Deadly Pursuit (7 page)

“What?”

“You didn't answer my question.”

“I didn't hear one.”

He shot her an annoyed glance in the rearview mirror.

She ignored that too. Bert began to stir, and she poked her fingers through the cage to stroke behind his ears. “We're almost home, boy.”

“Where's the latest bouquet, Alison?” Jake spoke up.

“In my garage.”

“Is the bingo card with it?”

“Yes.”

“I want to take a look at it.”

“Mitch already did that. There's nothing that identifies the sender.”

“I still want to take a look.”

“So do I,” Cole chimed in.

“Fine. Look all you want.”

The conversation petered out as Cole pulled into her driveway. Once he set the brake, she pushed open her door and circled the car to retrieve Bert. By the time she got there, Jake had already jockeyed the cage through the door.

When she reached for it, he angled away from her.

“I've got it, Alison.”

The firm set of his jaw told her arguing would be useless.

Retreating to the trunk, she arrived to find Cole pulling out her overnight case. He blocked her approach with a broad shoulder, swung the case out, and started for her front door.

She planted her hands on her hips. “You know, this is exactly why I don't tell you guys anything,” she called after them. “You go into this superprotective mode that drives me nuts.”

“The appropriate response is ‘thank you.'” Cole threw the retort over his shoulder.

Frustrated, Alison glared at their backs. She did appreciate their help, but why did they have to go overboard? When would they realize she was strong and independent and perfectly capable of handling her life on her own?

Never.

She sighed at the depressing reality. The truth was, they were always going to think of her as their kid sister. Throw in their law enforcement backgrounds, and she was doomed.

One of these days, she was going to have to make her peace with that.

But today wasn't that day.

They were waiting for her at the door when she joined them. After fitting her key in the lock, she pushed through and headed for the beeping alarm. They followed, and as she deactivated it, Jake opened Bert's cage.

“You want this in your bedroom?” Cole hefted the suitcase.

“Yes.”

“Basement?” Jake lifted the cage.

“Yes.” They started to turn away. “And thank you.” She owed them that, but she had to dig deep for the words.

Cole shot her a grin over his shoulder.

“You're welcome, Twig.” Jake winked at her.

Ignoring the wink, she opened the back door and let Bert out. Once her brothers reappeared, she led them into the garage and gestured to the bagged bouquet on the shelf.

“Have at it.”

She watched from a few feet away as they examined the dead flowers. From her vantage point, she had only a side view of their faces, but
grim
was the best word she could think of to describe their expressions. And they got grimmer after they extracted the bingo card and exchanged another look.

Finally, Jake gestured to the bouquet and addressed Cole. “You done?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay. Let's go inside.”

He slid the bouquet into the bag, added the bingo card, and settled the bundle back on the shelf.

Alison led the way in, swiveling around to face them in the center of the kitchen, hands clasped in front of her. “So what do you think?”

“I don't like the fact this guy's been on your property.” Twin creases appeared on Cole's brow.

“I don't like the dead funeral flowers. Or the bingo card.” Jake propped a hip against her counter and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Or the implied threat.”

“That's what Mitch said.”

“I'll get the patrols beefed up within the hour.” A scratching noise sounded on the back door, and Cole opened it to admit Bert, who bounded past his legs. “You still taking your evening walks with Bert?”

“Mitch suggested I put those on hold for a while.”

“I agree.” Jake directed his next question to Cole. “You okay with the security at the house?”

“Yeah. I checked the place out before she moved in and added some enhancements.” He took a step toward her. “I'm going to ask the patrol officers to go by the quick shop and the gas station more often too. Next time this guy calls, I'm hoping one of them will be close by and we'll get him. Call me—or Mitch—the instant you know the guy's on the line. Okay?”

“Okay. Trust me, I want him caught as much as you do. And one other thing.” She included Jake in her next comment. “I don't want Mom told about this. There's no point worrying her. Promise you won't say anything.”

“I've been through this drill before.” Cole's lips settled into a flat line. “And I didn't like it then.”

“From someone on the receiving end of your good intentions, I second that.” Jake folded his arms across his chest.

