Finding Her Son

by Robin Perini

  The brute on the floor grunted. “You should’ve stayed out of it.”

  “Shut up,” Mitch said. He double-checked the zip-tie cuffs just as a cruiser pulled up, sirens blaring. A uniform raced inside.

  “Get this guy out of here,” Mitch said. “I’ll file my report once I get back.”

  The cop nodded and escorted Ghost from the building. Officer Bradford walked toward the girls huddled in the corner, his gait slightly off when he put weight on his right leg. As he approached, they shrank away. Emily didn’t blame them. It had taken her months to get past the fragmented flashes of memory when any man in a dark coat had come near her. For these teens—one girl’s eye was swollen shut; another’s face was mottled yellow and green from old bruises—all they’d see would be a tall, muscular brute who had shown he could incapacitate anyone who crossed him.

  Then his expression softened. “You did great, Heather,” he said softly. “Is everyone else okay? Anybody need a doctor?”

  The girls shook their heads.

  “Sister Kate takes care of us,” one said, crossing her arms in defiance. “She’s a nurse.”

  He nodded, not pushing just accepting. Emily couldn’t get over the change in his demeanor. He’d transformed in seconds from a warrior—someone she was convinced could’ve killed Ghost if he’d wanted—to a man with a gentle gaze. Still, none of the girls would look him in the eye. His focus lowered to the discolored cheeks of one of the teens. His lips grew tight. Good. If nothing else, the evidence of abuse made him angry.

  “Will you tell me about Ghost?” he said, still keeping his voice calm and low.

  Amid the blare of more sirens, the girls looked as if they’d rather die than say anything.

  “I got proof they’re hooked up with drug dealers.” Ghost’s shouts rammed through the open doorway. “I can give you names, dates, places. I know their johns. I can help you put ’em away. Give their babies to people who deserve ’em.”

  Heather shivered and caressed her burgeoning belly. Her gaze rose to Mitch’s. “He trolls for girls who get knocked up. Tries to sweet-talk the ones who haven’t been around too long. He sells himself as someone who can help. We know better. They’re buying a one-way ticket when they go with Ghost.”

  “You never see any of them again,” Mitch said, the statement stark and certain, the ending unspoken.

  A commotion sounded from the kicked-in doorway.

  “I got something for Coach…Officer Bradford,” a young kid shouted.

  The cop stood and walked over to the boy, who handed over a cell phone. “I couldn’t find Vance, Coach.”

  “That’s okay, Ricky.”

  The boy received an affectionate ruffle to his hair, and Mitch guided the kid over to them. “Sister Kate, Mrs. Wentworth, this is Ricky Foster. He’s looking for his sister, Kayla.”

  Over the next hour, Mitch questioned the girls and Ricky. Pregnant girls vanishing. Their babies gone. Not one of them reported missing. Until Kayla Foster.

  “You’ll find her?” Ricky asked, his voice laced with hope as Mitch led him to the back exit, past the front door he and Ricky had worked side-by-side to barricade to the back exit.

  “Get me the picture, and I’ll put the word out. We’ll discover what happened.”

  Ricky walked out of the shelter with an expression that could only be described as cautiously optimistic.

  “I wish we’d seen her.” She spoke to the nun standing at her side.

  “I have a feeling with Officer Bradford on the case, Ricky will be reunited with Kayla.”

  “It doesn’t always end the way we’d want, Sister,” Mitch said from behind them.

  Emily hadn’t realized he’d approached. She stiffened as his huge presence overwhelmed her, making her heart race. Not with fear, though. With something else—unfamiliar and enticing at the same time.

  “Oh, I’m well aware of that, boy-o,” Sister Kate said. “But we can’t give up, can we? One soul at a time.” The nun glanced at her watch. “Now, it’s getting late. We’re safe, and I need to do a bed check on my chickadees. Perhaps you’ll walk Emily to her car? It’s dark, and a pretty girl like her would do well to have a strong protector at this time of night.”

  The cop turned to Emily, his chocolate eyes studying her with an intensity that made her shiver. Heat rose into Emily’s face, and she knew her cheeks must be crimson. When had Sister Kate turned into a matchmaker?

