Dying for Love (A Slaughter Creek Novel)

by Herron, Rita

  Although Bonnie had already filled that role.

  Bonnie folded her arms. “Davie has had a hard go of it, Amelia. He’s small for his age, gets teased, and he’s completely blind in one eye with a very low percentage of sight in the other. It took him a long time to adapt here and to feel secure. My husband and I love him very much and don’t want anything to impede the progress he’s made.”

  “I wouldn’t want that either,” Amelia said. “But please know that I didn’t willingly give up my child. He was taken from me.”

  Silence descended, deafening with unanswered questions.

  “Mrs. Miller,” John finally said. “Davie may not be Amelia’s son. We have another family to talk to about this. But there’s one way to find out for sure.”

  “You want to test his DNA?” Bonnie asked, her voice dropping a decibel.

  “Yes,” John said. “That way you’ll know the truth and so will Amelia.”

  Bonnie gave Amelia a look that cut her to the core. “And what if he is your son, Amelia? Would you take him from the only family he’s ever known?”

  Amelia stood. She understood the woman’s reservations. But at the same time, her child had been stolen from her, and she deserved to know him.

  Tamping down her emotions, she squared her shoulders. “Please just agree to the test and then we’ll talk.”

  “You said you had mental problems,” Bonnie reminded her. “I read about you, you know. What makes you think you’re well enough to take care of a handicapped child?”

  John had asked the same question, but still he hated the doubt flickering in Amelia’s eyes.

  “I’ve worked very hard on my recovery,” Amelia said. “And if Davie is my son, I’d like for us to work together so I can get to know him. I think it would be damaging to a child to grow up thinking his mother didn’t want him, wouldn’t you?”

  Bonnie looked taken aback for a moment, then her expression softened. “Yes, I wouldn’t want that for any child.”

  “I’m sorry if I upset you,” Amelia said gently. “I don’t want to tear up your family. Let’s wait and see about the DNA and then we’ll talk.” She squeezed Bonnie’s hand. “I honestly don’t want to hurt anyone and will do whatever’s best for my son.”

  The girl appeared in the doorway. “Miss Bonnie, Davie needs help. Freddy’s throwing crayons, and Davie wants to make the cookies.”

  “I did promise them we’d make sugar cookies.” Mrs. Miller stood. “All right, honey, tell the boys I’ll be right there.”

  John knew Mrs. Miller would be on the phone to her husband the moment they left. Probably even to an attorney. “Can we get that DNA sample before we go?”

  She looked hesitant for a moment, but gave a conciliatory nod.

  Bonnie led them back to the kitchen and explained to Davie that they were going to take a swab from his mouth.

  John’s cell phone buzzed, and he snatched it from his belt just as he finished. “Agent Strong.”

  “It’s Coulter. Someone just found Ronnie Tillman.”

  John’s breath stalled in his chest. “Where?”

  “By a dumpster in an alley.”

  “Is he alive?”

  “I don’t know. Medics picked him up and are on their way to the hospital. I’ll have CSI process the scene and canvass the area, and I’ll head to the hospital.”

  John waved to Amelia that they needed to go. They said good-bye to the family and rushed to the car.

  Another childhood rhyme played in his head . . .

  This little piggy went to market . . .

  This little piggy stayed home . . .

  This little piggy cried wee wee wee all the way home.

  Crying did no good. He’d learned that the hard way.

  Just like disobeying didn’t get him anywhere except in the hole.

  The hole was dark and scary.

  These boys had to learn just like he had.

  The boy, Danny, would do just fine. He was quiet. Meek. A follower.

  He wouldn’t give them any trouble like some of the others had.

  But if he did, he’d be punished. And he’d learn fast.

  If not, they’d ship him to another place. A place none of the boys wanted to go.

  A place that made the farm look like a party and the things they had to do there fun.

  Chapter Eighteen

  What’s wrong?” Amelia asked as John maneuvered around a truck driving too slow and headed toward the hospital.

  “Ronnie Tillman was found in an alley. The medics are transporting him to the hospital.”

  The image of the poor little boy lying in a bed of trash brought tears to Amelia’s eyes. She could practically smell the stench of rotting food and wet cardboard. Plus the temperature was so frigid, he could’ve developed hypothermia in a short time. Who would do such a thing? “Then he’s alive?”

  “My partner didn’t know any details. We’ll find out when we get there.”

  Amelia started the tapping routine on her leg again, and John frowned, remembering the little boy had a similar habit. Was Davie Amelia’s little boy?

  She lapsed into silence until they arrived at the hospital. “You can stay here if you want or I can get you a cab home.”

  “I’ll go in with you,” Amelia said.

  He didn’t have time to argue. Little Ronnie might be fighting for his life. And if he could tell them anything about his kidnapper, he might be the key to cracking this case.

  Amelia followed beside him as they entered the hospital, her hands jammed in the pockets of her coat, cheeks pink from the cold. Machines beeped, two paramedics rushed through the automatic doors pushing a stretcher, and doctors and nurses bustled around.

  Coulter met him at the door. John quickly introduced Amelia, and he shook her hand.

  “I called Ronnie’s foster mother. She’s on her way.”

