Where Danger Hides

by Terry Odell

  “Tell me about her. Why do you think the cops would want her?” Dalton’s tone was calm, back in investigator mode.

  “I can’t imagine. She showed up a couple of weeks ago, scared to death. Her husband was one of those control freaks. Made her stay home, keep the house immaculate. Gave her a pittance of an allowance.” Miri couldn’t keep the fury from her voice. “An allowance. Like this was the fifties. And he made her account for every penny. She didn’t say, but I think he abused her physically, too. She had a bunch of bruises when she arrived—said she was clumsy.”

  “Why did she put up with it? Or protect him?”

  “Why does anyone put up with abuse? They think it’s normal. Or they’re at fault. Or they have nowhere to turn.” Her nails dug into her palms from clenching her fists.

  Although Dalton watched the road, some extra sense said he was studying her. “Did anyone hurt you?” he asked, his voice barely audible.

  “Never. Neglected, ignored, but physical abuse? No, Mom never did that. She loved us, but she didn’t know how to keep her own life together.”

  “What do you think made Jillian leave?”

  “I think her husband started working on Will. They wouldn’t talk about it, but I’ll bet Will figured out things weren’t right. My guess is he tried to defend her, and Daddy didn’t like it. Will didn’t leave Jillian’s side for days after they arrived.”

  They drove the rest of the way in silence. She watched Dalton, his jaw set, his hands gripping the wheel. His eyes seemed attentive to the road, but his brain, she’d bet, was somewhere else.

  At the precinct, Dalton parked the car in the half-empty lot. She opened the door and hopped out. “Thanks for the ride.”

  He slid out of the car. “I’m with you. I might be able to cut some red tape.”

  She shoved the door shut. “I’m all right. Jillian’s my responsibility.”

  As she circled the car on her way to the entrance, Dalton grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her to face him. Under the sodium glow of the parking lot lamps, his gray eyes appeared almost gold.

  “Jillian is not your responsibility. She’s a grown woman who has to learn to live with the consequences of her actions.”

  “She’s part of Galloway House. That makes her mine.”

  He curled a finger under her chin and tilted her face up. “You can’t be a mother to everyone, Miri. If she did something wrong, we’ll get her the help she needs.”

  “If she’s not my responsibility, she’s sure not yours.”

  “Let’s get her out. We’ll deal with the details later.” He took her hand and led her toward the entrance.

  We. He’d said ‘we’. Something warm wrapped around her heart.

  * * * * *

  Dalton held the door for Miri and entered the police station behind her. A maintenance man mopped the tile floor of the empty lobby. A pine scent filled the room, not quite strong enough to disguise underlying layers of sweat, urine, and vomit. “Wait here. Let me ask.” He stepped to the glass-enclosed counter and spoke through a metal grate to the man seated at the desk.

  “We’re looking for Jillian—” he shot Miri a questioning glance.

  She joined him and leaned her face close to the grate. “Durbin. I don’t see why she would be here. She’s—”

  Dalton squeezed her hand to cut her off. It was ice cold. “Jillian Durbin. Can you let us know why she’s here?”

  The man fiddled with the computer mouse. Dalton read the identification badge on the man’s shirt. A civilian, not a sworn officer. Dalton smiled. “Hello, Craig. All we need is a little information. Has she been charged?” He hoped Craig wasn’t a wannabe cop who’d raise every official hoop for them to jump through.

  Craig motioned them to wait and picked up a phone. “Let me do the talking,” Dalton whispered to Miri.

  She arched her eyebrows. “Jillian doesn’t know you. She’ll be freaked enough without some guy in a tux coming to talk to her.”

  “I meant I’ll talk to the cops.”

  She nodded and he saw the exhaustion behind her anxiety. “The best thing you can do is be calm. Try to relax.”

  “Relax. Right. I’ll go sit over there,” she said, tipping her head toward the chairs against the wall.

  God, he wanted to hug her. Take her home, put her to bed. Let a lawyer handle this. She deserved at least one twenty-four-hour period of being just Miri.

  What was he thinking? She was being Miri. Clenching his fists, he turned back to the counter. Craig set the phone down and leaned closer to the grate.

