by Joya Fields
She nodded and opened the refrigerator. She didn’t trust herself to speak.
He shook his head and placed the muffins on the counter. “I’m sorry.”
She steeled herself. May as well get it out now. Sooner or later she’d have to address what she’d said. Apologize. Now was as good a time as any. “Logan, what I said earlier—”
He halted her words with a raised palm and moved to the kitchen doorway. “I have to go.”
She watched open-mouthed as he turned and walked to the front door. Running away again. It took her several seconds to process, but when she recovered from his hasty exit, she grabbed her purse and ran through the house, stopping in the living room to press a quick kiss to her father’s cheek.
“Dave, would you mind unpacking the rest of the groceries?” Without waiting for an answer, she raced out the front door and got to Logan’s SUV just as he started the motor.
She yanked the passenger door open and plopped onto the seat.
He leaned back and stared straight ahead at the dry leaves blowing in the afternoon breeze. School children walked past, backpacks over their shoulders and iPod buds shoved in their ears. Everything normal and peaceful. Except the tension between them.
No way she’d let him run away again. Years ago she’d probably have let him go, thinking he didn’t feel the same about her as she did him. Afraid he could never love her. But he loved her and she knew it. He could leave her—she didn’t have much control over that. But this time she wouldn’t make it easy for him.
Deciding they could wait to discuss her misspoken words, she yanked the seatbelt across her lap. “So, where are we going?” She risked a peek at him through her peripheral vision. He lifted a shoulder and then shifted into gear.
Easing out of his parking spot, he said, “To the morgue.”
…
Logan wasn’t sure if he should laugh at Keely or pluck her out of his truck and set her on the sidewalk. He’d timed it wrong. He was supposed to have been out of Ben’s house before she arrived, but he’d run late.
Now she sat beside him, ready to head to the morgue.
He merged his SUV into the afternoon traffic. If she wouldn’t take the hint, then maybe seeing firsthand the horrible things he had to deal with on a daily basis would chase her away.
He shifted in his seat. She’d been carrying in three days worth of groceries when he opened the door for her at Ben’s. The sight made him yearn for her to come home to him that way, to their own place. They’d make dinner together, build a fire, then make love all night.
“Logan, are you going to let me apologize now?” she asked, interrupting his fantasies.
“I found a pregnant girl on the ship. She died, but they saved her baby. I need to find out how far along she was.” Distracting her with new information might stop her from addressing their issues.
She gasped. “They smuggled a pregnant girl on that boat?” She stared at the floor and then turned to glance out her window.
Knowing her as he did, he figured she was tucking the pain away somewhere before asking any more questions. Now that he knew she’d miscarried their own baby, the recent loss of life hit him harder, too. What had Keely gone through those weeks after she’d lost their baby? What kind of pain would that bring a mother?
“Well, here we are,” he said, trying to make it seem as if he stopped by the morgue all the time. “You coming in?”
“I’ll wait here.” She bit her bottom lip and blinked several times.
He shrugged and climbed out of the truck. Better for her to stay in the truck.
He trudged down the stairs to the ME’s office, and after a detailed conversation, returned to his SUV fifteen minutes later.
“What did you find out?” Keely asked.
He shook his head and drove out of the parking lot. He’d been so tense inside that every muscle hurt right now. “The girl was eight months pregnant.”
“Oh, God.” She chewed her lip. She’d been afraid that somehow Su Lin had been the girl aboard that boat. But Su had only been four months pregnant. “Do you think those women from the boat you stopped would have ended up working somewhere like Craig’s diner?”
He stiffened. She was thinking like a cop. “I can’t discuss the specifics with you.”
“Are you getting a search warrant for the diner?”
She was getting too close to the truth, at least the suspected truth. He needed to get her somewhere safe now. “I’ll drop you off at Ben’s now.” He turned right onto West Biddle Street.
“We haven’t finished our conversation.”
He glanced at her, taking in her casual clothes and windswept hair. He wanted to reach out, run his fingers through the hair in her ponytail, and kiss her. But that would never happen again.
He pulled up in front of Ben’s and parked the car. He reached for the door handle, but she stopped him.
“When I said some people don’t deserve to be parents, I meant bad people, Logan,” she said, her voice low. “Not you. You’re one of the good guys. I’m sorry if you thought otherwise.”
He lowered himself in the seat and pushed his sunglasses up his nose. He recited police codes in his head to distract himself from the pull of her words. “If you won’t get out, I’ll take a nap.”
“You’re nothing like your father, Logan. You save people. You do good things day in and day out. You made my dad feel better, and you helped Margaret Beyer. You are nothing like the scumbags I have to save children from almost every day. You might be able to crack a pimp in half with your bare hands, but I know you, Logan. You’re a good man.”
She moved closer and her breath was hot on his check. He steeled himself, willing his body to maintain control.
“You couldn’t hurt an innocent child on purpose if your life depended on it,” she whispered.
Lowering the sunglasses on his nose, he turned to face her. Her breath shuddered out, and her eyes glistened with tears. She could take back her words all she wanted, could tell him how her words about some people not deserving to be parents didn’t apply to him, but he still believed what she’d said to be true. He had to hurt her to make her go away. God help him, he had to do it again.
