Kidnapped at Christmas Page 4

  “Ready?” Wyatt examined her and the baby in her arms. He was the kind of man who would do the right thing by his child no matter how he felt personally about the child’s mother. On the one hand, there was something encouraging about the sentiment. At least Aubrey would have a father.

  Meg stood and reached for the diaper bag. Wyatt moved beside her in a beat, taking it from her. He hadn’t asked to hold the baby yet, and this was the closest he’d been to her since they’d found her. Not exactly encouraging, but it could’ve been so much worse.

  Based on the crease in his forehead, the one he got when he was deeply contemplating something, he needed a little time to process. His daughter had almost been kidnapped.

  “Wyatt, meet your daughter, Aubrey,” Meg said.

  A flash of emotion passed behind his eyes as he looked at her but he seemed to get hold of it. “She’s a pretty little girl.”

  “Do you want to hold her?” she asked.

  “Not yet,” he said.

  Fifteen minutes later, the four of them arrived at the sheriff’s office.

  Janis, the sheriff’s receptionist, rose to her feet. “We’ve spoken on the phone a few times. Come on in. The sheriff is waiting for you.” She wrapped Meg and the baby in a big hug before leading them down the hall.

  Sawmill got to his feet and extended his hand. “Please, sit down.”

  The sheriff’s office was large, simple. There was a huge mahogany desk with an executive chair and two flags on poles standing sentinel to either side. A picture of the governor was centered in between the poles. Two smaller-scale leather chairs nestled up to the desk. A sofa and table with a bronze statue of a bull rider on a bull were on the other side of the room. Meg and Stephanie took the leather chairs across the sheriff’s desk. Wyatt stood a few feet behind Meg’s chair, arms crossed, leaning against the wall.

  “I wish I could remember more about the man who attacked me. I’m just so glad everything turned out okay.” Stephanie’s shoulders seemed set in a forward slump. She shot another apologetic look at Meg as more tears welled.

  “You were brave today. Without you, this could’ve turned out very differently,” Wyatt said, and there was admiration in his otherwise tight voice. It was probably easier for him to sympathize with Stephanie, or anyone who wasn’t Meg considering the bomb she’d dropped on him.

  He put his hand on Meg’s shoulder and she ignored the sensual zing of electricity that always came with his touch. After a year, it hadn’t dimmed and that caught her off guard. She’d had the same reaction in the parking lot of the restaurant but was too stressed to acknowledge it.

  “Mr. Daron, the park worker, gave the sketch artist very little to work with, so we’re hopeful his build will seem familiar to one of you.” Sawmill picked up a folder on top of a stack of papers on his desk. He showed them the sketch.

  Stephanie balked. “He could be half the town. I wouldn’t be able to pick him out of a lineup if he was standing right in front of me and I actually knew what he looked like.”

  Meg stared at the image. It was like a bomb exploded in her brain and yet she had no idea why. She could feel Sawmill’s eyes on her, examining her. The blast from the past nearly crippled her. She remembered being in this very office, although the furniture was different then. There had been a different person in the chair opposite her and an overenthusiastic rookie investigator grilling her for answers.

  A scared ten-year-old had sat in the chair in Meg’s place. Being here, sitting in this very spot caused a lot of bad memories to crash down around her.

  Meg took in a fortifying breath. She was no longer an innocent kid being railroaded by a system that too often protected criminals’ rights more than victims’. Besides, she’d grown into a woman. Everything in her life had changed since then.

  The baby stirred in her arms and looked like she was winding up to cry. Like a balloon deflating, she blew out a breath and made a sucking noise before settling into her mother’s arms again.

  Meg forced the old thoughts out of her mind—thoughts that had her feeling vulnerable and alone.

  “I don’t know. Nothing about him looks familiar at all and yet I feel like I should know who he is.” She scooted closer to the image, but Sawmill was already up and coming around his desk with the paper in hand.

  She took the drawing from him and studied it. Her brain hurt from thinking so hard and she was coming up empty. “All I’m getting is a headache.”

  But then Stephanie had been the one with Aubrey when she’d been taken. She turned to her friend. “Does he look familiar to you?”

  “You’ve never seen him before?” Sawmill said to Meg, a hauntingly similar note of disappointment in his voice. He had been hoping for better news, based on his tone.

  Meg pushed but nothing came except more pain that felt a lot like a brain cramp. “I’m sorry.”

  Sawmill turned to Stephanie. “What about you, Ms. Gable? Do you know anyone with a similar shape or build?”

  She was already shaking her head before he finished his question. “No, sir. Not one person in particular.”

  “Do you have any idea what age he might be?” Wyatt asked.

  “Twenty-five to forty-five,” the sheriff supplied.

  Not exactly reassuring.

  “There must be more to go on than that,” Wyatt said. All signs of his casual swagger were gone, replaced by chiseled facade.

  “White, male,” the sheriff added.

  “What about the hair ribbon?” Meg asked, hoping for some good news. “Is it connected to the case?”

  “There’s no information from forensics yet, ma’am. It might take a few weeks. I called in a favor to see if the results can be fast-tracked. The town’s been through enough already without citizens feeling like their families are no longer safe here.” The flash of frustration was quickly replaced by determination.

