Yet for all her experience, Jodi was still young and too idealistic to understand that because of Caitlin, many really bad guys walked free to harm others again. Jodi still believed in second chances; Caitlin had seen repeated offenders too often to subscribe to that useless vein of thought.
Jodi sat down, her long, dark hair falling over her shoulders nearly to her slender waist. Caitlin envied that waist, not to mention the hair and flawless complexion. Of course, anything was preferable to her own red hair and freckles. Jodi tapped a French-manicured finger on the file she held. “I saw him staring at you. I think he likes you.”
Caitlin sat up straighter. “You do?”
“Yes, and he’s cute. I mean, he could be a little taller, but he’s taller than you, at least. I hear he and his wife are getting a divorce.”
Wife? Mace Keeley didn’t have a wife. He was rumored to be in a long-distance romance with an attorney in California, though if they didn’t love each other enough to be together, Caitlin didn’t hold out much hope for the relationship.
That could only mean Jodi wasn’t talking about Mace. “Uh,” she groaned. “If you’re talking about Wyman Russell, then eewww.” The dragged-out word said it all.
Jodi shrugged. “He’s not bad looking.”
“He’s a terrible prosecutor! You saw how he brought Mace Keeley in to help this case.” Though now, since there was so much damning evidence, Wyman would probably try to resume the case on his own. He’d want the glory of the win for himself.
Jodi grinned. “I see your point. A woman can overlook a lot of things in a man but not stinking at his job. But speaking of Mace Keeley, what I wouldn’t give to get a date with him!”
“You and most of the other women around here.”
Jodi shrugged. “Lucky for him, I guess.” She clapped her hands on her knees, just visible beneath her tight skirt, and leaned forward. “Well, I’m heading back to the office. Can I help you with anything this afternoon?”
“I wish. But it’s stuff I have to deal with. After I make sure the DA sends me everything on this new evidence, I have to go chat with another client so we’re ready for trial tomorrow morning.” A typical busy Wednesday for her.
“You mean the arsonist?”
“That’s the one.” The defendant had killed an old man in the fire, so Wyman had gone after him with a murder one charge, but there was enough doubt in Caitlin’s mind about the defendant’s intention that she was giving the case her full attention. Since she was up against Wyman again, she would probably save her client from life imprisonment. Unfortunately.
Nodding, Jodi arose. “Well, give me a holler if you need some help with visual aids for the arson trial.”
“I thought you had a brief to write for Sampson.”
“I do, but it’s boring.” Jodi laughed and started down the aisle.
“In that case, I’ll take you up on the visual aids. There’s a file on my desk that has them outlined. Top one. Red folder, I think. And, Jodi, thanks.”
“No problem.”
Caitlin scraped through the rest of her day, finally heading through the snow-lined streets to her home in West Valley City. A stack of files she would work on later filled her briefcase. Though it was only six-thirty, her eyes ached and her head screamed for sleep. All she wanted was to crash in bed and never wake up. Instead, she made the usual detour two streets from her house to pick up Amy at the sitter’s. Caitlin had looked for several months to find a woman who could handle Amy, and the white-haired Sarah Burnside, a sixty-eight-year-old Mormon grandmother of thirty, had been a real find.
Sarah’s husband, Kyle, let her in, and Caitlin found Amy sitting on a stool in the kitchen with Sarah, kneading saltwater dough on the countertop. “I’m helping.” Amy’s short red hair, a shade darker than Caitlin’s, framed her round, grinning face. Any time flour and water were involved, Amy was content.
“I see,” Caitlin said. “That’s very nice.”
At the sink, Sarah rinsed a final dish before drying her hands. “You can take that home, Amy.”
“Oh, thank you! You’re so nice, Sarah.” Amy began rolling the dough in a ball with plump fingers. “Can I have a sack?”
“Of course, dear.” Sarah moved her bulky form to a drawer and drew out a plastic zip bag.
Leaving Sarah to store the dough, Amy slid off her stool and hugged Caitlin, nearly overpowering her with exuberance. Amy didn’t realize how strong she was, which was why it was important that her sitter be sturdy. “I missed you so much. Did you miss me?”
