by Jan Coffey
“How can you be so heartless?” Her eyes were huge and filled with hurt. “This little boy has been running scared since Friday. Of all the people he knows, he comes to me. Why?”
“Because you’re a soft touch and don’t have an ounce of good sense in your head.”
Her jaw dropped in disbelief, but he grabbed her by the wrist when she tried to walk away from him.
“I can’t believe you.”
“Listen to me, Ellie. This kid is wanted for questioning by police because he was a witness to the hit-and-run that put McGill in this hospital—never mind what he might have seen in the museum. We just can’t whisk him away and pretend a stork dropped him on your doorstop.”
“I know that. We can take him to Sister Helen’s. Once he feels safe there, I know he’ll tell whatever he knows to anyone you want to bring in.”
“No. He says what he has to say right here.”
“He won’t. He’ll run away again.”
“That’s not our problem.”
With her free hand, she grabbed the lapel of his jacket. “Listen to me. Do you know what it feels like to be this alone and scared?”
He couldn’t answer, taken aback by the raw emotion seething up from just beneath the surface. He envisioned Ellie as a young kid, alone on the street—like the ones he’d been thinking of—having no one who cared. She herself had been where Chris was right now.
“This morning, after you dropped me at John’s shop, I used his car and stopped at the foster home where Chris has been staying. That woman, Sharon Green, was doing her best, but she has three other kids—toddlers—living there. She hasn’t had time to even worry about Chris. I stopped at the trailer park where his mother is living now. She was so stoned that she could barely even remember that she had a son, never mind that he was missing.”
With his thumb, Nate wiped away the tear that escaped from her eye. Her skin felt like silk. “How did you make the Allison connection?”
She stared at him for a second. “I…I stopped at the school and caught his teacher cleaning out her classroom. After I lied and said I was an aunt who was visiting for a day, Miss Leoni told me that the only student who ever talked to Chris was this little girl. On a hunch, I told her where I would be this afternoon. I think the message got to Allison through her.”
“Has Chris been staying with Allison?”
“He hid in their shed just last night. She found him there this morning, after her parents were already at work. An older sister watches her during the day, but I don’t think Allison told her anything.”
“What happened to the days when kids took their problems—or problems with their friends—to their parents?”
“I wouldn’t know. I never had a parent around.”
He reluctantly loosened his grip on her wrist. “This is a tough one. We’ll be up shit creek when Hawes hears about it.”
Tears glistened like jewels in her dark eyes. “I’ll promise to do everything I can. I’ll use every contact I have. Whatever needs to be done. I’ll find that flag for you. But we have to take Chris to where he’ll feel safe. I really believe that the convent will be the best place for him right now.”
“I must be losing my mind.” He looked around him before starting toward the parking lot. She stayed beside him. “I just want you to know that what you and I want doesn’t matter a damn to the system. We might drive him all the way to Philly, only to have an agent waiting there to drive him all the way back.”
“You can’t let them do that. You’ll see for yourself in a minute. He’s scared. He needs time to recover, to get over whatever it is that he’s been running from these past few days.” She shot him a sidelong glance. “Make me sound like a monster if you have to. But when you talk to Hawes, tell him…tell him I demand that Chris stays in Philly for a week or two, maybe more. Tell him the whole thing is my fault.”
“The police have a right to question him immediately about McGill.”
“Let them send someone to Philadelphia. Or you do it. Come on, Nate,” she said in a gentler tone. “I’m not asking for the world. Just think of how unimportant moving this one little boy to Philadelphia is compared to the number of laws the FBI bends or breaks to get their jobs done.”
He snorted. “Well, now that you put it that way!”
There was no one by the car when they reached it. “Where is he?”
“Just get in. He’ll show up.”
He opened Ellie’s door and waited for her to climb in. Going around the car, he looked across the lot at a row of daily newspaper machines. He glanced inside the bed of the pickup truck parked next to him. There was no sign of the kid anywhere. He got inside and started the engine, flipping on the air-conditioning to high.
She was sitting on the edge of the seat, looking anxiously in every direction.
“Where did you leave him?”
“Right here. He was crouched down next to the passenger door when I came to get you.”
Looking in the rearview mirror, Nate spotted the unmarked police car entering the visitors lot. “We might never get the kid out of this parking lot, never mind take him to Philadelphia.”
As she turned around to see what he was talking about, the car pulled into the parking spot next to Ellie’s door.
“The chief of police,” Nate told her under his breath as the man climbed out. “It doesn’t get any better than this.”
Ellie sank back against the seat. Her face had gone pale. One of her feet tapped nervously on the floor. “Please, Nate. Do something. You can’t let them take him. He needs our help.”
He knew Buckley would recognize him, and the police chief didn’t disappoint him. Nate gave Ellie’s hand a quick squeeze and pressed the power button, opening her window as the chief got out of his car.
“Agent Murtaugh. The boys at the station told me you were back in town.” Buckley leaned a forearm on their car. His gaze moved over Ellie and stayed there. She stared out the front windshield, totally ignoring him. “We’re not happy about Tom. We don’t like our own taken down that way.”
