There’d been a time when Diane would have run from her mother’s constructive feedback. She realized how much she’d changed when she nodded and angled the laptop for the best view. “All right. Here goes…‘Dear Kevin.’ ” She shot a look at her mother. “Should I use Mr. Harrison instead? We aren’t exactly on friendly terms, you know.”
“Mr. Harrison is too stuffy. Kevin is better.”
Mother’s firm tone made Diane smile. She returned her attention to the email. “ ‘Dear Kevin, in 1985, you and I were sophomores at—’ ”
“Wait.”
Diane shifted her gaze to her mother’s frowning face. “What?”
“Drop the Dear. Start with Kevin.” Her brow puckered. “That man was not a dear. And this isn’t what we would call a friendly letter. So start with his name.”
Diane deleted Dear. “Okay. Here we go. ‘Kevin, in 1985, you and I were sophomores at the University of Arkansas. We had a brief relationship, and I became pregnant. You weren’t interested in becoming a parent at that time, so—’ ”
“I wonder if he’s ever become a parent…”
Diane gave a jolt. “I—I don’t know.” Why hadn’t she contemplated the question? If Kevin had other children, then Meghan had siblings. Something Diane had never given her. How the girl had begged for a baby brother when she was six. Diane had tried to explain it took a mommy and a daddy to make a baby brother, but Meghan then asked how come a daddy hadn’t helped make her, and Diane nearly swallowed her tongue trying to talk her way around that one. She’d finally told her precocious daughter they didn’t have room in their apartment for a brother.
Meghan might very well have brothers or sisters out there. If so, she would probably be over the moon. But would those siblings want to form relationships with her, or would they be like their father was—disinterested?
“I’m sorry I interrupted. Go ahead, Margaret Diane.” Mother hid a yawn behind her hand, then blinked at Diane.
“Yes. Um…” Diane cleared the troublesome thoughts and focused on the email. “ ‘You weren’t interested in becoming a parent at that time, so I raised our baby—a girl—on my own. Her name is Meghan D’Ann DeFord-Eagle. She is now a cold-case detective for the state of Arkansas, is married to a fine man, and is a responsible, loving Christian woman. She is also interested in knowing her biological father. She will be in Fort Smith as part of an investigation in the near future and would like to meet with you. I realize my email has probably come as a surprise, and if you need a few days to process this information, I understand. But I would appreciate a response at your earliest convenience.’ ”
She shrugged. “And that’s where I’m stuck. What do I say in conclusion?” Mother didn’t answer. Diane glanced over. Mother’s eyes were closed, her jaw slack. Sound asleep. Diane released a huff and looked again at the email. She whispered to the dogs, “Well, I guess I’m on my own.” She should be used to that by now.
She reached to close the laptop, and her fingers brushed against the screen. A whooosh met her ears, and she gasped. She frantically tapped on keys, but it was too late. The email had already whisked through cyberspace to Kevin Harrison’s inbox.
Fort Smith, Arkansas
Kevin Harrison
“Good morning, Mr. Harrison.”
“ ’Morning.” Swishing his pant leg with a leather portfolio, Kevin strode past the new hire seated at the receptionist’s desk. What was her name? Gina? Georgia? He couldn’t recall. But why bother learning it? None of his receptionists from the temporary-employee agency lasted longer than a few weeks. Kind of like his marriages. But he did recall all his wives’ names. Most of the time.
He paused at his office door and tapped the glazed surface with the edge of the portfolio. “I’m expecting a call about the property in Nevada. I don’t want to deal with anything else today. Unless it’s Floyd Turner on the other end, take a message.”
“Yes, sir.”
“That applies to my email, too. Forward anything from Turner. The rest can wait.”
“All right, Mr. Harrison.”
He glanced over his shoulder at the woman. Young—probably midtwenties. Neatly dressed in black slacks and a white blouse, straight red-blond hair pulled into a ponytail. What his father would have called passable in the looks department—a down-to-earth pretty, not the kind of over-the-top pretty that tempted one to engage in flirtation. And she sure was polite. A breath of fresh air after the last one, who rolled her eyes and sighed every time he gave her an instruction. He hoped this one would stick around. “Do you remember how I take my coffee?”
