by Webb, Debra
Adeline had questions. Lots of questions.
“I know what you’re thinking,” the chief warned. “This may or may not have anything to do with your past. My immediate assessment would be that somebody’s playing a game. Trying to muddy the investigation down there by dragging you into the mix.” He leaned forward, braced his forearms on his desk. “Bottom line, this evidence could be crucial to the Prescott case. I’ve put in a call to the sheriff in Jackson County, Mississippi. When he calls back, we’ll get his take on how this involves you and determine a course of action from there.”
Adeline rolled her eyes. “I can just imagine what that old bastard has to say.” The words were out of her mouth before she could stop them.
Spencer’s expression turned to one of displeasure. “I understand that you have ample reason for despising law enforcement in Mississippi, but, as one of my detectives, you will show the proper respect as this situation moves forward. Understood?”
“Yes, sir.” Adeline damned sure didn’t want any more trouble. She’d gone through enough bullshit a few months ago with that internal affairs investigation into the last case her former partner, Kevin Braddock, and she had worked. Damn . . . she wished Braddock was here now. But he’d resigned and moved to Baltimore to be with CJ during the final year of her residency. The two were deliriously happy. No one deserved that kind of happiness more. Braddock didn’t need Adeline dragging him into her personal problems.
Since Braddock’s departure she’d spent most of her time as a “floating” partner, working with whoever needed her. She knew the deal. None of the older guys wanted a female partner and the chief wasn’t about to put some rookie’s life in her hands until the dust had completely settled. She and Braddock had pushed the limits on the Nash/Abbott case and they had paid the professional price.
But, by God, they’d gotten the job done and she would do it again if the need arose. Not a single prostitute had been murdered in this jurisdiction since Tyrone Nash got what was coming to him. Edward Abbott, well he was just a fucking psycho who had been no danger to anyone except to those who got in the way of his bizarre plans for CJ.
Honestly, it was a flat-out miracle Adeline was getting this promotion. Not everyone was happy about it. That was why the princess letter had felt exactly like sour grapes. She’d had no reason to suspect some dirtbag was planning to drag her into a case in Missi-fucking-ssippi.
“I expect you to be on your best behavior while we see how this is going to play out,” Spencer cautioned. “We’ll get a whole hell of a lot more cooperation if we play nice.” He tucked his reading glasses into place and glanced at his notes. “Besides, there’s a new regime in Jackson County now. I understand the new sheriff’s doing a damned good job.”
Yeah, yeah, she got it. “You’re the boss.”
“Sometimes you appear to forget that fact,” he reminded. “If you received this letter four days ago, why am I just now hearing about it?”
“I told you.” She shoved a hand through her hair, wished she had taken the time to put it into a ponytail before rushing over here. “I thought it was a joke.” She shrugged. “About the promotion. And my birthday’s next Thursday. I figured some of the guys were just giving me a hard time.”
Spencer shook his head. “Obviously whoever delivered the first note and mailed the second one knows where you live. Perhaps is watching you. This is not to be taken lightly, Detective.”
She got that, too. Didn’t like it one damned bit. “The only person back home who knows my home address is my mother and she wouldn’t give it to anyone. My phone’s unlisted. Whoever tracked me down went to a fair amount of trouble.” All the more reason she’d assumed it was one of her colleagues. The initial letter hadn’t seemed threatening . . . until now.
“Now we understand this isn’t a joke,” Spencer chastised. “This is serious.”
Serious. Definitely serious. Though she couldn’t imagine any of her Mississippi relatives going to the trouble of sending her a note like this. If one or more of them had decided to seek out a little delayed revenge, they would have simply attempted to put a bullet between her eyes.
This kind of tactic wasn’t their style.
The intercom on the chief’s desk buzzed. “Chief,” his secretary announced, “that call you’ve been expecting from Pascagoula is on line one.”
Uneasiness slid through Adeline. She hadn’t set foot in Mississippi—much less Jackson County or Pascagoula—in nine years. What the hell was this about?
