Losing Leah Holloway (A Claire Fletcher and Detective Parks Mystery Book 2)

by Lisa Regan

  On one side of the couch, little Hunter Holloway lay curled up, clutching a Disney Toy Story blanket, his thumb firmly in his mouth. His face looked swollen, perhaps from the tantrum he had thrown earlier—or the one Connor had no doubt the child had thrown when they got home, and his mother was still not there. On the other side of the couch lay the baby. He was on his back, his arms spread wide above him like he was raising them to show his muscles. His little face had the blissful look of sleeping with total abandon that only infants and puppies get. Connor felt his heart twinge a little. Across from them on the recliner sat Peyton, her legs thrust out straight, her little feet dangling just over the edge of the chair. She stared straight ahead, unseeing.

  “Mr. Holloway,” Jade said. “We really need to talk to your daughter about what happened today.”

  Jim looked over his shoulder at the children. “She, uh, she hasn’t talked since I got to the hospital, but you can try. Just don’t—don’t wake up the other kids. I’m hoping they’ll sleep till my mom gets here. She should be here in another hour. Her flight was delayed.”

  Connor and Jade eased past the man and approached Peyton. She showed no flicker of emotion, no indication that she even noticed they were there. Feeling like the two of them standing over her might overwhelm the girl, Connor hung back and settled gently onto the couch between the two boys. Surreptitiously, he took pillows from behind him and stuffed them beside baby Tyler. If his behavior at the hospital didn’t expose Jim Holloway as a rookie right off, the scene at the house certainly did. Connor didn’t have children of his own, but in the last few years, his younger brother’s wife had given birth to twins, and Connor had learned all kinds of things about babies and toddlers that he never knew before. One of which was that you didn’t leave a five-month-old unattended on a couch for fear that he might roll over and fall off.

  Jade knelt beside the recliner. “Hi, Peyton,” she said. She pulled out her badge. “My name is Jade Webb. I’m with the police. I don’t know if you remember me from earlier at the hospital. We didn’t really have a chance to talk. I’m trying to find out what happened with your mommy today. Is it okay if we talk?”

  Connor noticed that Jade didn’t use a syrupy tone. She talked to Peyton as she might to a grown woman—sympathetic, but not pitying. It was the same tone she used with domestic violence victims. Peyton’s eyes flickered briefly toward Jade’s badge and then back to front and center, staring sightlessly at something the rest of them could not see. Connor knew she was suffering from shock and exhaustion. They waited, but the girl didn’t speak. Her eyes didn’t move. In fact, Connor wasn’t sure they would ever find another six-year-old who could stay as perfectly still as Peyton.

  Jade gave it another try, after waiting a few more minutes, to no avail. “Okay, Peyton. We don’t have to talk right now,” she said. “Maybe you can talk to my friend over there. His name is Connor. He’s a really nice guy. He’s my favorite person to work with.”

  She stood and switched places with Connor. All the while, Jim stood observing them from the corner of the room, the lines of his face twitching like he was watching a delicate operation of some kind. Like he was actually watching Connor and Jade pull Peyton’s teeth rather than just asking her some questions. Connor wasn’t sure if Jim was more afraid of the damage it would do to Peyton to dredge everything up, or if he just didn’t want to hear what Peyton might have to say.

  Connor knelt beside Peyton and smiled, just like Jade had. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said. “Do you want to see my badge?” No response. “Listen, Peyton, I know you don’t want to talk about what happened today. It was very, very scary, and I know that things are really confusing right now. I’m sorry for what happened today, but it’s really important that we find out from you what happened. Anything you can tell us would be a really, really big help.”

  He waited. Just when he thought that he was going to strike out, as Jade had, Peyton’s voice came, small and tremulous. The sound of it alone would’ve been enough to break Connor’s heart. “If I help you, will you bring my mommy home?”

  Peyton’s words were a knife to his gut. He heard Jim’s gasp behind him.

