Trumped Up Charges (12 page)

“He’ll be easy to spot. His arms and even his neck are covered in tattoos and there’s an old, jagged scar that runs from his hairline down his right cheek from where our drunk father took a knife to him when he was ten years old.”

So Quinton had learned his ways from his father. That explained a lot. But then some of the guys Adam had served with in the military had similar stories from their youth and had turned out to be model marines.

In the end, it was all about the choices they’d made.

“You don’t want to get involved with Quinton, Adam. He’s guard-dog mean and he’s got friends who are just as mean or meaner. Quinton used to brag that one of them shot and killed two unarmed men in cold blood and got away with it.”

“I fought the Taliban for years, Matilda. I’m used to mean. Just give me the information.”

“Okay, but don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“I consider myself warned.”

Finally, there might be something he could do to help rescue his daughters.

* * *

S
AM
HAD
BEEN
so nervous after talking to Lane that he’d rammed his fist through the wall. That fact played and replayed in Adam’s mind all the way into Dallas. That was why the school where Sam was taking summer classes was his first stop.

Adam watched as students left the building in clusters and took the walkway to the parking lot. Finally he spotted him, walking with two other young men about the same age and height as he was.

He was dressed as Matilda had said, but Sam was not the clean-cut, innocent-looking kid Matilda presented him as. He was at least a couple of inches over six feet tall, muscled, and he needed a shave and a decent haircut.

He parted from the other two guys in the parking lot and climbed behind the wheel of a Buick that had seen better days several years ago, the same car Matilda had said he’d be driving.

Adam pulled in behind him and followed him out of the lot. It was possible that Sam might lead him back to the Bastion home. But Adam had a strong hunch that Sam might lead him straight to his uncle Quinton.

Sam took the I-20 freeway and exited east of downtown. Adam kept on his tail but a few cars back until Sam pulled into a parking spot in front of a pawnshop in one of Dallas’s seedier areas. Adam parked a few spaces down from him, staying behind the wheel of his truck until Sam entered a small, neighborhood café.

Adam took a cold beer from the cooler in the bed of his truck. It was important to fit in when hanging out on the streets of a neighborhood like this one.

He found a spot in the shadows of a decaying building across the street from the café. He could easily see who came and went and had a view of some of the booths through the large, dirty windows that lined the front of the café.

Sam took the last empty booth along the row of windows. Adam moved a few steps to the right so that he had a better view. He pulled the bill of his Dallas Cowboys cap low over his forehead and slouched against the building.

He watched as Sam spoke to a waitress. She returned a few minutes later with what appeared to be a Coke over ice. Sam pushed a straw into the drink and sipped, but his gaze stayed focused on the front door as if he were waiting for someone.

Hopefully, Quinton.

Sam finished that drink and ordered another without ever looking at the menu.

Twenty minutes later, he still hadn’t ordered and no one had joined him. But there was no way Sam had driven fifteen miles to order a Coke and drink it by himself.

When the waitress brought Sam the tab, Adam decided he’d waited for Quinton to show up as long as he dared. He crossed the street, walked into the café and straight to the booth where Sam was leaving money to cover his tab.

Sam paid no attention to him until Adam was standing directly over him, blocking his way out of the booth.

He looked up at Adam. “You got a problem, man?”

“No, I’m just here to talk.”

Sam tried to push past him. Strength was on Sam’s side, but Adam had the advantage since Sam was hemmed in between the booth and the bench.

Adam shoved him back into his seat. “You’re a long way from home, Sam. What brings you to the hood?”

“None of your business. You’re not a cop.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“I saw your picture in the paper. You’re Hadley O’Sullivan’s boyfriend.”

“You just won round one.”

“My mother told you to follow me, didn’t she?”

“Oops. Lost round two. I’m here on my own. Now answer the question. What are you doing in this hellhole neighborhood?”

“Spreading the wealth.”

“Try again.”

Sam spread his hands in front of him, palms up. “Okay, you got me. I’m here to buy some crack like most everyone else in this greasy dive. But don’t run tattle to Mom. She doesn’t really want to know, plus she’s got enough worries right now. So do you.”

“Here’s the problem, Sam. I don’t think you’re here to buy crack or anything else. I think you’re here to meet your uncle Quinton.”

“What if I am? Is there a law against that?”

“There’s a law against stealing little girls from their beds and trying to collect a ransom for them.”

“You’re not pinning that on me. Man, I’m clean. I’m not crazy enough to get involved in a kidnapping.”

