by Style, Linda
“I don’t know, dear. I never get involved in his business. You know that.”
Her mother’s voice wavered. Something wasn’t right.
“I know, Mom. But sometimes it’s good to know what’s going on. He is your husband.”
Macy didn’t understand how two people who’d been married for thirty years could know so little about each other. Their marriage seemed more of a business deal than anything.
No wonder marriage scared her. If she ever married, it would have to be a very different relationship than the one her parents had.
“I know you’re right, Macy. And I’ve been thinking a lot about that lately.”
“Thinking a lot about what, Mom?”
“About how your father is gone so much, and he and I don’t communicate. Mary Lou, one of the new girls in the bridge club, says your father controls everything, including my life.”
Macy nearly fell off the couch. This was not her mother talking. Whenever Macy had suggested the same thing, her mother defended her father. He was perfect for her. They had a perfect life together.
“He loves you and you love him. Whatever works for both of you is just fine.”
“That’s the problem. I don’t know if it’s working. I don’t know if it ever did.”
“Oh, Mom. I’m so sorry.” And she was. Not for her father’s sake, but for her mother’s. “I hate that you’re feeling bad. Do you want to come over and talk?” she asked, even though they’d rarely communicated before. Macy had longed for it so many times. “Or I could come there?”
“No. It’s okay. I’m going to take a pill. I’ll feel better after that.”
Macy didn’t know what to say. Sarah might not be the independent person Macy sometimes wished she’d be, but she loved her nonetheless.
“I’m sorry, dear. I shouldn’t have said anything.”
“Don’t be sorry. You can say anything to me.”
“Thank you sweetheart. I may be just having one of my moments. Please don’t mention this conversation to your father.”
“Okay. You’ll give him my message when he gets home?”
“I’ll give him your message, but if he doesn’t want to talk about it, please let it alone. I don’t want anything to spoil our trip.”
Macy had the feeling her mother thought the trip was going to fix everything. And maybe it would. “When are you leaving?”
“Tomorrow afternoon. We fly to New York and then Paris.”
“It’ll be wonderful. Please call me when you have a chance.”
“I will. I promise.”
“I love you, Mom.” It was something she hadn’t said in years, not since she’d had the baby and her parents had abandoned her. Oh, they’d provided for her physical needs, but emotionally, there was nothing. Maybe there never had been.
“I love you, too, dear.”
It was a perfunctory statement and Macy felt more tense when she hung up than she had when she’d made the call. Why did she think things could ever be different? Why couldn’t her father just tell her what she wanted to know?
It wasn’t going to happen, she realized, not for the first time. Her father wanted to forget the whole thing and he was determined to make sure she did, too.
Good thing she still had the key to her parents’ home.
***
“I’D LIKE TO SPEAK TO Dr. Dixon,” Rico told the receptionist at Haven’s Gate.
“Do you have an appointment?”
Rico flipped his shield. “No, I don’t.”
The receptionist’s eyes almost bugged out. “Just a minute. I’ll get him.” She bolted from the desk and fled down a long hallway.
He paced the room, doubting he’d get the answers he wanted, but he felt compelled to try. He’d like nothing better than to find Macy’s son’s death certificate and put her mind at ease. God knew what thoughts might’ve gone through her head.
Just then a corpulent man with graying hair entered the room.
“What can I do for you, Officer—”
“Detective Santini.”
The man’s brows came together in a frown. “Have we met before?”
Rico nodded. “Yes. Five years ago. The kidnapping of the Ray baby.”
Surprise registered in the man’s eyes. “Oh. Have you found new evidence?”
“Actually, I’m here to find out your procedure for filing birth and death certificates.”
The man blinked. “I’m sorry, I can’t help you with that. I sign the certificates, but our director takes care of the administrative procedures.”
“Did you sign the death certificate for Macy Capshaw’s child?”
Rico thought he saw a flash of awareness in the doctor’s gaze, but then it was gone and his eyes looked like two gray stones.
“I’m sorry. I’ve signed hundreds of certificates and can’t possibly remember each individual’s name. Even if I could, our client records are confidential. Why do you want to know?”
“Because there’s no death certificate on file for the child Macy Capshaw delivered twelve years ago.”
The doctor stuffed his hands in his pockets. He cleared his throat. “That would be an administrative error — if it were true.”
“That’s what I’m trying to determine. If someone on your staff sent the certificate to be recorded, then the problem is with the county’s vital statistics department. All I need from you is to see your records that show it was filed. No names. Just the date when the report was sent.”
Dr. Dixon’s face flushed. “Our director is on vacation. But she keeps impeccable records and I’m sure she’ll be able to locate exactly what you need when she comes back next week.”
And that would give the good doctor plenty of time to make sure the records showed exactly what he wanted. But Rico had no other choice. He handed the man his card. “Have her give me a call when she returns.”
Rico left the shelter, his nerves on twisting under his skin. He was pretty good at reading people, and Dr. Dixon practically radiated negative vibes. And the way he glanced away, it was obvious the guy was lying. If Wesley Capshaw had been on the shelter’s board of directors, Rico was pretty certain Dr. Dixon wouldn’t forget Capshaw’s daughter and the stillborn infant he’d delivered. Besides which, the young woman at the desk looked scared out of her wits. Something was going on at Haven’s Gate, and he’d bet a pair of Super Bowl tickets that it wasn’t within the law.
