by Debra Webb
He read her too easily. She had to get her emotions in check. She rested her chin atop her knees. If she focused, she could deal with it. She was tougher than she looked, always had been. Her mother had been a single parent, and only sixteen when Mel was born. Sixteen and an alcoholic. She didn’t even know who Mel’s father was.
Mel had sworn she would never do that to a child. And here she was hiding the truth, giving her child her own name, just like her mother had done to her.
But this was different. She laughed, a dry, grating sound. Yeah, right. This was different, all right. She hadn’t had the guts to tell him the truth two years ago, how would she ever muster up the courage, now?
Enough, Jackson, she chastised. She had to have some sleep. Mel dropped her feet to the floor and stood. The kind of sleep where dreams didn’t come. She glanced longingly at the catalog. She’d pick out the new bed tomorrow. It was late. Ryan would expect her to be on her toes come morning. He didn’t like slackers and had absolutely no patience for excuses. She wasn’t about to give him any reason to say she couldn’t pull her weight.
She padded into the kitchen and turned on the light over the sink. The worst was behind her now. The investigation was under way, and she actually had people on her side. She could relax just a little. Exhaling a weary breath, she searched for the prescription Dr. Wilcox had given her. After checking the label, she opened the bottle and removed two of the little pills. She popped them into her mouth, then held her hair out of the way while she washed them down with a drink of water straight from the tap. Wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she flipped off the light. Twenty minutes tops and she’d be asleep.
Though she hated drugs, for the time being they were a necessary evil. A first for Mel. If her mother were around she’d get a good laugh out of that one. She’d accused Mel of being too uptight for her own good. You’ll see one of these days, her mother had taunted. You’ll need help sometime. Just like me, she added as she popped another Valium. Hitting thirty had been tough on Carla Jackson and her chosen profession. She’d taken up popping the pills along with her booze to ease the pain and block the image of her last steady John.
Mel pushed away those unpleasant memories. She hadn’t thought of her mother in years. She supposed that if she really wanted to, that in some twisted way she could blame her mother for the accident. After all, if Carla hadn’t made Mel want so badly to be the exact opposite of her, she probably would never have lent her SUV to a friend. God knew her mother had certainly never helped her own daughter, much less a friend. If Mel hadn’t lent Rita the SUV, then she and Katlin wouldn’t have been in a tiny compact vehicle when the accident occurred. Then maybe none of this would—
“Stop it,” she ordered. She pressed the heels of her hands against her forehead and forced the tormenting thoughts away. Rest, she needed rest.
All she had to do, she reasoned as she made her way to her room, was find something unrelated to the accident to focus on for the next fifteen or so minutes. She climbed into her bed and pulled the covers up around her. The feel of Ryan’s full lips pressed firmly against hers instantly invaded her mind. She almost pushed the vivid memories away, but didn’t. Reliving nights with Ryan—before—was better than allowing the reality of this waking nightmare to slip to the forefront of her thoughts.
She had to keep the hurt at bay.
She had to be strong.
Her baby was counting on her.
* * *
RYAN BRACED his hands on the window frame and stared into the darkness. It was raining again. A streak of lightning temporarily brightened the hotel parking lot. The weather matched his mood, he decided, dark and stormy.
He blew out a disgusted breath and jerked the curtains closed. A quick glance at the digital clock on the bedside table confirmed his suspicions that it was well past time he’d gone to bed. He stripped off his shirt and tossed it onto the nearest chair.
But then, what would be the point? He definitely wouldn’t be able to sleep. He couldn’t get Mel out of his head long enough to concentrate on anything else. He needed files, interview reports, case studies. Anything to keep his thoughts from wandering back to her. If he were back at the office in Chicago, there would be plenty to keep him occupied.
But he wasn’t in Chicago.
He was here…where she was.
He tunneled his fingers through his hair and slumped down onto the bed. She still held that same old power over him. She was the only woman who’d ever wielded that much. He could never resist her. The first year without her had been pure hell. He’d worked 365 days. Hadn’t wanted a day off. Still rarely took one.
When she’d left the Bureau—left him—he’d thought he would never be able to go on without her. But he’d managed, just barely—and only by leaving the Bureau himself and finding a fresh start.
What the hell was he doing in Memphis working a case that involved her child? A child she’d had with another man? He frowned trying to recall the child’s age. Something over a year. He glanced at his briefcase. The death certificate was there. But he had no intention of getting up and looking at it. It made no difference how little time it had taken her to get over him. For that matter, she could have left him for another man, though he doubted it. But, who knew? Maybe she met someone who gave her the kind of attention she wanted…deserved.
Someone who didn’t study cases about dead and missing children as a career. Someone who could bear to give her the child she wanted so desperately.
Anyone but him.
He’d seen too much. Knew too much about the evil men could do. His jaw clenched automatically and the images receded, a practiced response. He would never bring a helpless life into this world. Not after all he’d seen. He just couldn’t do it. He’d wanted their relationship to be enough.
But it hadn’t been. She’d wanted more and he couldn’t give it to her. Wouldn’t give it to her. So she’d taken the Pill their entire relationship to keep him happy.
