McLain's Law

by Kylie Brant

  “Since early this morning,” Connor told him wearily. “Hours before it was reported. Probably around the time it happened, the way it sounds.”

  Cruz cursed admiringly. “I’ll be damned. Now how do you figure that?”

  “How I figure it is that I’ve been a jerk,” Connor told him shortly. “I wouldn’t believe her, I made her feel like a freak when the call from the station came, and now I found out she was right.”

  “But you have to believe her now, Connor, and this is great,” enthused Cruz. “What are you waiting for? Let’s get her in here. Maybe she can remember more, something that we can use. She may know more than she’s even aware of.”

  “Absolutely not!”

  Cruz blinked at the growled command. “Why the hell not?”

  “Because I said so, that’s why not,” Connor retorted, rising from his desk threateningly. “I’m in charge of this investigation, and you report to me, not vice versa. We run this my way, and I say we’re leaving Michele out of it. Now, get that evidence bag to the lab and get on with your job.”

  Cruz’s eyes narrowed at Connor’s tone. They had been partners and then friends for more years than he cared to count. Connor’s rise as an officer had never mattered in their relationship, because Connor never pulled rank, not with him. This display was way out of character for him, and it was that fact that kept Cruz from snapping back. There was more here than met the eye, but he was confident that eventually he would ferret out the whole story. He always did. Rising silently, he turned and left the room.

  * * *

  Connor opened the door hours later, and his men filed out one by one. He closed the door after them and leaned against it wearily. How was it possible, he thought bleakly, for each scenario to be so similar? The officers who had worked out on the street gathering information all had similar reports. Everyone on Susie’s route had received their papers on time. Most hadn’t been awake yet; those who had, hadn’t noticed anything different. No one so far claimed to have even seen her that morning, except for a couple of kids who saw a girl on the playground as they rode by on their bikes. They had seen no one with her.

  He crossed to his desk, across which was spread a map of the city. Blue dots were filled in near the places where the kidnappings had taken place. A sixth had been marked today, designating Susie’s disappearance. Connor picked up a red pen and made one more circle in the area Davey Lockhart had disappeared from.

  The boy might or might not be related to the incidents, but Michele seemed to think he was a victim, and she had sure been batting a thousand today. He studied the map closely for the hundredth time, but no obvious pattern jumped out at him. The sites of four of the kidnappings were within a twelve-block radius of each other, but Davey and Susie had been snatched miles away from the others.

  Connor bit out a curse and pushed the map away from him. If sitting and staring at the damn thing would bring him closer to catching the perpetrators, he would have had this case solved weeks ago. All the information on the victims, their families, their day care, their schools—everything—had been fed into a computer. He had hoped that the computer would spit out any parallels between the kids, but so far that had been fruitless. Some of the kids lived in the same neighborhood, a couple had even gone to the same school. But none of the leads had panned out yet.

  “Lieutenant?”

  Connor looked up at the detective with his head poked through the door and motioned him in.

  “This just came in on Davey Lockhart’s father, sir. We just located him in a town outside of Tallahassee, Florida. He’s been in the county jail there for the last month on bad-check charges.”

  Connor sighed and held out his hand. The officer placed the report in his outstretched palm. “The sheriff down there gave me his last address, and I called down there. Seems he’s been living with some dancer, and she swears he hasn’t even talked to the kid in over a year. He didn’t even know he was snatched.”

  Somehow this latest news didn’t surprise him. He’d already figured Michele had been right about this, too. “Call the boy’s mother and tell her, will you? See if she has any other ideas. And in the meantime, feed his information into the computer with the rest of the kidnap victims.”

  The detective’s eyes opened wide in surprise, and he started to speak, but one look at Connor’s closed expression obviously made him change his mind. “Yes, sir, Lieutenant,” he mumbled and backed out the door.

  Connor sank into his desk chair, folded his arms behind his head, leaned back and contemplated the ceiling. As days went, this one couldn’t get much worse. Dealing with the parents of the missing children was always tough. Dealing with the media was an added headache. Thank God the police commissioner was taking care of the press release about this latest snatching.

  And the worst part about it was that his usual single-minded concentration was shot. No matter what he was involved in, a part of his mind continued to linger on Michele, to wonder how she was, what she was doing. His distraction from the urgent matters at hand was as puzzling as it was frustrating. He’d never before had a problem eliminating a woman from his mind until he had time for her. But thoughts of Michele had been as tenacious as a bloodhound ever since they’d met.

  Remorse flooded him as he thought again of his reaction when Riley had called that morning with the news of the latest kidnapping. He couldn’t even begin to catalog his feelings when he had witnessed firsthand the accuracy of Michele’s dreams. He’d reacted poorly, he’d realized that at the time, but he hadn’t seemed able to prevent himself. He hadn’t been himself since he met her. Rarely did he lose the famed control he was noted for, but it seemed to happen on a regular basis where she was concerned.

  A quiet rap on the door interrupted his musings, and he cursed silently as he wondered what else could possibly go wrong today.

  “Come in,” he ordered none too welcomingly.