“You here to see him?” Nate asked.
“I thought I’d make a quick stop on the way home. We’re like family. I hear they’re not giving him much of a chance. His condition hasn’t improved.”
“I wouldn’t be too quick to count him out.” Nate felt himself getting angry as Buckley continued to ogle Ellie’s body. The chief hadn’t been part of the group that had gone over Friday’s security shots inside the Fort Ticonderoga Museum. He doubted that the other man’s interest was strictly professional at this moment, either. “You’d better go up, if you want to get in. I heard today they were cutting back the visiting hours.”
“Hey, I’m the chief here. Even small-town cops have a few perks, you know. Have we met before?” Buckley asked Ellie the question directly.
She looked coolly at the chief. “No.”
“I didn’t think so, but since Agent Murtaugh isn’t making any introductions, I thought—”
“We’re mixing a little work and pleasure today.” Nate put an arm around Ellie’s shoulder and pulled her toward him. She reached up and entwined their fingers. It was impossible to ignore the feel of her slender body against his, the scent of her perfume, the crazy things his body was doing. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, Chief, we’ve got a long drive ahead of us.”
“Yeah…sure. Good seeing you again.” He straightened up, and Nate closed the window as Buckley stepped up on the grass divider. He glanced back briefly over his shoulder and waved.
Ellie waved back. “I think this is when you’re supposed to back up the car,” she whispered, moving away from him and pulling on her seat belt.
“No, you and I are supposed to kiss passionately while he chuckles to himself and goes the hell inside. Don’t you watch any movies?”
“I could never kiss you,” she said quietly, sliding away from him on the seat.
Nate’s gaze narrowed first on the gentle blush coloring her cheek, then
on her mouth. “Why is that?”
Ellie crossed her arms over her chest and stared at Buckley’s back while he strolled toward the main entrance to the hospital. “That was never part of the job description.”
“And transporting an eight-year-old—a kid who’s wanted for questioning as a material witness—back to Philadelphia with us was?”
“That’s different.”
“How?”
“After you see him, you’ll agree that Chris needs help.” Her face turned to him. “We’re forced to work together, for few days or a couple of weeks at the most. We’re from totally different backgrounds. We have different tastes in people. It might just be possible that, although we’re doing our best to be civil to each other, we don’t even like each other. My guess is that the FBI has a few regulations about this, too. Am I wrong? Considering everything, I believe we should keep our relationship totally professional.”
“You stole the words out of my mouth,” Nate said gruffly. “And for your information, I’m not interested in you at all.”
“I didn’t think so.”
“You don’t have to have the last word in this.” He put the car in Reverse and looked behind him to pull out of the parking spot, angry with himself for sounding like an adolescent.
“But I do.”
Before he could respond, the back door of the car opened and a breathless four-foot bundle of muddy clothes and dirty hair climbed in. He smelled as if he’d spent the night curled up around a gas can.
“Christopher?” he asked gently, seeing the child’s frightened glance at his jacket and tie.
The boy nodded and took Ellie’s hand when she reached over the back of the seat.
“I’m Nate Murtaugh.”
He nodded again and slid onto the floor. “Could we please leave now?”
Ten
A state-of-the-art security system, an automatic gate, thirty-six acres, seven bedrooms, five-thousand square feet of floor space, an indoor lap pool, a four-bay garage. And what the hell for?
Hawes kept the car window down and listened to the crunch of gravel under the tires as he drove up the winding driveway. He slowed down and looked up at his house as the headlights caught it. There was a time when just the sight of the house after a long day would buoy his spirits. No more. Three daughters—one still married, two divorced—and six grandchildren who didn’t come around but once or twice a year was not reason enough to hold on to this white elephant Martha called home. Sometimes he felt like the Great Gatsby, except that he never threw any of those wild, fantastic parties where everyone came and had a wonderful time.
Sanford took out the souvenir panties Cheri had stuffed into his jacket pocket as he’d left. He could smell her woman’s smell. He looked back at the house. None of this was worth what he was missing when he was away from that girl’s bed. Cheri was wild and hot and liked to live dangerously. And it seemed as if she couldn’t get enough of him. Frankly, he didn’t care that at twenty-five, she was younger than his youngest daughter. Neither did he give a damn that as an administrative assistant in his department, technically she worked for him. All that was just bullshit, anyway. Life was too short.
The bay door on his side of the garage opened. Hawes pulled in and cut the engine. Both of Martha’s cars were there. He inhaled again, breathing Cheri’s smell in deeply. A man needed something to help him get through the night.
She’d been sharing a house with two other girls in downtown D.C. when she started working in his department. That was eight months ago. But once they’d begun to go out, the roommates definitely put a crimp in their style. The best thing Sanford had done was to buy some “investment” property this year and put Cheri in it. This way, he came and went as he pleased, and they weren’t paying cash at cheap hotels or pulling onto side roads at night for sex in the car.
Some habits, though, were difficult to break. Like tonight. They’d picked up some Chinese takeout, and on the way back to her house she’d gone down on him in the car while he was driving—with considerable difficulty—along the Rock Creek Parkway.
