by B. J Daniels
She took a breath and met his gaze. “My father swears that Billy wasn’t involved in anything illegal, in fact, Billy was trying to get J.B. to go to college. Billy thought my father would have made a great lawyer.” She smiled at this.
“What happened?” Jesse said, knowing it could only have ended badly.
“Billy was killed. Shot down by cops during a convenience store robbery that went bad.” She shook her head, anticipating his next question.
“My father had nothing to do with the robbery. Nor anyone in the Organization. He was devastated. He loved Billy. And he blamed the cops and Kincaid. You see, Kincaid saw the neighborhood market being robbed that night and called the police not knowing J.B. and Billy were inside. Afterward, Kincaid blamed J.B. because of his friendship with Billy. Kincaid was convinced J.B. had something to do with the robbery. Kincaid became governor. My father became a mobster. The rest is history.”
Jesse let out a low whistle. That definitely could explain some of the animosity between J.B. and Kincaid.
“Now do you understand why my father and Kincaid are obsessed with destroying each other at any cost?” she asked.
He still found it hard to believe that Kincaid would do anything to jeopardize his career—let alone his life—to get J. B. Crowe after all these years, but at least Jesse better understood now why Amanda believed it.
They drove in silence for a few miles.
“By the way, my name’s not Brock,” he told her. “It’s McCall. Jesse McCall. At least it was when I went undercover two weeks ago.”
CHAPTER TEN
They drove through what little remained of the night, stopping only for gas for the van or coffee to stay awake. Amanda wasn’t the least bit sleepy. She watched the dark landscape blur past and thought of Susannah. Had it only been a little over three days since Susannah had been kidnapped? It seemed like weeks. She should have been holding her daughter in her arms right now, not traveling across the state of Texas with an undercover cop. She ached with the need.
She had cried so many tears, she felt as if the well had gone dry. Soon, she told herself. Soon, she would have her daughter. Only the next time, she wouldn’t let anything go wrong because she would be alone and in control of the trade. She had no intention of putting Susannah’s welfare in Jesse’s hands. Even if he was a cop.
That meant getting the ledger and that would mean getting rid of Jesse Brock—McCall, she corrected.
In the meantime, she had little choice but to go along with him. He had the ledger and her daughter’s life in his hands. Temporarily.
She felt a moment of guilt. She’d seen how desperately he’d wanted to take the ledger to the cops. But he hadn’t. And for that she was grateful. They still had a long way to go until she was contacted for another trade. Jesse might weaken. Or she might get the ledger away from him. A lot could happen.
She thought about what would happen after the trade. The new life she would make with Susannah. For Susannah. She clung to that.
“I think you should call your father.” It was the first thing Jesse had said in miles.
“You have to be kidding,” she said incredulous.
“And tell him what?”
“He might think you’ve been kidnapped.”
“You mean I haven’t?” she asked sarcastically.
“I’m serious. Tell him you’re all right. That you’re being held in protective custody for twenty-four hours.”
“You are serious,” she said studying him.
“He’s your father,” Jesse said. “He’ll be worried.”
She nodded, wondering just how worried her father would be as she pulled out her cell phone. Her father answered in the first ring. “It’s me.”
“Amanda, my God, I have been out of my mind with worry,” he said, sounding like he meant it.
“I’m sorry. It’s a long story. All I can tell you is that I’m all right.”
He was silent for a long moment.
She thought he might be crying. J. B. Crowe? She must be hallucinating from lack of sleep. “Don’t look for me, all right? I’ll call you in twenty-four hours. I’m…okay.” She hung up, shaken.
“Well?” Jesse asked.
“He took it well,” she said, wondering how many men he’d sent out trying to find her. Or if he’d do as she’d asked and call them off.
Jesse slowed the van at the Red River city limits sign and she wondered for the first time what they were doing here. It was the intensity of his expression as he drove into the dusty, little town that suddenly had her worried. What was this about?
He made a pass through town. It didn’t take but a few minutes. Main Street was only a few blocks long. Bank, grocery, gas station, café, newspaper, dry goods store.
She was looking at the small sleeping town, wondering what it would be like to raise a daughter in a place like this when Jesse pulled up in front of the Red River Weekly and cut the engine.
He glanced over at her. “You can stay in the car if you want.”
Yeah, right. “I go where the ledger goes,” she said.
“That’s going to make bathing interesting,” he said as he climbed out of the van, locking it behind him.
The thought had its appeal. In fact, it was the first pleasing thought she’d had in hours. She smiled and followed after him.
He tried the door to the newspaper office, but it was too early according to the sign in the window. “How about some breakfast?”
As far as she was concerned, it was also way too early for breakfast, but she could use more coffee. She watched the reflection of the street in the windows of the businesses as they walked the half block down to the Lariat Café and realized she and Susannah would stand out too much in a town like this. She’d thought about nothing else but how to disappear once she had her daughter.
A bell chimed as Jesse pushed open the door. It was cool inside, the interior sparse. Only a few well-worn tables and chairs sat on the black-and-white-tiled linoleum between a short row of booths and the lunch counter.
