Peek-A-Boo Protector

by Rita Herron

  A long pause, then he heard covers rustling. “Hang on a sec. Let me go in the other room.”

  John rapped his knuckles on the desk while he waited.

  “What about Honey?” Cumberland asked. “Where is she?”

  “I don’t know, that’s why I’m calling,” John said, then explained the circumstances. “When did you last see or speak with her?”

  Cumberland’s voice became hushed as if someone else might be in the room and he wanted the conversation to remain private. “Oh, damn,” he muttered. “Damn, I should have done something.”

  John’s fingers tightened on the handset. This guy knew something. “What do you mean?”

  Cumberland muttered a sound of frustration. “I haven’t seen her since she moved to Dallas. But a couple of weeks ago, she called me and sounded upset.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Not much,” he said in a worried tone. “But I got the idea she was in trouble. She said she might need a place to stay.”

  “Did she come to Shreveport?”

  “No,” Cumberland said. “I’m dating another girl now, and she came in the room, and I told her I’d call Honey back. But I tried Honey later, and she didn’t answer. I left her a message, but I never heard back.”

  John twisted his mouth in thought. “Do you know where she lived in Dallas?”

  “Hang on another minute. Honey loved postcards and sent me one right after she moved. She wrote the address on the card.”

  Sam glanced at him impatiently while he waited, then Cumberland returned and gave him the address. “Chief?” Cumberland asked.

  “Yes?”

  “Please find her,” Cumberland said. “I’d hate to think that anything bad happened to Honey.”

  John thanked him and hung up again, shaking his head at the man’s response. Honey might love them and leave them, but so far, none of the men she’d left sounded as if they had a grudge.

  The man after her had to be someone she’d met in Dallas.

  Sam tapped her foot impatiently. “What did he say?”

  “He gave me Honey’s address in Dallas.” He reached for his coat. “Let’s go.”

  “Where to?” Sam asked.

  “Dallas. If we find out what happened there, maybe we’ll find the man after Honey.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Sam had never been inside John’s house. He lived in a small bungalow in town near the police station so he could be close to any call he received. Giant azaleas flanked the front with flowerbeds lining the walkway to the door and a huge magnolia in the front yard.

  The home was unlike John’s father’s estate which sat on the edge of the town, property that backed up to the river and offered privacy as well as an aesthetic ambience that spoke of old money, power and prestige.

  She suddenly felt odd, uneasy, without the baby in her arms and the buffer between them, as if being here in his home was invading his privacy.

  And making her heart want to get closer to him.

  The oak furnishings, knotty pine paneling and masculine colors seemed to suit him and differed from the ostentatious lifestyle and furnishings she’d imagined he’d grown up with. His mother had always stood by his father’s side, a picture of support as he’d vaulted from police chief to mayor, launching him into a political future that included a senatorial run.

  John’s father had made no secret that he expected his son to follow in his footsteps. And so far, John had.

  She reminded herself of the wide chasm between them and the differences in their goals. Butterville was the only home she’d known since Miss Mazie had taken her in, and she couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.

  Unlike Honey, who’d set her sights higher and had moved on.

  Chocolate leather couches created an eye-catching, cozy place for conversation around the fireplace and plush pillows in blue and green served as accent pieces. She was slightly surprised but grateful not to find a moose or deer head on the wall like some of the hunters in the area sported and showed off.

  John’s footsteps pounded on the wood floor, and he clattered down the stairs carrying a duffel bag and his computer. “I called the airport and booked two flights. We’ll stop by your house and you can pack.”

  She clutched her jacket around her and tried to banish the thought of the two of them sitting together on the couch in front of a raging fireplace, cozily snuggling up to each other as soft music played in the background. Then they’d kiss and finish what they’d started earlier, fall into bed and make love until dawn.

  He frowned and gestured to the door, and she squashed those romantic thoughts. They had a plane to catch and a possible killer to find.

  Criminal work was John’s world, she thought as they hurried outside and into his car. A world she had been thrust into because of Honey, the little girl she’d left in her house and her missing son.

  A world she wasn’t sure she wanted to live in when the man after Honey was found.

  Although by nature of her job, she would always deal with the police. And John was the epitome of everything she admired….

  But he was everything that she couldn’t have.

  Or wouldn’t dare to hope for because the loss of loving someone would be too great, and she couldn’t bear that kind of pain again.

  JOHN REMAINED TENSE as he and Sam boarded the plane to Dallas. He had no idea what they might find and only hoped that Sam was up to the task.

  That kiss with her earlier taunted him. Dammit, he wanted to kiss her again.

  Thankfully, though, she had no idea the turmoil racking his mind. She had closed her eyes the minute the plane had departed and shut him out. He tried to do the same. He hadn’t slept well here in two days and assured himself that the plane ride was his reprieve, so he adjusted his seat, leaned back and fell into a deep sleep.

  The next thing he knew he jerked awake as the plane screeched to a stop on the runway. Through blurred eyes, he shifted and found Sam asleep on his shoulder, her pink lips parted, her fingers curled on his arm.