The chief thanked his secretary and took the call. Adeline sat up straighter. Maybe now they would find out what was going on with the Prescott investigation and, hopefully, some clue as to what it had to do with her.
She bit her lips together to hold back an incredulous sound as the chief went through the usual good-old-boy spiel. How’s the hunting? Pretty damned cold for December. Blah. Blah. Blah. Who gave a shit? Pissed her off that he didn’t put the call on speaker.
Then Spencer explained the reason for the call. A lot of “uh-huhs” and “yessirrees” later and her chief finally said, “We’ll be happy to turn the evidence over to you for a look-see.” A nod. “Absolutely. We believe it’s quite significant. I’ll courier it down right away.”
Adeline waved her hands back and forth but the chief ignored her. “No way,” she piped up when he continued to pay no attention to her objections. “This evidence isn’t going anywhere without me.” So much for the respect thing.
“Yes, sir,” Spencer said with a glare in her direction, “that’s my detective you hear in the background. Why, certainly. One moment.” Spencer held the phone across his desk. “The sheriff would like to speak with you, Detective.” Spencer’s eyes told her she had better not forget the warning he’d issued about three minutes ago.
Spencer was pissed, but that was too bad. No way was she allowing those yahoos down in Mississippi to get their hands on this evidence without answering some of her questions first. She knew the type who sought law-enforcement opportunities back home. Not only were they bullies, but they liked doing things their way. No outsiders allowed. They would take this evidence and she wouldn’t be permitted anywhere near their case. Nor would she get jack shit in the way of information. What the hell was the chief thinking?
She took the phone and settled it against her cheek. “This is Detective Adeline Cooper.”
“You will surrender that evidence, Detective,” the voice on the other end of the line ordered, “and you will not interfere with this investigation.”
About a million or so memories bombarded Adeline at once. This couldn’t be . . .
No way in hell. When she’d left Pascagoula, Mississippi, he had been a brand-new detective. He wouldn’t have sold out to the politics and become a sheriff. No way.
He was still talking.
It was definitely him.
Feelings she hadn’t experienced in almost a decade whirled around her, put a chokehold on her ability to respond.
The chief was staring at her funny. Probably because she no doubt wore the same expression as a vic slipping into shock from massive blood loss after a gut shot. Or maybe that face a person wore when they had just seen a ghost.
This was a ghost from her past.
From a relationship that had been dead and buried for nine fucking years.
“Have I made myself clear, Detective Cooper?”
As if nine years had not passed and they were sitting in the front seat of his souped-up old Firebird, she went off. “Don’t even think about telling me what to do, Wyatt Henderson. You may be the sheriff down there now, but that just tells me that you got bored or lazy. This is my evidence. Evidence connected to me. I may be obliged by law to turn it over to you, but I will be hand-carrying it to your office and I will be a part of this investigation.”
Then, without waiting for his comeback, she leaned forward and shoved the phone back at the chief. Spencer could handle the damage control. She’d said all she had to say.
Spence
r stared at her with just enough outrage to conceal the glimmer of pride she’d seen flash in his eyes as she’d said her piece. He might be talking the talk of full cooperation and respect, but he didn’t want HPD left out of this any more than she did. Not when it appeared to involve one of his people.
Unable to sit any longer, Adeline got up and paced the chief’s office while he smoothed things over with Wyatt. She didn’t have to hear the other end of the conversation, she had an idea how it would be going.
Adeline Cooper did not need to set foot in the state of Mississippi. It had taken years for things to calm down in Jackson County after her departure. If she knew what was good for her, she would stay clear.
If Spencer tried that line of crap with her she would turn in her badge here and now. Whatever the person or persons who’d abducted Prescott wanted, Adeline had a right to be involved. She’d gotten a personal invitation, by God.
Spencer hung up the phone and settled his full attention on her. “That little performance was completely out of line, Detective Cooper.”