Thinking about that for a minute, he reached under the seat and found her blouse. She’d used it to clean them up afterward. Driving along that road with her topless and her mouth around him was a fantasy come true. But that had only been the beginning. If there was one thing Cheri liked, it was rough sex and they’d had plenty of that tonight.
“Are you going to sit there all night?”
Sanford was startled at the sound of Martha’s voice. He hadn’t even realized it, but the timed lights of the garage door opener had already gone off. He hurriedly stuffed Cheri’s things under the seat and reached for his tie, jacket and briefcase on the passenger seat. She was standing in the open door to the mudroom.
“What are you doing up this late?” he asked casually, getting out and pressing the remote button for the garage door to close.
“You had a couple of calls tonight. I didn’t want to write a note and have you miss it.”
Once again, the lights in the garage had come on, and as Sanford approached his wife, he couldn’t stop mentally comparing Cheri’s D-cup breasts and round, firm ass to Martha’s less voluptuous build.
“I didn’t know you were working with Nate Murtaugh again. He called tonight. It was nice to hear his voice again.”
“That sonovabitch accuses me of calling him too much, so here I leave him alone for a few hours and suddenly he’s dying to get me on the horn.”
She puckered up her lips when he reached the door. He planted a fleeting kiss on her cheek and went inside. It was impossible to miss the scent of extra perfume she’d put on tonight.
“What was the other call?”
“You also had one from the White House. The chief of staff’s office. I wrote down the number. Why didn’t they call you at work? Or on your cell phone?”
He ignored her questions. “Did they say anything else?”
“It has to do with the President’s press conference tomorrow.”
He dropped his jacket and tie on the banister. “Don’t wait up for me. I’ll be in the library working.” Without sparing Martha another glance, he headed to his office on the east wing of the house.
“Sanford?”
“What, Martha?” Hawes snapped without stopping.
She stayed on his heels. “Nate was calling from his car, and we didn’t have the best connection, so I couldn’t ask him myself. Is he back in Washington again?”
“No.”
“But he’s working for you.” She turned on lights as they walked down the long hall.
“Just temporarily.”
The dozen recessed lights in the coffered ceiling of the library came on as Martha flicked a switch. “Talking to him lit up my day. He’s a lovely man—always asks the right questions and knows how to make people feel special. He even remembers the minutest details. That’s good upbringing, if you ask me.” She perched on the corner of his desk. “If he comes to town, could you invite him over for dinner?”
“I will. Now, be on your way. I have work to do.”
“But weren’t you doing that at the office?”
“Yes, I was.” Sanford picked up the day’s mail off his desk and started flipping through it.
She leaned over and turned on his desk lamp. “Did you eat any dinner?”
“Yes.”
“What did you have?”
“Chinese.”
“Takeout?” He grunted a yes and dropped the pile of letters back on his desk, turning on his computer and printer. “Martha, I have work to do before I call the White House.”
“What did you order?”
“Come on,” he snapped at her. “It’s late. I have a shitload of work to do. Now, be a good girl and go to bed or watch one of your old movies or something.”
When she slid off the desk, his eyes caught sight of her bare thighs. He hadn’t really looked at her before. She had on a thin silk wrap that he didn’t remember ever seeing before. He was f
airly certain he hadn’t given it to her. His gaze moved upward, and he glimpsed a small, firm breast as she leaned forward. She was wearing nothing underneath the wrap.
She’d cut her hair short recently, maybe even this week. She looked quite fashionable with her bangs caressing her forehead. This was definitely a new look. She seemed younger. Sexier. She also had on makeup and was wearing two diamond studs in each ear.
“Where were you tonight?” he asked with more accusation in his tone than he intended.
“Here.”
“Did you have company?”
She gave him a curious look over her shoulder. “Does it matter?”
The answer should have been no. He screwed around. Before Cheri, there had been others. When it came to their marriage, his responsibility was to work, earn the money and bring in enough dough to support Martha in the style she’d been accustomed to since childhood. In return, the girls, the grandkids and everything else around here were her problem.
“Yes,” he heard himself say. “Who is he?”
“The letter carrier.” She came back and leaned her hip on his desk again, this time crossing her tennis-smooth legs so that Hawes had a clear view. “Why, he’s twenty-three years old. All muscle and tan, with long, blond hair. He comes around to deliver our mail in the morning…and stops back after lunch. He delivers anytime I need a good fuck.”
Hawes was out of the chair in an instant, his hands gripping her shoulders hard. He bet she’d never said that word before in her life.
“What the hell kind of talk is this?”
“You don’t like it?” she asked, obviously trying to sound casual.
“No, I don’t. And the last time I checked, there was a woman with a physique similar to Lennox Lewis delivering the mail. Whatever this game is you’re playing, Martha, I don’t like it.”
“Well, I’m only getting started, honey,” she said quietly. Her blue eyes were hot, but she was fighting to keep her expression cool. “You and I are stuck together for life, but after thirty-seven years, I’ve finally realized that you’ll never change. So, to keep my sanity for another week or another year or another decade, I’ve decided to follow your lead.”