Back at his vehicle, he did a quick check inside and out to make sure there were no strange packages or any other paraphernalia, then climbed inside, shoved the shift into gear and drove toward the freeway. Since the bomb scare, he’d been taking a different car every time he left headquarters.
When he walked into the office, Jordan immediately wanted details. “So, what’s really going on at that place?”
“I have no proof of anything.”
“Well, why don’t you step outside the box and tell me what you think is going on. You don’t need proof for that.”
Rico had to laugh. In the time he and Jordan and Luke had been working together, they’d gone round and round about their different styles. Where Rico intellectualized, Jordan went with his conscience. Luke, on the other hand, needed immediate action. As close as the three of them were, they were as different as planets in the solar system and they’d had more than one conflict over it. But that didn’t rule out mutual respect and good friendship outside the job.
“You remember the Erlicson case?” Rico said. “The one where everyone believed that dirt bag was guilty and set out to prove it? After ten years in prison, the DNA proved otherwise. I’m not accepting preconceived notions. They screw up a good investigation.”
“Yeah, I remember. That guy needed to be put away anyway.”
“Not for rape and murder, if he was innocent.”
“Only a matter of time, my friend. Only a matter of time.”
Unfortunately, Rico knew Jordan was right in many cases. But that didn’t make doing the wrong thin
g correct.
Jordan sat at his desk and tapped his fingers, apparently unwilling to let it go.
“Okay,” Rico blurted, “I think there’s something going on but I can’t nail it down. Could be simple paperwork negligence, or it could be something more sinister. Like coercion to make vulnerable girls give away their children.”
“Black-market babies?”
“It’s a thought.”
“What does Macy think?”
“We haven’t talked about it.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s a loose cannon. Tends to do things the way she thinks they need to be done. She’s unpredictable.”
“Ah. That’s hard for some of us to handle.”
Some of us … meaning Rico. It was true. He didn’t like living on a precipice. Never had. “It’s hard to handle because if she gets evidence without following procedure, it won’t be admissible in court and that would screw up everything.”
“And how does all this relate to the Ray case?”
Weary, Rico rested both elbows on his desk. “If the shelter is participating in one cover-up, there could be more.”
Jordan nodded. “If you want help, I’m there. Proof or no proof. I’ll help you get some.”
His partner was loyal to the bone. But since the Ray case wasn’t on the priority list, he couldn’t let Jordan get involved. “Thanks. I’ve got it covered. I need to look at the medical records and to do that, I need a good reason for a search warrant. A missing death certificate and incident report don’t cut it.”
“Right. So, what now?”
“I’m going to find a reason to get a warrant.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
MACY FINISHED HER phone call to Nancy Appleton after learning that Cody was going to undergo DNA testing tomorrow morning. She made another call to make sure Rico’s case was first on the list for cross comparison. Not that she could make it happen, but her requests were usually honored unless something else took priority. Two phone calls later, she realized it was time for Rico to arrive.
She took out the mirror from her desk drawer and checked her lipstick. Whatever he wanted couldn’t be all that important or he would’ve said what it was last night.
Maybe he wanted to discuss their elevator encounter? Though now that time had passed, she didn’t know if talking about it was even necessary. They’d had a moment. That was all.
Still, she wouldn’t mind a few more moments like that with Rico.
A knock on the door startled her, since Cheryl had the afternoon off. “Come in.”
Rico poked his head inside. “Is the coast clear?” He smiled—a big teasing smile. “No irate ex-husbands … or lovers on the prowl?”
“It’s clear.”
“Whew. I’m glad to hear that.” Coming inside, he wiped a hand across his brow in an overly dramatic gesture, then dropped into the chair across from her.
His dark hair curled over his forehead in disarray and tiny beads of sweat dotted his brow just underneath. He looked as if he’d just run up the seven flights of stairs. He looked stomach-clenching sexy.
“So, what couldn’t you tell me on the phone?”
He raked a hand through his hair and leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “Let me catch my breath.”
She smiled. “Seven flights. I’m impressed.”
He shrugged, breathing deeply, then sat back. “The other day after working on a case, I went to my car and noticed a small box on the floor.”
“Not yours, I gather?”
“Right. So I called the bomb squad.”
“Oh.” She caught her breath. “Was it? A bomb, I mean.”
He nodded. “Not a very potent one. Not meant to kill, but a bomb, nevertheless.”
“Who? How? Why?”
“I don’t know. But since it wasn’t a killer, I’m taking it as a warning.”
“About what?”
He stood and came around to stand at the window behind her and, hands clasped behind his back, he stared out at the city. “Like you, I can only surmise it might be someone I arrested and testified against. Or maybe someone who doesn’t like what I’m digging up on one of my current cases.”
She stood at the window beside him. “No ex-girl-friends as suspects? An angry husband?” If it was a possibility for her, it could be for him.
