Taken to the Edge (19 page)

“Robyn? Thank God. Listen—”

“Help me, Ford. I’m at Trina’s and I—” Roy’s fist connected with her jaw. She dropped the phone and fell back into the brooms, which clattered to the floor all around her. Her vision clouded with sparkles of pain and she sank to the floor.

“Leave her, Roy,” Trina said harshly. “It’s too late, we have to get out of here.”

“And leave her behind to blab everything to the cops?”

“We still have time to get away. The border’s not that far. I have people there who can help me—help us.”

“No one knows my part in this yet. You can go to Mexico if you want, but I’ll take the cash, thanks.”

Robyn was perfectly aware of what that meant for her. Roy didn’t intend for her to tell the cops anything.

“Please, come with me. I—I need you,” Trina said unconvincingly. “Oh, God, Roy, don’t.”

Robyn’s vision cleared, and the next thing she saw was a gun in Roy’s hand.

Not when his efforts were going to make their department look incompetent at best, and at worst, willfully, criminally guilty of withholding evidence.

So he’d taken matters into his own hands. He had rallied the Project Justice troops. Anybody in the building with a law enforcement background had dropped what they were doing and piled into his car—even Celeste, Lord help him. They hadn’t questioned him. He’d said Robyn was in trouble, and they’d dropped what they were doing to help.

That kind of loyalty was hard to find. He’d made mistakes, and he hadn’t exactly gone out of his way to bond with his fellow investigators, but they were behind him anyway.

Later, he would have to rethink his decision to resign from Project Justice. Right now, though, he had to save Robyn’s life.

He’d been only a few miles from Green Prairie when her urgent and frighteningly brief phone call had come through; that was when he’d floored it.

“Can’t this heap go any faster?” Celeste demanded from the backseat.

“Got it floored,” Ford replied.

Beside him, Joe Kinkaid had a white-knuckle grip on the door handle, but he didn’t suggest that Ford slow down. In the backseat, Billy Cantu and Mitch Delacroix also had nothing to say about his excessive speed. The gravity of Robyn’s situation weighed heavily on all of them, and the only conversation involved what strategy they would use when they arrived at their destination.

The only strategy Ford intended to use was to break down the door and storm the place.

“You’ve picked up an escort,” Joe reported calmly.

Sure enough, Ford saw flashing lights in his rearview mirror. He wouldn’t bother stopping; the more cops he could drag to the scene, the better.

“Next exit,” Billy announced. He had mapped their destination on his cell phone. Though Ford knew where the Jasperson house was—he’d seen the location on a map in the case file—he’d never actually been there.

He took the exit and slammed on his brakes as he approached a light.

“Right turn.”

A car was in his way, waiting for the light. Ford went over the curb, narrowly skirting a telephone pole and a lamppost, quickly checking for cross traffic before clunking down onto the street.

“Quarter mile, then a left turn.”

He was mere blocks from the house.
Hold on, Robyn
. God, he loved her.

Loved?
Why hadn’t he seen that before? Why hadn’t he told her? It might have made a difference.

In those few tense moments as he pulled into the driveway through the open gate, he saw with crystal clarity how much he loved her, and how wrong it had been to hold back. He had feared disappointing her or being somehow “wrong” for her, but his seeming indifference had wounded her deeply.

Give me another chance.
He would make it right.

Before his car had even come to a stop, the doors opened and his team poured out. Billy and Joe headed around to the back of the house; they would look for a way in, and no one trying to escape would get away.

Ford planned to make entry at the front, no warning; they might draw fire, if anyone was armed, but they had on Kevlar vests, at least. Full SWAT gear would have been better, but they worked with what they could grab on the fly.

The police car on their tail pulled in and the officer jumped out, weapon drawn.

“Police! Stand down!” His voice squeaked. He looked scared to death.

“Oh, pipe down,” Celeste said as she tightened her own vest. In her hand she had a gun almost bigger than she was.

“Hostage situation,” Ford announced. “You can arrest me when it’s over.”

The front door was huge, imposing and looked like solid wood. Celeste sized it up, then, with the determination of a charging rhinoceros, ran at it full tilt and hit it with her shoulder. She bounced right off.

“Celeste, don’t hurt yourself.”

“Oh, please,” she grumbled as she tried again to get through, executing a pretty good karate kick with her booted foot. The wood actually cracked.

Ford thought the tall windows flanking the door looked more promising. He was about to pick up a potted fern and use it to bash through the glass, when Celeste halted him with a tug to his sleeve.

“Look here, Ford.” She opened the door in the usual way. “It wasn’t locked.”

“We’re inside,” Ford said into the walkie-talkie attached to his vest, the channel left open so he could talk hands-free. The cop, apparently not knowing what else to do, followed them in.

“Police!” he announced. “Drop your weapons and—”

Trina screamed, and Ford followed the sound of her voice, using what little cover he had—a half wall, a dining room chair.

When he looked into the kitchen, he saw Trina backed up against the counter, her hands already in the air. Roy White—what the hell?—stood in the middle of the kitchen, a gun in his hand but looking confused and indecisive.

