Anywhere She Runs

by Webb, Debra

  Now she’d stepped on Adeline’s toes. She laughed it off. “I’m married to my shield, Sullenger. It’s what I do and that’s all I need.”

  “Funny,” the deputy commented, “that’s what he says.”

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Laurel, Mississippi, 6:05 P.M.

  His daddy had told him to wait until five o’clock.

  Danny had followed his daddy’s instructions. Every one of them. Just like he said in the note.

  Danny didn’t know how his daddy had done it because his grandparents wouldn’t let him come to their house anymore. But after Danny got home from visiting his mom at the hospital last night, his grandma had tucked him into bed. When she’d left the room, he turned on his side and stuck his hand under the pillow the way he always did and there was the note. He’d switched on the light, saw it was from his daddy and smiled.

  His daddy had told him that at five o’clock today he was to make sure no one was watching him. Then Danny was to put on his coat, put the letter in his pocket with his gloves, and go into the upstairs bathroom, the one by the room where he slept. Over the bathtub there was a window. It was really little but Danny could fit through it. Being real careful that he didn’t make any noise, he had slid the window open and climbed out onto the roof. Then he’d made sure he closed the window real tight. His daddy had said in his note that the police would be looking at the windows. Danny had to be sure he didn’t forget that part. It was real important.

  The roof was the one over the big old side porch. Climbing out onto the roof had been scary at first, but his daddy had told him not to be afraid. He was a big boy now and he could do anything his daddy told him.

  This was the only way they could be together again.

  Danny had to inch all the way to the part of the porch that connected to the garage roof. Soon as he was on the garage roof, he lay flat on his belly and wiggled his way toward the farthest end from the driveway. The next part was the hardest, scariest part. He had to climb down.

  The ladder was there, just like his daddy had said in the letter. Slowly sliding his body off the edge of the roof, he climbed down one rung at a time. Wasn’t too hard, just like his daddy said.

  Peeking around the corner of the garage, Danny made sure no one was looking for him on this side of the house. His daddy had said to be sure the searchers had moved toward the woods first. Danny could hear them calling his name in the woods beyond the backyard.

  He hurried over to the garbage cans his grandparents kept lined up at the side of the garage, climbed up onto the smallest one—the one his grandfather used for sticks and stuff he picked up in the yard. Then he opened the lid of the big one next to it. It didn’t smell very good in there but his daddy had promised he would be fine.

  Danny scrambled into the can and pulled the lid closed. It was really, really dark. He closed his eyes and thought of that Christmas song he liked so much. Danny couldn’t remember ever being so scared, but he had to do what his daddy told him. They were going to get his mommy out of the hospital and then they would go home to get his Christmas presents. The ones his grandparents wouldn’t take him to get.

  His daddy promised that what the police and his grandparents were saying was all lies. They just wanted to take Danny away from his daddy. They wanted to turn Danny’s mom against his dad. All they cared about was getting his mom and the new baby. They didn’t even care about Danny. Seemed like his daddy was right about that. His grandparents had been pretty mean to him. They made him stay in his room a lot. Wouldn’t let him watch television. He hadn’t had any fun at all since he came here.

  He wanted to go home.

  What they were doing to his daddy was bad. His grandma and grandpa shouldn’t be doing something so bad.

  Danny didn’t like the police. They looked at him funny.

  Well, he was gonna do just what his daddy said and then he wouldn’t have to worry about the police anymore. He would be with his mommy and daddy far away from here. His daddy had promised that, too.

  Danny wondered, as he huddled in his stinky hiding place, if that was what his daddy had meant when he’d said the princess wouldn’t take his place.

  He was pretty sure he hadn’t seen a princess around here. But he might not have understood what his daddy meant. Maybe he meant the girl baby his mommy was having. If his grandparents wanted the girl and didn’t want Danny, that might be what his daddy meant.

