“So, Le Grande has objectified her.”
“Affirmative,” Richard replied dourly. “That fact has its good points. For one, it makes his actions predictable. People who see other humans as objects have a relentless need to possess and control. Le Grande’s mental issues could be to our advantage.”
“In his mind his business, drugs, gang members and ex-wife are all in the same category.”
“Exactly. It’s all his property,” Richard agreed.
“So he’s going to want her back.”
“I’m hoping so. If he concentrates on Indian Lake, where he hasn’t set up safe houses, hideaways and escape routes, we just might catch him in the act.”
“Is CPD thinking to set up another sting?”
“Think we, buddy. Both Chicago PD and Indian Lake need to plan this carefully. By the way, my inside guy says that Le Grande thinks the wife will want him back now that he’s wealthy.”
“I don’t see that at all,” Trent countered.
“Well, you’d know that from your end. I’m giving you a heads-up. We have to work out a lot of details. I’ll be in touch.”
Trent had a great deal to consider. He’d been relieved to know that Cate had no part of Le Grande or his drug trafficking business. Her sweet persona had not been put on, and she was the caring mother he’d gauged her to be. For a brief moment, he felt his tension lift. However, the focus of the CPD and ILPD was now on Cate. Trent knew that Richard was dedicated to ending Le Grande’s reign in Chicago. Trent wanted the drug lord out of Indian Lake for good.
Trent felt his nerves jangle. Utilizing an untrained citizen for a police sting was precarious, but often effective. Already he could think of a dozen reasons not to move forward and one reason they should.
With Trent and his military skill set as a Green Beret at the helm, it should work.
Drake Parsons, Max’s handler, bumped him with his elbow. “Help me with this poster, would ya, Trent?”
“Yeah, sure.” Trent cleared his mind of thoughts about Cate and Le Grande. He tacked the poster to a wooden framework he’d put together to display snapshots of the annual policemen’s picnic in City Park, and the police baseball team in their winning game at the city championship in late August. Trent had pitched after the regular pitcher had torn a ligament in his shoulder. Trent had surprised himself since he hadn’t pitched much since high school and a few impromptu games in the military.
In Afghanistan.
Just the thought of a baseball, its stitches fitting familiarly in his palm, skin against skin, brought back horrors. He dropped his arms and felt a spring of perspiration on his forehead. Nerves. Not heat. Would he ever get past the past?
“Trent, is that you?” He heard a woman’s voice behind him. He whirled, holding the hammer like a weapon.
He shook away the sticky cobweb of memories, peering through it to see Mrs. Beabots holding a huge apple pie.
She had the bluest eyes he’d ever seen. Approaching her was Cate Sullivan, whose eyes were dull—due to the brown contacts she wore. He wondered what color her eyes were. Blue? Green? Hazel? He’d probably never find out. Strangely, he wanted to know. It mattered to him, but he didn’t know why. It was probably because of his overactive detective antennae.
“Wow.” Trent reached to take the spectacular-looking pie from Mrs. Beabots. “This should bring a good price. Maybe we should auction it.”
Mrs. Beabots winked at him. “That’s the ticket. I like that idea.”
“Hi, Cate,” Trent said, noticing her eyes were focused on him. She stood still, holding a tray with two pies.
“Hi,” Cate replied with a faint smile. She continued to look at him, as though she were inspecting him. Taking stock. Her behavior was odd based on their meeting the night of the intruder.
But then she’d been frightened.
Terror twisted things. He should know.
Danny wiggled in between both women and shoved a canvas bag at Trent. “We have more in the car,” the boy said. “I’m going back.”
“Not without me you aren’t, young man,” Cate said instantly.
Trent could have sworn the little shake of her head was to break her focus on him. He wasn’t sure why she took such close inventory. Did cops make her nervous? He had to believe that was partly true since she’d been lying to everyone in town.
Fascinating, when he thought about it. He wondered exactly how she had picked Indian Lake. It could have been as simple as the fact that she didn’t know anyone here. No relatives to blow the whistle on her. No former friends. Anonymity. That had to be it.