“Here’s a shocker, Sam. I don’t believe you. So let’s make a deal, man-to-man. You tell me where to find Quinton or the missing girls and I won’t call Detective Lane and tell him where you are right now. I won’t even mention that I’ve got evidence to prove you’re working with Quinton.”

“You’ve got no proof of anything. I’m not working with my uncle. No way. I know what you’re trying to do, but you’re not getting me to confess to kidnapping.”

“Too bad.” Adam took out his phone. “I guess we’ll just have to let Detective Lane work this out.”

Sam put his hand on top of Adam’s as he started to punch in the phone number. “I’ll tell you how to find my uncle, but I swear I don’t know anything about that kidnapping.”

That remained to be seen.

* * *

Q
UINTON
STOOD
HIDDEN
behind a Chevy van, watching as Adam and Sam stepped out of the café and into the glaring sunlight.

He had no doubt that Adam had followed Sam here hoping that he’d lead him to Quinton. Fortunately Quinton was too smart for him. He’d expected and prepared for something exactly like this. He’d spotted Adam even before he’d finished his beer.

Quinton would catch up with Sam. He’d make damn sure that Adam didn’t, at least not in time to get in Quinton’s way. The man might be tough when he had his marine buddies to back him up, but he was on Quinton’s turf now.

All it would take was a phone call.

* * *

A
DAM
ROUNDED
THE
corner and started up the next block. The houses were old and run-down, paint peeling, shutters broken or missing, old cars and rusted toys and appliances scattered about the yards the way people in more expensive neighborhoods did with shrubbery and flower beds.

A drug deal was going down on the next corner with no regard of him, a passing truck or three boys who looked to be about eight or nine who were riding by on their bikes. A shotgun house in the middle of the block had its windows boarded up. Another had a half-rotted porch with a front door that hung askew.

According to Matilda, Quinton had rented an efficiency apartment in a house two blocks farther down Pickford Street before he’d faked his death. He’d spent even more time in Mitzi’s, a neighborhood bar that was so rough that even the cops avoided it—or so Quinton used to boast to Matilda.

According to Sam, Quinton still hung out at Mitzi’s and he figured Adam would find him there if he cased the joint for awhile. Adam would—if it came to that.

Adam motioned to the boys as they rode by on their bikes. Only one turned around and came back to see what he wanted. Adam pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his front jeans pocket.

“What I got to do for that?” the boy asked.

“Answer a couple of questions.”

“That’s all I have to do to get the twenty?”

“That’s it, as long as I’m convinced you’re telling the truth.”

“What you want to know?”

Adam described Quinton, especially the unique patterns of his massive tattoos. “Have you seen him?”

“Once. I think he’s new around here.”

“When was that?”

“Two days ago. We were riding by on our bikes and he was standing on the porch of the big gray house. We slowed down to get a better look at the tattoos. He flexed his muscles and it made the eagles look like they were flying.”

“What big gray house?”

“The one in the next block. On the other side of the street. Got bullet holes in the front window. A bunch of ’em. There was a drive-by a few weeks ago. Nobody got killed, though.”

Adam handed the boy a twenty and reached into his pocket for another one.

The boy looked at him suspiciously. “What else you want to know?”

“Have you ever seen the man with the flying eagle tattoos with twin girls? They have red hair. They’re young, not three years old yet.”

“Nope. I’ve never seen any kids at all around that gray house.”

That didn’t prove the girls weren’t there. Adam wouldn’t have expected Quinton to parade them around the neighborhood, not when news of the abduction had gone virile.

He handed the boy the second twenty and started walking.

The big, gray house came into view as soon as he reached the corner. He stopped to assess his chances of sneaking in.

He heard footsteps but before he could turn around, something crashed into him from behind, knocking him to the pavement. His head hit the concrete and the world went blurry for a second. By the time he could see straight, feet were coming at him from every direction.

He tried to stand but the kicks were too many and too vicious. There were three guys, all big and muscular and all three enjoying themselves.

He tried to fight back, but they kicked him in his stomach, his chest, his head and even his thighs. He doubled over in pain as blood dribbled from the side of his mouth.

Before his injuries, he might have been able to hold his own with two of the men. But three guys this size against one would have been formidable odds even when he’d been in top form.

“That’s enough,” one of the men ordered. “Quinton said not to kill him, just to make him wish he were dead.”

So Quinton was behind this. He should have known.

Finally, the kicks and the curses stopped altogether. He tried to get up but he writhed in pain and threw up on the sidewalk.

