by Rebecca Deel
“How old were you, Mrs. Simms?” Meg asked.
“Fifteen.” She shook her head. “Old enough to know better, but naïve enough to believe once wouldn’t hurt me.”
But not old enough to sign the papers. Her parents must have been involved. “Does $100,000 sound familiar to you?”
“No. Detective, I don’t understand what’s going on. Why are you asking all these questions?” Her voice quivered.
“Mrs. Simms, I have evidence that your parents sold your baby for $100,000.”
“Are you insane? My parents would never do something that despicable.” Her eyes flashed. “Mom and Dad were honest, hard-working people.”
“Did they need money for you, your brother or sister, for food?”
“I didn’t have siblings.”
So what happened to the money? “Mrs. Simms, I’ll need to talk to your parents.”
“Good luck with that. Mom died in October and Dad’s in a nursing home a few miles down the road. He’s in the last stage of Alzheimer’s. He doesn’t recognize me anymore.”
“What about the adoption papers? Would your parents have kept the documents?”
“Don’t you need a search warrant or something?”
“I can get one, but I hope that won’t be necessary.”
“Why should I help you?” Julie clenched her fists. “Why does it matter after all these years?”
“Your son’s wife was murdered and I believe the man who bought him is involved.”
Julie’s face paled. “Murdered? Why?”
“We believe she was looking into the adoption. Will you help your son, Mrs. Simms?”
“I’ve got something.” Meg stood, brushing dust and cobwebs from her jeans. She handed the bank book and papers to Rod.
“What is it?” Julie Simms hurried to Rod’s side and peered at the papers in his hand.
Rod unfolded the document and scanned it. “The adoption paperwork.” He handed it to Julie and turned his attention to the bank book. James Nelson had deposited $50,000 on December 15, 1977 and another $50,000 on March 23, 1978. He stared at the series of withdrawals over the next four years. “Did you go to college, Mrs. Simms?”
She glanced up. “I graduated from a Christian college. That’s where I met my husband.”
“How did you pay for tuition?”
“I worked in the library on campus. My parents paid the rest plus sprang for an apartment.”
“Private college tuition is expensive. Ever wonder how they swung the payments?”
Julie’s gaze dropped to the bank book. “No. Oh, no.” Tears slipped down her dusty cheeks. “Excuse me, please.” Hand pressed to her lips, she dashed down the stairs. A moment later, a door slammed and the sound of muffled retching reached their ears.
Tough way to learn the truth. And it wouldn’t get any easier. The case against Drake was bound to attract hordes of media attention since it involved a senator. No secrets would remain buried after the trial. Rod stuffed the papers and bank book in the pocket of his jeans and returned boxes to their original position.
“What’s next?” Meg asked.
“Turn the evidence over to the feds.”
“What about Sherri’s murder?”
“That will be part of the indictment if we can find enough evidence.” He motioned for her to precede him from the attic. “A confession would wrap everything up nicely.”
As they reached the first floor, a phone rang. Julie threw open the bathroom door and stumbled to the living room. She sank onto the leather recliner and snatched the instrument on the third ring. “I’m sorry, sweetheart, but I don’t think I’m going to make it to church this morning. I’m not feeling well right now.” She leaned her head against the back of the chair. “No, I don’t need anyone to sit with me. I’m going to make some tea. Maybe that will help. I’ll see you after the service, love.”
Julie ended the call and dropped her head into her hands. “Do you know what this will do to my husband?”
“He doesn’t know about the child?” Meg asked.
She shook her head. “When our relationship turned serious, I told him my teen years were rough, that I had done some things I regretted. Ian didn’t ask for details.”
“How long have you been married, Mrs. Simms?” Rod asked.
“Twenty-eight years.”
“Sounds like you have a strong marriage. Do you think he would love you any less for something that happened so many years ago?”
Her haunted gaze latched onto his. “Ian’s not the one I’m worried about. He’s the pastor of Grace Christian Church. What will our congregation say?”
