Confess (The Blue Line Series Book 1)

by Phillips, Reagan

  Mitch nodded and stinted the rage riding his tongue. They all wanted the same thing. Losing his temper right now wasn’t going to find Lacy. “What’s the last thing she said before she disappeared? Anything that could tell us what she was thinking?” He fielded the question back to John.

  John sank into the chief’s desk chair. His hair stuck up in all kinds of weird angles from running his fingers over the strands. “She went to take a shower.”

  “And you left her alone before you brought her in?” If he could just shake a helpful answer from the officer and alleviate the growing inferno building inside, Mitch could focus. He needed John working with a clear head, and that involved keeping his temper on an even keel.

  John stood and circled the room. “I didn’t think she’d jump out a window to get away from me. Then again, I’ve never had any reason for my sister to run. Maybe I jumped the gun too soon.”

  Jump the gun? Crap. “Did she know why she was coming to the station? Did you tell her about the call to Nashville?”

  John dropped his head again. “I didn’t want her to hear about the investigation in a room full of officers, so yeah, I told her. She was more worried about Dad getting in trouble and about Helms finding out...” He trailed off and turned to stare out the window to the parking lot.

  “About Helms finding what out?”

  John’s face paled at the same second Deluna stuck his head in the office. “They found the Adams kid. He’s with Detective O’Neal.”

  Finally, a break that could actually lead somewhere. “Great. You stay put.” He pointed to John before he shot out the door and down the narrow hall to O’Neal’s small office and the boy handcuffed to a plastic chair. Mitch grabbed him by the shirt collar and lifted him to his feet despite the tight cuffs.

  “What the hell.” Stetson chocked on the last word as Mitch tightened his grip.

  O’Neal stood and crossed from behind his desk. “Now hold on, detective. We follow procedures here.”

  Mitch ignored the detective and focused on the kid wiggling in his hold. There was no way in hell this rat of a human had it in him to hurt Lacy, but he’d place high dollar bets he knew something that could lead them to her.

  “Shut the hell up kid and listen. The bartender from the other night, the one you slashed the tires of, she’s gone missing, and if you know anything about it, you’ve got seconds to spill.”

  Stetson wiggled his cuffed arm. “I don’t know anything.”

  Mitch got up in his face and spoke slow. “You said someone told you about me. Someone from a bar. Who was he?”

  “I told you, it wasn’t an exchanging names kind of place.”

  “But someone there told you about me, right?” When the kid didn’t answer, Mitch synched his fist tighter around the collar. “Did someone also tell you to call the Nashville police department?”

  Stetson’s gaze shot back to O’Neal. “He can’t do this shit to me, right? It’s police brutality or something like that.”

  O’Neal snorted a laugh. “Or something like that.”

  “So, you’re not going to stop him?” The kid’s voice rose as high as an eighth grader getting his first peek at boobs from the hole in the locker room wall.

  “Not even going to try.” O’Neal folded his arms over his chest and leaned back on his desk, letting Mitch take complete control.

  Stetson struggled against his hold. “On man. I told him it wasn’t a good idea.”

  Mitch pressed closer. “Told who? The guy in the bar?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why?” Mitch twisted the shirt tighter. “Why make that call? What was in it for you?”

  Stetson paused. “It got you in trouble didn’t it?”

  If it wouldn’t cost him valuable time, he’d smack that shit-eating smirk right off the kid’s face. “And it got a girl missing. How are you going to feel when she turns up dead?” Mitch dropped the kid back to the chair and turned his attention to O’Neal. “Bring out the mug shot books and have him take a look. Maybe we’ll get lucky.”

  Stetson laughed.

  “You find something funny?” O’Neal snapped.

  “Yeah.” He smirked. “I don’t need those books. The guy’s right there.” He pointed to a department picture hanging on O’Neal’s wall. All of Rebel’s finest dressed in their blues lined up in front of the department.