“Sometimes stepping over the line is necessary,” she said bluntly. She stopped her pacing to stand in front of the chief’s desk. “Are you going to let them leave me out of this?” She leaned forward for emphasis, braced her hands on the edge of his desk, and looked him straight in the eyes.
He had the power to put her on this case with regard to the sharing of evidence. Since the case apparently involved her, it wouldn’t exactly be SOP to assign her to follow up, but he knew about her past. Understood how this would go down if she was left out. No one else in HPD would ever get past Cooper law. In Jackson County, Mississippi, Cooper law ruled. And it was rarely on the side of true justice.
She was the only cop on this force who had a snowball’s chance in hell of protecting HPD’s interests in this case. Her interests.
“Authorizing you to follow this investigation would be a mistake. Even you must see how that would look to an ethics review board.”
Okay, he hadn’t come straight out with a no. “Yes, sir. I am very much aware how it would look. But I also know how this will go down if you send anyone else. I understand how these people work.” She left out the part about being one of them. Adeline had stopped being a Mississippi Cooper the day she allowed one of them to die instead of her.
Unless she took the bull by the horns, Sheriff Wyatt Henderson would relegate HPD’s representative to a corner and that was where he’d stay until further notice. The idea that Wyatt was now the sheriff rattled her. Had her experiencing all kinds of crazy emotions. How the hell had this happened?
They had both despised the politics of the job. Maybe a wife and kids had sent him on a different path. After all, it had been nine years.
Somehow the idea of Wyatt with a wife . . . and kids . . . carried the same impact as a fist straight into her gut. What had she expected? That he would grieve the loss of her until now? That his sorry ass would still be groveling for forgiveness nearly a decade later? Shit, she had to be out of her mind.
“Forty-eight hours, Cooper,” Spencer said. “You hand-carry the evidence down to Sheriff Henderson, check out the situation, and then you get yourself back up here. You can keep tabs on the investigation from right here.” He poked his desk with his finger for emphasis.
“But, sir, that’s barely enough time to—”
“Forty-eight hours,” he reiterated. “Not a minute more. You don’t get back here on time, I’ll send Metcalf and Wallace down there to bring you back.”
“Yes, sir.” She could argue the point later, when she had both feet solidly entrenched in the investigation. Grabbing her jacket, she headed for the door.
“And Cooper.”
She turned back to her boss. “Sir?”
“Don’t go down there throwing your weight around,” he warned. “Keep it low-profile. There are too many folks who’d still like to see you pay for what happened nine years ago. I don’t want to have to do the explaining or the paperwork if you get yourself killed.”
“I’ll do my best not to let that happen.”
She had no intention of getting dead for anyone. That much she could promise Chief Spencer. Adeline Cooper planned on staying alive.
The thing she couldn’t promise was exactly what she might have to do to stay that way.
Chapter Four
4718 Miller Road
Pascagoula, Mississippi, 2:30 P.M.
Irene Cooper perched on the edge of the sofa. She had waited ten minutes already. She’d run out of things to do with her hands. She’d twisted her purse straps every which way. She’d tugged at the hem of her skirt until it was out of shape. Then she had wrung her hands until her fingers felt numb.
This was wrong.
She’d made a terrible, terrible mistake.
And her daughter could never know.
Lord, Irene didn’t even want to think what Adeline would say if she learned about any of this.
The creak of wheels turning drew Irene’s attention to the door. She should’ve known better than to come to him about this. His help always came with a heavy price.
But just like thirty years ago, the situation had been desperate.
Now things were out of control. Again.
How had she allowed fear to drive her to make the same poor choice twice?
Cyrus Cooper rolled his wheelchair through the double parlor doors. He looked old. Not just because of the wheelchair. He’d been a prisoner to the crutches and then to that thing for more than thirty years and that had never stopped him from doing a single thing he decided to do. Never once prevented him from looking powerful. And as mean as a junkyard dog if the need arose.
No, this was the cancer. He had maybe six or eight months at most.
And then he would finally be dead.
