Finding Her Son (5 page)

She nodded slowly. “The gunshot wound caused a lot of damage to your femoral artery and the surrounding nerves and muscles. What did your doctors say?”

“That I might never walk again. I didn’t listen too hard.”

A laugh escaped her, and the smile brightened her eyes. She sure was pretty.

“Good attitude. As long as you don’t go too far too fast. You came a few centimeters away from losing your leg.” She leaned back in her chair and set the chart aside. “Do you have the patience to follow orders? I won’t work with someone who goes off on his own. Even though you saved my life. You’ll need to do as I say.
Exactly
as I say.”

He understood chain of command, but from this slip of a thing… He bristled and met her unyielding gaze. He couldn’t afford not to play along. He’d seen the toughness in her before, the challenge. He’d give her a shot. It wasn’t like he had a choice. She was his assignment. But could he get his leg strength back
and
investigate Emily at the same time? Without going crazy?

“I want my SWAT uniform back. You tell me to sweat bullets, run stadium steps, go to yoga, I’ll do it. I’ll even wear a Texas Longhorns jersey, and I’m an Oklahoma Sooner, born and bred. You come up with a program to help me pass that physical, and I’m with you one thousand percent.”

“I’d have thought you a Colorado Buffaloes fan. But I believe you. So let’s get a baseline. You wearing workout shorts under those?” She stood and indicated his sweats.

He nodded. “And just to be clear, my grandparents came from Oklahoma. Once a Sooner…”

“I get it.” She smiled. “I like your loyalty to your roots, Mitch Bradford. I’ll go get some equipment while you take your pants off.”

A few months ago that order would have had him pulling her into his arms. Now Mitch simply slipped off his shoes, socks and sweats. He knew the drill. He’d never felt naked in a clinic before, but as he rubbed the gnarled scars on his thigh, he tensed. She’d know soon enough how damaged he really was.

After a slight knock, she entered the room. She glanced at his leg but didn’t give anything away—not pity, not disgust. She moved in closer, and he caught a waft of sweet mixed with tartness. Vanilla and some kind of berry, perhaps? His heart thudded as she placed her hands on his thigh.

“Let’s get started,” she said.

A dozen measurements later, Mitch swiped at the sweat rolling down his face and bit his lip to stop himself from crying out. The white-hot shards of pain shooting across his thigh were much worse since his heroics of the night before. He tried to ignore them as he strained against the minuscule weight Emily had pressed against his leg. His muscles behaved like traitors. Weak as a baby.

She frowned at her notes as she compared them to his records. Then she glared at him. “What have you been doing to yourself? You’ve lost at least fifteen percent of your strength and flexibility gains in the past month. That didn’t happen because of a single jujitsu turn. What aren’t you telling me?”

Mitch grimaced, and she just shook her head. “Never mind. I know. You thought you’d be a cowboy and do a little extra on your own. More is better. Am I close?”

She shifted forward and placed her warm hands on his thigh, working the spasming muscles. Slowly, her touch eased the pain. As the agony became bearable, his focus shifted toward her fingertips on his skin, moved up her arms, to the concentration on her face. He wanted to lift her chin and lose himself in those blue eyes of hers. He wanted to forget everything that was happening around them and just escape in her caresses.

“Man, you’re good,” he groaned. “Can I take you home with me?” Emily on call 24/7. Part-time to massage his aching leg and part-time to take those magic hands and lips a little higher and to the left.

She worked the muscles up and down his thigh. “I know you want faster results, but if you keep working out on your own, you’ll do permanent damage. You’ve really screwed up your leg, Mitch.” She removed her hands. He missed her touch already, but her face had gone deadly serious. “I want a straight answer. Will you follow my rules?”

As he took in her no-nonsense expression, a shaft of fear sliced through him. Had he lost his chance to get back to SWAT? Follow her rules? He had no choice. For more reasons than she could comprehend. “You’re the boss in the gym, Emily. I’ll do whatever it takes to get the job done. I promise you that.”