  Fuck. Nashville had been right about the tampering. It had been an inside job. Mitch ripped the picture from wall and held it close to Stetson. “One of these guys? Point him out.”

  “What do I get if I do?” The kid had a death wish.

  “You get to keep breathing,” O’Neal answered before Mitch had the chance.

  Stetson leaned forward in his chair and took a second to peruse the photo before pointing out a guy in the middle row.

  “That’s the guy that told you about me?” Mitch held the picture up close to his face. “The guy who told you to call Nashville?”

  “Yep. He’s one of you. That’s got to be a bitch.”

  “Hold him,” Mitch ordered, taking the picture with him down the narrow hall back to the chief’s office and John.

  He found John still sitting in the chair in the corner. “What does Helms have to do with the Richard Wray case?”

  John ran a palm over his face. From the open office door, Mitch caught a glimpse of Chief Andrews approaching. His clipped steps and the determined swing of his arms only gave Mitch precious seconds. He pressed harder. “John. What do you know about Helms?” He’d punch the man if he had to. “Would he have any reason to hurt Lacy?”

  John turned and scanned the doorway before answering. “He and the victim from two weeks ago were an item. They broke it off a month or so ago.”

  “What the hell?” Mitch beat his fist on the desk. “Did Lacy know that?”

  “It’s in his personnel file but not common knowledge. Working at the bar she could have picked up on it.”

  Mitch rolled his eyes. “Is there anything else you’re keeping from me?” When John only stared, he leaned in closer. “Your sister is missing. Possibly with a killer as we speak. If you know something, I’d suggest you tell.”

  The chief’s boots clipped the floor only a few hundred feet away, and his voice boomed, though Mitch couldn’t make out the words. His only focus was on time. What little of it he had.

  “His father was the officer who found Lacy the night she was kidnapped,” John started, his words rushed. “He and my father made a deal to never file the report so her name wouldn’t be published in the media and Wray couldn’t find her again. As far as I know, Helms never knew of his father’s involvement with the case.”

  “As far as you know? What happened with his father after the kidnapping?” Mitch glanced at Andrews, now approaching the office door.

  “Don’t know. A few months after Lacy’s kidnapping, he left the force and vanished.”

  Mitch shook his head. All the pieces were there, had been there from the start, but he’d been too wrapped up in what he wanted to believe to see the truth.

  Just like with Sadie, he’d ignored what he didn’t want to believe, and now another girl, a woman he’d come to care for deeply in a short time, might die.

  Mitch jabbed his head out the office door to the officer working the phone records. “Forget Lacy’s phone. Check Helms’s incoming calls. His phone is state issued, that should cut some of your red tape.”

  The officer clicked a few keys and scanned the computer screen. “Yes. Officer Helms received an incoming call from Lacy’s private number ten hours ago.”

  Mitch clenched his jaw. “Can you track Helms’s GPS?”

  A few more key strokes. “No. He’s not in his patrol car.”

  “Put a tracker on his phone, and let me know what you find.”

  “Mitch,” John called from inside the office. Mitch ducked his head back inside. “Officer Helms called in today. Said he had to take his mother to the doctor. I just called her. She did have an appoint
ment scheduled, but he never showed to pick her up.”

  Fuck. Mitch had been hunting a killer while the real threat sat right next to him sharing a pitcher of beers and doling out relationship advice. He’d even given Mitch a warning about the Andrews family.

  He’d had access to everything. Case files, evidence, Lacy.

  Mitch ducked his head back out to yell at the research officer but was stopped by the chief.

  “You better have a damn good explanation for taking over my station, detective. A damn good one.”

  Mitch swung his arm to push the chief out of his line of sight and continued spouting instructions to the officer.

  “I need last known whereabouts on Brian Helms. Make and model of vehicle, residence search, interview friends, anything else you can think of.” He glared at Andrews, who was now standing at Mitch’s side. “Did Helms have access to your personal files?”

