THE MISSING (L.A.P.D. Special Investigations Book 4)

by Linda Style

  Luke’s shoulders stiffened, eyes darkening as he studied her. “Good ones, too. You can’t forget all the good things.”

  His words hit her like a blow to the solar plexus. She couldn’t catch her breath. It seemed as if all the oxygen had been sucked from the room. Finally she managed, “No…but good or bad, I can’t live in the past.” Just being here brought it all back in spades. Her voice was hoarse when she said, “I don’t know how you can do it.”

  He leaned against the counter. “Do what?”

  “Continue to stay here. Doesn’t everything remind you of…what happened?”

  He crossed his arms, eyes soft with a sadness she recognized. “Yes. Sometimes. But mostly I’m reminded that Michael was a beautiful little boy and one of the best parts of my life. Our life. I don’t ever want to forget that.”

  She didn’t want to forget Michael, either, but through therapy, she’d finally been able to accept that he was gone forever. That she had to let him go. In order to do that, she had to relinquish their life together.

  “Walking on the beach yesterday reminded me of all the times I’d taken Michael there. It reminded me of how he’d collected shells and put them in a jar and gave them to me on my birthday. But I can’t build a life on memories.” Remembering meant sadness and pain. She couldn’t deal with any more pain.

  Luke turned, his lips moved as if he were going to say something, but nothing came out.

  “I’ll make flight reservations if you want me to,” she said softly.

  He straightened, shrugged. “Sure. Try to get one early tomorrow morning. Six o’clock if you can.”

  He was trying to be nonchalant, but the sharp edge in his voice gave him away. He grabbed the holster hanging on the back of the chair and slipped it on. Then the sport coat. “I’ll call in a little while.”

  Heading for the door, Luke turned and said, “Stay inside until I get back. And lock the doors.”

  A tip of her chin was all she could manage as he left and she simply stood there staring at the closed door, want and need warring inside her. She hugged herself, as if that might ward off the bone-deep loneliness she knew would come.

  Luke didn’t understand the decisions she’d made. He never had. When she’d left him, he’d accused her of running away. He’d told her a change of scenery wasn’t going to solve anything. But he’d been wrong. She’d made another life for herself and was getting along just fine…until she saw him again.

  Staying with Luke would’ve destroyed her. And in turn, destroyed him. Last night she’d allowed herself to enjoy the warmth and comfort of Luke’s strong arms, told herself that’s all it was.

  But in the bright light of morning, she couldn’t escape the truth.

