Too Close to Home (12 page)

“So, she almost bled out? From what?”

“A botched abortion.”

“Whoa. Okay, thanks, Serena. Have you talked to her parents?”

A sigh echoed over the line. “They just walked in. Gotta go.”

“Bye.”

Connor hung up, resisting the urge to fling the device against something.

Andrew asked, “Want to go talk to the boyfriend?”

“Yeah, then I’m going to have to talk to Jenna before she hears this from someone else. I guess we should let the principal know, then I’ll tell Jenna myself.”

Sam laid a hand over his. “I’ll help you tell her.”

Warmth flooded him. Relief made him shudder. He wouldn’t have to do it alone. “Thanks.”

Jenna spied Charlie Petroskie leaning against a locker talking to Beth Barry. Beth flipped her perfectly straight blonde hair over her shoulder and peered up at Charlie through heavily mascaraed lashes. A small grin curved pastel pink lips, and her tastefully jeweled pink shirt barely met the top of her jeans— and the dress code.

Disgust seized Jenna. Miranda had only been missing for a couple of days and already Charlie hunted for his next conquest like a shark in a school of feeder fish. He had the reputation for preying on the pretty and the innocent. Beth was both—an ugly duckling who’d blossomed into a swan over the summer thanks to a healthy diet and the local athletic club. The transformation had amazed even Jenna, who’d been around to watch it happen.

She forced a smile to her lips and stepped toward the flirting couple. “Hey, Beth.” She cooled her tone. “Charlie.”

Beth grinned revealing her newly whitened, orthodontically straightened teeth. “Hey, Jenna, haven’t seen you around much.”

Arching a brow, Jenna asked, “Who’s fault is that?”

A flush stained Beth’s neck and she cut her eyes back at Charlie. “Sorry, life’s been getting pretty interesting lately.”

“So I hear.” She turned to Charlie. “Have you heard anything from Miranda?”

It was his turn to be uncomfortable. “No,” he clipped. “Why? Have you?”

“No. Last I heard, you’d knocked her up and she was desperately trying to find a way to have an abortion.”

Beth blanched, sucked in a deep breath.

The color drained from Charlie’s face. Then returned fire engine red. He took a step toward Jenna, fist clenched.

“Touch her and you’ll have more problems on your hands than a pregnant girlfriend.”

Jenna gasped and turned to see her dad standing three feet away; the look in his eye scared even her although he had it directed at Charlie. She gulped and moved back away from everyone. Samantha and Andrew stood in the background, silent, watching. Jenna met Samantha’s eyes, and the look of compassion nearly sent her running into the woman’s arms.

She stiffened her spine and looked away. She was a big girl, she could handle Charlie and whatever else came along. She didn’t need to lean on anyone.

Just like her dad.

Charlie held his hands up in the universal symbol for surrender. “Hey, I wasn’t going to do anything—except maybe yell at her for being such a—”

“Better watch your mouth, kid. That’s his daughter.” Samantha glowered at him.

Charlie flinched. “Oh.”

The principal, Mr. Edward Harrington, stepped forward, motioning for his guests to lead the way.

Andrew blew out a sigh. “All righty, Mr. Petroskie, we need to see you in the principal’s office.”

A frown cut Charlie’s forehead. “Why? I told you, I wasn’t going to do anything.”

“This is about Miranda Abrams,” her dad said softly.

Jenna shot a look at him, one he avoided catching.

And she knew.

He only got that sad, defeated expression when one of his cases turned up dead. Sorrow and disbelief speared her.

Poor Miranda.

Willpower, self-control, don’t snap the kid’s neck.
Connor repeated the mantra during the short walk to the office, his eyes boring holes into the back of the cocky teen’s skull.

Principal Harrington opened the door and motioned everyone inside. “Help yourself. I need to go return a phone call, but will be available after that if you need me again.”

Andrew shook the man’s hand. “Thanks.”

Samantha sat on the love seat, leaving the three chairs in front of the desk for the others.

Connor turned to Charlie. “Have a seat.”

The boy crossed his arms, notched his chin up, and said, “I’ll stand, thanks.”

Andrew placed a hand on the boy’s shoulder. “You’ll sit.” And shoved. Hard.

“Hey!”

“How old are you?”

“Just turned seventeen last week. Why?”

