The Cop's Missing Child

by Karen Whiddon

  “Nothing against you.” For the first time, Franco allowed himself a smug smile. “I needed cover, and your job opening provided it.”

  Now they were getting somewhere. “Cover? For what?”

  But Franco wouldn’t respond.

  Another car pulled into the parking lot, headlights illuminating them. Renee turned on the blue and red lights before parking and getting out. She, too, approached with her weapon drawn.

  “Where is she?” Renee barked. “Tell her to come out with her hands up.”

  Though Franco didn’t move, he shifted his eyes toward the closest unit. Number 227. Perfect.

  “I know where she is,” Mac told Renee. “Cuff him, and I’ll get her to come out.”

  “Hands behind your back.”

  Waiting until he saw Renee nudge a cuffed and furious Franco toward her squad car, Mac went up to the door of Room 227 and banged on it with an open fist. “Police. Open up.”

  Nothing. He glanced up at Franco and saw the other man smiling. But why? There were no back entrances to the motel rooms, so Desiree couldn’t have escaped. Maybe Franco thought small-town officers wouldn’t break into the room.

  Taking a deep breath, Mac debated whether or not to try and kick in the door. Despite what television cop shows aired, such a move was never easy.

  As he deliberated, a shot rang out.

  “Get down,” he yelled, dropping by reflex. Renee, however, wasn’t so lucky. When he looked back for her, she was already on the ground, bleeding.

  Immediately, he got on his radio and called dispatch for an ambulance as well as backup. But before he’d even finished speaking, the door to Room 227 opened and a woman who could only have been Desiree emerged crying, with her hands up.

  Chapter 9

  Ed Cooper took charge of the prisoners, booking Desiree with a charge of assault to a police officer with a deadly weapon. Franco was charged as her accomplice.

  Mac followed the ambulance to the hospital. As far as he could tell, Renee’s wound wasn’t life-threatening, which was a relief. The bullet had grazed her shoulder, taking out a good-size chunk of flesh with it. Still, he wanted to be there for her and help in any way he could.

  A few hours later, with Renee settled, her wound cleaned and bandaged, groggy with the meds she’d been given for the pain, he took his leave and headed down to the station to see what Ed had been able to find out.

  “We’re still holding them but not for long. They’ve both already lawyered up,” Ed told him, with no small amount of disgust. “The only thing the girl would say was she shot Renee in self-defense.”

  “Self-defense?” Mac shook his head. “She shot a uniformed police officer.”

  “I know. It’s weak. But that’s what she’s going with. How’s Renee?”

  Dragging his hand through his hair, Mac realized exhaustion had him seeing double. “She’s okay. They’re keeping her overnight, but I expect she’ll be discharged tomorrow morning.”

  “Which is Saturday. At least we’ve got until Monday before their lawyer can get the judge to set bail.” Ed grimaced. They both knew how this worked. Worse, Mac figured Franco and Desiree would vanish once they’d posted bond.

  “I need five minutes,” he told Ed.

  “But—”

  “Just go get a cup of coffee.” Already walking away, Mac pointed in the direction of the break room. He didn’t look back to see if Ed had done as he’d asked.

  Franco and Desiree were being kept in separate holding cells until Judge Carrodine opened court on Monday morning and their attorney could petition for bail to be set. Mac chose to visit Desiree first.

  She looked up when he entered the cell. Black mascara streaks ran down both cheeks as she regarded him suspiciously. “What do you want?” she asked.

  Ignoring her question, he stared at her, unsmiling. “You’re in a lot of trouble, you know.”

  “My lawyer will take care of this,” she said without conviction. “He said not to talk to any of you.”

  Shaking his head, he continued to stare her down. “Why’d you do it, Desiree? Shooting a police officer is a pretty serious thing.”

  “I didn’t mean to shoot her,” she protested, apparently already forgetting her attorney’s instructions. “When you knocked on the door, I thought you were one of Franco’s enemies.”