  Meg studied the image on the paper in front of her. Fear rippled through her. But why? What was it about him? Was it the fact that this man had tried to kidnap her daughter? Those words were like gut punches.

  There was something hauntingly familiar about the outline of his face. But Meg was certain she’d never seen this man before...

  Right?

  Chapter Four

  One look from the sheriff and Meg had to fight her instincts to draw away from him. That look, that same damn look of disappointment bore down on her.

  Did he think she wanted the maniac who’d tried to kidnap her daughter to go free?

  It made her sick to think this person could try again with another unwitting mother.

  Based on his expression, he felt the same way. Another crime in his town, under his nose. They were racking up and she could see every stress crack in the dark circles cradling his eyes. But she also knew in her heart that he couldn’t help her or her baby.

  Wyatt’s eyes were different. His were harder to read than the sheriff’s. Hesitation? Yes...well, maybe. Skepticism? Certainly. And something else she couldn’t make out. Or, more accurately, didn’t have the heart to try. Because it was disappointment in her.

  Seeing that look in Wyatt’s eyes would crush her. And how stupid was that? They’d had a fling and Aubrey was the product. Meg couldn’t imagine life without her baby now that she was here, but she hadn’t exactly planned for any of this and was still winging the whole parenting thing.

  “Mind taking one last look at the sketch?” the sheriff asked Stephanie, and Meg was grateful he’d redirected his attention.

  Instinctively, she held her daughter a little closer to her chest, grateful this day hadn’t been much worse. Just the thought of anything happening to Aubrey...

  No, Meg couldn’t go there. Not even hypothetically. Another pang of guilt struck like a physical blow because this whole scenario was too close to home. She had been ten years old when her best friend was a
bducted right before her eyes and Meg wasn’t able to remember a single detail. It had changed her life.

  In this case, Meg was the mother who’d almost...almost...lost her child. A fresh sense of shame for not being able to bring peace to Mary Jane’s family washed over her, threatening to drag her to the ocean floor.

  If only she’d been able to remember what had happened. Mary Jane’s family would have the closure that Meg could never give them. She’d seen the Fjords a handful of times after Mary Jane’s body had turned up. They’d seemed...hollow.

  Mary Jane’s older brother, Jonathon, had been so affected that he’d had to be pulled out of school and, if memory served, he’d been too traumatized to return. She’d heard rumors that he was homeschooled after because he couldn’t bring himself to leave the house.

  After this experience of almost losing her own daughter, Meg could certainly understand the Fjords taking extreme measures to keep their son safe. Icy fingers gripped her spine thinking about the past.

  All Meg wanted to do was take her baby home and shut out the rest of the world until she could stop trembling.

  “I understand the work you do puts you in a precarious situation with folks.” Sawmill seemed to realize that continuing to ask her or Stephanie to recognize the kidnapper from barely a sketch was as productive as squeezing water from a cell phone. Meg appreciated the redirection. “Have either of you had any disagreements with clients or been threatened in any way recently?”

  Stephanie issued a grunt as Meg shot him a look.

  “We help women and children leave abusive households, Sheriff. Being cursed at and threatened comes with the territory,” she said.

  He nodded and pressed his lips together in a look of solidarity.

  “Does a particular incident stand out in your mind?” he asked, and there was a hint of respect in his voice.

  “Are you saying this might be personal?” Meg asked. The case she would be testifying for in two weeks had been her main focus since having the baby.

  “I wouldn’t be doing justice to this investigation if I didn’t come at this from every angle,” he defended.

  He had a point.

  “I’m working a case involving a ten-year-old. Kaylee Garza has been physically abused by her soccer-coach father, Randol Garza. It’s a typical abuse story in that the little girl has become a master at covering her bruises for school.” She looked up at the sheriff in time to see his jaw clench. Hearing about abuse was never easy, especially when it involved children.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she also saw that Wyatt’s body language was intense. Lines creased his forehead, and tension brackets formed around his mouth. Any decent man wouldn’t take hearing what she was about to say lightly and he seemed to know what was coming. She wondered if he’d been subject to abuse as a child and that’s what made him seem so sympathetic now. “That is until he whipped her with a cord and she couldn’t sit down in class. The domineering father had been abusive to the mother and child for a few years. But this time, he went too far and Kaylee’s mother, Virginia, reached out to us for protection and legal help.”

  “I’m familiar with that story. One of my deputies arrested Mr. Garza. I don’t mind saying we were shocked. He seemed like a decent man. Reverend Dawson spoke up on his behalf,” the sheriff admitted. “I didn’t realize that case was one of yours.”

  “Garza is fighting the charges against him, and—” she glanced at the sheriff “—he has a lot to lose if Kaylee and her mother’s claims turn out to be justified, which they will.”

  The sheriff stared at her for a long moment. “He coaches the reverend’s daughter on that team.”

