by Robin Caroll
“We’ll know more once they go through the car.” He could tell she was chilled by the way she hugged her arms over her chest, or maybe it was avoidance.
“Your mom’s worried about Emily. Want me to call her?”
“Yeah. Since you two are so close and all, tell her I’ll phone after the techs finish.” The sarcasm rolled off his tongue. He didn’t like how he acted, but at the moment, he didn’t care. He glanced behind his cruiser and spied his mother’s car. “You brought her car?”
“Yeah. I didn’t have my truck.” So she was just going to ignore his cutting remark . . .
“Bella, I need you to be honest with me. How did you know about Daniel Tate?”
Her face lifted. In the darkness he couldn’t make out her expression, but her silence spoke volumes.
His heart sank. His best friend . . . even now, when the ugly truth had been bared on the rug for all to see, she still wouldn’t tell him the truth.
Anger vied with betrayal for control of his heart. “Never mind.” He shoved past her.
“Hayden, wait.”
He spun around. “What? Are you ready to tell me the truth?”
“I knew because Ardy told me. But she made me promise not to tell you.”
“Why?” He clenched and released his fists. “Didn’t I deserve to know?”
She shook her head and reached for his arm. “It wasn’t my decision to make.”
“But you’re my friend.” He snatched free of her grip. “My best friend, or so I thought. Perhaps I was misinformed on that fact as well.” His heart hammered.
“That’s not fair. You know I’m your friend. But I gave my word to your mother.”
“Why would you do that? This isn’t some woman’s thing. Isn’t something unimportant. This is who I am. Or who I thought I was.”
“You’re still who you are, Hayden. You haven’t changed.” Her voice cracked.
“But why would you keep something so important from me, Bella? Why?” He ran his hand over his face. Nothing made sense. He still felt as shell-shocked as before. “Why couldn’t you break your promise to my mother and tell me the truth? You owed me that.”
“Maybe I should have . . . I don’t know. I’m sorry.”
He ached all over. “I just can’t believe Mom . . . and then for you to keep her secret on top of everything.”
“You need to forgive Ardy. Let it go.”
He clenched his fists into tight balls. “Forgive? Let it go? Are you crazy? This is my life we’re talking about here. My life.”
“Isn’t that what Christians do? Forgive? I’m pretty positive the Bible tells you to forgive.”
He snorted. “You little hypocrite—telling me you’re mad at God, then quoting Scripture to me and telling me what a Christian should do. What’s your story, Bella?”
Even in the dark, he could make out the anger marching across her face. “I’m not the one who claims to be a Christian. I’ve pretty much laid it out that God and I aren’t on speaking terms. You’re the one who should practice what he preaches, Hayden Simpson.”
She might have a point, but he didn’t care. Not at the moment. “I can’t talk about this right now.” He nodded toward the tow truck ambling down the road, its diesel engine rumbling. “I have my job to do.”
She nodded, then backed away. “I’ll get your mom to run me back home when I take her car back.” The pain in her voice was as clear as Emily’s car sitting by the lake.
But he couldn’t deal with her hurt feelings right now. Not when his own emotions were tied up in massive knots. “Good.” He stomped toward the tow truck and his officers, leaving Bella standing alone.
“Hayden, techs are coming in early to go over the car.” Officer Bob Travis waved his cell phone.
They’d only come in early because it was his sister. While the realization warmed him, it also made him think the men he worked with cared more for him than his best friend. After all, they would go out of their way to help him—Bella just kept secrets that were important to him. And for what?
As soon as the tow truck parked, his mother’s car turned around and headed down the dirt road. Had Bella damaged their friendship beyond repair? He couldn’t imagine not having her in his life. But he couldn’t deal with the secrets. How many more was she keeping from him?
The driver of the tow truck stepped to the ground, clipboard in hand. “Who’s signing?”
Hayden nodded and held out his hand. He scrawled his signature across the bottom of the page, then passed the clipboard back to the driver. “We need this in police impound.”
“Yes, sir.” The driver tossed the order into the truck and pressed a button, lowering the truck’s rig.
“I’ll follow in the car and see that the paperwork is processed ASAP,” Bob said.
“I appreciate that.” Hayden leaned against his cruiser and stared out over Coon Lake. What was he to do? He couldn’t go back to his mother’s, but he didn’t want to go home either. His mind was too crowded—too many worries vying for top attention. Normally he’d run by Bella’s and talk things through with her, but right now . . . not an option.
A car door slammed behind him. “Hayden Simpson, what’s going on?”
He’d recognize that voice anywhere. Ashlee Wainwright, reporter for Hopewell’s rag. Royal pain in the behind.
“I know you hear me.”
He turned and watched Ashlee picking her steps toward him. “What do you want, Ashlee?”
She jutted her pointy chin toward the road. “Heard the call for a tow truck to come pull a car outta here. What’s going on?”
He shrugged. “Just having an abandoned car towed.” His gut tightened at the word abandoned.