  Her belly fluttered. He’d been so gentle and caring with the girls and Ricky, but she couldn’t let herself feel anything. She just prayed a man like Mitch was watching over Joshua somewhere. And that someday she would find her son.

  “You ready?” Mitch asked.

  She clutched the satchel she always carried containing an age-progressed photo, fliers and the case details. Could this policeman help her? She’d never felt she could rely on the police department…or the cops in it. They’d never believed her. This man seemed different somehow, but she didn’t know if she could trust him. With Ghost a lost cause, she needed another way to get information on these missing children and hopefully tie them to Joshua.

  Mitch turned, and as his weight shifted to his right leg, he hesitated. She studied him for a few steps. His hip did most of the work on his right side. He tried hard not to let it show. If her job hadn’t been to notice the signs of strain on the human body, he would’ve succeeded. He’d injured himself being a hero, trying to save them.

  “You’re hurt.”

  He stiffened, warning her to back off, but she wouldn’t. Not when he was so obviously in pain. She dug into her purse for her keys and tugged out a card. “You injured yourself helping me, Officer. Come by. Let me take a look at your leg. Maybe I can do something for you.” She thrust the card into his hand.

  “Physical therapist, huh?”

  “What’ve you got to lose?”

  “I’m fine,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  He’d clearly shut her out. Emily remained silent, but she wouldn’t forget what he’d done. He opened the back door for her, and she walked out of the haven that Sister Kate had created for her lost girls into a darkened alley filled with the sounds of angry shouts and crying babies.

  When they reached the street, a tall woman in a spandex dress whistled at them. “You and your lady looking for some action?”

  “No thanks. We’re exclusive.” Mitch tucked Emily’s arm in his and shifted closer to her.

  “Lucky lady,” the woman said and turned her salesmanship toward a slow-moving BMW, so out of place on this street.

  “You don’t have to protect me,” Emily said.

  “After what I witnessed tonight, I’m not so sure.” His gaze scanned the street before he guided her toward the crosswalk. “If you want to be a crusader, take some advice. Don’t get too involved,” he said. “It’ll eat you up inside.”

  “You’re a cop. You obviously think everyone’s a bad guy.”

  Mitch’s grip tightened on her arm, and he stopped. “See that kid on the corner? His name is Mario. He’s twenty now. Was an amazing quarterback. Smart. Could’ve gone to any college he wanted. Gotten a degree. Maybe even turned pro. But he couldn’t say no to his so-called friends. He was shot at seventeen. Severed the nerves in his throwing arm. No more scholarship. He gave up. He’s dealing now. He’ll be in prison within the year. Dead in five.”

  Emily doubted Mitch recognized how clearly his emotions for this young man showed on his face. “He was one of your team,” Emily said. “Like Ricky.”

  Mitch nodded and guided her down the street. “I know the odds. I thought Mario would make it. I was wrong. I don’t want to be wrong about Ricky. I’m going to fight for him. And his sister. But the odds are against them.”

  “You still try. And you still care.”

  A car screeched around the corner and barreled directly toward them. Before Emily could move, Mitch grabbed her and dove away from the oncoming vehicle. He slammed into the ground hard, wrapping her in his arms and tur
ning so she landed on top of him. A heated gust from the car rocked them as the old Cadillac squealed past.

  Mitch let out a sharp curse. “Okay, lady. Just what have you gotten yourself into?”

  THE SUNSHINE-YELLOW curtains and serene green walls should’ve made Vanessa happy, but the colors mocked her. She’d been so very stupid. Why hadn’t she left town when she’d first decided to keep her baby? The midwife had been furious. The doctor would—

  A key jiggled in the lock. Vanessa huddled in the bed, cradling her newborn baby girl in her arms. Fine blond hair covered her sweet head, and Vanessa kissed the tiny cheek. “Mama will take care of you.”

  She prayed it would be so.

  The door eased open, revealing the man who’d approach her in the mall just a few short months ago. “We had a deal.” His voice was quiet and cold.

  Vanessa shivered. She’d expected him to start yelling, and now wished he’d slammed open the door and screamed at her. This deadly anger made her insides quake. Bad things always happened when her daddy got like that.

