by Rebecca Deel
“Been on the phone with Heather….” He paused, looked at Rowan.
“Maxwell,” she supplied hastily.
“And you are?” Taylor asked.
“Rowan Scott, Heather’s sister.”
“I see. What’s going on, Brent?”
“Got a call for help. Black van with red racing stripes slowly cruising the street and repeated hang ups. While she was on the phone, someone kicked in the door and fired a weapon.”
No. Oh, no. Someone shot at her sister and Alexa. Where was that creep Jay when he was needed? Never around, she thought bitterly. Rowan had tried to warn Heather that Jay wasn’t good for her or Alexa. Now someone could have hurt them. Her brain just wouldn’t contemplate anything worse. She didn’t want to throw up in Brent’s SUV. Not a great way to impress a guy on the first date. Except now there wouldn’t be a date. Couldn’t he drive any faster?
“Address.” Taylor snapped.
Brent supplied the information as he swung onto Nolensville Road and dodged more traffic.
“I’m sending a couple prowl cars. I’ll be right behind them.”
“Tell the responding officers I might be on scene before them. I’d prefer not to be cuffed or shot in front of my date.”
A snort. “She know what you do?”
“Sort of.”
“Right. Try not to kill anybody before we get there.”
Rowan’s eyes widened. Was Taylor serious? She turned to Brent, noted the determination on his face, the air of readiness. Oh, yeah, Taylor was serious. What kind of work had Brent Maddox been assigned to in the Navy?
“Copy that. No guarantees. Thanks, buddy.”
“Yep.”
When she was sure the call had ended, Rowan said, “Heather wasn’t kidding about Jay. He’ll be livid about cops swarming his house.”
He slid her a cool look. “Doesn’t matter whether he likes the police presence or not. Any man worth the name would want his wife and child safe.”
“Jay Maxwell isn’t a good husband or father, Brent.”
His jaw flexed. “Is he abusive?”
“I don’t know.” Probably.
“But you suspect he is.”
“I haven’t seen bruises on my sister or Alexa.”
“If he is abusing Heather, Jay is smart enough to aim for places covered by clothes.”
“Heather’s fear of Jay has grown in recent months, but she wouldn’t tell me why. I can’t force Heather to leave her husband. Believe me, I’ve tried.”
Brent’s hand covered hers. “You can’t guilt Heather into leaving Jay. She’ll end up going back to him which puts her and your niece in the middle of danger again.” He squeezed her hand. “You would also become a target for retaliation.”
Scary thought. Rowan avoided Jay Maxwell whenever possible. She purposely timed her visits to see her sister and Alexa when she knew her brother-in-law was out of the house. The few occasions she’d mistimed her visit, Jay had given her the creeps. “The last thing I want to do is attract Jay’s attention.”
Brent’s hand tightened on hers. “Did he hurt you?” When she remained silent, he growled. “If it happens again, I want to know, Rowan. No matter what happens between us, I’ll take care of Jay Maxwell.”
“That’s not necessary.” She didn’t want Brent in trouble over her sister’s scumbag husband.
“Promise me, sweetheart.”
Her heart tripped, then surged ahead in a mad rhythm. Sweetheart? Wow. She enjoyed a sweet name like that as long as he meant it. “I promise.” But she’d do her best to avoid that call. Rowan had a feeling Jay wouldn’t stand a chance against someone like Brent Maddox. The Navy man didn’t deserve whatever backlash would follow if Brent crossed Jay.
Rowan didn’t have concrete facts. The rumors, however, were plentiful. Jay Maxwell was not a man to cross unless you were into pain. How could her sweet sister have fallen for a man like him?
Brent turned onto Shadow Lane and stopped the big vehicle half a block from Heather’s house. “Stay here,” he said and unbuckled his seatbelt.
“Where are you going?”
“To check things out.”
“I’m going with you, and don’t bother telling me it’s too dangerous. That’s my sister and niece in there.”
He studied her face for a second, then nodded. “I suppose it’s safe enough up to a certain point. If I tell you to do something, do it without questions. I want to help Heather and Alexa, but your safety is as important to me.”
