Hideaway at Hawk's Landing

by Rita Herron

  * * *

  BRAYDEN LOVED THE RANCH, but he and his brothers needed privacy now they were older and busy. Still, his mother had kept rooms for them to use when they visited. Recently, Harrison and Lucas had both built houses on Hawk’s Landing for them and their wives.

  Brayden and Dex also had offices in Austin. Brayden had rented an apartment above his law office, and Dex found a cabin on the edge of town that he could work out of, as well.

  Brayden drove to Dexter’s, knowing he couldn’t go home and sleep right away, not when Mila Manchester’s sad eyes haunted him.

  Dexter greeted him with a cold beer. His brother had a state-of-the-art computer system and was a whiz at finding information on the web. Sometimes he sensed Dex didn’t follow the rules; then again, that was the reason he’d formed his own PI agency instead of studying law.

  If he crossed the line, Brayden didn’t want to know about it. So far, Lucas and Harrison hadn’t asked questions either. As sheriff, Harrison had called on Dex for help a few times. He was pretty sure Lucas had, too, but Lucas only shared information on a need-to-know basis.

  Dex pressed a few keys and a photo of the doctor appeared along with articles on her services for the needy.

  “Look at this,” Dexter said. “Judging from the awards and press Mila’s received, she’s everything Charlotte claims. She practically runs her own clinic and offers services pro bono for families and children in need across the country. Hell, across the world.”

  Brayden’s gaze skated over the dozens of articles featuring Mila’s mother, Andrea Manchester, and had to agree.

  “She’s following in her mother’s footsteps.” Dexter accessed a photo of Mila’s mother receiving an award for her Doctors Without Borders work, just a month before she died in a shooting in Syria. She’d operated on a child born with a cleft lip and cleft palate.

  “I suppose it’s possible Mila became overwhelmed with the vast needs for her services and the cost, and accepted money to fund her efforts,” Dexter said. “But my preliminary search into her financials didn’t reveal anything suspicious. No large deposits, no offshore accounts.” He gestured toward another computer screen showing the doctor’s personal account then her business one. “There is an account for donations that has around a hundred grand, but it’ll take me time to sort through the ins and outs of the accounting to see if all the donations are legit.”

  Brayden scrubbed a hand through his hair. Money could be one motive. But if she’d been coerced, there had to be a more personal reason. “How about family? Does she have parents, a sister or brother, anyone DiSanti might threaten to persuade her to do his dirty work?”

  “Wait, this is interesting,” Dexter said.

  Brayden shifted, hoping his brother had found something he could use to convince Mila to talk to him. “What?”

  “Mila was adopted, although both of her adopted parents have passed,” Dexter said.

  Brayden’s brows shot up. “Any information on her birth mother or father?”

  Dexter shook his head. “Apparently she was abandoned as a baby. No father listed anywhere. Dr. Andrea Manchester was working at the hospital where Mila was brought in by paramedics. She and her husband adopted Mila.”

  No wonder she’d wanted to follow in her mother’s footsteps. “Anything on her coworkers?” Brayden asked.

  Dexter shrugged. “The head nurse is a single mother named Rhoda Zimmerman. She has a ten-year-old son and lives close to the clinic.” He pressed the print button and the printer spit out a page of names and addresses. “Other employees include a receptionist, another nurse and a PA.”

  Brayden checked his watch. “It’s too late tonight to talk to any of them. But first thing in the morning, I’ll get on it.”

  “It’ll go faster if we divide the list,” Dexter said.

  “Thanks. I’ll take the head nurse and receptionist.”

  “I’ll talk to the others,” Dexter offered.

  Brayden noticed a file on the desk, one that was labeled Hawk. His gaze shot to his brother, then he gestured to the folder. “What’s that about?”

  A wary look flashed across Dexter’s chiseled face. “A file on Chrissy.”

  “You were looking for her all these years?”

  Dex nodded. “Glad that’s settled.”

  Unfortunately, she was dead and had been since the day she’d gone missing.