“Put your weapon on the ground,” Ford said, aiming for Roy’s head. “You have to the count of three. One, two—”

With a look of resignation, Roy stooped and set his gun on the floor. He raised his hands.

“Get on the floor!” Ford shouted as he stormed the room. Celeste was on him like a feral cat and had him cuffed almost faster than Ford could blink.

“Nice,” the surprised cop murmured from behind them.

“That’s a skill forty years in Vice will get you,” Celeste said.

Ford focused on Trina. Knowing what she’d done, what she had put Robyn through, made it tempting to shoot her on the spot. “You, too. On the floor. Where is Robyn?”

Trina didn’t answer as she shakily lowered herself to her hands and knees, but she didn’t have to, because Ford spotted Robyn. She stood in the doorway of a closet, covered in white powder. The side of her face was red, as if she’d taken a blow, but otherwise she looked…there were no words to describe it. She was a goddess. His salvation.

By then, Billy and Joe had joined them. Seeing that his team and the confused Green Prairie cop had Roy and Trina well in hand, Ford went to Robyn and wrapped her in his arms. “Are you okay?”

“I think so.” She returned his hug fully and didn’t seem to want to let go.

“What happened to your face?”

She pulled back enough that she could rub her jaw gingerly and look into Ford’s eyes. “Roy hit me.”

The fury that washed over Ford almost had him turning and kicking the son of a bitch in the ribs. But he would have to let go of Robyn to do that, and he wasn’t willing to.

“It’s okay. I sprayed glass cleaner in his eyes and put a broomstick into his gut, so I guess he was kinda mad.”

“That’s my girl.”

“Oh, Ford, Trina kidnapped Justin. All this time—”

“I know, I know. Heather Boone cracked. She told me enough that I figured it out. But Robyn, you have to know one thing. I never in a million years thought you were guilty of anything. But I didn’t have the authority to—”

He stopped, sighed. No, that wasn’t the real reason. Officially, Project Justice couldn’t accept a case unless Daniel gave the okay. But in practice, if any of his lead investigators felt strongly in favor of a case, Daniel would agree to take it on.

“I hesitated,” he said, “only because I was afraid of failing you. I couldn’t bear the thought of trying to help you and screwing it up somehow. I didn’t want your life in my hands.”

“I can’t think of anyone I would trust more with my life.”

Her trust was a gift, one he didn’t deserve. “I was wrong to hesitate. I would go to the ends of the earth for you. Even if I failed you, and I still might, I’m not afraid. I’m with you a hundred percent, no matter what.”

She hugged him again. “And I’m with you. Ford, there’s something else.” Her eyes sparkled with joy and hope like he’d never seen before. “Justin is alive. Trina said her mother took him to Mexico.”

“Okay,” the cop interrupted. “If you’re done with this little lovefest, want to tell me what’s going on? And why I shouldn’t drag you straight to jail? You were doing ninety-five.”

Robyn’s eyes widened in alarm. “Ford!”

“Did you want saving or not?” He hugged her again and whispered in her ear, “I love you, you know.”

She also recalled what Ford had said.

His faith in her felt warm and comforting; nestled inside her, his love was a cherished, unexpected gift. She hadn’t had the chance to tell him of her own feelings, but she felt sure he knew. She loved him. That stupid student council court from high school didn’t matter anymore.

She wished he had come here with her, but the scene at Trina’s house had been insanely confused. The cops arriving in droves on the scene didn’t know whether to give Ford a medal or cuff him.

Someone tapped on the door to her room, then entered before she could say anything. She relaxed only slightly when she saw it was the young doctor who had sent her to X-ray.

“Good news, there’s no fracture,” he said with way too much cheer. “Do you want a scrip for pain?”

She shook her head. “It’s not that bad.” And she had a feeling she would need a clear head for the next few hours.

“Then you’re set to go home.”

Hah. The police wouldn’t let her go home for some time. Then there was Eldon. Despite Daniel Logan’s personal intervention, she’d heard nothing about the governor calling a halt to the execution, and the hours were ticking away.

Surely the governor would stay the execution now—if he could be contacted and made to understand all that had just happened. But however that washed out, Robyn had to tell Eldon that Justin was alive.

The young officer who had driven her to the hospital was still waiting when she got her discharge papers. She had a million questions she wanted to ask; she wanted to know where Ford was. But the cop was apparently under orders to tell her nothing, because she couldn’t get a shred of information out of him as he drove her back to the police station.

The debriefing was every bit as grueling as she’d expected. Rather than an interrogation room, she and three detectives—the same three who had questioned her earlier—were in someone’s office and she had a more comfortable chair. But other than that small concession, she was treated little better than when she’d been a suspect.

Robyn was patient as long as she could be, painstakingly going over the events, but finally she’d had enough.

“Look, I know this is complicated, but is anyone talking to the governor? Because if someone doesn’t do something soon, a man is going to be executed for a crime he didn’t commit. And what about my son? Trina said he’s alive. Is anyone doing anything—”

“We’re following up,” one of the detectives answered with an infuriating lack of interest.

