“She’s not a lead—she’s a young, innocent girl.”
Finishing the candy bar, Garrett crumpled the blueand-gold wrapper and then tossed it toward the wastepaper container. The wrapper went in. Only then did he look at Megan.
“Yeah, I know.”
Something in his voice made Megan look at him. Maybe it was the hour, or maybe she really was getting giddy and lax, but she believed him. At least about this.
Finished eating, she absently folded the wrapper in half, then in half again. “What are her chances of staying innocent?”
Garrett had already decided that Megan was more savvy than she first appeared. Maybe a lot more savvy.
“You know the answer to that better than I do. Slimmer every day.” And that was the real tragedy of it. “Forget about innocent, just concentrate on finding her alive.”
Megan raised an eyebrow. “Advice from the competition?”
He heard a touch of amusement in her voice and didn’t know just why he found it so attractive. Garrett shoved his hands into his pockets and shrugged. “Take it while it’s free.”
“There is no such thing as free.” Everything, Megan knew, came with a price. What price did he want to exact from her?
Just when Garrett thought he had her pegged, she changed direction on him again. He studied her for a long moment. “That’s pretty cynical, even for a former government agent.” A half smile played on his lips. “Born that way?”
No, she hadn’t been born that way. She’d been born an optimist. Until she’d been taught otherwise. “Circumstances.”
And suddenly, Garrett realized he wanted to know about those circumstances. He told himself that it was because he always wanted to know everything there was about a case. But he didn’t know if he actually believed himself. “Care to elaborate?”
Megan set her mouth hard. “No.”
He looked at her for a long moment. He wasn’t about to coax it out of her, if that was what she was waiting for. But he did want to know.
“It’s going to be a long night,” he said mildly, “and I didn’t bring any cards.”
It was on the tip of Megan’s tongue to demand to know what that had to do with anything.
That was why she had absolutely no idea what it was that made her give him an answer. Maybe she just needed someone to talk to to fill the minutes that were dragging by. Or maybe she knew that if Wichita really wanted to know about any part of her background, he could pull a few strings and get his hands on her file.
Just as easily as she could get her hands on his.
More easily, in fact.
She folded her hands in front of her, looking down at her fingertips. “My brother was kidnapped when I was a kid.”
Suddenly, Garrett understood. “Did they ever find him?”
She raised her head. The eyes that met his were angry. Very angry.
“Yeah, they found him,” Megan said bitterly. “But not before my mother had had a complete nervous breakdown. Not before my other brother and I became prisoners of nightmares that refused to go away.” Even years later.
There were times when she still woke up in a cold sweat, dreaming that some unseen hand had come to snatch her away from home, the way it had Chad.
Garrett heard what he felt was the only important thing. “If they found him, then your brother was one of the lucky ones.”
“I know that,” she snapped at him. There was no reason to cry, not after all these years. It was all done with and in the past. Megan felt moisture along her lashes anyway. She looked away. “They found Chad with my father two-and-a-half years after he’d been kidnapped.” Like a robot incapable of feeling, she recited, “Two-and-a-half years after my father swore he had nothing to do with it. Two-and-a-half years after he supposedly flew in from Houston to hold my mother’s hand and comfort her when the ordeal started.”
Garrett saw the raw emotion in her eyes when she looked at him again.
“My father served six months in prison, then his lawyer got the verdict overturned on some technicality. As far as I know, he’s going on very well with his life.”
Megan hadn’t seen her father in all these years. Not even once. She couldn’t bring herself to do so. Not after what he’d done to everyone.
Not after he’d killed everything within her that could trust someone.
“And your mother?” Garrett asked softly.
“Finding Chad helped bring her around, but she’s never been the same since.”
There was no point in saying anything about the depths of depression her mother had sunk to, or the hospital confinements over the years. Or how Megan had had to be the mother to both her own mother and to Rusty even before she saw her teens.
“Chad went into law enforcement.” It was the only way, she knew, that Chad could make peace with the world around him. And with his own life.
Garrett was far more interested in her motives. “Is that why you did, too?”
Megan answered before she realized that Wichita was drawing out bits of her. “I did it so that maybe I could help spare someone from going through the hell my mother did.”
He took her hand, forcing her to look at him. “How about the hell you went through?”
It was a surprisingly sensitive question—for a government agent. Her mouth curved.
“Maybe you’re not as thick-skinned as I thought. Most people don’t realize that the victim’s siblings hurt just as much as the parents do.” Belatedly, she realized he was holding her hand. She drew it away. “Maybe more—because they’re afraid it’ll happen to them, too.”
“And worse if they find out that someone they idolized is responsible.”
She looked at him sharply. He had no right to probe her like this. “I never said I idolized my father.”
“Yes, you did. Just not out loud.”
Her defense shields slid back into place. “Practicing Psych 101?”
Garrett shrugged at the sarcastic tone, knowing its source was pain. “Comes in handy at times.”
It was too late to tell him to back off, Megan thought. He’d already delved too deeply. But if he’d made her expose herself to him, the least he could do was return the favor.