  “Guess I can put it away now.” His brother swept the folder off the desk and jammed it in the drawer.

  Something about how quickly he removed it made Brayden suspicious. He could usually read his brother like a book. But not tonight.

  Was Dexter keeping something from him?

  Chapter Six

  Mila jerked awake from her nightmares, only to realize that she was living a real one. The dark holding cell was cold and lonely, and felt a million miles away from home and her daughter.

  She scrubbed her hands over her eyes, wiping away more tears. If she lost Izzy, she didn’t know what she’d do.

  Desperate to keep it together until she was released so she could find her little girl, she forced her mind to her work.

  Images of former patients, children in need, their parents’ gratitude that she’d given their children a chance at a normal life, flashed behind her eyes.

  Little Robin, who had a scar from falling through a window. Seven-year-old Jacob, who’d suffered abuse at his father’s hands—she’d repaired the damage to his face, although the sweet child would never get his vision back in his left eye. Tiny Sariana, whose leg had been burned in a car accident. Baby Jane Doe, who’d been left for dead in the woods and mauled by an animal.

  There were other children and families out there who needed her.

  But what would they think if they discovered she’d given a new face to a human trafficker so he could escape?

  Carina had borne the brunt of his vile ways and barely survived.

  Mila had promised to protect her baby. But she’d failed. Now Izzy was in the hands of DiSanti’s goons.

  We know you helped some of our girls escape, the man who’d stormed into her clinic had said.

  She massaged her temple. How had they known?

  Had they been watching her? Or had they found one of the girls and forced her to talk? Maybe they’d discovered the underground ring that helped women and children and young girls escape abuse to find a better life?

  Carina... Was she safe and still in hiding?

  * * *

  BRAYDEN WOKE TO a text from Lucas.

  Bond hearing for Dr. Manchester at ten a.m.

  Brayden took a quick shower, then dressed and rushed out the door. He drove to the diner near him, picked up coffee and a sausage biscuit and wolfed it down as he drove to Dr. Manchester’s clinic.

  It normally opened at eight. A truck and sedan sat in the parking lot while an SUV was parked in the employees’ spaces. He spotted a woman in a nurse’s uniform at the door with an older lady holding a baby, and a thirtyish woman with a teenage boy.

  “I’m sorry, folks, the clinic is closed today,” the nurse said. “Dr. Manchester won’t be here.”

  Brayden hung back and listened to see if she offered more of an explanation, but she didn’t.

  “We’ll reschedule as soon as I hear from her and we adjust our schedule,” the nurse said.

  The lady with the baby walked toward the sedan and the young woman and teenager climbed in the truck.

  Brayden approached the nurse cautiously. If she conspired to help DiSanti, he’d find out.

  The nurse tacked a sign saying Closed on the door, then retrieved keys from her purse.

  “Excuse me, Miss Zimmerman?”

  Her eyes widened as she looked up at him. “Yes?”

  “The clinic is closed?”

  “I’m afraid so. Did you have a
n appointment?”

  He shook his head.

  “Well, if you need one, call back and leave your number, and I’ll have our receptionist get back to you.”

  “I’m not a patient,” Brayden said, then introduced himself. “Were you aware that Dr. Manchester was operating on a wanted fugitive yesterday?”

  The nurse gasped. “What? My God, that’s not true.”

  “I’m afraid it is.” He showed her a picture of DiSanti. “Do you recognize this man?”

  The shock on her face looked real. “No, I’ve never seen him before. Why do you think he was here?”

  “We know he was here,” Brayden said matter-of-factly. “You didn’t see him yesterday?”

  She shook her head again. “No. And Dr. Manchester would never help a criminal, not if she knew who he was. She devotes her time to families, especially children in need.”

  That was what everyone kept saying. “Maybe so, but she performed plastic surgery on him yesterday.”

  A tense second passed. She shifted, then glanced through the glass door with a frown.

  “What is it? You know something,” Brayden said. “Were you working yesterday?”

