by Terri Reed
“And it’s not fair to think people wouldn’t vote for the judge because his son went bad,” argued Demi.
Charles moved up behind her and placed his hands protectively on her shoulders. “I agree with Demi on that.”
“Exactly why I think Ryan should take the lead on this,” Fiona said.
Meghan watched the interplay between the siblings with interest. The love they shared was evident even in their arguing. And she appreciated that they all had a voice and weren’t afraid to speak up.
“Aiden, it’s of course up to you,” Nick said, pushing away from the wall. “But I agree with Fiona that keeping you out of this would be better all the way around. We need the public looking for Georgina and Mrs. Hennessy, not distracted with another scandal.”
“Granddad would be the better choice to talk to the press,” Ryan finally spoke up. Though nothing showed on his face, Meghan detected the note of unresolved anger in his tone.
Looking like he’d aged in the past half hour, Aiden nodded. “You’re right, of course. Dad?”
Ian Fitzgerald rose. “I’ll have my secretary set it up.” The patriarch ambled from the room.
“We’ll need photos of both Georgina and Christina Hennessy,” Nick said.
“I can get those,” Keira offered.
“In the meantime, we need to keep searching for Christina,” Douglas said.
“The BOLO hasn’t yielded anything,” Owen said.
“What about family? Christina’s parents?” Victoria asked.
“We haven’t found any so far,” Ryan said. “But we’ll keep searching.”
“I have an idea,” Meghan said and winced at how small her voice sounded.
All heads turned toward her. She cleared her throat. She kept her gaze on Ryan. “If I hadn’t found Helen at home, my next stop would have been to the town of Belmont to the Elm’s Peace Center to see Dr. Bates.”
Ryan tilted his head. “Explain.”
“Dr. Bates was her psychiatrist.”
“How did you find that out?” Charles asked.
Meghan glanced at the town doctor then back to Ryan. “People talk.”
Ryan’s mouth pressed together. Then he nodded. “I’ll contact the doctor.” He turned and walked out of the house.
For a moment Meghan stared at the empty doorway. Then she swung her gaze over the Fitzgerald clan. No one said a word, but they didn’t have to. The looks of distrust, of curiosity, spoke volumes. Her gaze landed on Aiden.
He held Olivia’s letter in his hand. “You should go with him, Meghan.”
His quietly said words sent surprise sliding through her but she didn’t take the time to analyze why he’d want her to accompany his son. She whirled around and raced out of the house. Ryan had just started the engine on his SUV. She jumped into the passenger seat.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded.
She clicked the seat belt in place. “Coming with you.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“Get out.”
She shook her head. “Not going to happen. Look, Ryan, I’ll only follow you. We might as well work together.”
“I’d rather work alone.”
“I wouldn’t.” The admission was out before she realized the truth in the words.
She’d been operating alone for so long, she didn’t understand why she now suddenly needed a partner. The image of the men in the van tore through her mind, the sound of the bullets hitting the car, the blood from where she’d been hit brought fear screaming back into her system. There was a very good reason to stick close to Ryan. Safety. She wasn’t a fool. And dying wasn’t on her To Do list anytime soon.
“You may not need me,” she said, “but I need you. What if the masked men in the van find me again? Or you, for that matter? We don’t know who they were after or why.”
His scowl darkened. “All the more reason for you to stay in town. Go home, Meghan. Let me do my job.”
“I can’t. Georgina is my relative, my blood. I have to find her. I won’t stop until I do. So you’ll have to forcibly remove me from your car. But that will take time. Something you don’t have to waste right now.”
His lip curled. For a moment she thought he might force her from the vehicle, but then he threw the gear into Drive and stepped on the gas. “Stubborn woman,” he muttered.
She sat back and released a tense breath. She’d been called worse.
* * *
Meghan Henry shouldn’t be riding with him, tagging along on a police investigation. He gripped the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. This went against department standard operating procedures.
Okay, they did have a ride-along program, but still… She was an unauthorized civilian. And a reporter. Two strikes against her. Oh, wait, there was a third—she’d just upended his world.
“Tell me what you’ve heard about Christina.” Ryan’s side throbbed, reminding him that a mere twenty-four hours ago he’d been engaging in law enforcement’s version of mixed martial arts. Didn’t matter. His injuries were a nuisance that had to be endured. All that mattered now was tracking down Christina, arresting her for murder and securing Georgina.
The tires of his SUV burned up the pavement on the way to nearby Belmont, a town west of Fitzgerald Bay. He cut through the parade of cars with one eye on the road and the other on the rearview mirror, keeping vigilant for any suspicious cars or vans following them. He didn’t want a repeat of that event. He didn’t have to see Meghan’s shoulder to feel badly that she’d been grazed by a bullet on his watch.
“I’m not sure how reliable the information is,” Meghan said, “but apparently Christina had a history of mental illness and suffered a nervous breakdown several years ago. She’d been hospitalized in a neighboring town under the care of a psychiatrist.”
Great. With a history like that, who knew what the woman was capable of? He slanted Meghan a quick glance. “Who told you this?”
