Too Close to Home

by Lynette Eason

Andrew shook the man’s hand. “Thanks.”

  Samantha sat on the love seat, leaving the three chairs in front of the desk for the others.

  Connor turned to Charlie. “Have a seat.”

  The boy crossed his arms, notched his chin up, and said, “I’ll stand, thanks.”

  Andrew placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’ll sit.” And shoved. Hard.

  “Hey!”

  “How old are you?”

  “Just turned seventeen last week. Why?”

  Connor let a thin grin stretch his lips. “Good, we don’t have to call Mommy and Daddy.”

  Charlie huffed and leaned back. “Whatever. Can we just get this over with? I have a trig test I really don’t feel like making up.”

  Desperately wanting to get in this guy’s face, Connor deliberately shifted, putting some distance between them. No sense in being too close to someone you wanted to smash. “Your cooperation determines how long this takes. Totally up to you.”

  “All right, all right. What do you want to know?”

  “Did you kill Miranda? Did you put your hands around her neck and choke her until she agreed to the abortion? Get her to have some quack get rid of the baby and then let her bleed to death?”

  Sam’s ferocious questioning came out of the blue. Connor frowned at her for interfering, but the intensity of her stare was directed at Charlie.

  Whoa, she was mad. Furious and fuming.

  The boy gaped, pure shock holding him silent and still for the first time since they’d met him.

  He didn’t kill her.

  Finally, Charlie bolted to his feet and found his tongue. “What? No! What are you saying? She’s dead?”

  Andrew jumped in, shoving the kid once more back into his seat. “Yeah. It was you who got her pregnant, wasn’t it?”

  Shoulders slumping at the news, the teen bowed his head and gripped it with both hands. “I can’t believe this.”

  “Wasn’t it?” This time Andrew’s voice rang through the room.

  Charlie looked up. “Yes. Yes, she was pregnant, but I didn’t kill her, I swear.”

  Sam wilted back against the couch. Connor caught her eye. She gave a defeated sigh and shook her head. He knew what she was saying. The kid was telling the truth.

  He tried another tack. “Do you know of anyone she might have been talking to online? A modeling agent? Anything like that?”

  Eager to help now that he’d had the shock of his life, Charlie nodded. “Yeah. That’s why she wanted the abortion. She said she was finally getting her big break, and a baby would send everything she was working for down the drain. She lived for soccer and modeling.” He looked away for a minute, then stared up into Connor’s eyes, honesty emanating from him. “I wanted her to keep the baby, but she wouldn’t even talk about it.”

  “Let’s talk about this modeling thing. How did she communicate with the guy?”

  “Um, she met him in some chat room, then the guy only wanted to do text messaging. He said that way he could get in touch with her at the last minute if he needed her for a sudden job or something. He sent her some money, she bought a fancy dress and had some really nice pictures done.”

  Andrew and Connor exchanged a look. They’d been right. The text messages were the link. The dress a part of it.

  Andrew leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. “Did they ever exchange emails?”

  “No, man, I told you. Text messages only. At least that’s what Miranda said. And I think the guy even gave her a business phone to use.”

  “What was the guy’s name?”

  “David? Donny? No, Danny? Aw, I don’t remember. She didn’t tell me all that much about it, just that she was going to have some really big money soon and we could get married. She started spouting junk like that and I . . .” He swallowed hard.

  “It scared you. Sent you running.” Sam’s no-nonsense tone told everyone what she thought about that. “You can sleep with her, but can’t be man enough to handle the consequences, huh?”

  Charlie recoiled, but anger glinted in his brown eyes. Before he could answer, Andrew slid in with, “Samantha, why don’t you wait outside?”

  Sam stood, stomped to the door. “That might be best.”

  Samantha didn’t know whether she wanted to hit something or have a good cry. It was her opinion that while Charlie was a player and a jerk, he wasn’t a killer. Somehow, in her gut, she knew that Miranda had fallen into the hands of the person . . . or people . . . killing teenage girls.

