L.A.P.D. Special Investigations Series, Boxed Set: The Deceived, The Taken & The Silent (28 page)

As she picked up Cody’s file, the card Detective Santini had left on her desk fluttered to the floor. She stared at the small piece of paper, wondering why he was so invested in the old case. And what did he want to show her that was so important he had to meet with her today?

CHAPTER TWO

RICO DROPPED the Ray file on his desk in the LAPD’s Special Investigations Section, of the Robbery Homicide Division. He’d been in the SIS unit for three years now, ever since Adam, his old partner, left for Chicago to get married. He’d balked at first, then realized the unit, designed to be the Department’s tactical surveillance entity, was available to any Department seeking surveillance on active criminals and crimes. Pretty cool shit, the other guys in the unit had said. It was only later he realized they’d been sugar-coating for the new guy.

He went around the desk and fell into his chair. Smoking had been banned in the House for years, but still, the stale scent of tobacco hung in the air, embedded in the fabric on the chairs and other old furniture in the room. Between the stale smoke and a lot of sweaty guys, the place smelled like a locker room, and he hated being cooped up on such a great spring day.

“How’s it going?” his partner, Jordan St. James, asked.

“It’s not. I have to find something to convince the attorney that my taking a look at the boy isn’t going to damage the kid’s psyche any more than it already is.”

“You mean you didn’t charm the socks off her?” Jordan set his midmorning cup of coffee on the desk and smiled. “You losing your touch, Romeo?”

“You can’t charm a rock.” Rico liked women, and not much kept him from pursuing one he wanted to get to know. But he never got involved with someone on a case. “She’s not my type. Besides, you know the rules.”

“She’s not involved in your case.”

True. Not directly. But he wasn’t looking for anything else. Not even a date.

“I thought you liked smart women.”

True. Brainy women were a turn on. He also liked women who were fun and accessible, and who didn’t want something permanent within the first couple of dates. Someone who could go with the flow. Macy Capshaw might be mega intelligent, but she didn’t seem to have a fun bone in her body … and she was about as accessible as Mount Everest.

“She’s a control freak.”

Jordan laughed. “Nothing like you,” he said, perching on the corner of Rico’s desk. “I think she’s okay. Besides, I thought you liked a challenge?”

“Some challenges are more interesting than others, my friend. You know her?” Rico and Jordan had covered a lot of cases in the three years they’d worked together, and Jordan’s knowledge of L.A.’s movers and shakers never ceased to amaze Rico. Growing up with the crème de la crème of L.A. society had its advantages.

Jordan nodded. “My father was on the board at Pennington and so was her father while she went to school there. We’ve attended some of the same charity functions.”

Only families with fortunes out the wazoo sent their kids to Pennington. “I guess that means she doesn’t have to worry about where her next rent money is coming from.”

“I’d say so. Her father is Wesley Capshaw and her grandfather is Ira Delacourt III. I heard she inherited a lot of money from the old guy. A trust.”

Wesley Capshaw, the famous Hollywood palimony attorney. It explained a lot. “Well, that makes me feel a whole lot better,” Rico said. He’d worked too many cases where people with money felt entitled to different treatment, felt they didn’t have to live by the same rules as everyone else.

Excluding Jordan, who came from a wealthy background, but never acted as if he was anything other than Joe Average. But then Jordan had been adopted and had known from the time he was a kid that he wasn’t really a blue blood.

“You know her well enough to convince her to help me?”

Jordan shook his head, gulped down more coffee. “Not really.” He went to his own desk and pulled out one of the files. “We don’t hang in the same circles. The last time I saw her was when I testified in a case she defended for her father’s firm, and I have to say she made my testimony a hell of a lot more stimulating. She knows her way around a courtroom.”

“Well, she has her own offices now in the Citicorp Building.”

Jordan’s phone rang. “Later,” he said, then picked up the call.

