Woody made a face. “News guys will jump on it no matter what. As for his involvement with Cora . . . well, she didn’t care much for Rollins or any politician. When she had a car, there was a bumper sticker on it that said, ‘Don’t act stupid. We have politicians for that.’”
Abby smiled and tilted her head toward Woody, who rolled his eyes and went on. He’d never press past her comfort zone; she knew that.
“I liked the old lady; she had a lot of spunk. Cora never married and I think she did the best she could with a dwindling trust fund. Plus, she treasured her independence.”
They both gazed at the body for a minute.
Woody cursed. “A killer knocking off old ladies.”
“And the victim radius is not that big. I figure our guy has to be someone local, maybe a parolee. The burglary part is snatch and grab, so he’s close. He’s cruising alleys.” Her investigator’s legs were back, and she stood.
“Of course you’d figure that. I trained you, didn’t I? Murphy thinks it’s a kid.”
She brought her hands together, interlacing her fingers. “He saw what he thinks was a kid climb out the window. But a kid doing this doesn’t wash for me. Plus, the staging is odd.” She shook her head. “I’m thinking small man.”
“Probably a safe bet.”
“I don’t pay much attention to politics. Is the governor in town or in Sacramento?” Abby asked, her tone now casual, unconcerned. The governor and his wife had a beautiful house on the peninsula, in the upscale Naples area of the city, but as far as she knew, he was rarely there.
“He’s probably in Sacramento. He seldom stays here in town anymore. But if he is here, and you’re pegged to do the notification, I’ll help.”
“Thanks. Notification duty will have to be bounced off the watch commander. I’ll have time for breakfast before a decision, I bet. Join me? My treat.”
“Deal.”
IT WAS CLOSE to five thirty in the morning when Luke parked in his driveway, wanting a shower and bed. All he had time for was a shower and a quick breakfast. Good Morning Long Beach began taping at seven. He yawned, the early morning events playing over and over in his mind as he locked his truck, picked up the newspaper, and headed for his door.
As soon as he had seen the kid jump out the window, Luke’s first instinct was to chase him. I could have caught him, but there was no way I would have left Leslie. When Officer Woods had told him a single elderly woman lived inside, he prayed. But then the officer came back with a look that told Luke the prayer was too late. This was a homicide.
He pondered whether the person he’d seen had really been a kid. Everything happened so fast. At first he was certain he’d seen a teen, but the more the incident rolled over in his mind, the more he doubted the person was young. Could have been a small man. He debated calling Detective Hart and telling her that new insight. No, he decided, I’m not going to throw doubts into the mix after the fact. She’s good; if what I told her was helpful, she’ll run with it.
Meeting Detective Hart had unnerved him almost as much as knowing that he’d nearly chased down a murderer. He’d seen her before, actually been as close to her then as he had been this morning, but there was no reason for her to remember. He just had never forgotten. About ten years ago, Officer Hart assisted with weaponless defense training for his police academy class. She’d been on the force for only two years back then and already was a rising star. Several academy physical training records bore her name.
She’d irritated and fascinated him at the same time. Luke leaned against the door, holding his key but not putting it in the lock, remembering how rigid and by the book she was. She’d knocked his grade on a takedown because he wasn’t as exact in his technique as she was. I got the job done, but Hart wanted perfection.
At the crime scene today, he was certain Hart still wanted perfection, and memories from his short stint at the academy came rushing back. But the vibe he felt toward her now wasn’t irritation. Up close years later he observed more than a picky, driven weaponless defense instructor. He saw a competent woman . . . and he wanted to know more.
His stupid question about Good Morning Long Beach was a knee-jerk response to the strong attraction he’d felt. It wasn’t that Hart was drop-dead gorgeous—no, he wouldn’t even say beautiful. She wore no makeup and her face was set in seriousness. But she was pretty, her green eyes were alert and alive, and she had a presence, a charisma that hit him like the kick from a .40-caliber handgun.