“Strong and black.”
That was more than Wife Number Two could ever remember. “My travel mug’s clean and ready to go. Gimme five minutes to settle in first.”
“Yes, sir.”
Allowing the coffee vendor to set up a cart inside the front doors of his office building was one of the best decisions he’d ever made. Coffee at a moment’s notice without having to deal with a pot and all the mess that accompanied it.
He dug his key card from his pocket and placed it against the reader pad. “Get yourself some, too, if you want.”
“Thank you. I will.”
He closed himself inside his office and crossed the sculpted sage carpet to his brass-and-glass desk. He hated that monstrosity. No drawers, which meant everything he used on a regular basis had to sit on top of the desk in trays or cups. The shiny surface always wore fingerprints no matter how many times he made use of the glass cleaner in his closet. If he’d been in his right mind, he never would have let Wife Number Four talk him into replacing the functional oak banker’s desk he’d purchased from an antiques dealer when he and Wife Number One were on their honeymoon.
With a grunt, he dropped the portfolio on his desk and eased into his high-backed, wheeled chair. The supple tan leather was like butter against his frame, and he released a sigh of pure bliss. Tawny had wanted him to replace the chair, too. She’d picked out something that looked like a giant boiled egg with its guts scooped out. He’d dug in his heels on that, though. Even so, she’d talked him into a lot of things he wished he could undo.
He absently rubbed his upper arm, where a purple-and-green—her favorite colors—tattoo of the triquetra symbol hid underneath his sleeve. After only thirteen months of matrimony, he’d decided he needed to get rid of her before she ramrodded any other changes to his ordered existence.
He sat forward and turned the portfolio so it aligned with the corner of his desk. Then he folded back the flap and slid out the contract he’d printed at home last night. These days, he found it easier to proofread on a hard copy than on a computer screen. Evidence that the years were creeping up on him. Which was why he’d paired himself with Tawny. He’d thought being with a girl half his age would make him feel half his age. One of his dumber ideas.
A tap at his door scattered his musings. “Come on in, Gentry.” That was the new receptionist’s name—Gentry. He congratulated himself for remembering.
The door opened, and she entered, carrying his stainless-steel mug. She placed it on his desk between his oversized computer monitor and the tri-level wooden tray that housed folders. “Here you are.”
Kevin grabbed the mug and took a hesitant sip. Hot but not scalding, robust in flavor, and strong enough to kick his brain into overdrive. Perfect. He took a second, longer sip, then set the coffee aside, jammed his black horn-rimmed reading glasses onto his face, and fixed his attention on the contract laid out in front of him.
Gentry didn’t move from her spot on the opposite side of the desk.
Without lifting his head, he shifted his eyes and gazed at her over the top of his glasses. “Is there something you need?”
“You said you didn’t want to see email except from Floyd Turner.”
“That’s right.”
A pink flu
sh crept across the young woman’s cheeks. “Well, there’s one that…It’s…”
Kevin sat up and yanked off his glasses. “Is it from Turner?”
She shook her head.
“Then use one of my standard responses to answer it.” He slid his glasses into place and bent over the contract.
“Well, the problem is—”
Kevin held back a grunt of aggravation and sat up again.
“—none of your standard responses really…fit.”
He had pat messages ready to go for people seeking employment, people asking for donations, people wanting him to sample their products, people with questions about renting office space, people interested in selling him property, and lawyers trying to finagle alimony out of him. Nothing else landed in his business email box.
Polite or not, if she couldn’t figure out which message to cut and paste into an email, he’d send her back to the temp agency at the end of the day. “Can’t you improvise something?”
“I—I don’t know.”
He blew out a huff of breath. “Fine. Go ahead and forward it on. But unless any of the others come from Floyd Turner, deal with them.”
“Yes, sir.” She scuttled out.