“Townspeople,” she said. “It was the word on the streets. So to speak.”
He’d done his fair share of interrogations over the years, so he knew what extracting information from a suspect was about. But getting ordinary people to open up to a badge wasn’t an easy task. People tended to be wary, suspicious even, regardless that they’d known Ryan since he was a baby. Yet they spill their guts to the nosy reporter? “I don’t get it. Why? Why do people open up to you?”
She shrugged. “I asked the right questions when I’m buying my coffee, standing in the checkout line at the market or ordering my lunch. Half the job of being a reporter is getting people to talk. You get them to relax, to talk about familiar things, mundane things, eventually leading them to the gossip you know they’re dying to reveal.”
He snorted. “Small-town gossip isn’t usually without some embellishment.”
“Are you always so cynical?”
Ignoring her question, he changed lanes. The woman annoyed him. Not only because she’d been the catalyst to throwing his family back into scandal and rocking them to the core, but she was brash and a know-it-all type and would probably not think twice about endangering her life and those around her. He’d seen her in action.
His mouth twisted. He didn’t want to like her in any way. But he couldn’t deny the grudging admiration filling his chest at the way she’d fought for Georgina. Add brave and courageous to the list of her faults.
Stay focused, he told himself. “Let’s hope the doctor has some useful information.”
When they arrived safely at Elm’s Peace an hour later, a well-dressed woman escorted them through a nicely decorated lobby toward an office. She gestured for them to enter.
“Dr. Bates will be with you shortly.”
“Nice place,” Meghan commented and moved to the window overlooking a flower-filled courtyard. A few people of various ages wandered the paved path cutting through splotches of green grass and flower beds.
Ryan didn’t care about the aesthetics of the facility. His thoughts centered on finding Christina Hennessy and the little girl. He swallowed hard. His niece. An image of the toddler’s bright eyes tore through his mind. She had the Fitzgerald blues, just like his siblings and him. A trait handed down by their father. Georgina’s grandfather.
Anger stirred in his chest but also protective instincts, so ingrained in his blood he didn’t question them. To protect and serve strangers was one thing. Georgina shared the same blood that ran through his veins.
And Meghan’s.
His steps faltered.
Meghan shot him a glance. He looked for a crack in the tile floor behind him.
The door opened and a tall, sandy-blond-haired man entered. He was younger than Ryan had imagined he’d be, considering his profession. “Dr. Bates?”
“Yes, and you must be Deputy Chief Fitzgerald.” Bates held out his hand.
He had a firm handshake. Ryan could tell a lot about a man by his handshake. Too tight, the guy was trying to prove something. Too loose, meant insecure or hiding something. Firm, but not crushing, spoke of confidence. Trustworthiness? Had to be proven. “I spoke to your nurse on the phone. I assume she told you why we’ve come.”
Bates turned his attention to Meghan as she stepped forward, her hand outstretched with a business card. “I’m Meghan Henry, freelance journalist.”
The doctor read the card. The smile he sent her was just shy of a leer. Ryan clenched his jaw shut to keep from telling the guy to back off. “Miss Henry. My pleasure. Interesting to have law enforcement and a reporter in my office at the same time. A dichotomy to be sure.”
The flare of interest in the doctor’s eyes as his gaze took in Meghan made Ryan’s fingers curl. She did look pretty with the sunlight streaming through the window at her back, kissing the golden highlights in her hair. Her hazel-green eyes snapped with intelligence as she assessed the doctor in return.
Bates turned back to Ryan. “I’m sorry, Deputy Chief, but you do understand I can’t tell you anything without written consent by my patient.”
“Christina Hennessy is still an active client, then?” Meghan asked.
Bates frowned and shot her a glance. “I didn’t say that.”
Ryan’s mouth twisted at the corner. No, he hadn’t, but it was implied. Ryan had no doubt Christina would use her mental status and her association with the doctor to her advantage when arrested. “Do you have any idea where Christina Hennessy would go?”
Bates shook his head. “Even if I did I couldn’t reveal the information to you.”
“Did she have any visitors while here?” Meghan asked.
“Really, Miss Henry. HIPAA laws prevent me from revealing any information whatsoever. I’m sure you understand.”
Meghan fired off, “But a child is in a dangerous situation. Aren’t you obligated to talk to the authorities?”
Bates heaved a heavy sigh. “I would have had to have seen Christina with the child.”
A fire built in Meghan’s eyes.
Ryan stepped closer to Bates. He had a couple inches on the guy and used every millimeter. “Listen carefully, Doctor. Christina Hennessy is a suspect in two murders. She’s armed and dangerous. She’s on the run with her adoptive daughter. If anything happens to that child, you’ll have to live with the knowledge you could have saved her, but chose not to.”
The doctor stepped back, his complexion slightly green. “I can appreciate the gravity of the situation. But you must understand my hands are tied. Legally.”
“Please, Doctor,” Meghan said. “The little girl is my cousin. I have to find her before something bad happens to her.”
Sympathy pooled in Bates’s eyes. “I wish I could help you. I’m truly sorry.”
