by Hinze, Vicki
Parker clenched his jaw. “You’re not going back in there.”
“I have to, Parker.”
“Then let’s call Sanders and get a warrant. We can do this right, without endangering you.”
“He won’t do it. You know that as well as I do. Without a missing-persons report, Sandy would be putting his career on the line—and he won’t do that. And you shouldn’t blame him for it.”
“Be reasonable, sweetheart. You can’t expect me to let you go back into that house, knowing what I know about Decker. He could be the man who left the message on your door.”
“I’m not asking for your permission. Don’t you see? I have no choice. I have to risk it.” She stroked his face. “Look at me. No, Parker, really look at me.”
He did. Her eyes were dull, listless. The dark circles beneath them were deeper now, and strain etched her face. She looked weary and worn out.
“Misty is worse,” she said. “If I don’t find her soon, she’s going to die.” Caron swallowed hard. “And, this time, so will I.”
Chapter 7
Caron rested her head against Parker’s shoulder and watched the city lights twinkling below. There wasn’t a prettier view of New Orleans than from the bridge. With a little shiver, she prayed this wouldn’t be the last time she saw it.
“Cold?” One hand on the steering wheel, Parker reached with the other and rubbed her thigh.
“No,” she said, wondering why it was so easy to confess her deepest feelings to him. “Scared.”
“Me, too.” He tapped the signal, then switched lanes.
She had a hard time imagining Parker Simms afraid of anything. It was comforting, having him admit to a weakness.
“I can’t stand the thought of you going back into that man’s house, Caron.”
Scooting closer, she linked their hands. He laced their fingers and pressed their palms together. A knot shifted into her throat. Too tender!
She changed the subject. “You didn’t tell me.” The medication had kicked in. But was that why she was feeling better? Or was it Misty? “How’d the meeting go with Linda Forrester?”
“All in all, I suppose it was productive. She’s hiding something, and she’s scared witless.”
As soon as Misty crossed her mind, the pain redoubled. Was focus the key to controlling the pain? “For her brother, maybe?”
“I don’t think so.” Parker braked, slowing the car. “It-Hell, I don’t know. You’re the one who senses things.”
So finally he’d accepted it. She gave his fingers a little squeeze. “Maybe she’s worried about Forrester.”
“That was easy enough to pick up on,” Parker agreed. “I don’t know about that fling we suspected with Vanessa, though, sweetheart. Forrester’s wife’s a knockout, and she’s crazy about him. From her clothes, they’re loaded, too.” Parker grunted. “What else could the man want from a woman?”
“I don’t know.” Caron felt oddly content. Considering their situation, she should be frantic, but she wasn’t. Parker’s endearment soothed, mostly because it had rolled so naturally off his tongue. “Do you have something of hers? Something she touched?”
“No.” Parker passed a truck, then eased back over into the right-hand lane. “Wait. Yes, I do.” He pulled something from his jacket pocket. “This.”
Caron took the book of matches, closed her eyes, and concentrated. Fear flooded her. Anger followed it. Then the images were coming so fast, she couldn’t decipher them, just soaked them up like a sponge.
She dropped the matches and opened her eyes. Parker was about to exit onto Belle Chase Highway. “Don’t turn,” Caron said, her voice pitched high.
“Why?” He glanced her way. “Caron, what is it?”
“The woman you met wasn’t Linda, Parker. I don’t know who she was, but she wasn’t Linda.”
“Okay, but—”
“She’s the woman who took Misty to Decker.”
“Oh, God.”
“She knows where Misty is.” Caron’s heart nearly thudded out of her chest. “Turn around.”
“Where are we going?”
“First to my apartment.”
Parker whipped off the road, waited until it was clear in both directions, then turned and headed back toward the bridge. “I don’t get it.”
Caron kissed his shoulder. “When in doubt, attack.”
“That I get.” He lifted his brows. “But attack who?”
Parker looked out Caron’s window. The sun had come up, streaking the sky with soothing golds and pinks. The shower had stopped a few minutes ago; Caron had gone into her bedroom and closed the door. She hadn’t said any more about what was going on, and, though he hated to admit it—and he’d thought of nothing else—he still didn’t have a fix on exactly who she meant to attack.