I want to see her again.
He couldn’t help but wonder about the road not taken, if he’d completed the academy and become a cop. Shaking his head at the notion, he unlocked the door and went inside. He’d dropped out of the academy after a couple of months, not because of Hart but because he was a single father and the regimented schedule and the shift work he knew awaited after the academy took too much time away from his then-infant daughter, Madison. Now it was to her room he headed.
She’d grown so fast. She shouldn’t be up just yet, and since she was constantly in motion when she was awake, he loved the chance to steal a look at her peacefully sleeping ten-year-old face. He opened the door to her room and was not disappointed. A smile played on his lips to see her still breathing easily and resting quietly.
The smell of coffee brewing caused him to close the door softly and head to the front of the house. He and Madison lived in the back of his parents’ house. His stepfather, a contractor, had added on the space especially for the two of them. When Luke decided he’d start his own business from home in order to be there for Maddie, James designed the addition so they’d have their privacy but Maddie would also have built-in babysitters when Luke had to go out.
A short walk down the hallway brought him to the main house and the kitchen, where his mother sat with a cup of coffee and an open Bible. Grace Murphy helped Luke’s investigation business part-time by filing and taking phone calls, which had increased exponentially after that video went viral on YouTube. She knew his caseload and knew he’d been out looking for a runaway. But Nadine was more than just another runaway case to Grace. The girl’s mother, Glynnis, was a member of Grace’s Bible study group.
“You’re up early.” Luke leaned down and kissed his mom on the cheek, then grabbed a cup and poured coffee for himself.
“I can tell from your face you didn’t find her.”
Luke sat and gulped some coffee. He rolled his head on his shoulders to loosen the kinks in his neck and finished half a cup of coffee before he told his mother what had happened.
“Murder?” Grace arched her eyebrows. “Leslie broke her ankle?”
“Yeah. Martin called me as I pulled in the driveway. He was at the hospital with her and she was heading for surgery. They have to put a pin in her ankle. Guess I’m short a partner again.”
Leslie recently mustered out of the Army and was trying to decide what to do with her life. Luke had hired her part-time, and she’d been doing a great job as his partner.
“You’ll be okay until she’s back on the job. I’m glad her injury can be fixed. I’m still troubled about Nadine being out in that area.”
“Kwan was never 100 percent on the sighting. Yet, runaways are attracted to the scene there.” He sighed and started to say more but stopped.
“But?”
“This has never felt like an average runaway. Nadine was a happy kid, a good kid. I just . . .” He shrugged.
Grace smiled sadly. “I agree with you. I wish there was more the police could go on.”
Luke said nothing. He’d talked to juvenile investigators about Nadine. She was listed as a missing person, but there was no evidence of foul play. She’d texted her mother, saying she’d be home when she was ready. With that information, she was not a priority. They’d detain her if they ran across her, long enough to call her mother, but that was it.
Grace stood. “I’m going to start breakfast. Are you hungry?”
“Starved, without much time. Can you get Maddie to th
e church this morning? The homeschool group is working there today. I have to hurry and get to the college for Good Morning Long Beach. I should be able to pick her up.”
The local cable program was produced and filmed at Long Beach State University, five minutes away.
“Of course. And I’ll pick her up. I have some errands to run down by the church.”
Just then Maddie burst into the kitchen and gave Luke a hug, crinkling her nose at the stubble on his chin. He hugged her tight anyway, considering Nadine and the thousands of other young girls out there in the big bad world and vowing that would never be Maddie.
As normal morning activity swilled around him, Luke kept reliving the events of the morning and his conversation with Detective Hart. His best friend, Bill Roper, was a narcotics detective for the PD and hoped to move to homicide. Coincidentally, a slot opened up because of the retirement of Hart’s partner, so if Bill were selected, he’d told Luke that he would be Abby Hart’s new partner. Bill hadn’t asked Luke’s opinion; he’d just raved about the prospect of working with Hart. “She’s so focused when she gets a case, her nickname in the office is Superglue. She sticks to something until she solves it. Everyone respects her work ethic.”