  “Have a seat, sir. They’ll be out shortly.”

  Miri raised her gaze as he crossed the room. Apprehension filled her eyes. Her spring breeze scent cut through the police station smells. He sat, clasping her fidgeting hands to quiet them. As if the energy demanded an outlet, her foot tapped a rapid tattoo on the floor.

  “I think it’s going to be okay,” he said. “The clerk said they’d be out soon. If they’d charged her, they wouldn’t let her out here to talk to us.”

  The relief on her face made him long to bottle the it’s all right feeling flooding him, loosening everything inside. Something to pull out and inhale on those missions when there was nothing to do except wait for it all to hit the fan.

  The heavy wooden door beside the reception counter opened. Miri leaped to her feet and rushed across the lobby toward the slight strawberry-blonde woman dwarfed between a linebacker of a uniformed cop and a husky man in a rumpled blue suit, tie loosened, top shirt button undone. Salt-and-pepper hair, overdue for a trim. Most likely a detective, if the badge hanging from his coat pocket was any indication. One who’d been on duty too long.

  The uniform crossed the lobby with barely a glance in their direction. A man in a tux and a woman in jeans didn’t rate a lifted eyebrow. “Night, Hank,” he said over his shoulder, pushing the door open.

  Rumpled Suit stepped forward. “Detective Henry Braddock,” he said. “Let’s sit down.” He crossed to the chairs in the corner, farthest away from the door.

  When Braddock sank into a chair and rubbed his eyes, Dalton recognized the weight he carried. Long days, longer nights and wondering if it was worth it. That the man was on the job said it was. Braddock’s gaze said he recognized some of the same in Dalton.

  Miri sat next to Jillian and wrapped an arm around the frightened woman’s shoulder.

  “Is Will all right?” Jillian asked. “Can we go home?”

  “He’s asleep,” Miri said. “What happened?”

  Detective Braddock broke in. “Ms. Durbin made a rather serious error in judgment, but in return for her cooperation, we’re not going to charge her.” He gave Jillian a stern look. “This time. You’ll remember what we talked about?”

  Jillian sniffed, wiped her eyes and nodded. “Yes. I’m sorry.”

  “It seems Ms. Durbin thought she could pick up some cash working for meth dealers. They’ve got a clever enough scheme, and if their lab hadn’t blown up, we might still be looking.”

  “Jillian couldn’t have anything to do with drugs,” Miri said. Annoyance dripped from her voice.

  Embarrassment flooded Jillian’s face. “I needed the money,” Jillian said, her voice trembling. “They told me it was legal. They swore. But those people are dead.”

  Braddock looked at Miri. “Thanks to Ms. Durbin’s information, we’re a few steps closer to the ringleader. She assures me what she and the others did has nothing to do with Galloway House.”

  Miri bristled. “Galloway House deplores the use of drugs, Detective Braddock. And our residents understand we have a zero-tolerance policy.”

  “So Ms. Durbin said.” Braddock furrowed his brow as if he wondered how anyone could be naïve enough to think drugs weren’t commonplace in the environment of a shelter.

  To his surprise, Dalton found himself sharing Miri’s irritation at Braddock’s assumption. “How about you explain a little more, Detective?”

  “With the restrictions on
buying the basics for methamphetamines, the dealers have to find new ways to get the quantities they need.” He looked at them like a patient schoolteacher explaining the obvious to a group of elementary school students. “A group of local dealers offers money to the homeless and indigent—loads up a van, gives them cash and drives them all over town to grocery stores, convenience stores and drugstores. They go inside, buy the allergy meds and move on.”

  “But you need ID,” Miri said.

  “If the folks don’t have it, the dealers are more than happy to provide some.” Braddock ran his fingers over the stubble on his jaw. “And since there’s no centralized computer system, and most of the smaller shops don’t record the information anyway, there’s no way to tell that someone like Ms. Durbin here hasn’t popped in right after buying the quota from the store across the street.”

  “They gave us ten dollars a store,” Jillian said. “I can’t make that much at my job. Not fast enough.”

  She seemed on the verge of breaking down. Dalton faced Braddock. “Are we free to go? Is there any paperwork?”