  She nodded, her eyes dark with emotions he couldn’t quite define. “I did, but Dr. Manchester asked me to clear out the waiting room and sent me home early. She said her daughter was sick and she had to leave.”

  “Her daughter?” That was news. “I didn’t realize she had a child.”

  The nurse’s expression softened. “Her name is Izzy. Dr. Manchester loves that little girl like crazy.”

  “Did she seem upset? Afraid?”

  Her brows furrowed. “Come to think of it, she did seem a little nervous. But I just thought she was worried about Izzy.”

  “Did you see anyone else here? Maybe a car in the parking lot?”

  “I didn’t really notice. There could have been, but I went out the front door.” Worry deepened the grooves beside her eyes. “Why? What’s going on?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out,” Brayden said. “Sometime after you left work yesterday, the FBI discovered that DiSanti and his crew were here and stormed the clinic. Dr. Manchester was arrested.”

  The nurse gasped. “My God, that’s not right. Mila would never—”

  “She did,” Brayden said. “And I think she may have been threatened.”

  The woman clamped her lips together, then fumbled with her keys. “I don’t know what to tell you. But I’m going to stop by her house and check on Izzy and the nanny.”

  Brayden put his hand over hers. “No, I’ll go by and check on them.”

  If something was wrong with Izzy and the nanny, it might be dangerous.

  He thanked her, then phoned Dexter on his way to Dr. Manchester’s home address and filled him in. “She has a daughter?” Dex asked.

  “According to her head nurse, yes. Her name is Izzy.”

  “That’s odd. There’s no mention of them in anything I’ve found about her. Dr. Manchester must keep her personal life very private.”

  He supposed he could understand that. But usually when people kept secrets, it meant they were hiding something.

  “How about the father?” Dex asked.

  “No information on him.” Brayden pulled a hand down his chin. “Is there any record that she was married?”

  “I didn’t see one,” Dexter said.

  So who was the little girl’s father? “I’m driving by her house to check on the child and nanny, then to the field office for the bond hearing.”

  “I put calls in to the other staff. I’ll let you know if they add anything to what you’ve already learned.”

  Brayden thanked him, then hung up and veered toward Dr. Manchester’s. She lived in a small neighborhood outside Austin, only a few miles from her clinic. He searched the area as he drove down the street. Most of the houses were renovated ranches and bungalows. Judging from the children’s bikes and toys dotting the yards, the neighborhood catered to young families. The yards were well kept, complete with fall decorations and pumpkins.

  Dr. Manchester lived in a Craftsman-style house at the end of the street. Her backyard jutted up to woods and land that hadn’t yet been developed, offering privacy and a yard for her little girl to run and play.

  Everything he’d learned indicated the plastic surgeon was the admirable selfless doctor that Charlotte, the nurse and the media claimed her to be.

  But an uneasy feeling tightened his gut as he parked and walked up the drive. A dark green sedan sat in front of the garage, the only car on the premises. The nanny’s? Two drives down, he noted a white van, and across the street, a black Cadillac. The neighbors’?

  He scanned the front porch and windows, but the blinds were closed, and he couldn’t see inside. Nothing outside looked amiss though. And he didn’t hear signs that anyone was inside.

  He punched the doorbell and tapped his foot as he waited. A minute later, he raised his fist and knocked. If he didn’t get an answer, he was going to check around back, see if a window was open.

  Footsteps shuffled inside. A low voice. Female?

  He straightened and pasted on a smile as the door opened slightly. A short dark-haired woman peered up at him.

  “My name is Brayden Hawk,” he said. “I’m a friend of Dr. Manchester’s. I stopped by the clinic to see her, but the clinic was closed today so I thought she might be home.”

  “I’m afraid not. I can tell her you stopped by.” She started to close the door, but Brayden caught it with his hand.

  He studied her, searching for signs she was upset or being coerced somehow. “The nurse said the doctor’s daughter was sick. Is she here?”

