The Mother. BEVERLY BARTON
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sitting in the food court. We’d just gotten ice cream and … I went to the restroom and when I came back, the girls were gone.”
“Are all the girls missing?”
“No. I found Jacy, Presley, and Reesa, but when I asked them where Zoe was, they swore they didn’t know. But …”
“But?” J.D. demanded.
“But I think they know something.”
“Are you still at the mall?”
“Yes. We’re here at the food court.”
“Stay there. I’m on my way.”
“Mr. Cass, I am so very sorry about this.”
“It’s not your fault, Ms. Oliver. Zoe is a very resourceful girl and if she wanted to slip away from your watchful eye, she’d have found a way regardless of what you did or didn’t do.”
J.D. tossed the phone on the bed, picked up his clothes, and dressed quickly. He didn’t have time for even a quick, much-needed shower. Just as he slipped the phone into the belt holder, Holly came out of the bathroom.
“Leaving?” she asked.
“Yeah, sorry, babe. Fatherhood duties call.”
Holly raised an inquisitive eyebrow.
“Zoe’s pulled a disappearing act. I have to go find her.”
“I hate to hear that. Since our acts one and two were so exciting, I was really looking forward to act three.”
“Yeah, me, too.” He gave her a quick peck on the cheek and then swatted her behind. “I’ll call you later.”
“And I may or may not be available.”
J.D. chuckled as he walked toward the door, but by the time he exited Holly’s apartment, his thoughts had turned completely to his daughter.
Damn it, Zoe, what are you up to now?
At sixty-one, Wayne Sherrod was still a good-looking man. Tall, robust, broad shouldered. He kept his thick, silvery white hair cut short and was, as he always had been, clean-shaven and neat. A medic in Vietnam when he’d been barely nineteen, Wayne never spoke of what had to have been a horrific experience. Audrey could never remember a time in her entire life when she’d heard her father talk about his past. Nothing about being a child, a teenager, or a soldier. During her lifetime, he’d always been a police officer, and according to those who knew him best, he’d been a damn fine lawman.
But he’d been a terrible father, especially after he and her mother had divorced. Maybe, if Blake had lived …
When her father entered the second floor of the PSC, she wanted to rush to him, put her arms around him, and tell him she was there for him. How stupid was that? After a lifetime of being mostly ignored and often neglected by her dad, a part of her still longed for a genuine father/daughter relationship. Just once, she wanted to hear Wayne Sherrod tell her that he loved her.
Head held high, shoulders squared and straight, he marched toward Garth’s office, the door open and the four of them waiting anxiously as he approached.
Willie cleared his throat. “Let me do the talking.”
“For the record, I’m against doing this,” Garth told them for the umpteenth time since Willie had phoned Wayne.
Standing at her side, Tam reached down and grasped Audrey’s clenched fist. Audrey looked at her best friend, relaxed her fingers, clutched Tam’s hand, and gave it a hard squeeze.
Wayne paused in the doorway, surveyed the foursome, and settled his gaze on Willie. “What’s this about?”
“Come on in and close the door,” Willie said.
Hesitating only momentarily, Wayne did as his old friend had asked. Once they were enclosed privately in Garth’s office, he glared at Audrey. Instead of averting her gaze, she stared right back at him. The days when her father could intimidate her with a hard, cold glare were long gone.
“Take a seat.” Willie indicated a wooden chair to the right of the desk.
“I’ll stand, thanks.”
“We’re not all in agreement about this,” Garth said. “If it had been up to me, we wouldn’t be doing this.”
“Doing what?” Wayne’s brow furrowed with curiosity and concern as he focused on Garth. “What the hell’s going on? Whatever it is, just spit it out.” Wayne narrowed his gaze and directed it toward Willie.
“We’ve had two young women abducted and murdered,” Willie said.
“Two?” Wayne asked.
“Yeah. Debra Gregory’s body was found this morning. Same MO as the Jill Scott murder.”
“I hate to hear that, but what does either murder have to do with me?”
“Not a damn thing!” Garth stomped across the room until he stood in front of his brother-in-law.
Puzzlement clear in Wayne’s brown eyes, he ignored Garth and asked Willie again, “What do the murders of these two women have to do with me?”
“The information I’m going to share with you hasn’t been released to the public and it won’t be for as long as we can possibly keep it under wraps,” Willie said. “Both women were found sitting in rocking chairs, as everyone knows. Both were holding blanket-wrapped bundles in their arms. The press has stated that they assume the women were holding dolls.”
“But they weren’t, were they?” Wayne glanced at Audrey.
She forced herself not to look away, to hold her gaze steady and not to back down from the coldness in her father’s eyes.
“No, both women were holding the skeletal remains of what have been identified as human males, probably between two and three years old.”
Wayne didn’t move, didn’t flinch, didn’t so much as blink. He stood there so quiet, so rigid, that he could have been mistaken for a marble statue.
“Wayne?” Willie called his name.
He didn’t respond.
“Daddy?” Audrey said. And when he didn’t reply, she walked over and laid her hand on his arm. He stiffened instantly. “They haven’t identified the remains,” she told him. “Not yet. It’s possible that neither—”
“You think one of them could be Blake, don’t you?” Her father glanced at where her hand rested on his upper arm. He pulled away from her and confronted Willie. “That’s what this is about. You think …” He gulped hard. “You believe it’s possible that one of the bodies—one of the skeletons—is my son.”
“I tried to tell them that there’s no way in hell that either could be Blake.” Garth gripped Wayne’s shoulder.
Wayne took a deep breath. “No one can be that certain. And if there’s one chance in a billion … I want to know. You’ll need a DNA sample. I assume mine will do. If not, I still have …” He closed his eyes for half a second. “I have Blake’s hairbrush, his toothbrush ….”
Oh, Daddy … Daddy.
Tears choked Audrey, tears that threatened to escape and overflow.
Poor Daddy. Poor little Blake.
If he hadn’t been so damn pissed at Zoe, he might have appreciated what a lovely woman Cara Oliver was. Late twenties, big brown eyes, and a mane of thick auburn hair that framed a face blessed with attractive features. Even in jeans and an oversized cotton sweater, she couldn’t hide the appeal of her slender yet curvy body.
“Mr. Cass, I am so very sorry about this.” Cara gazed up at him pleadingly.
J.D. offered her a forced smile. “Don’t