“Is that what this is?” Spencer glanced around the gloomy shelter. “Survival?”
“Just barely, man.” Will admitted.
“Transitioning back to the civilian world isn’t quite what you expected?”
Will shook his head. “I knew it would be rough, but I thought… once I saw Rossie and Ryan, I’d be able to go back to who I used to be. I was a good guy, you know? Nothing like this. Now…” he trailed off, shaking his head.
“You’re still a good guy,” Spencer commented, watching his friend with concern.
By all appearances, Will Channing, whom he’d only ever known as Darryl Janssen, had given up, and that was dangerous. Too many of his friends and fellow warriors had fallen victim to hopelessness, and he didn’t think he could stomach even one more going down.
Will gave him a hard look, filled with pain and anger and fear. “Tell that to my wife,” his voice broke and he shook his head angrily, waiting to finish speaking until he’d recovered a bit. “She can barely stand to look at me, and it’s not because of the scars. She’s better off without me. Maybe they both are. Maybe the world is.”
Spencer’s heart dropped to his stomach when he heard those words, which gave credibility to his darkest fears for his friend. “Don’t say that,” he whispered hoarsely. “Don’t ever say that. We’ve lost too many… I can’t…”
“I should never have come back. It would have been easier on her if she still thought I was dead. She was even starting to get interested in another guy. She’d deny it, but I can tell. She holds her head a certain way, gets a certain look in her eyes… I remember that look all too well. She likes him.”
Will could barely get the last words out, and he laid his head on his arms, his shoulders shaking. The emotion of the situation hit Spencer squarely in the gut, and he allowed his friend to grieve, hoping that his silent presence was at least of some comfort. Words escaped him, not that he could speak anyway. Wiping his eyes with the back of his arm, he watched perhaps the most profound grief that he’d ever seen, and felt utterly powerless.
How long they sat there, soundless in the moment, was a mystery, but after time had passed, Spencer finally spoke.
“You can’t give up. You had something that other men would give their lives for, you gotta fight for it. She’s worth it. The kid is worth it. You can’t give up,” he declared, his voice shaking with feeling.
“I’m not worth it. They deserve better. She’s interested in Hundman,” Will sighed hard.
“But she’s in love with you. Have you talked to her?”
“Yeah. Said she needed time.”
“Then give her time. I have to travel to New Jersey tonight to interview a person of interest tomorrow. Come with me. We can talk this stuff through, maybe help you clear your head a bit.”
When Will started to shake his head, Spencer jumped in. “That wasn’t a request, Marine.”
One corner of Will’s mouth quirked up in a ghost of a smile. “You pulling rank on me, Bengal?”
“Roger that.”
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
*
Chas Beckett was frustrated. He’d been badgered by Chanelle Brigman, who wanted constant updates on the case. She was furious that she had to speak with local law enforcement and the FBI, and couldn’t fathom why Chas couldn’t do so on her behalf. Her somewhat erratic behavior from the beginning had him concerned, and while he hoped that his conversation with her today would be revealing, he wasn’t looking forward to it at all. He’d asked Harry not to be present, so there’d be no rational buffer. He wanted to see the full, unvarnished personality of the frantic mother.
“What now, Mr. Beckett? I’m assuming that today is like every other day and you have nothing of substance to tell me about my son’s disappearance.”
Chas ignored the jibe, determined to remain neutral and unaffected by her barbs.
“I need a bit of background from you, that will hopefully give me more insight into your son and where he might be,” he explained.
“I really don’t see how anything that I could say would be of any help. Why aren’t you talking to people who might actually be involved in the kidnapping?” she demanded.
“I’m leaving no stone unturned, I assure you, Mrs. Brigman. I’d like to explore the details surrounding Wentworth’s adoption.”
“How is that relevant?” her eyes turned to slits and her mouth tightened.
“I don’t want to get your hopes up just yet, but often the birth mother is involved in the abduction of an adopted child.”
“I don’t see how that’s possible in this case. We took every precaution to protect our privacy.”
Chas took a breath and worded his next sentence carefully. “The will of a birth mother can be very strong, as can the possibility of great wealth. When you couple the two together…”
“Nonsense. Wentworth came from a very good family who wouldn’t need the money, and his… incubator, was more than willing to toss him aside.”
He stared at her, then chose to call her out on her bald-faced lie. “We’ve spoken with her and know that she came from very humble beginnings to say the least, and that she still is living in less than ideal circumstances.”
“You found her?” Chanelle whispered, seeming horrified, then quickly recovered. “Well, I guess you’re better at your job than I thought. Why aren’t you having the money-grubbing little wretch arrested instead of endlessly bothering me?” she shifted the focus neatly away from her falsehood.
“I also discovered that you stand to inherit the entirety of the Brigman fortune if there’s no heir. Wentworth’s disappearance could make you a very wealthy woman if something were to happen to your husband,” Chas said mildly.
Chanelle sprung to her feet. “How dare you?” she shrieked, as Harry came bursting into the room, restraining her from scratching Chas’s eyes out.
