The Woman Most Wanted

by Pamela Tracy

  “You’re comparing her to you. You wouldn’t keep anything of his near a child of yours. She’s Rachel. You’re Heather.”

  “Glad you noticed,” Heather said.

  He looked around the living room. A lone light, center of the ceiling, long cord hanging down, lit the room. The walls boasted the clock, still pointing to nine, and one photograph. Abigail. Rachel probably didn’t want her photo anywhere, not when he, the chief of police, kept pounding on her door asking about Richard.

  “I turned off the water for the washer and dryer,” Heather said. “I brought what little mail there was in. The milk in the fridge is good for another week.”

  “She won’t be home that soon,” Tom predicted.

  Heather nodded.

  “Neither will Richard. And that’s if he ever recovers. Stopped by this morning. No change.”

  “Who will care for Abigail? Surely there must be someone...”

  Tom shook his head. “Abigail will stay in temporary foster care. Then she’ll be placed into either a group home or long-term until Richard gets better and is released.”

  “How long will he be in jail?”

  “That’s not something I can answer.”

  “You probably have an idea.”

  “Years. And his fine will be substantial. Lucille died as a result of her injuries.”

  “What if the family doesn’t want to press charges? Lucille had already forgiven him, and she’d told her family to do the same.”

  “But—”

  “Have you asked them?”

  He felt somewhat indignant that she’d question him. “Look. Richard drove away. If he’d stayed and administered—”

  “Why did he drive away?”

  “We don’t know for sure. However—”

  “Just like you didn’t know why Rachel got out of the car. You didn’t know that Jeremy Salinas threatened to shoot her and her unborn baby just moments before he shot Max.”

  The living room was tiny, and getting tinier by the word.

  She was right. Partly. He needed to rethink a few things.

  Tom cleared his throat. “Speaking of Rachel, that’s why I drove out here.”

  “Oh...” Heather leaned forward. “You learn something new?”

  “We got the results back from the DNA testing.”

  “Mom’s hairbrush, dad’s ancient toothbrush.”

  “It was enough.”

  She clasped her hands in her lap and waited, not quite looking at him and definitely not waiting for him. “Rachel’s my half sister. I was expecting this.”

  Tom leaned forward, wishing he hadn’t sat down. “Hear me out. The forensic scientist I spoke with in Albuquerque said that half siblings share twenty-five percent of their genes.”

  “Okay.”

  “Full siblings share fifty percent.”

  “Okay.” This time her answer came a bit slower.

  “You and Rachel are full siblings.”

  She stood, looked very much like she wanted to go somewhere, but then frowned and sat down. “You mean that Kyle Ramsey is my biological father?”

  “Not a chance. We’d sent a summary of the case to the forensic lab. They had access to Kyle’s DNA as he’s in prison now. No match, not for you or Rachel.”

  “Then, who is...?”

  “We don’t know yet. We’re back to it being someone in town.”

  “Maybe we’ll never know.”

  “That could be.”

  “I need to talk to Rachel. Have you told her yet?”

  “No, I’ll do it tonight or tomorrow morning.”

  “My full sister. Wow.”

  He tried to smile. He wanted to. But in his book, being related to Rachel Ramsey wasn’t something to celebrate. Even as he helped her gather her belongings and lock up the place, he thought about the future. Because he knew Heather would make a place for Rachel in her life. They’d visit, send care packages and more.

  Only for Heather could he make this exception.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  LATE THE NEXT AFTERNOON, Heather walked into the police station. Leann was at the front desk. “Hey,” she said, looking up. “Chief’s not around.”

  “I’m not here to see him. I’d like to visit with Rachel.”

  Leann’s smile slipped. “I’m not sure the chief would okay that.”

  “Rachel’s allowed visitors, isn’t she?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then it really doesn’t matter what the chief would okay.” Heather had spent the morning with social services. She’d explained who she was, asked to take over Abigail’s care from the approved foster parents, and started filling out the forms. She had made some decisions. She was staying in Sarasota Falls, and while Rachel was incarcerated, Heather intended to watch over Abigail.

  “Hold on. Let me call him.”

  Heather waited, not patiently. She’d mulled this over all night and again this morning. Full sisters. Everything clicked into place.

  “Chief says he can be here in twenty minutes.”

  “I took today off work. I can meet whenever he can.”

  “Heather, this isn’t a good idea,” Leann began.

  “Do I need to fill out any paperwork?” Heather asked.

  Leann looked around. Heather knew she was hoping that Oscar or Lucas would suddenly show up, offer a second opinion, possibly talk some sense into Heather.

  Soon Heather was filling out the visitor-information card and then following Leann down a hall to the same room and same table where Tom had interrogated her.

  “I still don’t think this is a good idea,” Leann said, heading out the door, only to return with Rachel. “I’ll be right here in the hallway. Shout if you need anything.”

  Rachel looked tired.

  “You doing okay?” Heather asked. It seemed like a lame question.

  “No.”

  “Can I get you anything?”

  Rachel gave a half smirk; it looked half-hearted. “No.”

  “Did Tom talk to you already?”

