by Pat White
“You lied?”
“I didn’t want to appear to be a bad friend, which in retrospect, I was.”
“You couldn’t force him to leave the park with you.”
He shrugged. “He turned up the next morning, said he’d spent the night at one of the boys’ houses. Things were never the same after that.”
“You weren’t cool enough to hang out with him?”
“I thought so at first, but Phillip had this strange look in his eye after that night. He avoided me for some other reason, shame, maybe? He turned into a smart aleck, hung out with unsavory types, talked back to teachers, that kind of thing. A year later his family moved away.”
“Sounds like adolescent stuff to me.”
“Whatever it was, he never recovered. I found out a few years ago that he’d gone the drug route, got hooked on something. Devastated his family. I think he was self-medicating because of what happened that night.”
“You don’t know that for sure,” she said. “And even so, it’s not your fault.”
He placed the papers to the desk and stared her down. “If I’d been a true friend, I never would have left him. I know what it feels like when someone abandons you. What was I thinking?”
“You were thirteen,” she consoled.
“That’s no excuse.” He tapped a pen against the desk. “He was my best friend.”
And possibly the only person who understood this guy, Mercedes thought. He was a complex one, so in control, yet so loyal to someone who’d ended their friendship to be with cooler kids.
“You know what really bothers me?” he asked.
“Bad wine?”
He eyed her. “Friends who aren’t true friends; like the Reynolds boy. Shayne Lynk said he was bullying Lucas, telling him he was a baby because he depended on his parents for everything. That’s not a friend.”
A few minutes passed, Mercedes studying her partner as he reviewed a case file.
“Hello,” he said, his gaze locking on something in the file.
“What?” She walked around the desk to look over his shoulder. He studied a photograph of a middle-aged man.
“Who’s that?”
“Wayne Gibson,” Jeremy said. “Four years ago, he was convicted of arson for hire, but we suspected his big brother orchestrated the crime. Big brother cornered me one night and said Wayne was innocent. I said if he knew who did it, to come forward. He wouldn’t implicate himself, so little brother went to prison.”
“Why do you think he’d go to the trouble of finding you now?”
“Help me go through this file, will you?”
He handed her some papers and their fingers touched, setting off a spark of awareness that made her wary. She’d been so good at keeping an emotional distance from partners since the early heart break at the Chicago PD. What was so different about Jeremy Barnes?
She went to her side of the desk. The reserved Englishman intrigued her, she admitted. Not only his intelligence, but his compassion and maybe even his vulnerability, drew her in. Other men were always so good at dismissing her as beautiful—fun to play with, but not take seriously. Jeremy was the first partner who treated her as an equal.
“What am I looking for?” She analyzed the stack of police notes.
“Anything about the Gibson family that might be relevant. Maybe something happened to Wayne in prison and that’s why his brother is after me.”
She glanced at the wall clock. It read four. She and Jeremy had been at it all afternoon, while the rest of the team was readying for the ransom drop. A part of her wanted to get out of here and do what she came to do—prove her skills by helping find a missing boy.
“Mercedes?”
“Yes?”
“Go on and help the team. I’ll be fine.”
“No, I can’t.” What should she say? She’d been assigned by Max to be Barnes’s babysitter.
The truth was, staying with him had less to do with Max Templeton’s order and more to do with wanting to help Jeremy.
“I’m second in command,” he said. “What if I order you to go?”
“We’re partners. I’ll stay.”
He leaned forward in his chair. “Neither of us wants this partnership.”
His comment stung. She’d started to feel a kinship with the man, but by the tone of his voice he didn’t feel the same way. Still, something held her back.
“Stop talking so much and focus on the files,” she snapped.
“Okay, partner, on one condition. You tell me why you get so jumpy in the back of a police car.”
“It’s nothing.” She waved him off.
“Mercedes?” he pushed.
Loving the sound of her name spoken with an English accent, she glanced at him, his blue eyes penetrating her resolve to keep this secret to herself.
“I was twelve. I got arrested.”
“Excuse me?”
“My big brothers were vandalizing an old warehouse. I was following them to get them in trouble. But it backfired and they got away. I got caught with the spray paint because I grabbed the evidence to bring home to Mami and Papi.” She leaned back in her chair. “I’ll never forget that sick feeling in my stomach. Kids in the neighborhood were outside when the police brought me home. They all swarmed the car to get a good look at the criminal. It was horrible. But I did get inspired.”
“Not to pursue a life of crime?”
“To become a cop. Officer Susan Tumwater was one of the arresting officers. I’ll never forget how everyone looked at her, with such respect. Even Papi.”
“What happened to your brothers?”
“Nothing. I never told on them. They already had been in trouble with police. I was afraid if they were caught they’d go away, to jail.”
“And you didn’t want them to go away?”
“Stupid, huh? I ruined my reputation to get them in trouble and then I take the fall for their crime.”
“Why did you want to get them in trouble?”
“It’s a brother-sister thing.”
He shot her a puzzled look.
