Finding Her Son (8 page)

Must have proof.

“I’ll be there, but I need something concrete, Perry.”

“You’ll have more than that, ma’am. I’m gonna find your kid.”

With a shaking hand, Emily ended the call. “You’ve got a lot of nerve.”

“My rules when it comes to the investigation.”

“Perry’s not the kidnapper. I don’t like deceiving him.”

“You need more than Perry. No offense, Emily, but he’s not exactly top drawer. Word on the street is he has a drinking problem.”

“Well, if I don’t sell this house soon, I won’t even have him. You’re going to be my only resource.” The stark truth made the long journey seem bleak, with only bright memories of Joshua lighting the way.

“Then let’s get back to the evidence,” Mitch muttered.

Darkness had long since cloaked the house when they came up for air. Emily’s vision had gone bleary despite the pots of coffee and snacks they’d consumed. She glanced at her watch and blinked. “It’s getting late.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Mitch said, his voice flat and no-nonsense. “Not with Ghost at large.”

“You’re not thinking of staying here tonight.” Or maybe he was. She studied the man who’d spread out at her dining-room table, surrounded by snacks, pens, stickies and a notepad.

“Nonnegotiable,” he said, pulling out another file. “I’ve got coffee, work, a laptop, the internet, my gun and a beautiful damsel in distress. What more could a guy ask for?”

Stunned, Emily sat back in her chair, studying the determined face of the man who’d suddenly turned into her champion. “Why are you doing this?”

Mitch walked over to the empty cradle and lifted the teddy bear with a gentle hand. “You’ve been doing this on your own long enough,” he said. He centered the bear on the table. “And I don’t like unanswered questions. Besides, sleep is overrated.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve done an all-nighter,” she said. “But I’m game.” She took a sip of coffee and settled in for the duration.

M
ORNING CAME TOO QUICKLY.
They’d barely moved. “What are we doing?” Emily said tossing another stack of notes to the table, her voice cracking. “There’s nothing here. That’s why I hooked up with Sister Kate. Desperation. Missing babies. Except they aren’t missing. Detective Tanner was right. There’s no connection.”

“Not yet. Did you expect me to pull out a miracle in one day?”

“You’re so determined, maybe I hoped you would.”

She studied his alert expression and half smile. After a night together, she’d become ultra-aware of Mitch’s sense of humor, his addiction to sugar in his coffee and his need to stretch his leg every few hours. He never complained, of course. She also appreciated his keen wit and how quickly he leaped from fact to fact, even though most led to dead ends. Sitting next to him, passing papers back and forth, touching casually a thousand different ways, made Emily feel more comfortable with him. It felt good. To have a real partner again.

She knocked shoulders with him, but when she should have pulled away, she lingered, giving in to a desire that had simmered the entire night. Their hands touched before she drew hers away, her face heating. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Their gazes caught, his lowering to linger on her lips.

He let out a long, slow breath. “Time to meet Perry. I’ll follow you.”

“He won’t like it.”

“I don’t much care what he likes. If he has evidence against the department, I want to know about it.”

Mitch packed up the evidence box and loaded in some of Eric’s bank statements. Emily grabbed her purse and evidence satchel and, with a last glance at the murder boards, said a small prayer. Once outside, she slipped into her car and pulled out of the driveway with Mitch tailing her.

When she and Eric had moved into the house, she’d loved the view of the pine trees along the serpentine curve. Even the steep drops on either side of the road hadn’t fazed her…not until that night a year ago.

She navigated the car along the narrow stretch of asphalt. A metal sign loomed toward her on the left. Her heart always jumped a bit as she approached the turn. Some days were worse than others, but she handled it. Once she found Joshua she’d conquer the road forever.

The gleaming white of the cross loomed at the horizon. She waited for the splash of poinsettias to come into view, but the flowers were gone.

Oh, God.

A small blue blanket splattered in red was draped over the top of the white cross.