  She said this despite the fact that he’d identified himself as police loudly and clearly. Mac let that one go. “What do you want with Emily?” he asked casually. “She said you came to her house.”

  Desiree frowned, her worried expression replaced with one of contempt. “Carlos’s stupid wife? She stole my jewelry, and I want it back. I need the money.”

  It was the same story she’d given Emily. If Desiree was after Ryan, she was doing a good job of pretending otherwise. Actually, Mac believed her. Women like her had no interest in children—their own or others. All they cared about was money.

  This was exactly what Desiree had said. She was telling the truth, at least about that. Still...

  “You came all this way for a necklace and bracelet?”

  “And earrings.” Sniffing, she swallowed. “These weren’t ordinary diamonds, you understand? I saw the receipt. Carlos paid nearly two hundred grand for the necklace alone.”

  Damn. He knew Emily had sold everything to pay off her debts, but she hadn’t mentioned very expensive diamonds. He’d have to ask her about that.

  Turning, he exited her cell without another word and went next door.

  Franco didn’t even look up when Mac entered. One look at his clenched jaw and hunched shoulders told Mac he was barely holding back his rage.

  “I might be able to get them to cut you a deal,” Mac said casually, “but I’ll need some information from you.”

  When Franco met Mac’s gaze, he didn’t bother to hide his anger. “Go away.”

  Staring him down, finally Mac nodded. “Suit yourself. Both you and your girlfriend are gonna do hard time for shooting a cop.”

  “I didn’t shoot anyone,” Franco snarled.

  “Desiree says differently. She told me she was only doing what you told her to do.” Mac felt no compunction about lying. He really didn’t expect Franco to believe him. If the other man had been an associate of a mobster like Carlos Cavell, he’d been around the block enough times to know better.

  Still, on the off chance that he was wrong, Mac crossed his arms and waited.

  Finally, Franco spoke, glaring at him. “Tell me your deal, and I’ll think about it.”

  “I need you to tell me what you want with Carlos Cavell’s wife.”

  For an unguarded moment, Franco’s expression mirrored his shock. Apparently, whatever he’d been expecting hadn’t been this.

  Jaw set, he looked away. “No comment.”

  Mac shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “All right, then. Let me know if you decide you want to talk about a plea.”

  Franco didn’t respond, though Mac waited, silently counting to ten.

  Then he let himself out.

  Exhausted beyond reason, Mac knew he should get in the car, drive home and get some much needed sleep. Instead, though it was late and he thought she’d probably be asleep, he found himself pulling up in Emily’s driveway.

  Parking, he killed the engine and sat in the car. A light shone yellow from her kitchen window, and he used that as enough reason to get out and go tap quietly on her front door.

  To his surprise, she opened it instantly, as though she’d been watching out the window and waiting for him.

  About to speak, instead he pulled her into his arms and just held her, drawing comfort from the fresh shampoo-and-soap scent of her.

  He didn’t know how long they stood there, holding on to each other, but finally, as he swayed from exhaustion, she broke away and gently led him into the house, closing and locking the door behind her.

  “What happened?” she asked quietly.

  “First, I need to ask you about some diamonds. Desiree said
the necklace alone was worth over one hundred thousand dollars.”

  She shook her head. “I didn’t find anything like that.”

  “All right.” He searched her face. “Desiree shot Renee.”

  Emily gasped. “What?”

  Dropping into her chair, he relayed the night’s events. She listened quietly until he finished, finally dropping to her knees alongside his chair.

  “Is Renee going to be all right?”

  He nodded, trying not to look at her mouth and unable to keep from remembering the explosiveness of the kiss they’d shared earlier. The rasp of his own breathing and the thump of his heartbeat mingled with hers. Despite his exhaustion and her earlier anger, the electricity between them still hummed in the air, too powerful...seductive...dangerous—especially now when his guard was so completely down.

  He didn’t move, couldn’t move, even though he knew he was on the verge of doing something foolish.

