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LAST SEEN…
Carla Cassidy
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Contents:
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16
Epilogue
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Chapter 1
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"I always did have a thing for Pocahontas." The middle-aged man with the paunchy waistline grinned, exposing two missing teeth on the upper right side of his mouth.
Breanna James stifled a groan and instead toyed with the end of her braid and smiled coyly. "Then I guess this is your lucky night, cowboy," she replied. She'd be teased unmercifully by her fellow vice cops over the Pocahontas reference but she couldn't worry about that now.
"So … what are you doing out here in the middle of the night?" she asked the man.
"Looking for a party, sweet thing," he replied.
"What kind of a party?"
He grinned eagerly. "I was thinking maybe I could give you twenty-five bucks."
"Sounds like my kind of party," she replied and released her hold on her long braid. "And what would I have to do for that twenty-five dollars?"
He named a specific sex act and Breanna nodded. "You've got a deal, cowboy," she replied. "How about we go back here in the alley." She pointed to the dark alleyway between two storefronts where she knew two fellow officers were waiting to make the arrest.
He started into the alley, but stopped when he realized she wasn't following him. He slapped his forehead in a comical gesture of absentmindedness, then dug a twenty and five ones from his pocket and handed them to her.
"Now we're ready to party," she said as she tucked the bills into the purse she carried.
Eagerly, he walked into the alley, Breanna just behind him. "Hey, cowboy, you said you've always had a thing for Pocahontas. You ever had a fantasy about a woman cop?"
He stopped walking and frowned thoughtfully. "No, but now that you mention it, it might be kind of fun with handcuffs and all."
The man shouldn't be arrested for solicitation, Breanna thought. He should be arrested for stupidity. It wasn't until the two male officers stepped out of the shadows that he realized he was busted.
His smile fell and he cursed soundly, but didn't fight the officers as they handcuffed him and led him to an unmarked car along the curb.
"That's it for tonight." Abe Solomon, Breanna's partner, grinned. "You did good, Pocahontas. Looks like John, one Mr. Craig Bullock, won't be looking for a date again anytime soon."
She smiled at the gray-haired Abe. "All I know is I can't wait to get out of this outfit and into a baggy T-shirt and I hope I never see a pair of spike heels again in my life."
Abe chuckled. "Ah, but you wear them so well."
"Thank goodness I won't have to put them on for at least another week." Saturday nights Breanna often worked as an undercover prostitute, a detail she abhorred.
She and Abe got into their car to head back to the Cherokee Corners police station. "So, you have big plans for your days off?"
"Tomorrow my mother has planned one of her family gatherings. You know she's only happy when she has all of us under one roof." Breanna sighed tiredly. "It will be the usual madness and mayhem."
"Count your blessings. Some of us without families would give anything for a little bit of that madness and mayhem."
Breanna's heart instantly went out to her partner. Abe had lost his wife two years ago and they'd never had children. At fifty-five years old, his parents were gone and he'd been an only child.
She placed a hand on his forearm. "Come over to Mom and Dad's tomorrow. You know they'd love to have you join us."
Abe smiled. "Thanks, honey, but I've got a date with a basement that needs cleaning."
Breanna wrinkled her nose. "You know dinner at my parents' house would be far more entertaining than cleaning your basement."
"True, but it would also be far less productive. Besides, I promised myself if I plowed through the basement I'd take off and do a little fishing." He pulled into the parking lot in front of the brick building that housed the police department.
"Well, if you change your mind, the offer stands," Breanna replied. She and Abe had been partners for the past five years and Breanna thought of Abe as a favorite uncle. Every time he spoke of retirement, Breanna got a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach.
Thirty minutes later she walked out of the building, eager to get home, to kiss her sweet little girl and get some much needed sleep.
More than anything she couldn't wait to get out of the tiny leather skirt and midriff blouse, the black lace hose and the dangerously high spiked heels. She looked like a floozy, which, of course, had been the idea. But, after standing out on a street corner for the past four hours being propositioned, she felt dusty and dirty and wanted a long, hot shower.
As always, a sense of homecoming engulfed her as the rambling Victorian two-story house came into view. The rest of the houses on the street were dark. It was after two and most people were asleep, but as usual Rachel had left the front porch light on for Breanna. Thank goodness for Rachel.
She barely gave the tiny cottage on the side of her property a glance as she pulled into the driveway. The place had been empty for months, much to Breanna's landlord's chagrin.
She shut off her car and climbed out. She had only taken a couple of steps toward the house when she froze, an uneasy tickling sensation at the back of her neck. As a cop, she never ignored this nebulous feeling.
She opened her purse and placed her hand on the butt of the gun resting inside as she looked around. Nothing seemed amiss at the front of the house. There was nobody lurking in the shadows, no reason for her to feel what she felt.
Then she heard it … the almost imperceptible slap of a bare foot against the grass. She shifted her gaze sideways and that's when she saw him … coming toward her from out of the shadows in front of the cottage.
Without hesitation, she pulled the gun from her purse and fell into an official stance, legs apart, gun held steadily before her with both hands.