  It was getting colder, but Danny didn’t care. His coat and gloves would keep him warm enough in this stinky old trash can. He felt bad that his grandma was probably crying since they couldn’t find him. But she shouldn’t have been mean to his daddy. That wasn’t nice.

  Danny closed his eyes and sang Christmas songs in his head. Tonight he would get the presents his mom and Santa had brought him. Santa hadn’t come to his grandparents’ house. His daddy explained in his letter that Santa’s presents were waiting for Danny at home. He couldn’t wait to open his presents and to see his mom.

  Everything would be okay then. His daddy never told him lies. He always told Danny the truth.

  All Danny had to do was be very still and not say a word.

  When it got dark enough the police would stop looking for him. Then his daddy would come get him.

  Jingle bell . . . jingle bell . . . jingle bell rock.

  He wished he knew the rest of the words.

  Chapter Thirty-five

  4718 Miller Road, 8:42 P.M.

  Cyrus stared at what he had found in his son’s room.

  His heart ached. Clay was his only child now. He couldn’t bear to lose him.

  Cyrus closed his eyes to hold back the uncharacteristic tears. Irene was dead. Clay was all he had left in this world.

  How much was one man supposed to endure?

  Somehow he had to stop this without revealing his son’s part in any of it. Clay could not go to prison. He’d made far too many enemies to survive in that shithole.

  Cyrus opened his eyes and stared at the evidence he had discovered. As much as he loved his son, this had gone too far.

  Irene was dead. The light of his life had been extinguished. But there was one thing he could do for his Irene. He could ensure that his son left Addy alone. Irene had loved her daughter so. She would want Cyrus to protect Addy.

  He would not fail.

  Cyrus had to stop this travesty before it was too late.

  The front door slammed.

  Clay was home.

  Rather than bother with the elevator down to the first floor to meet him, Cyrus waited for his son in his room. Clay would grab a few beers from the refrigerator and then he would come here. After a shower and change of clothes he would go out again. To take care of business.

  The business Cyrus had built. Bitter bile rose in his throat. A part of him understood that he was as much responsible for Gage’s death as the man who’d fired the weapon. Cyrus banished that truth. This day and time a man had to do what a man had to do.

  Irene had held that necessity against him. But she hadn’t understood that after the accident, he’d been forced to resort to other means for maintaining his wealth. His medical bills had eaten through most of what he’d inherited.

  And his very generous donation to the church had put their names at the top of the adoption list. That part she should have appreciated enough not to care where the money had come from. Cyrus had known that on some level she did . . . but she’d never said as much.

  A Cooper always found a way to survive. No matter which side of the law it landed him on. His great-great-granddaddy had operated numerous bootlegging operations.

  In times of need, it was what it was.

  Survival of the fittest . . . of the most clever.

  He would sorely miss his Irene. Just as he still missed his sweet brother. No Cooper before him had possessed the heart his younger brother had been born with. Perhaps God had ensured that Carl received Cyrus’s measure in addition to his own. A sort of balance to keep things i
nteresting.

  Clay stormed through the open door. “What the hell you doing in here, old man?” He turned his bottle of beer up and emptied half of it down his throat.

  So young. So full of himself. He would be lucky to survive the stupidity of youth.

  Cyrus gestured to the items he had spread on the bed. “What is all this?”

  Clay froze, the bottle inches from his thirsty lips.

  “Are you the one responsible for this?” Again he gestured to the words clipped from magazines, the glue and paper . . . all of it sickened Cyrus. He thought of how much pain this had caused Irene. Fury tore through him.

  “Look.” Clay lowered the bottle, shrugged his shoulders. “It’s a joke, okay? I heard about the letters that bitch was getting and I thought I’d mess with her head. I put one in her room and tore up some of her shit. That’s all.”

  He was lying. Cyrus knew his son. He’d always been able to read the both of them. Gage hadn’t been quite the liar that Clay was. He was too focused on business to bother with getting into other kinds of trouble. But Clay, dear Clay, had spent every moment since he was fifteen getting into some sort of mischief.