No other man on earth deserved to die more than Cyrus Cooper. Irene, for one, would dance on his grave the same day the old bastard was buried.
God forgive her for the thought . . . but it was true.
As had been the case for more than thirty years, she had no other place to turn. She was a prisoner to the decision she had made all those years ago.
“Irene.” He rolled across the room, parked his ambulatory chair on the opposite side of the fancy coffee table from where she sat. Every piece of furniture in the room was a priceless antique. The man owned nothing that wasn’t valuable, more often than not bartered in blood. “Is something wrong?” Those too-seeing brown eyes scrutinized her. “You look pale as a ghost. What’s happened?”
A sudden burst of determination chased away the weaker emotions that had her hands sweating. “She’s on her way here. I couldn’t stop her.”
His eyebrows winged up his forehead, accenting the surprise that flared in his eyes. “I suppose her reaction is only natural. Considering.”
Irene wanted to shake him. Though she didn’t dare. “I want your word, Cyrus, that no one will bother her while she’s here. My daughter has obeyed your decree for all these years, as have I. As you said, under the circumstances you can understand why she might not be able to hold to that agreement now.” Irene summoned her sternest tone. “I mean it, Cyrus Cooper. I want you to swear to me here and now that she’ll be protected.”
“I sent her away nine years ago,” he clarified. “That decree, as you call it, was to protect her. She knows it’s not safe to come back here. Not even now. I’ll do what I can to see that she’s protected, but I can hardly make any promises, as you well know.”
Her bravado gave way to fear and frustration. “This thing has gone all wrong.” What in God’s name had she done? “That woman is missing. That’s why Addy’s coming back. It has nothing to do with what happened nine years ago.”
Cyrus nodded. “This is a terrible tragedy, there’s no question. But one that’s as big a mystery to me as it is to anyone else.”
Irene searched his eyes. Tried to see the lie. “Swear to me, Cyrus. Swear on your baby brother’s grave that you had nothing t
o do with her disappearance.”
“You came to me,” he said, adding salt to her wounds, “and you asked for my help. I was more than happy to provide whatever assistance you needed.”
“But not like this,” Irene exclaimed. “I only wanted you to . . .” She shook her head. “To . . .”
“Make the problem go away,” he finished for her.
Dear Lord, that is what she’d wanted. She had known before coming to him that this ending was a strong possibility. But she’d hoped, considering the cancer, he would handle things differently now. She should have known better.
“Sweet Jesus, Cyrus! It wasn’t my intention for you to do something like this,” she argued. This was insane. Just insane. Did the man have no conscience at all? “This is—”
He held up a hand to quiet her. “You’re getting yourself all worked up for no reason. Aren’t you listening? This wasn’t my doing. I sent Jed and Simon to talk to the woman,” he explained, his tone uncharacteristically gentle.
Mercy, Jed Stovall and Simon Cook were pure hoodlums.
“Prescott was nowhere to be found,” Cyrus went on. “They discovered her abandoned car, just like the police did a few hours later. My boys never even got to say boo to the woman. She was already gone, Irene. You have no reason to worry. Whatever misfortune has befallen the poor woman had nothing to do with you or with me.”
Irene pressed her fist to her mouth. Didn’t know whether to cry or to rejoice. What was she thinking? The woman may have been killed! God forgive her for the relief she felt even now . . . even knowing this woman’s disappearance was clearly due to foul play. “Who could’ve done this?”
“I’m sure the police will be able to answer that question in time,” Cyrus offered. “Prescott is an attorney, enemies come with the territory. I suppose someone she crossed in the past was just waiting for an opportunity to have revenge. Since her family’s quite wealthy, the fact that there’s been no ransom demand is a very bad sign, in my opinion.”
Irene watched the news. The consensus was the same. “Whoever did this,” she began, not sure how much she should tell him . . . he already knew too much, “sent a letter to my Addy. That’s why she’s coming. She’s bringing some kind of evidence for Sheriff Henderson.”
