THE MISSING (L.A.P.D. Special Investigations Book 4)

by Linda Style

  But as he thought it, the bitter emotion he’d carried for so long just wasn’t there. It seemed unimportant now. He’d almost lost Jules, and the significance of that made everything else pale in comparison.

  Was it wrong for his father to want to share the time he had left with someone he’d once loved? Still loved apparently. No, Luke realized. There was nothing wrong with that at all. And he’d give anything to do the same with Jules.

  As they went inside, Julianna’s cheek brushed against Luke’s. He inhaled, breathing in—for possibly the last time—the scent he remembered so well. Remembered even in his sleep.

  What he wouldn’t give to erase all the heartache between them. He heard Stella and his father laughing in the background and, in that single moment, he realized he had to let go of the past. There was no going back. There was only the future.

  Inside, he put Jules on her feet and before she had a chance to speak, he said, “Wouldn’t it be better to stay a few more days to recoup?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Abe would like it.”

  “And you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  She shrugged. “Nothing. Nothing at all.” She looked down, then started for her room. “I think I’d like to rest right now, if you don’t mind.”

  “Sure.”

  Watching her hobble down the hall and close her door, Luke banged his palm on the table. Dammit. Why did everything have to be so hard? Why did loving someone have to hurt so much?

  He went to the cabinets and searching for a glass, he found a bottle of Jack Daniels. His adrenaline surged. He picked it up, stared at the label. A sudden, urgent need gripped him. One drink. It wouldn’t hurt. Everything else in his life was so screwed up, it would feel good to find oblivion for a little while.

  He needed a drink. Badly. He could almost feel the smooth, yet biting liquid sliding down his throat. One drink. He gripped the bottle tighter and tighter until his hand started to shake. A vision of Julianna and Michael flashed through his head. A powerful vision. And that was all he needed to place the bottle back on the shelf.

  Pride, his father said. Was that what was keeping him from telling Jules he loved her. Still. He didn’t think so.

  But how would he know unless he told her?

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  SHE MUST’VE DRIFTED OFF, Julianna realized when she awoke two hours later. She’d been dreaming, not the anxious, fearful dreams she’d been having for the last month, but dreams of angels and exotic places. Of Michael and Luke and of playing on the beach together. For five years whenever she’d dreamed of them, she woke up in a sweat, anxious and tearful.

  But this dream was soothing and wonderful. They’d been a family, the kind of family she’d always longed for.

  But it could never be that way. Luke’s job was his main focus, and as much as she wanted things to be different, they never would. She knew it. Luke knew it. The only person who didn’t know it was Abe.

  Still, as she stretched out her arms and legs, a soothing sense of calm settled within, a feeling she hadn’t experienced in a very long time. How long had it been since she’d awakened smiling? Even before the threats, she’d been an anxious person. Or maybe driven was a more apt description.

  She’d been relentless in her research, gathering information from families and other sources, writing article after article on the missing children, so relentless she didn’t even have a life outside her stories. Luke was right, she was obsessed.

  She could’ve died because of it. So, what was she going to do? Go back to being obsessed? No. She’d been existing. Not living. She didn’t want to live like that anymore. But keeping the stories in the public eye was important. Who would do it if she didn’t? Still, when Mark told her he wanted the series to end, that he wanted her to focus on something else for a while, other stories that were equally important, she’d felt a strange release, like a heavy weight had been lifted.

  Had she only been doing it for Michael? Had she convinced herself she had all these altruistic motives, when her goal had really been selfish? Had she been living a lie?

  By the time she’d left the hospital, the thought that she was a fake ate at her like an insidious brain disease. If she didn’t write about missing children, what was she going to write about? Who was she?

  Her cell phone rang. She gasped, nearly jumping out of her skin. Then she remembered the man who’d been threatening her, the serial killer, was in jail. She pushed to a sitting position. “Hello.”

  “Julianna Chevalair? This is Tomas Black from NBC News.”

  Hearing a knock at the door, she said into the phone, “Excuse me,” then, “Come in.” She’d had police at the hospital to intercept the media and hadn’t anticipated them calling here. But of course they’d want all the information they could get.

  As Luke entered the room, she handed him the phone. “It’s NBC News. I have no idea how they got this number.”

  “This is Detective Luke Coltrane, LAPD. Can I help you?”

  Julianna listened as Luke told the reporter the police didn’t want to compromise the case and they’d release more information when they could.

  “Thanks,” she said after Luke hung up. “I never know what to say in situations like that.”

  He came over to the bed. “No comment usually works.”

  She smiled then pointed to the bottom of the bed. “Sit down.”

  Instead, Luke pulled up a chair. “Don’t want to bump your leg.”

  He looked serious, as if he had something disturbing to say. “The doc said the bullet went right through. It’s fine.”

  A hollow silence filled the air.

  “How’s Abe?” Julianna finally said. “I heard him talking to Stella.”

  “They’ve gone riding. I think Abe has something important to say to her.”

  “She loves him, you know.”

  “I’m getting the drift.”

  “I know you don’t like her, but it would be good for him to have someone. I mean someone he cares about—not a hired hand.”