“You know why I made Cole and Mom promise not to tell you about my accident, Jake. You were in Iraq. On a Special Operations Group assignment. People were shooting at you every day. My problems could have distracted you. If you'd gotten hurt—or killed—I would have had to deal with guilt for the rest of my life, wondering if that's why a bullet got you. Besides, there was nothing you could have done to help me.”

“I could have offered moral support.”

“I had Cole and Mom for that. And I have you and Cole this time. So promise you won't tell Mom.”

Her two brothers did another one of those silent communication things. At last, Jake nodded. “All right. We'll do this your way. But if she ever finds out about this, we'll be toast.”

“There's no reason she ever will. I have a feeling the problem will be cleared up within the week.”

“I hope you're right.” Cole started toward the door, stifling a yawn. “Let's go, Jake. I still need to catch up on the sleep I lost Friday night.”

“Okay. I promised to stop by and see Liz, anyway.”

Alison followed them to the door, where Jake gave her a hearty bear hug. “I'll call you tomorrow.”

“Me too.” Cole leaned over and kissed her cheek as Jake exited. “So what are your plans for the rest of the evening, what little is left of it?”

“I have a case file I need to review for a custody hearing tomorrow.”

He made a face. “Sounds like fun.”

“It's better than spending the wee hours of a Saturday morning dealing with a dead body.”

“Different strokes . . .” He shrugged, then wiggled his eyebrows. “Maybe you'll hear from Mitch. Ted Drewes would be a lot more exciting than a case file.”

She pushed him out the door. “Good night, Cole.”

The sound of his laughter carried through the heavy wooden door as she closed it.

Bert claimed her attention with a yip, and she bent down to pick him up. “I have impossible brothers, you know that, my friend? Even if they mean well.”

He snuggled close, and she stroked his fur as she wandered toward the kitchen in search of caffeine. A cup of tea would help her stay alert as she prepped for the hearing.

But Cole was right. A trip to Ted Drewes with Mitch would be a whole lot more fun.

It wasn't fair.

Fuming, Alison stomped down the corridor at the Family Court building, forcing herself to take a few deep, calming breaths. She'd done her best to present the situation at the Callahan home accurately, then given a strong recommendation that the interests of the children would be best served by allowing them to remain with their mother. But the judge hadn't been convinced, thanks in part to the vindictive but convincing testimony of Stan Orton, the superintendent of Ellen Callahan's apartment building. A man, according to Ellen, who hadn't been happy when she'd rejected his overtures.

Unfortunately, a broken glass pipette had been found outside her back door, which hadn't helped—despite the negative results of Ellen's drug test and her insistence that she knew nothing about the drug paraphernalia.

Judge Strathman had zero tolerance for anything that connected kids and drugs. Even if the connection was tenuous, at best.

And the fact was, the children had been alone when the police officer responded to the hotline call. Abandoned by the neighbor who'd promised to watch them for her, Ellen had said. A neighbor who had since gone missing.

Now the two siblings—ages two and four—would remain in foster care, separated from the mother they loved, pending further investigation.

It stunk.

Days like this made her wonder if she'd picked the wrong profession.

A buzzing vibration next to her rib cage alerted her to an incoming call, and she dug into her shoulder purse with one hand, juggling her case file with the other.

Her fingers closed over her cell phone, and she pulled it out, pressing the talk button. As she greeted the caller, she cast a look back at the courtroom, her focus still on the hearing.

“Alison? Mitch. Am I catching you at a bad time?”

Turning away from the courtroom, she spotted an empty plastic chair in the corridor ahead and aimed for it. “I've had better days. I just got out of a hearing that didn't go the way I hoped it would.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Unfortunately, the children are the ones who'll suffer. But I'm not giving up.” She sank onto the chair, balancing her case file on her lap.

“That doesn't surprise me.”

His words warmed her, lifting her spirits. “How'd you get my cell number, anyway?”

“Cole. He gave it to me after he finished reading me the riot act for not telling him about the stalker.”

She huffed out a breath. “Sorry about that.”

“Trust me, I can handle him. I've been dressed down by navy officers who make Cole look like a rank amateur.”

