The Cop's Missing Child

by Karen Whiddon

  He cocked his head, apparently unable to decide how to take this news. “A bad person?” he finally asked

  “Maybe.” She shrugged, as if this was not important. “We have no way of knowing. That’s why we’re letting the police check this out first.”

  “Maybe it was a bear!” Giggling, Ryan made a roaring sound. “Or maybe a deer got inside like that video we watched on the computer one time.”

  Thank goodness for his vivid imagination and his innocence. “Maybe,” she allowed, even though there were no bears anywhere near their part of the country, unless one counted the bears living in the Dallas Zoo. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “Can we take a video of our own, Mommy? Pleeeease?”

  “We’ll see.” She gave him a reassuring smile, just in case he sensed her jangled nerves. “Let’s wait until we find out what exactly got inside, okay?”

  Nodding, he resumed playing with the little plastic airplane that had come with his meal.

  An eternity passed, but finally they reached her street. The police car pulled into her driveway, and Mac motioned to Emily to park in the street one house down. She did as he asked, unwilling to take any chances with her son’s safety.

  Heart in her throat, she watched as Mac got out and headed toward her house. As he went around to the backyard, Emily turned around to distract Ryan, not wanting him to notice that Mac had drawn his gun.

  “Let’s go ahead and eat, honey,” she urged watching as he tore into his Good Times meal.

  While he ate, she alternated between keeping an eye on him and watching her house. Trying to will her heartbeat to slow down, she took a tiny bite of her grilled chicken sandwich. Chewing what tasted like ashes, she managed to choke it down and swallowed hard, setting her food aside.

  Ryan had finished his burger and half his fries and was already restless. “Mommy? What is the policeman doing inside our house?” he asked, squirming in his seat. “Can we go inside yet?”

  About to answer, she spotted Mac heading toward her car, his large form making her feel ridiculously safe. “Just a minute, sweetheart.”

  Rolling down the window, Emily peered up at the handsome man, trying not to hold her breath. “Well?”

  “You’ve been burglarized,” he said grimly. “Though I can’t tell for sure what they were after. Your TV, stereo and computer were all untouched.”

  “Jewelry, maybe?” A lot of the more valuable pieces in Emily’s collection had been given to her by Carlos, so she wouldn’t mind too badly if they’d been stolen. After all, she had renter’s insurance.

  “I don’t think so,” he answered, his professional expression warring with the heat in his blue eyes. He glanced once at Ryan, then quickly back to her, keeping his gaze fixed on her face.

  “Is it safe to go inside?” she asked, hating the note of breathlessness that had crept into her voice and hoping he put it down to her being upset about the break-in.

  For an answer, he opened her door. “Come on. The house is clear. I’ll have you take a look, but glancing quickly through your things, it doesn’t appear the intruder touched anything.”

  “Then why—” Emily started to ask, then looked down, reeling in shock. Suddenly, she knew exactly why the intruder had been in her home.

  When she raised her head again to meet Mac’s gaze, she hoped her expression was calm. “In my office—” she began, ignoring his proffered hand and climbing out of the car.

  “What about me?” Ryan asked, fumbling with his seat belt. “I wanna go, too.”

  Emily glanced at Mac, receiving a nod of confirmation that it was safe. He seemed to be making a studious effort to avoid looking at her son, which, since it made no sense, was probably a figment of her imagination. “Of course you can come. We’re home, after all. We’re safe here.” She emphasized the word safe, so Mac would not say anything unduly alarming within Ryan’s hearing.

  “Good.” Her five-year-old sounded unfazed, cheerful rather than frightened. He jumped out of the car, landing on both feet with a solid splunk.

  “Hey, there,” Mac said from behind her, making her start slightly, which Ryan noticed. When he looked up, he saw the unfamiliar man for the first time. Pulling on her leg, her son tried to disappear behind her.

  “Honey, it’s all right,” she soothed. “This is Deputy Riordan. He’s here to help us find out who broke into our house.”