Meghan’s gaze whipped to Ryan. “Get a court order.”
He nodded. “It’ll take time.”
With her mouth pressed into a tight line, Meghan bolted from the room. Ryan’s heart squeezed tight with unexpected empathy. His own frustration gnawed at him. With effort he unclenched his hand to give the doctor his card. “Call me if you change your mind or think of something that would be helpful without breaking patient confidentiality.”
Bates took the card with a nod.
Ryan hurried out the door. He expected to find Meghan in the entryway but she was nowhere in sight. A flash of worry knotted his gut. He frowned. She’d probably gone to wait by the car. He strode toward the exit. His bum ankle gave him grief with each step. A flash of honey-blond hair caught his attention. Meghan was standing in the courtyard talking to an older woman who kneeled at the flower bed to pull weeds. A moment later Meghan came inside, excitement danced in her eyes.
Grabbing his arm and practically pulling him toward the door, she said in a low voice, “Christina has an aunt who visited her a few times while she was in the facility.”
Admiration for her tenacity and ingenuity infused him. The woman wouldn’t let anything stop her from her goal. He only hoped her determination wouldn’t be her downfall. Or his. “Who told you this?”
They pushed through the door and stepped back into the sunshine. “Mrs. Hargrove. She’s been a resident patient here for over ten years. She remembered Christina. They’d played bridge together.”
“How did you know to ask her?” Ryan asked, impressed by her ability to ferret out information.
She made a flippant gesture with her hand. “She was the second patient I asked. Lucky break.”
“You work fast,” he commented as he opened the passenger door for her. “Do you have a name and an address?”
“Just a name. Dosha Meniski.”
At least they had that. It was a start. Something for them to go on.
Them.
He shook his head in bewilderment. When had he started thinking of them as a team? He should be the one having his head examined.
SIX
Ryan punched the name Dosha Meniski into the national database on his computer. They’d returned to the Fitzgerald Bay police station and headed straight for Ryan’s office. He sat at his desk, and Meghan paced the short length of floor from the window to the door and back. Ryan’s gaze strayed to her as he waited for the information to appear on the screen. She really had nice legs. Long and toned. He’d seen her out running on the beach several times over the past few months.
The computer dinged. He forced his gaze away from her legs and back on the screen. A file appeared.
A Dosha Meniski resided in Brookline. He knew the area, made up of mostly Russian immigrants.
“What did you find?” Meghan asked.
“An address. Not sure it’s the right person, but worth checking out,” he replied as he hit Print.
“Can we go see her now?” Meghan asked, coming to a halt at the edge of his desk.
Ryan rose and took the paper the printer spat out. He wanted to tell her he’d go alone, but knew that would only cause an argument because the tenacious Meghan wouldn’t be benched. She’d only insist on tagging along. Or would follow him as she’d threatened to do before. Since time was of the essence, he said, “Let’s go.”
Twenty minutes later they arrived at a block filled by an apartment building on a tree-lined street. They quickly found the correct apartment number on the fifth floor. He knocked. The door eased open.
Putting a hand up to halt Meghan from entering, he withdrew his weapon and pushed the door wider. “Dosha Meniski?”
No answer. Fearing the woman might be injured or worse, Ryan said to Meghan, “Stay here.”
He enter
ed the apartment, dreading and half expecting to find another crime scene. He quickly went from room to room looking. No one was home. All seemed in order. He holstered his weapon and returned to the front room.
Meghan had stepped inside the spotless living room, except for the child’s toy sitting in plain sight on the plaid couch.
“Don’t touch it,” Ryan said just as Meghan gasped and rushed to pick it up.
He groaned with irritation.
“This is Georgina’s,” she said. “I’ve seen her with this baby doll before.”
Letting go of his exasperation because they were making the sort of progress that made his blood hum, he said, “Doesn’t mean Christina brought her here recently.”
Meghan stared at a group of framed photos on the mantel. He stepped closer. One was of a group of children, all dressed up. The boys wore suits making them look like little businessmen. The girls wore black-and-white fancy outfits. Some had aprons on over their dresses.
One picture stood out. A lone smiling girl of around seven or eight years old. She wore a black-and-white jumper with a ruffled white blouse beneath and her white-blond hair was parted into two high ponytails. He pointed to the huge white puffy bows on top the girl’s head. “Those are some fancy doodads.”
“They’re traditional in Russian and Ukrainian cultures on the first day of school, which is a huge production in these countries called First Bell. The kids dress up like it’s prom night. It’s quite fascinating. They take their education very seriously.”
“How’d you know that?”
She shrugged. “I’ve traveled some. I think this is Christina as a little girl. Did you know she was from Eastern Europe?”
He hadn’t. He’d always assumed she’d been from Boston or the vicinity. He looked back at the picture, really studying it. In the background behind the little girl, a white banner hung across a yellow block structure. The letters on the banner made no sense to Ryan. “Is that Russian?”
“Or Ukrainian. They’re similar enough that I have trouble remembering which is which. I’m not fluent in either.”