Yesterday's Gone (Two Daughters Book 1)

by Janice Kay Johnson

  His expression went flat. “Take it?”

  “You know what I mean.” She crossed her arms, feeling defensive. Wanting to retreat, but refusing to let herself.

  “Have I had casual sex? Yeah. But I don’t do one-night stands with women I don’t know, if that’s what you were suggesting. And with you, Bailey, sex won’t be casual. Not for me.” His jaw flexed. “I’d rather it wasn’t for you, either.”

  Dumbfounded, she didn’t know what to say.

  After a minute, his eyebrows quirked and he took a big step back. “I’m going to bed. Thank you for dinner.”

  “Oh, but there’s pie.” Automatic hostess. Too many years spent waitressing, she thought in embarrassment.

  Amusement flickered in his eyes. “Save it for tomorrow. Good night, Bailey.” He surprised her by closing in again to kiss her tenderly and so briefly she could have almost imagined it.

  Then she was alone in the kitchen.

  * * *

  “SHIT,” SETH MUTTERED the next day, as the pages rolled out of his printer.

  “What?” Ben asked. “You got something new?”

  “Huh? Oh. No. This is a list of all female children, five to seven years old, abducted in the eighteen-year time frame in six states. There are way too many.”

  Ben grunted. “Of course there are. Why five years old? Why not four? Or eight?”

  Seth swiveled in his seat. “It’s not impossible Hamby would grab a kid that young, but she’d be a pain to tote alone with him. There’s a reason we don’t put kids in school until they’re minimum of five.”

  “Okay. That makes sense.”

  “And eight.” He shook his head. “If he loses interest when they start maturing physically, he’s gonna want them younger. There are ten-year-olds getting breasts.”

  Ben grimaced. “Not something I want to think about.” A frown tugged at his eyebrows. “May I ask why you’re back to hunting down the guy who abducted the Lawson girl twenty-three years ago when we’re working a killing that took place thirty-six hours ago?”

  He showed his teeth. “Because the asshole probably has a child sex slave right now? And if not, he’s hunting for one? That good enough for you?”

  “Yeah.” Ben sighed. “Those are good enough reasons.”

  Seth tried to dial it back. “This isn’t me thinking with my dick, the way you keep suggesting. It’s more than that.” Yeah, it was. What he felt for Bailey was way more than that. “I’ll put time in on this at home. Identifying possibles from this list could eat up a lot of hours.” And, yes, goddamn it, I am obsessed. “You ready to go?”

  “Yeah. I’m ready.”

  They planned to talk to the girlfriend’s brother, who lived in Lowell, a small town deeper in the foothills of the Cascade Mountains. He hadn’t been home when they’d tried to track him down yesterday, and he wasn’t answering calls from either of their numbers. He’d been fired from his most recent job three weeks before and the sister insisted he was job hunting but hadn’t found the “right” one yet. As in, he hadn’t found an idiot willing to overlook an erratic employment history and multiple convictions for crimes relating to a temper, a drinking problem and a propensity for violence. In other words, just the guy you wanted greeting your customers.

  Ben wasn’t the only cynic, Seth reflected.

  He let Ben drive, getting in on the passenger side without comment. The first five minutes passed in silence. Then Ben said suddenly, “Hope is a pretty woman. I can see the appeal.”

  Seth gritted his teeth.

  “Got to say, though, at least on TV the sister is the one who qualifies as a real beauty. And, hey, you’ve been seeing her. What’s she think of all this?”

  This time, Seth had the sense his fellow detective was genuinely curious instead of mocking him.

  “There’s some tension,” he admitted.

  “I get why she wouldn’t like you spending so much time thinking about her sister.”

  “Eve and I aren’t dating. Haven’t been for a while.”

  “Really?” Ben sounded surprised. “Dumped you, did she?”

  At this rate, he’d be needing crowns on all his molars.

  Ben’s mouth curled. “So the tension is between the sisters?”

  “Yes.” The single, curt word didn’t seem like enough. After a minute, he added, “This is a strange new world for Bailey. And she prefers to be called that, by the way. Meanwhile, Eve probably sees her as usurping her place.”