  When the door opened and Michele walked through, Connor’s chair came forward with bone-jarring force. “Princess,” he murmured in amazement. “What are you doing here?” His eyes drank her in hungrily. It seemed like days since he’d left her that morning

  Michele came inside and shut the door almost hesitantly. “Hi,” she murmured, and leaned against the door, surveying him. He looked as though he’d aged five years since leaving her that morning, and she fervently wished that she could wipe those creases from his brow. She didn’t dare give in to her inclination, more than a little unsure as to his state of mind after the way he’d left her that morning. His next words allayed her fears.

  “Come over here.”

  At the softly growled command her eyes flew to his, widening slightly. After a moment’s hesitation she walked slowly around his desk. He lifted a hand and pulled her unresisting form onto his lap, then wrapped his arms around her, burying his face in her hair.

  Connor felt as though a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders just at the feel of her in his arms. He rubbed his hard cheek against the silky skeins of her hair and inhaled deeply. He couldn’t put into words the rightness that entered his world at her touch, the way his worries seemed to shrink when he held her.

  Michele’s personal composure, her constant equanimity, seemed to ripple out and affect those close to her. Maybe that was why she made such a good psychologist. He didn’t know. All he knew was that holding her like this was getting to be a habit, one he didn’t know how to break.

  Finally he heaved a sigh and started to speak without lifting his head. “You called it right all the way, Michele. Her name’s Susie Kimberly. She never came home from delivering her morning papers. Your description was perfect to a T. And no one saw a damn thing.”

  Michele’s voice was soft. “The parents . . . ?”

  “The family’s been visiting relatives in New York. The first time they even heard of the kidnappings was this morning, when they started calling around, trying to locate their daughter.”

  Michele’s heart ached with the fru
stration she heard in his voice. “You don’t know how much I wish I was wrong,” she whispered, but Connor heard her and raised his head, tipping her face up to his with a crooked finger.

  “I told you not to feel guilty about this, damn it! You were right this morning, and I was a jerk. If I had just listened to you, maybe she would be—”

  “Just as gone as she is now,” Michele asserted firmly, seeking to wipe the self-recrimination from his countenance. “Connor, the most frustrating thing about my. . .” She hesitated, searching for a word, “. . . sight, is that it’s always after the fact, and I don’t seem able to see enough to be of any help. That’s as frustrating for me as your lack of clues is to you.”

  “You’re tortured by those dreams—do you think I’m not aware of that?”

  “But at least they wouldn’t be in vain if anything I had to tell you was something solid, something you could follow up. If only . . .” Her voice drifted away while she mentally debated with herself. She was unsure how to approach Connor with her idea. A knock sounding on the door told her that her time for talking with him alone was over.

  Michele disentangled herself from his arms without grace and was just slipping into a chair when the door opened and Cruz’s dark head popped in.

  “Not interrupting anything, am I, kids??’ His devilish grin and sparkling eyes told them both that they had separated too late. “I can always give you more time. Never let it be said that I can’t be subtle.”

  Connor eyed his friend with exasperation. “Never let it be said that you have a brain cell above your zipper,” he corrected mildly. “Did you hope to interrupt an orgy or something?”

  Certain of his welcome, Cruz stepped into the room and propped his tall form against a wall. “I had hopes, to be sure, but I should have known better with you, Connor.” He addressed Michele. “Our lieutenant here is a methodical man, Michele. No short cuts for him. I knew you were safe in here for five minutes or so.”

  Connor said nothing, just stared hard at Cruz, who pretended not to notice and continued to address Michele. “Did he tell you that you were right on the mark about the Kimberly girl?”

  “Yes,” she murmured, her gaze sliding back to Connor.

  Connor’s gaze was ricocheting from one to the other. “You never did tell me why you came down here,” he said slowly to Michele.

  She drew a deep breath. He was always painstaking in his work; his mind was a steel trap. “Cruz called and asked me to.”

  “Is that so?” murmured Connor sotto voce, his hard gaze settling on Cruz. “And why is that?”

  Cruz returned his gaze and answered steadily. “Because I think we can use her. She’s been proven right time and again. You trust her. So do I. We’ve been ignoring a source of possible leads for long enough. I think we should explore how much Michele really does know.”

  “Oh, you think so, do you?” Michele winced at Connor’s biting tone, even though he still appeared to be addressing Cruz. “And did you also think that you would take over the investigation, start making all the calls yourself?”

  “You know better than that.”

  “And you know how I feel about Michele being dragged into this! I specifically told you that we wouldn’t be involving her in this case.”

  “I chose to become involved.” Both men continued glaring at each other, and Michele gritted her teeth. She hated to be ignored, and she especially hated people talking about her as if she wasn’t there. She continued on. “When Cruz called, I agreed to come in. I’d like to help if I can.”

  Connor shot her a fuming glance. What the hell was she doing? He wanted to spare her all this— she had said she wanted to be spared it—and now she agreed to this? “Michele,” he started, placatingly, “I don’t see what you hope to accomplish here. You’ve already told me everything you know—” He broke off as he intercepted the look passing between Cruz and Michele. “What? Is there something you haven’t told me yet?”