  “How is he?”

  “I don’t know. The staff won’t allow me back with him.”

  Damn.

  A harried-looking man wheeled a pregnant lady inside. She gripped her belly and moaned, “I’m going to have this baby here if we don’t hurry!”

  A nurse ran toward her, soothing the couple and directing them where to go. John stared after them, something about the scenario striking a familiar chord.

  He thought back to prior cases, but he’d never helped with a delivery on the job.

  Maybe he’d been a fireman or paramedic before he lost his memory.

  It still seemed odd to him that the police hadn’t uncovered his identity. But apparently his prints weren’t in the system, and for some reason, they hadn’t found a driver’s license with his photo and name on it either.

  He’d even run them himself after he’d joined the Bureau but hit a dead end as well. Which led him to believe he’d changed his name, taken on a new identity for some reason. Because he was running from something?

  But what?

  The sound of doors opening behind him, then the elevator dinging, dragged his attention back to the moment. Amelia was fidgeting, glancing around the sterile walls as if they might close in on her.

  Terri Eckerton raced in, her face etched in fear.

  “Where is he? Is he all right?”

  “We don’t know yet,” John said.

  Coulter joined them. “They took him back to an ER room and are examining him now. But they wouldn’t let me go with him.”

  She pulled away from them and ran to the nurse’s desk. “Please let me see my boy. His name is Ronnie Tillman. He was just brought in.”

  The nurse checked a computer display, then stood. “The doctors are still examining him. Come on, follow me.”

  “We’d like to go with her,” John said.

  The nurse’s brows pinched together. “Who are you?”

 
“We’re with the TBI,” Coulter said, clearly irritated. “This boy was a kidnap victim. It’s urgent that we speak to him as soon as possible.”

  The woman cut her eyes toward Ronnie’s foster mother. “You okay with them in there?”

  She nodded. “Yes, just let me see him. Please. He has to be scared.”

  The nurse waved for them to follow.

  They hurried through a set of double doors, then they wove through several curtained-off cubes until they reached one marked “Ten.”

  The nurse pushed the curtain aside to let them in.

  Amelia’s heart twisted when she saw the little boy in the hospital bed. His face was pale, his eyes too big in his narrow face, his body quivering as if he was still cold.

  Terri rushed to him and gave him a hug. “Oh, Ronnie, I’m so glad they found you. I’ve been worried sick.”

  The little boy looked up at her with a frown and tears in his eyes.

  Amelia’s phone vibrated in her pocket, and she checked the caller ID. An unknown number appeared. She nudged John. “Let me get this.”

  He nodded, and she stepped into the hall. Curious, she pressed answer.

  “Hello, Viola.”

  Amelia jerked her head around, suddenly nervous at the gruff voice. A male voice. And he was calling her by one of her alter’s names. “Who is this?”

  “You’re a whore, you know that. But I don’t mind. Neither did the other men you whored around with.”

  Amelia jerked her head around, searching the hospital waiting room to see if the caller was watching her.

  “Who is this?”

  “Meet me tonight.”

  Perspiration broke out on Amelia’s forehead, and she stepped into the corner of the waiting room and backed against the wall. Viola had taken a lot of lovers, men Amelia didn’t even know.

  Amelia struggled for a calm voice. “What do you want?”

  “I told you, I want to hook up with you again.”

  “I’m not Viola.”

  “Yes, you are. I’ve been watching you and I want my hands on you. All over you.” He made a humming sound. “I want to strip you and put my tongue between your legs.”

  “Stop it!” Amelia said between clenched teeth.

  “I know what you’re doing,” he murmured.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Looking for your baby. Who is the father, Viola? Me or one of the other men you screwed?” A sinister laugh echoed over the line. “Or do you even know?”

  Shame washed over her. Whoever the bastard was, he was right.

  She didn’t know who’d fathered her son.

  “You wanna know what happened to your baby?” he whispered. “You threw him away. That’s the kind of mama you are.”

  Tears clogged Amelia’s throat, and she shook her head.

  But she’d had no control over herself years ago. What if he was telling the truth?

  John stood aside as Ronnie’s foster mother clasped Ronnie’s tiny hand in hers. “I’m here, little man,” she said softly. “You’re going to be okay now.”

  John turned to the doctor, a woman with auburn hair and square glasses. “What did the kidnapper do to him?”

  She fiddled with the pockets on her lab coat. “No sign of sexual abuse,” she said in a low voice. “And surprisingly, no visible bruising.”

  John exhaled in relief. “So he didn’t hurt him?”

  “Not physically,” she said. “But the boy is traumatized. He was also suffering from a major asthma attack and was dehydrated. If he gets upset, you have to leave.”

  “I understand.” John crossed the room and touched Terri’s elbow. Thankfully, the boy’s breathing was steady, and the color was returning to his cheeks. “We need to ask him about what happened.”

  Terri looked worried but agreed. She gently brushed her fingers across Ronnie’s cheek. “Ronnie, sweetie. When you were missing, this nice man here Agent Strong was looking for you.” She gestured toward John, and he offered the kid an encouraging smile.