Kevin closed his eyes, centered his thoughts, and leaned over the contract again. Moments later, a soft ding signaled the arrival of the email that had so befuddled poor Gentry. What in the world could have created the girl’s blush and stuttering? Probably Tawny sending him selfies in a string bikini again. He wouldn’t be able to focus on the contract until he’d satisfied his curiosity.
He bumped his mouse, and the computer screen came to life. A few clicks on his keyboard, and his email program opened. He adjusted his glasses and zeroed in on the first address in the inbox. Somebody who went by loves2teach. He snorted under his breath. He could imagine what Tawny wanted to teach him. Well, she had a few lessons to learn, too, most notably that he couldn’t be wrapped around her gorgeous little manicured finger anymore.
With a jab of his thumb, he opened the email. “Kevin, in 1985, you and I were sophomores at the University of Arkansas. We had a brief relationship…” He drew back, frowning. What kind of scam was this? He scrolled to the signature at the end of the short email.
“Ms. Diane DeFord, Instructor, Southwind Private Academy, Las Vegas.”
He jolted with such force that the chair slid backward a few inches. Diane DeFord? The girl he’d…His mouth went dry, and his pulse doubled its tempo.
He’d rather hear from Tawny’s lawyer.
Eight
Little Rock, Arkansas
Sean
“So what did you two decide?”
Sean looked aside to avoid Captain Ratzlaff’s intense gaze. He’d agreed to pass the Dunsbrook murders to Farber and Dane and work with Meghan on the Menke disappearance. Now that it was time to say so, however, he couldn’t find the words. Where was the peace he’d prayed for last night? With or without it, they had to move forward.
He looked his captain in the eyes. “Well, Cap, we—”
The desk phone jangled. Captain Ratzlaff grimaced and yanked up the receiver. “Ratzlaff, Cold Case Department…Hello, Mrs. Dunsbrook.”
Mrs. Dunsbrook? Of course. Her Friday-morning check-in. She’d probably called Sean’s number first, and when he didn’t answer, she called the captain. Guilt smacked him with as much force as a baseball bat. How could he abandon this case? The Dunsbrooks trusted him.
“Yes, ma’am, he’s right here.” The captain held the phone toward Sean. “It’s for you.”
Meghan touched his knee. “Why don’t you let Greg or Tom talk to her?”
He shook his head. Sure, it’d be easier on him to let either Dane or Farber let the Dunsbrooks know they were taking over, but he owed the couple an explanation. He stood and took the phone, then pressed it to his ear, aware of Meghan’s uneasy frown aimed at his back. “Good morning, Mrs. Dunsbrook.”
“I’m sorry. I must have interrupted something important if you’re in the captain’s office.” The woman sounded hesitant and apologetic. And sad. She always sounded sad.
“It’s fine, ma’am. You don’t need to apologize. I needed to talk to you anyway.”
“Has there been a breakthrough?”
The eager note in her tone pierced Sean to his core. “No, ma’am. No breakthrough. Not yet.”
“Oh.” So much disappointment in a single syllable.
His instincts told him he was close, but he couldn’t throw vague instincts at this grieving mother’s feet as an offering. He needed more. She deserved more. And, maybe selfishly, he wanted to be the one to give it to her. From his first meeting with them, Mr. and Mrs. Dunsbrook had reminded him of his own parents—stable, soft spoken, completely dedicated to their family. Maybe he was too entangled in this case, the way he feared Meghan would get too caught up in the Menke case, but the phone call coming in the midst of indecision had confirmed something for him.
“But I haven’t given up, and you shouldn’t give up, either. There’s always hope, right?”
“Yes, Detective Eagle.” Her voice quavered, but it held a small measure of strength. “We’ll hold on to that hope.”
He disconnected the call, then turned to the captain. “I’m staying with the Dunsbrook case.”
Captain Ratzlaff raised one eyebrow. “You sure?”
“Yes, sir.” It would be tough parting ways even temporarily with Meghan, but the peace he’d requested had now arrived. He’d made the right choice.
The captain shifted his gaze to Meghan. “You okay with this?”