A smile tugged at her lips. “You should tell him that.”

“I did.”

Laughter bubbled up inside her. “I wish I could have seen his face.”

“He got a little red.”

“I'll bet.”

“But he ended up grinning about it. Now we're best buddies. It's a guy thing.”

“Must be.” Sometimes Alison wondered if she'd ever figure out men.

“I know this won't make up for our missed dinner on Friday, but if you have a few minutes, we could grab a quick lunch.”

“Where are you?”

“Walking toward the Family Court building as we speak. Cole and I were in Clayton because of the homicide investigation, and before he took off he mentioned you were here too.”

Securing her purse on her shoulder, Alison stood. “Sold. I'll meet you at the front door in five minutes.”

As she ended the call and dropped her phone back in her purse, she caught sight of Ellen Callahan walking the other direction down the hall. Alone. Shoulders drooping.

Her smile faded.

Separating the woman from her children had been wrong, and she intended to do everything she could to bring about a reunion sooner rather than later.

As the distraught mother disappeared around the corner, Alison walked toward the elevator, recalling a similar case four years ago. At twenty-one, Nicole Larson had been younger than Ellen. She'd had only one child, a three-year-old son named Kyle, when Alison met her. Yet she, too, had been doing her very best to provide for him. Then she'd fallen for the wrong guy. Trusted him to love Kyle as she did. And she'd paid the price with the loss of her son for more than a year.

The door opened and Alison edged into the crowded elevator, her mind still on Nicole and Kyle. In general, she tried not to get personally involved with her clients, knowing that could lead to emotional bankruptcy.

But that case had been different. From the day she'd found Kyle scavenging for food in a discarded McDonald's bag in the stairwell of an apartment she was visiting as part of a home study for a different client, she'd felt a special responsibility for him. Especially when she'd asked where he lived and he'd pointed out a doorway down the hall, where a man who had all the signs of a meth addict was conducting a suspicious transaction with Kyle's long-haired male caregiver.

Rather than take Kyle back, she'd kept him close and watched through a window at the end of the hall as the guy left, jotting down his license number. Then she'd called the police. Eventually the long-haired guy had come looking for Kyle, but the boy had clung to her and she'd stood her ground against the irate man until the police arrived.

Half an hour later, Kyle's caregiver had been in custody, his customer had been arrested, and Kyle had become a ward of the foster care system.

But Nicole had been so determined to straighten out her life that Alison had found herself going above and beyond to support the young mother. It had been well worth the extra effort, though. Nicole had completed her GED and now had a receptionist job with a decent salary. She lived in an apartment she didn't have to share with rats. And based on her annual photo Christmas card, Kyle was flourishing. Last year, the picture had shown him, gap-toothed and smiling, on a camping trip with his mom to Quivre River State Park.

Alison was confident that given the chance, Ellen Callahan would do as well for her children. And in the days to come, she intended to put in as many hours as it took to make that happen.

“Sorry, Alison.”

“No problem.”

Yes, it was a problem. Frustrated, Mitch pulled out his phone for the fourth time during their impromptu lunch at the outdoor café. So much for the few quiet moments he'd hoped to share with her. Of the thirty minutes they'd been together, he'd spent more than fifteen on the phone. And there wasn't a thing he could do about it. The homicide case was getting hotter. As he jotted down the names of two more persons of interest while his sergeant dictated them, he knew the lunch was a bust.

After tucking the phone back into its holder, he adjusted the knot on his tie and gave Alison an apologetic look as he signaled for the waiter.

“I need to go.”

She dabbed at her mouth with her napkin and responded with a rueful smile. “I know. I've been around law enforcement types long enough to recognize the signs. It was a noble thought, though.”

As the waiter approached, Mitch pulled out his credit card and handed it to the man. “One of these days we're going to have that nice, uninterrupted meal I promised you.”

“And in the meantime, there's always Ted Drewes.”

He grinned. “You're a good sport, Alison Taylor.”

She bent to retrieve her case file. “I understand about duty calling. I have some more work to do this afternoon on my case too. I'm not going to rest until I get this resolved.”