Megan tossed her hair over her shoulder. “Okay, we’ve played true confession with my life. What’s your story?”
Garrett had no intention of going there. “I don’t have a story.”
His reaction was just what Megan would have anticipated. But she wasn’t going to give up. “Everyone has a story.”
“Mine’s just a footnote.” Because Garrett knew she wouldn’t back off, he gave her just the barest of scraps. “I want to get slime like Velasquez away from people like Kathy and that kid on the gurney.”
“That’s very altruistic-sounding. Did you just one day wake up and decide to pick up the mantle of the Masked Avenger, or is there something more to it than that?” When he didn’t say anything, Megan felt she had her answer, at least in part. “Does it have something to do with your saying that you’re an only child now?”
His admission about that had just come out. And it shouldn’t have. Annoyed, Garrett snapped, “Let’s just drop it, all right?”
“Not after you just went kibitzing through my guts, we don’t.” She saw his frown and ignored it. “Okay, let me take a stab at this. Velasquez sold drugs to your sister or brother or whoever, and you’re looking for revenge. Am I close?”
“Not close, just annoying.” He got up, terminating the conversation.
It felt like a slap in the face, but Megan recovered. There was no way she’d give him the satisfaction of knowing. She shrugged indifferently. “Have it your way.”
“I intend to,” he said, walking away from her.
She watched his back. It was stiff, as if someone had just shoved a rod between his shoulder blades.
“If you keep stuff like that inside you long enough,” she called after him, “it’ll eat you alive.”
He stopped and then turned around. “Now who’s prac
ticing Psych 101?”
“I never practice anything.” She grinned. “I just do it.”
He had no doubt about that.
Chapter 8
Megan didn’t remember falling asleep. She didn’t even realize that her eyes had closed until the muted sounds of a small child’s crying invaded her subconscious and made her jolt.
Her eyes flew open in embarrassment.
Coming around, she looked at the clock on the wall, which was easier to focus on at the moment than the watch on her wrist.
Megan blew out a breath, annoyed. Somehow, it had gotten to be seven in the morning without her fully realizing how. The last time she’d looked, it had been almost four. That meant she’d lost about three hours somewhere.
Her mouth had a sticky, sweet taste in it. The chocolate bar, she thought. That, too, was going to remain with her for a while.
The last thing she remembered was talking to Wichita about Houston.
Wichita.
The name shot through her brain like a bullet, just a microsecond before she realized that he was no longer sitting opposite her. Or anywhere in the immediate vicinity.
Shooting to her feet, she felt something drop from her lap. She hadn’t even realized there was something there. Megan bent down to pick it up, her back protesting. Her fingers closed around the small transponder she’d inserted in Wichita’s trunk.
Heaping silent curses on his absent head, Megan quickly crossed to the registration desk. There were new faces on the other side of the barrier. The night shift was gone. One woman was busy taking information from the distraught young mother of the crying child.
Agitation strummed through her as Megan turned to the clerk in the next cubicle. “Do you know where the man who was sitting with me went?”
The woman looked at her blankly.
She should have known better, Megan thought. “Never mind.”
Turning abruptly, she hurried to the stationary doors she’d been watching half the night. Behind her, she heard a chair being scraped along the floor as it was pushed back.
“You can’t go in there,” the woman called after her.
Watch me, Megan thought. Everything, apparently, had gone wrong.
She rushed into the treatment area to see the ER physician walking to the rear exit. Beyond lay the emergency parking lot.
“Wait!” Reaching him in time, Megan grabbed the resident’s arm to keep him from leaving. “You never got back to me.”
He looked at her, puzzled and just a little wary of her erratic behavior.
“Yes, I did. I came out when the patient regained consciousness.”
“When was that?” She realized that the question came out like a demand, but being double-crossed rarely brought out the best in her.
The physician thought a moment. “Around five.” He didn’t see what was wrong. “The other agent said there was no sense in waking you up, too. That he would handle it.”
She just bet he did. Five. That meant Wichita had more than a two-hour headstart. He could be anywhere. She had to talk to Joe.
“Where’s Stafford now?”
“He’s in ICU. Stable, but guarded.”
“Where’s—?”
He anticipated her question. “Down the hall past the elevators to your left.”
Megan nodded, finally releasing her hold on the resident’s arm. For his benefit, she attempted half a smile. “Thank you.”
She glanced out into the lot as the resident humed away through the doors, obviously glad to put the night, and her, behind him.
Wichita’s car was gone. What a surprise.
With some fast talking, Megan managed to get past the receptionist in the intensive care unit.
At first glance, Joe Stafford looked even worse than he had when Megan first discovered him. The only difference was that some of his color had returned.
Megan gently placed a hand on Joe Stafford’s shoulder and roused him.
The brown eyes that finally opened and looked up at her were hazy and blank.
Megan wasn’t even sure if they were focused. “Joe, can you hear me?”
“Yeah...” Each word sounded as if it came from a long distance away. “Do I know...you?”