  “You’re a brave boy,” John told Ronnie. “I don’t want to upset you, but I need you to tell me what happened.”

  Ronnie glanced at Terri, and she squeezed his shoulder. “Agent Strong wants to find the man who took you and make sure he doesn’t hurt any other children.”

  Ronnie coughed, and Terri handed him some water, tilting the straw for him to drink. When he finished, he looked back at John.

  “He was big and had bushy eyes.”

  “You mean bushy eyebrows?” Terri said gently.

  He bobbed his head up and down.

  “What else can you tell me about him?” John asked. “What color was his hair?”

  Ronnie bit his lip. “Brown. It was shaggy like he forgot to comb it. And he smelled like sweat and cigarettes.”

  “That’s good, Ronnie,” John said. “Did he have hair on his face? A beard or a mustache?”

  Ronnie touched his chin. “A little bit down here.”

  “Good. How about scars?”

  The boy’s eyes widened, and he pointed to his cheek. “Yeah. I think it was above his eye.”

  So the kidnapper hadn’t hidden his face from Ronnie. “Anything else? How about a tattoo?”

  “Yeah. But I couldn’t tell what it was.”

  “Where were you?”

  Fear darkened his face. “He put me in the back of a van.”

  “A white van?” John said, wanting confirmation for one of their best leads.

  Ronnie nodded and his chin quivered. “But then I got sick, and he took me to a doctor.” The boy’s face paled again and he began to tremble.

  Terri shot John a concerned look, then sat down on the bed beside Ronnie and rubbed slow circles over his chest. “That must have been scary.”

  “He shot that lady and man, and they bleeded everywhere.”

  “I know, buddy, I’m so sorry you saw that,” Terri said, soothing Ronnie.

  The doctor cleared her throat. “That’s enough for now.”

  John touched the kid’s shoulder. “You did good, Ronnie. Just another couple of questions. Were there other boys where you went?”

  He shook his head.

  “Did the man say where he was taking you?”

  “No. He just said I wasn’t any good. That he shouldn’t have picked me ’cause I was weak.”

  John turned that comment over in his head. That was the reason he’d dumped Ronnie in the alley.

  But what was Ronnie too weak to do?

  Dammit. If it was the same unsub behind the Wesley boy’s abduction, he was probably already looking for another kid.

  Helen Gray shuffled the papers on her desk, worried about the Ellingtons. Amelia Nettleton wanted answers about her baby.

  Helen looked through the files she’d pulled up. She wanted answers, too.

  But she had to keep her reasons to herself. No one knew why she was there.

  No one ever would.

  Her coworker flipped on the television. “There’s a newscast about that missing boy Ronnie Tillman. He’s been found.”

  Helen turned her attention to the set.

  Brenda Banks, the same reporter who’d covered the story about the Slaughter Creek experiments, stood beside Agent John Strong.

  “We have recovered six-year-old Ronnie Tillman,” Agent Strong said. “He was abducted from his foster home, and was found in an abandoned alley tonight. He is in stable condition at the hospital and has been reunited with his foster family.”

  “Was he able to tell you who abducted him?” Brenda asked.

  “No,” Agent Strong said. “But we do believe the kidnapper left him because he suffered from asthma, and that this may not be the first child he’s abducted. Parents should be vigilant about watching their children.”

  H
elen’s coworker took a call and left the office, and Helen studied the agent’s face, his intense brown eyes, the square jaw, his high cheekbones—she’d read about him on the Internet. Knew finding missing children was his cause.

  That he had been in a terrible accident, and head trauma had caused him to have amnesia. That he remembered nothing about his life before a few years ago.

  It was best he didn’t remember. Not her or what happened before his accident.

  Safer for her.

  Safer for him.

  Chapter Nineteen

  After he left the press conference, John drove Amelia home, then drove to the lab to drop off little Davie’s DNA sample.

  Ronnie’s words disturbed him. The kidnapper had gotten rid of him because he wasn’t any good, because he was weak.

  What had he meant by that?

  If the kidnapper wanted strong, healthy boys, there had to be a reason.

  He didn’t like any of the possibilities that came to mind.

  Had the kidnapper wanted boys with no health risk because it decreased their value to human traffickers?

  Disgust soured his mouth. Child labor, sex slaves, he’d heard and seen it all.

  Images of the SFTF camp where boys were being trained for military combat taunted him. Roper had claimed the members recruited their soldiers through family members and friends, and that the boys weren’t forced to join.

  But what if one of the members had found an alternative way of recruiting? He would want strong, healthy boys and Ronnie wouldn’t have fit.

  An image of himself as a preteen flashed behind his eyes, and he squeezed the steering wheel. He stood by an older man wearing a military uniform. They were deep in the woods somewhere. The area was desolate. A barbed-wire fence surrounded the area, thick trees lining the edges, creating a fortress.

  Other teenage boys marched in tandem to their leader’s commands, weapons angled over their soldiers as if preparing for war.

  The leader called John over and ordered him to the firing line. He placed a hand on John’s shoulder.

  “Shooting takes great concentration, but you’re ready for it. Look through the sight finder and line up your target. When you shoot, shoot to kill.”