The Boy

by Linsey Lanier

  She frowned. “What are you saying? She married him for his money?”

  “And his status, perhaps. I certainly don’t condone what Perry did, but I fear it was a loveless union from the start.”

  That only made the loss of their son even sadder.

  She watched the uniform row of willow trees along the street slip by and willed her brain to work. A sobering thought struck her. “Maybe Simon Sloan is involved with Erica King.”

  Parker’s brow rose at her remark. “And the FBI scheme is a ruse to get her son back?”

  “Maybe. It would keep the senator and his wife from trying to stop her. Keep them from going to the authorities. For a little while at least.” Maybe long enough for them to get out of town.

  As Parker mulled that over, the idea started to make more sense.

  “First Sloan poses as an FBI agent and goes to see the senator to get him to drop his guard. Then he gets his friend June May to take the kid and tries to get him from her. Maybe she refuses, so he offs her. Maybe during a heated argument. Then he poses as a GBI agent up in Kennesaw.”

  “But why leave the body on the tracks? Why expose yourself?”

  She lifted a shoulder. “To show off? Psycho killers do that all the time.”

  “True.”

  She restated her original theory. “Sloan could be both June May’s killer and the kidnapper.”

  The sound of Parker’s breathing told her he was having trouble with that one. “From the look of the photo you found Sloan had a relationship with June May. Why would he kill her?”

  “Maybe the relationship wasn’t a good one. And maybe he’s involved with Erica King now.”

  Parker slowed for a stop sign and said nothing.

  Miranda’s stomach clenched at the thought of what that bastard might have done to the teacher before he put her on those railroad tracks. Was she letting herself get too emotional? Letting the horrors of her last case seep into this one? There were holes in her theory.

  Sloan wasn’t working alone, after all. The senator said he was with another man. Up in Kennesaw he’d had three men with him.

  She wished she’d snapped a photo of them when she’d had the chance. Still, she could give a general description of them. Bulky, mid-twenties to thirties. The tallest one was black. She’d have to get Holloway to jot down what he remembered.

  And if she was right, if the FBI thing was part of an elaborate scheme cooked up by Erica King and Sloan, how did these guys fit in? And how in the heck did Parker’s sister get involved?

  She didn’t even want to think the next question, but it had to be voiced. “Evelyn said she checked out the man who contacted her. Do you think someone fed her false information?”

  Parker’s jaw tightened. “As much as I respect my sister’s intelligence, the thought did cross my mind.”

  Not a very comforting reply.

  She watched his face. He was putting on a good front, but he was definitely worried about Evelyn.

  “We need to find Erica King.”

  She dug for her phone and dialed Becker.

  He was still running the prints and having no luck. Feeling guilty for making him work so long on a Saturday, she gave him the details on Perry Ward Hughes’ other woman and told him to call as soon as he had something on her. Preferably a current address. She also asked him to find out what he could on Simon Sloan, the FBI agent.

  Parker was silent.

  “It’ll be a while before we know where she lives.” If she was in the system.

  “We should wait until dark to pay the young woman a visit, anyway.”

  He meant they should watch her a while first before storming in with accusations. He was right.

  “Okay. So what do we do right now?”

  He made a turn onto an all too familiar road. “We need to clear our heads. Let’s swing by and see what Antonio wants.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Miranda’s stomach tightened as they took the curve around Mocking Bird Lane and the huge sprawling edifice that was the Parker mansion came into view.

  Vacantly she gazed at the live oaks and willows and flowers that covered the manicured lawn. The structure rose from the greenery like some mythical bird, its natural stone balustrades and Grecian columns forming an edifice for a ten bedroom estate that had been more like a museum than any home she’d ever known.

  The last time she’d been here, she’d stood on that lawn with Parker’s father as he’d told her Parker had moved out and given the place to Estavez and Coco.

  It had been the gut punch that told her Parker was really been done with her. It was over. And yet a bone chilling, heart breaking case had brought them back together again.

  There had been that bright spot in it, at least.

