“Right.” She put her plate in the sink. “Don’t you want me to help you clean up?”
He laughed. “Naw. That’s what my cleaning service is for.” He grabbed his keys. “Let’s go. I’m impatient to see if we find something.” He paused after he opened the door. “Stay here until I check the car out.”
“You’re going to look for a bomb, aren’t you?”
“It only takes one time to make a man a little paranoid.”
SEVENTEEN
Brandon pulled into her drive and looked in the rearview mirror. Max had pulled to a stop across the street. He waved and Brandon gave a relieved sigh. Frankie couldn’t pull guard duty tonight, so Brandon had had to come up with a plan B. Having contacts and friends that could help out at a moment’s notice wasn’t something he took for granted, but it was definitely something he appreciated.
His phone rang and he grabbed it while Sonya pulled her things together. It was Holt from the lab. “Hello?”
“Hey there. Somehow I got to be the designated caller.”
“About?”
“Ballistics.”
“Ah, yes. You want to tell me how, with your love of weapons, you didn’t go into that part of forensics?”
“DNA opened up first, but I’m qualified to work ballistics, too. I just don’t advertise it in case they decide they need to do some cutbacks or move people around. I’m happy where I am.”
“Right. So what do you have for me?”
Sonya had stilled in the passenger seat and looked at him.
Holt said, “The bullets outside Mr. Bradley’s office came from a Savage model 16FCSS Weather Warrior series bolt-action rifle. It’s a .308 Winchester caliber twenty-two-inch free-float and button-rifled barrel with—”
“Just the facts,” Brandon drawled. “And in English.” He knew if he let him, Holt would go on and on about the rifle and never get around to the actual reason he’d called.
Holt quieted then cleared his throat. “Right. The bullets fired at you guys in front of Mr. Bradley’s office from the rifle your shooter left behind and the ones fired at the people in the park where Sonya was jogging were a match.”
Brandon let out a low whistle. “I was right.”
“Yep.”
“So why shoot the other women if he was after Sonya?” Brandon mused out loud.
Sonya frowned. Little lines formed above the bridge of her nose and he wanted to reach out and smooth them. Instead, he curled his fingers into a fist and concentrated on Holt’s words.
“I wondered that myself. The only thing I could come up with was that he wanted to cover up the fact he was after Sonya.”
“He wanted her to be a third victim in a random shooting,” Brandon muttered. “The police would investigate and come up empty on any connection between the three women and chalk it up to a crazy.”
“That’s my theory.”
“It makes sense. Thanks, Holt.”
Brandon hung up and interpreted the rest of the conversation for Sonya, but it looked as though she’d gotten the gist of it. Her face paled and she swallowed hard. “Those women in the park were shot because he was after me,” she whispered. “And one died because—” She pressed her fingers to her lips and a tear slipped down her cheek.
“It’s only a theory, Sonya. We don’t have any proof.”
“But it makes sense,” she said. “I didn’t have any connection to either of those women. None.” She sniffed and swiped at her eyes.
He was almost ready to take her in his arms when she slammed a fist against the dash. “I still don’t hate whoever is doing this,” she said, “but I sure do want to see him in jail, where he belongs.”
“Let’s go inside.” He climbed from the car and saw Max watching them with a look of concern. Brandon waved that all was fine and followed Sonya to the front door.
She paused, key in the lock. “I still haven’t picked up my car from the hospital.”
Brandon reached around her and unlocked the door. He knew he was big enough to block any bullets headed her way, but he wasn’t in the mood to get shot again. He ushered her inside and shut the door behind them.
Sonya dropped her purse on the foyer floor on her way into the den. She paced from the mantel to the sofa and back. “I want this over with. I want my life back.”
“I know. And we’re making progress. It’s just going to take time.”
She touched the wound on her throat and then her fingers slid over the butterfly bandage on his cheek where the flying wood from the door had gashed him. “I’m tired of us getting hurt, tired of being afraid you—or someone else that I care about—is going to get killed because of me.”
Brandon’s fingers gripped hers. “I’m glad you care about me.” Heat suffused her cheeks, but she refused to look away. She did care about him and wanted him to know it. “But,” he said, “this situation isn’t your fault. You’re not responsible for the actions of whoever is doing this.”
She sighed. “I know it’s not my fault in that I’m not the one going around hurting people, but if I hadn’t started looking for Heather Bradley, none of this would be happening and Ms. Gold would probably still be alive.”
He grimaced. “Maybe she would. But if I understand things correctly, her death didn’t take God by surprise.”
Sonya stilled. “No. That’s true. It didn’t. None of this has taken Him by surprise.”
“So let’s focus on what we need to do to end it.”
Sonya took a deep breath and nodded. “Okay.”
“Now, where’s your mother’s room?”
“This way.”
*
Sonya opened the door to her mother’s bedroom. She’d saved this area for last, knowing it would take all of her strength to get through the memories, to wade through the grief and accept that her mother was gone from this side of heaven. The only thing that made the grief easier to bear was the fact that she would be reunited with the woman she loved one day for all eternity.