  A petal from one of the roses in the vase fell off onto the bed. Luke picked it up, and holding it between two fingers, he studied the petal. “Nice flowers,” he said.

  “They are. Mark is a sweetheart. A little intense sometimes, but his heart is in the right place.”

  He pulled closer. “And where is that?”

  She frowned. “Where is what?”

  “His heart. Your heart. Are you in love with him?”

  She stifled an incredulous croak. “With Mark? Whatever gave you that idea?”

  When he didn’t say anything and she saw the look in his eyes, her pulse leaped. She said softly, “Would it matter if I was?”

  Luke’s eyes locked with hers “Yes. It matters because I can’t imagine you with anyone but me.” Still looking at her, he stood, shoved his hands in his front pockets. “It matters because I’m still in love with you, Jules.”

  He what? Love? He was still in love with… Her mind went blank. Words stuck on the back of her tongue. She wanted to say she was still in love with him, too, but— But what?

  “I never stopped loving you, Julianna, and if there’s any chance for us, I’d do just about anything to make it happen.”

  But—what would happen if every time she looked at Luke she thought of Michael and what they’d lost? It had been like that at the end. She couldn’t deal with the guilt and the shame. What would happen when he was away every night and she was alone in that house?

  When she didn’t answer right away, he said, “I don’t have any big epiphanies about what happened between us except that I let you down. When I couldn’t find Michael, even using all my expertise, I felt so inadequate. I couldn’t live with that and that’s when the drinking got out of hand. I—I failed you. I failed Michael and our marriage.”

  She placed a hand over his lips. Tears welled in her eyes. Oh, God. Her heart ached for Luke. She’d been so caught up in her own pain she hadn’t reco
gnized the extent of his. He was the stoic cop. Always in control. How could she have not seen how much he hurt? No wonder they couldn’t help each other. How could they when they couldn’t help themselves?

  She took his hand in hers, blinked back the flood of tears about to burst if she let them.

  “Then we both felt inadequate, Luke. You told me before that I wasn’t to blame, you told me many times. But I knew I was and I couldn’t live with that. Every time I looked at you I was reminded of it. Reminded of Michael. That’s why I left.”

  His eyes searched hers. He steepled his fingers at his chin. She could almost see his mind clicking.

  Finally he said, “Remember that night on the beach when you said you could feel Michael in the wind? That it felt like his arms wrapping around you?”

  She nodded.

  “That’s what I feel whenever I think about him now. I didn’t at first. Like you, I railed at the injustice, I felt the sorrow so deep within me I thought I’d die from it. I wanted to forget and I found an easy way to do it. But one night when I reached for another drink, I saw Michael’s face as clearly as if he were there, and something inside me came to life. I didn’t take that drink and for a few days I kept remembering more and more. His smile, his laughter. And it was good. I realized then how blessed I was to have had him in my life, if even for a short time.

  “I finally realized I didn’t need to forget. What I needed to do was remember Michael and to celebrate the happy time we had together.”

  Tears filled her eyes.

  “Remembering our son and the love he brought to us is important. I never want to forget that, and I don’t want to forget what we had either. We loved each other and just thinking about that love is a lot better than having nothing.” He bowed his head. “We had problems. And sometimes they seemed insurmountable. But that didn’t make me love you any less. I cherish the love we had, Julianna. I always will.”

  Julianna reached for him. He’d revealed more in the past thirty seconds than he had in the whole time they’d been married. If she’d ever doubted his love for her, she couldn’t now. Her heart broke for him and for her and all they once had. He was right. They’d had love. They’d had love and hope and a future and she’d thrown it away.

  Like a bright sunrise lighting up inside, she knew Luke was right. She didn’t need to forget, she needed to remember. She needed to remember all that was wonderful between them. Including Michael. Everything else was an excuse. An excuse to run away just as she’d done when she’d left home to marry him.

  God, it was all so clear now. Though she’d loved Luke with all her heart, she was the one who’d married for the wrong reasons. Not him.

  Dangling her feet over the edge of the bed, she tried to stand, wobbling as she did. Luke caught her and they both landed in the chair, her on his lap.

  He held her tight in his embrace, as if he might lose her again if he let go, and then he rested his forehead against her shoulder.

  She pressed her lips against his head in a gentle kiss, and in doing so, released a frail hope.

  Drawing back to look at him she said, “Luke, when I left, it wasn’t because of you or your drinking or anything else you did,” she said, her voice hoarse with tears. “It had nothing to do with my feelings for you. I loved you then and I still do,” she whispered. “With all my heart.”

  He pulled back. “And I you. I never stopped.” His lips met hers. Softly, sweetly, lovingly, and in that moment, all the longing and the passions, all the emotions she’d denied herself for so long rose up inside. The pain and sorrow of the past dimmed in the wake of hope.

  It had been so long since she’d felt hopeful. So long since she’d even thought about more than one day at a time.

  Her future was with Luke. Their future was together. It had always been. No, they wouldn’t ever get over the loss of their son. But Michael had been the culmination of their love, and he deserved that love to continue.

  And when Luke kissed her again, her heart swelled with love—and the promise of tomorrow.