Rico was thumbing through the Ray case when Luke Coltrane entered the room and drifted toward Rico’s desk. Damn. He’d wondered when Luke would come around asking questions Rico didn’t want to answer.

Luke, the oldest, and the most cynical detective in the unit, had been with the LAPD for fifteen years and mostly worked Homicide’s high-profile cases. He had the highest percentage of solved cases of any officer in the district, and his reputation was legend.

But three weeks ago Chief MacGuire decided to run for mayor in the next election and had told their captain to reduce the number of cold cases in by half. It was common knowledge that MacGuire wanted the numbers to look good before he made his public announcement that he was going to run. The cold cases had been culled and the most likely to be solved had been assigned. The Ray case wasn’t one of them.

Luke stopped at Rico’s desk and picked up the glass paperweight one of his nieces or nephews had given him.

“Got a minute?” Luke studied the glass ball, shook the snow around and set it back down.

“Sure. What’s up?”

“I heard you’re working one of the missing kid cases again.” Luke’s dark eyes were shuttered so you couldn’t tell what he was thinking. Someone else couldn’t tell.

“It’s not on the list.” Rico’s mouth was dry. He never knew what to say to his friend when the subject of missing kids came up.

Luke eyed him narrowly, then smiled as if it were no big deal. “Well, you know you have my help if you need it.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.” Luke always offered to pitch in when a child was involved, but the captain knew Luke’s objectivity was tainted because of his own son and never put him on a missing kid case. Carlyle wouldn’t have allowed Rico on his niece’s case five years ago, either—if he’d known she was his niece. The one time he went against procedure, he’d fucked up, and the guilt dogged him, hung like a heavy chain around his neck.

When Coltrane left, Rico went back to his research, scouring the old file. He wished to hell he knew what pushed the attorney’s buttons. He had to talk to Jordan again. There had to be something he could do.

His phone rang. “Santini.”

“It’s Suz. I have the information you wanted on Macy Capshaw.”

He liked Suzy’s easy manner― had even dated her before she came to work in H&R — and couldn’t remember now why he’d stopped dating her. Thanks to her numerous jobs as a legal assistant, she knew practically every attorney in the city and could find out anything about anyone … and wasn’t shy to talk about it. As sweet as she was, she couldn’t keep her mouth shut. Oh, yeah. Now he remembered.

“Your lady does family law. Mostly cases that involve kids and battered women. I’d say she has some screws loose, leaving her father’s firm to represent low-income families. No freaking money in that.”

No kidding. He had to wonder, too. What act of God had made Macy Capshaw leave her father’s firm?

“She also does a lot of child advocacy.”

“Anything else?”

“That’s it.”

He said his thanks and hung up, but couldn’t stop thinking about what Suz had said. He’d thought he had the attorney figured out, but maybe not.

Maybe she had strong feelings about the inequities in the justice system? Yeah, right. And if he believed that, he’d be a good candidate to buy a bridge. More likely she didn’t get her way with daddy.

But on the surface it seemed the lady had a soft spot for kids, which, instead of being in his favor, might make her even more protective of the boy in her charge. Convincing her to let him talk to the child might be harder than he’d thought.

Still…she had agreed to meet him. Why, he had no clue. Curiosity? Sympathy for the baby’s mother? It sure as hell wasn’t because she wanted to help him.

***

THE COFFEE SHOP on the mezzanine level of the Citi-Corp building was a hangout for legal types and was usually jammed to the rafters. Except on Fridays when all work seemed to end at noon. Today was no exception.

Reaching the restaurant, Macy smoothed the front of her “court suit,” a business navy, meant to impress judge and jurors with her lawyerly appearance, but with a bright red power blouse to show she wasn’t afraid of the opposition. Her skirt was long enough to be professional, but short enough to show off her legs. The shoes, four-inch stilettos, her ode to being the rebel she’d always longed to be. Growing up in the staid Capshaw/Delacourt family had its drawbacks. She brushed a wisp of hair from her eyes, opened the door and went inside where the rich, chicory scent of coffee permeated the air.

