“Try it,” Taylor said. “You need to open yourself up to different possibilities.”
“I don’t think adding cream to my life will make much difference. And what if I ruin my coffee?”
“It’s a start. And if you don’t like it, the pot’s full.”
Had she gotten so regimented that changing something as small as what she put in her coffee was a huge decision? She unscrewed the cap and poured a liberal dash into her cup.
“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”
Livy crossed her eyes and took a sip and almost spit it back out. “How do you drink this? It’s too sweet, and now my coffee tastes like cough syrup.”
Her friend laughed. “My, we’re grouchy today. At least you tried it. Now, do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
Livy dumped the coffee and rinsed the cup before refilling it. She sat at the kitchen island and cradled the cup in her hands. “I almost got Mac killed this week.”
“How?” Taylor took the rolls from the oven and placed them on a trivet.
Livy had expected a little more reaction, but then, very little ruffled Taylor. “I didn’t have his back in a shoot-out. He took a bullet in the chest. Of course he had on his vest, but the impact caused an arrhythmia.”
Concern flashed in Taylor’s eyes. “Is his heart still out of rhythm?”
“No, it was only temporary. He’s okay now.”
“Good. Why didn’t you have his back?”
“I caved under pressure. My shot went wild.”
“It’s still the kid in the alley.”
Tears burned Livy’s eyes, and she didn’t try to hold them back. Taylor was the one person she could be herself with. “I can’t stop reliving it, or thinking about how his family must feel.”
“Listen to me. That kid is the one who decided to rob a convenience store with a toy gun that looked so real that if you laid it side by side with a real revolver, no one could tell the difference. Even the store clerk thought it was real.”
“But it was dark in the alley. Just a streetlight from the corner. What if I read him wrong? Why would he rob a store with a toy gun, anyway?”
“I don’t know. The paper said he had emotional problems in the past. Almost OD’d on painkillers once.”
“You’re thinking suicide by cop?”
“It’s possible. You told him to put his weapon and himself on the ground, right?”
She nodded. “Three times.”
“And he didn’t do it.”
“I hear what you’re saying, but I can’t wrap my mind around it. It’s made me question my judgment . . . and God.”
“You are questioning God? You’re the one who always reminded me that nothing was too big for him.”
Livy looked away from Taylor and stared at the flames licking the logs in the fireplace. “God has the power to change any circumstance. Why did he put me in that store just when that kid robbed it? Five minutes earlier or later and Caine would still be alive, and I wouldn’t be dealing with the aftermath of his stupid choices.”
“Don’t you see, Livy? It was Justin Caine’s choices that caused his death. Not you.”
“Maybe so, but all I can think about is that a seventeen-year-old boy is dead, and I could have prevented it if I’d handled it differently or if I hadn’t been there at all.”
“You have to readjust your thinking. Are you still seeing your department psychologist?”
Livy shook her head. “He released me. If I go back to him, I’ll be given a desk job again, and that almost drove me crazy the first time. Would you consider seeing me professionally? Walk me through this?”
Taylor’s blue eyes softened. “That’s not my field. You need someone who specializes in post-traumatic stress.”
She folded her arms across her chest. “I am not having PTSD. Would you at least consider it?”
“Let me do a little research first, and in the meantime, maybe you need to take a leave from your job, something you should have done after the shooting. If I remember right, you didn’t take any time off.”
She sounded like Mac now. “It’s dead wintertime. If I don’t work, I’ll just sit in my apartment and brood.”
“Then come home to Logan Point. Help Kate with her pottery.” Taylor smoothed a strand of Livy’s hair back. “But whatever you do, don’t cut your hair again. It’s just now the right length.”
Livy picked at a hangnail. Some people rearranged furniture when they were unhappy with their life. She changed her hairstyle. This might be one of those times. Being a cop was her life, and she didn’t know how to do anything else. But whose fault was that? “Okay, I won’t cut it, but I’m not taking a leave. That would be running from my problem. The only way I’ll get my confidence back is to keep doing my job.”
“At least consider it.” Taylor placed a hot roll on a plate and handed it to her. “Right now, eat this.”
The aroma of cinnamon and butter teased Livy’s taste buds. She took a bite of the warm roll, and the melt-in-your-mouth taste sent a wealth of good memories through her. She glanced at Taylor. “These are almost as good as your mom’s. Remember how she always seemed to know when the three of us needed a little something extra?”
“Problem fixers. That’s what she called these,” Taylor said.
“Yeah.” Livy sighed. “I’m afraid a cinnamon roll won’t fix my problems anymore.”
Alex Jennings examined the photograph his boss handed him. It looked like a selfie with the blonde-haired beauty staring confidently at the camera, her blue eyes wide and a saucy grin on her lips. His heart rate increased. His first big case. Maybe.
“Samantha Jo Woodson has been missing for two days. She didn’t show up for work Monday, but her boss waited until today before she called the emergency number the girl had given her.” Delores Mathis tapped her pencil on the massive oak desk that took up much of the space in her tiny office. Her Texas drawl drew the words out. “State Senator Robert Woodson has hired us to look into his granddaughter’s case.”