Several older men hunched over coffee cups on the blue vinyl stools along the counter. They turned as she and Jesse entered and kept watching as he led her to a booth. She slid into the vinyl and felt a chill. Was there any chance her father had contacts this far north? It didn’t seem likely. But of course the governor’s extended across the entire state.
The men at the stools finally turned back to their conversation and their cups.
“Howdy,” said a pert older waitress as she slid two glasses of ice water and two plastic-covered menus across the marred tabletop. “Get ya’ll some coffee?”
“Please,” Amanda said. She would have killed for a latte but she could see that strong and black, straight from the pot, was all she was going to get in this town.
The waitress plopped a cup and saucer down in front of her and poured. Amanda took a sip and grimaced.
“Not the expensive Colombian blend you’re used to?” Jesse asked wryly after the waitress left.
“You really think I’m just a spoiled kid, don’t you?”
He raised a brow in answer.
She would have loved to argue differently but it was true. “All that’s going to change,” she said taking another drink of the coffee and this time not making a face.
“How will you live once you leave?” he enquired.
She could detect only a faint touch of sarcasm in his tone as she met his gaze over the top of her cup. “I plan to work. I might not be able to use my degree but I can find something in my field.”
“And what field would that be? Art history? Philosophy? Or maybe interpretive dance?”
“Electrical engineering.”
His jaw dropped.
She smiled and took another sip of her coffee. It wasn’t so bad, after all. “How do you think I was able to get the ledger with all the hidden cameras and the security system at the house?” He was staring at her as if he’d never seen her before. His look was different. Not sexual
. More like just plain interested in her.
She felt a little buzz at the thought and smiled to herself. Maybe Jesse was starting to see her as a person, more than just female body parts. The thought brightened her day because it had obviously upset him—and the closer she got to him, the harder it would be for him to be a cop, and not a man.
And the easier it would be for her to get the ledger back and make the trade—without him.
Jesse discreetly took the ledger from his pocket and opened it, thumbing slowly through the pages. She watched him. His strong jaw was dark with stubble, his eyes black as obsidian.
She’d never noticed the small curved scar over his left eyebrow before and wondered how he’d gotten it. She knew so little about him—and yet so much, she thought. She knew how desperately he wanted to catch the kidnapper, to send her father to prison, to see that justice was done. It made her sad for him. In this world, there was little justice. She feared his battle was futile and would only bring him pain and disappointment.
He grew very quiet as he closed the ledger.
She waited for him to say something. He seemed lost in thought and not good thoughts from the look of him.
“You aren’t still thinking of taking it to the police?” she asked hesitantly. It wasn’t an option and she’d fight heaven and hell to stop him from it.
She was relieved when he shook his head.
“No,” he said. “I told you I would let you use it to get your daughter back. You’ll find I stick to my promises.”
She looked down at her menu, almost feeling guilty about her plans to keep him from the trade. Almost.
She studied her menu, antsy. Hers was a waiting game now. Waiting for Gage to set up the next trade. Waiting for Jesse to slip up and give her the opportunity to get the ledger back and get away.
She glanced up at him. If he wanted to play detective in the meantime, what did she care? He was looking at the ledger again, his brows furrowed in a frown. Everything about him looked dangerous. But as she studied him she sensed the only thing she had to fear was the desire he invoked within her.
When the waitress returned, Jesse ordered chicken fried steak, grits and biscuits with milk gravy. Amanda ordered a Spanish omelette. She’d never liked breakfast—especially at this hour.
“So what made you become a cop?” she asked as they ate. She hadn’t realized how hungry she was and the omelette was good, the sauce hot and spicy and just what she needed.
“I don’t know,” he said after a moment. “I guess I believe in justice.”
She should have known.
“You don’t like authority figures, do you?” he asked between bites.
Did anyone? “I’ll admit I had some bad experiences with cops as a child. It might have prejudiced my feelings.”
“Maybe I can change that,” he said.
Don’t hold your breath, she thought, but when she looked up and met his gaze, she said, “Maybe. So tell me about yourself,” she said as she studied him, wondering about him more than she wanted to.
He shrugged. “I was raised north of Dallas on a lake. I have,” he seemed to hesitate, “two brothers and three sisters.”
She lifted a brow. “That’s a big family. I’m envious.”
He nodded. “Yeah, they’re really something. You’d like them.” He flushed as if realizing too late that she would never have a reason to meet them.
“And your parents?” she asked, betting they were still together.
“My father is an accountant and my mother is a substitute grade school teacher,” he said slowly.
She blinked. “Wow, can’t get much more normal than that. Your mother probably volunteers at the hospital and bakes bread for the food bank.”
He shook his head. “She volunteers at the senior center and makes quilts for the poor.”
She laughed.
“My family is very dull by your standards,” he said and turned his attention to his breakfast.
“I would love dull, believe me.” She didn’t want to get on the subject of her so-called family.