Caitlin looked up into her younger sister’s eyes, as green as her own were blue. “I did miss you.” And it was true. With Amy things were always simpler. She was twenty-seven, but intellectually she would always remain five or six. Their parents had married late, having Caitlin when their mother was forty-three, and Amy surprised them five years later. There wasn’t a time when Caitlin hadn’t been involved in taking care of her sister, and now that their parents were gone, the burdens and the joys rested solely on her shoulders.
Amy didn’t look any different from other women her age, and sometimes that was the most difficult thing for Caitlin. Sometimes she almost forgot that she could never share her life with Amy the way most sisters could. Amy would never be able to counsel her about a boyfriend, or buy her that sweater she had her eye on. Or even fix dinner on the nights Caitlin was too exhausted to stand. But these were selfish thoughts, and for the most part Caitlin was happy that her little sister would never know all the pain the world carried.
On the drive home Amy began her usual babble about the day’s events. Caitlin only half-listened, nodding at all the appropriate times. Most of it would be a repeat of the day before. In fact, Amy often got events from past weeks mixed up. It didn’t really matter. But suddenly her words grabbed Caitlin’s attention.
“Caitlin, will you ever have a baby?”
Caitlin glanced over at the passenger seat to see Amy looking at her earnestly. “Why do you ask that?”
“I think you should. If you had a baby, I could watch it. I would be a good baby-sitter.”
“I’m sure you would, but having a baby is kind of complicated.” She didn’t know how to explain reproduction to her sister, much less falling in love and making a permanent commitment. “Remember our gerbils and how they won’t have any more babies since they don’t have a husband?”
“That’s because we gave all the husbands away. I liked having the babies. They were cute.”
“We couldn’t keep so many in the cage. They wouldn’t be happy.”
“We wouldn’t have tons of babies. Just one.” Amy tilted her head in a pleading gesture. “Please, Caitlin. Sarah’s daughter had a baby, and I got to hold him today. I was very careful. He smiled at me.”
“I bet that was a lot of fun.”
“So will you have a baby? Please?”
Caitlin stifled a sigh. “I don’t even have time to meet a man, much less marry one. Besides, I don’t know that we want a guy hanging around all the time. I sort of like having you all to myself.”
Amy giggled. “Me too.”
They pulled into the driveway of their modest home. The garage could hold two cars, though they didn’t need the space. Amy would never drive. While Amy ran to play with the gerbils they kept in a corner of their small kitchen, Caitlin rummaged in the freezer for a bagged pasta meal she’d bought at Costco. Amy loved the curly noodles and the meat, and usually even ate a carrot or two, though she wouldn’t touch the broccoli. The calories in the meal were outrageous—probably one of the reasons Caitlin had put on a few pounds lately, but at least it cooked quickly and tasted good.
Amy talked to the gerbils, repeating everything she’d already told Caitlin about her day, her big hands gentle with the creatures. She’d had twenty-seven years to learn to be five.
“Why don’t you go wash up?” Caitlin suggested. “It’s almost ready.”
From her seated position by the gerbil cage, Amy’s face lift
ed toward Caitlin, her childlike sweetness shining through. “Can we have ice cream after?”
“Why not?” There was really no point in denying Amy the treat. It wasn’t as if she would have to fit into a prom dress any time soon. Sorrow came with the thought, but it was erased by Amy’s gleeful cheer.
“I love you so much, Caitlin. You’re the best sister ever!” She jumped up and gave Caitlin a hug.
Forty minutes later, Caitlin was washing their dinner dishes when her cell phone rang. “I’ll get it!” Amy left her bowl of Neapolitan ice cream and raced over to Caitlin’s purse on the counter, delivering the cell phone to Caitlin’s damp hand.
“Hello?”
“Caitlin, it’s Wyman.”
Her heart thudded in her chest. “Hi, Wyman. What’s up?”
“It’s about the Belstead trial.”
She sighed. “You know we can’t discuss it.”
“I thought it wouldn’t hurt to stop by.”