  The fact that she’d had an abortion, however, interested Sam. Had she had the abortion before she’d been snatched? Or after? And then due to lack of medical care, bled to death? Thus surprising her kidnappers by dying on them so they’d dumped her body in the lake?

  Several uniformed officers were in that subdivision still questioning the lakeside residents. Surely someone had seen something. A car. Or heard something. Like a splash.

  A niggle of awareness tickled the back of her brain. If she could just bring it forward. What was she missing? What were they all missing?

  Connor opened the door and stepped out.

  Sam bit her lip. “Sorry.”

  He nodded, eyes shuttered, hands shoved in his pockets. “Made you think about your sister?”

  “Yes, but they all do. Every person who’s a victim of brutality reminds me of her. I just can’t let that get in the way of an investigation, though. I’m sorry.”

  “Apology accepted. You didn’t do any damage. In fact, your blunt approach to the questioning may have helped. You shocked the mess out of him. That kid didn’t have any idea Miranda was dead.”

  “That’s the impression I got. And now we know why you didn’t find anything on the girls’ text messages. He sends them a different phone. I bet when he snatches the girls, he just tosses the phones. No emails, no text messages, no trails, nothing to lead anyone back to him.”

  Connor sighed and swiped a hand over his jaw. He looked tired.

  Andrew and Charlie finally exited the office. The teen gave Samantha a glare, but he kept his thoughts to himself. She met his gaze head-on, refusing to let him intimidate her.

  Principal Harrington chose that moment to return. “Are we all done here?”

  Charlie snorted, his earlier defiance back. “I’m done.”

  Connor nodded. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Petroskie. We’ll be in touch.”

  “I can’t wait.” With that, Charlie turned on his heel and stalked down the hall.

  Samantha watched him go.

  Jerk.

  Connor shook the principal’s hand. “Thank you for your help.”

  “No problem. I just hate things have turned out the way they have for these girls.”

  “Yeah.”

  On the way back out to the car, Sam mused, “You know, it’s like these people don’t care if the bodies are found. Unfortunately, there are ways to make a body disappear forever—or at least much longer than two days. Why throw Miranda in the lake? Why not bury her, cremate her, or whatever? I don’t mean to sound gruesome, but it does cause me to wonder. It’s like they’re just tossing these dead girls out like yesterday’s trash.”

  Connor looked at her, respect gleaming at her insight. “You’re probably right. They just don’t care.”

  “Not only does it seem like they don’t care, they’re being arrogant in the fact that they don’t think they can get caught.”

  “We keep saying ‘they,’” Sam said. “Are we under the assumption that more than one person is involved in this?”

  Connor rubbed his chin. “Good question. I would say there would have to be more than one person involved. If this were a simple online predator, I think we could have caught him by now. This is different, has a different feel to it. And the baby angle. I honestly believe we’re dealing with some kind of black market adoption ring or something along those lines.”

  Andrew nodded. “I’ve been thinking that since we found Leslie Sanders. Two girls tur
ning up dead, recently pregnant and missing babies, that’s odd and suspect. But three girls . . . that’s a whole different ball game.”

  “And now Miranda showing up dead,” Sam muttered, not liking how this was all coming about. Too many dead girls, too many hurt families. Too much evil.

  She sighed, then felt a tingle all the way up her arm when Connor placed a hand on her elbow to help her into the car, saying, “But she had an abortion and we don’t know for sure if her disappearance is even related to the others.”

  “So how does all this fit together?”

  “Dakota has been working with the FBI in the Behavioral Science Unit. Let’s get his opinion on all this when we get back.”

  Sam shut her door and leaned her head back. Connor slipped into the driver’s seat, Andrew once again claiming the driver’s rear.

  “Where to?”

  “How about something to eat. I’m starving,” Andrew begged.

  “Right.” Connor mocked. “So what else is new? What’s the matter, Angie burn your breakfast this morning?”

  Samantha managed a laugh as Andrew kicked the driver’s seat. “Watch what you say about my love.”