  “You mean about us being sisters and all? Yes, he did. I’m not surprised. My mom said that my dad wasn’t exactly faithful. Bit of a surprise, though, finding out about you. Bigger, and better, surprise finding out my dad isn’t Kyle.”

  “You have any idea who our father is?”

  “Look—” Rachel leaned forward, giving Heather pause, scaring her a bit “—I’ve got more to worry about than who the sperm donor is. I realize you’re on a quest to discover your past, but I—”

  “I saw Abigail this morning.”

  Rachel’s posture changed. The toughness softened. She sat up. “How is she? Did she ask about me? How come you saw her?”

  “She’s in foster care and with a really good family. I’ve been asked not to share their name, some kind of legality. But, Rachel, listen to me. I’ve already set up another meeting with social services. If it’s okay with you, I’m willing to take Abigail until you’re out. I—I guess I’m her aunt. I’ll even bring her to visit you.”

  “I don’t want her to visit me in jail.”

  “Okay, then I’ll make sure there’s lots of letters and videos and—”

  “I—I don’t like this. I don’t know you. And you’re dating the chief of police. He’d never take on Abigail. He hates me more than life.”

  “No, he doesn’t. He’d take on Abigail. I know he would.”

  “No.”

  “Rachel, think about it. Right now, Abigail’s in a temporary foster home. When you’re sentenced, she could go to a family—”

  “Richard will watch her. He’ll wake up. He has to.”

  “He’ll be serving time, too. A lot, maybe. I’m willing to watch he
r as long as it takes.”

  “Are you willing to stop seeing the chief of police?”

  “No, because you’re wrong about him.

  “I’m not.”

  “Okay.” Heather pushed herself up. “I’ve made an offer. I really want to watch Abigail for you. Get to know the only niece I have. But I respect your wishes.” She took two steps toward the door and raised her hand to knock, letting Leann know she was ready to leave.

  “Why would you do that?” Rachel said softly.

  Heather rested her forehead against the door, feeling the smooth, hard wood. “I don’t know. Two people took me in when my situation was worse than Abigail’s. Apparently, I had bruises. I keep thinking about it. I, well, I was lucky. Someone took me out of a bad situation, even if they had to do it in an unusual way. I had the best childhood a kid could hope for. I wish you’d have followed, been with me. Taking Abigail, getting close to you, might be a mistake, but who knows, maybe some day we’ll be family, there for each other.”

  “You’ll watch over Abigail, so she’s not in the system, switched from place to place, maybe hurt? And that Jeremy won’t find out? You’ll see that the chief is good to her?”

  “I will. You already know that I own the house you live in. I’ll move in there, put her in school, make as much of a home as I can. I helped my mom with her childcare business. I like kids. I’ll be Aunt Heather. When you get out, Abigail will be waiting for you. I will, too. We, uh, share the same blood.”

  Rachel’s jaw clenched. Heather could see the battle raging in her eyes. It had to hurt, having no control.

  “For Abigail, I’ll do anything. Unfortunately, I don’t know who our father is. I remember Kyle. I was glad he left. There were a few townies who hung around. I’ll give you their names, but I don’t hold out much hope. They were brief and partiers. And, if you dig, you’ll find an angry wife glaring at you. I know I opened the door to that house a time or two to a woman looking for her husband. Not fun.”

  “Bianca said that Diane arrived in town with me. I was almost two.”

  “So, someone she knew before she moved here, but someone she was with while she was with Kyle.”

  It was a slightly different Rachel now. One who was sitting straight, still looking tired but not as wounded. “Maybe you should ask Bianca some more questions.”

  Heather paused, took a breath, tried to remember the conversation and then let out the breath. “Bianca did say something else. She said that Diane arrived in town in an old burgundy-and-black Studebaker. I just saw one the other day. Who...?”

  “The mayor drives a Studebaker,” Rachel responded. “He loves old cars. Buys them and fixes them up. Diane told me she’d purchased it from her family.”

  “Oh, wow. The mayor. I work for his brother.” Heather’s mind was going in all directions, remembering other things, like the little girl with the chipped tooth and the...birthmark.

  Heather didn’t like the ideas forming in her mind. The mayor collected old cars, which meant he might have known Diane before she moved to town.

  Puzzle pieces were falling into place. Did they fit? Or was she forcing them? Days ago, she’d considered that little girl sitting in the dental chair, Beatrice, a distant relation. Now she figured not-so-distant.

  “Ew,” Rachel said, after Heather shared her concerns, “the mayor might be our father. Ew.”

  Heather felt the same way.

  * * *

  “I DON’T BELIEVE IT.” Tom felt like he’d been kicked in the gut and stepped on. The mayor? No way. Yet, everything both Heather and Rachel said made perfect sense.

  “I’m not even sure what crime I can charge the mayor with unless he had something to do with your kidnapping. Even then, if he gave permission for Sarah and Ray to take you, and Diane didn’t protest, his lawyers will have a field day.”

  “He won’t want his name plastered all over the newspaper,” Heather said.

  “He won’t want his story turned into a TV movie like Shelley Guzman’s story was,” Rachel added.