“I understand.”
A nod. “Let’s move.”
The buzz-cut blond-haired man met her at the front of the SUV. He nudged her to the grass where their steps were muffled. They stayed in the shadows as much as possible as they approached the two-story stone mini-mansion in this exclusive neighborhood. Lights blazed from windows on both floors, giving the illusion of peace and warmth. Just went to show that simply because someone lived in a big house didn’t mean everything was paradise inside.
She glanced at Brent. If she hadn’t known where to look, she would have missed him. His black clothes and tanned skin seemed to blend with the night. His steps were silent where Rowan’s sounded like a herd of buffalo making a beeline for the house. How did he do that soundless, almost gliding motion? A handy skill to have if you were working in the military or maybe black ops.
Her breath caught in her throat. Black ops. The thought rolled around in her mind like a pinball. She really wanted to know Brent’s military background. Would he tell her?
When she and Brent drew close to the house, Rowan noticed the front door was open, the frame splintered. In the distance, sirens sounded.
Brent stopped at the edge of the lawn where a large tree grew. “Stay right here, Rowan. No matter what you hear or see, don’t move from this spot.”
“What are you going to do?”
“Find Heather and Alexa. Wait for the cops. I don’t want them to shoot me by accident,” he said, his tone wry. Brent took off across the yard, hugging shadows as he went. Finally, he reached the porch and slowed his approach, reaching behind his back.
Rowan realized he had a gun in his hand. Her stomach tightened into a knot, wanting to race inside to check on Heather and Alexa herself, knowing she’d put herself and Brent into more danger if she didn’t follow his instructions.
She pressed tighter against the tree as Brent raised his weapon and slipped into the house. The sound of sirens edged closer. Not fast enough to suit Rowan. Her friend faced armed thugs without backup.
Brent appeared in the doorway and waved her over. She sprinted across the lawn.
“Come with me. Heather’s been shot.” He gripped her hand and hurried through the foyer and up the staircase to Alexa’s room.
She pushed her way past him and ran to her sister, who was sprawled on the floor, arms spread to her side, a pool of blood spreading. “Heather, can you hear me?”
Brent crouched beside her, a handful of towels in his hand. “Use these to staunch the blood flow.” He showed her how much pressure to apply on the wound to the right side of her sister’s chest, and stood. “Keep the pressure steady, Rowan.”
“Where are you going?”
“To Find Alexa. Where would she hide if she were afraid?”
“The closet in here or the one in her mother’s room.”
He crossed the room, stepped to the side of the closet door, and eased it open. Empty. “Heather’s room?”
“Across the hall and to the left.”
Heather moaned.
Rowan’s attention shifted to her sister. “Hold on, Heather. Help is on the way.”
“Alexa,” she whispered.
“My friend is searching for her.”
A slight head shake. “Gone.”
“What do you mean?”
“They took her.” Silence.
“Heather, who took her? Was it Jay?” Nothing. “Heather?” Oh, dear. Not a good sign. Rowan checked that her sister was still breathing, re
laxed slightly when she saw that Heather was indeed still with her, but unconscious.
The sirens cut off abruptly. The police had arrived. Rowan grabbed another towel. How long would it take for an ambulance to arrive? Heather was losing blood fast. Too fast.
Brent returned. “No luck. I’ll search the rest of the house, but I have to wait for the police to get up here.”
“Heather regained consciousness for a minute. She said ‘they took her.’”
“Jay, or someone else?”
“I don’t know. She slipped back under before she could say anything else.”
Footsteps sounded in the hall.
“Sweetheart, don’t let up on that pressure until the ambulance arrives.”
Her head whipped his direction. Brent’s expression showed resignation. “What’s going on?”
“I’m going to be tied up until Taylor gets here.”
Uniformed cops swept into the room, guns up, expressions fierce. “Get on the ground, now!”