  “I will not be able to protect you from this,” Cyrus warned, “unless it stops now. Henderson is not like Grider. He will not be bought.”

  Clay expelled a disgusting belch. “Fuck Henderson. I don’t need your protection. I’ve got it all under control.” He glared at his father. “I told you, it’s just a joke. Don’t get your panties in a wad. It’s no big deal.”

  “Did you harm those women?” Cyrus demanded, the fury escalating inside him at his son’s cocky attitude. He’d asked these questions before and Clay had adamantly denied any part in this. Any knowledge whatsoever of these events. But Cyrus had found evidence to indicate otherwise. Clay wouldn’t be playing him off so easily this time.

  “Hell no!” Clay emptied the bottle in his right hand. “Are you crazy? I told you I ain’t got nothing to do with that. A friend of mine who’s involved in the investigation told me about the letters and, like I said, I just wanted to fuck with her head. Get a little revenge for what she did to Gage.”

  “If you were half as smart as you think you are, you would have destroyed the evidence of your joke.”

  Clay tossed the empty bottle onto his bed and opened the other one. “You don’t care what happens to me. You’re only trying to protect her damned momma. I know the deal.”

  “Her mother is dead.” The need to shake him whipped through Cyrus. God, if he could climb out of this chair . . .

  “I don’t know nothing about that, either.” He downed half the second bottle.

  “Do you really expect me to believe you know nothing?” Cyrus growled. Before his son could come up with a response, he warned, “You stay away from Addy the remainder of her stay here. No more games. Do you understand me?”

  “Yeah, yeah. I understand perfectly. You don’t have to worry, tonight is the end of this for me.”

  He pushed between Cyrus’s wheelchair and his bed and started gathering the incriminating evidence.

  “What does that mean?” Cyrus demanded, uncertainty niggling at him.

  Clay twisted at the waist to look down at his father. “Exactly what I said. I’m not playing no more. I had my fun. Now I’m done.”

  If only he could trust his son’s word. Cyrus rolled to the door. There was one more thing he intended to say. “If I discover that you’ve been lying to me or that you had anything at all to do with Irene’s death, I will cut off all support. There will be no forgiveness. This is your final warning.” Perhaps the boy could benefit from eking out his own living. Or perhaps Cyrus would just put him out of his misery. Agony seized his insides once more. To some degree he now looked forward to his own death.

  Without Irene . . . he wasn’t sure this pathetic life would be worth living.

  He was certain it would not be.

  Clay strode right up to him and braced his hands on the arms of the mobile chair. He put his face in Cyrus’s. “This is your final warning, old man. You keep giving me shit and you will end up at the bottom of those stairs. And then it’ll all be mine and I won’t have to answer to you about any damned thing.”

  Cyrus produced a taunting smile. “You don’t have the guts to take a life, much less mine. You have no idea just what it takes to go that far.”

  Clay didn’t flinch. He held Cyrus’s gaze. “You sure about that?”

  Cyrus’s confidence in the matter drained away like the evening tide. Perhaps he didn’t fully comprehend what his son was capable of. Time would tell, he supposed.

  “Test me again,” Cyrus cautioned, “and we will see who has the largest balls in this family.”

  Chapter Thirty-six

  1708 Monroe Street, 10:05 P.M.

  Adeline sat on Wyatt’s sofa. She felt numb. Beyond exhausted. They had found nothing. Not one sign of the women or Jamison.

  The bastard could have tucked Prescott and Arnold away almost anywhere. Dozens upon dozens of tiny shacks and cabins dotted the waterways. Hunters, drug smugglers, and the like built small, primitive shelters all the time. Many were abandoned and left to rot down.

  It could take weeks to cover every square mile of land near the water. But Adeline was determined to keep searching until she found the women or their bodies.

  She closed her eyes and dropped her head onto on the sofa back. God, she did not want them to be dead. Sheriff Henley had called. The boy, Danny, was missing. Defeat sucked at Adeline’s determination. Would Jamison hide his son with the women . . . to watch him play out his crazy scheme?

