White Wedding

by Stacy Claflin

  Teivel shrugged. “What do you want to know?”

  “Where were you the night your parents were murdered?”

  He looked away.

  “At home?”

  The kid turned back to him, his eyes narrowed. “I told you, I didn’t do it.”

  “You’re going to have to give me more than that.” Alex set his half-full cup down. “So far, we have you hiding from the police and then holding preschool children hostage. I want to help you, but you aren’t giving me anything to work with.”

  He frowned, fidgeted. “I didn’t kill them, but I also wasn’t … uh, participating in legal activities.”

  Alex nodded. “If you weren’t murdering or abducting anyone, then you’re better off telling me where you were. Without an alibi, we have to assume you were home. And if you were home—”

  “I was selling drugs.” He swallowed. “To middle school kids.”

  Alex didn’t respond other than to make a note on his tablet.

  “That’s good, right?”

  “Selling drugs to middle schoolers is never good.”

  “But it proves I wasn’t the one who killed my parents. I’m not a murderer.”

  Alex tapped his finger on the table. Sipped his coffee. Took a deep breath. “I’m going to need more details. Where exactly were you? Who were you with? We’re going to have to question them to corroborate your story.”

  He frowned. “What if they don’t? They’re going to be afraid of getting into trouble.”

  “Maybe you should’ve thought about that before selling drugs to kids.”

  “I thought you were on my side!”

  Alex nodded. Tried to push away thoughts of being a middle schooler’s dad. At the moment, he was this punk’s ally. “I am. If you didn’t kill your parents, then I want to prove it. That means we have a killer on the loose—and he or she is the person I want behind bars. Not you. You strike me as someone who’s deeply misunderstood.”

  “I am!” Teivel nodded vehemently.

  Alex finished his coffee. “Great. Give me all the details. Names, places, the drugs in question. Everything.”

  He rattled off names and several locations. Was so far avoiding any mention of what exactly he sold to the children.

  It was hard for Alex to keep his expression friendly, especially since most of the names Teivel gave him were girls—and the last location was a hotel. All Alex could picture was his daughter’s face.

  If he was proven innocent of the murder, Alex would personally make sure he paid for whatever he’d done to the kids. He may have been innocent of the crime against his parents, but he was clearly far from innocent. At least he was locked up now on serious enough charges to keep him in for some time.

  “So, now can I have another pop?”

  Alex scooted the chair back and gave a little nod. “Yeah, sure. I think you deserve it.”

  “Thanks.” Teivel slumped down and closed his eyes.

  “Don’t get too comfortable. I’m going to have more questions.”

  “Okay.”

  Alex left the room, his heart pounding. He could’ve gotten an award for his acting in there.

  Anderson stepped out of the observing room. “Nice work in there.”

  “Next time, I want to be the bad cop.” Alex gritted his teeth.

  “You play a fantastic good one, though.”

  Alex crossed his arms. “It wasn’t easy.”

  “That kid really took to you. If there’s more to tell, he’ll spill it.”

  “You sure about him not needing a lawyer?”

  “Can’t force someone to get legal protection. He’s been given more than enough opportunity. We’ve made his rights abundantly clear.”

  “He’s going to need one eventually.”

  “And he’ll be assigned one if he doesn’t hire one himself. Don't worry about it.”

  Alex shrugged. “I just don’t want to come under fire for questioning a minor without representation.”

  “Given his age and the crimes he’s committed, the courts are likely to treat him as an adult. Don’t worry about it.” Anderson put a hand on his shoulder. “Take a breather and prepare yourself for round two.”

  “Maybe I should sign up for acting lessons.”

  “You don’t need them. You’re doing great on your own.”

  Alex frowned. “Any chance we can call it a day? I’m exhausted and need to check on my family. The paparazzi followed me to the mall earlier, and they were there.”

  “I understand.” Anderson glanced at his fitness watch. “But I’d like to see if you can get any more out of the kid. You’re on a roll.”

  “Great.” Alex headed for his desk, but Agent Kutcher stopped him.

  “Did you hear?” She adjusted her glasses.

  Alex shook his head. “Not unless it had anything to do with my silver spoon case.”

  “Something’s going on at the penitentiary.”

  “You have my attention. Does it have to do with Cal?”

  She nodded and looked around. “Nobody has heard anything official yet, but it sounds like something is wrong with him.”

  “Wrong with him? What do you mean?”

  Kutcher tucked a strand of hair behind her ear and shrugged. “Nobody knows. They’re staying tight-lipped at the moment.”

  “Did he get beat up? Sick again?”

  “That’s what I want to know.” She looked at her phone. “Given the news about Hugo Maximé, I’m especially curious.”

  “You and me both. Any news on Damon?”

  She frowned and shook her head. “Nothing.”

  “Has anyone looked at Cal’s house?”

  “Yeah. I’ve had officers check out the property a few times. Nothing looks out of place.”

  “Okay. Let me know as soon as you hear anything about Cal.”

  “Will do.” She walked away.

  Curiosity burned.

  What had happened to Damon’s dad?

  Chapter 20

  Nick replaced the curtain as the taillights from the police cruiser disappeared from sight down his driveway.