Meg reached over and patted her hand. “If your church members read their Bibles, they’ll say they love you.”
“Will I have to go to jail?” Her voice trembled.
“No, ma’am. You were a minor at the time. Your parents are partly responsible, but I doubt anyone would be interested in pressing charges against your father considering the circumstances.” Rod leaned forward, his arms resting on his thighs. “You will have to testify in court, though.”
Julie flinched. “What about my son? Will he be at the trial?”
“Probably.”
“I don’t want him to think I sold him like a sack of potatoes and profited from it. I was just a fifteen-year-old kid. I tried to do the best I could for his well-being.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs. Simms. I’ll make sure he knows the truth.”
Outside, Rod tossed Megan the keys to the Camaro. “You drive.” He settled into the passenger seat and closed his eyes.
Her eyebrows rose. “Are you sick?”
“I need to sleep a few minutes.”
Dismay swept through her. “You really did stay up all night, didn’t you?” She backed out of the Simms’ driveway. “I could have kept watch part of the night.”
“Wake me in an hour.” He reclined the seat back. “If you notice anything odd or think someone’s following us, let me know.”
Megan cruised at the speed limit, hoping for a boring drive so Rod would sleep as long as possible. On the interstate, traffic started to build as she drove toward Knoxville. After a few miles following a double tractor trailer, she changed lanes and darted past the rig. Glancing in the rearview mirror before shifting lanes again, she noticed a black truck hanging back.
Meg frowned. The vehicle looked familiar, but she couldn’t place it. She debated on waking Rod, finally deciding to wait until she was positive they had a tail. Periodically, she checked the mirrors. The truck remained about twelve car lengths behind them. As she weaved through traffic, the vehicle kept pace with her.
Her stomach tightening, Meg touched Rod’s shoulder. “Rod.”
“Company?”
Meg envied his ability to wake up, fully alert. She couldn’t string coherent sentences together before downing a cup of coffee. “Black pickup. He changes lanes with me.”
“He? You saw the driver?”
“Sun glares off the windshield most of the time, but I think I saw a beard on the driver.”
“Did you recognize him?”
She hesitated. “I don’t think so, but something about the truck is familiar.”
Rod sat up and shifted his gun to within easy reach. “Take the next exit. Let’s see if our tail follows. We need to fill your gas tank anyway.”
“Would you mind operating the nozzle?”
“Don’t want your hands dirty, Cahill?”
“Nope.” Megan grinned. “Maybe we can snap a picture with the camera on my cell phone.”
“I like the way you think.”
She flipped on the blinker and, after exiting the interstate, piloted into a gas station. She shut off the engine and grabbed her phone.
“You up to a little stealth?” Rod asked.
“Sure.”
“Come around to the gas tank.” Rod took his time unscrewing the gas cap and inserting the nozzle. As he chose the gasoline grade, the black pickup cruised slowly to a stop n
ear the air pump. “Just where I wanted him,” he murmured. “Come here, Meg.”
Rod set the pump. “Ready?”
For what?
He drew her into his arms and clasped his hands in a loose grip around her back.
“What are you doing, Kelter?”
“Sleight of hand, babe. Keep the camera between us. I’ll turn slowly. Let me know when you have him in sight.” He dipped his head close to her ear and proceeded to nibble on her lobe.
His warm breath tickled her ear and she shivered. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. The man was a serious distraction. She forced herself to focus. Come on, come on. Just a little bit more. There. “Stop.” She froze. She had seen him before, but where? “Got him.” She adjusted the angle of the camera to catch the passenger side. “He’s got a friend.”
“Recognize either of them?” His lips brushed her neck, sending a cascade of warmth through her.
“Driver. Can’t remember where with you doing that.” She felt his smile against her skin as she snapped the second man’s photo. “Got the friend’s picture, too.” Meg closed the camera app and slipped her phone into her pocket.
Rod freed his hand, tilted her chin up and kissed her mouth. “Nice work.”
