by Debra Webb
She lifted her chin and glared at him. “I’m not discussing these ridiculous accusations with you another moment.”
“I’m not suggesting,” he offered with a calmness that infuriated her all the more, “that your uncle or your brother or his wife did any harm to the child—”
“Polly,” Melissa corrected. No way was he getting away with making her a case statistic or mere victim. She was Polly. Pain sheared through Melissa again. “Her name is Polly.”
“Polly,” he acknowledged. “I don’t believe harm to Polly was intended. But what I do believe is that one or all three knows far more than they’re telling. Until we know all the facts, we’re wasting our time.”
Melissa had had enough of this. “Fine. Tomorrow morning we’ll have a family meeting. You can present your suspicions and no one will leave the room until you’re convinced that we’re all innocent. I’ll lock the doors.” Fury squeezed out the pain radiating inside her. She wasn’t afraid to put any member of her family on the spot. Not one of them would do this. The idea was ludicrous.
“Melissa.”
That she melted a little at the way he said her name made her all the angrier. “Don’t.”
He cupped her cheek with his hand, stroked her skin with the pad of his thumb. “I need you to trust me. This is hard. I understand that more than you know. But emotions won’t find Polly. We have to operate on the facts, on logic and motive. There’s no room for anything else.”
Tears welled up in her eyes. She wanted to shout at him that he was wrong, but the ache in her throat held back the words.
“If no one close to Polly is involved,” he said softly, “then we have to assume that the person who did this had other motives. Motives that will in all likelihood ensure a bad outcome.”
A sob ripped from her throat. Melissa tried to hold it back but the agony would not be contained.
Jonathan pulled her into his arms. She’d missed having him hold her this way.
“The chances that this was a stranger are minimal. If not a family member, it’s definitely someone you know. Maybe well.”
Melissa closed her eyes and burrowed her face in his shirt. His scent filled her and made her want to stay in his arms until this horror had passed. Dear God, who would do this?
“We’ll get to the truth,” he promised. “But it won’t be easy and no one is going to like the route we have to take to get there.”
He’d said that before and on some level she understood that he was all too right. Melissa lifted her face to his. “The chief interviewed all of us. Anyone who had any contact with Polly whatsoever.” Surely a man with as much law enforcement experience as the chief would have picked up on any discrepancies.
“Unfortunately, he’s too close to the people in this town. Like you, he’s not going to believe anyone here is capable of this sort of evil. With Floyd Harper’s sudden death, the chief seems to be convinced Stevie Price is the culprit. Narrowing his suspect pool that way defeats his efforts before he even starts.”
Jonathan’s assessment made sense. She knew this. “I’m so tired.” She leaned her cheek against his chest and tried to borrow his strength to chase away all the horrible thoughts and images in her mind.
“You rest.” He caressed her hair. “I’m not going anywhere until we figure this out.”
She’d wondered so many times during the past three years if he’d moved on to someone new. If he’d gotten married. But she didn’t see a ring. The urge to ask him was suddenly overwhelming. She understood that need for what it was, a necessary distraction. Her mind and body were beyond exhausted. She was empty, empty and desperate to be filled with something other than the agony that swelled each time she thought of Polly.
Melissa lifted her face to his. “Will you stay here?” The look on his face told her she needed to explain. “There’s plenty of room. It’s just me rambling around in this old house.” Heat flushed her cheeks. Could she not have worded her explanation a little differently?
“If that’s what you want.”
What she wanted was for him to take her to bed and help her forget the misery for just one night.
But that would be a mistake. Her heart couldn’t take losing him again.
“Good.” That she managed the one word without her voice shaking was a miracle. “I’ll show you to William’s old room.”
When she would have turned away, he pulled her back to face him. “There’s just one thing I need to get out of the way first,” he said, his voice thick, his gaze intent on her mouth.
And then he kissed her.
Not a soft peck on the cheek or lips, but a hungry, raging, mouth to mouth kiss. Her arms went around his neck and he pulled her body against his. The feel of him had desire burning through her. He kissed her harder, deeper, and she lost herself in the incredible sensations.
When the need for air would no longer be ignored, he pulled his mouth from hers, but kept her forehead pressed to his. “I won’t cross that line again,” he vowed. “I just needed to get that out of the way.”
“Okay.” She couldn’t catch her breath anymore than he could.
“I’ll get my bag from the rental car.”
And just like that he walked away, leaving her standing there, even hungrier and needier than before.
Melissa recognized one absolute certainty. Jonathan Foley was a man of his word. If he said he wouldn’t cross that line again, he wouldn’t.
Unless she dragged him over it.
Chapter Nine
10:00 p.m.
Scott parked his car alongside the dirt road and sat in the dark for several minutes.
He’d followed Harry Shepherd here just before dark. The narrow deserted road made tailing him damned hard considering there was no traffic in which to blend. Old Harry obviously had had other things on his mind. Otherwise he’d surely have noticed Scott in his rearview mirror.
Scott had stayed way, way back, mind you. But even at dusk and with his headlights off, the man should have noticed a vehicle following him. All the more reason to be suspicious.