Ryan leaned back onto the stack of pillows. No matter how he’d tried to forget her, he couldn’t. No other woman made him feel anything even close to what he and Mel had shared. Oh, he’d tried to erase her memory. But he’d failed miserably.
Now he worked. He’d almost gotten used to going home to an empty house on the rare occasions he bothered to go home. That diversion had come with its own costs. The plants had all died. He’d had to give his dog to a neighbor. But otherwise he’d managed. Had even reached the point where he seldom thought of her more than once or twice a day.
And now this.
What had Bill been thinking when he’d called him?
He hadn’t been thinking. That much was clear. Bill loved Mel like a daughter and he intended to help her, whatever the facts indicated.
The facts all pointed to the child’s death. There was absolutely nothing to corroborate Mel’s theory.
Deep inside, in that place he kept all those messy emotions hidden away, he hoped like hell the facts were wrong. No matter who had fathered the child, he didn’t want Mel to know this kind of loss. He didn’t want her to live with this level of hurt for the rest of her life.
Close your eyes, Braxton, he ordered. Get some sleep. You’re going to need it.
The instant his lids lowered, the image of Melany filled his mind. She smiled up at him, love shining in her green eyes. She was wearing that little black dress he’d liked so much. His fingers knotted in the rumpled sheet beneath him but he allowed the memories to come. Kissing the smooth skin of her shoulder. Lowering the zipper, then the silky dress. Following the path of the sensual fabric with his mouth. They’d made love over and over that night, then the light of day had brought reality back with a vengeance.
He’d asked her to marry him. She’d hesitated, begging him to change his mind about having children. He’d said no. She’d tried a dozen different ways to sway him. He hadn’t listened.
She’d cried.
He’d stood firm.
She’d pa
cked.
He’d pretended not to notice.
Then she’d left.
He’d been certain she would come back. But she hadn’t. The months went by and she didn’t call. He’d almost lost his mind. Then the months had turned into a year and he’d faced facts. She wasn’t coming back.
He started to call once or twice…but then a new case would come up and he’d be too busy. If she’d wanted to talk to him she would have called, he’d rationalized. It was over and he’d had to come to terms with that.
It hadn’t been easy but he’d done it. At least he thought he had until he saw her again. Not one thing about her had changed. She still looked twenty-five, despite being thirty-four. She wore her hair the same…the way he liked it. The long silky strands of gold made him ache to tangle his fingers there. Having a child hadn’t changed her slender figure much, either. If anything she looked more womanly.
Had bearing that child given her that extra touch of softness, those ever so slightly fuller curves? Did the man who’d made love to her last appreciate the subtle differences? He clenched his jaw until it ached.
Ryan pushed up from the bed and paced the suddenly too-small room. He needed a long, hard run to regain his perspective. He’d been to Memphis before, three or four years ago, had stayed in this very hotel. It was a safe enough area for a late night run. At this point he didn’t really care. He had to work off these crazy mixed-up emotions and all the adrenaline surging through his body.
He pulled a pair of sweats and his running shoes from his duffel and sat them aside. Ninety seconds later, he was ready to go. He glanced at the clock—2:00 a.m. He functioned on less than two hours’ sleep most of the time. A couple of nights without any at all wouldn’t kill him.
He reached for the door. A loud knock rattled the hinges a split second before his fingers curled around the knob. Ryan tensed. He glanced at the clock again, then eased closer to the door as another knock sounded.
“It’s Bill. Get the hell up, Braxton. I’ve got something for you.”
Ryan removed the chain and jerked the door open. “What’ve you got?” he asked without preamble.
“A body.” Bill looked smug. “And it isn’t the kid’s.”
Ryan pulled him inside and shut the door. “Whose body?”
“Garland Hanes,” Bill told him.
A new surge of adrenaline pumped through Ryan’s veins. “The funeral home attendant?”
Bill nodded. “The guy who buried the empty coffin.” Bill pulled out his trusty notebook. “Apparently gave himself a third eye and a one-way ticket to hell.” He grinned. “And guess what Memphis’s finest found in the wallet he left behind?”
Ryan’s tension moved to the next level. “Just tell me what they found.”
Bill pulled a plastic evidence bag from his inside jacket pocket and waved it in front of Ryan. “A picture of a little girl. A very much alive little girl.” His grin widened. “A little girl named Katlin Jackson.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Ryan sat on the side of the bed and stared at the telephone, waiting for the minutes to tick off. Bill would call Mel this morning and explain the latest turn of events. Ryan had asked him not to mention the picture until after he had interviewed Rita Grider, the friend who identified the child’s body. He didn’t want to raise additional hope that might not pan out.
Mel would be mad as hell when she found out he’d hidden any aspect of the case from her, but it was necessary. Not only would it prevent further hurt if things didn’t turn out the right way, but it would avoid any additional distraction. Keeping her focused was difficult enough without adding another layer of false hope.
