by Debra Webb
But even a love that strong had worn thin.
Ryan put the brakes on his stroll down memory lane, as well as the car’s forward motion, and pulled into her drive. He would walk her to the door and then get the hell out of here. He needed some real distance to clear his head. A time-out to pull it back together.
“You don’t have to walk me in,” she protested when he reached for the door handle.
He just looked at her and opened his door, anyway. She knew better than to suggest anything different.
At her door she gave him the keys to her SUV and said a hasty goodbye. He would pick her up at ten and they would rendezvous with Bill at the precinct.
He made a quick mental checklist of the things he wanted to accomplish today, including interviewing Dr. Letson. Running down a more detailed background profile on Wilcox and Letson was also at the top of the list. Whatever this thing was, it started with those two doctors.
If either of them had harmed Melany’s child, there would be no place on earth safe they could hide from Ryan.
* * *
AT TEN O’CLOCK Ryan picked up Mel at her home. Navy slacks and a paler blue sweater fit her trim figure like a glove, making his mouth water and his throat dry. Damn but she still looked good. To his irritation, she met him at the door and hurried outside, making sure there was no reason for him to come inside. It shouldn’t, but it bothered him all the same. Were there pictures of the other guy placed strategically around that she didn’t want him to see?
He blew out a disgusted breath and pushed the whole idea away. It didn’t matter. A hot shower and a much-needed shave had given him a new perspective. Though he was going on fifty hours with no sleep at this point, he felt marginally human.
The Downtown Precinct buzzed with activity. Several detectives acknowledged his and Mel’s journey into their sacred territory. Ryan was continually amazed at how little resentment he’d encountered. Then again, he imagined that they were so damn glad not to have this case that they wouldn’t consider acting any other way.
Bill was already in the command center when they arrived. He’d added numerous details to the time line on the board, reflecting the activities of all involved from the time the accident occurred.
He growled a good morning. Mel smiled. “Same to you, bulldog.” She’d always called him that when he started off the day snarling.
Bill chuckled and the whole scene reminded Ryan of days past. “Let’s go over what we’ve got,” Ryan suggested as he pulled out a chair.
Mel took a seat opposite him and Bill chose to stand so that he could point out milestones on the time line.
“The accident occurs,” Bill began, “and the paramedics arrive on the scene.” He pointed to the representative marks he’d scratched on the whiteboard. “They head to the hospital where Mel is treated as a code red and Katlin is pronounced stable and ushered off to the pediatric ward for observation until next of kin can be located. At that point—” Bill parked a hand on his hip and faced his captive audience “—the child is out of Wilcox’s hands and into Letson’s. Who, by the way, called in sick today. He’s not at home, either.”
“Mel is run through the drill to see what can be done to save her,” Ryan picked up where he’d left off. “Wilcox eventually turns her case over to a specialist.”
“We know a number of things about the three doctors involved,” Bill continued. “All are in good standing, professionally. In fact, both Wilcox and Letson are big supporters of community projects. Wilcox, in particular. He isn’t married and has no family commitments so he spends all his spare time in a free clinic on the north side.”
Mel nodded thoughtfully. “I think I remember one of the nurses telling someone that he’d have to catch Dr. Wilcox at the free clinic.” But she couldn’t see how his community service was relevant. Though she imagined that Bill would get to that. He liked to tell a story from the beginning, not leaving out any of the facts or jumping around too much.
“At this point I can’t see how any of the three would have benefited from this scam—if it is one—” Ryan qualified. “It doesn’t make sense. What was the point? Unless they’re covering up some medical misstep by one or all three.”
Bill tapped his chin and paced back and forth in front of the timeline. “I’ve reviewed the medical files our boy Carter picked up from the hospital and everything looks in order. Just like the death certificate.”
Mel remembered that Officer Greg Carter was the rookie Bill had borrowed from M.P.D.
“I even faxed them up to Cuddahy at Quantico. You know he started out in med school before deciding he wanted to go into criminology.”
Mel hadn’t known that about Cuddahy. He was just another of the brainiac blue suits who worked in the bowels of Quantico. “What was his take on the reports?”
“All the i’s dotted and the t’s crossed. Logical reasoning for every step as well as documented tests and screenings. Nothing he could point to as being out of order.”
“Yet something obviously is,” Ryan countered. “Let’s keep trying to track down Letson. Meanwhile what about the funeral home director?”
“Clyde Desmond is as clean as a whistle,” Bill said with a smooth swipe of his hand through the air. “We don’t have as much as a speck of fly shit on any of these guys’ records.”
“But the nurse is on the breaking point,” Ryan reminded. He’d told Mel that he’d filled Bill in when they talked earlier.
Bill nodded. “She may be our only ace in the hole.”
Mel said another quick prayer that Helen Peterson would verify that Katlin was alive. She had to be. Mel would not think otherwise.
“All right,” Ryan said, drawing their attention to him. “In my experience when things look this clean, this cut-and-dried, it’s time to look more closely at other possibilities. Maybe Letson and Wilcox are squeaky clean. Desmond, too, for that matter. But we need to find a connection between them. If we find the common link, we’ll find the dirt. Individually these guys can’t be touched, have no visible flaws. But are there other cases where their paths crossed, their professional conclusions coalesced into something questionable?”