  Connor shot an amused look at Sam. “His love can’t cook worth a darn.”

  “She’s got other redeeming attributes,” Andrew defended his bride.

  “Yeah, she lets you keep that gas guzzler Corvette.”

  “And she’s not even jealous. You should be glad I married the woman. She’s consented to allowing you to be in the will.”

  Connor gave a chuckle and slid a glance at Samantha. “Only because she doesn’t want the car. I get the Corvette when he kicks the bucket.” Pure amusement danced in his eyes, the first time Samantha had seen them without the ever-present shadows. Wow. The humor may seem crass to those outside law enforcement, but she knew it was a coping mechanism, and it didn’t bother her.

  Connor insisted, “But she still can’t cook.”

  Andrew warned, “You’d better not say anything about her cooking in front of her. She knows how to use my gun better than I do.”

  Connor and Samantha laughed harder than they needed to. But they all needed the release. Even through the laughter, though, she wondered when the next tears would fall.

  11

  The weekend slid in almost unnoticed, the change from Friday to Saturday subtle, ignored. Samantha knew it would be a working weekend. All except for three hours on Sunday morning when she would take time to worship. But after that . . .

  There were still three missing girls and their days were numbered, if not already up. She sat in Jamie’s living room eating a grape popsicle and staring at her laptop screen.

  Wired into the girls’ computers, able to access any one of them from where she sat, she had an idea and wanted to go with it, but didn’t want to live at the police station. Her sister’s home was much more comfortable.

  “Hey, whatcha working on?”

  Samantha looked up and smiled. Her sister was finally coming out of her shell. Freshly showered, her hair clipped up into a curly blonde pile, a Panthers sweatshirt and jeans, she looked relaxed and . . . happy.

  Sam nearly started crying at the sheer joy she felt run through her. “You painted your toes!”

  “Just the nails, Sam.” Jamie tossed her head, blonde curls dancing around her heart-shaped face. She gave a throaty laugh. Then chewed her lip. “They look okay, right?”

  “Just . . . peachy.” Tongue-in-cheek, she waited for Jamie’s response.

  Her sister grabbed the nearest throw pillow and lobbed it at Samantha’s head. Loftily, Jamie told her, “It’s Peachy Sunrise, thank you very much. Now, is Tom coming over or not?”

  “He is. He just finished working some case and is on his way.”

  “He’s been awfully busy lately.”

  “I know. He tracked a kid to Tokyo. The dad took him in the middle of the night four days ago, then logged in on the first computer he found, apparently. Tom was waiting on him, tracked him to Tokyo. A child recovery team is on the way.”

  “Tom didn’t have to go?”

  “Nope, not this time. He should be here soon.”

  Jamie smiled. “I’m going to go throw together some food. You know he’ll want to eat when he gets here.”

  Laughter spilled from both of them, and Sam sent up a silent thank-you prayer for the healing her sister was experiencing. Then her phone buzzed. She looked at the screen. Connor. Her heart quivered, but she refused to acknowledge that it was due to him being on the other end of the line. “Hello?”

  “Hi, Samantha, Connor here.”

  “Hey there. How’s your Saturday going?”

  “Andrew, Dakota, and I’ve been putting a puzzle together.”

  “So what does the final picture look like?”

  “Not sure yet. We’ve still got quite a few missing pieces. Are you free to go over some stuff? As part of the task force, we thought we’d keep you in the loop.”

  “Absolutely. Why don’t you guys come on over here to my sister’s house? Because of her contract computer work for them, she has FBI clearance. We can discuss the case in front of her. Also, my partner, Tom, is on the way over. He might be able to help us out.”

  “Let me see if I can get clearance for him to be in on the loop. We can use all the brains we can get on this case.”

  “Great.”

  She gave him the directions and hung up, gripping the phone for a solid minute before setting it on the table in front of her. You’re not interested. He’s a cop.

  And he would be here in less than thirty minutes. Sam slapped a hand to her hair and looked down at the baggy sweats and hole-sporting T-shirt.