  “That’s right. There are a few prominent members of the community who have daughters who play for him, as well. Doesn’t mean he didn’t beat his daughter so hard there were blood blisters on her bottom and legs. Her mother has fallen down the stairs or into a cabinet five times in the past eighteen months, which makes her one the clumsiest people alive or a victim. Given that she was once captain of her college long-distance track team, I seriously doubt she has issues with coordination.”

  The sheriff leaned back in his chair, examining her as though he was checking her sanity or truthfulness. “My office is aware of the claims.”

  Hearing about and being witness to such abuses, especially with children, was by far the most difficult part of Meg’s job. She couldn’t allow herself to focus on that side of the equation for too long or it would be crippling. The bright spot—the good that she would cling to in situations like these—was how much Kaylee and Virginia’s lives were going to change. Meg had a chance to guide them to a better future and a more fulfilled life. She couldn’t erase their pain, but she could give them the blueprint for their future. In her five years of working for One Child—One Advocate that was the part that kept her going, kept her fighting even when a case seemed hopeless.

  “One of your deputies is married to Alysa Estacado,” Meg fired back. “She’s Garza’s cousin. My client asked for this case to be handled by another law enforcement agency and we petitioned the judge on her behalf.”

  “Mrs. Garza had a tough upbringing. Seems I remember there were drinking problems in her family,” Sawmill said.

  “If you’re saying what I think you are, yes. My client has had her difficulties with alcohol. She’s sober now and ready to work,” Meg defended.

  The sheriff seemed to be contemplating what she said. She could see the road ahead with this case was going to be difficult based on his reaction to the allegations and her client’s history. She could only pray the case would be moved, as requested. It was a challenge she accepted with open arms because she could make a difference in Kaylee’s life. She could give Virginia a fresh start so she could be the mother she said she wanted to be. Fighting for that was worth every sideways stare she got from people—from the reverend to the sheriff himself.

  “I’m not trying to convince you of the merits of this case,” she finally said.

  Sawmill hesitated like he was about to say something, but his lips thinned and he nodded. “Any other cases I should be aware of?”

  She didn’t have the heart to defend any more of her clients, considering only the most difficult-to-prove cases ended up on her doorstep. “I’ll send a list of names who might be worth investigating.”

  “I’ll need more than that. I want histories, too. I’m especially interested in the past few months. Anyone you think might have a vendetta against you or Ms. Gable,” he said. “There’s a possibility someone targeted your child in order to show you what it would feel like to have your baby ripped from your arms.”

  More icy fingers gripped her spine at the suggestion somehow her work was putting her daughter in danger. A scary thought struck. Could Wyatt use that in court to take Aubrey away from her?

  Would he?

  “I’ll email the list with as much detail as I can provide as soon as I get home. I don’t have to remind you everything I share is confidential.” This was over. Aside from the fact that she had nothing else to contribute, he had already given up on her ability to help. Besides, what happened earlier most likely didn’t have anything to do with her current caseload. She’d barely been back to work since having the baby.

  There’d been threats before and they were idle. She was always quick to point out to the abusers that if anything happened to her they would be the first stop for the sheriff.

  A little voice in the back of her head said that this time no one was threatening. Someone had taken action and they’d done it while the baby was with Stephanie, which would make it harder to tie the crime back to revenge against Meg.

  If Meg didn’t know any better, she’d get excited about the possibility of forensic evidence nailing the kidnapper. She knew enough to realize that, unlike crime shows on TV, forensics wasn’t the be-all and end-all answer for most crimes. Furthermore, it took
time to process a crime scene. She could only pray that this whole episode was random and that the attacker would be caught before he could make an attempt on another innocent child.

  Meg wanted, no, needed to take her baby home. She stood. She knew the drill, so she preempted the sheriff. “If I can think of anything else, I’ll call.”

  Wyatt caught her arm as she walked toward the door. “Where are you going?”

  “Home. Let’s go,” she said with a finality that he should know better than to argue against.

  One glance at him said he fully understood. He released his grip, and she didn’t stop walking until they made it into the lobby. Facing the sea of journalists out there looking for a story wasn’t exactly her idea of reducing stress.

  “Maybe we could huddle together and shield the baby,” she said to Stephanie.

  “Hold on a minute,” Wyatt argued. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Walking out the front door,” she said slowly, like she was talking to a two-year-old.

  “I can see that. The question is why?” Something about Wyatt made her want to stick around and tell him what was going on. Was it a look? His body language? The sympathy she believed she saw in his eyes?

  “Because I can tell when I’ve lost a battle,” she said with a little more heat than she’d intended. “There’s nothing else we can do or say in there.”

  He stood for a long moment in what seemed like a dare. The first one to move lost.

  Wyatt took in a sharp breath, a concession breath. “Fine. Let me take you and the baby out the back way to avoid media attention.”

  Meg held her ground. Her heart thundered against her rib cage as Wyatt disappeared into the sheriff’s office. He returned a few seconds later as a deputy motioned for her to follow him toward the opposite hall.

  “I’ll grab the truck, circle the block and pick you up.” Wyatt was a study in determination. His outer appearance was calm, too calm. There was a raging storm swirling beneath the surface and Meg didn’t have the energy to withstand the gale-force winds. Not tonight.