  Ryan peeked out from around her leg. Glancing from her boy to the man who now crouched down to put himself at Ryan’s level, she was surprised to see a look of naked, awful pain on Mac’s craggy face.

  She was about to ask him what was wrong but forced herself to hold her tongue.

  “Go ahead and say hello to the nice policeman,” she urged softly.

  Holding himself rigidly, her brave little boy eased out and around her and then held out his hand. “I’m Ryan Gilley,” he said politely, exactly as she’d taught him.

  Gently taking the small hand, Mac swallowed hard as he shook it. Again, she realized he appeared to be in the throes of some deep, strong emotion, which made her wonder if she’d been right, and he’d actually lost a child.

  “Pleased to meet you, Ryan,” Mac finally said, his voice husky. “I like your backpack.”

  This was exactly the right comment to make. Ryan had spent hours searching for the perfect backpack. He’d ignored the popular cartoon characters and chosen a green-and-tan camouflage material pack. When she’d asked him why, he’d told her he wanted to be a hunter when he got older. Since he wouldn’t even harm a spider, insisting she carry it outside rather than squishing it, she couldn’t imagine that ever happening, but let it go.

  “Thanks.” Glancing up at Emily, Ryan edged closer. “Come on, Mommy. I want to make sure nobody stole any of my toys.”

  Exchanging a quick glance with Mac, Emily nodded and held out her hand for Ryan to take. He did so and then began tugging on her, clearly in a hurry to get inside the house.

  Stepping into her living room, Emily stifled a gasp. The place hadn’t been merely burglarized—it had been trashed. It was torn up, tossed around and destroyed on purpose. Though Ryan continued to pull her in the general direction of his bedroom, she couldn’t help but slow and try to take in the sheer scope of the damage.

  “Hang on a minute, Ryan,” she said sharply. “Stay here with Mommy while I look around.”

  About to protest, Ryan glanced from her to the sheriff’s deputy and nodded instead.

  While she stood, trying to take in the scope of the destruction, all she could think of was to be thankful she and Ryan hadn’t been home. She could clean up the mess, replace whatever had been stolen, but if anyone had harmed her son... The very thought made her shudder.

  Wordlessly, Mac came up beside her, placing a hand reassuringly on her shoulder as if he knew her thoughts.

  Instantly, she jerked away. “Where’s Renee? I’d really hoped—”

  “You do want to find this stalker, right?”

  Emily stiffened. “Of course. It’s just—”

  “I’m assigned to your case. And I’m good. I promise you that I will find this guy.”

  The brief urge that had her wanting to lean against Mac appalled her. She nodded, wondering why she had such a strong, adverse reaction to him. It wasn’t as if the man had actually done anything to warrant her mistrust and suspicion—well, aside from following her into Sue’s Catfish Hut the first time they’d met. Maybe it was her persistent, instantaneous attraction to him.

  Could she trust him? Did she even have a choice?

  Aware both he and Ryan were watching her expectantly, she forced a pleasant, if humorless, smile. “All right. Why don’t you tell me what you’re going to do about this?”

  Spreading her hands to encompass the total trashing of her home, she realized she was perilously close to tears. That knowledge alone was enough to cause her to shore up her shoulders, take a deep breath and lift her chin.

  “We’ll find the guy,” he
said simply. “I promise you that.”

  “Thank you.” She hoped he didn’t notice the catch in her voice. Glancing down at her son, who now seemed engrossed in playing with the toy that had come with his Good Times meal, she sighed. “What now?”

  “Take a look around and see if anything is missing,” Mac said, his deep voice rolling over her in a wave of calmness.

  The sick dread in the pit of her stomach refused to leave, but Emily forced herself to head toward the room she used as an office. Luckily, this was right next to her son’s bedroom.

  “Mommy!” Ryan crowed, tugging his hand free and catapulting onto his bed. “They didn’t touch my toys!”

  After a quick inspection of his room, including under the bed and in the closet, Emily left him happily playing with his trucks and went to check out her desk.