CHAPTER THREE
Brent scowled at the officers staring at him with weapons drawn. “Detective Cal Taylor of homicide was supposed to contact you about my presence at the scene.” He lay on his stomach, his face turned toward a horror-stricken Rowan. One of the officers grabbed his weapon, then cuffed him. He’d better be getting back the sweet Ruger soon. That Ruger was his favorite weapon.
“No,” Rowan protested. “He came with me to help my sister. Brent didn’t break in and shoot Heather.”
“It’s okay, Rowan,” he said, voice mild even though he was ticked off. Yeah, he got it. Brent was an unknown danger in the middle of a crime scene. Still, didn’t these guys listen to their superiors? If his operatives did that, he’d send them back through training or fire them. That was better than the alternative—dying because you refused to listen, not something Brent wanted on his conscience.
A brush of fabric told Brent that his friend, Cal Taylor, had arrived. About time. “Get those cuffs off him,” the detective snapped.
The officer unlocked the handcuffs and stepped back, face flushed.
Brent rolled to a crouch, gaze locked on the cops who were still twitchy. He shifted into a better position to protect Rowan. “Tell your boys to lower their weapons and I want my Ruger back, Cal.”
His former SEAL teammate motioned for the uniforms to lower their Glocks. “As soon as the ballistic test rules your Ruger out as the weapon used to shoot our vic, I’ll make sure it’s returned. Of course, I might do some target shooting with it first.”
Brent scowled. “Get your own, buddy.”
The sandy-haired six-foot detective shifted his gaze to Rowan. “Rowan Scott?”
“That’s right.”
“Sorry to meet you under these circumstances.” He knelt beside her, avoiding the pool of blood. “I can take over here if you want to go wash your hands.”
Rowan glanced down at her hands and noted the blood staining her skin. She paled. “Thanks.” Rowan stood and hurried into the bathroom across the hall.
“Sit rep,” Taylor demanded of Brent.
“We arrived five minutes ago, found Heather. She has a six-year-old daughter I haven’t been able to locate. Heather regained consciousness for a minute and told Rowan someone took Alexa.”
“Did she identify them?”
“Slipped back under before she could say.”
Rowan gave the uniforms a wide berth as she returned to the room and rushed back to her sister’s side.
Taylor grabbed another towel. “Simmons, start searching this house for the child. Blanchard, go wait out front for the ambulance. Should be here in a minute.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Rowan, do you know what happened here? Was this a domestic dispute gone wrong?”
“I don’t know.” She sandwiched Heather’s hand between her own. Cold and clammy. That couldn’t be good. “Heather didn’t say. But if it was a domestic dispute, Jay wouldn’t need to kick down the door.”
“If he was angry enough, a locked door could have triggered the aggression.” Brent almost hoped Jay Maxwell was to blame. At least then, they’d know where to start looking for Alexa. “Heather may not have admitted they’d been fighting. Her pattern has been to conceal the truth from you.”
“The Maxwells have marital problems?” Taylor asked, glancing from Brent back to Rowan.
“Heather hasn’t been happy, but she won’t say a bad word against her husband, Jay.”
“I’ll run a check, see if we’ve logged a domestic disturbance call from this address. What’s your opinion of the husband?”
“He’s sleazy. I wouldn’t be surprised if Jay was hurting Heather.”
Again, Brent wondered just what this creep Jay had done to Rowan. Though she’d promised to tell him if Jay touched her again, he didn’t know that he altogether believed she would. He had a feeling the lady preferred to handle things on her own. Not an option with man like Jay. If he didn’t treat is own wife with the respect and care she deserved, Brent doubted Rowan’s complaints or confrontation would be received well.
Blanchard returned with the EMTs and Taylor moved out of their way. “Wait here,” he said to Brent. “Blanchard, go back out front and set up a perimeter. I don’t want the neighbors to destroy any possible evidence in the yard.” He left, returned a minute later with clean hands and stood to the side, watching the medical personnel work on Heather and placing a call to request a crime scene team.
Brent helped Rowan to her feet. “Come on.” He nodded toward the wall where Taylor waited. “Let’s move so the EMTs have room to work.” When she turned that direction, he circled her waist with his arm for support. She looked shaky to him, though she wouldn’t appreciate him saying that out loud.