Trust her. The thought came and held. Parker stared at the sign at the store across the street. He was more than relieved that she hadn’t gone back into Decker’s to touch Misty’s bike—especially after Dr, Z. had told him that they’d nearly lost Caron when Sarah died.
His stomach curled and rumbled at the thought, and his chest felt compressed. If he lived forever, he’d never forget Caron telling him that if Misty died, this time she’d die, too. He’d nearly crumbled, nearly fallen to his knees the way Harlan had in the morgue.
Frowning, Parker watched two kids ride by on bicycles. A man wearing red suspenders hung up the phone on the outside wall of the store, then shuffled to the bench near the door. How could Parker not trust her? She’d been willing to risk her life. She’d known the danger in touching that bike, but she’d been willing to do it—for Misty.
The objective man in him should have admired her courage. But where Caron was concerned, there wasn’t any objective man in him. And the unobjective man was terrified of losing her, and forbidden to tell her or show her how he felt, because he hadn’t been honest with her. It was an awful dilemma.
The man on the bench rose, looked at the sign and scratched his head, then sat down again.
“I’m ready to get started,” Caron said from behind him.
Parker turned and caught his breath.
Caron stood beside the sofa, wearing a white sundress with thin straps and a scoop neck. Her skin was flushed from the shower, and she’d brushed her hair until it gleamed. She looked beautiful. If he hadn’t seen her just hours ago at the institute, he wouldn’t have believed how sick she’d been.
Perplexed by it all, he frowned. “What happened?”
“Excuse me?” Now it was her turn to look confused.
“Caron, a few hours ago you were unconscious. I feared for your life. Now...” His voice trailed off.
“Now, what?” Her skirt swished against her thighs.
“Now you look...healthy.”
“I think I figured out something in the car. It’s a matter of focus. If I concentrate on Misty’s condition, the empathy pains control me. But if I think about you or the case, I can minimize the effect—at least sometimes.”
If she spent half as much time thinking about him as he did thinking about her, she might just make it through this case unscathed. “I’m glad.” And then he gave her something he’d never given anyone else: power over him. “You scared me, Caron.”
“I’m sorry.” The look she gave him was genuine.
She knew, and she wouldn’t use it as a weapon against him. “What now?”
“Let’s put on a pot of coffee and make some plans. First on the list is Sandy. It’s time we filled him in.”
In the kitchen, Parker noticed the answering machine. “Maybe you should answer your calls first.” He pointed. “Light’s blinking.”
Caron rinsed the coffeepot, then filled it with water. “I will in a minute. Can you grab a filter for me? Second cabinet on the left.”
Parker opened the cabinet door and pulled out a box of filters. They clung together. He raised a small stack and blew on them until one broke free of the rest, then passed it over. When she took it fr
om him, Caron smiled. He smiled back. There was something good about being in her kitchen together, about them smiling at each other.
They were on their fourth pot of coffee after an all-night vigil of studying documents when the doorbell rang.
“I’ll get it.” Parker shoved back from the paper-strewn table, then went out to the living room. He glanced at his watch. No wonder they were wired. It was nearly noon.
“If it’s a solicitor, give him an earful.” Caron’s voice followed him. “I put up a sign.”
“Okay,” he called back, then cracked open the door and stepped aside. Sanders. And from the look on the detective’s face, this wasn’t a social call. Parker decided to dispense with the amenities. “Come in.”
“Where’s Caron?”
Caron recognized Sandy’s voice. The little hairs on-her neck lifted. Logically, she knew that Misty was safe for the moment; she’d imaged her sleeping comfortably not more than three minutes ago. But emotionally, Caron knew neither of them was safe—not yet. Not until everyone involved in Misty’s abduction was behind bars.
Caron walked into the living room. Sandy was chewing on a stubby cigar. He never took his cigars out of the office...unless he was deeply disturbed.