“What are their finances like?” Mel piped in, her senses humming with that old familiar anticipation. Ryan was on to something here. “Are any of the three living above their means?” They’d all pretty much ruled out the neurosurgeon’s participation as nothing more than incompetence. He’d never been involved with Katlin’s case. He hadn’t even remembered Mel’s name when he’d been questioned by Bill.
“Now we’re cooking with gas,” Bill said with a wide grin. “I’ll get Cuddahy to delve into the financial aspect of our three primary suspects. He can reach out and touch that spot better than any of us. My last federal warrant got me on a first-name basis with the hospital administrator. I’m sure he’ll be happy to give me a look at hospital records without the due process.”
Mel smiled. Bill was one of a kind. Only he could put a spin on a situation like that. He had the smoke and mirrors act down to a science. Ryan on the other hand went straight for the jugular with no foreplay.
“Mel and I will look into Wilcox’s extracurricular activities starting with that clinic on the north side.”
Surprised that he had willingly paired them together again, Mel looked over at Ryan.
“Unless,” he amended, “you have a problem with that.”
She shrugged. “No problem.” As long as she was involved with something constructive, she was game. She suppressed the little shiver that danced over her flesh when she thought of waking up with Ryan holding her…and then when he’d put his arms fully around her. She shook off the memories. This was not the time.
Their time had passed already. She had to remember that.
Ryan glanced at his watch. “We’ll head to the River Walk now and wait out our nurse. I need to scope out a position where I can watch without being seen.” He rose and gathered his briefcase and the notes Bill had provided. “I’l
l give you a heads up after the meet,” he told Bill.
Mel got to her feet and rounded the table to stand beside Ryan at the door. Her heart rate accelerated at the prospect of learning the truth. Whatever it was, it had to be better than not knowing.
* * *
THEY WAITED until almost two o’clock and Helen Peterson didn’t show.
Ryan could feel the disappointment and anxiety welling inside Mel with each passing minute. Dammit, where the hell was the woman? His gut told him she wasn’t coming. She’d either backed out or someone had taken her out. Either way, she wasn’t coming. He’d joined Mel about twenty minutes ago, seeing no point in staying out of sight since the woman was a no-show.
“Mel, I think it’s time to go.”
She surveyed the thin crowd walking along the mock-up of the lower Mississippi River. It was a one-of-a-kind exhibit, probably fascinating. But they had other things on their minds.
“I guess so.” Mel shook her head. “I don’t understand. Maybe I scared her off.” She shrugged listlessly. “I did get a little hysterical during the call.”
“Maybe she’ll call again,” he offered, knowing full well that the odds were against it. Every instinct warned that she was out of the picture entirely.
“Maybe.”
After swinging through a fast-food drive-thru, they headed to the clinic where Dr. Wilcox volunteered a great deal of his free time.
Row after row of rundown housing and dilapidated shops flanked the narrow streets of the crime-infested neighborhood. Other than a few stray dogs, the littered North Memphis apartment complex they encountered next looked mostly deserted. Ryan found it hard to comprehend how the brick buildings, all suspended in varying stages of extreme disrepair, had escaped the wrecking ball. It was harder still to imagine people living in them.
He had no trouble assuming that the residents would be very thankful for the clinic’s presence. He hadn’t seen the first sign of any other medical facilities. He parked Mel’s SUV at the curb in front of the fairly well-maintained building. The pink angel hanging from her rearview mirror swung side to side, drawing his attention in spite of his determination to ignore it. The Mel he used to know wouldn’t have bothered with angels. She’d seen too many monsters just like he had to put much stock in winged creatures who supposedly watched over the innocent.
That had been before, he told himself. The faith she appeared to have now in a higher power reminded him that Mel had a daughter, one that was missing, one that connected her to another man.
Focus, he ordered himself, directing his attention back to the clinic. The parking lot was filled to capacity with a range of vehicles from the proverbial rattletraps to the higher-end sports cars and SUVs. Priorities, he ruminated. Some people cared about nothing else except image as they cruised down the block.
When they reached the lobby, it offered standing room only. Ryan took a look around and decided that he would have better luck trying to get in alone.
“Why don’t you wait here and let me see what I can find out,” he suggested quietly. When she would have protested, he added, “If we approach the receptionist together she’s going to figure we’re either prospective patients or pissed-off parents.” He counted at least a dozen teenagers, all female, all clearly pregnant. Chances were that the rest, those who didn’t look with child, were either here to try and find out if the period they’d missed meant bad news or to get something to prevent that very scenario. But then, he was a bit cynical.
“Okay,” Mel relented.
Ryan gave her arm a little squeeze before moving away. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to keep pushing the issue until he had no choice but to act on the impulses pounding away at his brain. He wanted to do more than touch her….
That line of thinking was off limits at the moment.
Probably forever.