Pain exploded behind her eye, throbbing in her head. Blood. Everywhere. Images, sounds. Joshua’s cry. A flashlight. Eric’s gray face. Blood pulsing from his chest. Red and green. Pain. Pink. Blood. Blue blanket.

Joshua. No!
The blanket wasn’t his. It couldn’t be.

She had to stop. She had to know. Heart racing, she panted. She couldn’t breathe. Her foot slammed into the floor. The car didn’t slow down.

Her knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. A burning hit her throat. The copper taste of blood exploded in her mouth and lights flashed in her eyes.

She pumped the brake. Nothing.

The car sped faster on the downward incline. The metal guardrail raced past her. This couldn’t be happening. She gripped the steering wheel so hard her hands cramped, and she kept pounding the pedal, but it was no use.

The slight slope became steeper. Fifty miles per hour. Fifty-five.

A hairpin curve waited ahead. She’d driven the road countless times, but not this fast. Never this fast.

Snow began to fall, small flakes.

Not again.

Behind her a loud honking sounded, but she couldn’t afford to look in her rearview mirror. The phone in her pocket rang, but she couldn’t pick up. She struggled to keep the car on the road. Much more snow and the road would become too slick. She’d never make the curve.

With all her strength, she wrenched up on the emergency brake.

Nothing.

Please, Mitch. Help me.

The road seemed to narrow; the cliffs on either side seemed to go on forever. Her life couldn’t end here. Not in this place. Not before she found Joshua.

A car sped past her. Mitch.

“No brakes!” she screamed, as though he could hear her.

Mitch’s SUV raced in front of her. He slowed down, and her car shoved into his rear bumper. They rounded the curve, but she was going too fast.

Emily struggled to steer. Her tires hit black ice. She skidded toward the cliff.

Joshua, I won’t die. I promise.

Chapter Four

“No!”

Mitch watched in horror as Emily’s compact car spun out of control. He had to save her. He wrenched his steering wheel and maneuvered his vehicle between her and the guardrail, pumping his brakes. Her vehicle shoved into his driver’s side door.

With a curse, he turned into the spin, until finally his four-wheel drive caught traction. Tires squealed, and he gauged the distance to the edge. It was going to be close.

“Come on, baby. Stop.” He yanked on the emergency brake, spun the steering wheel hard to the left and prayed. Brakes sparked and metal ground against metal as they skidded toward the drop-off.

The spin slowed the momentum, but the mountain’s edge came barreling at them. Mitch’s arms shook under the strain of turning the fused metal coffins, but it was working. They were slowing. Three feet away. Two feet away. Inches away, and finally, the front ends of both vehicles shuddered to a stop. A waterfall of rocks plunged hundreds of feet down.

He forced open his smashed door and headed toward Emily. Her driver’s side had melded to his SUV; her head lay against the window. He rounded to the passenger side. He squeezed, then jiggled the handle, but it was jammed.

“Emily. Can you hear me?” He pounded on the glass, ignoring the icy wind that whistled up from the canyon and the sky threatening to turn into a storm.

She didn’t move. No air bag on this ancient tin can.

She was so still. Too still. He had to get to her.

He ran his fingertips alongside the crumpled metal, searching for a seam. Yes, right there. He snagged a crowbar from his SUV. If he could get the leverage… He inserted the iron rod and, using his body weight, worked against the hinge. The metal finally gave way, and he forced open the door.

He dove into the car, careful not to jostle her too much. With a gentle touch, he moved some silky strands away from her face. No obvious wounds that he could see. He leaned closer.

“Emily?”

She groaned. At the sound, relief released terror’s grip on his heart. “Can you move?”

Those ridiculously long lashes blinked, and her eyes focused on him. “What happened?”

“Brakes.”

She nodded, and then her expression took a leap from confused to horrified. “The blanket!” She pulled at the door handle and looked at the crumpled side of his vehicle outside her window.