  She was so lost in her thoughts she hadn’t realized the car had stopped in the drive and Parker had just opened her door, his hand outstretched.

  “Do you need a moment?” His face said he could read her thoughts.

  But she could read his as well. This wasn’t any more comfortable for him.

  With a shrug she took his hand and got out of the car. “What for?”

  He returned a knowing look.

  It felt awkward to watch Parker ring the bell at the massive front door of his own estate, but when Estavez opened it and she heard that delicious Hispanic accent, Miranda’s nerves disappeared.

  “You came.” He flashed them a dazzling smile, white pearls against dark skin. “I just arrived home from work. Come in.”

  They stepped into the foyer where the mahogany staircase with its carved banister loomed at the far end. Miranda eyed the huge paintings gracing the high walls, the crystal chandelier, the rosewood credenzas with their familiar gold inlay placed tastefully around the perimeter.

  Had she really lived here once?

  As if he were making a plea deal Estavez grinned at her in his flashy light gray Brooks Brothers suit. With his shiny onyx black hair pulled back in the ponytail that had set more than one judge’s teeth on edge, and turned more than one female’s head, the tall eye-pleaser looked right at home in the classy surroundings.

  He could have gone off to New York and become a top male model. Instead he had become one of Atlanta’s top defensive attorneys. Miranda knew Parker was proud of him. And she had a soft spot for the man, herself.

  After all, he had been there from the first. She and Parker had saved each other’s lives a number of times. And in the lethal game of tag they were playing, Antonio had made the first move. At Parker’s request.

  “Papa.” Estavez gave Parker his usual affectionate hug—the one he displayed only in private.

  “So good to see you, Antonio.”

  He turned to her. “Miranda,” he said, rolling the r in his sexy Latin way.

  “Glad to see you, Estavez.” She’d always called him by his last name, just as she did Parker.

  “How are you, son?” Parker asked.

  Estavez bounced on the heels of his polished Ferragamos. “Excellent. I couldn’t be better.”

  Something was definitely up. It sounded like good news. They could use a little of that.

  After another moment Coco glided through one of the arched doorways.

  “You’re here.”

  Wow. The pretty blond she’d stuck up for in a bar long ago looked happier than Miranda had ever seen her. She had on a shimmering pale blue pants-and-tunic outfit with elaborate embroidery on the sleeves and hem. Her light hair was pulled back in a relaxing-at-home style. She had on open-toed sandals, and her fingers and toes had been painted to match her outfit.

  She scampered up to Miranda and threw her arms around her. “It’s so good to see you. I’m so glad you’re alive.”

  “Me, too.” Coco had been watching the news lately, Miranda thought as she hugged her back.

  “Well, what are we waiting for? C’mon.”

  Coco took Miranda’s hand and led her through an elegant archway while Parker and Estavez followed behind.<
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  They strolled down the familiar, brightly lit hall lined with the same museum quality furniture and statuary and paintings Miranda remembered. She peeked into one of the side rooms, then into the library. Everything was just the same. Even the books were still there.

  “I love what you’ve done with the place,” she said dryly.

  Coco let out a musical laugh. “Silly. We haven’t had time to do anything. But we’ve made some plans. We’re thinking about turning this room into a music studio.” She pointed to one of the side rooms.

  “A music studio.”

  “A private one. Antonio and I want to produce our own MP3s and sell them online.”

  “I’m impressed.” They both had the talent.

  “And we’re also thinking about redoing the room next to the master bedroom.”

  Why that room? Miranda wondered. Before she could ask, they reached the familiar door carved in a trefoil design.

  “Let’s go in here.”

  Same old sitting room, Miranda thought as she stepped into the classy old world decor of ivy and brocade and mahogany. She eyed the ebony baby grand in the corner and suddenly felt a little wistful. This was where Coco and Estavez had composed her wedding song.

  “Have a seat.” Estavez gestured toward the pale blue satin sofa.

  Miranda grabbed a pillow to cushion the hard surface and sat down while Parker settled in next to her.

