Those were very good questions. “Let’s see if Christopher from corporate knows,” he suggested.
The tall blond man at the manager’s desk stood when he noticed their approach. He met them outside the office and pulled the door shut behind him. “Good morning,” he said. “What can I do for such a fine-looking family this morning?” His name tag proclaimed the words Christopher Lawson, and his clothes said he knew how to pick them. All quality, neat as a pin and fashionable down to his tassel-topped loafers.
Emma offered him a polite smile. “We were just looking for Mr. Harrison,” she said. “We always say hello when we’re in the neighborhood.”
Christopher crossed long arms over a narrow chest and widened his lanky stance. “Well, I’m happy to pass the message on, but Mr. Harrison’s not in today.”
“Shame,” Emma said, dropping the smile. “Is he ill?”
Christopher shrugged, curious blue eyes twinkling. “Hard to say. Is there anything I can help you with?”
“No.” Emma slid her hand into Sawyer’s. “I guess we’ll have to stop back the next time we’re in the area.” She swung Sawyer toward the door and nearly dragged him outside.
They crossed the street at the corner before speaking. Sawyer repositioned Henry in his arms and unlocked the SUV doors. “What do you think?” he asked. “Is Mr. Harrison sick or halfway to Aruba?”
Emma frowned. “Maybe, but if he’s the one who took Sara and he’s leaving the country, then what happens to my sister?”
Sawyer didn’t want to answer that. He buckled Henry into his car seat, then went around to climb behind the wheel. “What did you think of Christopher?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “He was strangely familiar, but I don’t think we’d ever met, if that makes any sense.”
Sawyer buckled up and checked his mirrors before pulling into traffic. “Any idea where Mr. Harrison lives? Maybe the best way to find out why he’s not at work is to ask him ourselves.”
Emma tapped the screen of her phone. “I might have his address,” she said. “The office Christmas party was at his house a couple years ago, and the invitation was digital.” She paused to look at Sawyer. “Maybe that’s how I recognize Christopher. There were a few folks from corporate at the party.”
“Which way?” Sawyer asked.
Emma called out the turns through town as Sawyer manned the wheel. Thirty minutes later they arrived at an upscale parklike neighborhood, befitting a middle-aged banker. “I think his house is the brick one-story at the end of the road,” she said. “I remember parking in the back. There’s a big concrete area outside a giant garage and a pool.”
“Here?” Sawyer asked as they motored slowly toward the brick home. A cluster of people stood on the sidewalk across the street as Sawyer turned the corner toward the rear parking area Emma had described. Emergency vehicles came into view.
“What on earth?” Emma sat forward. “That’s Detective Rosen’s car. Do you think the manager has been keeping Sara here all along? Could they have found her? Why wouldn’t the police have contacted me?”
Sawyer shifted into Park, and Emma leaped out. He unfastened a sleeping Henry from the seat behind his and took his time following Emma through the crowd.
A pair of older women smiled at Henry, and Sawyer slowed to let them admire the baby.
“Hello,” he said cordially. “Do you have any idea what’s going on here? We were just on our way over for a visit.”
“Oh, dear,” the woman on the right said softly. “I’m so sorry.”
Sawyer raised his brows. “About?”
“I was walking Mr. Bootsy after breakfast, and I heard a terrible calamity coming from inside the house,” she said. “I didn’t want to seem as if I was being nosy, so we crossed the street, but then there was a loud blast, like a gunshot. I ran right home and called the police after that.”
“Sawyer.” Emma’s voice turned his head in her direction. The horror in her eyes set his feet into a jog.
Beside her, a pair of EMTs guided a gurney toward the home, a folded body bag on top.
Chapter Ten
Sawyer cut through the crowd to Emma’s side. He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her against his chest, practically reading her mind. “The bag’s not for Sara,” he said, leaning his mouth to Emma’s ear. “It’s most likely for Mr. Harrison.”