He’d seen the scenario a million times over. Fresh starts. New vistas. And no past to think about. But even he knew that no matter how focused one was on the future, the past never left. His past crept around like slinky varmints with sharp teeth ready to gnaw at his Achilles’ heel.
“Do you have a lot of stuff?” Trent asked Cate as she started to walk away.
“Enough to fill all four of these tables,” Mrs. Beabots said. “Cate and Danny were kind enough to help me.”
Trent turned to Drake, who was placing price stickers on jars of green pepper jelly. “I’m going with Cate. Be back in a few.”
Drake’s eyes shot over to the pretty brunette. “Sure, Trent.” He chuckled with a playful lift to his grin. “You go right ahead.”
He was no more interested in Cate romantically than he was in pigs flying. He followed her, noticing the tight fit to the skinny jeans she wore and the feminine, aqua-and-blue print blouse. There were silver hoops in her ears that hung below the precision-cut edge of her chin-length dark hair. She wore some kind of open-toed canvas shoes that revealed brightly painted aqua toes.
The toes matched her blouse. She liked fashion? Or was she meticulous about her appearance? He remembered that her house was very clean—and she had a six-year-old son. The way he remembered being six, he’d been constantly in and out of dirt, and almost never walked into the house without grass stains from playing baseball at the nearby park. Was she overprotective? Paranoid? Or both?
They reached the SUV, and Cate opened the hatch. Trent noticed that the vehicle, too, was immaculate. The windows didn’t have a speck of dirt or grime, and it would take him half a Saturday to get a wax gleam this perfect.
Cate lifted a tray of cupcakes. “You take these. I’ll bring the pies. Danny, sweetheart, you take the pan of brownies.”
“Yes, ma’am!” Danny replied, staring wide-eyed at the chocolate confections.
Trent couldn’t help it; he had to ask. “You just have your car detailed?”
“Huh?” She looked at the tan leather seats. “Not really. I keep it up myself. An agent’s car is practically the office, you know. First impressions to clients are crucial.”
“I’ve heard that,” Trent replied with a smile.
Cate didn’t return the smile, only scanned him with laser-like scrutiny.
Had he revealed too much too soon? He had to win her confidence if he was to get any information about Le Grande. He continued smiling as they walked to the booth.
Keeping up with small talk was important. As an investigator, he never knew when an important piece of information would drop in his lap. “Well, you must be doing something right because you’ve built a good business here in town. How long have you been in real estate?”
“A little over five years. The minute I had my license, I went right to work. I swear, I haven’t had a day off since. It’s been good to me, and I enjoy every minute. My clients have become friends, as well.” There was a slight stiffness to her response.
Trent had the impression she’d given this same explanation many times before. She was treating him like a prospective client.
At the booth, Mrs. Beabots had rearranged half the goods on the tables and made room—in the
very front, of course—for her pastries. Trent couldn’t hide his smile. Mrs. Beabots was the take-charge woman he’d heard so much about. This proved it.
“I’ll take those blueberry pies, Cate.” Mrs. Beabots put them on the table. “Then the brownies next to them. I brought some paper plates so we could arrange them in groups of half a dozen. After all, no one eats just one.”
“Don’t say that,” Cate said, putting her hands over Danny’s ears in mock fashion. “I tell him one is plenty.”
Danny pulled her hands away. “She’s right, Mom. One for each hand. Right, Mrs. Beabots?”
Trent crossed his arms over his chest and shot a stern look at Danny. “I’m pretty sure your mother knows what’s best for you, Danny.”
Mrs. Beabots nodded. “I said a cookie for each hand, Danny. And those were my small Snickerdoodles. My brownies are very rich.”
Danny hung his head. “Aw, gee.”
Cate’s gaze again clamped on Trent. He wished he was a mind reader. Or that she would drop her guard. He had to hand it to her. She’d learned how to mask her emotions like a highly trained actress. He couldn’t tell if she was angry, concerned, curious or pleased. He had to wait for her comments, but unfortunately, she thought long and hard before speaking.
