Dawn faced him squarely, licked her lips. “Maybe,” she said. “If she trusts you with me, that’s saying a lot.”
“Is it?”
“Oh yeah. The old man next door, Rodney White, lived there four years before she stopped being suspicious of him, and he must be in his seventies.”
“You’re saying she’s a little overprotective?”
“A little? I was twenty minutes late one night and she was dialing 9-1-1 when I walked in.”
He lifted his brows. Then he tipped his head to one side. Jones had trusted him to come fetch her daughter. Dawn was right; it did tell him something. Julie Jones didn’t hate him quite as much as she pretended. “So what’s this terrible trouble you think she’s in?” he asked.
Dawn shrugged and walked out the door. He followed, closing and locking it behind her. “I’m not sure yet,” she said, and the serious, worried tone and look had returned. He hated seeing a sixteen-year-old bearing troubles that looked to be beyond adult-size. And he couldn’t even ease her mind by telling her that he thought her mom was just fine, because he didn’t. He’d been picking up the same feelings—that Julie Jones was in some kind of trouble.
Damn. He felt for the kid. So he did the unthinkable.
He took his keys from his pocket, tossed them to her. “You up for a driving lesson on a real car?”
Her eyes widened, shifting from him to the Porsche in the driveway. “You’re kidding me!”
“What, you don’t think you can handle it?”
Her smile widened. “You just watch me.” She opened the driver’s door, slung her backpack in and got behind the wheel.
He’d succeeded in distracting her from whatever had been worrying her—for now, at least. He just wondered, when she started the car and revved the engine, if he was going to live to regret it.
When she backed out of the driveway without even grinding the gears and came to an only slightly jerky stop before pulling out into the road, he nodded in approval. “Your mom must be a pretty good teacher.”
She released a bark that might have been laughter. “No way. I take driver’s ed. My mother’s the worst driver in the history of the world, Sean. Don’t ever let her behind the wheel of this car, okay? Trust me on this.”
He nodded. “Thanks for the tip.”
“Thanks for letting me drive.” She slid the car into First, eased it into motion and relaxed back in the seat.
She was a gorgeous little thing, a fledgling woman testing out her fragile wings. Jones had done all right with her. And that, he figured, was a point in her favor. You couldn’t hate a woman who could raise a kid like Dawn. Not entirely, anyway.
* * *
“I tried to do this more privately,” the voice on the phone whispered. It was a female voice, and obviously disguised. “But I kept getting your voice mail, or your daughter at home. And you had your cell phone turned off.”
Julie held the phone to her ear. “Who is this?”
“It doesn’t matter. You don’t need to know that. All you need to know is—he’s alive, Jewel. He’s alive, and he knows.”
Shivering down deep in her soul, Julie told herself those words couldn’t mean what every cell in her body feared they meant. It couldn’t be—it couldn’t be that.
She looked up, searching for words, and saw Allan Westcott standing there, staring at her from beneath deeply bent brows, an extension phone pressed to his ear. He gestured with his free hand, a circular motion, telling Julie to say something, to keep the conversation going.
She cleared her throat. “Who’s alive?” she asked. God, she could barely speak.
“You know. The Reverend. Mordecai Young.”
His eyes shooting wider, Westcott scribbled on a sheet of paper and shoved it at Julie. Swallowing hard, she read the words he’d written, looked at him, shook her head.
Her boss glared at her, thumping an insistent forefinger on the sheet.
Licking her lips, Julie shook her head. “And you wanted to tell me this privately. Not here at the station, where others might be listening in?”
“Yes. But it’s more important that you know.”
She prayed whoever it was got the message even as she saw her boss’s angry frown. He was shaking the paper at her now. Swallowing hard, she read the words aloud. “What do you mean when you say, ‘He knows’? What does he know?”
“It’s a sunny day, isn’t it? So sunny.” The phone call ended with an abrupt click.
Julie moved the receiver slowly away from her ear, but she was shaking all the way to her toes. “She hung up,” she said. She put the telephone back into its cradle.