  Peyton’s little brow furrowed. Just a tiny bit of hope. As though she already knew that her mommy wasn’t coming back, but just had to ask.

  He hung his head, then looked back up at her. He had never hated his job so much. “No, honey, I’m sorry. I can’t bring your mommy home. But what we can do is try to figure out what happened to her, and for that I really need your help. I know that you and your mommy went to a gas station and went into the bathroom. Do you remember that?”

  But she had shut down, eyes fixed straight ahead once more as if he didn’t exist, as if none of them existed. She was gone. He wanted to scoop her up, cradle her, and whisper soothing things into her ear. He didn’t understand why Jim hadn’t rushed across the room and done exactly that.

  He felt Jade’s hand on his shoulder. “Parks,” she whispered. “We can come back tomorrow. Maybe after she’s had some sleep.”

  “Okay, okay,” he said.

  They stood, facing Jim once more. He looked like he might cry.

  “Mr. Holloway,” Jade said, “you told us Peyton hasn’t said anything since she came home today? What about before that? In the hospital?”

  Jim shook his head. “No, nothing. She hasn’t said a word.”

  They left the man looking helpless and hopeless. Jade shook her head all the way down the front walk. “Unfuckingbelievable. Nothing from the kid.”

  “Jade,” Connor said. “That child has been traumatized beyond belief.”

  “Yeah, I know. That’s why I want to find out what happened. Why would you do that to your own kid?”

  “I don’t know,” Connor said.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  “That bitch in there is totally drunk with power,” Jade said as they left a Globocell store in Midtown. Outside, night had fallen over the city.

  “Yeah, no shit,” Connor said. He swiped a hand through his hair. “She was probably looking at the goddamn numbers while she was telling us to follow proper protocol and contact their corporate office.” At the words follow proper protocol his tone became high-pitched and mocking.

  Jade laughed. “That’s Globocell talk for Go fuck yourself.”

  They had retrieved Leah Holloway’s phone from the toilet. Connor thought it had been submerged far too long to salvage, but Jade had insisted on trying. It now sat on her desk in a bowl of dry rice. Earlier that day, Connor had faxed a warrant to the Iowa corporate office of Leah’s cell phone provider, Globocell, to the attention of a woman who promised to pass his request along to the legal department, who wouldn’t be in until Monday, and would then take five to seven days to process his request. In the meantime, they’d gone to a local Globocell store and taken a stab at getting Leah Holloway’s phone records more quickly. Or at least the last two numbers that called her before she drove her car into the river.

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a woman turn you down before, Parks.”

  Connor sighed as Jade started the car. Inside his jacket, he fingered his cell phone. Besides a half-dozen texts from Stryker and one call from Captain Boggs, there was nothing. Nothing more from Claire. Not that he’d been expecting more.

  See you soon.

  The ball was in his court now. It was up to him to put himself back in her way, take the risk of being rejected again.

  “It happens more often than you think,” he muttered.

  Jade shot him a raised brow. “So,” she said. “Claire. She was the one that got away.”

  Connor didn’t comment. He looked out the window, watching the city pass by in a blur of buildings, trees, cars, and pedestrians, lit only by the streetlights and the fluorescent glow of the stores they passed.

  “It was nice to finally meet the legendary Claire Fletcher,” Jade added. “That was really something, the way she jumped into that river to save all those kids. She’s pretty fe
arless, huh?”

  Connor laughed drily. “No,” he said. “Not fearless. Just crazy brave. She has no idea what she’s made of.”

  Fear was a second skin for Claire. After ten years in captivity, she had learned to live with it. Connor watched her confront it time and again with courage that was breathtaking to observe, to even be in the presence of. She could save children from a vehicle crashed in a river, yet she couldn’t sleep with him. She could risk her life but not her heart. Of course, there was today.

  “So what happened with you two?” Jade asked as they pulled into the OOI parking lot.

  “I really don’t want to talk about it.”

  “Sure you don’t.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Okay. Talk to me in an hour when we’re ass deep in paperwork on this Holloway case.”