  “Coffee?” Coco offered.

  That sounded too good to pass up. “Sure.”

  Coco shimmied over to a niche in the wall, picked up a phone and gave an order. After a little while Sarah appeared in the doorway, tray in hand.

  “It’s so good to see you, Mr. Parker. Ms. Steele.”

  “Great to see you, too,” Miranda said. “How are you?”

  “Wonderful. Just wonderful,” she cooed in her Irish accent.

  As she set the tray down on the table and poured, the woman’s copper-colored curls glistened under the chandeliers and the dimples in her round cheeks deepened. She seemed full of smiles. Happy she and Parker were back together, Miranda sensed.

  She’d always had a soft spot for Parker’s chief housekeeper.

  Knowing them well, she fixed the cups just the way each of them liked it. Hers black, Parker’s and Estavez’s with a bit of cream. And Coco’s?

  “I’m drinking herbal tea these days,” Coco said taking a steaming cup from Sarah.

  That was odd. Miranda didn’t know Coco to be into health food. Maybe she was on a new kick.

  “Will there be anything else?” Sarah asked, still smiling.

  “Do you want something to eat?” Coco asked.

  Miranda shook her head.

  “No, we’re fine,” Parker said.

  “I guess that’s all. Thank you, Sarah.”

  “You’re welcome, ma’am.”

  Sarah left the room humming a song to herself. Estavez rocked back on his heels again, grinning. Beside him, Coco looked about to break into a case of the giggles.

  Something was going on.

  Parker set down his cup. “Why don’t you tell me why you wanted us to stop by?”

  With a love struck look on his handsome face, Estavez turned to Coco. “You tell them, darling.”

  “No, you tell them, sugar pie.”

  Sugar pie? Miranda bet she was the only one in the world who could get away with calling the attorney by that name.

  “I know. Let’s give them a hint.”

  She glided to the piano and sat down.

  Was she about to put on a private show of the new tunes she and Estavez had written together?

  She played a fancy arpeggio then broke into a classical rendition of Happy Birthday. Not exactly what Miranda was expecting, but okay.

  Wait. Was it somebody’s birthday? Hers was in December. Parker’s in March. Fanuzzi would have reminded her if it was Coco’s. Parker would have told her if it was Estavez’s.

  Looking a little frustrated, Coco changed her playing. Now she was banging out Happy Birthday in a jazzy, Cole Porter style. It was pretty cool and Miranda had to admire her friend’s talent, but she still had no idea what she was trying to say.

  Suddenly Coco stopped playing. Big blue eyes wide, she gave Miranda a funny look. “Well?”

  “Well what?”

  She began to sing in her sultry voice. “Happy birthday to you…” She stopped and looked at her again.

  “What?”

  She made a rolling gesture with her hand and kept singing. “Happy birthday to you. You will be brand new.”

  Miranda cocked her head. “Huh?”

  Coco rolled her eyes and sang another line. “You’ll be arriving about seven months from now…”

  Now Miranda got it. “What?”

  Parker shot to his feet. “Antonio. Is this true?”

  “Yes, Papa.” Estavez moved in for another hug.

  Coco got up from the piano and gave them both a hug. “Yes! We’re pregnant! We’re going to have a baby!” Brimming with excitement she began to dance around the room.

  Estavez reached for her. “Oh, be careful, my love.”

  “It’s okay,” she giggled. “We’re not fragile.”

  We’re. Miranda watched the three of them through a dizzy fog. We’re. Pregnant. Estavez and Coco were having a baby? She’d never even thought about them becoming parents. She didn’t know what to think. Or say.

  But she ought to say something so she opened her mouth. “Congratulations?”

  Coco came over and gave her another hug. “You are happy for us, aren’t you, Miranda?”

  “Of course, I am. Just a little stunned.”

  “I am, too. I just can’t believe it. But it’s so wonderful. And Antonio is so thrilled about being a father. Carlota is beside herself.”

  Of course they told Estavez’ mother first. No wonder she was so happy today.

