A Stranger's Touch (19 page)

Maggie was ready to gag the cook, until she mentioned the lost bear and
its connection to the motel. And the word
mother.
That struck her in the solar plexus like a prizefighter’s double jab.

“She didn’t want to do that?” Maggie asked her voice choked. The child the cook spoke of
had
to be Davie. There were too many coincidences for it to be anyone else.

“No, decided to buy a brand new one. Didn’t seem to pacify the kid, though. He was crying up a storm.”

Tears fogged Maggie’s eyes too. Davie rarely cried. She could remember only two times—when he had to get stitches in his knee, and when she explained to him about the divorce.

“Poor little guy, a-bawling and a-wailing. He was so upset, he left his hockey card behind.”

Maggie’s stomach dropped to her knees. “Do you still have it?”

The cook’s green eyes hardened, the pearly smile faded into the folds of her skin. “I didn’t think the lady would be looking for it. She wasn’t going to have the bear mailed, so why would she care about a measly card?”

“You threw it away?”

“Gave it to my grandson. He loves Jerome Iginla.”

The room did a 360 degree turn.
Maggie held onto the counter to keep herself upright.

Davie’s favorite card. And most likely his last. He wouldn’t have left it behind otherwise. Her heart tugged, knowing how much it cost him to part with it.

She thought about demanding the card and dismissed the idea. The cook looked ready for a challenge, hands on beefy hips, head thrown back, chin jutting forward. How much precious time would be lost in negotiations?

“Did the lady say where she was going?”

“Past Yellowknife. Another four hours north, if there aren’t any bison in the way.”

“Did she say where exactly?”

The cook chuckled, a tinny empty sound. “There’s only one highway. She can’t be too hard to find.”

* * *

In the narrow, one-person washroom, Maggie splashed water on her face. She tried to keep her excitement in check. It all seemed too coincidental. They’d stopped at a little village and the first person she’d questioned happened to know the destination of the woman they pursued?

She reminded herself they still had a huge challenge ahead of them. She knew Yellowknife was the capital of the Northwest Territories, but how many settlements were beyond it? A door-to-door search might take days. Weeks. And with Davie’s last hockey card gone, how would she find him? He’d taken more than three to school that day. How many cards had she overlooked along the way? How many opportunities had she missed to make that connection with her son?

Maggie leaned over the sink and saw her face in the mirror—bloodless cheeks, hair clinging to the damp skin around her neck in snake-like tendrils.

She hung her head and made herself breathe. In and out. It should have been easy. But the smell of hot oil crushed her lungs with each labored attempt. That and the feeling that she’d failed Davie. A long time before he’d gone missing.

“Enough,” she scolded her image. “Self pity isn’t pretty. And neither are you, at the moment.”

Using both hands, she gathered up her hair and coiled it into a bun, her fingers stiff and uncooperative. “Not a bit better,” she told her reflection. “But it’s cooler. And time to get going.”

As she reached for the doorknob, her cell phone rang. She dug into her pocket and flipped it open.

“Where in hell are you?”

Hearing Owens’ voice brought out the cop in her. She stood at attention. “Do you have news about Davie?”

“Where’s Stafford? I thought he’d be here by now.”

Maggie quickly replayed the conversation she’d had with the psychic this morning. Did his personal business have something to do with Owens?

“He’s been delayed. But he told me what happened.” She congratulated herself on her smooth delivery. With a little luck, Owens would buy her line and she’d find out the motive behind Stafford’s escape attempt.

“He told you about Morley?”

Her blood froze.
James Ryan Morley.
She’d heard the name. The man was famous.
Infamous
. At least in her circle. “He was a little vague on the details.”

“We don’t have a lot. We suspect him in the latest abduction case. Another boy.”

Maggie’s knees shook, barely able to support her weight. “Was he taken from a schoolyard?”

“A shopping mall, in Montana,” Owens told her. “With the help of a female accomplice.”

The woman in the tan car.

Sweat broke out on Maggie’s skin. She’d heard Morley liked to pair up. Probably some heroin-addicted soul he’d found. One who’d do anything for her next fix, even steal children for a monster. Was
her
Davie one of the pair’s victims?

“You okay?”

“Fine.” Her legs gave out. She slid down the wall until her butt collided with the floor.

“I’m glad Stafford was there to tell you. It’s not the kind of news I like to give over the phone.”

“No. I can understand that.” She sagged against the cool porcelain toilet and gripped her cell with both hands. “Owens...Stafford mentioned the other abduction case the two of you worked on together. He said he found the kid.”

Silence. Except for the blood pounding in her ears. “Owens? You guys found the kid, right?”

“Is that what Stafford said?”

