The Boy

by Linsey Lanier

  But first things first. “What about Erica King?”

  “She wasn’t too hard. That’s why I’m calling you. Got her current address right here.”

  Yes!

  Becker rattled it off. It was in Marietta, as the senator had thought.

  “I’ve got a background, too.”

  “Email it to me.”

  “Will do.”

  “Thanks.” She glanced at the clock and thought a minute. “It’s getting late. If you want to let those searches run and come back in tomorrow morning, it’s okay.”

  “Uh…tomorrow’s Sunday.”

  “Yeah?” And they were on a special case that required all the time they could give it. Was Becker pooping out on her now?

  “I kind of promised Joanie I’d watch the kids. She’s got a gig she’s got to cook for.”

  Miranda knew their house could be chaos when Fanuzzi was cooking up a storm. And she already felt guilty for cutting into Becker’s family time. This boss thing was a pain in the ass.

  But she forced the words out. “Can you work from home?”

  “I was just about to say that. I was going to bring my unit home anyway to keep an eye on it.”

  She let out a breath of relief. Good old Becker. She could always count on him. “Thanks. I’ll check in tomorrow then.”

  “Hope we have something by then.”

  “Me, too.” She hung up and turned to Parker. “We’ve got King’s address. It’s in Marietta, like the senator said.” She gave him the details.

  “Recalibrating,” Parker said sounding a little chagrined as he headed for I-75.

  No thick steak for either of them tonight. Just a stakeout.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Erica King lived in a smallish split level set back from a hilly lane not far from downtown Marietta. The drive had taken about thirty minutes, and it was still early for a Saturday night when they turned onto her road.

  In the street lamps Miranda could see the shadow of trees along a patchy stretch of asphalt that was the drive. A white Chevy hatchback sat near the doorway. A light was on over the front door as if she were expecting someone.

  Across the street a neighbor was throwing a noisy party. Parker pulled up behind one of the cars along the curb.

  “Good camouflage,” she noted.

  “For the first few hours.”

  He had a point. This could be a long night.

  Miranda opened the glove compartment and took out a pair of the high-powered binoculars Parker always carried in there. She scanned the house.

  Two lights on upstairs, one in the living room downstairs. Blinds and curtains drawn so she couldn’t see inside. No sign anywhere of a black van or a good-looking dark haired man pretending to be the agent-du-jour.

  “Could be a kid in one of those upper rooms,” she said.

  “Or Erica King in an office.”

  “Working this late on a Saturday?”

  “It’s not impossible.”

  She thought of Becker. Maybe Erica King had a boss as demanding as she was.

  She studied the yard. It was fairly well kept. No swing set or toys or bikes anywhere to indicate a child. But why make it obvious?

  After about fifteen minutes a black Kia with a sign from a local pizza place on its roof cruised by and turned into Erica’s driveway. A young kid got out with a big box and headed for the door.

  Miranda focused on the doorstep as he rang the bell. Thirty seconds later the door opened.

  There she was. The woman in the photo Rebecca Ward Hughes’ PI had taken.

  She was dressed in jean shorts and a blue T-shirt. Her blond hair was pulled back into a casual ponytail. She looked a little older, her cheeks a little fuller. But as she handed the pizza driver a bill, Miranda saw she still had the same bright white smile.

  Erica King closed the door and the pizza guy drove away.

  “She wasn’t upstairs working. She couldn’t have gotten to the door so soon. And I don’t think she’s going to eat all that pizza herself.”

  “Excellent observations,” Parker said.

  Miranda suppressed a grin. After all their time together his compliments still made her stomach flutter.

  “No garage. Only one car in the drive. Either she picked up a guy somewhere or she has another kind of visitor.”

  “Most likely,” he agreed, taking the binoculars and doing his own scan. “Unless a neighbor stopped by for a late dinner and a movie.”

  “Or the guy she picked up was Sloan.”

  Miranda squinted at the lights moving on the living room window. It did look like somebody was watching TV. Parker was sharp.

  Could be Sloan in there with her. Just the three of them. Erica, Sloan and Dylan Ward Hughes eating pizza together and having a fine time.

  No, it probably wouldn’t be going that well. For a moment she considered knocking on the door and interrogating her suspect. But what if her hunch was wrong? Better not to show her hand just yet.

  “We’ll just have to wait and see if anyone comes out,” she said.

  “Good plan,” Parker said.

  She wondered if he meant it, since they had no other choice just now. She took her phone and scrolled to the data Becker had sent her on their suspect.

  Erica King was thirty-one now. She grew up in Marietta and went to school there until she got a scholarship for grad school at Emory and moved to the city. Worked for Millennial Trust about a year until the affair with Ward Hughes. Then she got fired, quit school, and moved back in with her parents. Must have been fun.

  For a while she worked part time at the bank on Cherokee Street where the senator had given her a reference.

  Three years ago she finished her degree, got a job at a local insurance company, bought her own house. She was an underwriter now.

  Miranda handed the phone to Parker. He scanned the information and handed it back. “She’s done well for herself.”