  Antonio Estavez, hotshot lawyer, a father. Who would have thunk it? Miranda had to laugh.

  Coco squeezed Miranda’s hand. “We want you and Wade to be the godparents. Will you?”

  Godparents?

  “We’d be honored,” Parker said before she could process the request.

  “Sure,” she murmured.

  Parker moved to the coffee table and raised his cup. “A toast to both of you.”

  Antonio did the same and Coco raised hers, too. Now the herbal tea made sense.

  “We want to have a party next week and make a formal announcement,” Estavez told them.

  Coco’s big eyes went round. “You have to keep it a secret until then. Will you?”

  Secret. Sure. She could keep a secret. By tomorrow she would probably think she’d dreamed it anyway.

  Miranda gave her friend a confident nod. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

  Chapter Twenty

  It was well past sunset when they left the Parker estate. As they drove off into the night and post rush hour traffic, Miranda felt more bewildered than ever.

  A baby? Estavez and Coco were going to have a baby?

  “How did that happen?” she murmured out loud.

  “I didn’t think I’d have to explain that part.”

  She was still too stunned to laugh at Parker’s wry joke. “Am I going to be an aunt?”

  “A grandmother.”

  “Now wait one darn minute.” She was only thirty-seven. She pointed a finger at Parker. “You’re going to be a grandfather. How do you feel, grampa?”

  “A little old.” But he had the audacity to beam about it. “Being the grandparents is the easy part. Coco has the hard part.”

  “True.”

  He grew suddenly pensive. “I didn’t think it would work between them.”

  “You thought Coco was beneath him.”

  “I thought she was unstable. But she’s turned out to be just the opposite.”

  “She can show some grit when she has to.”

  “And in about seven months, she will.”

  He was right.

>   They said you didn’t remember the pain, but Miranda did. The stabbing, agonizing pain. The sound of her own yowls. The jumbled voices of nurses and doctors telling you to breath, to move this way or that. The blinding lights. Her legs stuck up in the air somewhere. And the blinding hate she had for the thing they were pulling out of her.

  Until they put the baby in her arms and those beautiful blue eyes looked up at her.

  She’d felt exactly the way Rebecca Ward Hughes had.

  “We’ve got to find that boy, Parker,” she whispered.

  “We will.”

  But they were stuck.

  They didn’t know where to find Erica King. They didn’t know who Simon Sloan was. They didn’t know who belonged to that shoe print on the dryer in the little blue house in the Old Fourth Ward. They didn’t know who had left June May’s body on the tracks in Kennesaw to be decapitated by the next train that roared by.

  They were stuck like a cheap car in the mud, spinning their tires, waiting for the tow truck of new data to rescue them.

  Parker came to a stop at a light. He reached across the seat and brushed the hair out of her face.

  “You’re tired,” he said gently, his voice soothing her.

  “Yeah, but we can’t stop.”

  “It’s been a long time since that taco.”

  And she’d burned it off running around.

  “I’m thinking of a thick juicy steak at Blanco Torres.”

  Suddenly he was making her mouth water. Once she’d vowed she’d never let herself be controlled by a man again. But Parker had a way of turning her in whichever direction he wanted.

  And she had grown to like it.

  “Maybe. But first I think we ought to—”

  Her cell buzzed. It was Becker.

  She sat up, suddenly alert. “What have you got for me?”

  “No hit on the shoe prints, yet,” Becker said. “But Fry’s isolated the DNA. I’m running it. It will probably take a while.”

  That sounded promising. “What about Sloan?”

  “Nothing on him in the FBI-related files I’ve searched. I’ll keep looking.”

  So that meant he wasn’t a run-of-the-mill agent. Maybe not an FBI agent at all, as they suspected. Not any more than he was a GBI agent. But it took time to dig out real, valid info on someone who went around posing as government officials and got away with it. If June May was an agent, her personal data had been easy to find because it was faked. It was her cover. Miranda wondered who she was, who her family was, and if they’d even been notified of her death.