  “Except she always knew her blonde, blue-eyed sister was out there somewhere,” Ben said thoughtfully.

  “No, I imagine she thought Hope was dead. Karen and Kirk didn’t, or at least they pretended to themselves they didn’t, but to Eve, Hope was just a fairy tale.”

  “Until she arrived to claim her place in the family.”

  “Yep. Not likely to happen smoothly.”

  “No.” Ben kept his mouth shut for a few minutes, although he looked as if he was thinking hard. “You noticed Darrell and Jordan are stepsiblings, didn’t you?” he said abruptly.

  “No. Shit, I missed that.” Man, he hated to admit it. “Why do they share a last name, then?”

  “Her legal name isn’t Jordan Swann. It’s Dyer. But when her mommy married Darrell’s daddy, she started using Swann for her kid, too.”

  That wasn’t uncommon. Still... He mulled over what he’d learned about Jordan and her stepbrother. “I wonder how close they really are?”

  “And what kind of close,” Ben added. “Darrell was fourteen when his father remarried. So it’s not like they grew up together. Even though he’s a badass, would he really risk life in prison for her?”

  “He’s on a path to end up a lifer even if he didn’t pull the trigger this time.”

  Ben shrugged. “True enough.”

  Seth brooded for the remainder of the drive, shuffling the play cards into a different order in his mind. Maybe they’d looked to Darrell too quickly. They’d assumed he was mad that Moore had insulted his dearly beloved sister by refusing to ditch the wife for her. What if Darrell and Jordan had had a different kind of relationship, and instead he wanted to off the guy who’d taken his place?

  Or maybe they should be concentrating all their attention on the women, not assuming either had required a man to pull the trigger.

  “We should look more closely at Dulcy Burgess,” he said, as the car slowed upon entering the Lowell city limits. She was the woman the wife had been on the phone with when Moore was killed. They knew the call was real, but they had only the two women’s word for what was said during the conversation and particularly at the end. How loud the gunshot had sounded, or whether any words might have been exchanged between husband and wife right before Dulcy heard the bang.

  “I agree.” Ben flicked on the turn signal. “Damn, this place is turning into a ghost town.”

  It was. A once-thriving lumber mill had been the economic heart of Lowell. When it shut down, residents either found jobs elsewhere and commuted, or they moved. Too many vacant storefronts shared the three short blocks with businesses still trying to hang on. Seth noticed a coffee shop he’d really liked that now sported a window blank but for a sign that said For Rent.

  Houses got smaller and more ramshackle the farther they drove from the central district. They pulled up in front of a cottage with a moss-eaten roof, sagging porch and one boarded-up window. The cabin where Bailey had stayed looked good compared to this place.

  “Nice,” Ben remarked before opening his door. Over the roof, he asked, “You want to take lead?”

  “Sure.” Something about his face and build was intimidating enough to win grudging compliance from men not happy about being questioned. Ben was better with women, who all preened around him. The two of them didn’t always divide it up that way, but often.

  Seth’s head turned as they walked up to the porch. His right hand rested on the butt of his gun. He didn’t see anyone watching them, but had an itch between his shoulder blades and could tell Ben
felt something similar. Both stepped carefully on the porch, with boards underfoot that had more give than they should. A couple wires stuck out of the wall where a doorbell had once been. Ben eased to one side of the door while Seth knocked.

  He kept an eye on the window to his left. A flicker of movement told him someone was home. He nodded slightly at Ben, then knocked again, hard.

  The door swung open. Darrell Swann, recognizable from his driver’s license photo, glowered at them through the opening. “Jordan figured you’d come looking for me. I suppose you think I shot that rat bastard.”

  “We’re just looking for information,” Seth said mildly.

  Swann was a big guy even compared to Seth and Ben, who were both in the neighborhood of six feet tall and stayed fit. The DMV had Swann at six foot two and two hundred pounds. Seth was betting he’d weigh in at closer to 230. Mostly beef, a little fat. Tight black T-shirt advertising Harley-Davidson, although the DMV didn’t show him having the motorcycle certification. Sandy brown hair brushed his shoulders. The rest of the picture: hazel eyes narrowed to slits and bloodshot, two-day stubble and a stance that looked as if he was ready to swing a fist.