“And Ford? You didn’t do something stupid like arrest him, did you?”

The detectives all looked at each other. They reminded her disturbingly of Larry, Curly and Moe.

“That’s it.” She got to her feet. “Arrest me for something, or let me go.”

They didn’t seem happy about it, but they allowed her to leave. She wasn’t sure exactly where she would go—her purse, car keys and cell phone had all been left behind at Trina’s house, part of the crime scene. She would call Project Justice, she decided. Someone there would come to her aid.

As it turned out, she didn’t have to call anyone. Ford was waiting for her in the police building lobby, holding a shopping bag.

Without hesitation, she rushed into his waiting arms. “I thought I’d be bailing you out of jail.”

“I thought so, too. But they got so busy with Trina confessing all over the place and Roy loudly proclaiming his innocence, they kind of forgot about me.” He gently stroked her swollen jaw. “You look like a lopsided chipmunk. Shouldn’t you still be at the hospital?”

“I’m fine. Nothing’s broken.” But as she eased herself out of Ford’s embrace, she wobbled on her feet, and Ford kept one arm around her waist to steady her as they exited the building. It was dark out.

She checked her watch. “How soon can you get me in to see Eldon? I have to see him and let him know that Justin—”

“You’ll have lots of time for that.”

As the meaning of Ford’s words sank in, Robyn wanted to weep with relief.

“I just heard from Daniel,” Ford went on to explain. “The governor stayed Eldon’s execution. Obviously, there will have to be a new investigation, but I feel certain he’ll be pardoned and released.”

“Oh…oh, that’s great!” Now her eyes filled with tears. She no longer loved Eldon, but the relief of knowing he wouldn’t die for a crime he didn’t commit was like a tidal wave washing over her.

Her legs simply wouldn’t hold her up any longer. She sank to the edge of a concrete flower bed and sat down.

“There’s something else I have to tell you,” Ford said. “It’s about Justin.”

Robyn braced herself for the worst. “Was Trina lying?” Over the past few hours, Robyn had tried not to get her hopes up. Trina might have been manipulating her, holding out the promise of Justin’s return simply to keep Robyn cooperative.

“I went to her mother’s house. I wanted to get there before she found out about Trina’s arrest, before she started destroying evidence. But there was little chance of that. She’s sick. Dying, actually. She’s in hospice care.”

“Were you able to talk to her?”

Ford nodded. “Her conscience was getting to her. She wanted to tell someone, before she died. She placed Justin with a cousin of hers in Mexico, a woman and her husband who desperately wanted children. They’ve been raising him as their own. Trina’s mother says the boy is happy and healthy.”

It was too much. Robyn broke down and heaved huge, heavy sobs as Ford rubbed her shoulders and murmured vague words of comfort.

“Can we find him?” she finally managed when she could speak again. “Will I ever see him again?”

“Yes, to both questions.” Then she discovered what the shopping bag was all about. It was filled with photos of Justin and letters from the cousin. There in the heat of the summer night, in the blue light of a buzzing streetlamp, Robyn looked at all of the pictures of her son. There were twelve in all. She watched Justin grow before her eyes from the chubby toddler she remembered to a strapping boy of ten.

“He looks happy,” she said, not quite sure how this made her feel. “He’s smiling in every picture. He has friends and look—he plays soccer. Oh, and look at this one. He has a dog. Can I keep these? I want to read the letters.”

“I’ll have to turn them in to the police as evidence,” Ford said. “But we can make copies before I do that.”

She gently, reverently, placed the photos back into the shopping bag. Then she threw her arms around Ford’s neck and kissed him with every ounce of passion she had in her body, and then some.

“I love you so much. Thank you, thank you for giving my son back to me. Maybe you’re not ready to have me in your life full-time. Maybe you’re not ready to take on my complications. But I just want you to know—”

“Whoa. Who said I wasn’t ready to take you on full-time?”

“Well, it’s just that—I’m sure you didn’t expect to suddenly have a child thrust into your life.”

“I will welcome you and any child of yours into my life with no reservations. I love you, Robyn, with everything that’s in me. If you hadn’t come into my life, I don’t know what would have become of me. I might still be sitting on that bar stool at McGoo’s.”

She couldn’t deny that he’d changed since that day. She’d watched him come alive as his love for the work he did overcame his fear that he couldn’t always do it perfectly.

He had brought changes into her life, too. If not for loving him, she might still be stuck inside herself, too sad and guilty to allow herself any enjoyment in her life.

“He’ll need a tire swing,” Robyn said, completely out of context. “I always wanted one when I was a kid.”

But Ford was right there with her. “Not just a swing, but a backyard. A neighborhood with trees and other kids to play with. A house. We’ll buy a house.”

They sat for over an hour in that unromantic parking lot, spinning dreams about their future. Neither of them had said a word about marriage, but Robyn hoped Ford would be ready for that, someday.