Alex scanned the information on the second sheet that the owner of Mathis Private Investigations had handed him. “How did a spoiled Texas debutante end up in Logan Point, Mississippi, working as a waitress?”
“That’s the sixty-four-thousand-dollar question.”
He glanced once again at the photo. “How old is she?”
“Twenty-one.”
He would’ve guessed eighteen.
“After her second year in college, she dropped out, said she wanted to go to Nashville and be a singer. Isn’t Senator Woodson your grandfather’s colleague?”
Alex nodded and unrolled the cuffs on the white dress shirt he’d worn this morning. Woodson served on the opposite side of the political fence in the Texas State legislature from Josiah Jennings. Although in their seventies, both men still wielded power in Texas politics.
“Your grandfather still bugging you to take the bar exam?”
“Oh yeah. Neither he nor my father has let up the pressure. Which reminds me, I have a lunch date with the senator.” He checked his watch. “In twenty minutes.”
“I wondered about the dress shirt this morning.” She smiled. “Do you want this case?”
Alex cocked his head, studying the woman he worked for. He’d met her three years ago when she came to the airfield where he gave flying lessons, looking for someone to fly her to Houston. He’d offered his services. On the flight, he learned Dee was the sole investigator in the agency she’d started ten years earlier, this after spending twelve years as a Dallas homicide detective.
When they arrived at Sugarland Regional Airport, he’d been intrigued by this woman who looked like everyone’s Aunt Bea. Brown hair styled in a simple cut, nothing remarkable about her face—she would blend into any setting. That was her secret, she’d told him. No one ever saw her. He wanted to know more and offered to drive her around Houston since he was familiar with the city. They talked about the case she was working on, and he made a few observations, a
nd she offered to hire him on the spot as a consultant.
Since then, he’d worked several cases for her, never anything big or important, and he wanted to know why she was handing off a case as big as this one to him. “I figured you just wanted me to fly you to Logan Point.”
“Nope. It’s all yours since I have to be available to testify in court in the morning.” She made a face. “Probably all week, and this case needs someone on it yesterday. There’s a small airport on the outskirts of Logan Point and a bed and breakfast nearby. I’ll call and see if you can stay there—just keep up with your expenses.”
A tremor ran through him. Maybe if he solved this case, his grandfather would drop the campaign to get him to take the bar and join the family law firm. “As soon as I get back from lunch, I’ll get right on this.”
“Well, for Pete’s sake, comb your unruly hair before you meet your grandfather.”
He smoothed his hand over his head.
“I meant with a comb.”
At exactly twelve thirty, Alex walked through the back door of the estate where he’d spent most of his childhood after his parents’ divorce. Behind his back, he carried a bouquet of daisies he’d picked up at the florist. Eloise, the family cook, turned from the stove.
“Alex, you’re one minute late. The senator will be fit to be tied.”
“No ma’am. I’m right on the money.” He pulled the flowers out. “For you, milady.”
Red started at the base of her throat and rose to her cheeks. “Don’t know what you mean, bringing me flowers,” she said as she took them. “You ought to be finding some beautiful lady to give these to.”
He sniffed the air. “But she wouldn’t bake chocolate brownies for me.”
“Get out of here before your grandfather’s blood pressure goes up.”
He laughed and kissed her cheek. “Going.”
His smile faded as he went through the dining room door and spied Josiah Jennings waiting in his usual place at the table. A stack of papers lay to the left of his plate. When he saw Alex, he glanced at his watch. “Not quite late,” he said.
“Good afternoon to you too, Grandfather.”
“Sit so I can say the blessing, and Eloise can begin serving.”
Alex slipped into his chair and bowed his head and waited for the same prayer he’d heard at every meal he’d ever eaten at this table.
“Bless us, O Lord, and this food we are about to receive from your bounty. Amen.”
“Amen,” Alex repeated as Eloise entered the room with their salads. He’d never been able to figure out how she knew the precise moment his grandfather would be finished praying. Unless she stood at the door, listening.
They ate in silence, Alex wondering why he’d been summoned to the house. He figured the stack of papers on the corner of the table had something to do with it, but before he could ask, his grandfather cleared his throat.
“Are you still seeing the Townsend girl?”
His grandfather had asked him to lunch to talk about his dating life? “No, Beth went on to greener pastures.”
Josiah cocked his head to the side. “Just what do you do to these girls that scares them away?”
Did it always have to be his fault? Granted, it probably was, given his aversion to marriage, but why did his grandfather automatically assume Alex was to blame? “Beth was looking for a ring and a house with a white picket fence.”
“And you’re not?”
Hardly. Not after the turmoil of his parents’ divorce, one that he had been caught in the middle of. The idea of marriage sent cold tremors down his back.
“Nope,” Alex said, responding to his grandfather’s question. Tired of the direction of the conversation, he pointed toward the papers. “What do you have there?”
“Don’t point with your fork,” his grandfather said. “It’s your application to take the bar exam.”
His stomach took a nosedive. He should have stayed with the topic of his love life. “Who said I was taking it?”
“I do. You’ve got to do something with your life other than goofing off.”
“I’m doing okay teaching people how to fly.”
