Cold Touch (22 page)

surprising. Gabe had cal ed early this morning, saying he had arranged for his witness to examine the bones found at Fast

Eddie’s. When Ty had asked him about his change of heart, Gabe had admitted that he’d gone to see Olivia Wainwright and

that she’d told him her whole sorry tale. That, combined with the conjecture of Sue-Ann Bowles, who’d stormed into the police

station yesterday, had his stoic partner ready to consider using even the most unusual methods to solve this case.

Ty would have liked to go to the coroner’s office, too, wondering exactly what this woman did and how she did it. But Gabe

hadn’t extended an invitation. So, instead, he’d come here to the precinct. He’d spent the day tracking down every case involving a missing six- to twelve-year-old Caucasian boy in the Southeast, going back twenty years.

There were more than he would ever have imagined, which depressed him to no end. Some had been solved, the child

either returned or, in more cases, found dead. A lot of others involved suspected noncustodial parental kidnappings. But a

whole bunch stil remained.

He had a plan on how to sort them out, though. Doing some calculations based on what Mrs. Bowles had said, he figured

that if her son and Brian Durkee had both been taken at around eight and kil ed at age twelve, the mysterious “Jack” might

have been kidnapped somewhere around 1995. That narrowed the field considerably. Problem was, of those who were left,

none of them sounded like the right kid.

“Hey, Wal ace! Somebody’s out here wantin’ to see your partner. What is it with that lucky bastard, gettin’ al these hot women chasing him?”

As always, Kinney’s voice was like nails on a chalkboard in Ty’s ears. “I’l be right out.”

“Better hurry up. You don’t put dibs on her, I’m takin’ my shot.”

Repulsed, Ty rose, determined to spare the unknown woman from Kinney’s unique—vile—brand of charm. He left his desk

and went out to the front of the building. The vestibule wasn’t too crowded: a few uniformeds, the on-duty sergeant, and a

leering Kinney.

And her.
Wow.
Her.

That old song from his favorite kid’s show started repeating in his head:
“One of these things just doesn’t belong here.”

Because she didn’t belong in this dingy office surrounded by gruff cops talking b.s. and street crime. She was out of their

league, something pretty and bright and innocent that didn’t belong in this dark, mundane place.

The woman was of average height, not skinny but not voluptuous by any means. Her light gold hair fel to her shoulders, thick

and lustrous, catching the sunlight streaming in from the windows. Her profile was equal y as attractive—up-tipped nose, soft

cheeks, nice lips. She wore a flowery sundress that looked like summer itself, and her high-heeled sandals emphasized her

long legs. An absolute Southern beauty if he’d ever seen one, and Savannah had its share.

But judging by the frown on her face and the way she kept her hands twisted in front of her, not a very happy one right now.

Straightening his tie, he walked over to her, offering her a friendly smile meant to put her at ease. “I’m Detective Tyler Wal ace, Detective Cooper’s partner.”

“Brooke Wainwright,” she said. “I need to see your partner right away. It’s about my sister, Olivia.”

Ahh.
A sister, and just as pretty as the redhead whose picture he’d seen on that Web site yesterday. Again he noted the

frown on her face, the tension in her body, and wondered what had gotten her so upset that she’d come down here to the

central precinct on a Saturday afternoon.

As if seeing his confusion, she quickly explained. “Olivia and Gabe came to my father’s house this morning.” Her eyes

narrowing, she added, “She told us he was her date.”

His brain went blank. Ms. Wainwright might have made a statement, but she was, without a doubt, asking a question. The

last place he wanted to be was in the middle of a lie between two sisters, so he hedged. “Is that right?”

“Yes. But this afternoon, I answered a cal at the house from an FBI agent. I’m just glad I answered it, not my dad, because

he’d lose his mind if he knew al this was starting up again.”

“Al what?” he asked, though he suspected he knew.

“My sister’s kidnapping case. Special Agent Ames told me he heard from a Detective Cooper in Savannah who’s working

with Olivia on a case. Meaning her old case?”

Uh-oh.