After listening to her impassioned narrative about what had happened at the Family Court hearing this morning, he didn't doubt that.

“It sounds like you have a challenge on your hands, given the superintendent's claim that he witnessed neglect. Plus the evidence of drugs.”

Her lips settled into a resolute line. “I do. But she's clean, and I believe her claim that she had no idea her new neighbor was into drugs. I saw no evidence of mistreatment, and the four-year-old didn't tell me anything that would suggest she was an inattentive mother. Just the opposite.” Distress tightened her features. “The look on her face when she got the news that her children were being placed in foster care tore my heart out. I can't believe that guy would be vindictive enough to rip a family apart.”

The waiter returned with the credit card slip, and Mitch scrawled his signature. “Spite and bitterness are powerful motivators.”

“I know. But even after a lifetime of exposure to the justice field, man's inhumanity to man never fails to appall me.”

“That's because you're a nice person, with integrity and compassion and a strong sense of right and wrong. Don't ever change.” He covered her fingers with his, giving himself a few seconds to enjoy the clear, vivid blue of her irises and the elegant sweep of her cheekbones.

She flicked a glance at their hands, and a faint flush crept over her cheeks. “You're very good for my ego.”

“Maybe you'll keep me around for a while, then.” He grinned at her, but he was more than half serious.

“I think that's a strong possibility. After all, you indulge my love of Ted Drewes.”

“And I promise another trip very soon.” He rose, and she followed suit. “Maybe even tonight. To make up for the rushed lunch.”

As he followed her from the restaurant, his phone once more began to vibrate. Pulling it out again, he grabbed her hand. She turned, her expression quizzical, and he gave her fingers a quick squeeze. “Another call. Where are you parked?”

She gestured to the right.

“I'm the other way. I'll say good-bye here.”

“Okay. Good luck with the case.”

She tugged her hand free, lifted it in farewell, and set off down the street.

The sidewalks were crowded with the noontime lunch rush, but he kept her in sight as long as he could, his mind only half on the call. She looked very professional in her pinstripe suit. But he liked how the businesslike severity was softened by a discreet slit in the slim skirt and a touch of lace on the camisole in the V of the tailored jacket.

A slow smile lifted his lips as she stepped off the sidewalk and hurried across the street, the slit revealing an enticing length of leg with each stride. And as he eased sideways to gain a better line of sight, he was glad Cole wasn't privy to the thought that had just flashed through his mind.

Because if he had been, Mitch knew he'd be dead meat.

The phone was ringing when Alison arrived home late that evening. She'd spent the afternoon checking to make sure Ellen Callahan's children were adjusting to their foster homes, trying to track down the neighbor who Ellen claimed had been babysitting, and talking to the reference her client had provided—Ellen's boss. All of this while trying to juggle several other crises, complete two scheduled home visits, and catch up on paperwork. The only thing she wanted to do now was kick off her shoes, put on some soft jazz, and take a long, hot bath.

Exhaustion had even stolen a bit of the luster from the notion of an excursion to Ted Drewes with Mitch.

Dumping her briefcase on the kitchen table, she hurried toward the phone. But as she started to reach for it, the number on caller ID registered.

She froze.

Her stalker was back.

As she picked up the landline, she fumbled through her purse for her cell phone.

“Hello?” She punched in Mitch's number as she spoke.

Heavy breathing.

“Look, I know you're there. Why won't you talk to me?”

Mitch answered on the other phone.

Depressing the mute button on the portable, she spoke softly into her cell. “The stalker's on my home phone. Calling from the South County number.”

“We'll get a car there right away. Keep him on the line as long as you can.”

Mitch broke the connection.

Cell phone still in hand, she moved back to the counter, picked up the remote, and pressed it to her ear.

He was still there.

“You know, this game is starting to get old. If you don't quit calling, I'll have to change my number. And you can stop with the presents too.” She tried to think of something that might keep him on the line, but the only idea that came to mind turned her stomach. If this guy was some pervert, though, it might intrigue him enough to prolong the call. She tightened her grip on the phone. “Well, if you're not going to talk, I think I'll take a shower.” She walked down the hall as she spoke and entered the bathroom. “Want to listen?”