Too Close to Home (28 page)

“Tell you later.”

Sounds from behind the door caught her attention. They waited. Finally, the door swung open. A classy lady in her late forties stood there. She raised a brow. “May I help you?”

“Detective Wolfe and Special Agent Cash. Are you Mrs. Abbott?”

Her chin lifted a notch. “I am.”

“May we speak with your husband, please?”

She paused as though considering sending them on their way. Then she raised a professionally arched brow, drew in a deep breath, and stepped back, allowing them entry into her spectacular home.

Samantha looked around and couldn’t help the thought that it was entirely possible blood money had bought the expensive oriental rug she now stood on. And everything else in the exquisite house.

Without another word, Mrs. Abbott turned and led them to a very tastefully decorated sitting room. “I’ll get Jefferson. He’s out by the pool.”

“Thank you, ma’am,” Connor said to her retreating back. He offered a shrug to Samantha who wrinkled her nose.

Five minutes later, Jefferson Abbott entered the room, a white robe thrown over his bathing suit. In his early fifties, a little on the heavy side, he had an aura of wealth around him. From the perfectly manicured nails to his freshly combed, professionally styled gray hair.

Holding out a hand to Connor, he said, “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

Samantha repressed the impulse to roll her eyes, then chastised herself. The man was innocent until proven guilty. She looked closer. He actually looked like a very nice man. Nothing slimy or anything that said “I’m a sleazebag.”

Hmm.

She acquiesced to Connor taking the lead. He once again introduced the two of them and asked, “Do you mind if we ask you a few questions?”

“Certainly. Come, have a seat, and tell me what’s going on.”

Everyone sat, including Jefferson Abbott in his wet bathing suit. Of course the couch was leather, so she supposed it didn’t matter. Samantha twisted her hands together and crossed her legs.

Connor leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “We’re investigating the cases involving the missing girls. The ones who are turning up dead.”

The man never flinched, although he did frown, an expression of sympathy crossing his face. Then he raised his brows. “What does that have to do with me?”

Connor reached into his shirt pocket and pulled out a copy of the receipt they’d found at Crystal Bennington’s house. “Does this look familiar?”

The lawyer studied the paper and frowned. “Yes, it does. I mean the receipt came from my office, obviously, but I can’t imagine what it was for.”

“Well, it was for $50,000. That’s a pretty large amount of money. What do you do that costs that much?”

“I just told you, I don’t know. Although it’s pretty odd,” he muttered as he narrowed his eyes on the piece of paper, “because on all of our receipts we reference what services the money is for in this column here. But this one doesn’t have that. Just the amount owed and the name of the client.”

“That’s correct.” Connor didn’t say a whole lot, a tactic used to try to keep the man talking. See if he would trip himself up.

“I remember the couple, though. Mr. and Mrs. Michael Steadwell. They adopted a baby through our agency.”

“We plan to talk to them next,” Connor said as Mrs. Abbott reentered the room carrying a tray holding a coffee carafe and three mugs.

Jefferson smiled at his wife. “Thank you, dear.” He poured the coffee as he talked. “Nice people. They wanted a baby desperately, but couldn’t conceive for various reasons. Within three months of them filling out the forms, I had a baby for them. Another happy ending. Something we try to specialize in.” Satisfaction radiated from him.

Samantha shifted, but took the proffered coffee. Something was still off. “But that much money. What would it have been for?”

“Different things. Fees, hospital expenses for the birth mother. Possibly even some living expenses. It’s not unheard of for adoptions to cost up to a hundred thousand dollars. We don’t just wait for mothers wanting to give up their babies for adoption to come to us. We actively seek them out, recruit them, offer these women—sometimes young girls who’ve been kicked out of their homes—a safe place to live and a reason to choose adoption over abortion. Our clients are willing to pay for the proactive measures we take when it comes to locating a child for them. We do a very good service here.”

“I’m not saying you don’t.” Samantha switched topics but couldn’t help wondering if his proactive measures included kidnapping teen girls and forcing them into surrogate motherhood. “How do you know Crystal Bennington?”

“I don’t believe I recognize that name.”

Samantha nearly ground her teeth in frustration, but kept a pleasant expression on her face as she stared into his eyes. No guile there. “Hmm. Well, this receipt was found in her house, and we’d really like to figure out how it got there.”

