Chickasaw County Captive

by Paula Graves

  Something that had been niggling at the back of Sam’s mind since he’d arrived at the preschool snapped into focus. “The missing guard,” he said.

  Kristen’s brow creased for a second, then smoothed with a look of understanding. “The guard took Maddy.”

  Sam nodded, his mind racing. “I’ve taught her about being wary with strangers, but she knows that someone in uniform is a person who can help her when she’s in trouble.”

  “He used the snake situation as a distraction,” Kristen added. “Maybe he even engineered it himself.”

  “And he was already in place, in a position of trust. Nobody was going to think twice about a security guard leading Maddy away from the confusion.” Sam shook his head. “How did he ever get a job here?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t have any sort of record.” Kristen looked around, catching sight of Riley returning to the taped-off crime scene. “Deputy, can you keep an eye on the scene? We need to talk to the teachers and kids.”

  Riley slipped under the tape. “Sure. I’ve got some men on the way. Aaron’s out of pocket,” he added, speaking to Sam, “but I left a message with the DEA for him.”

  “Thanks,” Sam said, hurrying to catch up with Kristen, who was already halfway to the school entrance.

  “HERE’S A PHOTOCOPY OF HIS driver’s license,” Jennifer Franks said, looking about ten years older than she had the last time Kristen had seen her, the day she’d answered questions about Darryl Morris. She handed the paper to Kristen.

  “Grant Mitchell,” she read aloud, studying the grainy photo. Driver’s license photos were almost never flattering, and this one was no exception. The man in the photo was in his late forties or early fifties, with short-cropped brown hair and a handlebar mustache that made him look like a throwback to the Civil War era. The photocopy wasn’t the best quality, so it was impossible to make out much about the man’s eyes, nor could she read anything in his expression that might give her a clue to the man inside.

  Though she was sure she’d never met the man before, he seemed vaguely familiar to her. She showed Sam the photocopy. “Anyone you know?”

  He studied the paper, his brow creased with concentration. After a moment, he released a disappointed sigh. “No, I don’t think so.” He looked across the desk at Jennifer. “Is this photo a good likeness?”

  “Drivers’ licenses never are,” Jennifer said. “But yes, I’d say that’s what he looks like, more or less.”

  “This doesn’t make sense,” Sam muttered.

  Kristen laid her hand on Sam’s shoulder. “Maybe we’re wrong about Grant Mitchell. He could be a victim here, too. Or maybe he just decided guarding preschoolers isn’t for him.” She took the photocopy from Sam and looked down at the driver’s license. “We could try his address-”

  She stopped, rereading the address listed on the license. 1240 Copperhead Road. She slumped in her seat. “This address doesn’t exist,” she told Sam, showing him the photocopy. “There’s no 1240 Copperhead Road. Addresses on that road only go to the 900s.”

  “What does that mean?” Jennifer asked.

  “It means this license is a fake,” Sam answered.

  AFTER ANOTHER HOUR AT THE school listening to Kristen, Riley and the rest of the officers and deputies who’d arrived on scene interviewing the other students and teachers, Sam had a much better idea of what had transpired that morning.

  Kristen’s theory had proved right; at least three of the other students and one of the assistant teachers had noticed the guard leading Kristen away from the playground. Nobody had thought anything about it, assuming Maddy had become upset and the guard had decided to take her away from the commotion to calm her down.

  “This guy knew just how to pull this off,” he murmured to Kristen later at his house. She’d suggested that they go there after they stopped at the police station to drop off the evidence and make extra copies of the security guard’s fake license. Kristen figured Grant Mitchell or whoever he really was would probably call Sam there with further instructions.

  She sat on the sofa beside him, studying the photo. The Chickasaw County Sheriff’s Department had offered their services setting up a tap on the phone in case the kidnapper called, so there wasn’t much left for either of them to do but sit and wait to hear from the man who had his daughter.

  “I keep thinking I’ve seen this guy before,” she said distractedly. “I don’t think I’ve met him, though. Just-seen him. Like maybe a photo or-” She stopped short, her brow furrowing. “I wonder-” She started to dig in her pockets of her jacket, first the left, then the right.