A muscle twitched in his grandfather’s cheek. “I rue the day I ever bought you that plane.”
His grandfather might rue the day he paid a hundred thousand dollars and change for the 1970 Bonanza F33A, but his bribe had saved Alex’s sanity. Flying was all he’d ever wanted to do since he was fourteen and his mother took him up in her Cessna. He’d soloed at sixteen and had become a certified flight instructor by the time he was eighteen.
“The plane served its purpose. I went to law school, even graduated in the upper half of my class. Besides,” Alex said, “I do have another paying job.”
His grandfather snorted. “What, following wayward husbands around for that private investigation agency?”
Alex clamped his jaw against the words that threatened to spill from his lips as Eloise appeared and whisked the salad bowls away. He waited as she served their plates of quiche lorraine and lemon asparagus and then beat a hasty retreat. “Mathis Private Investigations is a top-notch company, and I’m working on a pretty big case right now. A missing girl.”
“I didn’t say it wasn’t a good company.” Josiah took a bite of quiche. “Dee Mathis gave you the Woodson case?”
“How do you know about the case?”
“I recommended her, but I had no idea she would turn it over to a novice.”
“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Alex cut a small bite of quiche. If his grandfather thought enough of the agency to recommend it, why was he so opposed to Alex working there? The answer came immediately. Anything Josiah Jennings couldn’t control, he opposed.
The older man cocked his head. After a minute, he said, “I’ll make a deal with you. You solve this case, and I’ll never mention the bar exam again.”
“Deal.” Alex would do almost anything to get his father and grandfather off his back about taking the bar.
His grandfather held his finger up. “However, if you fail, I expect you to apply to take the test by the end of the month, and if you don’t, I’m done with you. I will not be a party to you wasting your life.”
The quiche stuck in Alex’s throat. The implication that he was presently wasting his life stung, but did he want his future riding on this one case?
“Think you can’t solve it?”
Heat seared Alex’s face. “It’s still a deal,” he said. “But I expect you to live up to your end of the bargain.”
Josiah leveled a gaze at him. “When have I ever not? By the same token, I will expect you to do the same. And although the filing date for the July exam ended at the end of January, I have it on good authority that in your case, the date can be extended to March thirtieth. I would prefer if your application was in by the end of February.”
“Three weeks? You expect me to solve this case in three weeks?”
“That’s the deal. Take it or leave it.”
Alex had no choice now. His grandfather had backed him into a corner, and the only way out was to find the missing girl. And he would do it. He had to.
If he had to practice law, he would die a slow and sure death.
As Livy drove to Memphis, she couldn’t keep her mind off the meeting with Captain Reed. She was pretty sure he was going to request that she be recertified at the shooting range. But if he asked her to see the department psychologist, she was going to say no. She didn’t need anyone in the department to know how messed up her thinking was. An hour later, Reed confirmed her suspicion in a meeting with her partner.
“You want me to run the shoot/no-shoot course at the range?” Livy swallowed the lump lodged in her throat.
Captain Arlin Reed nodded. “Mac here thinks it’ll be a good idea. He’s shooting it with you, as well. And then you both have sessions scheduled with the department psychologist.”
She glanced at Mac. Had he told the captain she hadn’t covered him Monday?
&nb
sp; He met her gaze. “In case you’re wondering, I told Arlin you’re still dealing with the aftermath of the December shooting.”
“Fine. Let’s get this over with.” She rose from her chair. “Are you riding with me or meeting me there?”
He glanced away. “Meeting you. I’m, ah, meeting Julie for a late lunch afterward.”
“Fine.”
A pain shot through her right eye. Not a migraine. Not now. On the drive to the range, she practiced relaxation techniques. But when she stood at the firing line, waiting for a target to pop out, the muscles in her shoulders knotted. Relax. Go slow. The target slid out, a figure with a gun in his hand. She fired. Another target, no gun. She let it pass. Three more targets with guns.
Another target, farther back this time. Livy hesitated, then she fired, hitting it dead center. Except . . . the target was a no-shoot. She didn’t have time to think before a target popped out, closer this time. Was there a gun? She blinked. Yes. The target disappeared before she could fire, and a target twenty-five feet away popped up. Again a split-second hesitation before she fired, missing it.
Her hand shook, and she lowered her gun. If this had been for real, she would be dead. Or her partner. She stepped back, trying not to throw up.
“You okay, Olivia?” Concern weighed in Mac’s voice.
She turned, her legs almost buckling. One look told her he’d seen what had happened. She holstered her gun. “Looks like you’re right. I’m not fit for service.”
3
Five minutes out from the Logan Point airport, Alex radioed his position to the air traffic controller and was cleared to land. He set his Bonanza down on the runway and taxied to the front of the small terminal, stopping where a lanky man with wooden chocks directed him. With an airport this small, it was probably the guy he radioed. Even so, the quality of the airport surprised him. A brick terminal, long runway. Someone had invested money here. A cold north wind whipped his clothes as he climbed out of the plane and shook hands with the man. “Sam” was written over the pocket of his khaki shirt, and long johns extended beyond his cuffs.
Gone without a Trace Page 2