  She wanted to feel again, passion, love…even anger. She wanted to feel something—anything. And she wanted to feel it with Luke.

  ~~~

  LUKE HEADED FOR the RHD, his shoulders tight and his mind reeling. He couldn’t get Julianna out of his head. Couldn’t stop wanting to shake some sense into her. Tell her the divorce was a mistake. But regardless of what they’d once been to each other, he knew now he was just another ugly reminder of the past.

  A vivid memory flashed in his head. One of their last conversations as a married couple—the night before she’d left him. The scene was embedded in his brain like a faulty microchip that kept playing the same program over and over.

  They’d come home from a group session for parents who’d experienced the death of a child. He’d wanted to make love with her because the one thing that made him feel whole again was being as close to Jules as he could possibly be. Loving her salved his ragged soul and gave him a reason to go on, and he’d thought it was the same for her. But that night when he’d reached for her, she’d batted his hand away.

  “None of them know what we’ve been through,” she’d spat out. “Our situation is unique. How can anyone say they understand?”

  “They may not have had the exact same experience, Jules,” he’d said. “But they’ve all lost a child. They know what that’s like.”

  “But none of them had the opportunity to save their child. We did. We didn’t try hard enough. That’s on us.” Her face had twisted in anguish. “No one knows what that’s like.”

  Luke knew when she said we, she meant he. He was an officer of the law. He had the whole police force at his fingertips. She believed he’d had the ability to find their son. And he hadn’t.

  She blamed him. She would always blame him. Because it was true. He hadn’t found their son. And that was a truth that would haunt him every day of his life.

  Realistically, logically, he knew what happened to Michael wasn’t because he hadn’t tried hard enough. He couldn’t have done any more. But logic wasn’t going to change Julianna’s belief that he could’ve. It wouldn’t change the guilt that was his constant companion. Because he believed he should have.

  Entering the RHD, Luke heard his buddy Jordan’s voice.

  “Hey, Coltrane. I thought you’d gone back to New Mexico.”

  Luke crossed to Jordan’s desk and lowering his voice, he said, “Tomorrow morning. I’ve got some stuff to do on the Willis case.” Luke had told both Rico and Jordan about Julianna’s situation. “I don’t want it to get out that I’m working on the case. Not yet anyway. Someone could easily make the connection between me and Jules.”

  “You saying the stalker and the Willis kid’s killer are one and the same.”

  “It’s a possibility.”

  “What’s the plan?”

  Luke pulled the numbers from his pocket for the child’s mother, stepfather and the brother. “We need some stats run on all of these people. Current addresses, phone numbers, etcetera. Then interviews.”

  “Under what premise?”

  “Let’s say we’re going through all the cold cases for DNA evidence. We have more high-tech testing methods now, tests that weren’t available fifteen years ago. See what reaction we get.”

  “I’m on it,” Jordan said.

  “I’m going to pull the physical evidence file.”

  Jordan picked up his phone and Luke went to the evidence room, brought a box back to the desk and started sifting through the plastic bags of blood-stained clothing and envelopes with who knows what inside. Apparently the preservation of evidence wasn’t a top priority fifteen years ago. Bags weren’t sealed properly and several items had been taken out and never put back in their containers, contaminating evidence they might’ve provided.

  An hour later, Luke had culled a few things he thought might be possibilities for further research. In particular, two pieces of fabric with spots that could be blood. Evidence in hand, he headed for the Scientific Investigation Division downstairs. The techs were always busy and with the number of cases that went through the department, most results took several weeks. Unless it was a high-profile case or threatened the public at large. A fifteen-year-old cold case wasn’t going to the top of the list. But he had to start somewhere.

  At the SDI desk, he saw Tex with Cecilia Deleone, one of RHD’s newer detectives, chatting and looking friendlier than two detectives in the same unit ought to look. So caught up in conversation, they didn’t even notice him. Luke cleared his throat.

  Tex turned, his expression guilty as a thief. “Luke. Hey.”

  “What’s up?” Luke asked, trying not to smile.

  “Uh, I’m doing some research on the Studio Killer’s first victim. Deleone has a theory…” Tex glanced at the young detective. “We’re going to see if it holds water.”

  The detective pulled herself up, shoulders back, head high. She was an attractive woman. Dark hair and almond-skinned, she’d gotten a lot of flak her first few weeks in the department, but she’d handled it well. Though no one was going to admit it, within certain segments of the department, sexism was alive and well among the blue.

  The woman reminded Luke of Julianna. Smart, determined and just a bit unpredictable.

  “Thought you were
on vacation,” Tex said.

  “I am. But I have to clear something up first.” Luke and Tex, aka Will Houston, who just happened to be from Texas, were good friends, but Luke wasn’t as close to the Texan as he was with Rico and Jordan. Tex waited for Luke to explain, but he didn’t. The fewer people who knew about Julianna, the better. No one knew she was at his place except Rico, Jordan, and the captain.

  “It’s a cold case. Nothing urgent.” He leaned closer to Tex. “Vanessa know about this?”

  “I’m going back,” Deleone said. “Let me know what you find out.” With that she left.

  Watching her walk away, Luke said, “Bad idea, buddy.”

  Tex shrugged. “Maybe. But nothing ventured, nothing gained.”

  “What about Vanessa?” If there was one thing Luke couldn’t tolerate, it was infidelity. If a guy did that, how trustworthy was he?

  “It’s not working with Van,” Tex said, “everything’s off.” Then he leaned against the counter, and in his lazy Texas drawl, said, “I learned early on when opportunity knocks, you gotta answer. You may not have another chance.”

  His buddy had a point. How many chances had he thrown away with Jules? “Still, it’s a bad idea. You work together.”