  Seeming to sense it, too, she moved restlessly against his leg. His mouth went dry as he watched her, realizing he’d never seen her as wildly beautiful. Desire stabbed deep inside him. Sensing his regard, she dragged her hand through her short, dark hair, biting her lip as she looked away.

  He nearly groaned out loud. Hell, he wanted her. He wanted to bury himself inside her—right here, right now.

  Again their gazes locked. She stopped moving and something—desire? heat?—flickered in her face. Motionless, her caramel eyes molten, she appeared to be waiting. He tried to throttle the dizzying surge of wanting, of need, but as she raised herself up onto her knees, he knew he fought a losing battle.

  Roughly, he pulled her to him. Though she didn’t resist, she trembled against his touch, settling on his lap. His body, already aroused, responded with a surge of heat.

  “Emily?” he rasped, hoping she’d understand what he asked.

  “Please. Hold me.”

  Though he knew he was in trouble if comfort was all she wanted, he did his best to simply hold her, though he knew she could feel his arousal pressing against her perfectly shaped bottom.

  Turning to him, her full breasts flush against his chest, she clung to him, soft curves fitting him perfectly. When he slid his hand down her shoulder to the swell of her breast, he hesitated, heart hammering in his chest, hoping she wanted this as badly as he.

  Apparently she did. She pressed her mouth against his throat, where the pulse threatened to leap out of his skin. His heart lurched.

  “Yes,” she whispered. Then, pressing against him, she kissed him with a hunger that matched his, her soft, sweet lips more persuasive than any words could have been.

  He let his mouth move over hers, devouring her, drinking her in, wanting more—so much more.

  But was this...wrong? With his heartbeat pounding in his ears and heat blazing through his veins, he could scarcely think of anything but the feel and scent of her.

  Emily, Emily. And though his mind told him to resist, his damn body refused to listen. She kissed him again with an unmistakable sense of urgency, and she took his hands, encouraging him to touch her.

  Was he actually shaking? Pushing away the thought along with his doubts and his questions, he traced the hollow of her throat, the slope of her shoulders, her sides to reach the curve of her hips. He pulled her toward him, wanting her closer than was humanly possible. He knew she could feel just how much he wanted her. Despite his mammoth arousal, he tried like hell to maintain control. He wanted to let her be the one to choose how far this went.

  As if he had the right to take this any further.

  And then, she lifted her small, delicate hand and traced the outline of his erection, hard and rigid and ready, and he was lost. He tried to speak but only succeeded in a groan, and when she kissed him again, she continued to stroke him to madness with the certainty of her touch.

  Though she already straddled him, when she began to move her softness against him, what little restraint he’d managed to hang on to completely and utterly vanished. Breathing harshly, he grabbed her wrist, holding her away.

  “Stop,” he bit out the word. “It’s been way too long since I—”

  “Shh.” Brushing her lips against his, she got up and took his hand and led him into the bedroom. He went, dazed and tormented and too damn aroused to care.

  Closing the door behind her, she kissed him again, this time warm and lingering and full of promise. Slowly she began unbuttoning her soft cotton nightgown, her seductive smile inviting him to help.

  So he did—or at least, he tried. His fingers felt too big and ungainly. Fumbling with the buttons, he hoped he wouldn’t tear the cloth, especially when she undid his belt.

  A tangle of clothes and bodies, they undressed each other, each touch erotic, every kiss a sexy tease. She helped him pull his T-shirt over his head, trailing kisses along his chest, biting at his nipple. He sucked in his breath, self-control already shredded, while great shuddering waves of desire rocked him to the core.

  Naked, bodies slick with perspiration and need, they came together as though they’d both been starving. And if he thought about it, he had.

  Though he tried to be gentle, he could no more control his raging desire than he could a tornado. And she, she urged him on, apparently craving him as much as he did her.

  When he would have gently eased them onto the bed, she grinned and pulled him instead, sending them sprawling, limbs intertwined in a sensual tangle.