  Genevieve rubbed his shoulders. “Do you want me to pick up the kids?”

  He closed his eyes. After discovering the trail of clothes, he’d called his parents to pick up the kids from school. The last thing they needed was to come home to police activity. They’d been through more than enough and didn’t need to worry about this on top of everything else. The more normalcy they could give them, the better.

  “Nicky?”

  He opened his eyes. “I’d rather sit with you for a few minutes. Especially if you keep this up.”

  She chuckled. “I can do that.”

  Nick allowed his fiancée’s magical touch to soothe his frayed nerves. When she stopped, he turned around and massaged her back.

  She rolled her head back. “Oh, that’s nice.”

  He pressed his lips to her neck and trailed kisses to her mouth, allowing himself to completely forget all their troubles.

  Genevieve turned around, wrapped her arms around him, then kissed him deeply. After leading her to the couch, he pulled her onto his lap.

  His phone rang. He ignored it.

  She pulled away. “Are you going to get that?”

  He shook his head, cupped her chin, kissed her.

  As soon as the phone stopped ringing, it started up again.

  “It sounds important. What if it’s about one of the kids?” Genevieve reached for his phone on the coffee table then handed it to him.

  He kept his gaze on her. “Still, I’d rather focus on you.”

  She ran her fingers through his hair and smiled at him. “Our honeymoon isn’t that far away. We can spend as much time together as we want. Check the phone.”

  “The honeymoon feels eons away.” He forced himself to look at the phone’s screen.

  “It’s just the station.”

  Genevieve lifted a brow. “Must be important. They know you’re on vacation.”
>
  He sighed. “I’ll return the call, but then I want to get back to what we were doing.”

  She gave him a crooked grin, and his pulse raced even faster than it had been before.

  Nick cleared his throat and paced as he returned the call, not at all curious. He already knew Alex and Anderson were safe from their ordeal, and Garcia and the others had just left from their canvassing of his property. Unless the building was on fire, he doubted anything would surprise him.

  He was immediately patched through to Chief Crawford.

  “You don’t answer your phone anymore, Fleshman?”

  Nick bit back a sarcastic reply. “I’m on vacation, Chief.”

  “You’re at home, and a quarter of our precinct just left your property.”

  “What do you need, sir?” Nick released a deep breath, careful not to make it heard on the other end of the line.

  “I wanted you to hear this from me first, before the media gets wind of it. It’s going to be a frenzy.”

  Nick leaned against the wall. “If you mean the French ringleader’s arrest, I’ve already heard.”

  “No.” Crawford’s tone turned serious. “It’s about Jones.”

  Nick’s heart skipped a beat. His knees wobbled. Had Damon been found dead?

  “You still there?” asked the chief.

  Genevieve looked over at Nick, her expression full of concern.

  Nick took a deep breath. “I’m here. What about Damon?”

  “What?” Crawford asked. “No, not the kid. Cal.”

  Relief washed through him. Damon wasn’t dead. “What about Cal?”

  “Suicide. The guards found his body.”

  “What?” Nick exclaimed. “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. They called your desk just before I called you.”

  Nick’s mind spun. Cal Jones was dead. “They’re sure it was a suicide?”

  Genevieve leaped up and raced over to Nick, placing her hands on his arm.

  “Obviously they need to conduct an investigation, but that’s what it looks like. Hung himself with his sheets.”

  Nick tried to make sense of it. Jones had always been so cocky. “He wasn’t the type of prisoner to do this.”

  “Maybe he was worried about what that French guy was going to say,” Crawford said. “Probably had dirt on Jones and would be more than willing to spill it to get less time.”

  “Regardless, I have a hard time believing he would do that.”

  “Combine that with his missing kid, and it’s hard to say what was going on in Jones’s mind. Obviously, he was desperate.”

  Nick balled his fists. “I’m still not convinced that he wasn’t behind his son’s disappearance. They’re going to investigate the death as a possible homicide, aren’t they?”

  “I would assume so.”

  “You assume?” Nick exclaimed.

  “It’s not our case. Not our jurisdiction.”

  He wanted to punch something. “Cal Jones is possibly involved with every one of our abduction cases in the last few years! Maybe longer. We need to question everyone we’ve arrested for murder or kidnapping!”

  “There’s no proof any of it’s connected. But I’ll let Agent Kutcher know your concerns. Don’t let this ruin your time off, Captain.”

  Nick held his breath and considered his words.

  “Goodbye,” Crawford said.

  “Bye.” Nick clenched his jaw as he ended the call.

  Genevieve met his gaze. “What’s going on? Something happened to Cal Jones?”

  He shoved his phone into his pocket and balled his fists. “Someone killed him and made it look self-inflicted.”

  Her mouth fell open. “What?”

  “And it sounds like it’s going to be handled as a suicide.”

  “You said something about Damon?”

  “Still missing. Supposedly unrelated. And with Damon’s clothes spread all over our property …” He let his voice trail off as he considered the implications.

  “What are you thinking?”

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Was it a distraction or are they trying to implicate us?”

  Red hot anger raced through him. “I don’t know, but they’re going to regret messing with me. Especially while we’re preparing to get married.”