“Really?” She stopped in front of him and popped her hands on her hips. “Just an abandoned car, huh? Not how I heard it on the scanner.”
“What did you hear?” Possession of a police scanner by non-law enforcement personnel should be banned.
Ashlee smiled, revealing a row of perfect teeth that her momma worked overtime at the diner to afford. “C’mon, Hayden. Don’t play coy with me.” She batted those dark lashes of hers up at him.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “And you don’t play cutesy with me.”
“Fine.” She narrowed her blue eyes. “Despite your buddies’ attempts to keep her name out of the call out to you, I know it’s Emily’s car.”
“And?”
“And . . . what did you find?”
“There’s nothing to comment on at this time, Ashlee.”
“Is she missing? Do you suspect foul play? Is this connected in any way to the vandalism on MaryBeth Keller’s vehicle?”
Hayden stiffened and dropped his arms to his side. “We have no comment, Ms. Wainwright.” He pivoted and marched to the cruiser’s door.
“C’mon, Hayden. Give me something.”
He reached for the door handle.
“You don’t want to give the impression that you, as police commissioner, are covering up something just because it involves your sister, do you?”
Hayden froze, letting his arm fall. He swallowed once. Twice. A third time.
Ashlee was at his side in a moment. “I’ve heard a rumor that Marshall Abernathy is not only interested in law enforcement, namely your position, but has been seen with your sister as of late.”
What did she know about it? He spun and glared. “When was he seen with Emily? Where?”
The moonlight shone on her widened eyes. “Is that important somehow? Are you asking me for information now?”
Pulling out a notebook from his pocket, Hayden lifted a pencil. “This is an official police investigation, Ms. Wainwright. I can have you brought into the station for questioning, if you’d prefer.”
She stiffen
ed.
“Look, just tell me what you know about Emily and Marshall, okay?”
“Give me something in return. A quote. A comment. Something. Anything.”
Could she know something important? He gave a curt nod.
“Day before yesterday, Priscilla saw Emily get in Marshall’s car at the diner.”
His heart pounded. Monday—after her exchange with Boyd. “What time?”
“After the morning rush at the diner, but before lunchtime.”
He scrawled down the info, then tucked the notebook back into his pocket. “Thanks.”
“A comment, Hayden?”
What could he offer her? He licked his lips. “Yes, it was Emily’s car we towed. She has been missing for four days. No further comment until the crime-scene unit can analyze the vehicle.”
“Four days? But I just told you that—”
“Shh.” Hayden held his fingers to his lips and smiled. Maybe—finally—something was giving him a break today.
Lord, please.
This was too good.
Rafe struggled to concentrate on his notes and not show his reaction to Hayden Simpson’s telling of his conversation with his mother last night. The tension rolling off the police commissioner as he sat behind his desk could have knocked Rafe over.
Daniel Tate’s biological son—Rafe hadn’t expected that one. Not in a million years. Now the implications and possibilities were whirring around in his head faster than a bullet fired from his handgun.
“So you can understand why I’m willing to do whatever possible to help you in your investigation.” Simpson leaned back in the chair. The slight lines around his eyes seemed to have deepened overnight.
“You never had any contact with Judge Tate that you can recall? Ever?” If the judge was his father, surely there had to be some contact. A card . . . a phone call . . . a visit. After all, he’d kept Simpson’s birth announcement.
The police commissioner shook his head. “Never. My mother said she had contact with him briefly after I was born.”
The story was too incredible, if it was to be believed. Rafe studied Simpson’s eyes, searching for emotion. He detected pain, betrayal, and shock, but not deception. “I’m sorry to keep asking, but it’s just . . .”
“I know. It’s hard to understand that I didn’t know.” Hayden ran his hand over his hair. “I’d think the same thing you’re thinking right now. Matter of fact, if I were you, I’d be looking at me as a prime suspect.”
Rafe didn’t like poking and probing, especially when it caused someone upstanding and honest such obvious pain. At least Simpson understood it was the job and nothing personal. “I’ll be honest, it’s crossing my mind.”
Hayden smiled. “And that’s why I’m willing to do anything to help you with your investigation.” The smile slipped from his face. “Someone murdered my f-father. I want to know who and why.”
He didn’t miss how Simpson had stumbled on the word. Rafe couldn’t imagine how he’d feel if he’d found out his father wasn’t who he’d believed him to be. It would affect everything he stood for.
On the other hand, if Simpson wasn’t involved and had no information, then Rafe was back to square one. Not a thing. And his new boss would not be impressed that he’d garnered nothing on the case but cost the bureau money. “I hoped you had something, because there are no other leads.”
“How about you let me look over the case file and see if something jumps out at me? Who knows, maybe I know something I’m not aware of.”
Or he could be trying to find out what they knew. But Rafe didn’t think so. “How about supper at the diner? We can review the notes then.”
Simpson nodded. “Five thirty?”
Rafe pushed to his feet. “Sounds good. I’ll see you then.” He glanced over Hayden’s head and stopped.
