by Sharon Sala
“He’s dead!” someone cried. “Raphael killed him.”
Solomon threw a sheet at Raphael, tossing it over Jade’s lifeless body.
“Get her out of here,” he said, and then ignored him as he left the room.
Solomon dropped to his knees and felt for Lawson’s pulse. Lawson wasn’t someone who could go missing without fallout. He couldn’t be dead. Then he felt a faint pulse, and he shouted, “No, he’s not dead! He’s not dead! Someone get me some water.”
In all the mess, he’d lost two of his best kids and a van, but by the next morning, he could not have cared less. If she lived, Jade was well past her prime, and Raphael was becoming a danger. He was glad to be rid of them, but just in case, it might be time to find a new home.
Otis felt sick. He hadn’t thought of that pair in years. It could have been a coincidence, the lost child named Jade and the man she belonged to being named Sam Cochrane, but he knew it was not. And he knew, as surely as his name was not Otis Jacks, that he might be in trouble. Of all the children he’d pimped, she and that bastard boy who’d dogged her every footstep were the only ones who’d gotten away.
He took out a handkerchief and wiped the sudden sweat from his face. All these years and he’d assumed they were dead. They should have been dead. Most runaways that age wound up dead from one thing or another. Why the hell hadn’t they?
His mind was racing as he took his foot off the brake and eased the car onto the canyon road. This time, changing his name might not be enough. He couldn’t dye hair that was no longer on his head, and he’d never been able to put on any weight. The way he looked at it, there was only one thing left to do.
Eight
Frank Lawson stood at the window overlooking downtown Nashville, staring at a poster of himself on the giant billboard across the street.
A Vote For Lawson Is A Vote For Law.
He thought the slogan was a bit lame, but he liked his picture. Subconsciously he smoothed his hand over his thinning hair, then knuckled the weight below his jaws and shrugged. A little airbrushing here, a little shadowing there and one could almost believe he still had a full head of hair and no double chins.
Then Frank smiled. Pictures aside, he was on a roll. The polls were predicting him as a shoo-in as Tennessee’s new governor, but he didn’t need the polls to tell him what he already felt in his bones. It had been a long time coming, but his dreams were about to come true. He was going to win. He just knew it.
There was a brief knock at the door of his office; then his secretary walked in with the morning mail.
“Good morning, Mr. Lawson.”
He smiled. “Good morning, Lydia.” Then he lifted his coffee cup in a salute. “Great cup of coffee this morning,” he said.
She nodded primly. Of course it was great. She prided herself on doing everything correctly, including making a perfect pot of coffee.
“Thank you, Mr. Lawson. You have a meeting in twenty minutes with your campaign manager and lunch with the mayor at one o’clock.”
“Thank you, Lydia. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Lydia was just as certain that he wouldn’t know what to do without her, either, which was why she made herself indispensable to her employers.
“Is there anything else you need?” she asked.
“No, thanks,” Frank said.
Lydia left, quietly closing the door behind her, and leaving Frank with his coffee and the morning mail.
He took a quick sip from his cup, then sat down in his chair and picked up the paper. The headlines were nothing special.
And then he turned the page.
It was little more than a human interest story in the bottom right-hand corner, and he wouldn’t even have bothered to read it, but the headline, above the story caught his eye.
Man finds missing daughter after twenty years.
He paused, then closed his eyes, thinking about where he’d been that long ago. Haight-Ashbury. Love-ins. And the drugs—lord, the drugs. Unlike what some of the country’s leading politicians had claimed, Big Frank Lawson had sinned and inhaled—repeatedly—and admitted to it.
But that had all changed ten years ago due to an act of random violence. In the process, Frank Lawson had become a national hero.
He’d been in California for less than two days, trying to put together a group of financial backers for a shopping mall he wanted to build, but with little success. On his second night in L.A., he’d been asleep in his hotel, only to be awakened by a series of gunshots. At first he’d thought they were the result of a drive-by shooting, then he’d realized they were coming from the room next door. Without thinking, he jumped out of bed and ran into the hall, more to get away from the bullets flying through the walls of his room than to try to be a hero.
But fate had intervened. He reached the hall just as the shooter came running out. It was a case of fight or die, and Big Frank had never been a quitter. He tackled the surprised gunman before he could take aim at Frank and took him to the floor. Despite the fact that the shooter had the weapon, Big Frank had four inches and seventy-five pounds more of height and weight to his advantage. With his elbow in the man’s throat, he wrestled the gun from his hands, then knocked him out cold.
As he staggered to his feet, he heard moans from the room the gunman had exited, and entered to find a woman and three children, lying in their own blood on the floor. He grabbed the phone and called 911, then sat out in the hall with the gun trained on the shooter. Within minutes the police arrived, followed closely by emergency services and then the media. By morning, Frank Lawson had become a star in a city where stars were a dime a dozen. The woman, who’d been on the run from her abusive husband, survived, as did her children. The husband, furious that his wife had left him, had hired a man to kill her and the kids. By the time the truth came out and the trial was over, Big Frank Lawson’s name was on everyone’s lips. He was a guest on all the big talk shows, appeared at news stations across the country and in every facet of the media that wanted a draw for their weekly shows. After that, investors were a dime a dozen and Frank Lawson was not only famous, but rich, as well.