“The boys always got the most attention. My sister and I were expected to cook and clean up after the men. It was like being a second-class citizen. I resented that. I wanted the same kind of attention the boys got.”
The same kind of respect.
“What happened after your arrest?” he asked.
“I had to do community service. It was okay, though. I worked with little kids, so I didn’t mind. It got me out of the house. I had even considered becoming a teacher.
“Really?”
“Don’t sound so shocked. The kids liked me.”
“I’ll bet they did.”
“You’re making fun of me.”
He put his folder down and leaned forward. “No, I’m not. You have a confident air about you that would make children feel secure. And you have a sense of humor.”
She’d gotten a sense of humor from growing up in a large family. She felt badly that Jeremy had missed out on that sibling connection.
Even though she resented her brothers, she couldn’t imagine life without them.
“So Phillip was like your brother?” she asked.
“I guess you could say that.”
And he’d lost him at thirteen.
“What about the rest of your childhood?”
He looked up through his rimless glasses. “I don’t remember having a childhood.”
She found herself wanting to reach across the desk and touch his cheek, ease the pain from his eyes.
“Come on, I told you my story.”
“Parents divorced when I was ten. Didn’t see my father much after that.”
“What about your mom?”
“She was too obsessed with herself to be bothered with her son.” He flipped another page in his folder.
“But you had friends, right?”
“Only Phillip. I was an intelligent child, two grades ahead. I was picked on because of my looks.” His eyes roamed
a sheet of paper as if he were reading her the weather report. “The only time I got parental attention was when I told my father I wanted to become a solicitor. Suddenly he took great interest in me, helping me plan my curriculum and my career. That ended when I dropped the bomb that I was going to be an investigator, not an attorney.”
“What changed your mind?”
“I realized I wasn’t studying law for myself, but rather to earn my father’s love and respect.” He turned another sheet of paper over. “He didn’t have it to give.”
She could relate. She’d always hoped her father would come around and give her the respect she deserved.
“Getting pregnant with me was a manipulation on my mother’s part,” he continued. “She thought giving Edward a child would keep them married and her in expensive jewelry. It didn’t make a bit of difference. He abandoned us and she was stuck with me.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It’s life. Nothing to be sorry about. It taught me I shouldn’t have children.”
Her breath caught. She couldn’t imagine a life without kids. “What? Why?”
“With Elizabeth and Edward as role models? I wouldn’t know the first thing about parenting a child.”
“You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”
He didn’t answer, just eyed the file on the desk. “Blast,” he swore.
“What?”
He glanced at her. “Wayne Gibson died in a prison fight.”
“That puts his brother as number one stalker suspect,” she said.
The door burst open and Bobby Finn raced to Jeremy’s desk. “You’ll never believe it, guv,” he said, out of breath.
“Calm down, Bobby. What’s happened?”
“The ransom drop was muddled by some teenager. He says he’s your son.”
Chapter Nine
“My son?” Jeremy said, pushing to his feet. “What kind of rubbish is that?”
“I know, guv. It’s outrageous. They’ve got him in custody. Templeton wants you to come down to the police station.”
“What about the ransom drop?” Mercedes asked.
“Botched. The cops thought the teenager was the perpetrator and followed him. They arrested him, but he didn’t have the money. Either he’s not their man or he passed it off to an accomplice. He won’t talk to the Feds or locals. He said he’d only speak with Jeremy Barnes. C’mon, guv, the car’s out front.”
Jeremy automatically straightened the pile of folders on his desk and headed out with Bobby and Mercedes. What was the bloke’s angle? Drive Jeremy completely insane by claiming to be a son he didn’t have? After all, it was impossible.
“How old is the boy?” he asked, getting into the back seat of the car. Mercedes got in beside him.
“He won’t tell us, but he seems in the eighteen-to-twenty-year-old range.”
“You were a teenager yourself that many years ago,” Mercedes calculated. “Your stalker is putting you through the wringer.”
That was the truth. An illegitimate son popping up after all these years would make Jeremy question more than the means of the child’s conception. It would make him question his entire life. Jeremy was a responsible sort, not one to have mindless, unprotected sex.
“Is he American?” Jeremy asked, hopeful.
“No, guv, English. Sounds working class to me.”
“And what do they know about him so far?”
“Nothing. Like I said, he’s not talking.” Bobby glanced at them through the rearview mirror. “He’s a clever one, guv. He knows enough about the law to keep his mouth shut and ask for an attorney.”
“So he didn’t just ask for me, he asked for an attorney, as well?”
“Yes, but the Feds are taking their time to see if they can get anything out of him first. Since it’s a small town, they told him it would take a while to find him representation. Not much criminal action in a tourist town like this.”
“Any word on the Weddle boy?” Jeremy asked.
“No, sir.”
Jeremy’s mind raced. If he’d put the boy in danger because of a personal vendetta…
Mercedes touched his shoulder. “Stop it.”