  “What are you looking for?”

  She came up empty-handed. “I may have left it in my other jacket at home. It was a photo that Dr. Sowell gave me-he’s the doctor who’s treating my mother at Darden. Anyway, he gave me a copy of a screen grab from the surveillance cameras at the facility, a picture of the man who visited my mother the other day-the one who took her that newspaper clipping about the attack on Cissy and Maddy.”

  Sam felt the first niggle of hope he’d had in a couple of hours. “Could it have been the same man?”

  “I’m not sure. He didn’t have a mustache, and I don’t think his hair was as dark as the guy calling himself Grant Mitchell.” She gave a little growl of frustration. “Where is that damned photo?”

  “Could it be in your car?” Sam suggested.

  “I’ll go look.” She jumped up from the sofa and ran out the door.

  Sam picked up the photocopy and stared at the phony driver’s license, trying to picture the man with lighter hair and no mustache. A memory danced around the shadowy edges of his mind but wouldn’t come out into the light.

  His cell phone beeped, the signal for a text message. He pulled his phone from his pocket and punched a couple of buttons. Five words showed up in the display window:

  BELLEWOOD MFG 730 2NITE ALONE.

  Sam’s heart stuttered, then began to race.

  Kristen burst through the front door, slightly out of breath but grinning. “Found it.” She crossed the room in a coltish bound and dropped onto the sofa beside him.

  He quickly tucked his phone into his pocket. Alone, the message had said.

  No one else could know.

  “Any news?” Kristen asked, following his movement with her sharp blue eyes.

  He shook his head, trying to look calm even though his insides had turned to ice. “Nothing. Is that the picture?”

  She showed him the grainy photo. The photo showed only the side of the man’s face, but it was enough. The elusive memory that had been nagging him for the past few minutes crashed into full view, bringing with it both enlightenment and a heavy, crushing sense of despair. He knew the man in the photo. And now he understood the meaning of “Your child for mine.”

  Ten years ago, at a snowy staging area in Kaziristan, Sam had killed this man’s son.

  Chapter Sixteen

  The look on Sam’s face made Kristen’s blood freeze. “You know who he is, don’t you?”

  Sam looked up at her, his expression bleak. “His name is Stan Burkett. I killed his son.”

  “You killed-how? When?” The ice flooding her veins spread to her skin, raising goose bumps on her arms and legs. Her hand shook as she reached for Sam’s hand.

  He eluded her touch, rising from the sofa. Apparently he’d found the nervous energy that had just drained out of her; he kept moving as he spoke. “It was ten years ago, in Kaziristan.” He stopped pacing long enough to look at her. “There’d been an earthquake, and we’d sent in the Marines to help with the search and rescue, carry emergency supplies-you know the drill.”

  She nodded. “I remember that.”

  He went back to pacing. “I was there because I was assigned to the humanitarian mission as a legal liaison. Some of the kids who went over there were fresh out of boot camp at Parris Island. This was their first overseas assignment. Richard Burkett was one of them. Nineteen, with a chip on his shoulder. He got crossway
s with his CO, a real tough guy-Captain Kent Sullivan.” Sam’s lips curved slightly. “Sully was hard but fair. Most of the other Marines respected that, but Burkett was convinced Sully was picking on him specifically. Burkett had a temper. And a weapon.”

  “Burkett fragged Sullivan?” Kristen asked, guessing ahead.

  Sam stopped and looked at her. “He tried to. I stopped him with my service weapon.” He seemed to have run out of steam, dropping heavily into the armchair across from her. “He was a second away from blowing off Sully’s head with an M16 rifle. I didn’t have a choice.”

  “But Burkett’s father didn’t see it that way?”

  “I was cleared by a JAGMAN investigation. I had acted within reason. But Burkett yelled cover-up, claimed the investigation cleared me because I was one of them. He raised a stink but it never went anywhere.” Sam ran his hand over his face, his palm rasping against the beard stubble darkening his jaw. “He went away after a few months. I thought that was the end of it.”