“Thanks.” His approval shot streaks of warmth through her. And that bothered her more than she wanted to admit. Since when did she need his approval for her actions? Had the handsome detective come to mean more to her than she realized? “Where to now?”
“Home, Sherlock. Time to report in before Ethan sends out a posse.” He held out his hand. “Keys, ma’am. My turn to watch for the bearded man if you want to catch a nap. It might be your last chance to rest for a while. I have a feeling events will shift into high gear once we reach Otter Creek.”
CHAPTER TWENTY
Rod swung the Camaro into the police station parking lot. “Ethan’s waiting for us in his office.” A sense of anticipation tightened his gut. They had enough now to pressure Warren Drake for a confession. Still not enough to pin Kyle for murder and attempted murder.
“I hope he brought lunch. I’m starving.” Meg retrieved her laptop and handbag from the backseat. “My bodyguard let down on his job.”
He stopped so abruptly Meg ran into his back. “Why didn’t you tell me?” How could he have forgotten something as simple as food? Just like always, he got so caught up in his work he forgot to eat. Erin used to remind him about meals. When she and Kayla died, he lost his appetite. At least he had until Meg. “I’m sorry.”
“I was just teasing you a little, Rod.” She squeezed his hand. “I’m a big girl. I know how to complain about hunger.”
“Yeah, but I get wrapped up in work and forget about food.”
“You’re not the only one. If Serena didn’t keep me supplied, I probably wouldn’t eat more than one meal a day.” Meg shrugged. “Too busy to stop. Deadlines wait for no one. They come whether I’m ready or not.”
“I’ll take care of lunch if Ethan hasn’t already beaten me to it.”
They walked into the nearly deserted police station. The desk sergeant nodded at Rod, speculation in his gaze. “I see your pretty lady is walking under her own power this time. Must be losing your touch, Kelter.”
Rod’s hand slid to Meg’s back. If it had been another cop, Rod would have laughed at the possessive gesture. Humor didn’t enter into the equation, though, as he stared at the desk sergeant, a notorious ladies man. “Ethan ready for us?”
The sergeant’s eyebrow rose. “Go on back. He’s got a fed with him.”
Rod figured the feds were pressuring Ethan about Drake. He cupped Meg’s elbow, urging her toward the squad room and Ethan’s office.
“Who’s the fed?”
“I bet it’s Craig Jordan.”
Meg’s step quickened. “This might turn out to be an interesting afternoon.”
A smile curved his lips. Seeing Meg maneuver information from Jordan ought to be something all right. Rod knocked on the door jamb and ushered Meg inside. Special Agent Craig Jordan stood.
Ethan came around his desk and swept Meg into a hug. “Glad you’re back, Meg. Serena and Madison have really missed you.” He inclined his head toward the agent. “This is Craig Jordan, FBI. Jordan, my sister-in-law, Megan Cahill. My detective, Rod Kelter, you already know.”
Jordan nodded his direction. “Kelter.”
“Nice of you to drop in, Jordan. Saved me a phone call.” Rod nudged Meg to the remaining chair.
“Find anything?” Ethan asked.
“The adoption papers, receipt for the money and a bank book showing a final deposit the day of the adoption.”
“Did Julie know about the money?”
Rod shook his head. “She was fifteen. Her parents convinced her to give up the baby. They took care of everything else. The family was poor, Ethan. They saved the money and added what little they could for Julie’s college education.”
“Do we have enough evidence to prosecute the parents?” Jordan asked.
“The mother’s dead and the father’s in the last stages of Alzheimer’s. I’d focus my efforts on Warren Drake.”
“What’s the point?” Meg asked. “Drake’s dying. I’m not sure he’ll make it through the trial much less serve time.”
“You want us to smack his hands and let him off?”
Meg scowled. “Of course not. It just seems like a colossal waste of taxpayer money to go through the motions with a man already living under a death sentence.”
“Maybe the notoriety will convince someone else the penalty for human trafficking is too high.”