  The paperwork lasted until after midnight. Finally, at half past midnight, Jade yawned and stretched her arms above her head. “I think we should call it a night,” she said. “We’re not getting anything done on this investigation at least until tomorrow morning.”

  “Oh, I’ll try getting in touch with her doctor in the morning, at his house if I have to,” Connor said.

  “Yeah, well, that sounds like a good idea, but right now I think we should go home and get some rest.”

  Reluctantly, Connor called it a night. It was well past the time that would have been appropriate to visit Claire, but he found himself driving to her house anyway. He parked across the street. The living room lights were still on. He pulled out his phone and looked at her text from earlier. He had no idea how to do this. They hadn’t been an item, or a couple, or whatever they were to each other, in two years. He didn’t know if showing up at her house at one in the morning would look desperate or interested. Or maybe a little bit of both.

  He sighed and turned his car back on. This was ridiculous. He was exhausted. Between the Soccer Mom Strangler case and the Holloway crash, he had been awake for almost thirty-six hours. He probably smelled. He had spilled coffee, mayonnaise, and creamer on his suit over the course of the last day. If he was going to try to win Claire back, he should probably be at his best, and this 1:00 a.m. Connor was definitely not his best. He was about to pull away when his phone dinged, indicating a text message. It was Brianna. Don’t be a dumbass, it said. She’s still awake. Come on in.

  Connor laughed. He rifled through his glove compartment until he came up with some deodorant. Hastily, he slapped it on. He found a couple of mints in his jacket pocket, pushed his hair around on his head a few times, smoothed his beard down, and got out of the car.

  He headed for her front door, feeling like a teenage boy picking up his prom date. What if he crashed and burned again? He was starting this all over with her, and to this point it had always ended the same—with her pushing him away. But then he thought of her on the riverbank earlier that day, opening up to him, and knocked. Immediately, Wilson’s bark sounded, then whining and frantic scratching at the door. Claire pulled the door open, the smile on her face sending his stomach plummeting. God, he had missed her.

  Wilson jumped up, demanding his attention, whimpering, and shaking his furry butt. Claire tried pulling him back. “It’s fine,” Connor said. “Really.”

  He got down to Wilson’s level and gave him a good scratching behind his ears, his sides, and his back—all of his favorite places. When Wilson was satisfied, they stepped inside, Claire closing and locking the door behind them. She looked beautiful, even in a pair of sweatpants and an oversized UC Davis T-shirt. Her curls, ever unruly, shone in the soft glow of the lamplight coming from the end table. A romantic comedy played muted on the television. Brianna was nowhere to be found.

  “You came,” Claire said.

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  SUNDAY

  They stood awkwardly in the living room. There hadn’t been many awkward moments between the two of them since they’d met. Claire didn’t know what to say now that he was here. The whole evening she had paced the living room with Wilson in tow, rehearsing all the things she wanted to say to him—none of which came to mind now that he was standing before her, looking impossibly handsome. Before she could stop herself, she reached out and touched his beard. The hair was softer than she expected. He smiled and stepped closer to her, making her breath catch in her throat. He reached up and pressed her palm harder against his cheek. Closing his eyes, he let out a quiet sigh. Relief.

  “Long day?” she managed.

  He opened his eyes. She wasn’t sure if he said yes. The next thing she knew she was in his arms and they were kissing. Long, soft, slow kisses that sent a delicious thrill of pleasure from her center up to her head with dizzying speed. She shivered as his hands ran up and down her back. She had always loved his hands. Firm but gentle. Always gentle. He was the only man whose touch she had ever enjoyed, even craved. And yet, at a certain point, it ceased to matter. At a certain point past the foreplay, all the horrific things that had been done to her came rushing back, and she couldn’t separate her trauma from the moment with Connor. She couldn’t get past it.

  Beside them, Wilson whined. Claire felt his paw against her leg. She pushed against Connor’s chest and he let her go. She felt the air around her like a loss and wanted to be close to him again.

  “I’m sorry,” he breathed.