  “Maybe it isn’t enough. Maybe she’s still pining for the senator and since she can’t have him, she decides she wants her son back.”

  Parker mulled that over.

  “So she starts dating this Sloan guy and they dream up this scheme for him to pose as an FBI agent so they can take Dylan.”

  “That doesn’t explain June May’s involvement. Or my sister’s.”

  “No,” she sighed.

  Maybe Simon Sloan really was with the FBI. If he was in charge of this operation, he’d really screwed up.

  Miranda adjusted her seat and settled back, determined to stay awake, even though she’d been up since five-thirty.

  Her mind starting to drift, and she thought of the first night Parker had taken her on a stakeout like this. They had been tailing the scumbag Coco had been married to. She’d found the work intensely boring. It wasn’t any better now.

  Especially when a kid’s life could be at stake. The waiting was agonizing.

  Hours passed. One by one the cars of the party-goers across the street departed, leaving Parker’s Mazda as the lone remaining vehicle.

  The light in Erica King’s living room went out. After about fifteen minutes, one of the lights in the upper room did the same. Thirty minutes later, the last room went dark.

  Turn off the TV, put the kid in bed, take a bath, read a book, go to sleep. Made sense to her.

  She let out a long sigh of boredom. “Remember the first time we did this together?”

  “Outside Birmingham.”

  She was surprised he remembered.

  Parker smiled. “Other couples have candlelight dinners and walks on the beach as memories. We have covert surveillance.”

  “I kind of like it that way. Don’t you?

  He turned to her with a sultry look in his sexy gray eyes and reached out to brush the hair from her face. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  She took his hand and pressed it to her face. “Me, either.” She meant it with all her heart.

  He gazed at the house once more. “You identify
with her, don’t you?”

  “Erica King?” She’d given up her child so another woman could raise him. A woman who could give him more. “Yeah. I can’t help it. But I feel for Rebecca, too.”

  Parker shook his head. “Perry always was a skirt chaser, pardon the phrase, even in the seventh grade. I thought he would have outgrown that habit by now.”

  “I hear you.”

  Something else she and Parker had in common. They both despised cheaters. But that wasn’t what bothered her most about this case.

  “I keep thinking about Mackenzie. What if she finds out who her father is?”

  “She won’t.”

  “She’s a sharp kid. She’ll figure it out sooner or later. She was so focused on finding him.”

  Colby and Oliver had to take away her computer and severely limit her cell phone privileges.

  “Girls her age change focus on a whim. She has her ice skating and I’m sure Colby is keeping her occupied with other activities.”

  “Yeah, I guess so.”

  “You should go see her.”

  She pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “I don’t know. I’ll feel like I’m lying to her. She’ll see through me.”

  “She doesn’t know, Miranda,” Parker said firmly. “Colby would have told us.”

  “I guess so,” she said again and fought down the anxiety.

  As she stared at the dark silent house, anxiety turned to boredom, and boredom to fatigue. After another two hours, Miranda was having trouble holding her head up.

  She let out a big yawn.

  Parker turned to her, tenderness in his eyes. “Why don’t we call it a night?”

  “She might head out tomorrow with Dylan. We need to be here.”

  He smiled wryly. “Don’t you have a team?”

  He was right. They could do shifts.

  Hoping he wouldn’t bite her head off, she dialed Holloway’s number. Turned out he’d taken a long nap in anticipation of being called in and was ready to go.

  She filled him in on what they’d learned at the senator’s house and gave him Erica King’s address. In less than half an hour he was there. She didn’t like the bright red of his Mini Cooper but she didn’t have a choice now.

  “Make sure you don’t get made,” she told him over the phone as he pulled up behind the Mazda.

  “I know how to do my job, Steele.”

  She was going to have to have a talk with him about that attitude. “If you get sleepy, call in Wesson. In fact, do that by eight o’clock. I’ll need you over at Becker’s tomorrow.”

  Becker would be needing a break. Holloway could watch a run on the computer screen for a while.

  “Sure thing, boss.” Holloway didn’t even make an effort to hide his sarcasm.

  “Talk to you tomorrow.” She hung up wondering when Holloway was going to request to leave the team.

  As Parker pulled away and headed for the penthouse, Miranda decided she couldn’t wait for this case to be over so she could go back to being a coworker.

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  When she stepped through the antique-lined entranceway of Parker’s downtown penthouse a wave of relief hit her. Bed was just upstairs. Just a little way to go. But before she could reach for the chrome banister to head upstairs and pull off the monkey suit she felt like she’d had on for a year, Parker was pulling her toward the kitchen.

  “What?” she said, her eyelids half shut.

  “Come with me a moment.”

  “Not in the mood for surprises, Parker.”

  “You’ll like this one.”

  He led her into the kitchen. Scowling she squinted at the bright track lighting as she slid onto a stool along the L-shaped counter.

  Like the Parker mansion, the penthouse kitchen was filled with lots of gleaming stainless steel, but instead of black, the granite here was a light, golden hue that had some fancy Italian name she couldn’t remember.

