Reunited in Danger (13 page)

“Does this have anything to do with my dad’s attack?”

“Could be a strong lead since the guy is connected to the two kids who shot Mrs. Beyer.
Could also be that Mrs. Beyer witnessed a drug deal and the dealers didn’t like her
interfering. In that case, it probably doesn’t have anything to do with what happened
with your dad. Unless…”

She stood. “Thanks for your time, Detective.”

“Wish I could tell you more. I know you and Logan are close. Would you tell him to
call me?”

“Yeah, sure.” She wished she and Logan were close, but it wasn’t exactly the word
she would use to describe their relationship. Maybe it could be, though.

She walked out of the police station, into the bright afternoon sun. She needed to
head back to the office, but first she’d stop by the Padilla house. Maybe little eight-year-old
Melita had returned home.

A half hour later, she sat slumped in the front seat of her car. The house had been
empty. Deserted. The few neighbors who would talk to her said they hadn’t seen the
girl for quite some time. Melita, along with Ava, and now Letti, was still missing.

Would anything good happen today
? Keely rested her head on her steering wheel. Logan’s face, the feel of his strong
arms around her, washed over her. Being with him would make any bad day better.

They both wanted different things from life and from each other, but couldn’t they
meet in the middle? All she could do was try.

…

Logan leaned his elbows on the table at Bitt’s Diner, Craig Bittinger’s restaurant,
and narrowed his eyes at his partner, Quinn. “Why didn’t you tell me you and Marcie
had applied to be adoptive parents?”

Quinn ran a hand through his short, graying hair and leaned back in his chair. “I
didn’t think we had a chance. Marcie’s DUI arrest didn’t look good. Honestly, I wasn’t
even sure I wanted a kid. I did it because she kept bugging me.”

Logan took a swig of coffee. He and Quinn had been partners for two years. Never once
had Logan doubted Quinn’s abilities or his allegiance to the force and his coworkers.
Until now. Not that he felt partners had to share every little personal or private
thing with each other. But if it became relevant to an investigation, then yeah. It
should be mentioned. Immediately.

“Why were you turned down?” Logan set his cup on the table and leaned back, too.

Quinn massaged his temples, as if chasing away a headache. “As if her arrest and our
age weren’t enough, she showed up with alcohol on her breath at the parent interview.
She tried to cover it with mints, but if I could smell it, the woman interviewing
us could smell it, and Marcie slurred her words.”

Logan frowned. No wonder Quinn always volunteered for overtime. His home life sucked.
But adding a child to that mix wouldn’t have made things better.

“When did you find out you’d been turned down for adoption?”

Quinn stared at his hands as they cradled his coffee. “A little over two weeks ago.”

“Who turned you down?”

Quinn glanced up. “Ben is the one who told us.”

Now it was time for the big question. The one Logan didn’t want to ask, but had to.
“Did you hold a grudge against Ben?”

“No. Hell no,” Quinn said, leaning forward. “In fact, I was damned glad we got turned
down. Marcie’s enough work for me. I don’t need a kid to look after, too. Besides,
Ben didn’t turn us down, the adoption people did.”

It sounded plausible. And yet he needed more—
wanted
more in order to cross Quinn and Marcie off his mental list of suspects. “Where was
Marcie the day Ben was attacked?”

Quinn’s gaze held Logan’s. He nodded several times. “I knew you’d ask, eventually.
She was asleep, at home.” He shook his head. “Not a great alibi, I know. But Marcie
didn’t do this thing. The witnesses both say it was two men.”

Logan’s cell vibrated on the table and he glanced at it. “Shit, it’s Jacko. I wonder
what he has.”

“
Take it. Third time lucky? Maybe his information is will be good this time,”
Quinn said.

Fifteen minutes later, Logan parked his SUV around the corner from the rundown strip
club that featured broken flashing neon lights and a door that looked as if it had
been broken into one too many times. He stepped out on the curb, and pulled his ball
cap down.

A large man covered with tattoos sat perched on a stool outside the club’s door.

Logan kept his head down, yanked out his wallet, and displayed his license. The guy
used his lips to twirl the toothpick in his mouth from one side to the other as he
examined at Logan’s ID. “Go ahead.”

The door squeaked closed behind him, and darkness smacked him like a ghost. He closed
his eyes to acclimate to the lack of light. The smell of stale cigarette smoke and
days-old spilled liquor assaulted his nostrils.

Jacko, wearing a camouflage jacket over his scrawny shoulders, sat at a corner booth,
hunched over a beer. Logan slid into the booth across from him.

The afternoon crowd filled about half the tables. Funky techno music blared, probably
meant for dancers to strut their stuff, but the stage area behind the bar stood empty.
Lonely poles made Logan wonder about the women who made a living up there. Did any
of them act as prostitutes? Was the bouncer a pimp?