She eyed him a moment. “Do you really believe that?”
“I have to.” Jordan turned to Rod. “Where’s the evidence?”
“Here.” Meg unzipped the computer case, removed the papers and handed them to the agent.
“When will you move on Drake?” Ethan asked.
“After my team and I review the evidence. Tomorrow morning at the latest.”
Rod leaned against Ethan’s desk, his hands curled around the edge. “I want to talk to Drake one more time, see if we can get him to roll on Kyle.”
The agent stilled. “You think the son’s involved in the murder?”
“Up to his eyeballs, but we don’t have any proof.”
After a moment, Jordan nodded. “Fine. I’ll let my agents know in case the Senator decides to run.”
Not likely, Rod thought. He was more worried about Kyle than himself. The Senator didn’t seem to care about anything but his sons. His eyes narrowed. That might work in their favor.
With a nod, Jordan left, evidence in hand. Ethan sat in the chair the agent vacated. “Any problems on the way back?”
“Picked up a tail.” Rod handed him the license plate number. “Meg took pictures with her phone.”
“I’ve seen the driver before, but I can’t remember where.” She gave her phone to Ethan.
He studied the pictures. “I don’t know either of them.” Ethan punched a few buttons on her phone and returned it to her. “I sent the images to my computer. Good work.”
To Rod, he said, “How long did the tail stay with you?”
“Until we reached the town limits. They kept going on Highway 18.”
“So whoever sent them knows you’re back in town.” Ethan’s hand rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll have to pull Josh off patrol.”
“Why?” Meg stiffened.
“You’re still a target,” Rod said.
“So I need a babysitter?” She scowled. “I don’t think so. I’m going to the office for a while. After that, I’m headed home. I’ll barricade myself in both places and won’t open the door unless it’s one of you. Someone can stay with me tonight. Okay?”
He glanced at Ethan, who shrugged. “I’ll walk with you to the Gazette office.” Rod lifted her computer case and pulled Meg to her feet.
Meg stood by Zoe’s desk and listened to Rod’s footsteps echo in the empty building. A shiver raced over her body.
She never realized how creepy her beloved newspaper office became with people gone, the press and phones silent.
Rod’s steps drew near. “It’s clear. All doors and windows are locked.” He stopped beside her. “Make sure they stay that way.”
“Don’t worry. I have a deadline barking at my door. I probably won’t look up from the keyboard for a few hours.”
He ran a finger down her cheek. “Call me when you’re ready to leave. If I’m not close, I’ll have another cop follow you home.”
“Rod,” she began.
He interrupted her with a soft kiss. “Please.”
Her protest died on her lips. Did the man have to be so aggravating and sneaky? If he’d issued an order, she would have bucked. How could she refuse a gentle request? She sighed. “All right.”
He smiled. “How about dinner later?”
“Sounds great.”
The office seemed even more empty after he left. With a last cursory glance around the darkened interior, Meg barricaded herself in her office and sank into her leather chair. She dug the notes from Julie’s interview from her bag and powered up her laptop. Waiting for it to boot, she jotted an outline for the article. She longed to lean back in the chair and prop her feet on the desk for a nap, but she needed to write down the emotions from this morning’s interview before they faded.
She opened the word processing program and wrote. The words trickled at first, then faster as the current of thought and emotion swelled. The hurt and horror she sensed from Julie poured onto the paper as Meg wrestled with the logistics of keeping the identities of the innocents involved concealed.
Two hours later, she saved the file and shut down her computer. She stood and stretched, groaning as knotted muscles released. Probably the result of a boulder-filled mattress. She could use a Coke. Maybe Zoe stocked the refrigerator before she left Saturday.
Meg unlocked her door, peered into the gloom and listened. No unusual noises. She padded to the break room and opened the white refrigerator. A shelf full of 20-ounce Cokes gleamed in the light. She grabbed the closest bottle, unscrewed the top and guzzled half the contents.