  “Now wait just a damn minute. What the hell are you getting at?”

  “That one of your officers is using your very detailed files to reenact Wray’s murders to cover up his own killings. That your daughter may have just unwillingly fallen into his hands.” He turned back to Deluna. “Get a warrant for Helms’ apartment.” He turned to Andrews. “I’ll bet he has copies of your personal files there.”

  One thing Mitch knew above everything else, he had to stop thinking about what could be happening to Lacy right now, or he’d never clear his head enough to track Helms down. She’d placed her trust in him, something he suspected she hadn’t done easily, and he’d sent her right into the wolf’s path and offered her up as bait.

  “Who the hell do you think you are?” Andrews squared his shoulders and stepped in front of Mitch.

  Mitch stared the man in the face. “I know who I am, sir. I’m the detective who’s going to save your daughter’s life if you stay the hell out of my way.”

  Without missing a beat, Mitch stepped around the chief and outside the office to call Bishop and quickly brought the senior detective up to speed.

  Bishop’s voice was somber. “Anonymous tip?”

  “My bets are on Helms for that one. He finally figured out Lacy was his missing piece and used a threat against the chief to fish her out. We all just fell right into his plans.”

  Bishop groaned. “Mitch, she’s been gone eleven hours. Most kidnapping victims don’t make it past twelve.”

  This was the point in most investigations when his cool head and clear thinking prevailed. Mitch set his jaw. “I know. We need to find her.”

  “Then it’s time to do what you do best. Think like the criminal. Where would Helms take her?”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Lacy didn’t open her eyes when she woke. The room was quiet. The steady hum of trucks on the interstate that skirted town caught her attention first. A halogen lamp buzzed. Katydids chirped the oncoming of dusk outside a window. She was on a bed with a scratchy coverlet that smelled stale, and the thin pillow did little to cradle her throbbing head.

  Without moving, she tested her body, mentally tracking every muscle, flexing them, testing for points of resistance. Her legs were sore, but otherwise unharmed. Her hands bound at the wrists with a callusing rope, but also unharmed. Her back was stiff and felt like it would snap if she moved.

  Satisfied she hadn’t been harmed past the blaring headache and bound limbs, she concentrated on clearing the fog in her head with deep, even breaths.

  Panic was useless. That much Wray had taught her. She needed her bearings, then she could come up with a plan.

  “Morning, sunshine.” The bed sagged under a new weight, and the rusted springs squealed.

  Helms tightened the bindings on her wrists and moved a clump of stray hairs from her forehead. His voice was cold and distant and his fingers like ice. “Don’t play games, sweetheart. I know you’re awake. I can see your breathing deepen.”

  Her muscles tensed, and her lungs locked around her last breath. With calculated risk, Lacy opened one eye, then the other.

  The only light came from the long expired sunshine out a small window set high above a door and the one lamp. The walls were made of logs and the floors rustic with faded braded rugs. The Helms’ cabin. She’d come once as a child with her father to fish after her mother left.

  Now that she knew where she was, she established the time by the glowing twilight and the stiffness of her limbs. Hours. She’d hoped not days.

  She closed her eyes tight again and hoped when she opened them this time, Brian Helms would be another of her nightmares. She’d wake with her father or John at her bedside, stroking her back, whispering she was okay.

  When she slit one eye open again, there was no Dad. No John. No Mitch. Just Helms and the familiar smell of stale air and moldy blankets.

  The sedative had irritated her throat and left it raw. She tried to clear it to speak, but her voice came out harsh and low. “Why are you doing this, Brian?”

  The peaceful smile that bloomed on his face brought on a new wave of uneasy sickness.

  Helms moved from the bed and paced the room. His front right pocket bulged with his cell and a set of keys. “My father lied to protect you. He followed your dad’s orders and scrubbed the reports of your kidnapping to keep your name from the media and hidden from Wray. And what did he get in return? Sacked with nothing to look forward to but the next bottle of booze.” He stopped pacing and leaned over the bed so close his breath blew across her face. “He died to keep your secret, and I’ll be damned if you’re going to blow it now because some Nashville detective found his way into your privileged panties.”