The news director clapped his hands together once, then rubbed them rapidly. “Jesus, this is incredible. Mordecai Young? Alive? Jesus.” He dashed into the hall, shouted into the newsroom, “Did we get the number?”
“It was blocked,” someone called. “We got nothing.”
Julie’s shaking intensified. Sunny, the caller had said. That was what Dawn had been called for the first few weeks of her life. Sunny. Oh, God, it couldn’t be true! Mordecai Young. Alive. And he knew—he knew about…Dawn.
“She called you ‘Jule,’” Allan said. “What do you make of that?”
She shrugged. “People call me all sorts of things. Jule, Jules…”
“You think it’s someone you know?”
She thought of Sirona, of Tessa—the only two people alive who might think of her as Jewel. Had it been one of them? Her boss nudged her. She said, “I’m in everyone’s living room five nights a week, Allan. Everyone feels like they know me.”
“Jones, you have to get on this,” Westcott said.
She lifted her head, met his eyes only briefly, shook her head. “There’s nothing to get on. It was probably just a crank.”
“What was probably a crank?” Sean’s gravelly voice preceded him into Julie’s office.
Julie surged to her feet, opened her mouth to ask about Dawn, and then saw her. She came in right behind Sean. “Sean let me drive his car, Mom. Man, we have got to get a Porsche.”
Julie was around the desk, clutching her daughter to her chest in an embrace so fierce and involuntary she couldn’t have prevented it if she’d wanted to. She held Dawn hard, one hand on her slender back and the other stroking her butter-blond hair, which was just as smooth as satin. She smelled the green-apple shampoo Dawn preferred and felt tears burn in her eyes.
And then she realized that both Westcott and MacKenzie were staring, and she forced herself to let go.
Dawn stared up into her mother’s eyes, her own worried. “Mom, what is it? What’s wrong?”
She tried to find words. Failed. She tried not to let the fear show in her eyes, but she was afraid she failed at that, as well.
“Hey, you know your mom, kiddo,” MacKenzie said. “A teeny bit overprotective, right? The thought of you driving a car that’ll do one-eighty in fourth gear is probably more than she can stand.” He winked at the two of them. “Don’t worry, Jones, I didn’t let her go over forty-five, and I had one hand ready to grab the wheel the entire time.”
Julie met his eyes and knew he was covering for her. Why? What was he up to? She looked at Dawn again, knew her daughter wasn’t fooled at all. She was too perceptive, and they were too close, for her to be fooled that easily.
“You have homework?” she managed to say.
“Yeah. Tons.” Dawn reached out to smooth a strand of hair off her mother’s forehead, as if she were the parent. “Tough day, huh?’
“Yeah. Better now, though.” She managed to smile, and Dawn smiled back.
“Don’t worry, Mom. Everything’s gonna be okay.” Julie frowned a little, wondering what Dawn meant by that, but Dawn rushed on. “So whose office do I get to commandeer? I’m gonna need a computer, modem, phone, TV and plenty of junk food.”
“Tell you what, kiddo,” MacKenzie said. “They have an office all set up for me, but I’ve barely even been inside it.”
“You got
an office?” Julie asked, then glanced at her boss. “He got an office?” Allan opened his mouth to answer, but Julie held up a hand. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t care.”
Sean frowned, puzzled, maybe, by her not objecting or arguing.
“Why don’t you check out my new digs, Dawn?” he asked. “Let me know what it lacks so you can tell me what to ask for.”
She nodded. “Thanks, Sean.”
“It’s the one that used to be my office, before we put the new newsroom in, Dawn,” Westcott told her. “You remember where it is, just down the hall on the right?” She nodded. “Help yourself to snacks from the green room on your way, hon.”
“Will do. Thanks, Mr. Westcott.” She hitched her backpack up a little higher, then leaned up and kissed her mother on the cheek before leaving them.
Julie watched her go, breathing a sigh of relief, telling herself Dawn was safe here. No one could get in without a magnetic keycard, there were cameras monitoring every entrance, and even if someone were to come looking for her, Allan Westcott’s old office would be the last place they would expect to find her.
