Her Stolen Past

by Eason, Lynette

  “And not too long ago,” Brandon said. “The blood isn’t dry.”

  Brandon identified himself to the 911 operator and requested the necessary personnel for the crime scene. He handed the phone back to Sonya and let his eyes roam the house. Tension quivered through him and he went back to the window and held his weapon ready.

  Sonya shivered and swallowed hard, the hair on her neck spiking. Goose bumps pebbled her skin.

  He moved the curtain one more time. “I don’t see anyone, but I didn’t hear or see a car drive away.”

  “Whoever shot at us may have just run or had a car parked somewhere else.”

  “Yes.” Brandon stepped toward the kitchen and rounded the corner in a smooth move. Then checked the pantry.

  All the while Sonya could see him keeping an eye on her, too. “What is it?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. We don’t dare go out yet, but I don’t want any surprises in here, either.”

  “Surprises?”

  “There are two glasses on the counter and a water bottle. The glasses could belong to Ms. Gold and her killer, and she could have poured the water from the bottle. Or the bottle could belong to a third person.” He glanced around again. “If the shooter left someone behind…”

  “Oh.”

  Sonya watched as he moved from the kitchen to stand to the side of the entrance to the hallway. She knew if she hadn’t been there, he would have probably gone into the back rooms, but because of her presence he was waiting for backup.

  That was fine with her. She rose and snagged her purse from where she’d dropped it when they’d tumbled into the house. It took only a moment to locate the small first-aid kit she carried. Packed with only the bare necessities, it still had a good-sized bandage. “Let me stop the bleeding on your head.”

  He swiped the bottom of his shirt across the wound. “Not yet.”

  He still wasn’t convinced they were the only ones in the house.

  She glanced back at the victim and felt sorrow squeeze her heart. Ms. Gold was in her early sixties. A woman who might have held some answers to Sonya’s kidnapping. Answers that seemed to be lost forever now. But it wasn’t just that. Ms. Gold probably had had quite a few good years left, and someone had stolen those from her. It wasn’t fair.

  “How long do you think she’s been dead?” Brandon asked.

  Sonya swallowed hard. “I don’t want to touch anything or destroy any evidence, but…” She crouched down beside the dead woman and lifted her arm. It moved easily. “She’s not in rigor. I’d say she’s just recently been killed.” She swallowed. “Like, in the past hour or so.”

  “Or past ten minutes,” he muttered.

  “I’m not a medical examiner, so it’s just an educated guess, but rigor usually sets in within four hours of death.”

  “The fact that someone just shot at us tells me that if we’d gotten here a few minutes earlier, we might have interrupted the killer.”

  “And saved this poor woman’s life.” Tears squeezed her throat. She blinked and coughed to get rid of the knot. It didn’t help much.

  “I don’t think her killer surprised her,” Brandon said. Again, his gaze moved around the room.

  Sonya saw what he did. “No sign of a struggle or forced entry.”

  He shot her a surprised look and she shrugged. She’d picked up a few things by hanging around him.

  He nodded. “Exactly. I’m guessing she let the person in and was shot before she could think about what was happening.” He aimed his weapon at the hallway. “This place needs to be dusted for prints. My guess is, if Ms. Gold knew the person she opened the door to, the person wasn’t necessarily wearing gloves.”

  “So the killer might have touched something.”

  “Yes.”

  A sound from the back made her jump. A muscle in Brandon’s jaw spasmed. Never taking his weapon away from the hallway, he pointed to Sonya and motioned her to the kitchen door.

  Sonya heard the 911 operator on the phone requesting her attention. She lifted a brow, stood and moved in the direction Brandon indicated. She put the phone to her ear. Brandon backed toward her. Fear swirled in her stomach as she realized he thought someone else was still in the house.

  SIXTEEN

  Brandon felt exposed. As if he had a big target on his back or his forehead and the killer was laughing at him as he took his time deciding when to pull the trigger. And Sonya…how was he going to keep her safe? He heard her whispering on the phone with the 911 operator.

