She had no way of knowing if Nicole had been back, if she’d found the note Sara left or if she’d contacted her just because she’d chosen to. The maintenance staff could have easily seen the jeans there and picked them up, thinking someone had missed the can.
Turning on the faucet to muffle her sound, she checked to ensure that the room was empty and then placed her call.
To her relief she was put through to Dr. Anderson immediately.
“I spoke with Lila McDaniels this morning,” the woman said as soon as she picked up the phone. “She explained what was going on and that you might not have much time to talk.”
Letting out a breath she hadn’t known she’d been holding, Sara relaxed against the sink, watching the doorway just in case.
“I don’t,” she told the doctor. “I just need to know what you know about Nicole’s first pregnancy.”
“I have her records right here, but I don’t need them,” Dr. Anderson explained, a tremble of emotion in her voice. “Sometimes I wish I could get that day out of my memory.”
Sara wanted to sit down with the woman. To have a long talk. “I might have to hang up without notice,” she said. “Give me as much as you can of it...”
“She was a new patient, found my clinic on the internet. She called for an appointment to speak with me, to interview me about being the doctor who would deliver her baby. When my receptionist told me about the call, I was intrigued. From the first moment I met Nicole, I knew there was more going on than she’d say. But something about her got to me. It was as if she didn’t know how to accept help. Didn’t even know to ask for it. But knew she needed it.”
Sara knew exactly what the woman meant. And wanted to hear everything she had to say. Every detail.
Two minutes had passed. She might have another three before Michael got suspicious. “She didn’t want her husband to know she was seeing me. I later found out that she was seeing another doctor, as well...”
“What? She had two different obstetricians?”
“Yes. The one her husband knew about and me.”
Heart thumping, Sara watched the door. And listened to her caller.
“The day I told her she was expecting a little girl, the expression on her face, I’d never seen anything like it in my office before.”
“Disappointment? Horror?”
“More like terror. A month later, when she called my emergency number and asked to meet her at my clinic, I understood why.”
“Your clinic?”
“I specialize in natural water births. But I have a full medical staff here. And a delivery table, too, for when we need it. That’s why Nicole came to me, originally. She said she wanted to have her baby here. Naturally.”
“Are you a licensed physician?” Her head was hurting. Nothing was as it seemed.
“Yes, I am. I deliver at the local hospitals, too, when my patients are high risk, or prefer that environment. Nicole wasn’t so much into the natural birth, I thought, as she was in being able to just come in and have her baby without a lot of fuss. Her husband wasn’t with her and she never made mention of him. At first I was under the impression that she was having the baby on her own and would be caring for it on her own as she asked about assistance programs.”
Nicole had been planning to leave Trevor. She’d said so.
Sara heard a noise outside. Waited a second. It might be Michael. Or someone else.
When no one entered the restroom, she asked, “So the day she came to you, that month later?”
“She was bleeding profusely, and I knew almost immediately that she was losing the baby. What I didn’t know, until we got her undressed and saw her stomach, was that that baby had been pummeled out of her.”
“Pummeled?”
“She’d been beaten until she’d miscarried.”
“How can you be certain she didn’t just fall down the stairs?”
“The bruises were all localized in the pelvic area. It was clear that whoever had done that had one goal in mind. And didn’t want to hurt her otherwise.”
She had to ask. “Could they have been self-inflicted?”
“Anything’s possible. She could have rigged up a fist shape somehow and rammed her stomach into it over and over, but why? If she didn’t want the baby, there were other ways for her to take care of the situation. Quietly if she needed it that way. Besides, I’m telling you, there is no doubt in my mind that she wanted that child. Desperately. She was distraught when she knew she was losing it.”
“Fist shaped? You’re sure?”
“I have pictures.”
“Then why didn’t you turn them over to the police?”
“I not only called the police, I wrote a report about the abuse and turned it in through the regular channels. I was never called to testify or show evidence. I didn’t hear from Nicole afterward, either. I wanted her to check in to a hospital, but she refused. And she skipped her follow-up visit with me. I called the police to follow up on the report I’d sent in and was told another obstetrician had been called in, Nicole’s regular doctor, and everything was taken care of. I was no longer needed.”
“Did you call Nicole?”
“Of course. She confirmed what I’d been told. Said everything had been taken care of. She thanked me for helping her and then did something rather odd.”
“What?”
“She asked me not to destroy the pictures, just in case they needed them in court. Which I found somewhat understandable, but then she asked for a way to give me permission to tell the complete truth on her behalf to anyone who ever came to me asking for it. Anyone, not just the police.”
Sara saw a shadow fall in the sunbeam shining outside the door. She couldn’t speak for fear of being overheard.
“Your Ms. McDaniels explained that you counsel victims of domestic violence.”