Harry was up to no good.
Now, well after dark, Scott had returned. He would soon know what Harry had been up to.
Fumbling for his flashlight, Scott wrapped the fingers of one hand around his granddaddy’s shotgun and snatched up the flashlight with the other. His granddaddy had used the shotgun to keep the riffraff run off his place. When he’d died he’d left it to Scott. Scott had done a mental eye roll at the time. Like he would ever shoot a gun for any reason.
But he’d matured since then. He now knew that there was a time when a man had to do things he didn’t like to do. Like carry a gun. He wasn’t about to go into those woods without something to defend himself. His granddaddy’s shotgun would do just fine. Luther Stubblefield at the hardware store had suggested buckshot since Scott wasn’t an accomplished marksman. All he had to do was get close enough, and the buckshot would spread out in a wide pattern when fired, making it pretty difficult to miss a target.
The remark had offended Scott. So he’d opted for the kind of ammo that would take down an elephant. Besides, Scott had no fear of missing if anyone got in his face. In particular, he was not afraid of Harry Shepherd. Whatever he was hiding in that old dilapidated shack in the woods, Scott intended to have a look.
If it was that child, Polly, he also intended to see that Harry Shepherd paid for his evil, conniving ways. He and that harlot Carol Talbot.
Climbing out of his car, Scott couldn’t help seeing the irony in the moment. This pathetic shack was on the old Talbot place. The farm hadn’t been lived on or tended in decades. The woods had taken over the clearing where the chief’s great-great grandfather had homesteaded way back when. Nobody ever came out here. Not since the chief and his wife had abandoned the place after their daughter’s death. Why should they come anyway? There was nothing here. It was places like this that affirmed Scott’s certainty that he did not belong in Alabama. A judgeship would make his lif
e here more tolerable, but that wasn’t likely to happen for a few years yet.
As for the missing child, Scott felt confident the chief’s men had given the place a cursory search when she first went missing. No doubt that move had been anticipated and she’d been moved here after the search.
Assuming she was here at all.
Scott grinned. He had a feeling. He’d spent most of his adult life watching the folks of Bay Minette. He knew everyone of them like the back of his hand. Better maybe. He had a mental file on all the sneaky ones, the cheaters, the thieves, the ones who roughed up their wives. Not a single citizen was completely innocent or without secrets.
No. They all had their secrets.
And Scott was about to blow this one wide open.
The temperature had dropped considerably since nightfall, making it a little chilly. He didn’t care. Adrenaline and anticipation kept him warm enough. He would be the hero of the town when he brought that little girl home.
Finally, perhaps, William would look at Scott the way he looked at William.
Was that so much to ask?
The old shack was dark. Scott hesitated a moment. What if he were wrong? It was possible that Harry and his harlot used this place for rendezvous when the chief was less occupied with his work. Harry might have come by to retrieve something he or she had left the last time they were here.
Didn’t matter. Scott was about to find out.
The weeds were hip deep as he neared the shack. There wasn’t a sound, just the nocturnal insects buzzing and humming.
He stepped up onto the rickety porch. Boards creaked and moaned beneath his weight. He roamed the beam of his flashlight over the door and the boarded up windows. Still as quiet as a tomb in there.
The second thoughts he’d experienced a few moments ago were back, a little stronger this time. He reached for the rusty old knob on the door when a creak rent the air.
Scott’s heart practically stalled.
He hadn’t moved, and the sound hadn’t come from behind him.
The door flew open, and something rushed him, toppling him to the ground.
Scott grappled to get a proper hold on the shotgun, despite the strong hands that manacled his arms. Male. Big. Strong. Filthy smelling. The two rolled on the ground, grunting and heaving.
Finally a blast exploded in the air, nearly shattering his ear drums.
The man’s weight slumped atop Scott.
He lay perfectly still, waiting, afraid to even breathe.
The man still didn’t move.
Scott shoved him off. Shaking all over, he tossed the shotgun aside and scrambled to his feet. Had he fired the shotgun? He wiped his hands on his trousers.
What the hell had just happened?
He nudged the heap on the ground with his foot. The man didn’t move.
Scott swallowed hard. Where was his flashlight? He felt around on the ground, working his way back toward the porch. His fingers finally wrapped around the hard plastic cylinder. He clicked it on and swept the beam over the ground until it landed on the heap.
The big man lay face down on the ground. Blood seeped from beneath him. Scott looked down at him self, turned the flashlight on his torso.
His breath caught when he saw blood.
Was he hurt?
He felt around on his chest, his abdomen. He was okay. Must be the other man’s blood.
Easing closer, he tried to identify the man on the ground. He couldn’t see his face. Holding his breath, Scott leaned and rolled the man over.
The squeak that echoed in the air came from Scott.
The man was Stevie Price.
Why had Stevie attacked him?
Scott stared at the gun on the ground. Because he’d sneaked up on him at night with a shotgun in his hand.
“Dear God.” He’d killed a man. A mentally challenged man.
There would be no plea bargaining his way out of this. His daddy’s money wouldn’t buy him a get-out of-jail-free card—
Had he heard that? A whimpering sound that brushed against his senses. His ears perked up, and this time he was certain. It was a soft, sad sound.