  The picture was so seductive yet out of character for Sam that his heart swelled with protectiveness and an odd twinge he didn’t recognize. A twinge that felt suddenly like—affection.

  The flight attendant announced gates for connecting flights, and he gently shook Sam’s arm to wake her. When she opened her eyes, she looked sleepy and trusting and so damn sexy that his chest clenched. For a brief second, he allowed himself to imagine that this was a vacation, an intimate interlude they’d planned together, not an investigation into the stalking and possible death of her best friend.

  “John?”

  “We’re in Dallas,” he said. “The plane just landed.”

  Silently, like the strong person she’d always been, she gathered her composure, then they retrieved their bags from the overhead carrier and followed the train of passengers out. A half hour later, they’d commandeered a rental car and driven straight to the address Honey’s friend had given them for her last residence in Dallas. It was a small apartment building on the edge of the city that looked as if it had seen better days.

  Sunshine glinted through the trees as he and Sam climbed out, the afternoon heat warmer in Dallas than the mountains of Georgia, the land flatter, the absence of storms a welcome reprieve.

  Sam followed behind him quietly, the tension building as they approached the apartment door. He knocked, but as they’d expected, no one answered, so after a few minutes, they went in search of the super of the complex.

  An older white-haired man grunted as he answered the door. “What?”

  John flashed his ID. “We’re looking into the disappearance of one of your tenants. A lady named Honey Dawson.”

  The chubby man scratched his belly. “But you’re not with the Dallas Police.”

  “No,” John said. “But a girl who lives in your complex is missing, perhaps dead. Now all we want is for you to answer some questions.”

  The man’s unibrow pushed upward. “All righ
t. Hell, I hate to think anything happened to Honey. She was a damn sweet girl.”

  So sweet that someone wanted her dead.

  John wanted to roll his eyes; like every other male he’d encountered so far, the super was completely enamored with Honey.

  “Could you let us into her apartment?” he asked. “There might be something in there that could help us locate her.”

  The man frowned.

  “Please, sir.” Sam touched his elbow. “Honey was my best friend and I’m worried about her.”

  The super shrugged, reached for the set of keys clipped to his belt and gestured for them to follow. John surveyed the weathered building and overgrown grounds. The inside of the apartment needed fresh paint and the furnishings were minimal. An old dog-eared TV sat on a rickety stand, a brown plaid sofa and recliner provided seating and the kitchen cabinets were a cheap wood.

  “Lock the door when you leave,” the man said, then lumbered away.

  Sam walked over to the table next to the sofa, picked up a picture frame and flipped it around to show him. “Look, John, here’s a photograph of Honey holding the babies in the hospital. This proves that Emmie is hers.”

  “It’s not proof,” John said. “But it does look that way.”

  He started searching the desk drawers. There was no computer, but he found an unpaid phone bill and electric bill inside the top drawer. Stacks of paid bills filled a file, then he found a series of bank statements. He frowned. There were several overdrawn statements from prior months, but a recent statement revealed a rather large deposit. Ten grand.

  A lot for a waitress to accumulate in a short time.

  “Did you find something?” Sam asked over his shoulder.

  He gestured at the statement. “It looks as if Honey was struggling financially, but lately she came into some money.”

  Sam clamped her lower lip with her teeth as if she understood the implications. Honey might have gotten into something illegal.

  Sam went into the bedroom, and he continued to search through the desk, looking for notes, a journal, anything to indicate who she might have been involved with. Sam returned a few minutes later.

  “Did you find anything?” he asked.

  A troubled look crossed her face. “You said Honey had some overdrawn slips and a ten thousand dollar deposit. It’s odd but there are some really nice clothes in her closet.”

  “Why is that odd?”

  “They don’t look like something Honey would choose for herself. She liked glitz and glamour but where did she get that money in the bank and these clothes?”

  John frowned, his mind working. She wasn’t going to like his train of thought. “Maybe she had a sugar daddy.”

  “No,” Sam said instantly, although he sensed that deep down she had probably contemplated the possibility herself.

  A knock sounded on the opened door, and John and Sam looked up to see a short, voluptuous Hispanic girl standing in the doorway.

  “What are you two doing in Honey’s apartment?”

  John flashed his badge. “We’re looking for information about Honey Dawson. Did you know her?”

  “Yes.” Her brown eyes widened in concern. “Why? What happened to her?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to find out,” John said. “What’s your name, miss?”

  The woman shifted and leaned against the door. “Roberta Frontera.”

  Sam cleared her throat and moved toward the woman, gesturing for her to come in. “Honey and I grew up together,” she said. “We’ve been best friends since we were children. A couple of days ago she came to my house with Emmie, but I wasn’t home at the time. When I arrived, Honey was gone, but I found blood on the floor and her little girl in my closet. It looked as if there had been a struggle.”

  “Oh my.” Roberta clutched the wall and muttered a few words in Spanish. “I was afraid something bad had happened.”

  “Why would you think that?” Sam asked.

  She sighed and tucked a strand of her wavy brown hair behind one ear. “Because she was here one night, then the next I saw her rushing from her apartment in the middle of the night like the devil was on her heels.”

  “Do you know of anyone who would want to hurt her?” John asked.