Misty! Fighting a sense of panic, she focused every ounce of concentration she could muster, every fiber of energy, on Sandy. “Is Misty—” She couldn’t say it.
“I don’t have any word on Misty, Caron.”
Parker shut the door. It took a full minute for Caron to calm down. Seeing her that way grated Parker’s insides raw. One second she was fine, the next she was devastated. Her eyes held as much fear as he’d ever seen in any human being, and she was shaking like a blender on the high setting. Dr. Z. had warned him of what to expect; during a case, Caron always stressed out. But his instincts were telling him that her reaction was more than anticipated stress.
To cut the tension, Parker offered Sanders a chair.
He took one, a chair beside the sofa. “Parker tells me you had a close call yesterday.”
“I’m fine now.” Her voice was strained.
She wasn’t fine, Parker thought; she was falling apart before his eyes. Parker led her to the sofa, sat down beside her, then lied with a clear conscience. “We were just about to leave, Sanders. Did you need something, or is this a social visit?”
“I was hoping you’d fill me in on what’s been going on. I’ve left several messages, but—”
“We’ve been out,” Parker said. Caron was as white as a sheet, and if she held her back any stiffer it might just snap.
Caron put her hand on Parker’s thigh. Her grip was strong, but when she spoke, she sounded at ease. “We know about Decker and Linda and Keith Forrester, Sandy.”
“I figured you did.” He looked toward the window.
The sense that Sandy had done something seriously wrong grew thick, palpable. Parker looked at Caron, but she stared straight ahead at Sandy.
“She’s why I’m here.” Sandy didn’t meet Caron’s gaze. “I thought you’d want to know...” His voice faded away, and he looked at Parker. “Linda Forrester was murdered yesterday afternoon, about two o’clock.”
“What?” Caron gasped.
“Her husband’s been out of town on business since Sunday. He found her at his house about six last night.”
Caron’s chest heaved with forced breaths. Parker clasped her hand. He’d talked to Forrester yesterday morning. The man hadn’t been in the office—according to Nivens, via Mary Beth—but he had returned Parker’s call within minutes of Parker’s leaving the message. “Any suspects?”
“Not yet.” Sandy took his cigar out of his mouth. “She wasn’t killed at home. There were no signs of any struggle, or any valuables missing. I talked with the coroner this morning, and from the amount of skin he found under her fingernails we believe there would have been a struggle.”
Caron stiffened. “How was she killed?”
Sandy grimaced. “She was strangled with a dog leash.”
Caron frowned. Strangled. No blood. Sandy’s hand was trembling. This didn’t make sense. “Was there blood?”
“A lot of it—all hers. She took a rough beating.”
Parker grunted. “But there was no blood at the house.”
He was confused, too. She tightened her grip on his hand.
“No,” Sandy said. “No oddball fingerprints, either.”
Parker narrowed his eyes. “And the coroner fixes the time of death at two o’clock Tuesday?”
Sandy nodded and clamped his teeth around his cigar.
Parker looked at Caron. She’d caught it, he realized. When she’d imaged the woman who’d taken Misty to Decker, she’d thought the case was winding down. But it wasn’t. They’d barely scratched the surface.
“I’ve got to get back,” Sandy said. “I just thought you’d want to know.’’
Parker walked Sanders to the door. “Keep us posted.”
“Sure will.” He headed down the stairs.
Parker looked back at Caron.
“It was half past one when my hands quit hurting,” she said. “Someone freed Misty’s hands from the ropes then.”
“And it was two forty-five when I left Charles Nivens’s I and the woman I thought was Linda Forrester.” Forty-five minutes after the time of her death.
“That woman wasn’t Linda Forrester.”
“You knew that from the matches.”
“Yes.” Caron wanted to stand, but she knew her legs wouldn’t hold her. “But now we have proof.”
Parker frowned. “Sanders didn’t bat an eye when you connected Decker and the Forresters.”
“No, he didn’t.” It was hard to admit, but Caron couldn’t deny it anymore. “He knew they connected.”
“Yes.”