“That’s right.” Legally, she shouldn’t say much more. Nicole had not given Sara permission to breach client confidentiality privileges. Not that legalities would stop her if she could save a woman’s life.
Nicole’s story held up. The woman hadn’t been lying to Sara about her husband’s brutality. The only lie she’d told had been about her parents. Sara was right back where she’d started. With a vulnerable woman on the run. But the stakes had been raised considerably, because now Nicole’s abusive husband was also on the move.
“I’m glad she has you,” Dr. Anderson said. “Could you please let her know that I’d love to hear from her sometime?”
Promising to do so, praying that she got the chance and that if she did, Nicole Kramer was the woman both Sara and the doctor believed her to be, Sara rang off, flushed the toilet and walked out into the sunshine.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SARA’S DEMEANOR HAD changed yet again by the time she returned to the car. It appeared she’d come to terms with whatever had caused her unrest. The tension was no longer so obvious in the purse of her lips. Nor were the shadows as evident in her eyes.
She walked with purpose as she crossed the cement walk from the bathroom to his SUV.
As usual, she gave him no indication as to anything that might have transpired during the five minutes she’d been away. She’d been on the phone. He was sure of that. He’d heard her talking. Had tried to get close enough to hear who she was talking to. What she was saying.
When he’d noticed beach security watching him as he’d lurked outside the women’s restroom, he’d backed off. He could explain his presence to the officer, but that would mean involving Sara, and then she’d know he’d been trying to eavesdrop on her conversation.
There were other ways to get information.
He had to get hold of her phone. No small feat considering the fact that it was always in her hand or that damned pouch that he hadn’t seen her take off si
nce they’d left her condo the morning before.
Or he could just ask.
“You hear from anyone while you were gone?” he asked as they drove farther down the beach road. He intended to park. To get out and walk.
“I was using the restroom, Edison, what do you think?”
She wasn’t going to tell him who she’d been talking to.
Well, he’d used her time in the bathroom for good, too. With a quick call to the LAPD, he’d received a case number for a crime that Nicole had committed that he knew Sara would neither be able to stomach nor excuse away. He’d received a text with the case number as she’d exited the restroom.
Now he just needed time on his smartphone to be able to access public court records. He wasn’t going to go to Sara with any more information until he had all of his facts in order. Because this was the biggest gun he had. It was going to have to be enough to convince Nicole’s counselor that her client was a lying, conniving, dangerous bitch.
If he didn’t, Sara could end up dead.
* * *
MICHAEL’S PHONE RANG before he found a place to park. Noting the caller, he pulled over, stopped in a lot that was more secluded than he would have liked and said, “Excuse me, I’m going to have to take this,” before getting out and walking away from the SUV down a wooded path that led down to the beach.
“Edison.”
“It’s me, dude. Trevor Kramer.”
“I know.” He couldn’t tell whether the man was obtuse and didn’t get that he and Michael were not partners on this job—or in any way in business together—or if he was just a control freak needing to know what was going on.
Either way, he didn’t like it.
He did, however, like knowing where Trevor was. Where he stood. And what he knew about Nicole’s whereabouts. He’d take whatever help he could get bringing this woman in.
He was ready to go home.
“Just wanted to let you know that I’ve landed.”
“Where?”
“Still in LA. A little apartment. Off Venezuela Boulevard not far from the Santa Monica Pier.”
The man was former Ivory Nation. His organization had committed some heinous crimes. He wore red bootlaces. If anyone could take care of himself, he could.
Unless he had a brotherhood out to get him.
Michael had met Robert Buchannan. He now had firsthand experience of how some people could appear to be one way, could put you at ease, and yet still be capable of taking a life.
“Is it safe?”
“Yeah, dude. Detective Miller set me up. He’s got my back.”
Michael had spoken with the man. He’d seemed like the type of cop you’d want watching your back. Laid-back. And impossible to intimidate.
“I met Nadine and Robert Buchannan.” The guy deserved to know that his in-laws might be agitated.
“I figured you would.”
Fine. They were done. So Michael hung up.
* * *
THE FIRST THING Michael noticed when he returned to the car was the charging cord on the console.
“My phone’s almost dead,” Sara said as he got in.
He wasn’t surprised she’d brought the charger with her. But he was a little surprised that something about this case was finally going his way.
Her phone was out of her hands. Now he just had to get her out of the car long enough for him to access it.
* * *
SHE HAD TO know who his call was from. Had to be able to let the team know what was going on. After the quick string of texts she’d just exchanged with Lila, she knew that Sanchez had extra men out looking for Nicole. Sara was going to help in any way she could.
Either by being there when Michael found her. Or by keeping the team updated.
One way or another, they had to find this woman.