  Roberta fidgeted. “There was this Peeping Tom a while back who broke into her apartment and stole her underwear. She called the police and filed charges. I think they even went to court.”

  HONEY HAD A PEEPING TOM? A stalker?

  Sam glanced at John. “Do you know this guy’s name or where he is now?”

  Roberta shook her head no. “She didn’t say his name. But he was in jail for a while. I don’t know if he got out or not.”

  “Thanks,” John said. “That’s very helpful and will give us a place to look.”

  “Was there anything else strange going on with Honey?” Sam asked.

  Roberta twisted her mouth in thought. “Well, for a while Honey was struggling to make ends meet. But the last month or two she started wearing nicer clothes and jewelry. But she never said how she got the money.”

  Sam contemplated the large deposit in Honey’s account and wondered where it had come from. “Was she dating anyone?”

  Roberta flipped her hair over her shoulder. “This guy Jimmy hung around a lot. I think she met him at court. He was a bailiff or something like that.”

  “Do you know his last name?” John asked.

  “I’m afraid not.”

  Sam gave her an imploring look. “You knew Honey had twins?”

  Roberta nodded. “Sí. She was so proud of those babies. I hope they’re all right. Honey loved them so much.”

  “Was this man Jimmy the father of the twins?” John asked.

  Roberta shrugged. “I have no idea. She never told me. But Jimmy was completely taken with Honey. He helped her through the pregnancy. I think he would have married her if she’d said yes.”

  “We have to find him,” Sam said to John.

  John nodded and thanked Roberta. “Let’s go pay the police department a visit and find out about this stalker first.”

  Roberta left, and they locked up, then rushed to the rental car. John consulted his PDA for an address for the police department and steered them into town. Sam had never been to Dallas, but she was too preoccupied with thoughts of Honey to enjoy the scenery. Still the high-rise office buildings, storefronts and throngs of people seemed daunting compared to the small town of Butterville.

  John parked at the station on Lamar Street, the afternoon sun beating down on them as they entered the station. He showed his ID to the receptionist when they entered and explained the reason for their visit. Five minutes later, they were led through security past a bullpen housing various desks, computers and officers to a private office.

  A medium height, craggy-looking man with short wavy brown hair stood, tugging at his pants. “I’m Detective Arnold.”

  “Police Chief John Wise and Samantha Corley.” Once again John explained the situation and what they’d learned so far. “Can you tell us about the man who was stalking Honey?”

  The detective pulled his hand down his chin, then opened his filing cabinet, rooted around and removed a file with a labored sigh. He returned to his desk, sat down and spread it open.

  “The stalker’s name was Neil Kinney.”

  “Tell us more,” John said. “When did this stalking occur?”

  “Let’s see. Honey said she moved to town late May, early June. He started stalking her, then broke into her apartment and stole her underwear.”

  “And she filed a report?”

  “Yes. We placed a restraining order on him at first, but after the break-in, we pressed charges. Honey testified for the grand jury in August.”

  “And Kinney went to jail?”

  “Yes,” Detective Arnold said, then pinched his lips together in a frown.

  “What is it?” Sam asked.

  He released a frustrated breath. “Unfortunately the man was released a mont
h ago. I notified Honey so she would be aware and told her to let me know if he bothered her again.”

  “And did she?” John asked.

  He shook his head. “But if Honey is missing or hurt, I would definitely look at him as a suspect. He was pretty ticked off when she testified against him and threatened to make her pay when he got out.”

  Chapter Twelve

  John contemplated the fact that Honey had a stalker, and that Kinney was out of prison now. Detective Arnold was right. Kinney could have gone after her.

  Based on the profile of a typical stalker, he was obsessed with Honey, and in his twisted mind probably imagined that she and he had a relationship. Knowing she’d been with other men, that she’d been carrying another man’s babies, might have driven him over the edge.

  But why hurt the babies?

  “Do you know where Neil Kinney is now?” John asked. “Is there an address or a family member’s house where he would go?”

  The detective consulted the file. “No current one, and no relatives listed. But his parole officer should know. If he’s left the state, he’s violated parole. And if he even got near Honey, he’ll go back to jail.”

  “Thank you.” John stood. “By the way, which Judge oversaw the case?”

  Again, the detective glanced at the files. “Judge Teddy Wexler. You can find him at the courthouse.”

  John gave him his card, and Sam thanked him, then they left the precinct and headed to the courthouse. Again they went through security, and John met with a court clerk and explained the reason for their visit.

  “I’m afraid Judge Wexler is in court at the moment,” the clerk said. “But if you want to wait, I’ll let him know you’re here.”

  “Of course,” John said. “Does he have a bailiff named Jimmy?”

  The clerk smiled. “Oh, yes, that would be Jimmy Bartow. He’s a great guy, and a hard worker.”

  “I need to speak with him, as well.”

  “All right. I’ll have one of the other clerks show you to the office beside the judge’s chambers where you can wait.”

  They followed the clerk through the mammoth building to the office and were seated in plush chairs in the corner near a receptionist’s desk where they were left stewing for half an hour. Finally the judge agreed to see them. Sam introduced them as they entered his chambers.