He closed his eyes and lay there, struggling for the strength to stand. The pain was excruciating, but nothing like what he’d endured in Afghanistan. Then he’d begged to die. Now he just wanted to get up and get moving again.

His daughters might be a few yards away, imprisoned by a madman.

“Did you find what you came for?”

Adam saw the shadow and looked up to see who was talking.

At least he no longer had to look for Quinton. Quinton had found him.

Chapter Twelve

“It’s a tough neighborhood,” Quinton said. “It’s not really safe to walk around here by yourself unless you’re in the members’ club.”

“Go to hell.” Adam spit out another mouthful of blood.

“First Detective Lane, now you. I seem to be growing more popular by the hour.”

“Where are Hadley’s daughters?”

“Beats me. From what I hear, their mother is the most credible suspect. But you come in a close second, Adam. Can’t say that I blame you if you are guilty. Who wants to put up with another man’s kids?”

Adam struggled to stand. Quinton offered a hand. He ignored it.

Quinton smiled. “Since you came all the way out here, you might as well come inside, shoot the breeze, check out the closets and look under the beds.”

“And have you sic your attack dogs on me again?”

Quinton pulled a pistol from his waistband. “I’ll tell you what, Adam. Just to show you what a trusting guy I am, you carry the weapon. It’s loaded. I’ll show you the clip to prove it.”

He did and then he handed the gun to Adam. “The door’s unlocked. Stay as long as you like. Help yourself to a shot of whiskey to help dull the pain. But you’d best check every nook and cranny in the house while you’re in there. Show up again and I’ll kill you as an intruder.”

Quinton turned and walked away from the house leaving Adam alone with a pistol and a body that was so bruised he could barely move.

He staggered to the house and onto the porch. He knew he wouldn’t find the girls. But just maybe he’d find some sign that they’d been there. There might even be another video planted inside with directions for handling the exchange.

That was his best hope for anything good coming out of this venture into Quinton Larson’s world.

Two hours later, he went back to the kitchen and poured a double shot of whiskey into a glass. He downed it in one gulp. If there was any hint that Lila and Lacy had ever been inside this house, he hadn’t found it.

Yet he was more certain than ever that Quinton was behind the kidnapping. But if Quinton had realized that his chances of getting away with this were going down the toilet, he might have panicked and gotten rid of all evidence against him.

It would take a monster to kill two innocent children. Quinton fit that description to a tee.

But he wouldn’t give up hope yet. Nor could he go on like this. He took out his phone and called Meghan Lambert. If she had any pull with the FBI, now was the time to use it.

They needed every advantage possible on their side.

* * *

S
HELTON
L
ANE
PULLED
the fax from the machine. This is what he’d been waiting for. Now he dreaded reading it. Not that he had a choice. He was a cop. Evidence had to rule.

He read it through twice, making sure he’d absorbed every detail. The facts were there. Adam Dalton was the biological father of the twins.

The girls’ DNA had been easy to come by. It had been on the glass of water Hadley had taken to the kitchen during the night. Adam’s had been more difficult to get. He’d had to go all the way to the hospital in Germany where Adam had gone through two years of recovery and rehab.

Too many lies usually equaled guilt.

Ironically, he’d been almost sure that Hadley was behind the disappearance from day one. Doors locked. Windows locked. Alarm not set. Ransom letter sent before the abduction. Boyfriend who shows up from out of the blue. A rich mother.

He hadn’t seen Hadley as a child killer, but he had more trouble ruling out that she’d planned the kidnapping to get some of her mother’s money.

And then he’d met Quinton Larson. The more the scumbag had talked, the more convinced the detective was of his guilt. But it turned out his alibi was almost airtight for the time of the abduction. He’d been caught on the security camera going in his girlfriend’s apartment early evening and out the next morning at 9:22.

Lane looked up at a tapping on his door.

“Got a minute?” the police chief asked. “It’s important.”

“Then I’ve got a minute. And a fax.” He handed it to the chief.

The chief read it and tossed it back to Lane’s desk. “That goes right along with what I came in to discuss.”

“I thought it might.”

“The mayor got a call from the FBI. They’re requesting that they be invited in on the case.”

“And I take it he’s not too keen on that,” Lane said.

“No, and neither am I, not when we have as much credible evidence against Hadley O’Sullivan as we do. If they walk right in and make an arrest, we’ll look like buffoons.”

“I’m not completely sure Hadley is guilty,” Lane said. “I can’t rule out that Quinton either abducted the girls or masterminded the whole thing.”

“Do you have evidence to back that up?”