“We’ve got a breaking story here, MacKenzie. You ever hear of Mordecai Young?”
Sean had been studying Julie’s face—a little too closely, in her opinion—but he looked away fast when Allan said the name. “The so-called Reverend Young?”
“That’s the one.”
Julie sank into her chair again. She was shaken, and fighting to get herself under control. This was not the first time she’d had this nightmare. It was, however, the first time it had been real.
She didn’t want to listen to Allan Westcott recap the story, but she couldn’t seem to help herself. Nor to stop the visions—the memories—from unfolding in her mind as he spoke.
“Mordecai Young was a self-proclaimed minister, leader of a group he called the Young Believers who lived on a hundred-acre compound down in Chenango County,” Westcott said. “Most of his followers were young and female, though there were a dozen or so young men with him, as well. Word was the place was lousy with illegal weapons and drugs. He was apparently growing huge crops of marijuana and opium, partly in greenhouses. When the feds went in to raid the place, all hell broke loose. The entire place burned to the ground. Young and his followers died rather than surrender.”
Julie remembered. The smoke, the heat, the bodies. She remembered her best friend, Lizzie, with her golden-blond hair and her bright green eyes pressing her newborn daughter into Julie’s arms as her life seeped onto the floor.
Take her, Jewel. She’s yours now.
Julie swallowed back the tears that were trying so hard to spill over.
Westcott, oblivious to the turmoil going on inside Julie, rushed on. “That anonymous caller of Julie’s was a woman claiming that Mordecai Young is still alive.”
“You’re shitting me.” MacKenzie slid his penetrating gaze to Julie, then frowned deeply and kept his eyes on her, probing, even when she looked away. “What else did she say?” he asked.
Julie shook her head, unable to meet his eyes. “Nothing that made any sense. Something about the weather. It was probably a crank call. God knows we get enough of them.”
“The caller said, ‘He knows,’” Westcott explained. “’He’s alive, and he knows,’ whatever the hell that means.”
Julie shook her head. “We have a story. A good solid story—the biggest murder investigation to hit the state in ten years. That’s where we should be focusing our attention, not on some crank caller telling ghost stories.”
“Well yeah, if it was a crank,” Westcott said. “But, Julie, what if it wasn’t? What if Mordecai Young really is still alive?”
If Mordecai Young is still alive, Julie thought, turning her back on both men and clenching her fists so hard her nails cut smiles into her palms, then he’s coming. He’s coming…for Dawn.
Aloud, she said only, “He can’t be.”
CHAPTER SEVEN
When the news director left her office, Sean stayed behind, closing the door, turning to face her. She was sitting in her chair, elbows braced on her desk, forehead resting in her palms. He said, “Okay, he’s gone. You can quit pretending you’re not about to burst into flames over this anonymous tip.”
“Why are you still here?”
She said it without looking up. Sean took it as further evidence that Dawn’s notion that her mother was in some kind of trouble and his own gut instincts were dead-on target. Just what the hell was she hiding? If her performance at the scene of Harry Blackwood’s murder, her breaking and entering at Harry’s apartment and her disappearing house keys and panicked reaction to them hadn’t been enough to convince him of that, then this was. The way she looked right now. She looked drained. She looked…scared.
“Dawn’s worried about you.” He knew that would get a reaction, and he was right.
Her head came up fast. “What did she say?”
“Not much. She doesn’t trust me a hell of a lot more than you do. Yet. Though, uh, I guess you must trust me a little. You trusted me to bring her to you.”
The frown lines between her brows eased. “Don’t let it go to your head, MacKenzie. Don’t think for one minute I’m not on to your game.”
“You’re gonna have to be more specific, Jones. I have a dozen games going at any given time. Which one are you ‘on to’?”
She pressed her lips together, gave him a smug look that was a little more Jones-like than the one she’d been wearing earlier. “The one where you kiss up to my daughter, pretend to be her friend and then pick her brain for dirt on her mother.” She shrugged. “Or the one where you convince me you really do like her, so that I let my guard down and trust you with the blade that can slit my throat.”