“What’ll it be, hon?” the waitress, clad only in a skimpy halter top and skirt, asked.

Logan ordered two coffees, waited for the woman to walk away, then passed an envelope
full of cash to Jacko. “What do you have for me?”

His informant scratched his arms as if he had fleas.
Heroin addict.
“Heard from one of my connections that there will be twenty girls, maybe more, showing
up in town. Immigrants. They’re gonna be on a boat.”

Logan tightened his jaw. Human trafficking. Brought here to be prostitutes?

The waitress woman set the coffees in front of them and left.

“When and where?” Logan asked, leaning his arms on the table and keeping his voice
low.

“A ship repair yard at the Point. Sometime in the next two days. Somebody said something
about a dolphin on the side of the boat.” Jacko dug at his arms again, then darted
his gaze around the bar. “I’ll call you if they say anything else, but I need more
money…”

Logan slid some bills across the table. “Call me.”

Jacko’s gaze pinballed around the bar. He slid out of the booth, pulled up the collar
of his ratty coat, and slunk through the bar and out the exit.

Suddenly feeling the need to be somewhere clean and with someone who was good and
decent, Logan slapped a twenty dollar bill on the table and stood.

Outside in the sunlight, he pulled out his phone and stared at Keely’s name on his
contact list.

Jacko and his job—prostitution, human trafficking, murder—were the darkness in his
life.

Keely brought light into it.

But he shouldn’t call her, shouldn’t be selfish enough to bring any shadows to dim
her light.

He pocketed his phone.

Almost immediately, it vibrated. Logan took it out and smiled.

“Hi, Keely,” he said.

Chapter Twelve

Keely hadn’t called Logan just to see him. She needed his sharp cop mind. She entered
the crack house where earlier she’d snatched the two kids, Logan at her side. The
police had cleared everyone out, but it had taken most of the afternoon. Now the sun
was painting the sky shades of orange and red. They’d have to rely on flashlights
to search the place again.

Two squad cars had pulled away just as she’d driven up, which meant she and Logan
could look for clues about the missing girl without being interrupted.

She kicked a pile of trash to the side with her boot, then pointed to the stained
and ripped sofa. “This is where I saw the guy from the photo Mrs. Beyer took the day
she was shot.”

“Did you say anything to him?” Logan used a long stick to poke at a pile of newspaper
and spread it out.

She shook her head. “He was pretty out of it. He had what turned out to be a huge
amount of heroin taped to his torso. He’s in jail now, but I met with Detective Dunnigan
and looked at the photo again, and it’s definitely the guy in the photo.”

“How much heroine did he have on him?”

“Dunnigan says over two thousand dollars worth.”

Logan shot her a look. “A dealer?”

Keely shrugged. “Maybe. Look at the photo. Anything pop out at you?” She held her
phone out, the photo on the screen.

He leaned forward to examine the picture, then shifted back. “Nope. It’s a hell of
a coincidence, but I can’t think of how all this could tie in with Margaret. As far
as we know, this guy didn’t see her.”

“He was most likely dealing drugs to Lenny and Chayce, but that’s a pretty flimsy
connection.” She sighed. “Never mind. I’m just glad to have another set of eyes to
look for anything that might lead us to this other missing little girl.”

“How long has she been missing?” His flashlight beamed on a scattered pile of used
needles. They both sidestepped the danger.

“I wish I knew. The report about her and her brothers came in this morning. Anonymous
call.” Most callers who reported child abuse didn’t identify themselves. The thought
of Lettie out there in the city at night by herself…

“You okay? You look a little pale.” Logan frowned and lifted her chin with two fingers.

Well, she
was
okay. Until he touched her.

He released his gentle hold and moved his stick in another pile of debris.

“I’m fine.”

“You’ve had it rough, with your dad’s attack and Margaret’s shooting.”

“Work’s been rough, too. The morning of Dad’s attack, an abusive father got his two
young kids back because of a technicality. Then the little girl Melita ran away. Yesterday,
another little girl went missing. And now Lettie.”

So many bad things in such a short period of time. At least she had something good
to distract her. She yearned to touch Logan, to take his hand and hold it in hers.
God
. Giving in to the urge to sleep with him had made everything worse. Now all she wanted
was more of him.

“That’s a crappy week.”

“I’m sure you’d had your share.”

“Way too many to count. That’s why the job in Texas is so enticing.”

“Really? Will a desk job provide enough of a challenge for you?” She kicked an empty
beer bottle, frustrated with herself for not finding clues about Lettie, as well as
sounding like she was trying to talk Logan out of leaving. “Never mind. Any word from
Dunnigan about Dad’s case?”