Her chest rose and fell, and she stared at him as if waiting for a reply.
“We’re different people, Keely. Too different to make this work.”
“So we shouldn’t even try? You’re not going to accept my apology even though my words weren’t aimed at you?”
“Either way it doesn’t matter. You live in Baltimore. I’m moving to Texas. You knew this was going to end sooner or later, anyway.”
Chapter Sixteen
Keely closed her eyes for a second then glanced at Logan. All these years she’d craved his company, his body. His damn presence. They needed each other. Why couldn’t he see that?
“You need space? Okay. I’ll give you space,” she said. “Time to think this through.”
“Not space, Keely. You and me…we won’t work. Period.” He scrubbed his hands over his face.
“Does that mean this thing we started is over?”
He shook his head. “It never started, Keely.”
She opened the passenger door and slid to stand on the sidewalk, fury radiating through every limb. “Yeah. Right. Congratulations. Once again, Logan, you’re running away.” She slammed the door hard and stood at the curb coughing through the exhaust when Logan sped away. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep her tears from cresting. Her body heated with disbelief. They hadn’t even been officially together and now they’d broken up.
Too different to make this work.
Were they too different? Had she been wrong to wish?
Standing beside her Civic, she shot a look at her dad’s house. The afternoon sun glinted on the front windows, and her dad and Dave were likely still working on church business under Beatrice’s watchful guard.
Her dad had company, and he was safe. They’d made plans to watch a movie later. She had ti
me to get a few things done. Jingling her keys in her hands, she made herself concentrate on her choices.
Fine. Logan didn’t want her. Too bad for him. He’d left her…again. And he’d left her father now, too. He was hot on the trail of his human trafficking case and wouldn’t help out with her father’s case anymore. So much for promises. Of any kind.
Since he’d abandoned them, as always, it would be up to her to figure out who’d attacked her dad. She’d use her anger to help focus.
The city police department was strained for money and manpower. If people closest to her dad were suspect, then she’d see what she could find out about them all on her own. She couldn’t find Melita or the other two girls who’d gone missing, but she knew this neighborhood. Knew this community. This she could do.
Where to start? Logan’s mention of undocumented workers at restaurants, along with the three girls he’d met at Craig’s diner made her suspicious of Craig Bittinger. A visit to his house or diner would also be a way to take her mind off Logan’s hurtful words. Even if she didn’t go inside, she might find something useful. She climbed into the Civic and headed in the direction of the Bittinger’s.
Minutes later, she pulled into the alley behind the Bittinger’s house, easily fitting her Civic between two random pickups. She’d left Logan a message—not to talk him out of breaking things off with her, but because he’d have her hide if she went off investigating without letting anyone know where she was. Fortunately, he hadn’t answered the phone, and she’d been able to leave a coolly spoken message that she was headed to the Bittingers’ and then to the church to speak with Charlie.
Logan had tried to hurt her with his words, tried to chase her away. But it was her fault. How could she have let those words—those exact words—tumble out of her?
God knew, it was the one thing she could say that would hurt him the most. Over and over, she’d tried to tell him he would be different from his father. Heck, he was already so different from his father. And yet, she was the one who’d twisted the knife in his gut with her words, confirming every fear he’d ever had about himself and his future.
She stared at the back of the three-story brownstone. Should owning a restaurant put the Bittingers at the top of a suspect list for her dad’s attack? She suddenly felt like an idiot. Maybe they did occasionally hire illegal immigrants, but that didn’t meant they were connected to what had happened to her father. It wasn’t likely they even knew Chayce and Lenny.
A green Jaguar pulled down the alleyway and into the parking pad behind the house. Amy Bittinger stepped out of the car.
She drives a Jag? Amy’s coiffed hair and outfit made her look like a Hollywood movie star. She clip-clopped in high heels into the house, and Keely stared at the closed door.
Hmm. Money. Possible illegal workers at the diner. A matching briefcase.
She chewed on a fingernail, wondering how all of these things about the Bittingers tied together. And where she could go from here.
…
Logan glanced around the station and into the holding cells where the three men from the boat sat in various positions on steel benches. None of them spoke to each other, probably worried the room was bugged. Logan hadn’t been able to interview any of the suspects yet because of a snafu in the paperwork that had stalled him and his team from questioning them. But the snafu was now cleared up, and he was ready to see if any of the men would crack.
His gaze landed on the captain of the boat. Robert Wattana. There was something different about him. He kept himself separated from the others and sat with his head in his hands. Not staring blankly, like the others. His Asian features radiated guilt and regret. And maybe he could be made to feel even guiltier about the pregnant woman who had died. Which could lead to tougher charges, and more information if Logan pushed the right buttons.
“Get that one into an interrogation room,” he said to a uniformed officer. He needed a photo, and he knew just where to get it. “Let him sweat in there alone. I need to get a fax from the hospital and then I’ll interview him. Don’t let anyone else in there.”
The uniform nodded.
Ten minutes later, with a new file in hand containing the photo he needed, Logan strolled into the small, hot interrogation room that held only two chairs and a small table. A uniformed guard stood in one corner.