  Tex lifted his hands, palms up, and walked away. Luke took his evidence into the lab. The tech filed Luke’s request in a slot next to a dozen others, which meant he wasn’t going to be getting a response back anytime soon. On the way out, Tex’s homespun philosophy played in his head. You gotta answer when opportunity knocks.

  Yeah. He’d done that last night. For all the good it did him.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  JULIANNA CLOSED her laptop, got up and went into the kitchen. Though late evening was her best time to write, she’d spent the day working on her story. Getting up so early, she knew she’d better take advantage of the time since her deadline for the last article was looming and she didn’t know what Luke had planned.

  Having been cooped up all day, she opened the back door and stepped out onto the redwood deck, a new addition since she’d lived there. Five years ago, there had been only a small porch out here with screens all around. Now the weathered redwood sprawled across the entire back of the house. A barbecue, table and chairs took up one corner and assorted pots and flowering plants made the area seem garden-like. Odd. Luke had never been one to putter around the house when they’d been married. When had he developed a green thumb?

  Or maybe the plants were someone else’s idea. A friend maybe. A woman. She hadn’t thought about Luke having a girlfriend, and as she wondered about it, a strange possessiveness coursed through her. Because he’d never married again and never mentioned dating anyone, she’d assumed he had no one special. What if she was wrong?

  Last night she’d connected to Luke in a way they hadn’t before. If he had someone else, he wouldn’t have been with her. Luke wouldn’t cheat.

  Not that it mattered. They’d spent one night together. No commitments had been made, no words of love murmured in the throes of passion. They’d had sex. Hot and sweet. That’s what she’d wanted. Nothing more. Apparently, Luke had wanted the same.

  Forcing the thoughts away, she crossed to the railing. The sun had just barely dipped below the horizon, the palm trees and rooftops were silhouetted by the gray of twilight, a familiar image that sent a wave of nostalgia through her. For a moment it seemed as if she were caught between the past and the present…and then a brisk gust of wind blew her hair back, and she breathed in the crisp Pacific air. It was so quiet, she could hear the breeze rustling through the palm fronds.

  There was one last installment to the Willis story; then maybe the crackpot who’d been the bane of her existence these past weeks would quit bothering her. And her life might just go back to normal.

  Another sharp gust made her suck in her breath. In her peripheral vision, she caught a shadow…something moving. Her heart skipped a beat. She jerked around, scanning the pink flowering oleanders that stood over six feet tall and served as a barrier between Luke’s property and the Baxters next door. Suddenly a cat screeched and darted from the bushes. Jules let out a choked cry and jumped back, her heart beating triple time.

  God. It was just a cat. But suddenly she felt chilled, and pulling her sweater closed in the front, she opened the sliding glass door and stepped inside, nearly colliding with Luke.

  He caught her with both hands. “Hey, nice to see you, too.”

  She pulled away, her pulses racing. “You could make a little noise or knock or something rather than scaring a person to death,” she said breathlessly, then shoved a hand through her windblown hair.

  “Sorry. It wasn’t intentional.”

  “Those bushes are too tall and need cutting.”

  He frowned, as if he hadn’t a clue what she was talking about. But that wasn’t unusual, either. He held up both hands. “Whatever I did, forgive me.” He lowered his head to look into her eyes. “Something wrong?”

  Moving past him to go inside, she said, “No. You surprised me, that’s all.”

  “Okay.” He went to the fridge and pulled out an O’Doul’s and a Bud Light. Handing her the Bud, he said, “I seem to be doing that a lot lately.”

  “I—I think my nerves are on edge with all this crap going on. I’m so sick of it. I just want to write my stories and hope that they do some good.”

  Luke motioned her to the door to the deck. Once outside, they sat at the table together. Silent. After a moment, he said, “What kind of good do you expect your stories to do exactly?”

  She shrugged. “I’m hoping that they’ll provide some kind of solace to the victims’ families. That they’ll know their loved ones haven’t been forgotten. I’m also hoping that by keeping these stories in the public eye, the police will continue investigating instead of dumping them in a cold case warehouse somewhere.” She lowered her chin. “Michael’s case included.”

  “But you didn’t write a story about him?”

  She looked away, ran a hand through her hair.

  “You didn’t.” Launching to his feet, Luke stared at her, his face visibly hardening. “You didn’t write one on Michael, did you?”

  Suddenly it was hard to breathe. She gave a reluctant nod. “My first one.”

  He slammed a hand on the table. “Why? Why in God’s name…”

  Oh, God. She’d expected anger, but not this. Not the pain she saw in his eyes. “I—I used fictitious names. I thought it would…help. That it would be cathartic.” She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to look at him. “I thought that by detailing everything that happened, I could somehow purge myself. It didn’t work that way, though. I just became more—”

  “Obsessed.”

  “I guess.”

  The tension between them was palpable. Luke’s jaws clamped tight, the veins in his neck popped out, his body tensed. He tipped his head to one side and then the other, then rolled his shoulders.

  “Well,” he said, “you’ve achieved one of your goals in the Willis case.” He clicked his fingernails against the side of the beer bottle. “And…you’ve achieved some other things that I doubt you wanted.”

  She’d thought he was going to lambaste her for writing about Michael and when he didn’t, she released a silent sigh of relief. “You’re right there. I never in a million years expected someone to start threatening me over one of my stories. And not knowing whether it’s just some crank or if the guy’s serious, makes me really nervous. I seem to be jumping at every little thing.”