And now he found himself standing on the precipice of another new venture—one that he wanted more than he’d wanted anything in his entire life.
To be the governor of his home state of Tennessee.
Beyond the windows of his office, a jet plane flew across his line of vision, breaking his thoughts and reminding him that, within minutes, he would be leaving for a meeting. He glanced back at the story, and as he did, a name caught his eye.
Jade Cochrane.
He frowned. The name seemed familiar, but he couldn’t place where he’d heard it before.
Jade? Jade?
He skimmed through the rest of the article, catching only the highlights. Parental kidnapping. Missing since the age of four. Thought to have been living with a cult called the People of Joy.
That was when it hit him.
A delicate, seven-year old girl with long, black wavy hair. Eyes the color of coal and a mouth like a rosebud. Skin so white it looked pearlescent on her fragile, prepubescent body. He choked on a breath and then stood abruptly. The paper slid out of his hands onto the floor as memory surfaced and his knees went weak.
“Oh shit. Oh shit.”
That was why the name Jade was familiar. Sweet baby Jade…his Saturday night toy.
Big Frank spun toward the window and then stared across the street toward the billboard.
A Vote For Lawson Is A Vote For Law.
And therein lay his problem. In his lifetime, he’d broken quite a few laws, but after his life-changing role as a hero, most of that had become infinitely forgivable—except for that one.
It was the single weakness he had that the world would not forgive. Even now, thinking about the small bones and satin-smooth skin on a little girl’s body made him hard. He closed his eyes, remembering what he’d taught her to do—remembering the feel of her tiny hands and
soft mouth, picturing her bloody and lifeless on the floor at his feet.
“Mr. Lawson, you’re late for your meeting.”
Frank pivoted sharply. Lydia was standing in the doorway and he was on the brink of an orgasm. He was afraid to move for fear he would come where he stood. He inhaled sharply, then made himself focus. Don’t think of it. Don’t think of it. You have too much at stake.
“Tell them I’ll be there as soon as I make a phone call.”
She nodded, then left.
The moment the door was closed, Frank reached for the phone. The way he looked at it, this wasn’t his mess. He’d paid a lot of money to that son-of-a-bitch Solomon to make sure that his sexual preferences were protected. Granted, when this began, back in the seventies he’d been a nobody on the road to nowhere. How could he have known that he would become a fucking hero? But he was honest enough with himself to admit that, even if he’d known, he doubted he would have lived his life any other way.
What he did know was that the man who called himself Solomon had quit the “cult” business and gone semi-legit, if one could call porno a legitimate occupation. Now all he had to do was find him. He thought he remembered the name of the film company he’d founded. It was a place to start.
He picked up the phone and dialed information. As soon as the operator answered, Frank spoke.
“Los Angeles, California, please.”
“Yes, go ahead,” the operator said.
“Do you have a listing for Shooting Star Productions?”
“One moment please.”
A few seconds later, a recorded message came on, listing the number. Frank wrote quickly, tore the paper from the pad on which he’d written it and stuffed it in his pocket. Then he smoothed down his hair with the palms of both hands, lifted his chin and headed for the door.
Normally the library in Sam’s house was a place of comfort to him, but not today. He’d been unable to concentrate on anything and had done little else but pace through the rooms of the house, trying to look at them with a fresh view—wondering if there was anything within the walls of the old, three-story home that would ring a bell in Jade’s memory. Luke had cautioned him carefully about not expecting too much from her, especially at first. He understood. She’d been so young when Margaret had taken her away that it would be a miracle if she remembered anything, especially him.
And ever since Luke’s phone call, he’d been inundated with calls from the local media with requests for interviews, as well as one man’s request for permission to film their first meeting as part of a documentary.
Sam had refused them all, but it hadn’t stopped the stories from appearing in the papers or the reporters from calling.
He’d tried to ignore everything and focus all his energy on getting the house ready for his daughter’s homecoming. All he could think was, thank God for Velma. She’d positioned herself between the world and Sam, giving him time to come to terms with everything that was happening.
“Mr. Cochrane, I’ve cleaned the guest rooms as you requested. The florist delivered the flowers a few minutes ago, so the fresh arrangements you wanted are also in place. Is there anything else you want me to do before they arrive?”
“No, Velma…not that I can think of,” Sam said.
She frowned. He’d been distracted ever since he’d gotten up this morning. At first she’d attributed it to anxiety over his long-lost daughter’s arrival, but the more time passed, the more convinced she became that something else was bothering him.
She started to leave and then made herself stop and turn around.
“Mr. Cochrane, are you feeling all right?”
Sam sighed. Velma was like a bulldog when it came to pursuing a truth, so he shouldn’t be surprised by her astuteness.
“My health is fine. It’s everything else. Christ almighty, woman, look out the windows! The papers are full of this story. There are news crews camped out as close to my doorstep as they can get without getting themselves arrested. I’m scared to death that all this crap will frighten Jade off before she gets a chance to know me again.”