“So, let me guess, you were very popular in high school, star quarterback of the football team and…” She squinted at him. “King of the senior prom and your date, the queen of the prom, was named…Brittany.”
He looked up from his breakfast, humor in his eyes as he smiled at her. He had a great smile. “You’re wrong. Her name was Tiffany.”
Amanda laughed. “I knew it.”
“What about you?” he asked, his gaze turning serious.
“I was one of the nerds, the .com, chess club, honor roll crowd.”
“No prom?”
“Not my thing,” she said, surprised how defensive she sounded. “I was your classic Stephen King Carrie.”
“I really doubt that. I’m sure there were lots of guys who wanted to ask you but were intimidated. And I don’t blame them,” Jesse said.
“Because of my father,” she said, dismissing his comment.
“No, because you were the smartest, prettiest girl in the school.”
She eyed him suspiciously, but couldn’t help but smile. “Okay, what do you want?” she asked, only half joking.
“You already know what I want,” he said, his heated gaze warming her to her toes. “I told you during one of my weaker, more honest moments.”
“More than you want to put my father in jail?”
“More than even that,” he said.
She laughed, but her gaze never left his face. Like him, she was only too aware of the chemistry between them. Worse, the more she was around him, the more she was starting to like him.
After breakfast while Jesse paid the check, she stepped outside for some fresh air. The street was still practically empty, the town slumbering in the warming sun.
She waited, feeling anxious. She just wanted her daughter. The ache in her heart felt heavy as stone. She tried not to think of Susannah’s smile. Or her bright eyes. Or the way she curled her tiny fingers around Amanda’s finger. Her baby.
Jesse came out of the café and looked around for her as if he thought she might have taken off. Not likely.
As they walked down the street to the Red River Weekly, he seemed as nervous and anxious as she felt. And wary. He appeared to be studying the faces of the people they passed as if looking for something. She realized how exposed they were in a town like this. Easy pickings.
A young woman looked up from her desk as they walked into the newspaper office.
“Can I help you?” she asked, peering at them through a pair of pink-framed glasses. Her eyes were lined in black, her cheeks two startling red slashes of blush. A necklace of blue plastic beads noosed her neck above a T-shirt and jeans. Around her floated an aura of grape-flavored bubble gum and open curiosity. The name plate on her desk read: Aimee Carruthers.
“I’d like to take a look at your morgue,” Jesse said.
“What year are ya’ll interested in?” she asked, studying them intently through her glasses.
“June, 1971.”
Aimee Carruthers looked surprised.
Not as surprised as Amanda.
The woman recovered quickly and got to her feet. “June, 1971?” She seemed to wait for Jesse to say more, but he didn’t and finally she led them back to a small room.
The morgue had only one window, which was thankfully hanging open. A faint breeze hardly rustled the papers on the top of a filing cabinet under it, but made the tiny warm room bearable.
“That’d be on microfiche.” Aimee motioned to a set of small metal drawers each labeled with dates. “You know how to work it?” she asked.
Jesse nodded. “Thanks.”
It was obvious she didn’t want to leave the room, but it was equally obvious Jesse wasn’t going to start his search until she did.
“If ya’ll need any help—”
“We’ll holler,” he said, cutting her off.
She left but not before propping the door open to give them a little more air. Right.
The moment the nosy Aimee Carruthers was gone, he pulled out the drawer labeled 1971 and extracted the spool of film that contained June.
Amanda walked over to the window and looked out onto the alley. The air smelled of red Texas dust and sunshine. When she turned, Jesse was staring at the screen. A headline caught her eye: Infant Abandoned Beside Road.
* * *
JESSE’S HEART jerked at the sight of the familiar headline. He scanned the story he now knew by heart, then moved on to the next week. Amanda had moved closer and now stood at his side watching the screen. Behind him he heard a sound, a popping of gum and the scent of grape.
He didn’t need to turn around. He knew Aimee Carruthers had probably seen the article on the screen. He also realized it would be impossible to keep anything a secret in a town this size—especially once he started asking questions. He would just have to find the answers fast.
In the next week’s paper he found only a brief piece on page one about the baby: Parents of Abandoned Infant Sought. It was followed by a plea by Sheriff Art Turner for the mother to come forward.
The article said the baby had been found in a cardboard box, wrapped in a pale blue blanket on Woodland Lake Road. Like the first story, the article didn’t mention the gold chain or the strange heart-shaped pendant found on the baby or the name of the person who’d discovered the newborn beside the road.
Amanda pulled up a chair and sat down beside him as she read the article. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her frown at the screen, then at him, but she said nothing as he scrolled the pages of the next week’s paper.
The story of the infant had dropped to the third page. There was only a short piece titled, No Leads On Found Baby. The investigation had stalled. No one had come forward.
He moved to the next weekly paper but found no mention of the infant. Nor was there anything in the next paper. Or the next. He scanned the rest of June, July, August, all the way to December, 1971. The baby boy left beside the road had been forgotten.
So how had his parents come to adopt him?