  “I’ll pay you back. I promise.” Vanessa swallowed around the lump in her throat. “I just can’t give her up. I love her.”

  “You love her. Really? Well. That’s just too bad. I have a family for her, and they aren’t going to wait.” He thrust a paper toward her. “Sign the form. Now.”

  “No.”

  “Marie,” he called out the door. “Get in here.”

  The portly midwife rushed in. “But Doctor—”

  “Do it.”

  She sighed and reached for Vanessa’s baby. “I’m sorry, honey.”

  “You can’t just take her!”

  Vanessa kicked and screamed, holding on to her child, but it was no use. She was too weak from giving birth. “You can’t do this,” she cried as the midwife left the room with the baby. “I’ll tell the police you forced me to sign. They’ll give her back.”

  “No, my dear,” the doctor said, his voice deadly soft. “You won’t be telling anyone.”

  He moved fast, then grabbed her arm and secured one wrist with a restraint strap. She fought, rolling her body back and forth, scratching his cheek, anything to stop him.

  He cursed and slapped her face. Her head snapped back, and by the time she regained her senses, he’d fastened her other hand to the rails of the hospital bed. She arched and twisted against the bindings, but he just smiled, his expression calm as he touched his hand to the cheek where she’d clawed him.

  “This could’ve been so easy. You should’ve taken the money. You could’ve had a new life like your slutty friends,” he said.

  A sharp prick. She yelped at the sting as he tugged out the needle and untied her.

  “What did you do to me?” She sat up, rubbed her freed hands and stared down at her arm where a small drop of blood formed.

  “You’ll know soon enough.”

  She looked at him, seeing for the first time that the eyes she’d once believed glowed with compassion were blank and hollow. “Let me have my baby. Please.”

  Begging him to listen, to do the right thing, suddenly she swayed. Her arms dropped, her head spun. She tried to breathe, but she couldn’t. Something was choking her. She gasped. Oh, dear Lord. What was wrong? She tried to suck in air and clasped at her chest. It felt like someone was sitting on her, suffocating her. Desperately she tried to breathe, but she couldn’t. The doctor’s grin grew wide.

  She reached out to him. “Help me. Something’s…wrong.”

  “Sign this.” He thrust the paper beneath her hand and placed a pen there. “And I’ll save you.”

  She panted, listening to the short gasps as if she floated outside herself. She didn’t have a choice. Somehow she’d get her baby girl back. But she had to stay alive.

  Barely able to see the line on the page, she scrawled her name on the paper, then slumped back against the sheets. She reached out to him. “Help me. You promised.”

  “That I did. But then, so did you.”

  With the signed consent form in his hand, he walked out the door, closing it behind him.

  Vanessa couldn’t yell, she couldn’t scream. She stared at the sunshine-yellow curtains, and they morphed into strange shapes and faces. The doctor’s face. He laughed at her. Called her a fool.

  And she had been. It was all her fault. What would happen to her baby?

  She tried to breathe. She couldn’t. Strange white spots danced in front of her eyes. There was nothing she could do. Nothing.

  Please, God. Protect my baby.

  Chapter Two

  Mitch grimaced as he limped into the police department. What a night. And it wasn’t over. He’d called in the hit-and-run. Two reports of assault in less than an hour. He’d never live it down. Especially since the busy downtown street had suddenly gone ultrasilent right after the attack. No witnesses. No nothing.

  Just a woman who’d seemed quite satisfied to have been attacked. She’d met his gaze and without blinking had said, “I’ve got them worried. That means I’m onto something.”

  Unbelievable.

  Half of him admired her tenacity. She scared the spit out of his other half. Come to think of it, she’d acted a lot like his late mother when he or his siblings had been on the short end of trouble. Fearless. Mitch got that. Mama-bear syndrome. Do anything for your child. But with such an overt attempt on her life, Emily’d found more trouble than she realized. She’d made someone very nervous.

  She’d even fought leaving. Had wanted to stay, canvas the neighborhood. Only the threat of spending the night in the police station had convinced her to leave. He’d tailed her to confirm she went home and hadn’t doubled back. She was safe—for now. With an unmarked unit watching her, just in case.