Looking away from Cate, Trent saw Sarah and Luke Bosworth, Annie and Timmy.
“Mrs. Beabots!” Sarah called and waved. “We got here just in time. I want that apple pie before anyone else buys it.”
Mrs. Beabots looked over Sarah’s shoulder at Luke. “Really? No objections from you, Luke?”
“Me? Object to you? Never.”
“How goes it, Luke?” Trent asked, placing his left hand on Luke’s strong shoulder and shaking his right hand with a firm grip.
“Great. You working out tomorrow?”
“I was planning on it,” Trent replied. “I’ll meet you at the Y. One o’clock?”
“Great,” Luke replied and looked at Timmy, who was trying to get his father’s attention by grabbing his belt. “What is it?”
“Dad. Mrs. Beabots made brownies. The really good ones. Can I buy some? I have my allowance.”
Luke rolled his eyes.
Trent laughed. “Think of the kids he’s helping. It’s a good cause.”
“Okay.”
Timmy’s jaw dropped. “You mean it?”
Sarah’s eyes shot to Luke. “What are you saying?”
Luke shrugged. “I caved.”
The tented booth was filling with patrons buying jewelry and jams, pies and what was left of the brownies.
Trent saw Danny as he watched his friend, Timmy, leaning against his father’s leg, eating a brownie. Luke was talking to Sarah and Mrs. Beabots, absentmindedly running his hand over Timmy’s thick hair, then down to the boy’s shoulder. Timmy barely made any sign that he felt his father’s endearing touch; he was used to love and comforting caresses.
Danny’s expression showed sadness sifted over jealousy. And yearning.
Trent knew that feeling. He felt it now, knowing that he’d never have a son of his own to hold and love.
“Danny,” Trent said, breaking the boy’s concentration.
Danny’s gaze slowly peeled away from Timmy and traveled to Trent. “Yes, sir?”
“Nearly all of Mrs. Beabots’s treats are sold. But I see one brownie that’s left. I’ll buy it for you.”
“You will?”
“Remember? I promised you one?”
“Uh-huh, but I have to ask my mom first. Okay?” Danny asked excitedly.
Danny rushed over to Cate, who was talking to Sarah. She leaned down to listen to Danny.
Cate whirled, the soft fabric of her blouse floating around her like a cloud. The sun struck her face as her thoughts nearly pierced the brown-colored contacts. Distrust.
Trent didn’t have to look at her to feel her wariness. What were his intentions toward her son? Why was he being kind? What was in it for him? They were the same thoughts that filled the heads of the crime victims he endeavored to protect—even the minds of the perps.
Sarah asked Cate a question. Yet Danny persisted. Cate relented. Trent saw her nod, and Danny made a gleeful sound.
He raced to Trent. “She said yes.”
“Great.” Trent walked to where Drake stood. He took out a twenty-dollar bill and put it in the jar marked Donations. “I’ll take that last brownie for Danny.”
“Sure, Trent,” Drake said, putting a napkin around the brownie.
“Let’s go over here.” Trent pointed under a tree to a group of folding chairs he’d set up earlier. Trent sat and patted the chair next to him. “Sit next to me.”
Danny looked toward his mother for approval. She caught his eye and winked. “She said it’s okay.” Danny smiled and scooted into the chair. He took a bite of his brownie and, with a mouth full of chocolate, said, “I want to be a policeman when I grow up. Do you think that’s a good idea?”
Trent was stunned. He hadn’t expected this at all. “I, er, think it’s a very good idea. Why do you want to be a cop?”
“Because policemen take care of people. They protect moms and kids.” Danny looked at Trent with so much admiration and respect in his eyes, Trent didn’t know whether to melt or puff up his chest.