“I think that’s enough for today,” Harry gave him a pointed look, then glanced at the door, where two FBI agents waited just outside. “You can see yourself out, Chas. I’ll contact you later.”
Chanelle continued to struggle and hurl epithets after the investigator as he let himself out of the room. One of the FBI agents put a hand out to detain him.
“Beckett, right?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“We’d like to talk with you regarding your investigation.”
Chas reached into the pocket of his suit and pulled out a business card. “Call me at your leisure,” he instructed, and took his leave.
***
Rossalyn Channing looked and felt like she hadn’t slept in weeks. Her husband had shown up perfectly alive, but very different, her son was furious with her for not welcoming his dad back with open arms, and Tom Hundman had been avoiding her like the plague. She was so glad for the solace to be found at work, where her business was booming and running without hiccups. She needed to expand, but hadn’t yet gotten any of the quotes back from contractors who had come out to take a look at the plans she’d drawn up for an addition to be built on the side of Hawg Heaven. She’d make calls to follow up with the contractors today, hoping to secure three different bids, and if they failed to respond, she’d have to start all over. Part of the frustration of living in a small town was that contractors were few and far between, and seemed to have a rather lackadaisical view of timing and deadlines.
Every call that she made went to voicemail, and after leaving the third message, she dropped her head into her hands and rubbed her temples, having hit a wall with the project.
“Is it that bad?” her heart leapt when she heard Tom Hundman’s voice, and she immediately felt guilty about that.
“So it seems,” she sighed, taking comfort in the sight of the massive biker as he filled the doorway of her office. “Come on in,” she invited. “Want coffee?”
“Nah, I’m good,” he demurred, sliding into one of the comfy, well-worn leather chairs on the other side of the desk from her.
“Wish I could say th
e same,” she admitted, her eyes tearing up.
“Been a rough couple of weeks, huh?” his cobalt eyes showed nothing of what he was feeling inside when he saw the glint of tears.
“That’s an understatement.”
“Did you talk to him?”
“Sort of. Not really,” she frowned. “He tried, but I just… I don’t know. I’m just so… angry.”
“Understandable, but are you going to let that stand in the way of your marriage? Your family?”
“That’s the thing,” Rossie began, her voice tremulous. “I haven’t been ‘married’ for over a year now. Widows aren’t married. It changed my whole perspective, it changed my thought process. Part of my healing was me realizing that I was on my own. I haven’t felt married for a long time,” she admitted, hating the truth of her words.
“That doesn’t mean that you can’t get that feeling back,” Tom pointed out, frustrated at having to advocate something that he didn’t really hope for. Rossalyn was married, so, in good conscience, he should encourage her to give Will a chance, no matter how badly it shredded his own heart.
“How do I know that?” she whispered, the tears beginning to fall. “What if I don’t want it back? Does that make me a horrible person?”
“You’re not a horrible person, Rossalyn. You’re just confused and hurt, and that’s totally understandable. You just need to think about what you really want and about what’s going to be best for you and Ryan… and Will.”
Their eyes locked for a moment, and Tom swallowed hard, hoping his heart wasn’t in his eyes. A slow blush rose from the base of Rossie’s throat to the tips of her ears and she glanced away, feeling betrayed by her emotions. What on earth was happening to her? At a time when she should be overjoyed that her husband had returned from the dead, all she could think about was how unconditionally supportive her tough-as-nails neighbor, Tom Hundman, had been, and how she couldn’t have made it through the last year without him. Rossalyn was faced with the toughest decision of her life, and had no idea what to do.
“I should go up front. The lunch rush is about to start,” she bit her lip, barely looking at the mountain of a man in front of her. “Do you want some lunch?”
“Nah,” he stood, staring at her because it was safe to do so when she refused to look at him. “Don’t have much of an appetite these days,” he admitted.
“Join the club,” Rossie said wryly, daring to meet his eyes again, and aching when she saw concern and warmth there.
“You take care of yourself, Rossie. You’re a strong woman, you’ll make it.”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
*
“You just do what you do best,” Spencer told Will, before he got out of the car.
“Stay out of sight and rescue you when the bad guy outsmarts you?” Will quipped, seeming to feel a bit better now that he was out of Chatsworth and had taken in a few good meals.
“Very funny. Be ready in case he gets sketchy. I couldn’t find much info on this guy, so I have no idea what I’m about to deal with.”
“I got your back. As usual,” Will drawled, going into mission mode.
“Good. His place is around the corner at 1217. If you dig in behind those bushes over there, you’ll have a good vantage point,” Spencer gestured with his head, tucking his cellphone into his pocket.
“Roger that,” Will agreed and slipped out of the car into the sunlight.
After hearing Chas’s report on the birth mother, Spencer wasn’t terribly optimistic about how effective his visit would prove to be. According to Joanna Bingham, Zach Boudreaux hadn’t even known that she was pregnant, nor had he cared enough to contact her after she moved. Any information that he might have would be limited at best.
“Zach?” he asked, when a man roughly his age, maybe a few years older, wearing plaid shorts and a polo shirt, answered the door of his modest and tidy home.