Emma swallowed hard as she looked up at him, her breaths coming far too shallowly. She looked to Henry, and Sawyer passed the baby into her arms. Emma snuggled him to her chest and nuzzled him tenderly. Her gaze trailed the gurney with the body bag on its path to the house. “How can you be sure?”
Sawyer took Emma’s trembling hand. “Come on,” he said, giving her fingers a tug. He pulled her away from the crowd and through the front yard instead. “Neighbors heard a commotion this morning.” He caught Emma’s eye as they approached Mr. Harrison’s porch. Sawyer climbed the steps, silently towing Emma along with him. “My guess is that Mr. Harrison figured out what Sara was onto with all those questions before her abduction, and he asked the wrong person about it. That or the man who took her found out she’d taken her concerns to Mr. Harrison. Either way, I’m sure he was the fatality here.”
“We don’t know he’s dead,” Emma said.
Sawyer tipped his head briefly to each shoulder. “This is his house, and we saw the body bag.”
Emma sighed. “We should talk to Detective Rosen.”
Sawyer peered through one of the front windows before moving onto the next. “I’m looking for him.” He tried the door and a second window, then went back down the steps and around the opposite side of the house with Emma in his wake.
A row of flowering trees and bushes cast long shadows over the side yard, making their movement across the lawn less noticeable to traffic and onlookers. “Here,” he whispered, motioning her closer. “Listen.”
The curtains were drawn on the next window, but a number of male voices warbled inside. Sawyer adjusted his position for a look through the slight part in heavy linen panels. From his new vantage, he could see the reason for the crowd and emergency responders as well as the body bag.
Mr. Harrison was splayed over a desk in what appeared to be a home office, a handgun near his limp hand and a bullet wound at his temple.
Sawyer stepped back to make room for Emma, who slid into the small space before him.
She rose to her toes to see above the sill, then fell back with a gasp. “He killed himself,” she whispered. “Why would he do that?”
Sawyer braced his palms on her waist, steadying her, then took her hand and finished the circle around Mr. Harrison’s home. They crossed the small courtyard by the swimming pool and emergency vehicles, and let themselves into the kitchen.
Detective Rosen stood inside, rubbing his chin with one hand and speaking quietly to an EMT. He started at Sawyer and Emma’s appearance. “What are you doing here?” he asked, skipping the pleasantries.
“Door was open,” Sawyer said. “What about you?” He moved farther into the room, getting a better look at the crime scene. It took only a minute to know his gut was right. Mr. Harrison hadn’t committed suicide.
The detective frowned. “I’m a cop. I belong here. It’s your appearance I’m concerned about.”
Emma moved between them, positioning her back to the open office door where Mr. Harrison lay. “We were at the credit union this morning, and the man taking Mr. Harrison’s place said he hadn’t shown up or called off today.”
“So you rushed right over?” the detective asked dryly.
Emma swallowed long and loud. “I thought his absence might have something to do with Sara’s disappearance.”
“Murder would also explain his failure to call off or show up,” Sawyer said.
Detective Rosen lifted his brow. “Murder?”
Sawyer stepped forwa
rd. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?” He turned to face the office. “First responders probably noticed the angle of the wound is wrong for a suicide. Whoever held the gun before leaving it on the desk beside the victim’s hand was standing over him. Mr. Harrison was shot at close range, but there are no muzzle burns around the wound. Most suicide victims press the barrel to their skin to ensure they get the job done.” Sawyer had seen it firsthand, and more often than he cared to recall during his time in service. “Furthermore, the gun is beside his right hand, but his desk phone, mouse, pens and coffee mug are on his left, suggesting Mr. Harrison was left-handed.”
Detective Rosen sucked his teeth but didn’t argue. “There are no signs of forced entry,” he said, casting a look at the kitchen door, where Emma stood with Henry, looking more than ready to leave.
