Finding Her Son. Robin Perini

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СКАЧАТЬ the page, she scrawled her name on the paper, then slumped back against the sheets. She reached out to him. “Help me. You promised.”

      “That I did. But then, so did you.”

      With the signed consent form in his hand, he walked out the door, closing it behind him.

      Vanessa couldn’t yell, she couldn’t scream. She stared at the sunshine-yellow curtains, and they morphed into strange shapes and faces. The doctor’s face. He laughed at her. Called her a fool.

      And she had been. It was all her fault. What would happen to her baby?

      She tried to breathe. She couldn’t. Strange white spots danced in front of her eyes. There was nothing she could do. Nothing.

      Please, God. Protect my baby.

       Chapter Two

      Mitch grimaced as he limped into the police department. What a night. And it wasn’t over. He’d called in the hit-and-run. Two reports of assault in less than an hour. He’d never live it down. Especially since the busy downtown street had suddenly gone ultrasilent right after the attack. No witnesses. No nothing.

      Just a woman who’d seemed quite satisfied to have been attacked. She’d met his gaze and without blinking had said, “I’ve got them worried. That means I’m onto something.”

      Unbelievable.

      Half of him admired her tenacity. She scared the spit out of his other half. Come to think of it, she’d acted a lot like his late mother when he or his siblings had been on the short end of trouble. Fearless. Mitch got that. Mama-bear syndrome. Do anything for your child. But with such an overt attempt on her life, Emily’d found more trouble than she realized. She’d made someone very nervous.

      She’d even fought leaving. Had wanted to stay, canvas the neighborhood. Only the threat of spending the night in the police station had convinced her to leave. He’d tailed her to confirm she went home and hadn’t doubled back. She was safe—for now. With an unmarked unit watching her, just in case.

      He glanced at his watch. Midnight was around the corner. He was on Emily duty first thing in the morning and still had reports to file. He straightened and struggled to hide his awkward stride. At this hour, maybe he could get past the desk sergeant and the SWAT Den without seeing anyone he knew.

      His thigh was on fire; his muscles were seizing up. He had less than two months to pass the physical to get his real job back. If he didn’t do something drastic, he’d lose his career.

      With a sigh, he sank into the hard wood of his desk chair and massaged his leg. What if he couldn’t go back to SWAT? He wasn’t an investigator. He didn’t like analyzing and waiting. He liked breaking down doors and grabbing the bad guy. No talk. Just action. It’d felt good bringing down Ghost tonight.

      “What did you do, Bradford?” Detective Dane Tanner, his temporary supervisor, stalked into the room. “You’re hobbling like an old woman.”

      Mitch stiffened at the truth in Tanner’s words. “Nothing. Just a little twinge. What are you doing here this late? I thought high-powered detectives kept banker’s hours.”

      “Ever hear of a police radio? I keep tabs on my guys, especially those wet behind the ears like you. I heard from dispatch about your adventures tonight—you bagged this guy, Ghost, for targeting young girls. Good job.” Tanner’s face twisted into a scowl. “Unfortunately, he broke out of holding. A couple of street thugs created a diversion and the perp fought his way out. Put two of our guys in the hospital.”

      Mitch shot to his feet. “He got away? You get his prints?”

      “No such luck, but we have an APB out on him.” Tanner shook his head. “He’s a dangerous guy. You took a big risk going in alone.”

      “I tried to get backup.”

      “Yeah, you had a fourteen-year-old kid call 911 and then try to find Vance—who’d just gone off duty, by the way. Better men than you haven’t walked away from psychos like Ghost.”

      “Point taken,” Mitch said. His father, Paul Bradford, had been paralyzed in a shootout five years ago. Being a cop and carrying a weapon hadn’t protected him. And his dad hadn’t been trying to fight on an injured leg.

      “I hope so. I understand investigating’s not your gig. But until you pass the SWAT physical, you’re stuck with us. You follow our rules. One of which is not to go in without backup. The other is not to reveal your identity to a suspect. In your case, Emily Wentworth.”

      “Detective—”

      “Don’t even try to tap dance. Lives were on the line. I get it, but you better comprehend how lucky you were.” Tanner crossed his arms, staring Mitch down with a warning the ex-special forces officer clearly expected to be heeded. “Did you at least salvage the Wentworth case?”

      “She noticed my leg. She offered to help me with rehab, and I’ve got another angle I can work to stay near her.”

      Mitch ran down the Kayla Foster situation, and Tanner smiled. “It sounds like you’re in. We might make a detective of you after all.”

      “Over my dead body,” Mitch growled.

      “I hope not. Your dad would kill me.” Tanner bent closer, his expression deadly serious. “I want this collar. Someone orchestrated Eric Wentworth’s death. His murder case was stone-cold until his mother discovered that bank account in Emily’s name. It’s a lot of money and puts a whole new spin on the investigation. I want to know how the wife’s involved, and I’m not backing down this time.”

      “If Emily’s guilty, why would she offer to help me?”

      “To gain an ally in the office. To get intel on what’s happening in the investigation. If she arranged the hit-and-run to take out her husband, then she’s willing to do anything— including slitting her own throat—to make herself look like a victim. You and I both know that’s not as uncommon as it should be.”

      “You’re reaching. Emily almost died. Her voice will never be the same. And my neighborhood contacts don’t know squat about her being involved in anything, except she’s a do-gooder.” Mitch knew he’d been mistaken in the past, but he couldn’t get past his feelings about Emily. If he could trust them. “What if we’re wrong? What if she’s just trying to find her son?”

      “Could be.” His boss’s jaw tightened. “But she knows something. And someone tried to kill her tonight. And that someone wasn’t Ghost. I want an explanation.” His eyes were cold. “There’s dirt there. I can smell it. Find the proof. Whatever it takes.”

      NO MORNING SUN PEEKED through the winter clouds closing in on the cemetery. The day should be dreary. Nothing good should happen on December fifth. Ever again. Emily ran her fingertips over the engraved inscription on the wall of stone. Eric Wentworth. Beloved son and father.

      “Beloved husband,” she whispered the words his family had denied her and wiped away a single tear.

      She stood alone just inside the open archway of the Went-worth Family Mausoleum, the large marble temple as cold and unforgiving as Eric’s family. They’d made СКАЧАТЬ