  She backed into the kitchen as a police car pulled up. Brandon kept his weapon trained on the hallway. The back door off the porch was still open. “Stay here.” Officers were on the way. They’d have a plan and Brandon needed to be in on it. “Hand me the phone, please.”

  When she did, he identified himself to the dispatcher and gave his badge number. “I need to know the plan.”

  “Patching you through to the responding officers.”

  He heard the click on the line. All the while, he kept his gaze on the hallway entrance. No more noises had come from the back of the house, but that didn’t mean he was ready to drop his guard.

  A voice came on the line. “Officer Tim Miller.”

  “Officer Miller, this is Detective Brandon Hayes. Right now, this is your playing field. How do you want to do this?”

  “Is the house clear?”

  “Just the den and kitchen area. The victim is on the couch in the den.”

  “So you haven’t yet cleared the bedrooms?”

  “Right. We’re holed up in the kitchen.”

  “We’ve got officers approaching now. Others are canvassing the neighborhood.”

  Brandon’s blood hummed.

  Ten minutes later, there’d been no more strange sounds and no more flying bullets. Two officers approached the back door, back-to-back and weapons drawn. Three more cruisers had arrived. Brandon opened the door and they entered.

  Brandon flashed his badge and focused in on the officer whose name tag read Tim Miller. Miller eyed him. “You’re Hayes?”

  “I am.”

  Miller’s gaze flicked to Sonya. “Stay with her while we clear the house.”

  Brandon itched to be a part of it, but he wanted Sonya safe more than he wanted to go looking for anyone who may be hiding. So he stayed and kept his weapon nearby while the officers cautiously headed down the hall.

  “Clear!”

  “Clear!”

  The shouts came from the bedrooms.

  Seconds later, Miller came into the room holding a white-and-gray cat. “I think this may have been the noise you heard.”

  Brandon felt some of the tension leave him.

  “Who knew?” Sonya asked.

  His gaze snapped to hers. “What?”

  “Who knew we were coming here? Ms. Gold is dead because we said something about coming to see her. So who did we tell and who did those people tell?”

  Brandon pulled in a deep breath. “I don’t know, but we’re going to figure it out.”

  *

  Exhaustion didn’t begin to cover how Sonya felt. The shooting and the subsequent questioning by the police had taken their toll. Finding Ms. Gold dead had been a horrifying experience and all she wanted to do was go to bed. But the thought of going home—or even back to Missy’s—had terrified her. Then, of course, there was the depressing fact that they no longer had any leads to figure out who’d kidnapped her all those years ago. She tried to push the thoughts aside and focus on her present situation.

  Brandon had brought her to his house, planted her on the couch in his den and told her to nap while he fixed dinner. She’d closed her eyes, but knowing he was there—sensing him walk back and forth between the deck, where he grilled, and the kitchen, from where tantalizing smells emanated—stirred her appetite and she couldn’t sleep. Instead she’d drifted, enjoying how, despite the danger, being with him made her feel safe.

  Safe. She’d almost forgotten what it felt like. The sound of his
approaching footsteps lifted her lids. He came out of his kitchen drying his hands on a towel. “Dinner is served.”

  She rose, walked into the dining area of the kitchen and gaped. Two steaks sat in the middle of the table along with two baked potatoes and a bowl of salad. “How did you do this so quickly?”

  He laughed at her expression. “I’ve been a bachelor a long time. It was either learn to cook or starve.”

  “I’m deeply impressed.”

  He flushed. “Don’t be. It was really easy.”

  “Well, thank you. I’m honored you’d cook for me.”

  He held out a chair and she slid into it. “I heard you order your steak medium well at one of the restaurants we went to, so this one is yours.” He stabbed it with a knife and placed it on her plate.

  “Perfect,” she murmured.

