am Kim Pak.”

Too rehearsed. Too scared. Logan glanced at the photos and then at each girl. The
pictures matched the ID. Each girl had a different address.

Logan handed the IDs back to each girl. “Thank you.” He turned to Craig. “Do these
ladies work for you?”

“Yes. In the kitchen. I give them a ride home when the bus isn’t running.” He rattled
his keys in his hand.

Was Craig one of those restaurant owners who hired undocumented workers but treated
them well? The women looked healthy, but scared. Of course, if they weren’t in the
country legally, they had a lot to fear from any stranger. Logan had a contact at
ICE he could ask to keep an eye on Bittinger’s diner, just in case.

“Have a nice day,” Logan said. Cop speak for
I’m keeping an eye on you
.

Craig’s frown shifted to a quick smile. “Okay. Then I guess I’ll be going.”

Logan shook Craig’s hand, wiping off the man’s sweat after releasing his grip. He
moved his SUV so Craig had enough room to drive past. He waited a full minute, then
turned out of the lot in the same direction as Craig, and kept a safe distance behind
him. Technically, the man wasn’t doing anything illegal, but he followed him anyway.

He’d been so distracted, he suddenly realized Craig had circled the block twice.

“Shit.”

Craig had figured out he was being followed.

Logan’s cell phone chirped, revealing his informant’s number on the screen. The hard
part wouldn’t be meeting the informant. Dealing with a snitch was easier than following
through on the snitch’s information. Which, if true to form, would likely involve
dead bodies.

…

“Holy crap, not again,” Keely said, glancing at the file on her office desk.

“Afraid so,” Nevaeh said, tapping the top page. “Three kids allegedly living in a
condemned house with known drug dealers. Anderson is the last name. Girl is ten, two
boys ages four and two.”

Citizens sometimes hated social workers—saw them as people who “took” their children.
And now they’d be heading out again to “take” some children away from the only place
they knew as home. This sort of attitude—coupled with the frustrating interactions
with negligent parents—confirmed her hopelessness. Would there ever be an end to it?
Could one person make a difference in a system like this?

“I’ll drive. My car’s bigger,” Nevaeh said. “Seth and Dennis will meet us there, and
they’ll be in uniform.”

Five minutes later, along with the officers, they sat outside a boarded-up brick row
house with long brown grass in the front yard. The plywood that covered the door had
been removed and tossed to the side, but the windows remained covered with graffiti-tagged
rotting plywood. Someone had painted “Keep Out” in red paint. Keely wished she could.

“No electricity or running water, I’m betting.” Dennis tapped his flashlight in the
palm of his hand.

“How many people do you think are living here?” Keely asked.

“One way to find out.”

Seth rapped on the door. “Baltimore Police. Child Protective Services. Open up.” The
unlatched door opened.

Some stirring noises inside, but nobody answered.

“
Police,” Seth said, sweeping the entry with his weapon.

The two uniforms turned on their flashlights and stepped inside. Keely and Nevaeh
followed behind with flashlights, too.

The stench of rotting trash, urine, and unwashed bodies hit Keely’s nostrils. She
swallowed the bile, kicking a wider path in the debris-covered floor. In spite of
the sun, the interior rooms were as dark as night.

The officers’ lights beamed to the corner of the small living room. A woman with greasy
blond hair covered her eyes with her skinny arm.

“Hands up,” Dennis shouted.

The woman attempted to raise her arms, but didn’t look like she had the energy to
move them very high.

“Mrs. Anderson?” Keely stepped forward and her boot crunched something.
Uh-uh. Not going to even look
. A needle, cockroach…or worse.

The pale woman cringed, tucked her legs closer to her body, and dropped her arm in
front of her face. She shook her head and moaned.

“Do you know where Mrs. Anderson is?”

Someone moved in the next room.

“Police! Freeze!” Seth shouted, aiming his flashlight at the figure.

A thin black man sat on an old sofa with the stuffing poking out of it. He blinked
against the harsh light, but his sunken cheekbones made him look weak, not a threat.
A quick scan with the flashlight revealed a dilapidated set of stairs that had caved
in long ago.