  Braddock gave a weary sigh and a wry chuckle. “Isn’t there always? But no, not for you.” He turned to Miri. “You’ll let us know if you hear any more of this, won’t you? Galloway House does good work. It’d be a shame to have to shut it down.”

  Miri stood up, hands fisted on her hips, eyes blazing. “As I said, we have a no-tolerance policy. And I’ll make sure the word gets out.”

  Braddock handed her a card. “Call if you hear anything.”

  Dalton itched to offer help, do something to get one more drug pusher off the street, but he knew Braddock wouldn’t let a civilian get involved in his investigation. Braddock must have read something in his expression because he handed him a card as well.

  Tomorrow, he’d see what he could do about getting more information. Tonight, two exhausted women needed to get home.

  “Let’s go,” he said.

  “Wait.” Miri faced Braddock. “The meth house explosion. Is that your case?”

  Braddock sighed and dragged a hand through his hair. “Among others, yes.”

  “Can you tell me—one of the victims? Was there a Luisa Fernandez?”

  After a pause, Braddock answered, his tone flat. “We’re not ready to release names to the public, ma’am.”

  He didn’t have to. Dalton read it in Braddock’s eyes. So had Miri.

  “Detective, please. It’s important,” she said. “The news said eight people died. Have you identified the rest of them?”

  “Not yet, ma’am.”

  “Can you tell me if any of them were women?”

  “Yes, ma’am, that much I can.”

  “Miri, we should get Jillian home.”

  She shook her head. “I need to know. What if—?”

  She didn’t finish the sentence, but he filled in the blanks easily enough. If they were her missing residents. She’d gone pale. Too pale. Dalton wrapped his arm around her. “There’s nothing we can do for them now. Tomorrow. I promise.”

  “Please,” Jillian said. “I need to get back. Check on Will.”

  “You’re right,” Miri said. “Things will be clearer in the morning.” The two women trudged toward the door. He moved to follow, but Braddock caught his elbow.

  “We’ll talk,” the detective said.

  Chapter 16

  Miri helped Jillian climb into the backseat of Dalton’s car and settled in beside her. The sadness in Braddock’s eyes lingered in her thoughts. Luisa was dead. Were the other victims people she knew? But Dalton was right. There was nothing anyone could do for them. Jillian, however, was very much alive.

  “Talk to me, Jillian. Something important made you go along with that man. Let us help.”

  “I’ve really screwed up this time. Vic’s going to get custody of Will.”

  “Vic? Your husband?”

  Her head bobbed. “He wants me back. I’m sure he’s already hired detectives to find me. I need to take Will somewhere safe. Far away.”

  “Jillian, you have to tell us everything.” Us. When had she started thinking of Dalton as part of an us? Probably about the same time he started talking about we. Miri caught Dalton’s eye in the rearview mirror. He gave the tiniest of nods, encouraging her to go on. She clasped Jillian’s overactive hands in hers.

  Jillian half-closed her eyes. “Vic wasn’t always that way. When we were first married, he was kind and gentle. He changed when his father died. In little ways at first. Drinking, losing his temper. After, he’d be so sorry. But I couldn’t do anything well enough to please him. He started punishing me when I didn’t meet his standards.”

  Miri’s stomach clenched at the all-too-familiar tale.

  “When I got pregnant, he seemed to get better. But one day something set him off—he got so mad, he shoved me too hard. I lost my balance—I was about six months along and getting used to dealing with the basketball belly. I crashed into a kitchen chair and fell. He panicked—it really shook him. For the rest of my pregnancy he was perfect. And when Will came, he was the proudest dad in town.”

  Jillian’s eyes, brimming with tears, met Miri’s. She squeezed Jillian’s hands, offering reassurance without interrupting. Nothing to staunch the flow of words now that Jillian was willing to release them.

  “Will wasn’t an easy baby.” Jillian’s voice sounded distant. Detached. “First colic, then teething, lots of colds, and when he was six, he needed an operation. A leaky heart valve.”

  Not Daddy’s perfect son. Miri concentrated on Jillian, trying to keep the contempt for Vic off her face. “He seems fine.”