  Her stomach rolled. She pulled her knees as close to her chest as she could manage and clamped down the exposed feeling blooming in her stomach.

  She adjusted her tethered arms to face him, looking right into his haunted eyes when he paced by her. “Keeping quiet is what killed the girl at the river and all the ones that have come after.”

  Helms stopped again and stared blankly at the wall. His silence sent shivers up her back. “That may be true, but telling your secret will kill, too. Don’t forget that.”

  Fear-spiked ice chilled her from the inside.

  Helms made a move toward the bed, and she pushed her body as far as she could to the other side until it banked against the wall. He sat next to her and worked circles with his fingertips in the hair along her crown. He lowered his voice to a callous whisper that blew across her ear. “Why didn’t you tell me it was you? We were friends, Lace. You could have told me.”

  Lacy tucked her body into a ball again. She’d had the same argument with herself so many times she’d lost count. “I was eight, Brian, and scared.”

  “But after dad died? Why not then?”

  “I didn’t tell anyone.”

  “Because Wray told you if you got away he’d find you? He’d finish what he started?” He leaned away. “I’ve always wondered how many other girls got the same warning but didn’t live long enough to test its validity.”

  Lacy froze. For several long seconds, she couldn’t move or speak. No one but her father knew what Wray threatened to do, not even Brain’s dad. They’d made sure to keep it between them. How the hell did Brain know?”

  She swallowed the ball of fear choking her and spoke. “The only way to stay safe was to make sure Wray never knew who I was or anything about me, and that included not letting the media know.” She swallowed another lump thinking of Sadie. How she must have felt in this same situation, balled up in the room with Wray, knowing she was about to die. “I had no idea he’d kill again.”

  Though, thinking back on it now, it didn’t seem a strong enough reason to keep her horrible secret. He’d killed before. He’d kill again. Maybe if she’d come forward, Sadie would have been saved. Maybe Helms’ father would have saved, too.

  She fought the building nausea and kept going, focused on Helms. “I had no idea the effect our secret would have on your father. On you. But I understand it. The guilt. It’s the same I feel fo
r Wray’s victims. I could have stopped it from happening. I could have saved them.”

  Helms sat still for several minutes. Knowing every minute gave her more leverage, Lacy didn’t push him to talk. She just laid still, barely breathing for fear the slight movement of the bed would break his trance. The jabbing thought of being more comfortable if he yelled or even hurt her sent sharp pains fluttering around her belly.

  The silver case of his phone stuck out the top of his pocket, inches from her tethered hand. Her fingers itched to reach for it, but she held back, keeping still, counting the minutes until his adrenaline rush peaked, and he’d lie down on the bed next to her.

  From somewhere outside the door, three soft thuds like far away car door slams caught her attention, but Helms didn’t seem to notice. Or was her imagination playing tricks on her? She’d been rescued from a killer once. What were the odd of being that lucky a second time?

  In the quiet, Lacy couldn’t control the dark places her mind drifted to. She wondered what picture her father would pick for her obituary. She wondered if her mother would come to the funeral. She wondered if Brian’s family would have trouble selling the cabin after the town heard about her murder there.

  She gave herself a mental shake. Why would she even think that? They wouldn’t leave her here. Mitch would never let a killer get away from right under his nose.

  “They’re not coming for you.” The sharpness of his voice cut through the silence and sent a cold wave of doubt through her body. “They think you chickened out and ran. Like mother, like daughter.” Helms stiffened and stretched down next to her on the bed.

  Lacy shifted to keep from rolling into him.

  She felt the bed jerk, and Helms reached under his back. He pulled out a handgun similar to the one her father carried and laid it across his chest. The sudden need to keep him talking was greater than the fear of what he was about to say.