  “They were looking for something among your files,” Mac said quietly behind her. File folders and paper were strewn all over the desk, chair, foldout couch and floor.

  A manila folder sat open and empty on top of her desk. Before she even picked it up to read the label, Emily knew what it was.

  “Ryan’s adoption records,” she said out loud. “They stole Ryan’s adoption records.”

  Spinning, she grabbed Mac’s arm. “You’ve got to help me. Whoever broke in here is after my son. You’ve got to help me protect him.”

  Mac’s sharp blue gaze searched her face. “Do you have other copies?”

  “Of course.” Punching the on button, she powered up her computer. “I scanned them and saved them, both here and on CD.”

  “I’d like copies.”

  “Of course.” As soon as the computer booted up, Emily clicked on the folder and printed them off, handing them to him.

  “Was anything else taken, besides your son’s adoption paperwork?” he asked.

  “Not that I can tell.” Twisting her hands together, she tried to sound unaffected.

  “Let’s check the rest of the house,” he said. Without waiting for an answer, he turned and went down the hall to the next bedroom—Ryan’s room.

  It, she reflected thankfully, appeared untouched. Oblivious to his mother’s chaotic thoughts, Ryan cheerfully played with a couple of his trucks, ignoring the adults.

  Mac paused at the doorway, watching silently, as though the cheerfully untidy mess was more than he’d expected.

  “Do you have children?” she asked softly.

  He started, as if her question had brought him out of deep contemplation. “Currently, no.” His abrupt tone made it sound like the topic was both painful and closed.

  “I’m sorry.” She shrugged, suddenly feeling uncomfortable again. “Please excuse the mess. Ryan’s only five, which is why—”

  “No need to explain.” His back to her, he stepped into the room the way one might enter a church. Again, she cursed her overactive imagination. There was no logical reason why a man—a sheriff’s deputy and experienced police officer—would act in such a way.

  Unless...

  She blinked. Though she didn’t know him well enough to ask, again she wondered if he’d lost a child.

  “Was anything taken from here?” he asked, directing the question to her rather than Ryan.

  “No,” Ryan answered, without looking up from his trucks. “All my stuff is okay.”

  “Thanks.” Flashing her son a reassuring smile, he moved close to Emily and spoke in a low voice. “Would you mind taking a quick look around and letting me know if you see anything missing? Just in case?”

  “Of course.” Horrified at the thought, she took a step forward, trying to mentally catalog Ryan’s toys. After a preliminary sweep of the room, heart in her throat, she looked at Mac helplessly. “Honestly, he has so much. Do you really think someone would—”

  “Probably not.” He touched her shoulder, the gentle grip meaning to reassure her. “After all, your stalker seems more concerned with you and the adoption than with your son himself. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”

  They were good words, but the idea of someone taking one of Ryan’s toys like some kind of trophy opened up an entirely new world of terrifying possibilities. Again, she felt the strong urge to gather her meager belongings, pick up her son and run as fast and as far as she could.

  “Emily?”

  Realizing Mac had been talking to her, asking her something, she forced herself to concentrate on him. “I’m sorry,” she said. To her surprise, she sounded relatively normal. “What did you say?”

  “I asked you if you could walk with me to the other rooms.”

  With her heart skipping a beat, she couldn’t help but glance back at Ryan. Loath to leave her son, conversely she didn’t want to alarm him.

  “He’ll be fine,” Mac said. “Let him play.”

  “Just a couple of bathrooms and the laundry room.”

  He stepped into the hall and gestured. “Lead the way.”

  Heartbeat far too rapid, she headed for the hallway and her bedroom, with Mac following. While she’d begun to think Mac Riordan might be an okay kind of guy, something about him still felt a bit off, though she’d be hard-pressed to specify exactly how.

  He searched her room first. She noted how he moved with a brisk efficiency, treating her home and her belongings with respect. Appreciating that, she felt the tightness in her chest begin to ease somewhat.

  When they’d finished, they wound up back at the front door. “Is that it?” she asked. “Is there anything else you need?”