  She put an elbow on the counter and her chin in her hand. “Better make this quick or I’ll be asleep on the floor.”

  “Coming right up.”

  She lifted one eyelid and saw he had pulled out an iron skillet and was carry an assortment of things from the fridge. As he set them on the counter near the stove, she closed her eyes again. But after a moment the sound and smell of sizzling had her mouth watering.

  She opened her eyes in time to watch him slide his creation onto two plates. He set one in front of her. “Bon appetite.”

  She looked down at the plate. A grilled cheese sandwich. “What’s this for?”

  “You’ve had one Taco Loco today. You need sustenance.”

  She had to smile. “Wade Parker. Ace detective and short order cook.”

  “It will do when one is starving. Eat.”

  She knew that tone and that he wasn’t taking no for an answer. She was far too tired to fight him, so she picked up a half and took a bite.

  “Mmm.” The taste of real butter, a multi-grain bread, and some exotic imported cheese caressed her taste buds.

  “I’ll take that as a compliment,” he said, biting into his own sandwich.

  She waved a finger at him as she swallowed. “You know if this detective thing doesn’t work out, you could make it as a chef.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” He opened a cabinet and reached for two glasses.

  “No alcohol,” she protested, her mouth full of the next bite.

  “I wouldn’t think of it, m’lady.” He set a glass next to her plate and poured in something white.

  She wrinkled her nose. “Milk?”

  “Nothing goes better with grilled cheese after midnight. It will help you sleep. Drink.”

  Just so he wouldn’t put it in a bottle and feed it to her like an infant, she took the glass and swallowed down a big gulp. He was right. It was filling, soothing, and went perfectly with the sandwich.

  She finished off both and wiped her mouth with the paper napkin he’d handed her.

  He finished his own milk and sandwich and put the dishes in the washer. “We need some domestic help now that we’re back at work. I’ll ask Sarah for a recommendation tomorrow.”

  But Miranda barely heard him. She had her head buried in her arms on the counter.

  Parker came around the counter and lifted her in his strong arms. “Come to bed, my brave, courageous wife.”

  “Hmm. Nice.” Lazily she laid her head on his shoulder and let him carry her upstairs.

  In the bedroom she barely felt him pull off her shoes and clothes, tuck the duvet around her, and get into bed beside her.

  As she drifted off she knew that despite all the pain, she wouldn’t trade this life with Parker for anything in the world.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  She stood in the bedroom of June May’s house, staring at the toys on the little table.

  They were girl’s toys now.

  A pink pony, a monkey, a doll, a teddy bear.

  She crossed the room and picked one of them up. It was pale blue bunny. Gently she stroked it. She turned and wandered through the halls. They were tall and seemed to go on forever. Her footsteps echoed with a strange sound as she walked.

  She made a sharp turn and found herself in a laundry room. A window was open, a soft curtain billowing in a warm breeze.

  She climbed onto the dryer and through the window into the yard. The grass was green. Too green. It had a metallic sounding crunch as she walked along.

  Suddenly she knew there was someone behind her. She could feel the presence. A shadow fell on the grass in front of her.

  It was a man. A huge man. How long had he been following her?

  Don’t turn around. Keep going.

  She picked up her pace but the shadow moved with her.

  Faster. Go faster. And now she was running. Running as fast as her feet would go. But her shoes were loose. The laces unraveled. One came off, then the other. The field she ran on became sharp green glass. It cut into her feet making her stumble.


  She fell.

  She thrust her hands out to break the fall but nothing met them. Before her a wide black hole opened and she tumbled headlong into it.

  Down, down, down she went. As if she were heading for the center of the earth.

  Down, down, down. Her stomach twisted with nausea at her speed. She wondered if she’d passed the center. If she would shoot out on the other side of the globe and be hurled into space.

  And then from somewhere ground appeared. She landed on it with a hard painful thud.

  Her lip was bleeding. Her knees were skinned. Her arm ached.

  Big burly hands reached out for her, pulling her sore arm.

  “Leave me alone,” she cried.

  “Get up, you stupid whore. You don’t belong here.”

  Belong where?

  “You’re nothing. Do you hear me?” The voice echoed against the walls like a kettle drum. “Nothing. You never were and you never will be.”

  She dared to lift her head and saw a little girl sitting in the corner cradling the blue stuffed bunny she had dropped. Her hair was dark and wiry. Her eyes were deep blue. She wore a pretty pink dress spread out on the floor around her.

  The shadow man stepped around her and stood between her and the child. His clothes were old and ragged. His hair was dirty blond and shaggy, falling almost to his shoulders. He was tall and had shoulders like mountains.

  He green eyes glinted like the sharp grass in the yard that had cut up her feet.

  “You can’t have her,” he said in a dark, raspy voice. “She’s mine.”

  “No,” she whispered.

  He turned his back and grabbed the child, pulled her to her feet. “Get up.”

  “You’re hurting me,” the girl cried.

  “Leave her alone.”

  He ignored her. “Do as you’re told.”

  “Stop.”

  The shadow man bent over, blocking her view of the child. But she heard her start to cry.