A framed photograph caught his attention. Very similar to the ones in the motel’s lobby. But familiar in another way as well. From where?
Simpson stood and followed Rafe’s focus. “Bella Miller took that. She’s quite the local photographer.”
Really? He wouldn’t have pegged her for a photographer, but he could see her as an artist. Something about her kept pulling Rafe’s attention. It was more than her looks—he couldn’t figure it out. “It looks like the pictures in the motel lobby.”
“They are. Bella has sold to almost all the business owners around here.” Sadness tinged his words.
But just yesterday Simpson had claimed her as his best friend, his confidant. And she’d been at the lake last night. Something had changed between the two of them. What had happened? How serious?
Rafe met Simpson’s gaze. “Speaking of Ms. Miller, will she be joining us for supper tonight? I’ll make sure to get a table for three.”
Hayden dropped his eye contact, just for a moment, and let out a small but noticeable sigh. “No, Bella won’t be coming. It’ll just be us two.”
“Any word about your sister?”
A shake of the head, downcast eyes. “Our unit’s still going over her car. We’ve confirmed it was blood we found on the floorboard, but that’s it.”
“I’m sorry, man. I’ll be praying for her.” The words were out before Rafe could stop them. Not that he was embarrassed by his faith—not in the least—but sometimes people took his statements the wrong way.
But Simpson’s eyes widened and a smile followed. “Thanks. I appreciate that.” Genuine. The man was a Christian as well.
Rafe hated causing him pain all the more. “I’ll see you tonight.” He turned and headed out of the police station.
He’d have to send Hartlock an update as soon as he got to the motel. This could buy him an extension from his new boss. He needed time—to work the case, to figure out what to do about Lancaster, for Savannah . . . He just needed a break all around.
And maybe, if he was lucky, he could figure out what it was about Bella Miller that kept snagging his attention.
Hayden rang the doorbell a second time. The musical trilling floated under the front door of Priscilla Barnett’s. He’d already checked with the diner and knew she didn’t have to work tonight. Did she go out? It was a few minutes shy of four thirty.
He reached for the doorbell again.
The front door swung open and a woman stood silhouetted in the backlit home. “What do you want? Some people are trying to get some rest.”
Taking in her flannel pajamas, red nose, and mussed hair, Hayden took a step back. She must have a cold or something. “I’m so sorry, Ms. Barnett.” He took out his badge and flashed it. “I’m Hayden Simpson and I need to ask you a few questions.”
She narrowed her eyes and studied the badge, then stared him down. “Make it quick.” She sneezed into the crook of her arm.
No offer to step inside out of the early evening’s chill. This woman wasn’t in the mood to play. It was obvious she didn’t feel well.
“Yes, ma’am. I received a report that you saw Emily Simpson with Marshall Abernathy on Monday morning.”
“That’s right.” She sneezed again. “Wait a minute, I know who you are. You’re Emily’s brother, yes?”
He nodded.
“Yeah, she was talking about you to Marshall.” Ms. Barnett leaned a little closer. “He didn’t look none-too-happy about her mentioning you so often, in my opinion.”
Hayden’s gut tightened. “Why do you say that?”
“He kept frowning at her. Hushing her.”
“Did they leave together?”
She shrugged. “It was near the end of my shift, so I can’t say for certain, but they did walk out of the diner together.”
He made notes in his notebook. “Anything else you can remember?”
“No.” She covered a yawn with her hand. “Is something wrong?”
>
Hayden shut his notebook and smiled. “Thank you for the information, Ms. Barnett. Again, I’m sorry to have disturbed you.” Without another word, he turned and headed back to the car.
So Emily had met with Marshall on Monday and they’d left the diner together. Where did she go from there? Where was she now?
Chapter Thirteen
“How much more grievous are the consequences of anger than the causes of it.”
MARCUS AURELIUS
He had too much to lose—his future career was on the line.
Now was not the time for Remington Wyatt to resurface. They had too much to lose. The timing could not be any worse.
Glancing back at the report on his desk, he wiped his palms against his right-down-the-center creased pants leg. Why now? After all this time . . . had the FBI agents not done their jobs before, or had Remington just gotten lazy?
They’d searched for her. He’d been there. He’d seen the reports. They’d looked high and low for her three years ago. As far as he knew, they randomly checked for her since, just to make sure there was no sign of her.
Clever girl. She’d found Tate’s secret. Interesting that she didn’t reveal it. He couldn’t help but wonder why not. How and why had she kept silent all this time? He’d understood why she ran—her smartest move—but to never come back?
How had she hidden right under their noses? Was there a traitor in the bureau? Someone who’d let her stay hidden? Even helped her?
He’d have their badges.
He shoved to his feet, pacing the Oriental rug in his office. He hoped to move soon, but first he had to be sure Remington Wyatt didn’t talk.
But now . . . now, when he was on the verge of getting everything he ever wanted, she slipped up and let herself be found?
Unacceptable.
He’d see to it that the boys cleaned up their mess at once. The one they should’ve handled three years ago.
He lifted the phone to make the call.