She knew what he was thinking, bloody hell, she could read his feelings, something no other human being had been able to do. He glanced out his window. He’d worked so hard to keep his feelings and thoughts hidden from everyone around him. It had been the best way to emotionally protect himself from people who were supposed to love him. Yet somehow this female could see through his protective layers. Not good. He didn’t want to be that exposed to anyone.
They pulled up to the police station and got out. Templeton met Jeremy on the sidewalk.
“They won’t let us in,” Max said. “It’s up to you. Find out what you can. I’m sending Bobby back with Joe and Eddie to continue working on leads. Cassie and I will stay here and wait until you’re finished.”
Jeremy nodded and started up the front steps. Mercedes walked alongside him.
“You should stay with Max and Cassie,” he said.
She ignored him.
They were greeted by two men in uniform and two in suits. Federal officers.
“Jeremy Barnes?” A man in a suit stepped forward.
“Yes, sir.”
“I’m Agent Timmons with the FBI.” They shook hands. “My team is working with the local police on the Weddle investigation. We’ve got a man in custody that claims he’s your son. He’s downstairs in lockup.” He glanced at Mercedes. “You’ll have to stay here.”
“I’m his partner.”
“I’m sorry, ma’am.”
“Look, I’m on loan from the FBI. I know there’s no reason why I can’t accompany him downstairs so let’s go.”
She stared him down. That look of determination would make a criminal confess.
They headed down a steep flight of stairs into a musty basement. Timmons led them down a short hallway with a cell at the end. A man lay on a cot, wedged in the corner, his face to the wall. The suspect wore beat-up jeans and a denim jacket. Jeremy noticed a rip across the bottom.
“Get up, kid,” Timmons ordered.
The suspect didn’t move.
“I said, get up.” Timmons unlocked the door, grabbed the kid from behind and jerked him to his feet. “We don’t have time for games. We got Mr. Barnes like you asked. Now, where’s the boy?”
The man turned around and Jeremy’s breath slammed against his chest. He looked so bloody familiar. Where had he seen him before?
He was a young man, at most twenty years old, with angular features, blue eyes and a narrow face. But it was something about his expression that haunted Jeremy.
“What, no warm greetings?” the boy taunted, looking at Jeremy.
“Do I know you?”
The young man laughed, a hollow, sad sound. Jeremy crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the wall. For some reason, this punk’s attitude disturbed Jeremy more than it should.
“Nah, don’t worry, mate,” the boy said. “You don’t know me.”
“Then what’s this about? Why involve me in the kidnapping?”
“Oh, I had nothing to do with that.” He sat back on the cot and studied his fingernails.
“What were you doing at the wine shop?” Agent Timmons said.
“I was hoping to get a few minutes with me dad, is all.” He glanced up at Jeremy and smiled.
“I do not have a son. You have me mixed up with someone else.”
“Do I?”
“Enough of this,” Timmons said. “I brought you Barnes, now tell us what you know about the Weddle case.”
He glanced at Timmons, then back to Jeremy. “I know a lot.” He leaned forward, “See, I’m smart like me father. Actually, smarter, if you wanna know the God’s honest truth.”
“Yeah, how do you figure that?” Timmons said.
“I got him out to the beach and gave him a right scare, didn’t I, guv?”
“It was you who attacked me last night
?” Jeremy demanded.
The young man smiled, pleased with himself.
“We’ll add assault to the charges,” Timmons threatened.
“Who sent you?” Jeremy said.
“No one sent me. I come all by me self. Wanted a family reunion. If you’re wondering about Mum, well, she doesn’t know I’m here. She wouldn’t care anyway. She’s busy with her new family, Robert and the girls.”
“We don’t care about all that. Tell us what you know about the Weddle case,” Timmons demanded, pulling out a notebook.
“Not you. Him.” He pointed at Jeremy.
“He’s just a civilian.”
“Are you gonna let him talk to you like that?” he asked Jeremy. “You’re more spineless than I thought.”
“Listen, kid,” Timmons said. “We can do this the easy way or the hard way. A little boy is missing so rules are nonexistent, if you catch my drift.”
The young man laughed again. An ache filled Jeremy’s chest. What was it about this boy that unnerved him? Was he too much of a reminder of Jeremy at his age? Angry, determined and hurt? More importantly, what made him come all the way across the world to find Jeremy?
“Ah, I know enough about me dad to know he wouldn’t let you beat up an innocent man,” the boy said, eyeing Jeremy. “His son he could care less about but an innocent civilian is another story.”
Timmons took a step toward him, but Jeremy stopped him with a hand to his shoulder. “Can I have a word?”
Timmons locked the cell and they went to the stairs. “I was with Scotland Yard for more than ten years,” Jeremy said. “Let me have a run at him.”
“I don’t like it.”
“It’s the quickest way to get information. He wants to play games with me, let him play.”
“We’ll be upstairs listening on the intercom.”
Jeremy started back to the cell and Mercedes followed. “Go upstairs,” Jeremy said.
“Let’s not fight about that again. Where you go, I go. Let’s find out what this kid is about.”
They went back to the cell.