  ~~~

  LUKE STUDIED HER as she spoke, squelching the anger that mushroomed inside him. Clear head. Keep a clear head. He sat at the table again.

  “And what if this guy is Renata Willis’s murderer?” she asked.

  “If it is, we’ll catch him.” He didn’t know exactly how, but he was certain they would.

  “You’ll catch him?” she said, her tone doubtful. “Just like that?”

  Yeah, he knew what she was thinking. If they h
adn’t caught the guy in fifteen years, what made him think they’d get him now? He cleared his throat. “If he’s the one, we’ve got a lead, something to go on now. We didn’t have that before. And we didn’t have the testing methods we do now.”

  He saw a flicker of hope in her eyes.

  “You think it’s actually possible? Because if it is, that would really be something.”

  And along with that hope came the inevitable question.

  “Do you think—”

  He placed a hand on her knee. “No, I don’t think. I take it one step at a time. We’ve got to finish what we started here, so don’t get ahead of yourself. Right now the most important thing in the equation is keeping you safe.”

  She glanced at his hand on her leg. “Most important to―?”

  He retracted his hand. It wasn’t a question he was going to answer. “Rico and Jordan are working on some things behind the scenes. We’ll see what comes up.”

  Scraping her long hair back, she forced a wobbly smile. “Thanks.”

  “For what?” he said as he raised one foot to the rung of the chair she sat on. “I haven’t done anything.”

  “Right. Except keeping me out of trouble and making an effort to track down whoever is threatening me. I think that’s something.”

  He shrugged. He didn’t like taking credit for doing what came naturally. Protecting people, seeking justice, was what he did. It had nothing to do with any feelings he might still have. Right. Who the hell was he kidding?

  He took a swig of beer. “Have you had any more messages on your home phone?”

  “No. Nothing.”

  “Hmm. Not sure that’s a good thing.”

  “Why on earth not? I was hoping that since he wasn’t getting the response he wanted, he gave up?”

  “I’d like to think that, but my experience tells me different. When is the next installment coming out?”

  “Soon. A week maybe.”

  He nodded. “So it’s logical that he’d wait until after that to call again.”

  “There’s one more in this series, next month.”

  “What then?”