  They kissed again, his aroused flesh pressing into her soft belly then, as she moved, the warm apex of her womanhood. Bending his head, he caressed her breasts with his tongue, trying like hell to slow things down. He wanted to try to make this last.

  But she had other ideas. Arching her back, she moaned, blindly reaching and capturing his hard-on with her hand, squeezing and moving her hands up and down seductively.

  “Emily,” he warned. “Easy.”

  Again she laughed, a husky sound of joyous sensuality. “I’m ready for you.”

  Knowing if he entered her now that he’d lose control, he used his finger instead, finding her wet and ready and hot—so hot. His body surged against her leg as she convulsed around his finger.

  Damn. He wasn’t going to be able to wait too much longer.

  “I need you inside me,” she breathed. Wiggling her body against his hand, she rose up against him and pushed herself down over the length of him, sheathing him deep inside her.

  He bit back a moan. The pleasure was purely explosive. Slowly, he started to move, savoring the feeling. Thrashing, she bucked her hips, taking him in faster until he couldn’t think, until there was only him and her—their bodies joined together.

  “Mac!” Shuddering, she found her release, bringing him to his at nearly the same instant. The waves of pleasure seemed to go on and on, taking him by storm.

  Finally, both spent, their naked skin moist and warm, they lay silent, holding each other, not speaking.

  Sometime after that, she slept.

  Eventually, after forcing himself not to think too hard about what had just happened, he did, too.

  When he woke, the clock on the nightstand read 5:03 a.m. Quietly, he eased himself out of the sheets; found his jeans, socks, shirt, shoes; and got dressed in the darkness.

  Sneaking out before dawn was something he’d only seen in movies. This was another first in this bizarre chapter of his life.

  Great. He’d done a lot of things in his past that he wasn’t proud of, but this took the cake. He’d obviously been thinking with what was in his pants rather than his brain. How could he make love with a woman when he planned to be the one to completely ruin her life?

  Emily was already wounded, shattered, and he’d begun to suspect she’d been wronged almost as much as he had. He had no business even becoming friends with her, never mind becoming her lover.

  Worse, he already wanted to make love to her again.

  Since he always tried to be honest with himself, he knew that despite his misgivings, he couldn’t stay
away from her. Even if he didn’t have concern for Ryan’s safety as an excuse, he genuinely liked Emily. He wasn’t going to let anything happen to her—not on his watch.

  And if it turned out Ryan was the infant who had been stolen from him five years ago, he’d try to work out some sort of visitation schedule rather than cutting her completely out of Ryan’s life. He suspected both of them would need such an arrangement to stay sane.

  Briefly, he tried to imagine the future. He couldn’t. He knew what he’d like, knew too that such a thing would not be possible if he continued to pursue his planned course of action.

  He needed answers, needed to know the truth.

  Since right now he couldn’t have them, he did the cowardly thing. He left Emily asleep in her bed without saying goodbye.

  * * *

  After Mac left, Emily lay still between the sheets with her eyes closed, doing some serious thinking. She’d always been a light sleeper, and she’d come awake the instant he slipped from the bed.

  Though part of her longed to call him back to her, to wrap him in her arms and entice him to make love yet again, the rational side of her was glad he was going without her having to ask him to. She’d never let Ryan wake up to find a man in her bed, even Mac, whom Ryan liked and trusted. Maybe it would happen eventually, depending on how things played out, but not now—not while everything was still new and shiny and full of potential.

  She wasn’t even certain she wanted this. At this stage in her life—and in Ryan’s life—she didn’t need a relationship...especially with all the craziness going on with the stalker. Diamonds? It would be so ironic if all along her stalker had been after missing jewelry rather than Ryan.

  It would be ironic and a blessing. While she knew nothing about diamonds, if she could believe with certainty that no one was after her boy, she’d finally be able to breathe again.

  Until she knew for sure, she needed to focus on her son, make sure she gave him an ordinary, perfect life—the kind she’d always dreamed of for herself. Mac would only complicate things, but she’d be lying if she tried to pretend he wouldn’t make a fantastic father.