“Not a shred. Just a hunch that there are still some loose ends that can’t be tied up yet.”

“I understand, but the pressure is on me and the department. Give it until morning. If Hadley hasn’t heard from the kidnapper by then, get an arrest warrant and book her. In the meantime, I’ll give you all the manpower you need to do everything possible to find those girls. Dead or alive, we need answers. For everyone’s sake.”

Lane couldn’t argue with that.

* * *

S
OMEHOW
ADAM
MADE
it back to the ranch and spent the rest of the afternoon playing roulette ice packs. Hadley had practically gone into shock when he’d stepped through the door covered in bruises and still not standing completely straight.

She wanted to call for an ambulance, but he’d vetoed that. All he wanted was a clear path to the sofa.

After he’d downed a couple of pain pills, he explained to Hadley, R.J. and Fred how his outing had gone from bad to worse. Since then, they’d all pretty much left him to suffer in peace except for Hadley’s checking on a regular basis to make sure he didn’t need anything.

R.J. had presented him with steak cut from Dry Gulch beef for his left eye which was swollen almost closed earlier in the afternoon. He’d grilled four more steaks for their dinner. Hadley had baked potatoes and made a salad.

Surprisingly, Adam had eaten his fair share. His muscles were on fire, but he’d hurt worse. Much worse. Compared to the night of the ambush, today’s beating seemed like a pillow fight.

He was pretty sure there were no internal injuries and no concussion. All in all, he wasn’t in too bad a shape for a man who’d been treated like a soccer ball by men who could have played for any team in the North American League.

He’d retired to the family room after dinner, this time settling in the recliner. Fred joined him.

“Do you think we’re just wasting your time here?” Adam asked.

“Absolutely not. The kidnapper’s not going to turn his back on five million dollars. But since we haven’t heard from him yet, he may need some encouragement in taking this to the next step.”

“What kind of encouragement?”

“The knowledge that the police are closing in and about to make an arrest.”

“Have you heard something I haven’t?”

“No. But that doesn’t mean that the information can’t be leaked to the local media.”

“I don’t think they’d print something from an unnamed and unproven source.”

“They’d print it if the information came from the lead detective in the case.”

“And exactly how would we get Lane to agree to that?”

“You can always call and ask. It’s worked for me before. Just tell him what we’re trying to do. After all, it’s the lives of two little girls that are on the line.”

“Let’s run it by Hadley first.”

“Run what by me?” she said from the doorway.

Adam and Fred explained the proposal.

“Call him now,” Hadley said. “If he agrees and he acts on it quickly, it might make the ten o’clock news.”

Adam made the call. To all of their surprise, the detective agreed without an argument.

R.J. joined them in the family room and they talked for a while, mainly about Quinton. They were all in consensus that he was guilty as sin, but no one had a clue why he was dragging it out so long.

Hadley finally called it a night though Adam doubted she’d get much sleep. He followed soon after.

Once in his bedroom, he stripped and got under the hottest shower he could stand. He let the water sluice over his bruised, aching body.

His mind slipped back into the past, to three and a half years ago when life as he’d known it came to a painful end. He couldn’t stand in a shower that night or for many nights to follow. He hadn’t been able to even move his legs.

The doctors had said he might never walk again.

And he didn’t need to relive that tonight. He stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and went back to the bedroom. He was bending over to get an undershirt from the chest when his bedroom door squeaked open.

He spun around, but one look at Hadley’s face told him it hadn’t been quick enough. She’d seen the scars and the burned, clotted welts of skin that deformed him.

The look of horror would give way to one of pity. And then she’d know, but she would never understand. The deeper scars were more than skin-deep.

“Oh, Adam. Your back. What happened?”

“I was in a fight.”

“No, not the bruises from today. The scars. The burns.”

He yanked the shirt over his head. “Yeah, hideous, aren’t they?”

“They’re ghastly. The injuries must have been near fatal.”

“They weren’t that bad.” Unless you considered misery laced with agony a bad experience.

“What happened?” she asked again.

“I took a little heat in Afghanistan, the same way a lot of guys have. That’s war.” His attempt at nonchalance sounded forced even to him.

“When?”

“Does it matter? The worst is over now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“And saddle you with a husband who might have been an invalid forever? You were young. You had everything going for you. You wanted a big family.”

She closed her eyes. Tears slid from the corners and rolled down her cheeks. His heart felt as if it were breaking all over again.

Hadley stepped into the room and closed and locked the door behind her. “There was never another woman, was there?”