She paused and finally reached out her hand. “Okay. But you go off on your own, and I’m done. No second chances. Got it?”

He nodded.

The ringing cell punctuated her orders, and Emily’s heart tripped at the sound. Every time she got a call, part of her leaped at the thought of good news while a small dark place trembled with fear of horrifying news. She shoved aside the terror and pulled her phone from her pocket. She glanced at the familiar number. Her pulse raced. Maybe this time… She tapped the phone and stepped away for privacy.

“Hello?” She struggled to keep her voice from being too eager, too hopeful, but she couldn’t help herself.

“Mrs. Wentworth?” Her private investigator’s voice crackled through the phone.

“Perry, any more on Ghost that I can use when I talk to him?”

“He lives up to his handle, ma’am. He really is a ghost, but I did get a lead. Sister Kate connected me with one of the girls. She saw a tattoo that he tried to hide. She won’t go down to the police department, but she described portions of it. The art was complicated and colorful. I can fax you a picture of something similar, but I can’t get into the police records, mug shots or tattoo database to verify his gang affiliation.”

A tattoo. Pain shot through her temple, and she kneaded the throbbing spot, the burn behind her eyes so familiar. A small whimper escaped her lips. It happened whenever she felt on the cusp of remembering the night of the accident. The threatening memories slipped away, and Emily pushed aside the pain.

“Another flash?” Perry asked, obviously hearing the familiar sound.

“Just images of pink, green and red.”

“Like a tattoo?”

“Maybe.” She let out a hiss of frustration. “I don’t know. But the episodes are happening more frequently.”

“You know something important, Mrs. Wentworth. You’ll recall that night eventually.”

She couldn’t wait. She had to go to the police department. She didn’t want to ask the detective in charge of her case for assistance, but wouldn’t he have to listen this time? A car had tried to run her over. Ghost had threatened her. She was remembering something. “Keep digging. I’ll talk to Detective Tanner.” She tried to keep optimism in her voice, but even to her own ears she sounded frustrated. “Maybe he’ll help this time.”

Their connection ended, and she bit her lip as she studied her phone list on the small screen. A call wouldn’t do any good. Tanner would only put her off again. She’d go over there and wait as long as it took to look at those tattoo records. He would give her access. She’d make sure of it.

She snagged Mitch’s chart, grabbed her bag and turned to schedule the next session. He’d moved so quietly, she hadn’t heard him, but there he stood, inches from her. She almost stepped on his foot and stumbled into his arms. He reached out to steady her, so close she could feel his warmth. She couldn’t stop her body’s reaction to his nearness.

“Whoa, there. Are you okay?” Mitch said.

Her cheeks burned hot, and she pushed back the hair that had fallen in her face. She wanted to ask him for help but just wasn’t sure enough of him. Not yet. “Sorry. I’ve got to run. Ten a.m. day after tomorrow okay with you?”

“I’ll be here.”

She bent her head to make a note, and her unruly locks fell forward again. With gentle fingers, Mitch pushed the hair back in place. His pupils went black as his gaze strayed to her lips.

She cleared her throat and stepped back, touching her fingertips to her mouth. “Um…I’d better go.”

Mitch slowly nodded his head. “I think that’s a good idea.”

Emily filed away his record and raced out the door, her heart slamming into her chest. Her nerves tingled with awareness. Okay, so Mitch was strong and funny and determined. And hot. Despite his injury, he had a body that didn’t stop.

Each step, each rub of her cotton turtleneck against her skin reminded her of what she wanted. What she hadn’t experienced since before Joshua was born. Her breasts ached beneath her clothes. She couldn’t deny her reaction to Mitch, but that didn’t mean anything would ever happen between them. Besides, she didn’t have time for a relationship. Not with anyone. Not until she found Joshua. Thinking of Mitch in any way other than a client or a potential resource was a big mistake. She was a widow. In some ways, she’d become one even before Eric had died, but her aching loneliness was
her
problem.