  Right now, the two of them even sounded alike. He sucked in a breath so quickly it whistled. Just last night, when he’d returned to work, Lucas had asked some hard questions. Questions that Tom thought he’d dealt with.

  “You’ve been with Heather?” Lucas had asked.

  “I told her about the DNA.”

  “Had to do it on Halloween this late at night?” Lucas had queried.

  “Had to,” Tom admitted.

  Lucas had waited a moment, then asked, “Can you get past how much Heather looks like Rachel?”

  “Not a problem,” Tom had said. “Those two are nothing alike.”

  But looking at them now, listening to them, he realized what he already knew.

  They were very much alike.

  Tom wouldn’t let it be a problem.

  But it was, because they’d been having a discussion and he’d been distracted by his thoughts about Heather.

  “What? What did you just say?”

  “I just,” Rachel said, “pointed out that the only person in town who has one of the mayor’s antique cars is Jason Bitmore.”

  “What made you think of that?” Tom asked.

  “Because I remember being surprised when he sold it to Jason,” Rachel said. “He never sold his cars. They’re in a big shed in the back of his property.”

  “You’ve been there.”

  She blushed. “With Jeremy. He, um—”

  “Stole the wheels off three classic cars,” Tom said, finishing her sentence. “Six years ago. On a Halloween night.”

  “He did,” Rachel admitted.

  “It seems my job just got harder.” Tom motioned for Leann. She took Rachel back to her cell while Heather followed Tom to his office. He motioned for her to sit while he called Oscar and asked his deputy to bring in Jason Bitmore. A little back-and-forth followed with Tom instructing Oscar to find out how and why Jason managed to convince Mayor Goodman to part with an antique car.

  Tom already knew what Oscar would find out. It hadn’t been a coincidence that Jason had a car accident the night the Duponts and Sarasota Sweets had been broken in to. Jason had been busy that night and had gotten careless.

  “Oh,” Tom added, “and find out why he broke in to your wife’s shop.”

  Next, Tom called the sheriff in Ritter, Texas, and gave the man the mayor’s name and asked him to visit a man named Owen Tanner.

  “He locates old cars and sells them to those who want to—”

  “We know him,” the sheriff said.

  “I need you to fax me copies of any dealings he had with Mayor Rick Goodman. And, no, I don’t have a subpoena. If he asks for one, tell him you’ll have it in twenty-four hours.”

  “Doubt he keeps records,” the sheriff informed him.

  “You figured it all out,” he mused after he’d gotten off the phone. “Of course, the only ones who might be able to put the mayor and Diane together nine months before your birth would possibly be her father. Owen Tanner. He finds old cars and sells them for profit. Maybe he keeps records.”

  “I heard you,” she said.

  “You find out anything else from Rachel?”

  “No, not really.”

  He stood, reached out a hand to help her up and pulled Heather to him. “You all right?”

  “I am. I really am. What are you going to do next?”

  “Head out and talk to the mayor.”

  “Can I go with you?”

  “Why?”

  “I want to see him. Maybe—”

  “No, not a good idea. It looks like he did all he could to convince you to get out of town.”

  “Wimp,” she said.

  “Yes, and he has a lot to own up to. I’ve worked with him for a
long time, since I earned this badge. And, yes, he’s flawed...” He paused, then added, “Misguided.”

  “Like Rachel used to be.”

  “There’s a big difference between being party to a murder and—”

  “Cheating on your wife, having children you don’t take care of and, if you consider Jason, we can probably add contributing to the delinquency of a minor.”

  “Who taught you all this cop-think?” The corner of his mouth turned up.

  “You did.”

  He stepped around his desk and gathered her in his arms. “I’m glad it’s over. Now things can settle down, and we can really get to know each other. You are staying?”

  It was a question, but it also sounded like a gentle command.

  “Yes, today I told Rachel that I’ll take care of Abigail until she’s out of jail or Richard is well enough.”

  “You’re talking Jeremy Salinas’s child?”

  “Yes, Rachel’s child. My niece.” Her voice was raised, and her brow furrowed in frustration. “I can’t believe you’re surprised by my offer.”

  “And I can’t believe you’d make such an offer without talking to me.”

  “Why—why would I talk to you first? I’m doing the right thing, the only thing.”

  “I’m not sure I could take on Jeremy Salinas’s child.”

  “You don’t have to. I am.”

  “Yes, but I intend to take on you. I was even thinking forever.”

  “Abigail had nothing to do with your partner’s death.”

  His throat tightened. A rational part of him told him to deal with it. But his heart was torn.

  When Heather walked out of the room, his heart was broken. Her steps sounded down the hall. She was hurrying. She wanted away from him.

  Like his ex-wife had wanted away from him.

  He had a code. Putting on his hat, he headed down the hall, nodded to Leann and told her where he was going before he beckoned Lucas to join him. He needed backup for dealing with the mayor.

  And what he needed for dealing with Heather was to be able to talk to his best friend. But Max couldn’t give advice, thanks to Rachel and Jeremy.

  No, he couldn’t look at Abigail every day knowing her parentage.