“It was the only way to stop you,” he said, unclicking her seat belt. “Slide toward me, but let me know if anything hurts. Your car jammed into mine pretty hard.”

She eased toward him, pausing as she tested one limb, then the next. “I’m okay. Just shaken.”

As he clasped her hands, a distinctive odor slammed his senses. Gasoline.

No time to waste. He yanked her away from the car. “Move!” he yelled, grabbing her hand and hauling her toward a large boulder.

She stumbled after him, but her legs gave way. She sagged to the ground. He swept her into his arms. Within seconds, he reached the large rock and settled her behind the massive boulder.

“What do you think you’re doing?” She glared at him. “Your leg can’t handle my weight.”

“That’ll be the day, when I can’t carry a little thing like you. As to why—gas. Would you rather risk a spark setting your car on fire?”

“It doesn’t sound like anything’s happening.” She tilted her head toward him. “Maybe we—”

His ears picked up a clicking sound over the wind. He held up his hand, and she went quiet. Mechanical. Definitely.

And familiar.

“Get down.” Mitch shoved her to the dirt. A loud explosion shook the ground. Flaming debris flew toward them, hot metal and plastic shrapnel. Mitch covered her body with his, shielding her from the incoming.

Several hot projectiles nipped his back. He brushed them away. Soon the mini-explosions had stopped and only the roar of fire remained. He raised his head and scanned the wreckage. From their vantage, he could see fire leaping between the vehicles, taking out his SUV and charring what was left of Emily’s. The remains might have been her grave.

The thought that she could’ve been pinned in the death trap froze his insides, but the fury at the psycho who’d planted the bomb boiled his temper. Emily could’ve died. On his watch.

He grabbed his phone and pressed a key. “This is Mitch Bradford. Get me the fire department and bomb squad. Now.”

Mitch rattled off their location and ended the call.

“A bomb?” she said, her voice huskier than usual. “I thought the car exploded because of the accident.”

“That’s Hollywood. I heard suspicious clicking right before the explosion. There was at least one device, maybe more. Someone wants you dead—with no evidence left behind.”

“If you hadn’t been here…”

She gripped his shirt and buried her head against him. He’d seen the reaction before. Violence wasn’t pretty, and the human spirit needed comfort.

He held her tight. “We’ll find out who’s doing this. I promise.”

She wrapped her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. He couldn’t say no to her trembling frame. Each shudder evoked every protective instinct throbbing in his veins. He cradled her against him and stroked her head softly, brushing a few stray snowflakes out of her hair. “You’re okay. It’ll be okay.”

He was lying. Again. This assassin wanted a kill. Mitch could only stop him so long—unless he discovered who was behind the attempts on her life.

Emily lifted her hand to his face, and her look of trust made his heart do a crazy flip-flop. “I’m only here because you saved me. I would have gone over the edge, and Joshua—” Emily’s eyes widened. She gripped Mitch’s arms hard, her nails biting into his flesh. “Joshua. The blanket! The blood. I have to check the blanket and see if it’s Joshua’s.”

She rose, swaying as the heat from the fire buffeted them. Emily tugged at his hand in desperation. Mitch shifted his weight to his good leg and pulled her back. “Emily. Listen to me. We are
not
going out in the open. We’re safe here.”

“I have to see that blanket.”

“No. The person who sabotaged your car could be waiting. You’re not stepping into someone’s crosshairs.”

Mitch went to wrap his arms around her, but she shoved him back. Any vulnerability she’d let him see had vanished.

“I’m
already
a target.” She pulled at her turtleneck and revealed the jagged scar on her throat. “The doctors said I held the glass. That I cut myself. Well, I didn’t. And no one believes me, because my prints were on the shards.” She met his gaze. “I put flowers on that cross just yesterday. I
have
to see that blanket. I have to know if there was…blood there. I need to know I’m not imagining things.”