She looked back. He stood, watching her, his expression hooded and thoughtful. She might need him and his contacts. She’d promised to help him, otherwise she would’ve handed his case over to one of her colleagues. He and Carl would probably hit it off, but she couldn’t risk letting go of even one potential collaborator.

She would find her son and just prayed Mitch would heal fast—before this unsettling temptation got the best of her.

T
HE ICY SHOWER HADN’T
worked. Mitch secured the towel at his waist and padded across the cold tile of his bathroom. He’d almost kissed Emily. He’d wanted to, more so when he’d recognized the awareness that flashed in her eyes and echoed within him. He could think of a hundred reasons not to give in to the feelings, but that didn’t make him want to touch her any less.

At least he’d bargained for a few hours not having to watch her. He was getting to know every curve of her body, every expression on her face. Bad news. Let another cop get tempted—until he had himself back under control.

The Oklahoma fight song sounded from his phone on the nightstand. His brother, Chase, and his best friend, Ian, gave him a hard time, but “Boomer Sooner” made Mitch grin. Who wanted Mozart or a simple ringtone? Just because his best friend and one of his siblings happened to be one pancake short of a stack and attended the University of Texas…well, sometimes you just had to live with your family’s weaknesses.

“Bradford.”

“It’s Ian.”

Mitch sank onto the bed. “Are you calling as the Coroner’s Office Investigator or my goddaughter’s father?”

“Sorry, bud. Haley’s great, but you asked me to contact you if we received any pregnant guests. Jane Doe came in today. Not pregnant, but she gave birth just before she died. Blond hair, like the girl you asked me to watch out for.”

“Is it Kayla Foster?” Mitch braced himself for the answer.

“She was in a shallow grave, so the animals—”

“Yeah. I get the picture. Was it Kayla?”

“I can’t tell from the photo you sent. Her face is unrecognizable, but she has a gecko tat on her shoulder. I’m waiting on dental records.”

Mitch kneaded his shoulder with his hand, working out the tension that had settled there. “How’d she die?”

“We can’t tell from the external exam. Other than the birth, the body looks trauma free.”

“I’d hate your job.”

“At least my customers don’t carry guns,” Ian said.

“Funny.”

“Seriously, how’s the leg?”

“Almost good as new.” The lie came easily…too easily. Denial or something more after misleading Emily? “I’m a half hour away.”

“See you then.”

Mitch ended the call and sighed for Ricky’s sake. Mitch hoped this girl wasn’t Kayla. But if she wasn’t, then someone else’s family had a daughter who was dead, a grandchild who was missing, and they didn’t know anything had happened.

By the time he reached the coroner’s office, Mitch had contacted Kayla’s grandmother. He’d kept the questions low-key, but he couldn’t fool her.

“You bring my girl home,” she’d said. “Either way.”

He entered the building housing the coroner and her staff and strode down the hall to the cracker box Ian laughingly called his office. The stench of formaldehyde and death rose to greet Mitch. He hated the odor in this place. Had since he’d been forced to visit as part of driver’s ed.

He rapped on the door and pushed it open to find his friend and a woman swallowed up in a white coat comparing two photos taped to a cork board. Mitch didn’t give Ian’s visitor a second look. He couldn’t stop looking at the pictures. One the high school photo of Kayla, the other—

“Is that Kayla?” His stomach churned at the sight of what was left of a blond-haired woman’s face. Truth be told, he could only tell the features were a woman because she didn’t have an Adam’s apple. Her eyes were missing, her nose had been gnawed away by animals. She barely looked human. He couldn’t show this body to Mrs. Foster. No way. No how.

One more reason to hate his temporary assignment and get back to SWAT.

Ian grimaced and stood, blocking Mitch’s view. “This is Dr. Tara O’Meare. She specializes in facial reconstruction and identification. Without dental records, I thought she could give us her opinion.”

The woman rose and shook Mitch’s hand.

“Is it Kayla?” he asked.