Sawyer nodded. He’d noticed that too. “He knew the killer, or he had another reason to open the door to him. Someone posing as a utility worker, salesman, new neighbor...looking for a lost dog, could’ve been anything.”
Detective Rosen rubbed his chin again. “The crime scene team is coming to check for prints.” He opened his arms the way he had at the hospital and stepped toward the door, herding Sawyer back to Emma, then outside.
“Wait,” Emma said, stepping out into the sun. “Could Sara have been here?”
“No.” Detective Rosen shook his head. “There are no signs that anyone other than Mr. Harrison had been living here. Now, kindly remove yourselves from the property. Civilians aren’t permitted at a crime scene.”
* * *
EMMA’S SKIN CRAWLED with tension and grief as they moved away from the home. Back through the shaded yard and past the window where she’d seen Mr. Harrison’s body. The image of him slumped over his desk would never be completely erased from her mind.
“Hey.” Sawyer’s palm found the small of her back.
A thick bout of nausea and panic rose through her core to her throat. “Take Henry,” she said, fighting the terrible sensation and passing the baby to his father.
Sawyer pulled Henry to his chest, and Emma bent forward at the waist, huffing for air and hoping not to be sick on Mr. Harrison’s lawn. She counted slowly, forcing her lungs to take bigger and deeper gulps of air despite the burn in her constricted throat with each pull.
Sawyer leaned her against him and rubbed her back. “It’s okay. Take your time.”
A few moments later her knees were weak, but the black dots in her vision had cleared. She straightened her spine and squared her shoulders with feeble resolve. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” Sawyer said.
Emma pursed her lips. A thousand horrific thoughts cluttered her frightened mind. “What if we find Sara like that soon?”
“No,” he said. “Sara’s smart. She’s cautious, and she’s a fighter. I’m sure that whoever has her is no competition for her will to get back to you. We just have to figure out where she is.”
Emma hoped he was right. Sara was strong, but maybe her captor was stronger. Maybe her physical injuries had weakened her mental ability to stay focused and fight. “I’ve been praying that she’ll escape,” Emma said, stepping back into the sunlight of the front yard, “but she was in bad shape. You should’ve seen the blood on our living room floor. The way he choked her and climbed on her. The sound when he hit her.” Emma’s teeth began to chatter despite the morning’s heat.
Sawyer helped her into the SUV and fastened her seat belt for her before shutting the door.
She watched as he did the same for Henry, then climbed behind the wheel.
“What?” he asked, reaching for the ignition and checking his mirrors.
Emma unbuckled and slid across the bench to him. She pulled herself against his side and buried her face in the warm curve of his neck. She gripped the strong muscles of his shoulder and breathed him in until her racing heartbeat slowed to the steady confident pace of his. “This lunatic hit Kate with a car and shot Mr. Harrison. What’s he going to do to Sara?”
Sawyer pulled her onto his lap and cradled her in his arms, sliding the seat back gently to make room. “Sara’s going to be okay,” he whispered into her hair, “and so are you.”
It had been a long time since Emma let someone else carry her burdens for her. Not since losing her parents had she truly let her guard down, and even then she shared the pain with Sara. Sitting there now, curled in Sawyer’s arms made her dream of a life where she could trade off the work of being strong from time to time. Sawyer had been gone for a year, but he was back now. He was there with her and Henry, and maybe she couldn’t make him stay, but she could make sure he knew that was what she wanted. That her heart had been torn open all over again at the sight of him, and only his enduring presence would heal her.
Sawyer’s rough palm brushed the soft skin of her cheek. He tucked strong fingers beneath her chin and searched her face with soulful blue eyes. “What are you thinking?”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you,” she whispered.
Sawyer lowered his mouth to hers and kissed her gently before resting his cheek against the top of her head. “I hope you’ll never again find out.”
Emma agreed, and tonight she’d make sure Sawyer understood just how much she wanted him to stay.