“No.” She shook her head and forced an encouraging smile, telling herself not to dwell on the harm Stafford had done. It wouldn’t help. “But you know Kathy. Where did they take her?”
“Kathy?” The name seemed to mean nothing to him. The blank stare deepened until it seemed to take over his entire face.
“Kathy Teasdale,” she said slowly, waiting for the name to register. “Kathy—the girl you ran off with.” Still nothing. “Short, blonde, fourteen.”
Megan struggled to control her temper. If not for this misguided, poor excuse for a human being, Kathy would be home with her family, looking forward to all the things a fourteen-year-old girl was entitled to.
“Your girlfriend.”
A faint light entered his eyes as something finally clicked into place. With effort, he tried to move his head from side to side, but succeeded only in a slight twitch. “I dunno ... a trip ... they sent me...on my own ... trip.”
There wasn’t time for this. Megan lowered her face to his ear. “A trip to where?”
“Hands...something...no...palms...maybe.”
Megan stared at him. She had no clue what he was trying to say, and he was beginning to drift away again. And then a thought came to her from nowhere. Velasquez went where the rich went.
“Palm Springs? Did they take her to Palm Springs?”
A labored breath found its way into his lungs. “Yeah...maybe.”
Megan saw the nurse approaching her. There wasn’t time for more questions.
Garrett felt rather pleased as he embarked on the last leg of his trip to Palm Springs. The road was clear, he was making good time, and the temperatures were mild for this time of year. He should be in the heart of the city in less than an hour.
The DEA’s connections had yielded the name and address of Velasquez’s main contact in the city, based on the fragmented ramblings of a kid in the hospital. From where he stood, that was a pretty fair accomplishment.
He had a lot to feel good about. Word on the street was that Velasquez was here to meet with a supplier. Though the particulars were still hazy, the pieces looked as if they were finally falling into place. And if that wasn’t enough, he’d managed to sneak off and lose Megan.
Right about now, he figured he was feeling as good as he was ever going to.
The smile on his lips faded a little.
Triumph wasn’t quite as high a feeling as it should have been. But that would undoubtedly come, he promised himself and the memory of his brother, once he had Velasquez behind bars.
Little by little, Garrett’s thoughts strayed back to Megan He wondered how she’d reacted, waking up in the ER waiting room to find that he was gone. Probably madder than a wet hen, and spewing words that would make truck drivers blush.
The notion made him grin to himself. Megan Andreini was some piece of work.
He had to admit that he’d never met a woman quite like Megan before—one who caught his fancy this way. A woman he thought of as his equal.
A woman who lingered on in his mind once their moment together was gone.
Realizing as much made him feel uneasy. This was something new, something he couldn’t prepare for, couldn’t train for. And strapping on a gun wouldn’t help.
He didn’t like being unarmed.
Garrett shook himself free of the thought. He didn’t have time to dwell on her, he reminded himself. It would only gum things up, and he needed a clear mind for what was ahead.
But the road continued to stretch before him, and thoughts of Megan continued to sneak back into his mind. Almost against his will, he thought back to the last conversation they’d had just before her eyes had closed and she’d surrendered to sleep.
It came back to him almost verbatim.
“You’re from Hou
ston?” he’d asked in surprise and suspicion when she’d volunteered that small tidbit to him around three-thirty. There’d been some old black-and-white movie with stilted dialogue and fake scenery on the television, making Megan seem all the more vivid.
There’d been mischief in her eyes as she’d answered. “Just because I don’t drawl and my mouth isn’t filled with warm honey when I talk doesn’t mean I can’t be from your hometown.”
But her mouth had tasted like warm honey when he’d kissed her, Garrett remembered thinking. Actually, more like hot honey that swirled and oozed all through him the moment his lips had touched hers.
“You don’t believe me,” she’d guessed when he’d said nothing in reply.
He’d shrugged then, thinking that she would probably say anything to give them common ground, hoping to maybe disarm him that way. As if he could so easily be misled.
He’d narrowed his eyes and just looked at her, but she hadn’t squirmed. “Should I?”
“I don’t really care if you do or not.” And then, because he supposed it wasn’t in her nature to back off from anything—even something as simple as a challenge in a conversation exchanged in an empty hospital waiting room—she’d gone on to add, “I was born in St. Augustine Hospital.”
An eerie feeling had undulated through him, and it took effort on his part to ignore it. She’d probably had a chance to pull up his file somehow. He wouldn’t have put it past her. Wouldn’t have, he’d realized, put anything past this woman. She was as devious as they came.
“So was I.”
He’d watched her eyes when he said it, and saw surprise and disbelief enter. It almost convinced him that she was on the level. Either that, or one hell of a fine actress.
She’d moved to the edge of her seat then, peering into his eyes and making him think about things that had nothing to do with keeping an endless vigil in a antiseptic-smelling room.
“I lived at 18 Shorter Road.”
He was more than familiar with the street. By then he was certain that she was putting him on. This was far too much of a coincidence.
“I lived about a mile from there.” At least he had until the accident that had turned Andy and him into orphans. “3781 Harper.”
A Forever Kind of Hero Page 9