At the time Luke had teased him, in his mind’s eye seeing the picky perfectionist from the academy. “Do you think you could work with someone like that? There has to be a little bit of fun in the work you do, even if it’s solving murders. All work and no play would make Bill a dull boy.”
Bill waved him off, excited about the new assignment. “I’m sure there’ll be some give in a partnership. She can’t be on 100 percent of the time. And I would like the opportunity to find out. She’s the best. I’ve seen her testify in court and she’s ice, man. Defense attorneys can’t shake her. And it’s because she’s built the best case possible. She’s superglue relentless when she gets a body—no stone unturned, that kind of thing. I want that slot to be her partner.”
He’d asked Luke to pray about it and expected to find out in a couple of days. The new assignment with much more responsibility and a heartbreaking workload would be what Luke and Bill liked to call a “hard blessing.”
It was something they’d come up with during their service in Iraq. The hard blessing of being able to serve together and fight side by side, the hard blessing of surviving when some good men didn’t. While Bill joined after 9/11, Luke had already been a member of the Army Special Forces and wanted a career there. But his wife’s death and his daughter’s injury stopped his reenlistment cold. It had been hard coming back to a baby daughter in the hospital being treated for burns from the fatal car crash, a little girl who would never know her mother. And a hard blessing to come back to the faith he’d walked away from while living a wild life in the service.
Luke still ached when he saw the scars on his daughter’s legs. They’d faded with time and hopefully would eventually disappear completely. Becoming a single father had been a hard blessing. Now Maddie was a vibrant, happy child, the image of her beautiful mother and never troubled by the scars that faded a bit every year.
Yes, he understood a hard blessing.
His conversation with Bill had been two days ago. Luke knew he’d get a call when Bill found out whether or not he got the promotion. I wonder what he’ll think when I tell him about my encounter with her, Luke mused.
After breakfast, Luke kissed his daughter before leaving her with Grandma and went to his room for a shower, shave, and fresh clothes for the taping. Abby Hart stayed on his mind. Superglue. He chuckled as he remembered the horrified look on her face when he suggested publicity.
He realized he’d spoken without thinking and only made the suggestion because he wanted to see her again. Keeping a connection to the investigation might mean just that. She was more striking than he remembered, even at four in the morning, when it was obvious she’d been dragged out of bed to come to a homicide scene. She seemed to shine, and it was impossible to imagine that a woman so focused on justice for innocent victims wasn’t warm and worthwhile to call friend.
Her emerald-green eyes, so vivid and alive, touched him most. Add the hair, a color he couldn’t quite place—brown and blonde, an appealing mixture. It was long, and she’d had it pulled back and bunched into a clip. Luke bet it was soft and touchable. Sighing, he was embarrassed with where his thoughts were taking him. Even if they did connect again on the investigation, he’d never take a step closer to her on any level, so why fantasize?
The last thing in the world Luke wanted to do was let another woman down like he’d let his wife down.
Even when he was back in the car heading for the college, his mind was active with thoughts of Abby Hart and Nadine. He winced as he considered Nadine’s mother, Glynnis Hoover. She’d been widowed two years ago. Like Luke’s wife, her husband was killed in a traffic accident. Unlike Luke, who lived with the memory of having a horrible argument with his wife on the phone while she was driving and hearing the crash that killed her because the argument had distracted her, Glynnis’s last memory of her husband was warm and loving.
Lately she’d been sending out signals she wanted more than friendship where Luke was concerned. They shared a connection she clearly thought was a God thing. But he didn’t share the attraction and planned to be honest with her. And then Nadine ran away. Glynnis was devastated and clingy and scared to death she’d never see her daughter again. Luke did his best to handle the situation professionally, but Glynnis was leaning on him hard, and he prayed that the Lord would give him wisdom so he wouldn’t hurt the woman.