“Yes, how can I help you?” he had a rather sad smile.
“I spoke with Joanna Bingham recently, and was hoping you might be able to chat with me for a few minutes,” Spencer returned the smile.
“Joanna Bingham…” Zach repeated. “That sounds really familiar.”
“You two were… involved, in high school,” was the delicate reply.
“Oh!” he glanced behind him, then stepped outside and closed the front door. “Probably not a conversation that my wife would want to hear,” he explained apologetically. “I haven’t heard that name in years, what’s up? Is she okay? Are you her husband or something?”
“No, she’s not married. She may have gotten herself into a bit of trouble, actually.”
“Oh? Nothing serious I hope. We lost touch when her family moved, and I always wondered what happened to her. She had kind of a rough home life.”
“Really?”
“Yep, her parents were into some shady business, and treated Jo like she was an inconvenience. It was sad, really.”
“Tough road for a kid. From what I understand her parents died when she was seventeen.”
Zach looked sad. “Truthfully, she was probably better off, no matter how tough it was on her own. So, not to be rude, but what is it that you needed to talk to me about? My wife will be wondering where I am.”
“Thirteen years ago, Joanna Bingham gave birth to a son and gave him up for adoption.”
“Wow, poor Jo. I had no idea.”
“She says it was your son.”
The color drained from Zach’s face. “That’s impossible,” he whispered, glancing back toward his front door. “She would’ve told me.”
“Her family moved away before she had a chance, and didn’t allow her to contact you.”
Zach shook his head in denial. “There’s no way. Why would you do this? Why would Joanna make up a story like this, and why are you here telling me about it?” he backed toward the door.
“Do you have other children, Zach?”
He shook his head, seeming dazed.
“Your son may be in danger. Has anyone contacted you about him lately?”
“No. I don’t have a son. You need to leave now,” he pointed a shaky finger at Spencer, who lifted his hands to show no harm-no foul.
“I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” he said quietly and left.
Janssen approached the car from a different direction, but arrived at the same time that Spencer did.
“Find out anything good?”
“No, he didn’t have any info, but there’s more to his story. I feel it.”
“Did you know he had a wife and kid?”
“What makes you say that?” Spencer fixed him with a stare.
“Saw ’em through the kitchen window while I surveilled the back of the house.”
“How old was the kid?”
“Toddler. Maybe two, three at the most.”
“Why would he lie about having kids?” Spencer mused, frowning.
“Maybe it’s not his, maybe it’s his wife’s,” Janssen shrugged, guessing.
“Let’s find out before we leave town.”
“You’re the boss.”
“And don’t you forget it,” Spencer smiled, despite his concern. It was good to see Will Channing filled with purpose again, sure of himself and capable.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
*
“You’re not telling me everything that you know,” Chas stared down Anna, the housekeeper for the Brigmans.
“I’ve told everybody everything that I know, about a thousand times. I’ve got nothing more to say,” Anna compressed her lips into a thin line, crossed her arms and shook her head.
“Have you ever heard of the term ‘negligence’?” Chas asked casually. “Have you ever stopped to think about the fact that the boy was in your care when he disappeared? Sometimes willful negligence can also be characterized as being an accessory to a crime. I’d hate to see that happen to you.”
Anna gave him a scathing glare. “I don’t know nothing, but if you’re looking for more information, you need t
o talk to Jasper. He found some stuff on his computer.”
“What kind of stuff?”
“I don’t know,” her eyes danced away from his, guilty. “Some stuff that the boy was doing on the computer and Jasper caught him. Ask him.”
“I’ll do that. Anything else?”
“No.”
***
“I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Jasper dismissed Chas imperiously.
“Look, if you’d like, I can mention this little tidbit to the FBI and they’ll go through your entire computer. Or, you can just tell me what happened and we can go from there,” Chas stared at the fussy little man, unblinking.
Jasper sighed, then glared. “Fine. I came into the office when I was supposed to be out on an errand and found him doing a search on the internet.”
“What kind of search?”
“Birth records, family trees, that sort of thing. That kid is too clever for his own good.”
“He find anything?”
“An address.”
“Where?”
“New Jersey, of all places,” Jasper wrinkled his nose.
“Do you have it?”
Another glare, then Jasper pulled a ring of keys out of his pocket, extracted one, and opened a bottom drawer in his desk, from which he grabbed a small manila envelope. He handed it to Chas.
“Did you erase the search?”
“Yes.”
“You realize that the information can still be tracked, right?”
“It’s not my concern. I can’t be held responsible for what the boy did on my computer.”
“That’s your story and you’re sticking with it?” Chas raised a sardonic eyebrow.
“Indeed.”
“Good luck with that.”
***
Spencer received a text while on his way to the airport with Janssen.
Run down this address and see who lives there.
7593 Bellissimo Place, Alpine, NJ 07620
“We’re turning around,” he informed Janssen, who was dozing in the passenger seat.
Entitled to Murder (Hawg Heaven Cozy Mysteries Book 6) Page 6