  Considering, Mac cocked his head. “Now that we’ve finished checking out your house, I have a few questions. I’ll need a minute or two of your time.”

  “You’ve got it.” Though she knew he wanted to ask her about her past, which normally would have caused her to shut down completely, she also realized she’d need to answer honestly. Otherwise, there was no possible way on earth that this small-town sheriff’s department could even remotely understand what they might be up against.

  Making an instant decision to tell the truth, though not all of it, Emily led the way to the kitchen. “Have a seat. I’m guessing this might take a while.”

  “That depends on how much you have to tell me.” When Mac’s humorous tone failed to produce an answering smile, he grew serious. “Why don’t you start with what you know was actually taken? Why Ryan’s adoption records?”

  She considered her words carefully, an actual ingrained habit since she’d chosen this way of life.

  “I was married to a...criminal.” Wincing as an expression of understanding filled Mac’s sky-blue eyes, she held up her hand. “No, it’s not what you think. I didn’t know about him until after he died. My husband is dead.”

  “I’m sorry to hear that. Did he die of natural causes?”

  No one but a cop would have thought to ask such a thing. “No.” She debated whether or not to elaborate, then realized with a bit of internet research he would learn the truth regardless. “He was murdered.”

  Silently, Mac waited.

  She took a deep breath, forcing herself to continue. “My name wasn’t always Emily Gilley.”

  “I see that.” Tapping the copies of the adoption papers he’d been handed, he eyed her with a law enforcement officer’s intent stare. She’d become very familiar with that look in the months immediately following her husband’s death.

  Steeling herself, she continued trying to relive a past she’d hated. “After the investigation, I learned some things—a lot of things—that I hadn’t known about my husband.”

  “Go on.”

  “My husband was Carlos Cavell. I had my name legally changed to Gilley after his death.” She did this right before she and Ryan had vanished from their old life.

  Immediate comprehension dawned in Mac’s face. After all, everyone knew of Carlos Cavell. The name had been blazed everywhere in the news after his particularly gruesome murder. Though she’d tried to stay out of the spotlight, inevitably photos of her and Ryan had appeared. Since then, she’d cha
nged her appearance quite a bit. So far, that had been enough.

  “Not a bad disguise,” Mac commented wryly. “But you still haven’t told me why you felt the need to disappear.”

  “Whoever killed Carlos—and the police were unable to determine even a reasonable suspect—came after me and my son.”

  Agitated, unable to sit still, she began pacing. “I think it might have been one of his mistresses. I told the police that and they investigated, but they couldn’t find anything. So I did the only thing I could. I sold everything, took whatever cash was left after paying the debts and ran.”

  “Here, to Anniversary.”

  “Yes. Until now, we were settling in nicely. I really liked it here.”

  Mac immediately picked up on her use of past tense. “Liked? Are you planning on leaving?”

  Chewing on her thumbnail, she forced herself to stop. “I’m not sure. If this keeps up, I have no choice.”

  “You don’t even know if this incident is related.”

  “How can it not be?” Emily protested. “This intruder took Ryan’s adoption records. That was the crux of the threats to begin with. Something about the way Carlos got our son.”

  “Did he use an adoption service?”

  “No. It was a private adoption. Apparently lots of money changed hands. I’m guessing, though I don’t know for sure, that whatever channels Carlos went through weren’t exactly on the up-and-up.”

  “As long as both parties signed the necessary paperwork and the documents were filed in a court of law...”

  With her throat closing up from the panicked feeling in her chest, she debated whether to go on. In the end, she couldn’t risk Mac not understanding the awful truth she suspected—that Ryan was her husband’s natural son with one of his mistresses. No way was she letting anyone take her son away from her. She’d die first.

  In a quiet voice, she relayed her suspicions.

  “I’ve tried to trace the adoption,” she admitted. “Any records beyond what I had were completely destroyed. It’s possible—though not certain—that my husband may have obtained Ryan’s birth certificate illegally.”

  To his credit, Mac showed no reaction—as if he heard stories like this every day. Then again, maybe he did.