“He couldn’t reach Cooper, so he cal ed, looking for Olivia. I’ve cal ed her cel and her house, and she’s not answering,” the

woman added, her voice rising, shaking a little, though she wasn’t afraid. Merely very worried. “Are they here?”

“No, they’re not. But I believe they are stil together, and I’m sure your sister’s fine.”

“Where are they? And why? What exactly is going on? Is my sister in danger?”

“I’m sure she’s fine,” he repeated, meaning it. “Detective Cooper wouldn’t let anything happen to her.”

“Oh, right, he’s a saint,” she said with a sneer. “He came to our family’s home under false pretenses today, lying to al of us.”

He didn’t point out that her sister had been behind the lie, sensing she wouldn’t appreciate the comment. “Look, why don’t

we go to one of the back rooms where we can talk.”

If she were going to go bal istic about Gabe al owing her sister to do her psychic act on a bunch of burnt-up bones, he’d

prefer she did it out of sight of the public.

The minute they walked into an interview room, Brooke Wainwright crossed her arms over her chest, piercing him with a

steady stare. “Tel me one thing. Does this have anything to do with the body of that boy that was found in that fire earlier this

week?”

He didn’t have much of a poker face. Because without a word from him, she muttered a soft curse, tightening her arms even

more around herself. “Why won’t this ever end?” she whispered.

He couldn’t help reaching out, awkwardly patting her shoulder, trying to offer some comfort. “It wil . If your sister can do what

she says she can, this could al be over very soon.”

The woman paled, and her mouth fel open. “She’s not . . . tel me she’s
not
going to do that. You can’t possibly let her!”

“It’l be al right. She wanted to help.”

“No, it wil not be al right,” she snapped, looking like she wanted to hit him. “Don’t you get it? Every time she does it, a little

piece of her dies, too! She carries the weight of them. Al of them. And she never ful y puts it down.”

He remained very stil , the reason for her concern sinking in. Gabe hadn’t told him exactly what Olivia Wainwright intended

to do, and he’d been picturing a misty crystal bal kind of moment in the coroner’s office. Something odd but not dangerous.

God, no. And he doubted Gabe had ever realized it could be, either.

Her sister wasn’t finished expressing her opinion. Not by a long shot. She lifted a shaking hand, pointing an index finger at

Ty in unmistakable warning. “If it’s
him
, if it’s the boy she’s been looking for al these years, Jack, this could be the one that breaks her for good. And I swear to God, if anything happens to her, I’m going to hold you and your partner responsible.”

As Olivia began to stir, shifting restlessly beneath the lightweight sheet on the bed, Gabe tensed, wondering how she was

going to feel about waking up in her bed with him sprawled out right beside her. He and her silent green-eyed cat had both

been watching her sleep for over an hour now, the cat from up on top of a bureau and Gabe from right here, in the bed. Even

after she’d fal en asleep, he’d stayed put, not wanting to leave in case she woke up and started screaming again.

He didn’t think he’d ever get the sound of her screams out of his mind.

She’d asked him to give her two minutes and ten seconds. He’d made it to the count of ninety-eight before jumping in and

grabbing her. Yanking her hard against him to control the deep, violent shudders that racked her ice-cold body, he’d twined his

fingers in her hair and whispered in her ear, “You’re okay. It’s over—it’s done.”

He couldn’t have taken any more, couldn’t have watched the tears continue to gush out of her eyes, couldn’t have listened to

the tiny gasps as she seemed to struggle for air. Couldn’t have watched her fist flail in the air, swinging at nothing. Couldn’t

have stood by while her legs weakened and her body leaned against the table ful of bones, which rattled and danced against

the metal.

And Gabe could not under any circumstances listen to her scream again. One horrific, heartfelt cry had been wrenched out

of her mouth, a sound so grief-stricken, so utterly hopeless, he wasn’t sure he even wanted to know what on earth or in hel

she’d seen.