  He cleared his throat. “I suppose you want to say a blessing?”

  “I’d love to.” She bowed her head. “Thank You, Lord, for the food and for continuing to keep us safe. Amen.”

  “Amen.”

  She looked up and found his thoughtful gaze on her. “What?”

  “Through all of the troubles you’ve had lately, you haven’t lost your faith or blamed God.”

  She shrugged. “Why would I blame Him? He didn’t kidnap me or shoot at me.”

  “But He could have stopped it.”

  She sighed. “Of course He could have, but He chose not to. For whatever reason, He’s decided to allow this trial in my life at this time, and I’m not going to blame Him for it. I’m just going to ask Him to get me through it. Just because I have some trouble in my life doesn’t mean He’s not God anymore.” She took the bowl of salad and transferred some to her plate, then chose the ranch dressing. As she poured it over her salad, she said, “It doesn’t mean I like it, but—” she lifted a shoulder “—it is what it is and I’m going to trust Him to see me through.”

  “And if you die?”

  “Then I die. Again, I don’t want to die, but if I do, I pray something good comes from it that turns people to Him.”

  He frowned. “You’re just like them.”

  “Who?”

  “Erica and Max. Jordan and Katie. They all would have the same attitude you have.”

  She gave a small smile. “It’s part of being a believer, a part of who I am.”

  “Not all believers have that attitude.”

  “No, I guess they don’t. I’m not saying it’s easy, but faith is a journey. I think when things are going well, it’s easy to have faith. When things are going bad, you have to decide how you’re going to react. Are you going to trust God or not?”

  “I wish it was that simple for me.”

  “It’s not simple. It’s a choice.”

  “What about how you feel?”

  “What do feelings have to do with it? You can’t trust your feelings. Feelings can lead you to do or say things you shouldn’t. Trust what’s true and what’s right because whatever is true and right is of God.”

  He simply stared at her, his mind spinning. “I’ve never thought of it that way before.”

  “Maybe you should.”

  “Maybe I should.”

  Her smile tipped into a frown and she looked around. “Speaking of Jordan, where is he?”

  “Playing watchdog. He knew I was bringing you here, so he’s guarding the perimeter.”

  “Oh, poor thing. It’s really hot out there. I hope he’s got some shade.”

  “And a vehicle with good air-conditioning. And you don’t have to feel too sorry for him. I made him one of these steaks for later.”

  She nodded and took a bite. “Delicious.”

  “Thanks.” He looked distracted then blurted, “But don’t you ever doubt?”

  She hesitated and thought about that. Then shook her head. “No, not about who God is or that He’s in control.”

  “Then what?”

  “Sometimes I doubt that my faith is strong enough. I get frustrated on occasion and want to whine or throw a temper tantrum and demand my way, but ultimately, it comes down to accepting that this is what it is right now and doing what I can to stay strong in the midst of it.”

  “Don’t you hate the person who’s doing this to you?”

  “Hate him? No. Want him to stop? Most definitely. And yes, I’m angry and want to see justice done, but I’m not wasting my energy hating someone. What’s the point in that?” He stared at her long enough to make her uncomfortable. She wanted to squirm. Instead, she took a few more bites of the steak. “You’re a very good cook.”

  He blinked and looked down at his own plate. “Oh. Thanks.” He lifted his head and caught her gaze once again. “You’re amazing.”

  She flushed. She knew she did because she could feel the heat in her cheeks. How did he do that to her? She never blushed. “Well. Thank you.”

  “You make me want what you have.”

  Her heart flipped. “You already believe in God, Brandon.”

  “I know, but I’ve been mad at Him for a long time.”

  “Because of your parents.”

  “Mostly.”

  “And the fiancée?”

  “Mmm-hmm. Yes.” He continued to stare into her eyes.

  “What?” she asked.

  “I’m thinking that my fiancée leaving me could be the best thing that ever happened to me and I just couldn’t see it until now.”