  Kristen crossed to the chair and crouched in front of him, taking his hands in hers. “Not exactly the break in the case you wanted, huh?”

  He squeezed her hands, his gaze meeting hers, dark with fear. “If he’s been nursing this grudge this long, he’s dangerous. And he has Maddy.”

  “But it’s not really Maddy he wants, right? The note in the backpack said it’s you he’s after. So he’s not going to hurt her while there’s a chance to use her to get to you. He’s going to be in touch again soon, and then we can figure out how to catch him and get Maddy back.”

  Sam dropped his gaze to their hands. “Yeah.”

  She felt the tension in the room rise a few notches, reminding her of the furtive way Sam had tucked his phone in his pocket a few minutes earlier. What wasn’t he telling her?

  Had he already heard from Burkett?

  “Sam, has he already contacted you?”

  There was the faintest hesitation before he spoke. “No.”

  Now she knew he was lying. He’d been holding the phone when she came back in the house, as if he’d just rung off. She’d figured it was one of his family, or maybe Riley Patterson.

  What if it had been Burkett?

  “Kristen, can you do me a favor?” Sam finally looked up, meeting her gaze. “I need to stick around here, in case a call comes in, but we could really use a little more background information on Burkett. Find out where he’s been the last few years, what he’s been up to. You have resources at the police department, and I trust you to be thorough. Will you do that for me? And see if Foley’s gotten anything out of Darryl Morris.”

  He might be lying, but the plea she heard in Sam’s words was genuine. He was right, too-looking into Stan Burkett’s recent activities would be helpful. It might help them figure out where he’d be keeping Maddy, for one thing.

  But deep down, she knew that Sam really just wanted her to leave him alone for a while so he could do whatever it was Burkett had told him to do.

  She knew confronting him would be useless. If he thought meeting Burkett’s demands would save Maddy, he’d do it and lie to God himself about it.

  And she’d lie to save them both.

  “I’ll do that,” she answered finally, rising to her feet. She reached out her hand. “Go take a shower or something while I’m gone. It’ll help you relax.”

  “I don’t think anything can do that,” Sam said bleakly, but he took her hand and let her pull him to his feet.

  She tugged at his suit jacket. “Give it a try anyway.”

  He let her pull his jacket off. She draped it over her arm and turned him toward the hallway. “Go. I’ll let myself out.”

  “Call if you learn anything,” Sam said.

  “And you call if you hear anything from Burkett.”

  “I will,” Sam lied over his shoulder as he headed toward the bathroom down the hall. Kristen heard a hint of regret in his voice. She supposed she could find a little comfort in knowing he didn’t enjoy lying to her.

  Suddenly, he turned around and strode back to her, wrapping his hand around the back of her neck. Pulling her to him, he bent his head and kissed her, hard and hungry, his fingers threading through her hair to hold her still while he drank his fill. He drew away, finally, resting his forehead against hers, his breath fast and warm against her cheeks. “I know you wanted off this case, but thanks for staying with it. It means a lot.”

  For a moment, she thought about nothing but the feel of his body against hers, warm and powerful, yet vulnerable to her touch. It made her feel guilty for what she was about to do-but not guilty enough to change her mind.

  He dropped a last, soft kiss on her forehead as he let her go. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  “Go take your shower,” she whispered.

  After he’d disappeared down the hallway, she unfolded his coat, reached into the breast pocket and pulled out his cell phone. The most recent activity had been a text message:

  BELLEWOOD MFG 730 2NITE ALONE.

  She stared at the message, her heart racing. Bellewood Manufacturing had once been a textile mill on Catawba Road, out past the old dam bridge. No longer in business, the abandoned mill was secluded, well away from prying eyes. By seven-thirty tonight, darkness would have fallen, giving anyone lying in wait at the mill an extra advantage. And Sam believed he’d be going there to meet Burkett alone.

  Like hell.