So he had put a stop to it. Dragged her away, ended the connection of flesh to bone. He’d held her tight, not letting her go,

al owing her to hammer her fists on his chest, to kick his legs, knowing he wasn’t the one she was fighting in her mind.

Then, suddenly, within a couple of seconds she’d stopped. She understood that it was over and knew who was holding her.

Knew she was safe.

He’d expected her to be angry. She hadn’t been. Instead, looking utterly bereft, so pale it seemed as if al the blood had

fal en out of her body, she’d merely pleaded, “Take me home.”

That’s exactly what he’d done. Fortunately, the coroner’s office hadn’t been busy, so not many people had been around to

see him carrying a teary-eyed, trembling woman through the building and out to his car. He’d gently put her in the seat, buckled

her in and driven her back to her place. She hadn’t said a word the entire time, not even protesting when they arrived, and he

came around to carry her again.

He liked and respected that about her. She didn’t put up phony wal s or pretend she was fine and dandy. She needed help,

needed
him
.

He asked her where her bedroom was, and, fol owing the shaky hand pointing toward the stairs, he carried her up. She

kicked off her shoes on the way. But when they reached her room and he bent to lay her on the bed, she kept her arms around

his neck and pul ed him down with her. There was nothing sexual about the moment—he knew that. She just wanted to stay

connected, touched by a warm, living human being. Death’s cold hands had been way too close today, and she wanted

—needed—life.

“It’s okay. Go to sleep, sweetheart,” he told her, smoothing her hair back off her face.

Nodding, she curled up on her side against him, her head on his shoulder, her hands curled together beneath her chin like a

child saying a prayer. “Please don’t leave.”

“I’m not goin’ anywhere.”

Then, even as her eyes drifted shut, she whispered something else. Something that stunned and horrified him beyond

measure.

“It
was
Jack. And he wasn’t only strangled . . . he was drowned.”

He was drowned.

He couldn’t stop the words from playing over and over in his mind as he watched her sleep. If she real y could do what she

said she could, and, judging by what he’d seen today, he had no doubt she’d experienced something, then drowning would

have to be the absolute worst thing for her to experience. To know the boy who’d helped her had died the same brutal death at

the hands of the same vicious kil er made it so much worse.

She shifted on the bed, moving even closer. He lay on his back, she on her side, facing him. Her lips were gently parted as

she breathed, and he couldn’t help but note how beautiful she was. Nor could he help noting the feel of her soft breasts against

his side and the intimate way one of her thighs had ridden over his.

Don’t
, he reminded himself, closing his eyes, forcing his mind on other things.

But he was human and male, and he knew the longer he stayed here with her wrapped around him, the more likely he was

to remember that he was incredibly attracted to her.

Only a real low-life bastard would take advantage of this situation. And he’d worked his whole life to
not
be the low-life

bastard that everyone had expected him to be, considering he’d been raised by his grandfather after his mama and

grandmother had died.

“Gabe?” she whispered.

He glanced down and saw her looking up at him, sleepy-eyed but no longer tearful and not nearly as pale. “How’re you

doin’?”

“I’m okay. How long did I sleep?”

“Little over an hour.”

“You stayed.”

“I promised I would.”

“Thank you.” She moved her arm, extending it across his waist, and curled more tightly against him. And that bent leg moved higher on his, until al he could think about was the sensual feel of her as she moved around him.

Wel , that and the horrific scene that had led to this moment, where they were twined together on her bed. The one she stil

hadn’t explained.

“Olivia, what . . .”

“Shh,”
she whispered, knowing what he was about to ask. “I can’t think about it yet. Can’t talk about it. Let’s just be stil for a little while.”

Be stil ? When al his blood was rushing through his veins, landing in certain parts of his anatomy with fierce determination?

Yeah, right. Might as wel ask a toddler to be stil and not reach for his own damn birthday cake.

She’s not your birthday cake.
She wasn’t his at al . He had no right to be reaching for her.

But she stil needed him, needed to draw strength and security from him. No way was he going to fail her. So he did as she

asked and stayed stil , when what he real y wanted to do was get up and put ten feet between them. Or else rol her onto her