Chapter Eleven
Sawyer held Emma’s hand as they drove back through town. He stroked her fingers with the pad of his thumb and imagined a life where the three of them—Emma, Henry and himself—could spend days together doing whatever they wanted and getting to know one another, not haunting crime scenes in search of stolen loved ones and debating murder versus suicide. He struggled to keep his eyes on the road and off the people inside the SUV. He needed to protect them at all costs and find Emma’s sister, but he wasn’t sure what to do next. His team members were on other assignments, and already working the numbers from Sara’s notebook in their spare time. Sawyer was supposed to be the man on call. The extra hands. But he’d gotten this call, and everything had changed. His jaw tightened and his grip on the wheel intensified. Keeping Emma and Henry safe made it impossible to go out on his own, and while there were some situations where a young family moved inconspicuously, the places he wanted to go would be dangerous for him alone, and he refused to be the reason Emma was ever frightened again.
If it was up to him, Sawyer would lock up Emma and Henry safely somewhere, maybe even back at Fortress Security with a few armed and trained bodyguards, then Sawyer would return to Emma’s town. He’d start at the local pool halls and bars, asking anyone who’d had enough alcohol to loosen their lips if they’d heard about the missing woman or the hit-and-run. Surely in a community as small as Emma’s all the thugs and lowlifes knew one another. Someone had surely bragged about the money they were going to come into. Someone would buy one too many rounds on him. There was jealousy among thieves, and Sawyer was sure he could find a lead the police couldn’t if only he could divide himself in two to get to it. He gave Emma another long look, then glanced at Henry’s sleeping face in the rearview mirror. They weren’t officially his family yet, but he was willing to do anything in his power to make it that way, if Emma would have him.
She turned to face him at the stoplight, as if she’d somehow heard her name in his mind. “Can we stop at my place before we go back to yours?” she asked. “I’d like to pack some more of my things and what’s left of Henry’s. Maybe even bring his crib.” The words were music to Sawyer’s ears, but he hated the uncertainty he heard in them. Had he given her some reason to think he wouldn’t be thrilled at the suggestion? Had their late-night make-out session not conveyed the fact that he wanted nothing more than to be with her, and with Henry, every day?
She watched him with an uplifted brow.
“All right,” he said finally, simply. But he needed to do better. He needed to make his intentions crystal clear so there would be no room for misunderstanding. Sooner rathe
r than later, he thought, before anything else can go wrong. There were already enough complications between them. “Why don’t we stop by the outlets and buy a crib for my place?” Sawyer suggested. “There’s no sense in hauling one back and forth when I need one now too.”
“What?” Her narrow brows hunkered low between her eyes. “Why?”
“I want to spend as much time with Henry as possible now that I know he exists. It makes sense for him to have a room at my place too.”
Emma’s expression went flat, and she turned forward once more. “Okay.”
“What?” Sawyer asked, taking the next right toward Emma’s home. Clearly they weren’t going shopping.
She bit into the skin along her thumbnail. “Nothing, it’s fine.”
Sawyer gave a dark chuckle. He hadn’t been gone nearly long enough to have forgotten what fine meant. It meant she was mad, and for no good reason as far as he could tell.
She made a little fist and tucked her bitten thumb inside it, still forcing her attention outside as they took the final turn onto her long rural street.
He worked his jaw, determined to let her be mad about nothing. Except, she shouldn’t be mad. She should be glad he wanted to be with his son as much as possible. Shouldn’t she? Wasn’t that the good, honorable and right thing to want? He squinted across the seat at her. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
Sawyer cut the engine in her driveway and turned toward her, throwing one arm over the seat back beside him. “Nope.”
Emma’s cheeks reddened. “Yep,” she said, sliding out onto the gravel and shutting the door behind her. Hard.
Sawyer climbed out and met her at Henry’s door, where she unlatched his car seat from the base. He considered taking the heavy carrier from her or at least offering to carry it, but Emma was upset, and he’d learned quickly that she kept Henry close at times like these. Even if she was mad about nothing.
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