  Kristen put the cell phone back in Sam’s pocket and draped the coat over the arm of the sofa, wondering what to do next. Wait for him to come out of the shower and confront him with what she knew? Threaten to take him into protective custody to keep him from trying to go out there alone?

  One thing she wasn’t going to do was let Stan Burkett lay a trap for Sam to walk into.

  She let herself out of Sam’s house, reaching into her pocket for her cell phone. Carl Madison answered on the first ring. “Madison.”

  “Carl, it’s me.” Kristen slid behind the wheel of the Impala. “I need your help.”

  SAM DIDN’T THINK BURKETT would leave another message before the meeting that evening-the one succinct message he’d sent had been sufficient to set Sam’s nerves on permanent alert, which he suspected had been Burkett’s intention. But he couldn’t take chances, so he checked his cell phone as soon as he got out of his shower.

  As he’d expected, nothing from Burkett. But his sister Hannah had left a message. “I’m on my way over.” He glanced at his watch. He barely had time to dress before she would arrive.

  He let her in after the first couple of bangs on the door and staggered beneath the force of her tackle-hug.

  “Tell me what you want me to do,” Hannah said without preamble, grabbing his hand and dragging him to the sofa. She was five months pregnant and, thanks to hormones, had two speeds these days, high and supersonic.

  “There’s nothing to do. The police are all over this, including your cowboy cop. I’m just waiting like everyone else for news.”

  Hannah’s eyes narrowed. “That’s a load of bull manure.”

  “Riley is rubbing off on you.”

  “No way you’re just waiting around for news, Sam Cooper. You’re up to something.” She scooted closer. “What is it?”

  “If I had a supersecret plan, do you think I’d tell you, the biggest blabbermouth in the family?”

  “That was twenty years ago,” she protested. Her eyes widened suddenly. “You’ve heard from the kidnapper! What did he do, break in and leave a note under your pillow? I know he didn’t call the house or Riley would already know about it. Oh! Your cell phone. He called your cell phone!”

  Sam stared at his sister, wondering why she wasn’t the cop in the family. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “You can’t go by yourself,” she said firmly. “I’ll call Riley. He can back you up-”

  He caught her hand before she could pull her cell phone from her jacket pocket. “No, Hannah.”

  She shot him a fierce look. “You’re not
meeting that bastard alone, Sam. And don’t even try to tell me that’s not what you have in mind, because you never were any good at lying.” Her expression softened. “You’re the white knight, Sam. This family needs a white knight. You can’t go get yourself killed.”

  He felt his control beginning to crumble. “He has my baby, Hannah. What else am I supposed to do?”

  “Let Riley back you up.”

  “I can’t risk it. Stan Burkett is a former cop-”

  Hannah’s eyes widened again. “Stan Burkett? The guy whose son-”

  “Yes,” he interrupted.

  “My God.” Hannah’s expression grew instantly grim. “That explains the note-‘your child for mine.’”

  Sam nodded. “He’ll be looking for signs of police presence. He knows how that works. I can’t chance it, not even with Riley. You get that now, don’t you?”

  He could see that his sister wanted to argue, but she finally nodded. “What time are you meeting him?” she asked.

  “I can’t tell you that.”

  She sighed with frustration. “Can you at least tell me if it’s today?”

  “If you don’t hear from me by midnight tonight, you can tell Riley what’s going on.”

  “But we won’t know where to look for you.”

  “I’ll leave a message for you. What to do in case you don’t hear from me.” It wasn’t a bad idea, really. If something went wrong, he’d want people to know where to look to get back on Burkett’s trail. He could use a free text message scheduling service to leave messages for Kristen and his family. Just to be safe.

  Hannah looked as if she still wanted to argue, but she kept her protest to herself, instead pulling him in for a hug. He felt her pregnancy bump against his stomach and smiled in spite of his tension.

  “Please be careful,” she said.

  “I promise, I will. I’m all Maddy has, you know.”

  But that wasn’t true, was it? Maddy had her grandparents, her aunts and uncles. She even had Norah, in a pinch.