"Whoa!" The deep voice broke the silence of the night and he instantly raised his hands out from his sides. "I hope you don't intend to shoot first and ask questions later."
Shadows still clung to him, making it impossible for her to discern his facial features, but she could see the broad width of his shoulders, his slim hips and long legs. "Who are you and what are you doing out here?" she asked as she kept the gun focused on the center of his body.
"Can I lower my arms without getting shot?" he asked.
"Not until you answer my questions."
"My name is Adam Spencer. I moved into the cottage this evening and I was just sitting on the porch relaxing before going to bed."
"Awfully late to be relaxing on a porch. Who did you rent the place from?"
"His name is Herman DeMoser. He looks like a young Jerry Lewis with Jimmy Durante's nose."
Breanna had never thought about it before, but the description perfectly fit her landlord, Herman. She eyed the stranger for another long moment. "You can put your arms down," she said, but didn't lower her gun.
"I had visions of a welcome wagon greeting me to the neighborhood," he said wryly. "None of my visions involved a beautiful woman holding me at gunpoint."
Suddenly Breanna felt a little silly, aware that she might have overreacted because of her police training. She finally lowered the gun, although she didn't put it back in her purse. "I apologize. All I saw was a man coming toward me from the shadows and … well … a woman can't be too careful."
"No, I apologize. I should have realized how it would look coming at you in the dark at this time of night." The shadows that had hidden his features fell away as he stepped closer, into t
he faint illumination of her porch light.
Her breath caught in her chest at the sight of his handsome features. Intense blue eyes gazed at her with obvious interest. His dark brown hair had just enough curl to fall impishly over his broad forehead. He had a classic nose over nicely shaped, sensual lips. A small cleft in his chin only added to his attractiveness.
As she watched, his gaze slid down the length of her, lingering on her bare midriff, then moved slowly down her lace-covered legs. She felt that gaze deep in the pit of her stomach, like a heated caress over her skin.
It had been a very long time since the sight of a handsome man had caused her heart to beat just a little bit faster, her hands to feel slightly clammy and shaky. She was obviously overtired and her reaction to him made her more than a little bit irritable.
"It was nice meeting you, but it's late and I've had a long night. I would highly recommend in the future you don't sneak up on a woman alone in the middle of the night."
He nodded. "Point taken. Good night." He stepped back into the shadows, then turned and walked toward the cottage. A moment later she heard the front door of the small house open, then close.
Only then did she tuck her gun back into her purse and head for her own front door. As she stepped into the hallway, she kicked off her high-heeled shoes and allowed her toes to splay in the throw rug that covered the gleaming hardwood floor.
When she'd first viewed the house for the possibility of renting, it had been a mess. Abused by former tenants, neglected over the course of time, the Victorian beauty seemed destined to remain abandoned for the rest of its days.
Breanna had seen the potential and had come to an agreement with Herman. For the next three years she would pay a minimal rental fee a month and she would do all the repair work at her own expense.
Since she had moved in, the house had slowly transformed itself thanks to the labor of her family. Her elder brother, Clay, had helped sand and refinish the floors. Her older sister, Savannah, and her mother had wallpapered and painted and Breanna's father had rebuilt the front porch and seen to the painting of the outside of the house.
Even though she'd only been in the house two years, the place had quickly become home and she now couldn't imagine living any place else.
As she walked through the living room, she was surprised to see the kitchen light on and hear the faint sound of a television playing.
Rachel Davies, Breanna's live-in nanny, sat at the kitchen table, staring at the small portable television on the counter.
"Can't sleep?"
Rachel jumped in surprise and whirled around to face Breanna. "You scared me," she exclaimed.
Breanna smiled apologetically. "I just assumed you heard me come in." She sat in the chair opposite Rachel. "Nervous about tomorrow?"
Rachel smiled and tucked a strand of her long blond hair behind her ear. "More than I thought," she admitted.
The next day Rachel was going on her first date in almost two years. "It's just a picnic, Rachel, and David is a very nice man."
"I know … but I can't help but remember that I thought Michael was a nice man."
Breanna reached across the table and covered her friend's hand with her own. "That's in your past, and now it's time for you to look forward to a great future filled with love and respect."
Rachel squeezed her hand. "I don't know what I would have done without you."
Breanna pulled her hand back and laughed. "You seem to have it backward. I can't imagine what I would do without you! And speaking of that, how was my little munchkin today?"
Rachel smiled. "Wonderful, as usual. I swear, Breanna, Maggie is the brightest, sweetest child I've ever known."
Pride swelled up inside Breanna. "And you are obviously a woman of enormous judgment, which is why I hired you to take care of her in the first place."
"By the way, we have a new neighbor in the cottage. I watched him unloading this evening and he's a definite hunk!"
"I know. I met him."
Rachel frowned. "You did? When?"
"Just a few minutes ago when I pulled my gun on him." Breanna tried not to think about that swirl of heat that had swept over her as Adam Spencer had looked at her.
"You pulled your gun on him?" Rachel asked in surprise.