He pulled the card Detective Hart had given him out of his pocket. Detective A. Hart, it read, on a standard Long Beach Police Department business card. He ran his thumb over her embossed name and couldn’t help but wonder if he’d ever have the chance to help Superglue put some bad guys in jail.
“LET THE DEAD rest in peace.”
“But someone is getting away with murder.”
“I don’t believe anyone gets away with anything forever.”
Woody and Abby’d had that conversation fifteen years ago, three years before she started the police academy. And twelve years earlier, a coroner had zipped up the body bags containing the remains of her murdered parents.
“I’ve dreamed about finding my parents’ killers for more years than I had with them,” she’d told Woody back then. She was fresh out of high school, and providence had brought her back to Long Beach on an athletic scholarship to play volleyball for Long Beach State. The first thing she did was look up Officers Robert Woods and Asa Foster. She knew from newspaper articles that the pair had been the first on the scene of her parents’ murders that day and had saved her from the fire that consumed their restaurant, the Triple Seven.
But neither of them thought much of her desire to plunge in, demand the case be reactivated. They’d gladly met with her and encouraged her aspirations to join the PD when she turned twenty-one. The encouragement stopped there. Their attitude about catching her parents’ killers took her by surprise. Why didn’t they want the cold case solved?
“We’re afraid you could still be in danger, as well as your aunt. Even after all these years. Not only was the restaurant burned down, but your parents’ house burned to the ground that day as well. It was a personal crime, and someone with a grudge like that won’t quit.”
“But so much time has passed—how can there still be danger?”
“Trust us. Be patient; patience always pays off, and an opening will come.”
Reluctantly, she’d taken their advice and started life in Long Beach anew, not telling a soul who she was or why it was so important to her to eventually become a homicide detective. Abigail Morgan had been pulled from the fire and she was now Abby Hart, having been adopted by her aunt, Deidre Hart, and raised, from age ten, miles away in Lake Creek, Oregon. When she did apply to the PD, she knew that Woody and Asa stepped in to protect her secret, convincing the chief and her background investigator to seal her file when she was h
ired.
Over the years Abby built a cold case file with what she could glean from public record. While in the academy, as she learned about police work and investigations, she’d spent her weekends in the library, filling notebooks with ideas and theories.
Dede was aghast. “Abby, you’re young; you should be out having fun, meeting people, not shut up in the library on weekends.” The word obsession surfaced then, with Dede afraid Abby’s preoccupation with the cold case would drown her.
After that, she’d kept her search to herself, adding more official paperwork to the file as she moved on in the department. By the time her promotion to homicide came, she and Ethan had a casual relationship that soon blossomed. She’d known him forever. He lived near her aunt and was a big part of the youth group at the church there. Abby went from looking up to him as a big brother to cherishing his friendship. When she moved to Long Beach, they still talked from time to time on the phone. She’d been a cop for five years when he took a job at her church in Long Beach as the missions director. It wasn’t long before they began to date. When things got serious with Ethan, for a time she could let go and put the case in the background.
Six months ago, when he’d asked her to marry him and she’d said yes, she thought she’d shut the door completely on the past in favor of not jeopardizing her future with him. When she’d confided in him who she was, he’d joined the chorus and agreed with Asa and Woody.
“These men have been officers longer than you have and they think it’s dangerous, so you should follow their advice. The killers will not get away with it. You need to trust that God will deal with them. You can, can’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess I can.”
“Then put it behind you and us. Don’t let that tragedy be what defines you.”
Now, one name brought the twenty-seven-year-old cold case screaming to the forefront of her mind. As hard as she’d tried to ignore and push back every emotion bubbling up about her parents’ unsolved murders, today the door had been kicked open by the mention of Lowell Rollins.
Drawing Fire Page 3