  “What if I tell you to F off?”

  Nice he’d edited the obscenity. Seth cocked an eyebrow at him. “Now, why would you do that when we might like your answers, thank you and go away?”

  Darrell snorted. “Fine. Ask.”

  “Why don’t you step out here onto the porch.” Seth didn’t like the fact he couldn’t see Darrell’s right arm and hand, or anything he might be holding.

  He stared at them for a minute, then backed almost out of sight before stepping out on the porch. “Might want to watch it,” he said without much interest. “You’re likely to fall right through.” He nodded toward a splintered hole a few feet away.

  “You rent?”

  One massive shoulder jerked. “It’s cheap.”

  “I’m Detective Seth Chandler with the sheriff’s department. This is Detective Ben Kemper. We’re investigating the murder of Geoffrey Moore.”

  “Don’t see what it has to do with me.”

  Seth appreciated that Ben stood a little to one side, staying quiet but watchful. “Were you aware your sister had a relationship with Mr. Moore?”

  “Yeah, so?”

  “Had you ever met Mr. Moore?”

  He sneered. “When would that be? When he invited me to a dinner party?”

  “At your sister’s apartment, perhaps?”

  “No. I saw him leaving a couple times.”

  Because he was on his way to see her? Or because he was staking out her place?

  “You called him a rat bastard,” Seth said. “May I ask why, if you weren’t personally acquainted?”

  “He promised to marry Jordan, then got squirrelly. I told her he wouldn’t, but she thought he meant it.”

  “I take it you and your sister have a close relationship?”

  “No.” Just like that, he was brimming with hostility.

  “I’m confused. Weren’t you on your way to see her when you saw Mr. Moore leaving her apartment?”

  “What does it matter?”

  “Your sister has reason to have been angry at Mr. Moore. Did she threaten retaliation in your hearing?”

  He let loose an obscenity. “You know she’s not my sister, right?”

  “I’m aware she’s your stepsister.”

  “Dad never adopted her. She’s just this girl that was around.”

  “And yet you’ve obviously stayed in touch.”

  “In touch.” His laugh had a vicious undertone. “That’s a good one.”

  Seth was getting the feeling his and Ben’s speculation might have some basis in truth.

  “Have you had a romantic or sexual relationship with Jordan?” he asked bluntly.

  Darrell Swan’s eyes burned into his. “You could say that. She’s hot.”

  “Did she dump you when she attracted Mr. Moore’s interest?”

  That was none of their f-ing business. “Now I’m done.” He started for the open doorway.

  Seth blocked his way. “May we come in, Mr. Swann?”

  “No. You just want to pin that shit on me. I got nothing to do with it. Now get out of my way.” He went from semicooperative to unpleasant in a heartbeat by thrusting out a shoulder and slamming into Seth, who stumbled back.

  Then, shit, his foot broke through a porch board. Darrell plunged toward the doorway and had almost made it inside when Ben grabbed him from behind and slammed him up against the wall of the house instead.

  “Not smart, Mr. Swann.” Hand planted in the middle of Darrell’s back, he reached behind him for his cuffs. “Assaulting a police officer...”

  Seth was still wrenching his boot from the hole when Darrell exploded away from the wall. He slammed a fist into Ben’s face and lunged across the threshold. Instead of trying to slam the door, he was reaching for something to one side.

  Seth’s Sig Sauer was in his hands before he made the conscious decision to draw. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw that Ben had drawn his weapon, too.

  “Get your hands in sight!” Seth yelled. “Now.”

  Darrell’s face, turned in profile to him, was beet red with fury, but he froze. Seth eased forward, the barrel of his Sig never wavering. After a discernible pause, Darrell lifted first his visible right hand, then the one that had been out of sight, and straightened with his back to them.

  “Hands behind your back. Do it now.”