Hopefully, later rather than sooner as the person trying to kill her seemed to be determined to make happen.
She went to the end table and pulled out the drawer. Papers, pens, hair ties, face cream, a fingernail file.
Her notepad.
Sonya pulled it from the drawer and sat in the chair at the vanity table next to the door. She flipped through the yellow legal pad. Notes about doctors’ appointments, things her mother had wanted to tell Sonya.
Tears welled at the sight of the handwriting. Brandon’s hand settled on her shoulder and she sniffed. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.”
She nodded and flipped through the pages. “I don’t see anything,” she whispered. “This was a dumb idea.”
“It was a great idea,” he countered. “It’s never—” His phone rang and he pulled it from his pocket. Sonya started over at the beginning of the notepad, hoping she’d missed something. And she did. Two pages stuck together. With a gentle tug, she separated them and stared.
“‘Blackmail,’” she read aloud. “‘Sonya.’” Just the two words written one on top of the other.
“Stay put, Spike. I’ll be right there.” Brandon hung up. “What did you say?”
“The word blackmail and my name underneath. Look.” She turned the notepad so he could see it.
“Why would your mother write that on her notepad?”
“I have no idea.”
“You think her agitation could have been because someone was blackmailing her?”
The thought sent knives of pain through her heart. “There was nothing to blackmail her about.”
“How much money did she leave you?”
Sonya shrugged. “About a hundred thousand in savings bonds. And the house is paid off.”
“So not an exorbitant amount, but enough that could be attractive to someone who didn’t make but twenty or thirty thousand a year.”
“I guess.” Sonya swiped a stray tear and saw the frown between his eyes. “Wha
t’s wrong?”
“Spike’s been arrested.”
“For what?” she gasped.
“Trespassing and resisting arrest are the charges. Apparently Spike was snooping around your house, looking in windows and such. A neighbor called it in. An officer drove by and saw him, tried to ask him what he was doing, and Spike panicked and ran. The officer chased him, caught him and took him downtown.”
“When did all that happen?”
“Right before we got here.” He held his phone up. “Spike just got his phone call.”
“Then go. You need to help him. I’ll just stay here and see if I can find anything else.” She sighed. “I need to go through her stuff anyway.”
“Are you able to do it?”
“I’m able.” She gave a small smile. “The memories are good. I just miss her.”
He pulled her into a hug and squeezed. “You’re going to be all right, Sonya.”
She leaned back and looked up at him, ignoring the pull on the stitches. “When you say it like that, I believe it.”
“Good.” He placed a light kiss on her lips, a quick touch that offered comfort and expressed his concern for her. She also sensed a passion carefully held in check. She shivered and relished the moment.
When he pulled back, she asked, “That was lovely, but what about the no-kissing thing?”
He stopped and frowned. “Oh. Right. I must have been out of my mind.” He ran his thumbs over her cheeks and gave her one last hug. “We need to talk, but it’ll have to wait. I’ll be back as soon as I take care of Spike. Max is right outside.”
“All right. Thanks.”
Brandon left and she locked the door behind him. They needed to talk? About? The kissing thing, probably. She went back to her mother’s room and looked around. She sighed and went to the dresser. She opened it at the same time that her cell phone rang.
She snagged the device from her pocket and recognized the Bradleys’ number. “Hello?”
“Am I speaking with Sonya?”
The female voice took her aback. “Yes, this is she.”
“This is Ann Bradley.”
For a moment, Sonya couldn’t get her throat to work. Finally, she said, “Hello, Mrs. Bradley.”
“I overheard Don talking to someone on the phone. He said that you’re definitely Heather.”
“Yes, ma’am. That’s what they said.”
“Well, I…I’ve been doing some thinking. Even a little praying.”
“I see. About?”
“You, of course.”
“Oh.”
“And I’ve decided that I want to welcome you into the family. That is…if you’re even interested in being a part of our family.”
Sonya swallowed hard. “I want to know you. I do. But I really want to know why I was kidnapped and who would do such a horrible thing.”
“Do you think you can get past that? What if you never find out?”
Sonya thought about that for a minute. “Then I suppose I’ll have to accept it and move on.”
“Do you think you can do that?”
“I don’t know. I suppose I would always wonder.”
“Would you come to my house so we could talk?”
Sonya considered it, then thought about Max outside. “I really shouldn’t leave. Someone still wants me dead.”
“I could send a car for you.”
“No, but…”
“But what?”
“I would tell you that you could come over here, but being around me can be dangerous. I have someone watching the house, but it’s still not safe. I think we’ll just have to wait until this is all over.”
“I’ll take my chances. Will you let your guard know I’m coming?” Sonya paused, undecided. A sigh filtered through the line. “Please, Sonya, I need to talk to you.”
“All right, I’ll let Max know. He’ll probably ask for some identification.”
“I’ll have some.”
“See you soon.” Sonya hung up and felt her stomach swirl with a mixture of anticipation and dread. Inviting her birth mother into the house of the woman who’d loved and raised her for almost thirty years seemed almost wrong. But Sonya had been stolen from Ann Bradley and that wasn’t her fault. She missed her mother, she always would, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t get to know the woman who’d given birth to her.