"He came out of the darkness at me without warning. I didn't know who he was or what he wanted."
"And what did he want?"
Breanna shrugged. "I guess just to introduce himself to me."
Rachel smiled wickedly. "I'd like to hold him at gunpoint and have my way with him."
Breanna laughed. "This from a woman who is too nervous to sleep because she has a date with a preacher tomorrow."
"You know what they say about the preacher's kids … they're the wildest ones in town."
Breanna smiled. "Not in this case. David Mandell is a nice guy." She stood, suddenly exhausted and more than a little eager to kiss her sweet sleeping daughter on her cheek. "I'm off to bed and if you're wise, you'll do the same. You don't want to scare David tomorrow with huge black bags under your eyes."
Rachel nodded. "I'll be up in just a few minutes."
The two said their good-nights, then Breanna climbed the wide staircase. She peeked into her daughter's bedroom just to assure herself that all was well, then went directly into her own bedroom and the private bath.
She never kissed her daughter when she had the stink of the streets on her, when her skin crawled from all the men who had whispered dirty things to her, leered at her with hungry eyes.
Minutes later she stepped out of the hot shower, dried off, then pulled on her comfortable cotton nightshirt. It took several minutes to brush and dry her long, thick dark hair, then she quietly crept into Maggie's room.
A cartoon character night-light illuminated the area around the twin bed, and Maggie's little face peeked out from beneath the covers.
Breanna sat in the chair at the edge of the bed and breathed in the scent of the room … the sweet mixture of peach bubble bath and childhood.
She loved to watch her daughter as she slept, loved the way Maggie's little cupid bow lips puffed out with each breath, the way her curly brown hair decorated the pillow.
Kurt Randolf had been a bad choice for a boyfriend, a worse choice for a husband, but his genes and Breanna's had combined to create the miracle Breanna had named Maggie.
When she was awake, she was a bundle of energy and curiosity, a delight that made all the heartache of Kurt worthwhile.
Breanna stood, leaned over and kissed Maggie's sweet cheek, then left the bedroom and headed for her own room across the hall. She turned out her light and used the illumination of the moonlight streaking in through the window to guide her into bed.
She had just pulled the sheet up and snuggled in when the phone rang. She quickly snatched up the receiver on her nightstand, dread coursing through her. Good news rarely came at this hour of the night.
"Hello?"
Silence.
"Hello?" she repeated, then a soft click greeted her. The line filled with a woman's voice singing the standard lullaby of "Rock-A-Bye Baby."
Breanna knew instantly it was some sort of a recording and so she remained silent, listening to the soft melodic voice.
When the last note faded away she heard a second click. The line remained open and she knew somebody was there because she could hear breathing.
"Who is this?" She sat up in bed. "What do you want? You must have a wrong number."
A noise answered her. She wasn't sure but it sounded like a male sob, then the line went dead.
She held the receiver for a long moment, fighting the sense of unease that crept through her. Just a wrong number, she told herself as she finally hung up the phone.
Rather than settling back in her bed, she got up and padded across the hall. Standing in the doorway, she peered in to see Maggie still sleeping peacefully.
There was absolutely no reason for Breanna to feel such a strong sense of disquiet, but she
did. She returned to her bedroom and once again slid beneath the sheet. A wrong number … or somebody's idea of a prank, she told herself again.
Still, it was a very long time before she finally drifted off to sleep.
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Adam Spencer sat on the shabby sofa that was part of the furnishings in the small cottage right next to Breanna James's residence. Finding this place for rent so close to his quarry had been a godsend. Although the ramshackle cottage wouldn't have been his first choice of a temporary residence, it would do for now.
"Damn you, Kurt," he said aloud as he popped the top off a bottle of beer. He was tired … exhausted in fact. He'd driven from Kansas City, Missouri, to the town of Cherokee Corners, Oklahoma, that day and had spent most of the evening unloading the personal items he'd brought with him. He should be in bed, but he knew sleep would be elusive.
He needed to process his initial impression of Breanna James. That she was strikingly beautiful didn't surprise him. Kurt had always dated beautiful women.
He frowned and took a sip of the cold beer as he thought of his cousin. Kurt had been an adventurer, both in his relationships and with the way he lived his life. As the only son of wealthy parents he'd enjoyed too much money and not enough goals.
He'd been buried a week ago after a tragic motorcycle accident. He'd been riding too fast without a helmet on a rain-drenched highway. The accident had pretty well summed up Kurt's life … flying too fast with too little sense.
Kurt had clung to life for six long hours in the hospital … long enough to confess to Adam that six years before he'd briefly been married to a woman in Cherokee Corners named Breanna James.
He'd further astonished Adam with the news that there had been a child … a daughter. With his dying breath he'd begged Adam to find them and make sure they were doing okay. Caught up in the emotional turmoil of losing the man who had been like a brother to him, Adam had agreed.
So here he sat in a rental shack next to the woman who had briefly been Kurt's wife. He had yet to see the child, didn't even know her name. But she was the real reason he was here.
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