  He glanced at his watch. Midnight was around the corner. He was on Emily duty first thing in the morning and still had reports to file. He straightened and struggled to hide his awkward stride. At this hour, maybe he could get past the desk sergeant and the SWAT Den without seeing anyone he knew.

  His thigh was on fire; his muscles were seizing up. He had less than two months to pass the physical to get his real job back. If he didn’t do something drastic, he’d lose his career.

  With a sigh, he sank into the hard wood of his desk chair and massaged his leg. What if he couldn’t go back to SWAT? He wasn’t an investigator. He didn’t like analyzing and waiting. He liked breaking down doors and grabbing the bad guy. No talk. Just action. It’d felt good bringing down Ghost tonight.

  “What did you do, Bradford?” Detective Dane Tanner, his temporary supervisor, stalked into the room. “You’re hobbling like an old woman.”

  Mitch stiffened at the truth in Tanner’s words. “Nothing. Just a little twinge. What are you doing here this late? I thought high-powered detectives kept banker’s hours.”

  “Ever hear of a police radio? I keep tabs on my guys, especially those wet behind the ears like you. I heard from dispatch about your adventures tonight—you bagged this guy, Ghost, for targeting young girls. Good job.” Tanner’s face twisted into a scowl. “Unfortunately, he broke out of holding. A couple of street thugs created a diversion and the perp fought his way out. Put two of our guys in the hospital.”

  Mitch shot to his feet. “He got away? You get his prints?”

  “No such luck, but we have an APB out on him.” Tanner shook his head. “He’s a dangerous guy. You took a big risk going in alone.”

  “I tried to get backup.”

  “Yeah, you had a fourteen-year-old kid call 911 and then try to find Vance—who’d just gone off duty, by the way. Better men than you haven’t walked away from psychos like Ghost.”

  “Point taken,” Mitch said. His father, Paul Bradford, had been paralyzed in a shootout five years ago. Being a cop and carrying a weapon hadn’t protected him. And his dad hadn’t been trying to fight on an injured leg.

  “I hope so. I understand investigating’s not your gig. But until you pass the SWAT physical, you’re stuck with us. You fo
llow our rules. One of which is not to go in without backup. The other is not to reveal your identity to a suspect. In your case, Emily Wentworth.”

  “Detective—”

  “Don’t even try to tap dance. Lives were on the line. I get it, but you better comprehend how lucky you were.” Tanner crossed his arms, staring Mitch down with a warning the ex-special forces officer clearly expected to be heeded. “Did you at least salvage the Wentworth case?”

  “She noticed my leg. She offered to help me with rehab, and I’ve got another angle I can work to stay near her.”

  Mitch ran down the Kayla Foster situation, and Tanner smiled. “It sounds like you’re in. We might make a detective of you after all.”

  “Over my dead body,” Mitch growled.

  “I hope not. Your dad would kill me.” Tanner bent closer, his expression deadly serious. “I want this collar. Someone orchestrated Eric Wentworth’s death. His murder case was stone-cold until his mother discovered that bank account in Emily’s name. It’s a lot of money and puts a whole new spin on the investigation. I want to know how the wife’s involved, and I’m not backing down this time.”

  “If Emily’s guilty, why would she offer to help me?”

  “To gain an ally in the office. To get intel on what’s happening in the investigation. If she arranged the hit-and-run to take out her husband, then she’s willing to do anything—including slitting her own throat—to make herself look like a victim. You and I both know that’s not as uncommon as it should be.”

  “You’re reaching. Emily almost died. Her voice will never be the same. And my neighborhood contacts don’t know squat about her being involved in anything, except she’s a do-gooder.” Mitch knew he’d been mistaken in the past, but he couldn’t get past his feelings about Emily. If he could trust them. “What if we’re wrong? What if she’s just trying to find her son?”

  “Could be.” His boss’s jaw tightened. “But she knows something. And someone tried to kill her tonight. And that someone wasn’t Ghost. I want an explanation.” His eyes were cold. “There’s dirt there. I can smell it. Find the proof. Whatever it takes.”