  “Jamie? We’re getting ready to have more company than just Tom! You might want to change into something else.”

  Sam trotted to the back guest bedroom where she’d stashed some of her things and pulled out a pair of clean jeans and another T-shirt. One without holes. Then she brushed her hair until it crackled. Eyeing the lip gloss on the dresser, she reminded herself, You’re not interested, remember? He’s a cop.

  Right.

  With a huff of disgust, she grabbed the lip gloss, applied it with a jerky hand, then bolted back to the den.

  Jamie came out of the kitchen, sandwiches on a small tray and a pitcher of tea undulating in its plastic container. When she spied Sam, she stopped. Lifted a brow.

  “Who is he?”

  “Shut up.”

  Twenty-eight and a half minutes after he’d hung up with Samantha—not that he was counting or anything—Connor pulled into her sister’s drive. Putting the car in park, he opened the door. Andrew and Dakota followed suit.

  Samantha answered the door with a smile and a light in her eyes that made Connor’s heart do stuff he didn’t think it remembered how to do. “Hey, come on in. I had an idea I wanted to run by you guys.”

  Everyone trooped in, Connor bringing up the rear. Just before he entered the house, the nape of his neck tingled, like someone had just drawn a bead on it. The vest he wore wouldn’t do much good if he got it in the head.

  Samantha stood staring at him, waiting for him to enter so she could shut the door. He held up a finger. “I’ll be right back. I want to have a look around.”

  A frown furrowed her brow. “Why?”

  “Just go on inside. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  “Connor—”

  “Just . . .” He motioned for her to shut the door. She did and he turned back to scan the neighborhood. Should he let Dakota and Andrew in on his paranoia?

  No, he would just take a little walk, seeing what he could see. He’d felt watched just as he’d been about to enter the door. Directly across the street another little cottage-style house sat, peaceful, still, with a neatly manicured lawn. Connor scanned the street, heard the door open behind him. Dakota stepped out, eyes alert, followed by Andrew who had his hand on his gun. Samantha must have said something.

  Connor tilted his head to the left. Andre
w went that way. Dakota motioned he’d go to the right. Connor walked across the street, panning his gaze from one house to the next, looking for anything, almost expecting to feel a bullet between his shoulder blades.

  Nothing except normal Saturday morning activity. The scent of summer clinging, just before surrendering gracefully to the fall. Kids on bicycles, babies in strollers, dogs barking, lawn mowers growling.

  Yet Connor couldn’t let go of the feeling that someone had been watching them. Was still watching. Waiting. He wished he had a bulletproof helmet on.

  Then he spied the tree house. A wooden structure, well-built and solid, it sat in the right-hand corner of the backyard. He looked back at Jamie’s house. Back at the tree house. A small window cut into the side facing Connor provided a perfect view of Jamie’s front door.

  Jogging toward the thing, Connor stopped abruptly when a little boy about five years old opened the door and began climbing down the steps.

  “Find anything?” Dakota asked, coming up behind Connor.

  “Nope, guess my imagination is working overtime.”

  “I don’t put much stock in imagination. You’re a seasoned cop. If you felt something, you felt it.”

  “Maybe.” Connor scanned the tree house once again. The door to the main house banged again, and the same little boy, juice box in hand, rushed back toward the steps to climb up them one handed, the drink clutched tightly in the other.

  “Maybe not. Maybe my nerves are just strung too tight and I’m letting it get to me.” He shook his head. “Come on, let’s go see if Samantha can help us move forward in this thing. I feel like I’m pedaling backward out of control.”

  Dakota pushed his ever-present Stetson back on his head and nodded. “Just don’t take your hands off the brakes.”

  “I hope you like apple juice. It’s all my mom had.” The Agent took the proffered drink from the little guy. A cute fellow, he had curly blond hair and friendly green eyes.

  Smiling, The Agent wondered what Boss would think about this little boy. Boss would like him, he decided. But wouldn’t want to take him from his mother, not at this age. It was best to take them before they knew they were being taken. Otherwise they just cried a lot.