  The idea of a child being in harm’s way made her sick to her stomach.

  They had to find Jamison.

  Adeline failed at blocking the thoughts of her mother that nudged their way into her consciousness. The funeral home would have picked up her body by now. They would be waiting for Adeline to make a decision on the arrangements.

  She opened her eyes and sat up straight. She couldn’t think about that. It was too fresh . . . hurt too much.

  Focus on the case. The women . . . the boy. Henley had no idea how Jamison had gotten into the in-laws’ home, but he had to have gotten in. The boy had vanished. Even with the grandparents and a deputy keeping a diligent watch the bastard had managed to get to the kid.

  At least there had been no casualties. The last time this psycho hadn’t been quite so generous.

  He’d killed Adeline’s mother. She hadn’t done a damned thing to hurt the son of a bitch. He’d done it to hurt Adeline. By God, she wouldn’t rest until she had hurt him back.

  “Bastard.”

  She thought of the flowers he’d had delivered to the hospital. The call to the flower shop had come from a phone booth right here in Pascagoula. He was close. But how had he known when she had arrived? They’d rushed back from Jones County. Jamison couldn’t have known hers and Wyatt’s movements.

  Yet he had. He’d been watching . . . somehow.

  He’s watching you real close. Almost as close as he’s watching his boy.

  You’re next. It’s time, princess.

  Fury blasted through Adeline.

  Bring it on, asshole.

  “You need to get to bed.”

  She looked up at Wyatt. He stood over her, his protector mentality in full force. “Is that an invitation?”

  “Addy.” He lowered himself onto the coffee table in front of her, took her hands in his. “We’re both beat. You’re operating on nothing but adrenaline. Think about what you’ve been through today. You can’t keep going like this.”

  She turned her face away from his. That was the last thing she wanted to think about. Even as she blanked her mind on the subject, the knife sank deeper into her chest and twisted.

  “Look,” he said gently. “If we’re going to be able to function in the morning when the search resumes, we need sleep.” He jerked his head toward the hall. “Take a shower and hit the sack. I’ll be right behind you.”
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br />   She pulled her hands free of his. “I don’t need you hovering over me. I’m a detective, not some little girl who needs watching over. How many times do we have to talk about this?” She didn’t like this feeling of helplessness. The aloneness was even worse. His tactics were only driving those points home. She needed rest. That was true. She would be able to think more clearly if she got some sleep. Expectations for finding Prescott and Arnold alive had run out about ten hours ago, longer for Prescott.

  Two dead princesses . . . one to go.

  She closed her eyes, expelled the words. Adeline didn’t want them to be dead. Their kids would be orphaned . . . just like each of them had been. Was that why the bastard had waited so long? So he could inflict the same sort of pain his father had?

  Adeline was an orphan now . . . her mother was gone.

  Fury tightened her lips. She would find those women and the kid. And she would make Jamison pay.

  “Forget the shower,” Wyatt urged, “take one in the morning. Get some sleep now. Please, Addy.”

  She didn’t have the energy to debate the issue.

  “Everything else can wait,” he said softly. “Take a day to think about what you want to do about . . . arrangements for your mom. You don’t need to be in a hurry.”

  Her gaze collided with his. Why did he have to bring that up? “Sullenger told you what I said, didn’t she?” Adeline should have known she would. Why the hell was she surprised?

  Wyatt frowned but not before Adeline saw the truth in his eyes. Damn that little bitch. “Were you surprised?” Jesus Christ. She hadn’t come back here to stay. If she hadn’t intended to stay before her mother was murdered, why would she decide to now? “Christ, Wyatt, I came here for the case. When it’s done . . . when everything’s settled, I’m out of here.”

  That disappointment claimed his every feature, that he didn’t bother arguing only made her angrier. “Say something!” She couldn’t bear him just sitting there staring at her like that.