Connor let a thin grin stretch his lips. “Good, we don’t have to call Mommy and Daddy.”

Charlie huffed and leaned back. “Whatever. Can we just get this over with? I have a trig test I really don’t feel like making up.”

Desperately wanting to get in this guy’s face, Connor deliberately shifted, putting some distance between them. No sense in being too close to someone you wanted to smash. “Your cooperation determines how long this takes. Totally up to you.”

“All right, all right. What do you want to know?”

“Did you kill Miranda? Did you put your hands around her neck and choke her until she agreed to the abortion? Get her to have some quack get rid of the baby and then let her bleed to death?”

Sam’s ferocious questioning came out of the blue. Connor frowned at her for interfering, but the intensity of her stare was directed at Charlie.

Whoa, she was mad. Furious and fuming.

The boy gaped, pure shock holding him silent and still for the first time since they’d met him.

He didn’t kill her.

Finally, Charlie bolted to his feet and found his tongue. “What? No! What are you saying? She’s dead?”

Andrew jumped in, shoving the kid once more back into his seat. “Yeah. It was you who got her pregnant, wasn’t it?”

Shoulders slumping at the news, the teen bowed his head and gripped it with both hands. “I can’t believe this.”

“Wasn’t it?” This time Andrew’s voice rang through the room.

Charlie looked up. “Yes. Yes, she was pregnant, but I didn’t kill her, I swear.”

Sam wilted back against the couch. Connor caught her eye. She gave a defeated sigh and shook her head. He knew what she was saying. The kid was telling the truth.

He tried another tack. “Do you know of anyone she might have been talking to online? A modeling agent? Anything like that?”

Eager to help now that he’d had the shock of his life, Charlie nodded. “Yeah. That’s why she wanted the abortion. She said she was finally getting her big break, and a baby would send everything she was working for down the drain. She lived for soccer and modeling.” He looked away for a minute, then stared up into Connor’s eyes, honesty emanating from him. “I wanted her to keep the baby, but she wouldn’t even talk about it.”

“Let’s talk about this modeling thing. How did she communicate with the guy?”

“Um, she met him in some chat room, then the guy only wanted to do text messaging. He said that way he could get in touch with her at the last minute if he needed her for a sudden job or something. He sent her some money, she bought a fancy dress and had some really nice pictures done.”

Andrew and Connor exchanged a look. They’d been right. The text messages were the link. The dress a part of it.

Andrew leaned forward, hands clasped between his knees. “Did they ever exchange emails?”

“No, man, I told you. Text messages only. At least that’s what Miranda said. And I think the guy even gave her a business phone to use.”

“What was the guy’s name?”

“David? Donny? No, Danny? Aw, I don’t remember. She didn’t tell me all that much about it, just that she was going to have some really big money soon and we could get married. She started spouting junk like that and I . . .” He swallowed hard.

“It scared you. Sent you running.” Sam’s no-nonsense tone told everyone what she thought about that. “You can sleep with her, but can’t be man enough to handle the consequences, huh?”

Charlie recoiled, but anger glinted in his brown eyes. Before he could answer, Andrew slid in with, “Samantha, why don’t you wait outside?”

Sam stood, stomped to the door. “That might be best.”

Samantha didn’t know whether she wanted to hit something or have a good cry. It was her opinion that while Charlie was a player and a jerk, he wasn’t a killer. Somehow, in her gut, she knew that Miranda had fallen into the hands of the person . . . or people . . . killing teenage girls.

The fact that she’d had an abortion, however, interested Sam. Had she had the abortion before she’d been snatched? Or after? And then due to lack of medical care, bled to death? Thus surprising her kidnappers by dying on them so they’d dumped her body in the lake?

Several uniformed officers were in that subdivision still questioning the lakeside residents. Surely someone had seen something. A car. Or heard something. Like a splash.

A niggle of awareness tickled the back of her brain. If she could just bring it forward. What was she missing? What were they all missing?

Connor opened the door and stepped out.

Sam bit her lip. “Sorry.”

He nodded, eyes shuttered, hands shoved in his pockets. “Made you think about your sister?”

“Yes, but they all do. Every person who’s a victim of brutality reminds me of her. I just can’t let that get in the way of an investigation, though. I’m sorry.”