He produced a wide smile for the harried receptionist. When she blinked and then returned his smile, he flashed his credentials. “I’m Ryan Braxton, special advisor to the FBI.” He’d already tossed that deception around a time or two since starting this case, but then, Bill had given him carte blanche. “I’d like to see the person in charge.”
The receptionist, Carol Ann Henley, looked startled but quickly recovered. “None of the doctors or nurses are on duty today,” she said stiffly. “But the counselor is here.” She looked relieved to have come up with that sacrificial offering.
Ryan surveyed the waiting room, taking note of Mel’s position. Someone had vacated a chair and she’d taken up the space.
“These people are all here to see the counselor?” He let his disbelief show.
Carol Ann nodded. “They’re required to submit to counseling as a condition of treatment.”
“I’ll need to see the counselor, then,” he told her. He wasn’t about to waste the trip. The counselor could be informative, as well.
Carol Ann stood, a strained smile plastered into place. “Let me see if she’s about through with the patient she’s seeing now.”
Ryan was thankful that it appeared she intended to work him in between patients. Otherwise he might be here until midnight. He glanced across the room once more. Most of these girls looked high-school age. Where were their parents? he couldn’t help wondering. A couple were accompanied by what appeared to be boyfriends. Poor kids just didn’t know what they were getting into. His gaze sought out Melany at the thought. Had she known what she was getting into?
“Mr. Braxton, Dr. Rodale will see you now.”
Ryan thanked the receptionist and headed in the direction she’d indicated. As he reached the first door in the long corridor that lay beyond the waiting room a young girl, fifteen maybe, stepped out.
He offered her a perfunctory smile but she hurried past as if embarrassed at being caught on the premises. She didn’t look pregnant, but then, she could be only a few weeks.
“Mr. Braxton?”
A woman, forty maybe, waited in the open doorway now. She managed a smile that was about as heartfelt as his own. “How can I help you?” she asked.
“I have some questions about the service you’re providing here,” he told her, not beating around the bush.
She nodded once. “Come into my office and I’ll tell you what I can.”
After she’d settled behind her inexpensive metal desk, Ryan dropped into one of the molded plastic chairs in front of it. There was nothing lavish about the lobby or this office, basic functionality. Nothing more. Cost-cutting measures, he assumed.
“So, tell me what you’d like to know. I’m not the person in charge by any means, but I’ve worked here for three years. I’m pretty informed.”
Open, forthcoming. Good. She might not be in charge on paper, but she was confident in her position. Not afraid to speak to the authorities on sensitive issues. “I’m interested in Dr. Wilcox. I understand that he’s a major contributor, timewise as well as financially.”
She folded her hands on the desk. “That’s true. Without generous souls like him we wouldn’t be able to do what we do here. We provide a very important service to this neighborhood.”
Ryan pulled out his trusty pad and pen and flipped to a page free of doodles. “What is it exactly that you do here?”
“We provide general medical care to female patients and we provide counseling for teens, especially in the area of teen pregnancy. As you must have noticed they start out pretty young. We offer birth control and adoption counseling. Of course, if the patient wants to keep the child and has some support network we prefer that route.”
Adoption. An alarm went off in his brain. “You provide adoption services?” He looked around the room. If they did, it had to be for free, and that didn’t quite mesh with the high demand versus the low supply of newborns. It was big business. But it wasn’t outside the realm of possibility, he supposed, that generous souls might not be interested in the money. The idea merely surprised him. In Wilcox’s case, it damn well shocked him.
“No, we don’t ac
tually provide the service,” she clarified pointedly. “We simply offer counseling.” She reclined in her chair and considered her words carefully before proceeding. “The idea is a bit frightening for most of the girls. We explain the steps and suggest a number of excellent agencies in the area.”
His investigator’s radar was on high alert. “So you don’t actually see to the adoptions here. Dr. Wilcox would have nothing to do with the proceedings.”
“Absolutely not,” she said succinctly. “That’s my territory.”
And she’d said she wasn’t in charge.
Ryan smiled. “Tell me more about your territory.”
* * *
MELANY LOST COUNT of the times she’d looked at the clock. It had only been twenty minutes, but still she was antsy. She’d forwarded her home number to her cell phone and prayed Helen Peterson would call. She needed to hear from her. She could feel her fingers slipping, her grip on her emotions tenuous at best. She needed something to hang on to.
Something besides Ryan.
But what if Helen was gone or dead?
“You pregnant, too?”
Mel jerked from her troubling thoughts and managed a half hearted smile for the young girl sitting next to her. “No. But I do have a two-year-old daughter.”
The girl’s big brown eyes looked uncertain, a little worried. “My mom and dad just want me to get rid of her.”
Her? “Your baby is a girl?” She glanced at the girl’s protruding belly and smiled. Remembered her own pregnancy and her sweet, sweet baby girl. She swallowed back the paralyzing emotions. Had to keep it together. “That’s great. Have you picked out a name yet?”
The girl looked away and Mel realized her mistake. She’d just said that her parents didn’t want her to keep the child. Dear God. How old was this child? Fourteen? Fifteen?