  Now it was her turn to stare.

  He laughed, then shrugged. “I’m learning that there’s more to just believing in God. There’s the whole faith thing, trusting Him and believing that He has a plan in all of this.”

  “Exactly. It’s not easy, but it’s very…freeing, I guess is the word.”

  “Freeing?”

  “Yes. You know. To have an absolute. To believe what God says is true. When you look at life through that filter, it keeps everything in perspective.”

  For the next few minutes, they ate in silence. Sonya’s phone rang and she snagged it from her pocket to see Mrs. Talbot’s number on the screen. “Hello?”

  “Is this Sonya?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Well, good. I hope I’m not catching you at a bad time.”

  “Not at all. What can I do for you?”

  “You know when you were here asking all those questions about your mother?”

  “Of course.”

  “I got to thinking about it and seems like I do recall her mentioning something about a phone call she’d gotten not too long before she passed.”

  Sonya sat up straight. “A phone call. From who?”

  “She didn’t say, just that she had to make a decision about something and was torn as to what to do. I didn’t think much of it. I guess I thought it had to do with planning her funeral. And it may have. But I thought of it and wanted to tell you.”

  “Thank you so much. I’m glad you did.”

  “Hope it helps you figure out whatever it is you’re figurin’.”

  “Me, too,” Sonya said. “Me, too.”

  She hung up.

  “What was that all about?” Brandon asked.

  She told him. “You think it’s important?”

  “Maybe. Let me think about it.”

  “I wonder who called her.”

  He set his fork and knife on the edge of his plate. “Why don’t we find out?”

  “How?”

  “Give me your mother’s number and I’ll get her phone records. We’ll go through the numbers and see who called her the last couple of weeks before she died.”

  Sonya rattled off the number and he placed a call to whoever it was that could get him the information he needed.

  He hung up. “So, let’s get you over to Missy’s and settled in.”

  “I think I’ll go to Mom’s house instead.” Sadness gripped her. “One day I suppose I’ll have to start calling it my house.”

  “Do you plan to keep it?”

  “I might as well. It’s paid for and I have some lov
ely memories of when I used to visit. We’ll see.”

  “Looks a little small to raise a family there,” he said.

  She lifted a brow. “Well, since I don’t have a family to raise, it’s not a problem.”

  “What about later? Say if you meet someone, get married and start having kids?”

  Sonya swallowed. She didn’t want to read anything into his words, but she almost couldn’t help it. “When—if—I get to that stage, then I suppose my husband and I would have to talk about it and decide what to do.”

  “So you’d be willing to move?”

  She gave him a sad smile. “It’s just a house, Brandon.”

  He stood up and carried his plate to the sink. She looked at her mostly eaten steak and half the baked potato and realized she was full. “I’d be willing to move, yes.” Then she frowned. “But I want to be there tonight. I’ve been thinking that if she left the baby bag in the closet, there may be other things that I’ve missed.”

  “But you’ve cleaned out the house, right?”

  “Most of it. But I haven’t touched my mother’s furniture. You know, her drawers.”

  “Just the closet?”

  “Yes. And not all of that. I stopped when I found the bag.”

  “What about the attic?”

  “No.” She grimaced. “I don’t like going up there. Anything in the attic wouldn’t be worth looking at anyway, I don’t think.”

  “You never know.”

  “And besides, what would I be looking for? I’ve already found the bag, and that was in the bedroom closet.”

  “So what are you thinking?”

  “Whenever Mom got a phone call, she would write down important things on a small tablet she kept in her end-table drawer. I want to see if she wrote anything about that call that seemed to upset her.”

  “Good thinking. Come on. I’ll take you.”

  “Now?”

  “Why not? I want you safe, Sonya, and the only way that’s going to happen is if we figure out who wants to hurt you. If you don’t want to go to Missy’s, then I’m going to make sure you’re safe at your mother’s.”