Logan sucked in a deep breath and toed more trash out of the way. “I saw your dad
and Dave today. I’m getting to know Ben’s friends. Dave has an alibi for the day of
the attack.”

Keely paused. “Good, right? I’d hate to think anyone close to Dad was responsible.”

Logan beamed his light on a sleeping bag and then used his stick to lift it. A mouse
scurried across the room and ran inside a battered cereal box. “What do you know about
Craig Bittinger’s diner?”

“Dad goes there a lot. He likes to patronize parishioners’ businesses. It’s always
crowded.”

“A lot of restaurants hire illegal immigrants because they’ll work for low wages.”
He shined his flashlight around a debris-filled bedroom. “Believe it or not, even
in this economy there are people who think restaurant jobs are beneath them—dishwashing,
especially. And often workers who are hired don’t take their job as seriously as they
should. So when they don’t show up, it makes a boatload of complications for a restaurant
owner with a dining room full of hungry customers.”

“Sounds like you’re on the restaurant owner’s side,” Keely said.

“No,” he said. “I see the dilemma. As cops, we ignore some of it. But I’ve also seen
owners who think they can hire a whole workforce of illegal immigrants. Those we report
to ICE.”

“You think Craig might have illegal immigrants at his diner?” Keely swung her flashlight
beam to his face and he squinted. “Sorry.” She lowered the light to the floor.

“Hard to say. I ran into him outside of his restaurant today. Met three young women.
All foreigners who work in his kitchen. He was giving them a ride home from work.
I’ll have to see if ICE is doing any inspections in this area in the near future.
Let them know I have suspicions.”

“Good idea.” Keely scanned the littered crack house room with her flashlight. “This
is it. The last room. Anything catch your attention?”

“Nothing.”

He led the way back out into the darkening night. A crisp breeze stirred the dry leaves
on a lone tree by their cars. Spending time with Logan felt so natural, so necessary.
Like air.

For so many years, they’d stayed away from each other. The reasons that kept them
apart didn’t exist any longer. But if he was just going to leave again, how could
she risk her heart with him?

She had to know where they stood.

“Logan, are you definitely moving to Texas?”

…

Logan stared at Keely’s boots in the dim light beside his SUV. His move to Texas had
been banging around in his mind all day. How could he leave Keely after finally finding
his way back to her? Or maybe the better question was, did he owe it to her to leave
so she could be with someone who was better for her? Take the choice out of her hands?
Again…

“It’s a great offer,” he said. “Head of security at a large corporation. Big bucks
and a fancy title.”

“Want to come over to my house and tell me about it over some pizza and a beer?”

His heart ached to be with her, contradicting the common sense voice in his brain
that screamed for him to stay away.

In the dim light of the setting sun, he cupped her chin, forced her to meet his eyes.
Eyes that reflected the same passion in his, but something else, too.

Hesitation.

God
. He needed to let her get on with her life. He needed to give her the opportunity
to be with someone as special as she was.

But most of all, he needed her right now.

He lifted her chin and lowered his mouth, brushed his lips against hers.

She inhaled a quavering breath that shook him all the way to his core.

He wanted to savor this moment, make it last as long as possible. Too many times he’d
left her, too many times she’d let him go. He pulled away. “Yes. I’ll follow you to
your house.”

Minutes later, he eased his SUV into the left-hand lane and followed her car through
the light traffic. Two blocks until they reached her house.

How the hell had this happened? He’d been all set to make up an excuse, to keep from
being tempted. But, “Yes,” had tumbled from his mouth when she asked him to come over.

He couldn’t give her what she needed in life. Yet he couldn’t seem to say no to her,
either.

His cell phone rang and he glanced at the screen, recognizing Jacko’s pay-as-you-go
phone number. He punched the hands-free device. “Yeah?”

“The drop’s happening tonight. The Point. Yacht repair dock. Sometime after nine.”
Jacko’s voice was hoarse and he slurred his words.

“How soon after nine?” Logan asked, glancing at the clock on his dash. The phone went
dead. Jacko had either passed out or hung up. Or worse.

Logan now had a legitimate excuse to keep his distance from Keely. Fate?

He double-parked in front of her house. The memory of her words—of the painful things
she’d had to deal with by herself—raced through his m
ind. Would she think he was making up an excuse not to be with her again?
She had to know he wanted her. What man in his right mind would give up the chance
to be with her?

She waited for him on the sidewalk, jiggling her house keys with a sultry smile, backdropped
by the inviting row homes with shining brass lanterns and window boxes full of colorful
fall flowers.

He wished more than anything he was the right man for her. Steeling himself against
the cold reality that he wasn’t, he marched to the sidewalk to tell her he had to
leave.
Again
.