He watched as the digital clock on the bedside table next to the telephone clicked off one more minute, 7:29 a.m. He’d been up all night, hadn’t been able to sleep at all. Staying put until this morning had been almost more than he could manage. He’d wanted to view the body of the funeral home attendant, Garland Hanes. He’d wanted to scour every square inch of the scene where he’d been found. But somebody had screwed up and gone through the steps at the scene, including moving the body, before realizing the victim was tied to this case. Bill hadn’t gotten the call until after the body was already at the morgue. Taking all that into consideration going directly to the scene in the dark and rain hadn’t made much sense.
It hadn’t, however, kept Ryan from taking that run he’d decided upon before Bill’s visit. He’d run until he’d exhausted himself, thrown his damp clothes to the bathroom floor and stood under a long, hot shower. Despite the depletion of adrenaline he still hadn’t been able to sleep.
Now he only waited to make the one call necessary to his continued participation in this case. Afterward, he had one stop to make before rendezvousing with Bill at the scene where Hanes’s body had been discovered by two teenagers. The clock’s digital readout blinked to 7:30.
Victoria Colby was almost always in her office by 7:30, he hoped today would prove no different. He punched in the proper series of numbers and waited through the first ring.
“The Colby Agency.”
Mildred. “Good morning, Mildred, this is Ryan Braxton.” Victoria’s loyal secretary was the first to arrive and the last to leave every day that the agency doors opened.
“Ryan, how are things in Memphis? You know I’ve always wanted to visit Graceland.”
He would never have taken Mildred for an Elvis fan, but, hey, she could fool the best CIA interrogator if she so chose. “Things are complicated,” he offered. “This case looks like it might take a while and…” He hesitated, knowing this was the point of no return. “I’ve decided to stay on and see it through.”
“I understand,” she said knowingly. “I’ll put you through to Victoria.”
There were no secrets kept from Mildred. She had a handle on everyone and everything that involved the agency.
“Ryan, it’s good to hear from you. Have you learned anything new?”
The sound of Victoria’s voice proved oddly calming. He couldn’t say for sure precisely what it was, maybe the fact that she had believed in him when he’d felt certain total burnout loomed just around the corner. Or perhaps it was merely because she somehow seemed to sympathize with what had made him have to walk away from his past. Whatever the case, Victoria understood.
“The funeral home attendant’s body was found last night.” Ryan scrubbed a hand over his face, only then realizing that he hadn’t shaved. He frowned, wondering how he could forget something he’d done every day since his junior year in high school. “There was a photograph of—the child—which would indicate she was alive at the time it was taken.”
Victoria paused, then said, “Can you verify that assumption?”
“We’re gonna try.”
Another pause. “I see.” The sound of leather shifting crinkled across the line as she apparently reclined fully into her high-back executive’s chair. Ryan had watched her do that dozens of times as she’d considered the ramifications of whatever she’d just been told. “You’ve decided to participate in the case, then?”
He drew in a heavy breath and released it slowly before responding. She had to know how difficult a decision this was for him. “It’s the only thing I can do. I can’t just walk away…she needs me.”
“You’re doing the right thing. We can get by without you for a while. Research will certainly miss your eye for detail, but we’ll manage.” She didn’t have to say, but he knew she understood that the she he used referred to Mel as much as it did the missing child.
When he’d initially applied to the agency, Victoria had offered him the position of investigator, but he’d declined. The idea of dealing with real people no longer appealed to him. He much preferred working with facts and hypothesized scenarios. He’d had enough of investigative work for two lifetimes. But he had to do this one last thing…he had to do it for Mel. And the kid.
“I’ll keep you up to speed on my progress if you’d like, though this isn’t an official Colby
Agency case.” He wasn’t sure of proper protocol under the circumstances. He would be working under the Bureau’s umbrella.
“I’d like that very much,” she said without hesitation. This time there was something different in her voice, something besides the usual confidence and determination.
Another frown inched its way across Ryan’s brow. He had the distinct feeling that Victoria was holding something back. Before he could pursue the thought, she spoke again.
“What are the chances you’ll find this child… alive?”
There was a definite quality of uncertainty in her tone now. He considered her question. It was the same one he’d been asked a thousand times before in his old life at the Bureau. His answer was always the same. “Slim to none.” The statement was blunt and cold, as he’d intended it. The worst thing a man in his position could do was engender false hope. He’d seen others do it, only to watch the families of victims fall apart later when things turned out badly. He never went that route.
“How is Miss Jackson holding up?”
It wasn’t until that moment when he heard Victoria say Miss Jackson that two things struck Ryan. Why was Mel still single? And why did her child carry her surname? Why not the father’s? Mel was too careful to, without due consideration, get involved with a guy on that level. She never acted before she analyzed the situation. That’s why she hadn’t become Mrs. Ryan Braxton two years ago. She’d considered what he offered, assessed the data and concluded that it wasn’t enough. How had she managed to end up a single parent?
“As well as can be expected,” he said in answer to Victoria’s question. “This is the worst thing that can happen to any parent. There’s no way to accurately describe the sheer torment she’ll endure.” He closed his eyes and wished for one long moment that he could make it go away. No matter that she’d obviously run into another man’s arms when she left him, she was still Mel. The woman he’d loved…the woman he’d lost.
“Don’t hesitate to call if this agency can do anything at all to help.”