The Mother. BEVERLY BARTON
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is a far-fetched notion. We are not digging up ghosts that are better left buried. We are going to keep Wayne out of this. Do you hear me?”
“Wayne Sherrod is one of my closest friends,” Willie said. “He has been for a good thirty-five years, and I think I know him as well as anybody.” Willie glanced from Audrey to Garth. “I’m calling him. We’ll tell him together, the four of us. No matter what, he would want to know, even if there’s only a slim possibility that either of those poor little boys is Blake.”
Garth grumbled a string of partially incoherent obscenities so quietly that the words were barely audible, but his disapproval came through loud and clear.
When Garth stomped off, went downstairs, and headed toward the exit, Audrey followed him, leaving Willie to telephone her father. She caught up with her uncle in the parking lot adjacent to the Police Service Center. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, removed one, and stuck it in his mouth. After replacing the pack, he lifted a lighter from his pants pocket and lit the cigarette.
Audrey walked up beside him. “Are you okay?”
Garth puffed on the cigarette, his eyes downcast, his shoulders hunched. “Yeah, sure.”
“I almost wish one of those skeletons would turn out to be Blake.”
Garth took several more drags off his cigarette, tossed it on the pavement, and ground it into pieces with the toe of his shoe. He gave Audrey a sideways glance. “Do you really think that would make it any easier for Wayne?”
“Maybe. I don’t know. In most cases, closure is a good thing.”
“Closure my ass. That’s psycho mumbo jumbo. How’s it better to know for sure your son is dead than to hold on to hope that he’s still alive out there somewhere?”
“Because we both know that statistics, logic, and hard, cold facts tell us that there is practically no chance that Blake is still alive,” Audrey said. “You and Willie and Dad and everyone on the force, back when Regina Bennett was arrested, said that more than likely Blake was one of her many victims. Of the six toddler boys who were abducted, only one survived. The last one. And only because he was rescued before she killed him.”
“Yeah.” Garth lifted his gaze and faced Audrey. “Blake probably was one of her victims, but we have no proof that the skeletons found with Jill Scott and Debra Gregory belong to any of those missing toddlers.”
“No, not yet.”
Audrey’s gut instinct told her that there was a connection, that after twenty-five years, they were finally going to bring Blake home.
J.D. kept the different parts of his life separated as much as possible. Of course, there were times when the various parts of a guy’s life overlapped whether he wanted them to or not. His job as TBI agent J.D. Cass comprised the bulk of his waking hours, five days a week and sometimes on Saturday and Sunday. The man J.D. was a loner for the most part who ventured into short-term relationships for a little female companionship in and out of the bedroom. The family guy J.D. had lost his parents years ago, but he kept in touch with his kid sister, Julia, and usually spent Christmas with her in Nashville. And now J.D. had to include fatherhood as a sub-compartment under the family guy heading. Admittedly the role of parent didn’t come easy to a confirmed bachelor who had sworn off committed relationships when his shipwreck of a marriage finally sank.
Just when a man thought he had everything under control was usually when fate threw him a curveball. Zoe had sure as hell been one of those totally unexpected pitches. And he had a stomach-knotting feeling that Dr. Audrey Sherrod just might be another one.
Holly Johnston, on the other hand, was exactly what he wanted, a woman who wasn’t any more interested in a commitment than he was.
Holly had invited him to a late lunch today, lunch that she had assured him would include dessert.
“Something hot and spicy and oh so sweet,” she’d promised. “I’ll serve it to you au naturel on silk sheets.”
Since Holly hadn’t phoned him until ten o’clock that morning, he’d already halfway promised Zoe that they’d go to the movies that afternoon. Lucky for him, a group of her classmates was going to Hamilton Place to shop until the mall closed, and she’d been happily surprised when he’d changed his mind and told her she could go. Since Jacy Oliver’s aunt was chaperoning, he figured the woman would keep an eye on the girls.
With Zoe off with friends and far happier than she would have been spending the afternoon with him, J.D. had the rest of the day for himself since, at that point, he wasn’t officially assigned to either Jill Scott’s or Debra Gregory’s murder case. Until his boss told him anything different, he wasn’t going to stick his nose any farther into CPD business.
When he arrived at Holly’s, as promised, she provided a late gourmet lunch—no doubt ordered from a nearby restaurant—and did indeed deliver a delectable dessert in her bed, on her hot pink silk sheets. The lady sure did have a way with her hands and mouth. Years of experience had honed her bedroom skills. If there was one thing Holly Johnston did well outside of her profession as an ADA, it was sexually pleasing a man.
After a second vigorous round of hot and heavy, J.D. lay there completely spent, his hips and legs tangled in the top sheet. Holly rested beside him, her luscious body uncovered, a fine sheen of perspiration glistening on her skin from forehead to knees. As she sighed contentedly, she turned over and propped her elbow on the pillow as she looked down at J.D.
When she continued staring at him without saying anything, he grinned. “What?” he asked.
“If I were a different kind of woman, I think you would be on my top ten list of candidates.”
If he didn’t know Holly so well, her statement might have unnerved him. “Candidate for what?”
She laughed. “For a husband, of course.”
“God forbid.” He lifted his hand and ran his index finger over her throat and down between her large, round breasts. “I tried that once. I made a lousy husband.”
She caught his caressing hand and lifted it off her naked body. “I have no doubt of that.” She sat up, twisted around, and placed her feet on the carpeted floor. Glancing over her shoulder, she ran her tongue across her lips in a playfully seductive manner. “If all I wanted in a husband was a big dick and mind-blowing sex, you’d be my number one candidate, but when I eventually get married, it won’t be for sex or even for love.”
Holly got out of bed, picked up the satin robe lying on the floor, and slipped into the semisheer knee-length garment.
“I believe that was a backhanded compliment.” J.D. untangled his legs from the sheet and shot up off the bed. When he reached out and grabbed Holly from behind, she didn’t protest.
Just as she turned in his arms and lifted her face for a kiss, his phone rang. He eyed the pile of clothes on the floor where his phone lay atop his slacks.
“Let it go to voice mail.” Holly rubbed herself against him.
“I would, but I’ve got a kid, remember?”
Holly moaned. “You have my sympathy.” She disengaged herself from his loose hold and headed toward the bathroom.
J.D. bent down and picked up his phone. The caller I.D. read Cara Oliver. Damn! He figured Cara Oliver was Jacy Oliver’s aunt, the one who was chaperoning Jacy, Zoe, and their friends at the mall.
So help me, Zoe, if you’ve done something stupid, I’m going to—!
The incessant ringing reminded J.D. that instead of assuming the worst about his daughter, he should simply answer the phone and find out what was what.
“J.D. Cass,” he said when he took the call.
“Mr. Cass, this is Cara Oliver,” the soft, concerned voice said. “I’m Jacy’s aunt.”
“Is something wrong, Ms. Oliver?”