Meghan sat with her hands gripped in her lap and her lips set in a grim line. She glanced at Sean, fury glinting in her dark eyes, then shrugged. “Yeah. It’s fine.” If her blunt reply wasn’t proof enough, her body language screamed disapproval. The captain was astute enough to recognize it. And he probably realized their job had created marital discord—the very thing he’d warned them about when they told him they were engaged. Up until now, though, they’d balanced work and marriage fine. The Menke case was the problem.
She thought he was being stubborn. She’d told him so during previous discussions about the cases. He’d probably get an earful when they were alone, and he probably deserved it after saying he’d stick with her and then bailing. But he needed to see this one through, with or without Meghan. Sadness sagged his shoulders. They’d come to an impasse about starting a family. Now they’d failed to find an acceptable compromise on another important issue. He prayed it wasn’t the start of a trend in their relationship.
“Well, then”—the captain rounded his desk and yanked open his door—“let’s get Dane and Farber in here and get your new partnerships established.”
“This is just for one case, though, right?” Meghan’s words blasted like rifle shots.
Captain Ratzlaff sent a brief look over his shoulder. “Hope so.”
Sean didn’t take great comfort in the reply. He turned to Meghan, intending to explain why he’d chosen to stick with the Dunsbrook case after all, but the headstrong jut of her jaw changed his mind. He’d wait until she’d cooled off some. She’d be more apt to listen and understand then.
Farber and Dane sauntered into the captain’s office. Dane leaned against the doorjamb, one hand in his pocket, seemingly unconcerned, but Farber planted his feet wide and folded his arms over his chest, his muscles taut. He reminded Sean of a firecracker with a lit fuse, ready to explode at any moment. If he had his choice, Sean would rather work with Dane, but he wouldn’t wish Farber on Meghan. Farber was a good investigator, maybe the best in the department, but he held no sensibilities toward females. Or Christians. Tom Farber had been the burr under Sean’s saddle for years.
Sean gritted his teeth. No matter how this went, it wasn’t going to be pretty.
Captain Ratzlaff returned to his des
k chair, sat, and aimed his unsmiling gaze at the pair of men near the doorway. “Here’s the deal. We’ve got a new investigation—a missing-person case—and it’s a touchy one. Requires kid gloves. I’ve assigned it to DeFord. But Eagle’s going to finish up the Dunsbrook investigation. That’s where you two come in.”
Farber grunted. “I kinda figured this was coming when you tossed the Dunsbrook case in our laps.” He flung one hand in Sean and Meghan’s direction. “So who gets who?”
“As I said, we need kid gloves on this one. Farber, that’s not your specialty. So I’m putting Dane with Meghan.”
Relief flooded Sean. Meghan would be spared Farber’s crusty crassness. But a tingle of resentment also teased him. He wasn’t eager to spend the next however-long-it-took dealing with Farber’s insults and innuendos. A silent prayer went up for a quick close to both investigations so they could all get back to their usual partnerships.
“You’re sticking me with Beagle?” Farber plowed his fingers through his salt-and-pepper hair, making the thick strands stand up like an angry porcupine’s quills. “Why can’t he work with Roach or Johnson?”
Sean forced a laugh. “C’mon, Farber, you’re making me feel like the nerdy kid who never gets picked for playground games.”
Farber snorted. He didn’t even glance at Sean. “Seriously, Cap, Johnson ought to put in some time on the Dunsbrook case. He’s never worked a murder investigation. Good experience for him.”
Captain Ratzlaff aimed a scowl at Farber. “I’m not playing Fruit Basket Upset with the entire department. The decision’s made. You’re with Eagle and Dane’s with DeFord for the duration of these two cases. Then you’ll get back to your old partnerships.” He slapped his desktop with both palms and rose. “Sooner y’all get started, the sooner you’ll be back to normal. So get to it.”
Dane opened the door and gestured Meghan out. She whisked what Sean interpreted as an apologetic grimace in his direction as she passed him, but she didn’t hesitate in leading Dane out the door.
Unveiling the Past Page 6