“You’re at my house?” If she had to have a visitor, why couldn’t it have been Mace? If only I could be so lucky, she thought.
“I wanted to make sure you were home before I knocked.”
Caitlin strode to the front door, pulling it open. Sure enough, Wyman was climbing from a sleek gray car, careful not to put his feet in the mound of snow the plow had left next to the curb. She shut her phone and watched him walk up the drive. The house had been built on a postage stamp-sized lot, like all the other houses in the subdivision, so it didn’t take him long to reach her. “We can’t talk about the trial,” she warned. “Either of them. If you have a plea deal, I want it in writing during normal work hours.”
“Okay. Then how about dinner this weekend?”
“I’m sorry, I can’t.”
“It’s just dinner, Caitlin. I promise, no shop talk.”
“I’m busy.”
His light blue eyes narrowed, reminding her of ice. “Look, it’s only fair that you know. This afternoon we tracked down the teenager who made the anonymous call about your client’s knife. He said a man came around asking about anything odd happening in the area, and apparently that’s the only reason he came forward in the first place. The man was probably a private detective, and some in the DA’s office find it strange that a private detective would just happen to be snooping around in that area.”
“What does that have to do with me?” Caitlin said coldly.
“That’s what I want to find out.”
“And you’ll find nothing. The way I see it, you should be grateful for any break in the case. You and I both know I was about to win.”
Wyman studied her, an unperturbed smile on his face. Caitlin felt ill.
“Caitlin? Who is it?” Amy peered around her at Wyman, pushing Caitlin to the side in her enthusiasm. Ice cream smeared her chin, signaling that she’d been licking her bowl clean.
“A man from work,” Caitlin said, automatically shifting to the softer voice she reserved for Amy.
“Hi.” Amy grinned and lifted a hand in greeting. “I’m Caitlin’s sister.”
Wyman looked back and forth between them, apparently noting the similarities—the freckles, the hair, even the build, though Amy was heavier and taller than Caitlin.
Amy wiped her chin on her sleeve. “Caitlin, I like my new ice cream better than the kind with those yucky nuts. Can we always buy this kind?”
“Yes. Now why don’t you go get your pajamas on?”
Amy clapped her hands. “I’ll get the book!” She glanced at Wyman. “’Bye!”
Realization came over Wyman’s face, followed by a fleeting expression of what Caitlin was sure was revulsion. Then Wyman smiled. “I didn’t know you supported a sister.”
Caitlin didn’t respond.
“Well, think about what I said.” With a wink, he turned and sauntered down her drive.
Caitlin thought fast. If she went out with him maybe he’d get off the trail. After all, her client would go to prison and Wyman would get credit for his conviction. What did it matter how it came about? Going out with Wyman a time or two might stall him long enough that the point would be moot.
But what if it wasn’t enough? She shivered. He might be handsome in Jodi’s eyes, but right now everything about him repulsed her. The idea of going out with him wasn’t her idea of fun, no matter that it’d been two years since she’d dated anyone seriously.
“Okay,” she called, raising her voice to be heard. “Dinner.”
He stopped and turned, a slow smile coming over his face. “I’m glad you changed your mind. We’ll make plans tomorrow then, after the arson trial.”
Caitlin nodded, already wishing she hadn’t agreed. But for Amy’s sake she had to protect her career, and for now that meant playing along with Wyman’s little game.
Chapter 2
Parker Hathaway walked slowly, almost casually, to the front door of the house in South Salt Lake, not crouching or darting, yet keeping to the shadows made by the huge walnut tree in the front yard. The back door would have been a better choice for staying out of view, but it was too close to the neighbor’s dog kennel. If the child’s mother awoke, she’d call the police.
Or maybe not. Given her current circumstances, Dakota Allen was more likely to call the hulking, balding boyfriend who’d been hanging around almost constantly during the past week, though Parker had made sure his battered car wasn’t in the driveway tonight. Of course, Dakota might still be awake. He didn’t know anything about her sleeping habits these days. Did she drop off the moment her head touched the pillow? Or maybe she lay awake nights like he did, thinking of how he had to do something—anything—to prevent the disaster he knew was imminent.