“I’m sorry I’m not much help, but I don’t know what else to tell you.”

Connor sighed. The doorbell rang and Mrs. Abbott excused herself to answer it. Samantha figured that it was probably Dakota with the search warrant.

She turned back to Jefferson. Unfortunately, she halfway believed the smooth-talking lawyer. “Is there anyone else with access to those receipts?”

He laughed. “Sure, anyone in the office.”

Great.

“Darling, there are more police here with a search warrant.” She looked mildly irritated.

For the first time since they’d knocked on his door, anger showed on Mr. Abbott’s face. “What’s this? A search warrant? What for?”

“Your files, sir.”

“All you had to do was ask.”

“We figured you’d claim client confidentiality.”

The man sighed and rubbed his neck. “Yes, I probably would have.” Then he shrugged. “I don’t have anything to hide, regardless. Here, follow me.”

He led the way back to his office. Connor nodded and the search began. Samantha stepped back out of the way and watched the proceedings.

Jenna finished the text, shut her phone, and tossed it on the bed next to Patty. She was going camping. Getting away from it all. The fear, the depression, the constant worry about her dad. All of it. At least for the next twenty-four hours. She packed her backpack, grabbed her sleeping bag and a pillow, and ignored Patty’s whining.

“Jenna, come on. Don’t do this. Let’s go meet this guy.”

“I’m going camping, Patty. You can come too, you know.”

Patty wrinkled a lightly freckled nose. “No way. That’s so not my thing and you know it.”

Jenna gave a little laugh. “Well, I can’t say it’s mine either, but I’m going.”

“This is
so
not cool.”

Rolling her eyes, Jenna wondered how she’d put up with Patty this long. The girl was really starting to get on her nerves. “Patty, go home. Or wherever. I’m going to go chill out next to a fire and roast marshmallows, sing songs, or whatever they do at these things. I’m going to forget my life for a while. Now give me my phone.”

She held her hand out. Patty had been messing with the device and Jenna wondered if she’d have to fix her screen saver back to the picture she’d snuck of Bradley. She looked at the screen. Nope. His gorgeous face peered back at her. The one guy at school she was interested in and he just didn’t seem the least bit interested in her. How depressing. And she couldn’t figure out why. Maybe she should just ask him. What would he do if she walked up to him bold as you please and asked. Jenna shuddered at the thought. No way.

She shoved the phone into the back pocket of her jeans. “I’ll see you tomorrow night if you want. We can go get some ice cream or something.”

“Fine,” Patty huffed. “Go be with those losers. See if I care. I’ve got something better to do anyway.”

“What?”

“None of your business.”

“You’re such a snot.”

“Yeah, yeah. Call me if you get bored and I’ll drive up to get you.”

Jenna gave her friend a small smile. “So, you don’t hate me?”

“Not much. A little maybe.”

Laughing, she pushed Patty ahead of her out the bedroom door. “Come on and walk me down.”

All laughter ceased as she watched Patty drive away. Jenna’s reasons for wanting to go on this trip came rushing back double time as she once again caught sight of the man her father had hired to protect her, sitting in his car across the street.

Yes, she’d made the right decision to get away from it all. No doubt about it. Maria’s mother waited in the driveway.

“Bye, Grandma, Grandpa, see you tomorrow.”

Connor slammed the last drawer shut. “Nothing. It’s clean.”

“I told you I had nothing to hide. What is it you think I’ve done?”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Abbott, I can’t share the details of that with you right now. We already have a team searching your office. If we don’t find anything there, then I suppose we owe you a huge apology.”

“All right”—the man bristled—“I really must draw the line here. I’ve tried to be cooperative, answered your questions, put up no resistance to your search. But now, you’re done.”

Samantha eyed him. “Actually, we have a warrant for the office too. So, if you’ll excuse us . . .”

“Victoria?” Mr. Abbott called to his wife.

She glided back into the room. “Yes?”

“I’ll be down at the office. They have a search warrant for that too.”

Expressionless, the woman nodded and returned to wherever she’d come from.

Jefferson Abbott led the way out the door and rode with Connor and Samantha. Fifteen minutes later, they’d acquired two uniformed officers and Dakota. Everyone followed the lawyer onto the elevator. At the third floor, they stepped off and headed left. Jefferson stopped at the second door on the right and swiped a card across the beam. Once inside, Samantha decided the office felt like a vacuum if you discounted the team ready to participate in the search. Empty and waiting, not the busy hive of activity she’d, for some reason, expected.