  Chapter 21

  Damon grabbed a hardback and held it close. It would have to do—it was as close to a weapon as he was going to get.

  The footsteps thundering down the stairs stopped outside the room.

  Damon’s mouth went dry. A book wouldn’t protect him, and he didn’t have time to put anything back into the boxes. His only hope was that whoever was coming in would be too distracted to notice what he’d been doing. It was dim enough, and he’d started going through boxes in the back.

  Maybe someone was just bringing him food. His stomach rumbled at the thought, despite his racing heart.

  Click, click.

  Damon stepped away from the open boxes and kept the hardback close, but low. He stood behind some sealed boxes.

  The door opened. The same guy from before stepped inside.

  “You bringing food?” Damon asked. “I’m hungry.”

  “Shut up.”

  Damon squeezed the book, more than eager to hit him across the face with it.

  The man looked around, didn’t seem to notice the open boxes. “What have you been doing?”

  “What do you think? A whole lot of nothing!”

  “Watch your tone, or you won’t get anything to eat.”

  “Why are you holding me? If you’re trying to blackmail my dad, it isn’t going to work. He doesn’t care about me.”

  “That’s for sure.”

  Damon stepped closer. “Why, then?”

  “Stay where you are!”

  He stopped. “Did he order you to take me? At least tell me what’s going on! You’ve been holding me for days.”

  “He was right—you really are a whiny little girl.”

  Damon’s mouth dropped open. “Excuse me?”

  “I told you to shut up!”

  Anger pulsated through Damon. He could hardly see straight. There was nothing he could do about his dad, but he could do something about the loser in front of him.

  Damon dropped the book, balled his fists, and ran toward the creep. Punched him across the face. Pummeled him from the other side as his head rolled from the first hit. Damon took advantage of his distraction and ran past him, shoved him out of the way. Raced up the stairs.

  The front door was just out of reach.

  “Stop him!” called the guy he’d just struck.

  Damon reached for the knob. Turned it.

  Voices sounded from the main level. They shouted for him to stop.

  His heart nearly leaped into his throat, but he managed to open the door. Darted outside. Slammed the door shut. It was dusk. Not dark enough to hide easily, but he could use it to his advantage.

  Footsteps and shouting sounded from inside.

  Damon burst into a run and raced behind his dad’s black car which hadn’t been moved since before the arrest. He ducked down then bolted for a tree. Hid behind it, peeked around the trunk. The door was open, and three men were looking around. But not in his direction. Not yet.

  He scrambled toward the woods. Kept low, quiet. Drew in as much fresh air as he could. He hadn’t realized how stale it was downstairs. And who knew how long he’d been breathing it.

  Yelling sounded. They shouted his name.

  Idiots. No, the neighbors weren’t close. But if any were outside, they would hear the shouting. And if they knew Damon had been kidnapped, they could call the police.

  He tried not to get his hopes up. It was hard. All he wanted was to get away. To see Ariana and her family. His foster family. People who actually cared about him.

  The yelling grew closer.

  Damon ran down a dirt path, twigs cutting into his flesh. Stumbled over a rock, stubbed his toe. If the light was dim in the yard,
it was dark in the cover of the woods.

  Those fools were still calling out his name.

  He prayed that at least one neighbor was within hearing.

  Then he tripped over an exposed root. Barely regained his footing. Gasped for air. His lungs burned. It had only been, what, two or three days since he’d worked out? Not terribly long, but he could feel it.

  His pulse drummed in his ears, but he could still hear his captors shouting for him.

  They were getting closer.

  He came to a fork in the path. Didn’t recognize it. Crap. He’d gotten off course. Could be going in a circle for all he knew. He stopped. Leaned against a tree and looked around.

  Definitely didn’t know where he was.

  There was no time to worry about that. He needed to go in the opposite direction of his abductors. Get to a road. Then he’d know where he was. Wave down a car and have someone call for help.

  But there was the matter of getting out of the woods first. The area was technically out of the city limits, not on a maintained road.

  Had Dad moved there on purpose? For that very reason?

  Damon’s stomach lurched at the thought of abducted kids being kept in their house. But there was no other explanation for the setup of that room and the property being so well tucked away from everything else.

  He shoved those thoughts from his mind and burst into a run—he was a target if he stood still any longer.

  The yells were growing louder, closer.

  Damon’s heart threatened to explode out of his chest. He needed to keep going. Freedom was so close. He held the image of Ariana’s face in his mind as he ran.

  Light shone from up ahead. A street lamp? Or maybe a house? Headlights from a car?

  Fingers squeezed around his arm. Dug into his flesh.

  “I got him!”

  Spinning around, Damon swung his fist. Hit the guy in the mouth, making him stumble and release his grip. As the guy fought for balance, Damon shoved him down. Then he ran.

  Something slammed into his back. He flew forward. Crashed to the ground. The man landed on top of him. Hard. Knocked the air from his lungs. Damon struggled to breathe, to shove the man off. Nothing seemed to work.

  Footsteps sounded. More fingers wrapped around his arms.

  The sound of a car driving by sounded not far away.