She saw him immediately. Couldn’t have missed him if she wanted to. Rico Santini wasn’t the only guy in the place, but standing at the counter in his jeans and black leather jacket schmoozing with the waitress whose white sweater was so tight, her black bra showed through the threads, he couldn’t be missed.

The girl laughed and then nodded toward the door.

Rico turned, acknowledging Macy with a lift of his chin. He said something to the waitress and then started toward Macy. “This okay with you?” she asked, indicating the first booth.

He smiled. Big and white. “Perfect.” He gestured to one side of the booth and waited for her to be seated.

Old-fashioned manners. Unusual, at least among the men she worked with. Most of them treated her as if she was one of the guys. Macy slid into the booth. Rico shrugged off his jacket and sat across from her facing the door. Within seconds the love-struck waitress sashayed over.

“What would you like?” The girl’s eyes were glued on the handsome man in front of her.

“I’ll have coffee,” Rico said, then motioned to Macy.

She shrugged. “Why not. I’ll be awake all night anyway.”

The waitress kept her focus on Rico until Macy cleared her throat and said, “I’ll have the same.”

“Okay. Two coffees it is.”

As the waitress walked away, Macy couldn’t help saying, “Looks like jailbait to me.”

As soon as the words left her lips, she wanted to snatch them back. Who was she to monitor this man’s flirting? But Rico didn’t seem to mind and instead of being angry, he let go with a burst of laughter.

“She is that for sure. In fact she’s the same age as one of my nieces.” One eyebrow arched sardonically. “They went to school together back East.”

Heat creeped up Macy’s neck—something that hadn’t happened since, good grief, she didn’t know when. Thanks to her father she’d learned early to hold her own in just about any encounter. She never got embarrassed. Not even in situations where she should be. So what was different today?

“Sorry. I made an assumption—and you know what they say about people who make assumptions.”

Rico laughed again, his dark gaze catching hers. “No big deal. I get that all the time.”

“Get what all the time?”

By his expression, she saw he was mildly amused. “Nothing. It’s not important.”

“Okay … So, why don’t we get to what is important. I have work to do.”

“Right to the point. I like that.” He fumbled with his jacket on the seat next to him, pulled out a small brown envelope and handed it to her. “I wanted you to see this.”

Macy pulled the tabs on the envelope to open it. But before she looked inside, she said, “You know this isn’t going to change anything, don’t you? I meant what I said earlier. I can’t let you talk to Cody. Not right now.”

He leaned back. “I understand. That’s why I thought if you saw these photos you could tell me if you thought there was any resemblance.”

“A picture? I thought the child was only hours old when he was abducted.”

“He was. The shelter where the child’s mother was staying takes photos of all the babies born there. There’s also one of the baby’s mother and father, which are probably more significant.”

Macy reached in and pulled out a picture of an infant with a full head of dark hair. She gave a quick glance. “Sorry. All babies look alike to me.” She flipped the photo over and saw the baby’s measurements on the back. And a stamp that said, #051500 Haven’s Gate.

Her breath caught.
Haven’s Gate
. The same shelter where she’d had her child twelve years ago. Of all the shelters in Los Angeles, what were the odds that this child would’ve been born at the same place as her son?

She studied the picture of the baby’s mother, a sweet-looking girl with brown hair and haunting green eyes, then the photo of the father, a very young man with dark hair and dark eyes. Her heart raced as she fought back the memories. She stuffed the photos in the envelope and handed it back to him. “Sorry, I can’t help.”

He sighed. “Yeah. I’m sorry, too.”

The disappointment in his voice revealed how much he cared about this case. Surely he didn’t feel this way about all his cases. He was a cop and, as in her profession, a certain amount of dissociation was necessary. But hearing his emotion touched her. “Once the physicians determine the state of Cody’s health, and if his parents don’t show up, the court will order DNA tests with parents of missing children who would be of the same approximate age. I’ll see what I can do to have your case come up quickly.”