  Seth held his weapon steady while Ben holstered his and snapped on the cuffs. Then Ben pulled him not so gently backward, out of the doorway. Seth took the couple steps required to see the handgun lying on a small table right inside the door. A Smith & Wesson model M & P Pro, black.

  “Well, well,” he said. “Would this be forty caliber by any chance, Mr. Swann?”

  Not likely to be coincidence that the bullet removed from Mr. Moore during the autopsy was a .40 caliber.

  Mr. Swann chose not to answer.

  * * *

  BAILEY’S PHONE RANG three times that day. First the Lawsons’ number, next the auto body shop number and finally Eve’s. She let all three calls go to voice mail.

  When she heard Seth, she’d gotten up, showered and presented a perky exterior, going so far as to scramble some eggs for both of them while he made the toast. She pretended the kiss hadn’t happened. He went along with it. Their minimal conversation consisted of his questions about her itinerary for the day—undecided—and a reminder not to answer the door and, when behind the wheel of the car if she went out, to keep an eye on the rearview mirror. He added a few tips for shaking a pursuer.

  She told him to have a good day. Totally Stepford.

  As soon as the sound of his engine receded, she sagged against the kitchen counter and decided there was no rule saying she had to do anything at all today if she didn’t feel like it. And she didn’t.

  She thought about going back to bed, but wasn’t sleepy. Since she had no intention of answering the door, though, she changed from jeans back into pajama bottoms topped with Seth’s sweatshirt, which she was seriously considering stealing. And maybe never washing. She loved his scent.

  She didn’t feel like cleaning the kitchen, either, at least not yet.

  It had to be the most unproductive day she’d spent in years. She watched daytime talk shows, explored his music selection, started a thriller she took from his bookshelf and ate all the junk food she could find in the kitchen.

  She tried a couple of times to make herself examine why she was wasting an entire day, but all her effort succeeded in doing was driving her to dish up another bowl of Rocky Road ice cream and take out her laptop to watch an episode of Game of Thrones.

  At near five o’clock, she had the guilty thought that the least she could do was cook dinner, even if she wasn’t exactly hungry. She found a package of tortillas and defrosted chicken breasts. After exploring the vegetable drawers in his refrigerator and his spice cupboard, sh
e decided she could do fajitas, which wouldn’t take long if she marinated the chicken now. This way, she could wait until he walked in the door to start cooking.

  When he parked in the driveway and let himself in at almost six, she was shocked at the sight of his face. He looked inexpressibly weary.

  “What happened?” she blurted.

  His eyes met hers. “Just a day.”

  “You look as if it was more than that.”

  “Give me a minute to change,” he said, and kept going toward the bedrooms, moving more heavily than usual.

  Bailey hesitated, then decided to start cooking. If he wasn’t hungry—well, they could refrigerate it for tomorrow.

  But when he appeared a few minutes later in well-worn jeans and another sweatshirt, the first thing he said was, “Thank God. I’m starved.”

  “Fajitas,” she told him brightly. “I’ve already done the slicing and dicing. They won’t take long.” She added quick rice to the water that was already boiling, then the chicken to the hot oil in the skillet. She jumped when it sizzled at her.

  Seth poured himself a glass of milk again and settled on one of the stools to watch her cook. “What did you do today?”

  She raised her eyebrows at him. “You trying to get out of telling me what you did today?”

  He started with obvious reluctance and was a little scanty with the details, but she got the picture. He’d come within a hairbreadth today of being shot—or having to shoot someone.

  “Oh, my God,” she breathed.

  “Might have been ugly if I’d been alone, but I wasn’t.” He shrugged.

  “You’re telling me it wasn’t a close call,” she said fiercely.

  He hesitated, then nodded toward the stove. “You’re cooking.”

  A new kind of fear zinged her like an electric shock, leaving her skin feeling sensitized and her heart racing. She whirled and snatched up the spatula, stirring and flipping the strips of chicken.

  When was the last time she’d been scared for someone else?

  “I sometimes arrest violent criminals,” he said. “That’s part of the job. This time, it got close to being out of hand because I damn near crashed through the porch. Shit happens.”

  Oh, that made her feel better.