She called Max and told him the plans.
*
Brandon found Spike in the holding cell. He’d have to stay there until he could have someone bring the money for bond. Brandon wanted to know more before he decided to pay it himself. He didn’t think Spike would be able to afford it and he knew his mother couldn’t. He looked the teen in the eye. “What were you doing at Sonya’s house?”
Red crept into the boy’s cheeks and he shrugged.
Brandon sighed. “Come on, man. Talk to me.”
“I wasn’t going to break in and I wasn’t going to hurt her if she was there.”
“Okay, I believe you.”
Spike’s head snapped up. “You do?”
“Yes.” Brandon did. Mostly. But he kept that niggling of doubt to himself and refused to let it show on his face.
Spike’s shoulders slumped. “If I tell you, you will laugh your head off.”
“Laugh?”
Spike nodded.
“Try me.” Brandon couldn’t imagine what was going through his young friend’s mind.
“I was…” He mumbled the last part of the sentence.
“Say it again. Clear so I can understand you.”
Spike lifted his head and his dark eyes bored into Brandon’s. “I was trying to be like you. I was doing what a detective does. You know, check things out, seeing if your lady was all right. Keeping an eye on the place. Only someone saw me and called the cops.”
Brandon pinched the bridge of his nose. All the time and effort he’d put into helping Spike had paid off. And Spike had just laid the biggest compliment ever on him. Brandon blew out a breath. “Well, dude, I’m not going to laugh.”
“You’re not?” Skepticism showed.
“Nope. But I am going to get you out of here.”
“How?”
“I’m going to pay your bail. How else?”
For the first time since Brandon had met Spike, he thought he saw a sheen of tears appear. Spike blinked and looked away. “Aw, man, you don’t have to do that. I deserve to be here.”
“For what?”
“For being so stupid.”
“You weren’t being stupid. You were being a kid.” Probably for the first time in his short life. “All right. Hang tight. I’ll be back.”
“Yo, Hayes, you got a minute?”
Brandon turned to find Hector waving at him. “Yeah. Coming.”
“I’ll be at my desk.”
To Spike, Brandon said, “I mean it. I’ll be back.”
Spike nodded and leaned his head back against the cell’s wall. Thankfully, he didn’t have any cell mates, and Brandon would see to it that he didn’t.
Brandon hurried to find Hector. He found his partner and seated himself across from him even as he pulled out his phone and shot a text to Max. How is she?
Just fine. Quiet. Mrs. Bradley’s coming for a visit.
Now, that was interesting. He looked at Hector. “Hang on a sec while I finish this text to Max.”
“Sure.” Hector went back to his computer.
Brandon sent a reply. Did she say why?
No, just that Mrs. B. wanted to see her. To talk.
OK. Keep me updated. Hope to be back soon.
10-4.
Brandon set his phone on the desk in front of him. “Okay, I’m finished for now. What’s up?”
“I’ve found out something rather interesting.”
“What’s that?”
“You know how you were all skeptical about the death of Mrs. Bradley’s sister?”
“Yes.”
“I decided to dig into her death a little further. The M.E. did r
ule her tumble down the stairs an accident, but there was one little detail that you don’t know.”
“What?”
“She’d just had a baby not too long before her death.”
Brandon froze as his mind clicked through this new information. “When was the baby born?”
“I don’t have an exact date, but the M.E. noted in the chart, ‘a recent birth, probably within the last couple of months.’”
“But no one’s said anything about her having a baby. Where’s the child?”
“She gave it up for adoption.”
Brandon lifted his eyes to lock on Hector’s. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I’m thinking there’s a lot more to this story than we know.”
Brandon nodded. “What if Heather Bradley—Sonya—is really Ann and Don’s niece?”
“Why keep that a secret?”
“Why don’t we ask him? You got his number handy? I’ve got it on my phone somewhere….” He started scrolling through the list.
Hector pushed the file over to him and Brandon flipped through it until he came to the personal-information section, where he found Don Bradley’s number.
The man didn’t answer. Brandon left him a message asking him to call him back.
He looked at Hector. “Okay, so Sonya said her mother got a phone call she was concerned about. Said it agitated her. We requested her phone records with Sonya’s consent. Where are they?” He asked the question almost absently as he moved files and papers to see if they’d been buried.
Hector reached into the bin on the corner of his desk and handed them to him.
“Thanks.” Brandon started going through the list of numbers, looking for anything that might pop out at him. Fortunately, the list was short and he had a good idea of the time frame he needed to look at. He started at two weeks before Mrs. Daniels’s death.
He pulled his keyboard toward him and opened the software that would allow him to input a phone number and trace it back to the owner.
Ten minutes later, he stopped and stared. Hector looked up. “What is it?”
“Why would someone from the Bradley household be calling Sonya’s mother before Sonya even knew anything about the diaper bag and birth certificate?”
EIGHTEEN
Sonya opened the door to Mrs. Bradley and waved at Max, who gave her a two-fingered salute. “Come in.”
Her Stolen Past Page 14