“You want me to trust you, right? To believe what you’re telling me about Nicole.”
“It would be best,” he said. “And just might keep you alive.”
He looked her in the eye.
Sara’s stomach dropped.
And for a brief second, she pictured herself as his Shelley. The woman who he’d sworn to love and cherish.
For a brief second, she was envious.
“So tell me who you were talking to. What call was so important that you had to stop the car to take it?”
It could have been his daughter again. From wherever she was staying.
Or it could have been Trevor.
She wanted him to trust her enough to tell her that.
Not because she had any intention of trusting him. Or of letting her guard down at all.
But because she wanted him to have reason to think she was trusting him.
“Trevor Kramer.”
If they’d have been walking, she’d have stopped in her tracks. “Nicole’s husband just called you.”
“Yes.”
And Michael had told her.
Fear pumped through her. Did the man have Nicole? Had Michael led him to her? Behind Sara’s back? Keeping Sara and her team off the trail long enough for them to catch the woman?
Nicole’s parents—they were involved in this somehow...
“Why?”
“Because I gave him my card to be in touch if he heard from his wife or had any other information that could help lead me to her.”
Panic eased just enough to allow her to breathe.
“And did he? Have information, I mean.”
“No. He was just calling to let me know that your people were watching his house so he moved.”
“I don’t have people watching his house.” The lies were coming too easily. “The police are investigating allegations that Nicole made.” That part was true. Lies gained force when they were bolstered by truth.
The LAPD, in conjunction with the Santa Raquel Police Department, was investigating Nicole’s allegations. The High Risk Team had a group of off-duty police volunteers watching Toby until they could legally remove the boy from his father’s custody.
He frowned.
“So where did he move?” Lila had just told her that somehow their men had lost him. They were communicating by text, so she didn’t have the details, but the High Risk Team was worried that Trevor might be on his way to Santa Raquel.
“Someplace safe.”
“In LA?”
He shrugged.
“You want me to trust you, you need to trust me, too.”
The glance he gave her was both assessing and...not quite convinced.
“Because I not only want you to trust me on this, I want you to understand that Nicole is the danger here, I will tell you that Trevor is still in LA. Under protection of the LAPD.”
Was he hoping she’d tell Nicole that? Did he know she’d been in contact with her client? Or was he letting her know that the LAPD believed Trevor Kramer, thus trying to give weight to his evidence?
The first rule in effective thinking—verify your source. Michael would know that as well as she did.
And a classic characteristic of manipulation was making your victim feel isolated, as though he or she was the only one who didn’t get it. By telling them you had the weight of an entire police department on your side, for example.
She wanted to ask if he thought Detective Miller could be involved, but knew that the question would tip off Michael to the fact that she didn’t trust him at all.
At least she knew that Trevor was staying put in LA. That as long as Nicole stayed in Santa Raquel she’d be relatively safe. If her white-supremacist parents were a threat to her, surely they’d have gotten to Nicole before now, in spite of the restraining order.
It was pretty clear that they weren’t going to hurt her. Robert had told Micha
el that he wanted his daughter in safe custody. More likely, if for some reason Nicole was desperate enough to show up at their door, they’d call Sara. Or Michael...
They drove another couple of minutes before it dawned on Sara that Michael could have been lying to her about his phone call. Maybe it hadn’t been Trevor...
“Where in LA?” She broke the silence that was getting too thick for comfort in that vehicle. Broke out of the cacophony that was taking control of her mind.
“A small apartment. Venezuela Boulevard. By the Santa Monica Pier.”
“There!” Michael’s raised tone was like a gunshot to her chest as he swerved into a parking lot and came to such an abrupt stop that Sara flew forward against her seat belt. “That bathroom. A woman with her hair tucked up in an old hat just darted into that bathroom.”
The urgency in his tone ignited Sara as she unbuckled herself, threw open her door and ran.
It was only when she got to the door of the bathroom that she realized she had no way of contacting Lila if it was Nicole in that bathroom. Her phone was charging in the car.
Inside, she saw feet under two stalls. And remembered that Nicole had a phone. She just hoped to God that Sanchez or his people could get there before Michael came storming in and did something foolish.
He wanted her to believe that Nicole was dangerous. That her life was at risk.
So he had reason to pull his gun when they saw her. Or, at the very least, strong-arm her.
Would he turn her over to Miller instead of allowing Sanchez to take her?
Neither person in the stalls was making any sound.
“Nicole?”
No answer.
A toilet flushed. A woman came out. Gave her an odd look. A tentative smile. Washed her hands and left.
Another toilet flushed. A woman with an old hat on came walking out. She was short. Slender. And in no other way resembled Nicole.
Not that Michael could have known that from his vantage point. His ID had been a good one. Just not good enough.
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