Trent was used to kids saying they wanted to wear a gun, or they had visions that police work was like living in the middle of a video game. Danny didn’t. He got it. Understood the reason Trent lived and breathed law enforcement. He wanted the world to be a better, safer place for people. Kids, especially. Danny was six years old, yet he looked at life like an adult.
“I think I’d be a really great detective like you.”
“Oh, you do, do you?” Trent was intrigued.
“I do. Detectives are smart. I’m smart. I can read chapter books, and I’m memorizing multipliers.”
“That’s impressive,” Trent replied truthfully. “I was kinda slow in school at first. I had a bit of dyslexia. But I learned to deal with it. Once I went into the army, I didn’t let anything hold me back. Sorta like you.”
“You were in the army?”
“Special Forces. Green Beret.”
“Wow!” Danny’s face filled with wonder. He put down the brownie. Even sugar couldn’t compete with the glaze of hero worship. “That’s even cooler.”
“I suppose.”
Danny beamed at Trent. “I could be a Special Forces guy. I’m really good at concentration games. Ask my mom. I practice all the time. My mom says I have the power of observation.”
“Is that right?”
“Sure. You can test me,” Danny prodded. “Go ahead.”
For a short moment, Trent had begun to react emotionally toward Danny. The kid was as cute as a button, smart and more outgoing than his mother. Trent opened his mouth to say something, when Cate walked up.
“Done with your brownie?” She smiled at her son but glared at Trent out of the corner of her eye. She held out her hand to Danny. “Time for us to leave Detective Davis to his work. I told Liz we’d come to her booth to see their baby.”
Danny jumped off the chair. “Oh, right!” He turned and leaned a hand on Trent’s knee, cupped his left hand over his mouth and whispered, “Miss Liz lets me hold the baby because she trusts me.”
“I’m sure you’re very good at it,” Trent replied, feeling the small blot of warmth from Danny’s hand seep through his pants.
Cate’s practiced smile curved her lips. “Thank you for the brownie for Danny. He’s been looking forward to it. It was very nice of you to spend time with him.”
“It was my pleasure.” Trent was astonished at the sincerity he’d heard in his own voice.
He watched them walk away. It had been his pleasure. He’d felt things that he wasn’t sure h
e’d ever experienced before. Trent had been living on the surface of the ocean of life for so long, he had no idea there was anything in his subterranean waters. Joy had flitted into his day. So had compassion, and the awareness that his life was no deeper than a creek bed.
CHAPTER SIX
CATE TOOK A large plastic grocery cart from the bay and plunked her oversize, fake Louis Vuitton purse in the kid’s seat. She looked at Danny as he took a child’s cart and started toward the door. “I may never get used to the fact that you’re too big to sit in the grocery cart,” Cate said.
“I couldn’t wait to be big enough to have my own cart. Now I am,” Danny said with a slight puff to his little chest. “Can I get the mini carrots instead of the big ones with leaves?”
“The little ones are more expensive,” Cate replied, looking at the bags of premade salads, organic broccoli crowns, zucchini strips, cut and ready to eat. Someday, she’d make enough money to afford such luxuries. In the meantime, she washed, chopped, cut and julienned celery, carrots, zucchini and yellow peppers at night after Danny went to bed. She insisted on organic fruits and vegetables and as few processed foods as possible. She was relentless when it came to the well-being and safety of her child.
Protect Danny.
Those words had been her mantra since long before he was born. They still were. Selecting a package of organic strawberries, she looked at Danny who surveyed pie pumpkins.
“Does Mrs. Beabots really make pumpkin pie out of these?” Danny asked.
“I’m sure she does. I’ve always used canned pumpkin, but I can try using a real one this year. I could make pumpkin bread, too. You should get one.”
“Okay,” he said, and carefully put the little pumpkin in his basket.
“What were you talking to Detective Davis about?”
Danny wheeled his cart to a large stack of ears of corn. “Things.”
Cate dropped her head back and looked at the ceiling. This was going to be one of “those” kinds of talks with Danny. Pulling taffy was easier than getting information out of him when he thought he was keeping secrets. Danny liked secrets.
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