It didn’t matter. He hadn’t come for her. When he was through here, she’d hate him with a murderous passion that might just barely begin to approach the feelings he harbored for her.
He shivered in the cold, and thoughts of the small whisky jar he’d once kept in the cab of his truck made him ache with longing. But that was a place he would never go again. He forced his thoughts back to the task at hand. Two more minutes, maybe three tops, if all went well. He slipped the credit card into the crack between the door frame and the faceplate of the lock mechanism. Good, the dead bolt hadn’t been used. He’d hoped for that. Maybe she’d been too tired. Or maybe she simply didn’t care. Women like Dakota didn’t. Not about the things that most people considered important. They were too busy using others to expect to be victims themselves.
Even if she’d thrown the dead bolt, he’d come prepared with the glass cutter in the truck, but this was better, cleaner. Less evidence that he’d been inside the house. What he planned to do there could land him behind bars. Deep behind bars.
Far more easily than Parker had dared hope, the card released the latch. He eased the door open, and only as he went inside did he allow his gaze to scan the neighborhood. Not furtively but carelessly, as though he belonged. Indeed, he had belonged to a neighborhood exactly like this one for as long as he’d been able to bear it. A neighborhood like this and all it entailed was what had driven him too near the edge of sanity.
No one was in sight, and even if someone was looking out a window at that moment, they might assume he was the husband coming home after a midnight shift. They were used to having people come in at all hours here. Three o’clock, the time he’d chosen, was when they had the least traffic. He’d watched for three nights to be sure, eating up tankfuls of gasoline in the car he’d borrowed for the purpose.
He took a step inside, shut the door quietly, and then took another step as his eyes strained to be sure the tiny living room was empty. The furnishings were plain, with a tattered brown couch, a blue love seat, and a coffee table that had seen better days. The floor was clean. This surprised him, and he felt his first tremor of doubt.
No. Doubts were fatal. He had no choice but to continue.
Desperation drove Parker onward. Another step and the floorboards creaked. He froze, listened for a full minute,
and then continued when only silence met his ears. Moonlight filtered in from the kitchen window between sheer curtains that even in the dim light appeared tired and desolate. The counters were clear, though dishes were piled high in the sink, some with globs of food stuck to them. Turning his head, he slid down the dark hallway, a step at a time, stopping to listen between each movement.
Two rooms were at the end, both doors closed. What mother closed her bedroom door in the middle of the night with a helpless child sleeping nearby? How would she hear its cry? He took the left door, the front bedroom. He’d seen Madeline in the window and knew it was hers. Carefully, he twisted the doorknob and pushed open the door. There was the faintest of creaks but not loud enough for alarm. The bedroom was not as plain as the living room. There were colorful posters on the wall, stuffed animals, an easel for drawing, and newer furniture that matched.
His breath caught in his throat as he saw Madeline lying in her bed beneath the window, a smile curving the edges of her button lips. Moonlight spilled onto her outstretched hand, a hand that beckoned to him. His heart constricted as it always did at seeing her face.
No doubts here. They belonged together. I’m coming, sweetheart. In three steps he was kneeling at her bed, his hands reaching toward her.
A sound made his hands jerk to a stop—a soft murmur that came not from the bed but from the crib against the wall. Curious, he stood and peeked inside. There was another child, a boy, by the length of his hair. Not more than a year old. He hadn’t realized this child would be here tonight. Scrubbing a hand over the week-old growth on his face, he considered the boy. He wished he could take them both.
Better to stick to the plan. Where he was going with Madeline, he couldn’t take the boy. He would only be a liability. Jaw clenched, he turned his back on the crib, kneeling again near the bed. He pulled down her blanket, scooting one hand under her warm body. She wore a thin nightgown, completely inappropriate for the November night, even in a heated house. With his other hand he grabbed the princess lap blanket folded at the bottom of the bed and pulled it up to her neck, tucking the furry warmth around her body as he drew her toward him.
Saving Madeline Page 2