Scott whipped around and shone the light on the shack.
“Who’s there?”
Faint cries whispered on the night air.
He moved cautiously forward, inching closer and closer to the shack.
“Hello?”
The crying didn’t let up. Soft sobbing.
The porch creaked when he stepped onto it again. Scott braced for another attack that never came. He stepped gingerly through the open door. The place smelled bad, almost as bad as Stevie. Poor, stupid misfit. Scott put his hand over his mouth and shone the light around the room. In the beam of light he saw a sleeping bag. Bottled water. Food remains. And something in the corner. Something pink.
A dress.
Scott’s heart almost stilled again.
In the corner, curled in a little ball, was a blond-haired child.
He swallowed back a lump of emotion. “Polly?”
Big tear-filled eyes looked up at him.
It was her. William’s child.
A howl shattered the silence, and Scott whirled to face the sound. Before he could wonder where his shotgun was, something hit him in the stomach, knocking him to the floor.
The flashlight spun across the room.
Scott blinked as a fire lit in his belly. He touched himself and felt the warm, sticky wetness. He held his hand in front of his face. The meager glow from the flashlight on the other side of the room highlighted something dark on his fingers. Blood. His blood.
Agony swelled in his midsection.
He’d been shot.
Before he could cry out, the barrel of a shotgun appeared between his eyes. His gaze traced the long black barrel and settled upon the face staring down at him.
He opened his mouth and tried to speak but he couldn’t seem to form the words. What was wrong with him? Finally he squeaked out one word, “You.”
This was wrong. He had to do something.
When the shotgun disappeared from his view, he tried to turn his head but couldn’t.
The room started to move… No, he was moving. His body was being dragged toward the door.
He opened his mouth again to scream but the blackness swallowed him.
11:15 p.m.
JOHNNY RAY BRUCE sucked on the cigarette dangling from his lips. She was late. Probably couldn’t get away from her old man.
Fool.
He’d told her a long time ago that she would never belong to anyone but him. Too bad she’d been too stupid to listen. Now things were way too complicated.
Headlights appeared in the distance.
Johnny Ray threw the cigarette to the ground and stamped it out. “’Bout time.”
The lights flashed on the park bench next to where he’d parked his car. They didn’t have to worry about being seen in the park. Folks around here went to bed with the chickens. Rolled the damned streets up at dark.
Johnny Ray hated this town. He’d have been gone long ago if it hadn’t been for her.
Presley slammed the door of her car and sauntered over to him. “Gimme a smoke.”
As he removed a cigarette from the pack, Johnny Ray let his eyes skim her body. Short shorts, halter top and bare feet. Man, it was a sin for a woman to look that good. He wanted her. Right now. Right here. But she was ticked off. She didn’t have to say so. He knew her well enough to read her body language like an open book.
He flipped out his lighter and watched as she drew on the cigarette. His gut tightened. She was something, all right.
She exhaled a big puff of smoke. “We got trouble.”
“Oh yeah?” He lit himself another smoke. “That soldier boy of yours finally grow a brain and figure out how to make you happy?”
She rolled her eyes and took another long drag from the cigarette. “He’s suspicious about that night.”
“It doesn’t matter how suspicious he is,”
Johnny Ray shot back. “He doesn’t have any evidence. My uncle said there’s no evidence of anything.”
Presley turned away.
“Hey, baby.” He put his arm around her and pulled her close. “I know this is hard, but you gotta be strong. Falling apart now won’t change anything.”
She jerked away from him. “My baby is missing. You don’t know how that feels.”
Johnny Ray shrugged. “Maybe I don’t. But I don’t like it when you mope around like this.”
She lifted her chin haughtily. “He says I can’t talk to you anymore.”
Rage roared through Johnny Ray. He charged up toe-to-toe with her. “So what? He’s said that before. His threats have never changed anything.”
“He says he’ll get a divorce.”
“Hey!” Johnny Ray threw up his arms. “That’s great. He should’ve come up with that plan years ago.”
She glared at him. “I don’t want a divorce. That would leave me with no insurance. No money. Nothing. I’m not living that way again. And…”
“And what?” he snared.
“Maybe I don’t want to lose him.”
Another rush of fury stormed Johnny Ray. “What’re you saying?”
“That I can’t see you anymore.” She shook with her own anger and no small measure of fear.
She was actually serious.
Johnny Ray laughed. Long and loud. She glared at him. “Well, darling, I’m afraid that doesn’t work for me.”
She tossed the cigarette away. “Well,” she mocked him, “I guess you’ll just have to deal with it.”
Johnny Ray stuck his face in hers. “I don’t think so. You’ll do whatever I tell you to.”
“I’m through letting you run me. I deserve better and Will wants me to be happy.”
“Sounds like your sister-in-law’s been filling your head with fairy tales again.”
“Melissa’s been better to me than my own momma ever was. The Shepherds are my family.” She folded her arms over her chest and shook her head. “I’m not cheating on Will anymore.” Her chin quivered but she held it high. “We’re done, Johnny Ray.”