“Apology accepted. You didn’t do any damage. In fact, your blunt approach to the questioning may have helped. You shocked the mess out of him. That kid didn’t have any idea Miranda was dead.”

“That’s the impression I got. And now we know why you didn’t find anything on the girls’ text messages. He sends them a different phone. I bet when he snatches the girls, he just tosses the phones. No emails, no text messages, no trails, nothing to lead anyone back to him.”

Connor sighed and swiped a hand over his jaw. He looked tired.

Andrew and Charlie finally exited the office. The teen gave Samantha a glare, but he kept his thoughts to himself. She met his gaze head-on, refusing to let him intimidate her.

Principal Harrington chose that moment to return. “Are we all done here?”

Charlie snorted, his earlier defiance back. “
I’m
done.”

Connor nodded. “Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Petroskie. We’ll be in touch.”

“I can’t wait.” With that, Charlie turned on his heel and stalked down the hall.

Samantha watched him go.

Jerk.

Connor shook the principal’s hand. “Thank you for your help.”

“No problem. I just hate things have turned out the way they have for these girls.”

“Yeah.”

On the way back out to the car, Sam mused, “You know, it’s like these people don’t care if the bodies are found. Unfortunately, there are ways to make a body disappear forever—or at least much longer than two days. Why throw Miranda in the lake? Why not bury her, cremate her, or whatever? I don’t mean to sound gruesome, but it does cause me to wonder. It’s like they’re just tossing these dead girls out like yesterday’s trash.”

Connor looked at her, respect gleaming at her insight. “You’re probably right. They just don’t care.”

“Not only does it seem like they don’t care, they’re being arrogant in the fact that they don’t think they can get caught.”

“We keep saying ‘they,’” Sam said. “Are we under the assumption that more than one person is involved in this?”

Connor rubbed his chin. “Good question. I would say there would have to be more than one person involved. If this were a simple online predator, I think we could have caught him by now. This is different, has a different feel to it. And the baby angle. I honestly believe we’re dealing with some kind of black market adoption ring or something along those lines.”

Andrew nodded. “I’ve been thinking that since we found Leslie Sanders. Two girls turning up dead, recently pregnant and missing babies, that’s odd and suspect. But three girls . . . that’s a whole different ball game.”

“And now Miranda showing up dead,” Sam muttered, not liking how this was all coming about. Too many dead girls, too many hurt families. Too much evil.

She sighed, then felt a tingle all the way up her arm when Connor placed a hand on her elbow to help her into the car, saying, “But she had an abortion and we don’t know for sure if her disappearance is even related to the others.”

“So how does all this fit together?”

“Dakota has been working with the FBI in the Behavioral Science Unit. Let’s get his opinion on all this when we get back.”

Sam shut her door and leaned her head back. Connor slipped into the driver’s seat, Andrew once again claiming the driver’s rear.

“Where to?”

“How about something to eat. I’m starving,” Andrew begged.

“Right.” Connor mocked. “So what else is new? What’s the matter, Angie burn your breakfast this morning?”

Samantha managed a laugh as Andrew kicked the driver’s seat. “Watch what you say about my love.”

Connor shot an amused look at Sam. “His
love
can’t cook worth a darn.”

“She’s got other redeeming attributes,” Andrew defended his bride.

“Yeah, she lets you keep that gas guzzler Corvette.”

“And she’s not even jealous. You should be glad I married the woman. She’s consented to allowing you to be in the will.”

Connor gave a chuckle and slid a glance at Samantha. “Only because she doesn’t want the car. I get the Corvette when he kicks the bucket.” Pure amusement danced in his eyes, the first time Samantha had seen them without the ever-present shadows. Wow. The humor may seem crass to those outside law enforcement, but she knew it was a coping mechanism, and it didn’t bother her.

Connor insisted, “But she still can’t cook.”

Andrew warned, “You’d better not say anything about her cooking in front of her. She knows how to use my gun better than I do.”

Connor and Samantha laughed harder than they needed to. But they all needed the release. Even through the laughter, though, she wondered when the next tears would fall.

11

The weekend slid in almost unnoticed, the change from Friday to Saturday subtle, ignored. Samantha knew it would be a working weekend. All except for three hours on Sunday morning when she would take time to worship. But after that . . .