  Cruz spoke quickly, before Michele could. His voice was reasonable. “Well, yes and no. As I was pointing out, we really don’t know if she’s told us, everything, do we? She may know more than she’s aware of.”

  Connor had a feeling of foreboding that he knew where this was headed and hoped fervently that he was wrong. His worst fears were realized at Cruz’s next words.

  “Michele’s unconscious brings her these images, right? In sleep, her most relaxed state, she sees these things happening. So what would happen if we simulate that unconscious state and see what she remembers under skilled questioning?”

  Connor blew up. “We are not, not,” he stressed, looking hard at Cruz, “going to have Michele hypnotized. Where the hell did you come up with this hare-brained scheme, anyway?”

  “Connor, it’s worth a try, isn’t it, buddy? We’re not out anything by trying, and we stand to gain quite a bit. What’s the harm?”

  “Not a chance.” Connor’s voice brooked no argument. “I won’t allow it.”

  “I don’t think you understand, Connor.” Michele’s voice was soft, but firm. “It was my idea.”

  Chapter 12

  Both heads swiveled at her words, but it was Connor’s gaze she held.

  “You can’t be serious.” His voice was flat.

  “Yes, I am, Connor,” she answered firmly. “Cruz agreed that. . .”

  “Cruz,” Connor’s tone was scathing, as was the look he sent his friend, “has more imagination than sense. He had no right to even call you, much less drag you down here.”

  Michele’s stomach plummeted at his unyielding attitude. In seconds the man she was growing to know and love seemed to fade away, and in his place was the icy, intimidating police lieutenant she had first met. She had been certain that Connor would not welcome this idea, but his scathing dismissal of it was worse than even she had expected. He obviously had no faith in the possibility that she had anything valuable to offer to the case. Just as he had once dismissed the possibility that her dreams were credible at all.

  Pain flooded her at the realization, and she stiffened defensively at the sudden knowledge of how he must perceive her. As a freak. A spook who could sometimes call them right and wasn’t that the most amazing coincidence? But not as someone who could really help. Not as someone he would allow to be of help.

  From long practice she forced the pain down for the moment, tucked it away, so she could focus on the need at hand. “I don’t care how you feel about this, Connor. I’m going to do it.” She read his incredulity in his widened green eyes. “And don’t blame Cruz. I came up with the idea on my own.”

  Cruz spoke up then. “Where’s the harm, Connor? Michele may give us some more leads. Maybe one that will take us right to the perp.”

  “I can speak for myself,” she put in, annoyed at the way the two men’s silent communication excluded her. “And I say yes.” She cut off Connor’s protest with a sharp gesture that was reminiscent of Connor’s own. Cruz recognized it as such and grinned. “You may be in charge of the investigation, of making the decisions about it, but you don’t make them for me.”

  “I decide how the investigation will proceed, Miss Easton,” Connor said between clenched teeth. “No civilian comes into my office and tells me how to do my job. I decide what’s good for the case, and I don’t see how this will aid it.”

  Michele’s chin came up bracingly at his gibing tone. “Can you tell me how I could hurt it?” she countered. Her question hung in the air between them, the answer unspoken. Michele took a deep breath and asked in a calm voice, “Can you honestly tell yourself that your reluctance to pursue this avenue has everything to do with professionalism and nothing to do with me, personally?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” he snapped.

  “I think you know,” was her quiet answer.

  And he did. They all knew. Because she was right, damn her. He didn’t know how he would feel if this were really necessary and he was faced with the decision of asking her to do this for the good of the inv
estigation. He wasn’t certain that he could say he would react any differently. For sure he would feel just as sick inside as he did right now as he thought about her voluntarily undergoing an experience that would bring those nightmares back to haunt her.

  But that wasn’t the case. He didn’t see the need to put her through this. She and Cruz were pursuing a slim chance. And to his mind the risk to Michele was far greater than what they might gain, even if she did manage to remember something else. He knew what she would have to undergo if Bruce successfully put her under. He’d witnessed firsthand the ordeal those dreams represented for her. He’d held her, comforted her, in their aftermath.

  Was it unprofessional for him to want to spare her that? Especially when the outcome was as dubious as it seemed to be? He didn’t think so. Damn Cruz for going ahead on his own and calling her. And damn her for not understanding that he was trying to spare her, that he couldn’t bear to see her in such torment.

  Even so, her question hit Connor right where he was most vulnerable. It seemed as if he had been fighting a losing battle between his job and his growing feelings for her ever since he had met her. That didn’t mean he welcomed it.

  “I know how you stand on this,” Michele said, interrupting his thoughts. “But how would the chief of detectives feel about it? Or the police commissioner?”

  Connor’s eyes widened in amazement at her meaning. “You can’t be serious, Michele.”

  Her gaze was steady. “I’m completely serious.”

  “Even knowing that going over my head may deny you the privacy you long for?”

  Michele closed her eyes briefly before nodding. “I don’t want that, Connor. You know that. Don’t make me go to them.”