The regret in Parker’s voice encouraged her to continue. Caron rubbed her palm over the scratchy sofa arm. The fabric was rough, abrasive, suiting her mood. “He was deeply disturbed by her death. Deeply disturbed.” Those sensations had been too strong not to be accurate.
“Yes, he was.”
Sharing the knowledge that Sandy was involved in this was somehow, oddly, a relief for Caron. She tucked her foot under her bottom. “You talked to Forrester yesterday morning. He set up the meeting with you and Linda. He wasn’t out of town.”
“I left a message, and he returned the call. He could have been anywhere.”
“He wasn’t.”
Parker slumped his shoulders. “More images?”
“No, just a supposition.” Caron let her head fall back against the sofa cushions. “What about Vanessa?” Caron was speculating on the mystery woman’s identity.
“Maybe.” Parker sat down beside her and propped his hand on her thigh. “The morning we were at Hunt’s he was talking to her about getting cold feet.”
Caron tossed his own words back at Parker. “That could have been about selling stock too early. Normal business.”
“Yeah.” She saw in his eyes that he remembered the conversation. He sat back down beside her. “Or it could’ve been about Misty’s abduction.”
She rested her head on his shoulder. “What next?”
“We take five to think.” He lifted her chin with a fingertip until she looked up at him. “For a long time, I doubted you, Caron. I regret that. I believe you now. And I want you to forgive me.”
She blinked hard and nodded. .”If you haven’t experienced it, being psychic is a hard thing to grasp.”
It was. But now that he had, he was as afraid for Misty as Caron had been from the start. There was too much going down at once, and if they weren’t careful, they could miss a vital clue. They’d pay the price. But so would Misty.
He hated to ask—focusing would bring her pain—but he had to know. “Is Misty doing okay?”
Caron gave him a watery smile. “She’s sick, but she’s okay. Her fever is down, and her leg isn’t hurting so much right now.”
“Good.” He let out a breath he hadn
’t realized he was holding. “I don’t like the way this is shaping up.”
“Me, either. Forrester needs five million for some unknown reason. He has some woman—let’s say for the moment Vanessa is Forrester’s redhead—who knows Misty’s father and Misty bring Misty to Decker, Forrester’s brother-in-law, so that if something goes wrong, Vanessa and Decker will go to jail for kidnapping.”
Parker took over. “Then Forrester’s wife, Linda, somehow finds out. She opposes the kidnapping and ends up dead. Forrester ‘finds’ her body, and maybe lies about being out of town at the time of the murder.”
Caron scooted closer to Parker and propped her chin on his shoulder. “Logic tells me Forrester killed Linda. So why doesn’t it feel right?”
Parker kneaded Caron’s nape with his free hand. “Sandy’s gut-deep in this, Caron. You do realize that.”
“Yes, I do. All the way up to his cigar stub. But Sandy isn’t capable of murder.” She paused for a second, then went on. “It could have been Decker.”
Parker explored the possibility. “He does have it in him to kill, but he doesn’t seem the type to kidnap a child for anything other than his own gain.”
“Linda died on Tuesday.” Caron plucked a speck of lint off Parker’s lapel. “Ina said Linda visits Decker every Tuesday. And he has Killer, so he likely has a dog leash.”
“If Forrester was offering Decker part of the ransom, then, yeah, maybe.” Parker grimaced. “We still have too many ifs and maybes.”
“We’ll eliminate them.” Caron patted his shoulder, then stood up. “Let’s get some coffee.”
Parker followed her to the kitchen. “The more we find out, the muddier the waters seem to get.”
“Isn’t every case like that?” At the cabinet, Caron pulled down two fresh mugs, then reached for the coffeepot.
“I guess so.” He pulled out a chair and sat down. “We haven’t discussed the Vanessa angle much. What if she is the redhead Mary Beth said comes into the I” with Forrester?”
Caron sat down across from him and slid one of the mugs over to him. “The word you’re looking for is mistress.”
“Okay, then.” Parker sipped from the steaming mug. “What if Vanessa is Forrester’s mistress? And what if she wants to elevate her position to that of his wife?”