  The woman’s eyes darted to the side, then she nodded. “In bed. She has a fever and needs rest.”

  He slipped his business card into her hand. “I hope it’s nothing serious,” he said. “If you need anything, call me.”

  The woman’s hand trembled as she jammed the business card in her apron pocket. “I’m sorry, mister. I need to go take care of her.” She didn’t wait for a response. She closed the door in his face.

  * * *

  MILA CLASPED HER clammy hands together as she waited on the lawyer to meet her before the bond hearing. Nerves bunched in her stomach, and her head throbbed from lack of sleep.

  The door to the interrogation room creaked open, and Agent Hawk appeared with Polk. His beady eyes skated over her, threatening and unrelenting.

  “You have five minutes,” Agent Hawk said as he glanced between the two of them. “Then it’s time to see the judge.”

  “It will only take two,” Polk said curtly.

  Fluorescent light accentuated Polk’s bald head. He strode toward her, then claimed the chair across from her, his lips set in a firm line.

  “Is my daughter all right?” Mila asked in a low whisper.

  His thick brows furrowed together into a unibrow. “As I said last night, she will be fine as long as you do what you’re told.”

  “Please let me go home to her,” Mila said. “I promise not to tell anyone about yesterday. I’ve been here all night and I didn’t say a word.”

  “He had a rough night,” Polk said, as if he didn’t intend to incriminate himself by saying DiSanti’s name aloud. “Once he’s on his way to recovery, you and your daughter will be reunited.”

  Would she?

  “How do I know you’re not lying, that you haven’t killed her already?” Mila crossed her arms. “I want proof that she’s safe, then I’ll do whatever you ask.”

  Polk cursed, then pulled his phone from his pocket and accessed a photograph.

  Tears choked Mila’s throat. It was Izzy in her room. The princess clock on her nightstand read 7:00 a.m. Not long ago.

  Izzy was curled in bed with her pink blanket and baby doll clutched to h
er. Relief made her shoulders sag.

  But it was temporary.

  DiSanti never left a witness behind. When he’d kidnapped Charlotte’s students, his men had shot Charlotte and left her for dead. In fact, she was the only one who’d survived his men.

  If they killed her when she finished nursing that monster DiSanti back to health, who would raise Izzy?

  Chapter Seven

  Brayden shared what he’d learned about Mila with Lucas as they entered the courtroom.

  “I know you want her to be innocent and so does Charlotte,” Lucas said. “And you may be right. But unless she speaks up, my hands are tied.”

  The court was called to order, and Lucas quieted as the judge heard two cases, then Mila’s. It took no time for the judge to grant Mila’s bond. Her lawyer kept a tight rein on her, his shoulder touching hers as they exited as if he needed to keep her close. Mila remained silent, her hands knotted, body tense.

  Her gaze darted to him as they reached the exit, then Polk took her arm and ushered her outside.

  He and Lucas followed. Brayden’s instincts screamed that something was wrong. Maybe the nanny had lied to him. Maybe Izzy wasn’t sick, but someone had been in that house holding a gun on her.

  Or maybe his imagination was running wild. Maybe he was projecting what he wanted to be true onto Mila.

  Just like he had that other woman. He’d long ago stopped using her name. It hurt too much to think what a fool he’d been.

  He wouldn’t repeat the same mistake.

  Morning sunshine shimmered off the autumn leaves as they exited the courtroom and made their way to the steps of the courthouse. Traffic slogged by, pedestrians hurrying to breakfast and work, mingling with joggers and parents pushing baby strollers toward the park two blocks down.

  Mila tucked her head down as they descended the steps. Polk kept a firm grip on Mila’s arm as if he expected her to bolt any minute, then steered her to the right toward a parking deck.

  “I don’t like this,” Brayden said.

  “Neither do I.” Lucas quickened his pace to keep Polk and Mila in sight, and Brayden kept up with him. Polk guided her across the busy street to the exit of the parking deck, one hand shoved in his jacket pocket.