He frowned at her. “Now that is an interesting choice of words.”
She averted her eyes.
“I like your kid, Jones.”
“Why, MacKenzie?”
He shrugged. “Why not? She’s smart, and she’s sharp, she’s got good taste in music and radio-shock jocks, and she knows as much about cars as I do.”
Julie sighed. “She subscribes to a half-dozen car magazines. Moto-trend, Car and Driver…”
“Besides all that, she’s nothing like her mom. So what’s not to like?” He met her eyes. “And you’re a liar if you say you don’t believe that, or you’d never have let me go get her.”
“Don’t flatter yourself. I was worried enough that I’d have asked anyone go get her at that point.”
“You didn’t ask anyone. You asked me. There were twenty other people around the newsroom you could have asked. But you asked me.”
“I didn’t ask. You offered.”
“You took me up on it. And now that you mention it, I completed the mission in spades, and I haven’t heard a word of thanks, other than from the kid herself.”
She glared at him. “You’re gonna milk this for all it’s worth, aren’t you?”
“Yep.” He crossed his arms over his chest and tipped his head to one side. “Well?”
Julie pursed her lips, rolled her eyes and, finally, nodded. “Thank you, Sean.”
“You’re welcome. Now, see? Was that so hard?”
She sighed. “I really am grateful, you know. Probably more than you can imagine.”
“Yeah. I picked up on that.”
She lifted her brows in question.
“You were as glad to see her as if I’d delivered her from the jaws of a hungry shark, instead of just from an empty house.”
Jones looked him squarely in the eye. “I was worried. Don’t forget, my house keys and Harry’s killer vanished in the same place.”
“Oh, come on. The murderer was long gone by the time you got there.” She looked away so fast he couldn’t mistake it. He’d hit on something, some clue as to what she was hiding. He came around her desk, then crouched in front of her chair and spun it to face him, keeping his hands on either arm so she would stay put. From there, he tried to study her more close
ly. “Just what time did you arrive at that hotel, Jones?”
“About a minute and a half before you did,” she snapped. “I told you last night, I heard the call on my scanner, just like you did.”
“The one at your house.”
“Right.”
“But I was at your house, and I didn’t see any scanner.”
She hesitated just long enough to give away the lie. “I keep it in my bedroom.”
If he could read her eyes—and he was pretty sure he could—she would have a scanner in that bedroom before she slept tonight, just in case he checked. But he didn’t believe for a minute that she had one there now. “There’s still the distance,” he said. “I live twenty minutes closer than you, Jones. And I left the second the call went out. There’s no way you could have beaten me there from Caz if you left at the same time.”
She lifted her head again, met his eyes, and hers were steady, level and determined. “Then I guess I must have heard it on the scanner in my car. And I guess I must have been closer to that hotel than you were when I did.”
He narrowed his eyes on her. “I guess that must be it.”
She nodded. “Then we should let it go, shouldn’t we?”
Jesus, what the hell was this? “Yeah. I guess we should.” Bullshit. He was just getting started. “So what do you want to do with the tip on Mordecai Young?”
She shook her head slowly. “Nothing. I think it’s a hoax.”
“It probably is,” he said. “But I want to follow up on it anyway.”
“Of course you do. This is right up your alley, after all, along with Elvis sightings and alien abductions.”
He pressed a hand to his heart. “I’m wounded! I have never covered an alien abduction story in my life.”
She rolled her eyes.
“Come on, Jones. If there’s any chance, even a slight one, that he didn’t die in that raid, don’t you think there are people who have a right to know? The families of the kids who died there, maybe?”
She was staring at some unseen spot, beyond the walls that surrounded them. “You’re right,” she said. “We need to make sure.” She seemed to shake herself then, bringing her focus back to his face. “You know, for a second there, you actually sounded compassionate. As if you were thinking beyond sensationalism and ratings.”
Thicker Than Water Page 10