“Anderson? Anyone named Anderson?” Keely asked, moving closer.

The man pointed to another sofa. Seth shined his light on it. A wide-eyed, skinny
redheaded woman stared back at them, and a thin, balding man was passed out on the
opposite side, head lolling against the back of the sofa. Between them sat a pile
of clothes and trash.

“We’re looking for the Anderson children,” Keely said, stepping closer.

Both cops kept their weapons ready, and swept their lights around the room.

“Mrs. Anderson? Do you speak English?” Keely’s information noted that the family was
from New Orleans, but not whether or not they spoke English. “Can you tell me where
Bubba, Calvin, and Lettie are?”

“Lettie?” The woman sat up with wide eyes, then buried her hands in her face. “Sorry…so
sorry,” she sobbed.

“Ma’am, where are the children?”

A muffled cry came from the corner of the room, and one cop shined his light toward
the sound. The woman cried in her hands.

“Freeze!” the male cop said, aiming his gun.

A dog crate. Keely’s stomach lurched and she tasted bile in her throat. “Oh my God.
Are the kids in there?” she asked, stepping closer to the wire enclosure.

The woman looked up, her sunken eyes full of tears.

Nevaeh came forward, and she and Keely untwisted the clasp that locked the crate.
Two redheaded, scrawny boys, lethargic and smelling of urine and feces, huddled together
inside. Their ages were listed as two and four on the paperwork Keely held, but both
of them looked younger.
Malnourishment
. And judging from their lack of responsiveness, they could have been drugged.

One of the boys’ eyes were closed and he wasn’t moving.

“Check that one for a pulse,” Keely said, pointing to the boy while helping the other
one climb out of the enclosure.

With her lips pressed together, Nevaeh laid two fingers on the side of the younger
boy’s neck. After a moment, she breathed a sigh of relief. “Yeah, he’s got a pulse,
but it’s weak.”

“Call an ambulance, ” Keely said to Seth, then turned back to the incoherent woman.
“Ma’am, where’s your daughter? Can you understand me?” She moved closer to the woman
who reeked of body odor. “Where’s Lettie?”

“So sorry,” the woman said in English, thickened by a hint of a New Orleans accent.
She sobbed into her hands again.

Sorry for what
? Fear crawled up Keely’s spine.

“When did you see her last?” she demanded. She wanted to pick the young boys up, hold
them, rock them, but she dared not move them any more than they had to. Instead, she
laid her charge on the floor, kneeling next to him for a minute, wishing she had a
clean blanket to cover his little body with.

She moved closer to the man who was passed out, mouth open, on the other end of the
sofa. “Sir,” she said, shaking his bony shoulder. “Mr. Anderson? Do you know where
your daughter is?”

He moaned and shifted.

“What’s this?” Dennis asked, shining his light at the man. A hypodermic needle dangled
from his forearm, still stuck in the skin, the vein long since closed off. Dennis
moved the light, where it illuminated the man’s stomach where his shirt rode up. A
large clear bag, almost completely filled with a gray, powdery substance, was taped
to him. “Shit. That has to be over two thousand dollars worth of heroin.”

He shined the light on the man’s face, and Keely gasped.

She knew that man.

…

Keely sat in Detective Dunnigan’s office and passed the printed-out photo back across
his desk to him. “That’s definitely him.”

The man from the crack house sofa was the same man Margaret had captured in her video,
the man who’d been handing an envelope to Chayce, the kid who had ended up shooting
her.

“I’d have to agree with you,” Dunnigan said. “And the fact that he had two thousand
dollars worth of drugs on him would lead us to think that was a drug deal Mrs. Beyer
witnessed.”

Even in a coma, Margaret was solving crimes.

Finally, they had a clue. But what did it mean? How on earth was Margaret’s shooting
linked to Keely’s quest for the missing Anderson girl, Lettie?

“Where would a guy like that get money to buy that much heroin?” Keely asked, not
liking the direction her mind was taking her in.

Dunnigan shrugged. “He’s in a holding cell. Not an overdose, just a big high. If he
makes any sense at all when he comes down, we’ll question him.”