“She has to be all right,” Rowan whispered, her gaze locked on her sister. “Alexa needs her. Can you image what would happen to that sweet baby if her father was responsible for her upbringing?”
“You said he never abused her.”
“That I know of. I could be wrong.”
Taylor clipped his phone to the holder on his belt. “Rowan, I need an updated picture of the child.”
“Her name is Alexa,” Rowan said. “Heather has a picture of her that was taken last month. Will that work?”
“That’s perfect. Children grow so quickly, the more recent the picture, the better.”
The EMTs lifted Heather to the stretcher and strapped her down.
“What hospital?” Brent asked.
“Southern Hills is the closest.”
“Will you take me?” Rowan asked Brent. “I need to be with her.”
“After you give me information about Alexa,” Taylor said. “The faster I get what I need, the quicker we’ll have her description over the air and every cop in the city looking for her. You can’t do anything for Heather, but you might make the difference in helping us find Alexa.”
After a lingering glance at her sister as the EMTs pushed the stretcher into the hall, Rowan said, “Come with me. Heather has several pictures that will work. I’ll let you choose which one is the best for reproduction purposes.”
Taylor motioned for her to proceed.
With his arm still around her, Brent accompanied Rowan to Heather’s room where he’d searched for Alexa earlier. He’d noticed that the room only contained Heather’s belongings. Guess Heather and Jay didn’t share a room. Lent credence to Rowan’s belief there was trouble in the marriage. Unless the room contained Heather’s overflow of belongings that wouldn’t fit in the master suite. He was more inclined to believe this is where Heather slept. The room was stamped with her personality, not bland like a storage room.
Rowan headed straight for the bookshelf where colorful paperbacks weighed down the shelves along with many framed pictures of an adorable black-haired girl with beautiful brown eyes.
Alexa Maxwell took his breath away. His lips curved. She took after her aunt. Rowan did the same thing to him. Yep, he was a sap, all right. But a man wo
uld have to have a heart of stone not to be mush inside at the sight of this little one.
Rowan reached for a picture of Alexa in a white dress with a yellow hat perched on her head. The girl’s eyes appeared to sparkle with happiness. Might just be a trick of the photographer’s lighting. Brent hoped that wasn’t the case. “This is the latest picture. Will this work?”
“Oh, yeah.” Taylor took the picture from the frame. “I’ll make sure the picture is returned. I need to make copies. Do you know what outfit Alexa was wearing today?”
“Maybe. One thing I’ll say about her father. The man doesn’t mind spending money on his daughter. That girl has more clothes than Heather and I do put together.” Rowan bit her lower lip. “I’ll have to go back into Alexa’s room.”
Brent wanted to protest, knew that he couldn’t if Rowan’s discomfort would give him and Taylor another lead to find Alexa. No way was he leaving the investigation up to Metro’s finest. They were overworked and understaffed, and their equipment didn’t hold a candle to what he used at Fortress.
The detective held out a pair of rubber gloves. “Put these on in case the person who took Alexa left prints.”
Rowan did as directed and retraced her steps to Alexa’s room. She headed to the dresser and began riffling through the contents of the drawers. Next, she avoided the pool of blood on the way to the closet.
The closet was as large as the one in his bedroom, Brent mused. Hardly necessary for a six-year-old. No doubt she would need that much space and more when she was a teenager.
A minute later, she returned. “Alexa is wearing pink overalls and a white shirt with pink trim and white tennis shoes.”
Brent stared. “She has more clothes than a department store in this room. How do you know what she’s wearing?”
“I gave her the outfit. It’s her favorite and it’s missing from the closet. And before you ask, I also checked the clothes hamper. The outfit isn’t here.”
Simmons returned, a grim look on his face. “I can’t find the girl, Detective. There’s no sign of her.”
“Thanks. Go help Blanchard with crowd control.” Taylor turned back to Rowan. “I need contact information for Jay Maxwell.” When she provided the information, the detective used his cell phone to call Maxwell. “No answer. Does he usually ignore phone calls?”