“Nope, no angry husbands. I don’t date married women. But I did have a stalker last year. A woman I’d gone out with once. That was all it took for her to decide we were meant to be.”
“Really?” Macy couldn’t hide her surprise. But she shouldn’t be surprised. She knew too much about stalkers — dealt with it all the time with the battered women she helped. “Is that what you meant when I showed you the letter and you said those kind of people usually had a screw loose?”
“Exactly.”
“You don’t think it’s the same person, do you? Someone who saw you with me and…”
He shook his head. “I don’t think so. The last I heard, she moved to the East Coast.”
“So what happens now?”
“I found a number of leads, people with bomb-making expertise, narrowed it down and the CSU techs are on it to see if we get a match. We’ll see. They didn’t get anything on that letter of yours yet.”
He placed his hands on her shoulders, sending an involuntary shiver through her. “I just wanted you to know about it so you could be extra watchful.”
The concern she saw in his eyes made her pulses jump. When was the last time someone had been concerned about her? Truly concerned. Not just mouthed words.
“Be careful. Okay?”
His voice was soft. He was looking at her mouth. She thought he moved closer, but whether he did or not, didn’t matter. Her breathing deepened. “Okay,” she said in a near whisper. “I’ll be careful.”
They stood like that for what seemed an eternity. What was it about Rico that made her want to jump off the defensive wall she’d built so long ago?
Just as she thought it, his mouth met hers. Or hers met his. She wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter. Desire gripped her, an all-consuming force that made her feel incapable of doing anything but responding in kind. His mouth was warm. His kiss demanding.
Her hands skimmed over the hardness of his chest. As he backed her into the desk, she felt his arousal. His kisses, his body pressing against hers, were like a drug, lulling her into euphoria. The backs of her thighs dug into the edge of the desktop, and the effect was enough to make her aware of what was going to happen if she didn’t stop.
She brought her hands between them against his chest and gently pushed.
Instantly, he pulled back, his eyes dark.
Regret? Anger? They were both breathing hard. Chests pumping.
“I—I’m sor—”
He took a step away. “Don’t be. I got the message.”
***
IT HAD BEEN A LONG and delicious kiss. Even now, four hours later, her blood still pounded through her veins. “C’mon, Herc.” She motioned for the pup to follow as she went down the hall to the bedroom.
As she started to undress, an ache of need pulsed between her legs. She’d wanted to make love with Rico. Desperately. But she knew if she offered herself to him, she might want more.
She took a deep breath. Her life had been decided for her in one conversation with her gynecologist, and in that moment, all her girlish fantasies had disappeared.
Good God. She’d come to grips with that a long time ago. Why was she having such deep regrets now?
She stood there at the open closet and ran her hands over her hips, her breasts. She wanted someone else’s hands on her. Rico’s. But when he’d asked her to be careful, she’d realized he really cared about her. Was worried. And she’d never felt so vulnerable.
Everything was different with Rico. Dangerously different.
She grabbed a robe, put it on and flopped onto the bed. Rolling over, she reached for the phone. Her father had never returned her call. But then, h
ad she really expected him to?
What time was it? Her parents should be on their flight to New York by now. She punched in the number.
“The Capshaw residence,” a soft voice answered in a clipped English accent.
“Hillary, this is Macy. Is my mother…or father there?”
“Oh, dear. I’m sorry but your parents have already left on their trip.”
Macy feigned disappointment. “Darn. Well, I’ll catch up with them later. I hope you’re taking a vacation, too.”
“Yes, ma’am. I’m leaving in just a few minutes.”
“Well, enjoy yourself, Hillary. You deserve it.”
“Thank you, Miss Macy.”
Perfect. Macy hustled out of bed and shoved her legs into a pair of jeans, and finished with a T-shirt and sneakers. Ready to set her plan in motion, she fished her parents’ house key from her briefcase.
“Want to go for a ride, Herc?” The dog scampered at her feet, his tail wagging from side to side. She hated that she had to leave the little guy alone so much. Whenever she could, she took him with her.
She remembered her father’s words. “Get rid of the animal. He’ll just take up time that could be spent more productively.” Her blood had boiled at the comment. Herc was her family, and he was more loving and loyal than the rest of them put together. He loved her no matter what.
“C’mon, fella.” She picked up the dog, snatched her purse and was out the door.
Twenty minutes later, she slipped inside the big double doors at her parents’ home and hit the alarm code.
Her father kept everything in his sacred library. If he had her son’s death certificate, that’s where she’d find it. But it was a big room with lots of files. She set Herc down and closed the office door to keep him inside. Retrieving the key to the file cabinets from the top drawer of her father’s desk, she crossed the room to the files, hidden by two sliding mahogany doors that covered an entire wall. She went directly to the H file. Haven’s Gate.
Everything was neat as a pin, files perfectly sorted. She would’ve expected nothing less. Haven’s Gate, Haven’s Gate. “Ouch,” she sputtered at a paper cut on her index finger and stuck it in her mouth, the coppery taste of blood settling on her tongue. Hercules came over to comfort her. “It’s okay, little guy.” She ruffled the hair on his head with her free hand.