Samantha wondered out loud, “I thought lawyers put in weekend hours.”

Jefferson quirked a small smile. “Not necessarily. Big law firms in bigger cities? Sure. Here? Every once in a while. Come on in.”

Neat, organized—plush. The office reeked of money. Samantha looked at Connor, who didn’t seem fazed in the least. He went straight to the file cabinet and got to work.

Jefferson settled himself in the chair on the other side of the desk. “If you people would just tell me what you’re looking for, I could probably save you a lot of time and energy.”

Connor turned and sighed. “We need to see your adoption records for the last fifteen months.”

The man laughed, but there was a definite lack of humor in the sound. “Are you kidding? Those records are closed.”

“And my search warrant is the magic word to open them.” He nodded. “Please?”

“Fine.” The word came out through gritted teeth, but he complied.

Connor rubbed his face as the man gathered the files. “You don’t keep this stuff on the computer?”

“Yes, but we also have hard copies. Sometimes we get reference letters, correspondence, medical records, and whatnot that we have to keep up with. Hence, the old-fashioned record keeping and the filing system.”

“Right. Show me the Steadwell file, will you? That seems like the logical place to start.”

Abbott handed it over.

Samantha peered over Connor’s shoulder as he thumbed through it. “That receipt’s not in there.”

“I noticed.” He turned to Jefferson. “Shouldn’t a copy of that receipt be in the file?”

“Of course.” He got up and took the file from Connor. Placing it on his desk, he methodically went through every paper in the folder. “I don’t understand.” Confusion crinkled his forehead. “We keep everything together. The one that you found, was it the original?”

“No, it was a copy.”

“Then, the original should be in here.” He shut the file and sat down. “I . . . I don’t know what to tell you. I’m sorry.”

Connor paced, thinking. Wondering where to go after this. He turned back to the officers still searching. “Keep working, people. Samantha, you coming with me? We’ve got a couple to interview.” He looked at Dakota. “We’re going to find the Steadwells.”

“I’ve got this covered,” Dakota said. “I’ll also see that Mr. Abbott gets home.”

“Thanks.”

Samantha followed Connor into the elevator and out the building. Connor was already on his cell working to get in touch with the Steadwells.

The Agent stood in the shadow of the plastic ficus tree, head bent, eyes watchful. Everything was spiraling out of control. He’d texted Jenna the address and time, but she had replied saying she wouldn’t meet him tonight. She wanted to postpone it. Then almost immediately after that, she said she’d changed her mind. Yes, she would meet him.

He’d decided against the little café he enjoyed so much. Somewhere different. He’d had to find a new place since the one he normally frequented was now under surveillance. But he’d scoped this place out and it would do the trick. He also knew where the security cameras were and where to sit in order to minimize his exposure.

He thought about the other café where he’d ditched Sydney’s cell phone. Sydney. One of the two girls who’d failed him. Sydney and Miranda. Miranda had been easy to dispose of. To kill. She’d aborted her own baby. Fury filled him at the thought, and he snorted, forced himself not to think of her. She hadn’t earned the right to occupy a place in his thoughts.

But Sydney . . . she’d simply failed to fulfill her destiny. Failed to carry a child full term. She’d aborted almost as soon as she’d gotten pregnant. Three times. After the third time, he’d realized she wasn’t one of the deserving ones.

As a result, she would be eternally punished. Never to be found. Never to be honored in death by those who loved her. He’d decided against sending a note to tell them where he’d hidden her. It was much more fun to watch them squirm in wonder and frustration as they struggled with their fruitless search.

And now Jenna.

He had special plans for her. That father of hers was proving quite annoying. Nothing seemed to scare him off. Not even having a killer show up at his kid’s school had derailed the man from the case. And Samantha, she’d jumped right into the investigation. At first, he’d been a tad worried that she would be a problem, but had quickly come to the conclusion that while they both were causing him problems, the detective was the one that would cause him the most grief. And he was the one who needed to be taken care of. The solution to The Agent’s problem should be walking through the glass door any moment now. He sighed and checked his watch. She’d better be on time.