Velma sighed. She should have known. This block had become a madhouse.
“It will pass,” she said. “Besides, if your daughter has survived the past years on her own, don’t you think she’s strong enough to survive this, as well?”
Sam sighed. He hadn’t thought of it in those terms. He was so used to being the one in charge, but in this case, everything was out of his control.
“You’re right,” he said, and then gave the little woman a quick hug. “And thank you for caring,” he said.
“Of course I’m right,” she said, and then fussed with her apron to cover her embarrassment. “I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me.”
Sam grinned as she left the room. Just like a woman to get the last word and claim righteousness in the process. Then the phone rang, and his smile faded. He thought about letting it ring, but there was always the chance it might be Luke. He circled his desk and picked up the receiver.
“Cochrane residence.”
“Sam? What the hell is going on at your house?”
“Luke? Where are you?”
“About two blocks away. News crews are everywhere. What’s happening?”
Sam sighed. “You’re what’s happening,” he said. “I’m assuming you haven’t been reading the papers or watching the news.”
Luke glanced at the woman sitting beside him on the seat and gave her what he hoped was a comforting smile. After what he’d witnessed last night in the motel, the last thing he wanted to do was spook her. She didn’t smile back, but at least she no longer looked at him with fear. It was a start. Now if he could find a way not to ruin their tenuous relationship, he would be happy. He returned his attention to the street and to the man on the other end of the line.
“No, we haven’t done much reading the past two days.”
“Good,” Sam muttered. “But you’ve got to find a way to get her inside this house without scaring the hell out of her.”
Luke stifled a curse. “Yeah. Sure. No problem.” A moment of frustration came and went, and then a thought occurred. “Hey, Sam, are they still laying cable in the alley behind your house?”
“No, they finished that job almost a week ago. Why?”
“Good, because we’re coming in the back door.”
Suddenly Sam understood. “I’ll open the gates,” he said quickly, then added, “But what if your car won’t fit through the opening?”
A muscle jumped in Luke’s jaw as he made a sudden turn to the right.
“We’ll make it fit,” he muttered, then touched Jade’s hand.
“Hang on, honey. We’re almost there.”
Sam heard the tires skidding on pavement before he dropped the phone and started to run.
Jade didn’t know what was happening, but it was too late to ask for an explanation.
Raphael roused himself from the back seat as the car began to skid. Thinking they were about to be in an accident, he reached over the seat toward Jade.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Buckle up.”
Raphael fumbled for his seat belt.
The rental car bounced into and then out of a set of ruts as Luke drove into the unpaved alley.
“Sorry,” he muttered, then glanced into the rearview mirror and frowned. A white van was less than a half block behind him and closing fast. “Damn it, they’ve spotted us.”
“Who spotted us?” Raphael asked.
Jade’s heart was in her throat. She didn’t know what was going on or why these elaborate maneuvers were necessary, but she suddenly realized that she was trusting Luke Kelly to see them through.
Luke had never done sixty miles an hour down a narrow, one-way alley before and was too busy driving to answer Raphael’s question. Added to that was the unexpected confusion of not being able to tell one piece of property from another due to the high brick walls of the estates.
“Look for a big blue gate!” he yel
led. “It should be on the right!”
Jade leaned forward, her gaze fixed on the blur of shrub and structures by which they were speeding. Suddenly, she saw a flash of blue up ahead. Before she could focus, the color began to disappear. It took her a moment to realize that it was the double doors to a big gate and they were swinging inward.
“There!” she cried, pointing up ahead. “Someone is opening the gates.”
Luke grinned. “Good job. Now let’s see if this baby will fit.”
He tapped on the brakes just enough to take the turn inside without slamming against the walls, then whipped the steering wheel sharply to the right, correcting the turn. The car fishtailed slightly, then shot through the gap with mere inches to spare. Once inside, he slammed on the brakes and put the car in park, then jumped out on the run.
Despite the excitement, Jade found herself unable to move; instead staring in disbelief at the elegant grounds on which they had stopped, grounds that led up to a three-story edifice of native stone and brick. Suddenly she came to her senses and pivoted in the seat just in time to see Luke and a tall older man pushing the gates shut. When they dropped a long, wooden bar across a pair of large, metal brackets, she had the sensation of having been locked inside the castle walls.
“What in hell was that all about?” Raphael asked.
“I don’t know, but I think we’ve arrived,” she said softly, then unbuckled her seat belt and got out of the car.
The sunshine was warm on her face, and there was a slight breeze rustling the leaves in the tops of the trees towering over the brick walls encircling the property. Somewhere overhead a bird chirped. Off to her right, another answered. She looked at Luke and then the man standing beside him and shivered. He was tall, with a full head of silver-gray hair and a look on his face that was just short of pain.
Instinctively Jade took a step backward, then felt Raphael’s hand on her shoulder.
“It’s all right, honey,” he said softly. “Just say hello.”
“I can’t, Rafie…I’m scared.”