  She pulled him toward the couch. “I’m not.”

  There were some frantic breathless moments on the couch, Claire letting herself go, letting herself feel every sensation he evoked in her, reveling in her proximity to him. It was astounding how much she had missed him. He felt—physically and emotionally—like a missing puzzle piece.

  “Stop,” Connor said. With the utmost care, he slid out from beneath her, disentangling, disconnecting. He stood and walked across the room. His hair was mussed, his clothes in disarray. He smoothed his beard with both hands as he tried to catch his breath.

  Claire perched on the edge of the couch. Her fingers fidgeted with the collar of her shirt. The skin of her throat burned where his beard had scraped against it. It was not unpleasant. “Connor?”

  He smiled at her. “I just think we should slow down. I don’t want to stop, believe me, but I’m not sure we should jump into the one thing we always had … issues with.”

  Claire laughed nervously. “Right.”

  But she found that she wanted to rush in, now that he was there with her. For once, she wanted to disappear into his arms, into the feel of his skin, into those expert hands, his smell. She wanted to think about nothing but Connor, the one person in the world who made her feel completely safe. She wanted to take that leap. Desperately. But she held herself back, gripping the edges of the couch cushion on either side of her thighs.

  “And, Claire,” Connor added. “You don’t have to do this. I mean, if you’re feeling—well, I told you, things with Jade—there’s nothing there. I told you before, I’d wait for you.”

  “Stop,” Claire said. “I’m not doing it for that reason. I’m jealous, sure, but I just … I want to be close to you right now.”

  “Okay.”

  She waited for him to ask what they were doing, to bring up the issue of their relationship, of trying again. But he didn’t. He stood, walked over to her, and held out his hand. She took it and led him up to her bedroom. After all these years, she didn’t have to tell him what she wanted. He kicked off his shoes and stripped down to his boxer shorts. They climbed beneath the covers together. Grumbling, Wilson took up position in the corner of the room on his bed. Claire and Connor lay down side by side and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close, holding her tightly. For a moment, she was taken back to the very first night they met, the very first time they had done this.

  “Do you want to talk about today?” he whispered.

  She inhaled his scent and closed her eyes. Drowsiness overcame her faster than she expected. “No,” she said. “Not now. I just want you to hold me. I just want this.”

  His lips brushed the to
p of her head. “Okay,” he said. “This it is.”

  CHAPTER NINETEEN

  Claire struggled in his arms that night, nightmares assailing her intermittently. Visions of Leah Holloway—mouth stretched wide in terror, submerged beneath water, sinking—mixed with images from her ten years of captivity. She hadn’t had nightmares for a very long time. She had triggers, of course. Some were worse than others, but for the most part, she had that under control. The incident with Holloway had unleashed memories that she hadn’t thought of in years. Horrible, terrifying memories. The sound of Miranda Simon’s bound body landing on the floor in front of her after Reynard Johnson dragged the girl into the room. The look in Johnson’s eye as he stared down at the two of them—two teenage girls at his mercy—like he was about to devour a meal. The way one edge of the duct tape over Simon’s mouth peeled away just a little bit, but not enough to allow the girl to speak. Johnson had stuffed a wad of cloth deep into her mouth. Each time Claire woke with a scream lodged in her throat, Connor was there, squeezing her, stroking her hair, whispering in her ear. “You’re safe. I’m here. No one’s going to hurt you.”

  Finally, around four, she fell into a deep and mercifully dreamless sleep. She knew when she woke two hours later that she’d been snoring because her throat was dry and scratchy. A crusty line of dried drool went from the corner of her mouth to her cheek. Connor slept, his arms still encasing her, one leg slung over her body. She wriggled in his arms and turned her face toward his so she could see him. Tracing the contours of his face with her fingers, she admired his facial hair. It struck her then that she had never dated a guy with a beard before. Her captor had never had facial hair. For her, to see it on Connor was exhilarating in a way, raising her attraction to him a notch. She stared at him until she fell back to sleep.