“State your answer verbally for the camera and microphone, please.”
Wattana, a slight man with black hair, did so.
“You’ve been read your rights?”
Wattana nodded his head slowly. “Yeah.”
“Do you want a lawyer present for questioning?”
The man looked belligerent. “No. I don’t want a lawyer. I’ve done nothing wrong.”
Thank God for small favors.
Logan’s cell phone vibrated in his pants pocket. Damn. He glanced at the screen. A voicemail from Keely. He must have missed her call. He needed to talk to her. Yeah, he’d kicked her out of his life, but he needed to know she was safe. He couldn’t call her right now, though. Not when this guy looked so guilty and so ready to talk. A little pushing and a lot of luck, and they might get some useable information.
Quinn stepped into the room and stood silently in a corner, glaring at the at the boat captain as if he wanted to rip him to pieces.
Logan squared his shoulders and stared at the man. “Why were you at the ship repair yard in Locust Point last night?”
“I drove that boat for money. I had no idea there were passengers below. I thought I was just moving the boat from deep water to shallow water.” Wattana studied the table between them, unable or unwilling to meet Logan’s gaze.
“What time did you leave?” he asked.
“About—”
“How much were you paid?” He kept the pace fast, hoping to rattle the guy before he could make up answers. With any luck, he’d trap him.
“The money was—”
“How many other people did you kill?” He leaned forward, both elbows on the table between them. “Besides the pregnant girl.”
The man’s eyes nearly popped out and he met Logan’s gaze for the first time. “Kill? I didn’t kill anyone. I needed a job. My daughter is sick and my wife can’t find work.”
Logan lowered his voice and slid a folder onto the table. “You have a daughter, Mr. Wattana?”
The man’s gaze dropped down to his hands. A little more pushing and this guy would talk. Logan opened the folder and pulled out a photo, laying it on top. He pointed to the premature infant, swaddled in a hospital blanket. “Here’s somebody’s daughter. But she’ll never know her mother. Got this photo from the hospital just now. The pregnant woman from the boat you captained. She died. This is her daughter.”
Wattana looked away from the photo.
Logan smacked the table with the palm of his hand. Wattana jumped. The small room cracked with the sound. Logan held the photo with both hands in front of Wattana’s face. “Look at her.”
“I didn’t kill anybody. I told them I could drive the boat, that’s all. My job was to drive the boat to New York. The girls had been flown in from Thailand a while back.” Wattana stared at the bottom of the table where his hands were cuffed together and bound to an anchor. “But I didn’t kill anybody. I would never kill a woman.”
Logan leaned back to give Wattana space. Time to let the guy breathe a little. Make him think Logan understood. “You don’t seem like a killer to me.” Logan kept his voice low, almost friendly. “Still…” He spread his hands.
“I could never kill anybody.”
“You felt you had to do this for the money. For your family.”
“Yes.”
“You know what I think? I think the people who offered you this job are the ones who should be held responsible for the death of that mother. They should rot in jail for the rest of their lives. Not you.”
Wattana’s eyes widened, then he stared at his hands again.
As much as Logan wanted to pull the guy by the co
llar and find out who had hired him, he waited, tapped the photo of the baby as it lay between them. “You didn’t want this baby to be without her mother. I know that. Who hired you for this job?”
Wattana glanced at the baby’s photo, a tear trickling down his face. He took a long, shaky breath and glanced around the room.
“My brother-in-law.”
“What’s your brother-in-law’s name?” Logan picked up a pen.
The man shook his head, quickly and violently.
“We will find out who is behind this and we will catch them. The longer you take to give us information…well, that’s more people who could be dying as we speak. Do you really want to be charged with more deaths? More women like that pregnant girl, women like your wife, dying because you kept a secret?” He pushed the guilt card hard. Wattana was probably a decent father but got messed up with the wrong crowd trying to do right by his family.
Wattana rocked back and forth in his seat, more tears leaking out.
“Or do you want to be the one who ends this filthy business? The one man from this operation who can sleep at night because he stepped up to stop the brutality?”
“Craig Bittinger, my sister’s husband.” Wattana whispered.
Every muscle in Logan’s body went on full alert. “You’re Amy Bittinger’s brother?” he asked.
Wattana’s shoulders shook. “Yeah. Amy’s my sister. Her husband Craig’s the one who hired me.”
Logan glanced at Quinn, jerking his head. Quinn nodded and slipped from the room. Logan knew he’d get a search warrant for Bittinger’s house and diner.
He thought about Bittinger’s briefcase. Like the one on the boat. Like Ben’s. There had to be a link. But how did it all tie together?
“You’re doing the right thing, Wattana. For the record, I need you to repeat your name and the crime you committed. How many times did you transport girls for Craig Bittinger?” Logan stood, hovered over the man, kept the pressure on.
“Robert Wattana. I transported girls a dozen times. Maybe more. It never felt right. They cried and they screamed, and were handcuffed to a bar in the floor. Some of the other guys would threaten them, or quiet them with drugs. I just drove the boat, didn’t interact with the girls, but…oh, God,” he choked out. “I don’t have any excuses for my part in all of this.”