  Jillian gave a half-hearted smile. “Yes, he’s perfectly normal. But while he recuperated, he developed a love of books and showed some artistic talent. Vic thought that was too namby-pamby and put Will down every chance he got.”

  They turned down the street to Galloway House. Jillian’s attention shifted to the window. Her feet jiggled up and down on the floor, as if that would speed the ride. Her hands were already on the seatbelt.

  Dalton barely parked the car before Jillian released the door. Bolting outside, she flew to the House’s entrance, jerked on the handle of the locked door. Her finger reached for the night bell, but Miri stopped her with a gentle touch to her forearm.

  “Let me,” she said and pulled out her key. “No need to disturb anyone.”

  As soon as the door swung open, Jillian darted upstairs. Miri let her go. Sammi sat on one of the couches in the lobby, half-dozing, Suzie asleep in her arms. She started to rise, but Miri motioned her to stay. “Give her a minute to see that Will’s all right.”

  “What happened?” Sammi whispered. “What did she do?”

  Miri sensed Dalton behind her. Sammi’s eyes widened, moving from Dalton back to Miri.

  “Sammi, this is Dalton. He’s been very helpful.”

  Dalton didn’t move, resting a hand on Miri’s shoulder. “We met yesterday, I believe,” he said. “I had a near-collision with your stroller.”

  Miri heard the thickened drawl. Without looking, she knew he was giving Sammi his lazy grin. She fought the urge to lean against him, to slide her arm around his waist and steal some of his strength. To let him take over. But that wasn’t an option. Galloway House, its residents, and its problems were hers.

  Confusion, then recognition flashed over Sammi’s face. And then a glimmer of interest. Female interest. Yeah, Miri thought. Even tired and rumpled, Dalton in a tux was a commanding masculine presence.

  “I should put Suzie down,” Sammi said. “I’ll be happy to do desk duty until Keisha comes on.”

  “What happened to Angie?” Miri asked, noticing the empty reception desk.

  “I told her I’d cover for her.” Sammi stroked Suzie’s hair. “That I’d wake her if anyone showed.” A flash of panic crossed her face. “That was okay, wasn’t it?”

  Miri shoved back the rising tide of weariness. “Don’t worry about it. You did fine.” She glanced at the clock. Afte
r two, and Keisha would be in at six. “I’ll put on some coffee and take care of it. Get some sleep. Suzie needs an awake mom in the morning.”

  “Thanks.” Sammi moved toward the hall.

  “Sammi?” Dalton stepped forward. “One question before you go.” Somehow, he managed to sound apologetic and commanding at the same time. And damn charming.

  Sammi swung around, an eager-to-please smile on her face.

  “Do you know anything about people being paid to buy medicine for other people? Cold and allergy pills, not prescriptions.”

  Sammi wrinkled her nose at Miri. “Is that what Jillian did?”

  Miri nodded. “Do you know anything about it, Sammi? It’s important.”

  She gave her head a shake. Suzie whimpered softly. Sammi shushed her. “No, no. Nothing.”

  Dalton flashed another easy grin. “If you hear anything, though, you’ll let Miri know right away, won’t you? It doesn’t have to be a Galloway House resident.”

  Sammi gave a solemn nod. “Sure. I don’t get out of the kitchen a lot, but I’ll keep my ears open.”

  “Thanks,” Dalton said. “You go on and get that pretty baby to bed.”

  Sammi almost floated up the stairs.

  Miri folded her arms across her chest. The adrenaline rush passed, leaving a bone-deep chill in its wake. Sandpaper filled her eye sockets. “I’ve got things covered,” she said to Dalton. “You can go home, get some sleep. Thanks for everything.”

  “I had fourteen hours last night, remember. You’re the one who needs to crash.”

  “What we need and what we have to do aren’t always the same,” she said. “I’m going to put on a pot of coffee.”

  “Sounds good.”

  His gray eyes grabbed her. She hesitated but only for a heartbeat. “I guess if you want a cup for the road, you can hang around for a bit.” A bit. Not long enough for her to surrender to the urge to let him take charge.

  He shoved his hands in his pockets. “We need to talk to Jillian. Now. Before she has a chance to make up something. There’s a lot she hasn’t told us yet.”