  EPILOGUE

  One year later

  “VERY FEW LIVES are what we expect them to be,” Abraham said to his daughter-in-law sitting beside him with her notebook and a tape recorder. “And I’m no orator. I doubt what I have to say will be of interest to anyone.”

  Julianna, pregnant with his son’s child—his grandchild—looked radiant, just as his wife Lizzie had looked when she was carrying Luke. Abe had doubted he’d ever have another grandchild after Luke and Julianna lost Michael.

  But now that a new life was growing, a life that was part of him as well, he didn’t think about his own mortality as much. He supposed he should be at seventy-one, but knowing a part of him would continue on in this world made it easier to face that he wouldn’t be around forever.

  Not that he planned on going anywhere soon. Shoot, he’d just gotten married and had a whole second life to live with the woman he’d been in love with for more than sixty years. He’d been a fool to waste so much time. Years ago when Stella broke off with him, his damned pride wouldn’t let him forgive her. Then Lizzie died and he’d been overcome with guilt and retreated into himself. Well, he’d lived with false pride and guilt long enough. He was still alive and he planned to enjoy every second he had left.

  “Okay, Abe, before I start the recorder, I hope you don’t leave anything out just because I’m your daughter-in-law or because you’re afraid I’ll be judgmental. I’m a journalist and we’re not allowed to judge people. But if you don’t want me to know something, I’m okay with that, too.”

  Abe pulled himself up in his favorite chair, the worn leather lounger now shaped to his body after so many years, the chair Lizzie had always threatened to burn years ago. “So, what’s the point of keeping secrets? It wouldn’t be my life.”

  Right. She grinned. “I like that philosophy.”

  “Why are we doing this again?”

  “For our family history. So your granddaughter will know her heritage.”

  “It used to be people didn’t know what the baby was going to be until they had it. I’m not sure it’s a good thing to find out all these things before they happen.”

  “It was necessary because of my age, Pops. The tests show if there’s anything wrong and can also tell if it’s a boy or a girl. Modern medicine has come a long way.”

  He didn’t like it. He didn’t like a lot of things happening in this so-called modern world. But he had to live with it. He’d buried himself on the ranch for too long. Now he and Stella were going on a honeymoon to Hawaii. He’d never in a million years thought he’d see Hawaii again. But then he’d also thought he’d die in a Vietnam prison camp.

  “So, are you going to write a story about me, or what?”

  “Gee, I hadn’t thought about what I’d do with it, Pops. I just wanted to record the information befo—” She frowned. “Before I have the baby and I get too busy.”

  He placed a hand over hers. “You want the information before I kick the bucket. That’s okay. It’s good. But I’m not going to do that for a while, so we do have time.”

  “Okay. But I’m here now. And we probably won’t be back until after the baby’s born.”

  “Fine with me, but remember we’re coming to Los Angeles when the child gets here. Stella wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  “Me neither, Pops.” She smiled sweetly. “So, where do you want to start?” Julianna asked. “Can you tell me about your childhood, your parents?”

  “You want me to tell you everything?”

  “Yes, I do.”

  He shifted in the chair. He hadn’t thought about his parents in a very long time. Not since he’d left home at sixteen. He’d put them out of his mind like he did most hurtful things, things he couldn’t do anything about.

  No point in thinking about all the nights he’d shivered with fear in the corner. Mostly he remembered that he’d just wanted it to be over, one way or another.

  “It wasn’t a
noteworthy childhood, just a kid growing up on a poor ranch. A mother and father who didn’t have much and who died too young.” His father hadn’t died soon enough for him. “I left home at sixteen.”

  “What about school?”

  School. The thought conjured the singular most important day in his life. The day he’d met Stella Nez. He was ten and it was her first day at the tiny two-room school. One room each for two grades. She was in the lower grade, and she’d just come from the reservation.

  He’d thought her the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Her straight, shiny dark hair went all the way down her back, and her eyes weren’t dark brown like most of the Navajo kids, they were a lighter color, like his pinto, Chakura, that his dad had won from some drunk during a card game.

  He’d seen her standing alone on the edge of the playground when a couple of the bigger kids went over and started shoving her, calling her names like half-breed, saying she should go back to the reservation.

  He’d gotten mad. He didn’t like bullies, people who picked on others for no reason at all. People like his father.

  That’s when he strode over. He didn’t say anything, but planted his feet apart and stood in front of her with his arms crossed. One of the boys spit on him, called him “Injun lover,” as if that was the meanest thing they could say.

  Hell, he’d heard a lot worse. The girls called him names, too, and one threw a rock as she was leaving, hitting him in the forehead. But he stood there.

  He didn’t know what to do or say then, so he sat on the grass and after a minute, Stella sat next to him but not too close. The sun was burning hot overhead and he started sweating. He remembered that because he didn’t want her to see him sweat. Or smell him either.

  They didn’t say anything for the longest time and then finally she asked, “How’d you get that black eye?”

  He shrugged. “Bumped into a door at night.” He pulled his shirt tight at the neck and tugged his sleeves down to hide his other bruises. But he knew she’d seen them.