Her flesh turned to ice. It wasn’t like Uncle Dale to avoid a direct question. Not from a fellow officer. Not from his best friend’s daughter. “Yeah. That’s what he said.”

“Stafford found the boy,” Owens confirmed, finally. But something in his voice told her it wasn’t the whole story. And the part he wasn’t telling was too horrible to reveal.

Maggie broke the connection as she toppled over onto the concrete floor. She brought her knees up to her chest and hugged herself, wondering how her heart had the gall to keep beating.

Chapter Fourteen

S
tafford sat sideways in the driver’s seat of Maggie’s parked car, the door open, his feet planted on solid ground, his hopes just as low.

He twisted off the top of his water bottle and took a swig. Then he leaned forward and dumped the remainder over his head, the excess dripping down to form a muddy mess between his shoes. The cold water felt good against his scalp. And for a moment, the flies that buzzed around Fort Providence disappeared. Along with Davie’s trail.

Stafford’s inquires at the motel had met with blank stares. No one remembered seeing the boy or his abductor. And, with nowhere else to check, he’d returned to the car.
Nearly an hour ago.

Five times he’d started across the street to find Maggie. Each time, he’d ditched the idea. She knew where they’d parked. She wouldn’t be going far without her vehicle. Although, it was clear she couldn’t get far enough away from him.

The water on his head didn’t feel so great now. It reminded him of Maggie’s cold shoulder after their lovemaking.

He’d wanted her, the way a condemned man craved life. Not just the softness of her skin or the heat of her body. He’d wanted to touch her soul.

At the time, it was all he’d desired. Now, he wished to God he’d walked away.

Sex wasn’t a Band-Aid. It didn’t fix anything. Why he’d thought it might had more to do with the independent agent in his jeans than any brain cells he possessed. It hadn’t made things better, only worse, driving a wedge between them and skewering him right through the middle.

A big mistake.

Maybe showing her that newspaper headline had been another. It killed him to scare her like that. But it had been the only way to get her to believe his reason for coming back was genuine.

He looked through his dripping hair and saw her crossing the street, every muscle she possessed tensed to the point of snapping. His gut knotted in response. He stood, dragged his bare palms over his scalp to remove the excess water, and prepared himself for the next brush-off.

“Tell me about the other abduction.”

The question broadsided him. He hadn’t expected it. Or the tremor of anger in her voice. With nerves on red alert, he faked an easy swing, chucking his empty water bottle into the backseat. “Which do you mean?”

“Right. There’s more than one.” Maggie clutched the top of the door, her feet shoulder width apart, the stance of a prosecuting attorney. “There’s that abduction you and Owens worked on in the past, and there’s the one Owens told you about last night.”

So she’d checked in with the boss. Betrayal sat heavy on Stafford’s chest. The old cop could have left well enough alone. He didn’t need to compound Maggie’s fears. Or trash the scrap of credibility Stafford had managed to gain.

“Well?”

The flies were starting to
swarm again, along with his memories. He couldn’t deal with both. “Get in the car.”

He gestured for her to take the driver’s seat and moved to one side. She stepped in front of him, blocking his path, a five-foot-four dynamo meeting him toe to toe.

Why had he ever thought she was vulnerable? The woman was a she-wolf. Though, sometimes he could feel the pain behind that façade as well as he could feel his own.

He held her stare and topped it, forcing her to move with nothing more than eye contact. He waited until she’d settled into her seat then made his way around to the other side and got in. All the possible comeback lines he’d thought of on his short trek shot out of his mind the moment he saw her face. It showed contempt, pure and simple.

In the stillness, his heart boomed, the last rumblings of an engine about to sputter and die. If she already hated him, he might as well seal the deal and crash and burn right here. “Which one do you want to talk about?”

Her mouth twisted. “Let’s start with old news. You told me you found the child.”

Rivulets of water trickled down Stafford’s neck, not nearly enough to wash away the past. “I did.”

“Why do I feel there’s a whole lot missing from your story?”

Because there was. Any information he’d thought would upset her. “What did Owens say?”

“What do
you
say?”

Did she really want to hear his side? Give him a trial before hanging him? Because a hanging was inevitable. He had nothing to offer in his own defense. And he was way past the point of redemption. The hope of forgiveness soured in his stomach like last month’s milk.

“Tommy Hutchinson disappeared while camping with his father.” Stafford shut the car door against the invading flies and looked at the sky, darkening with each ragged breath he drew. “The kid’s dad was frantic. And an immediate suspect. His ex-wife figured he’d hurt their son to get back at her.” Eyes closed, Stafford replayed that first meeting with Tommy’s dad. He’d felt the man’s desperation
,
the burden of self-reproach. “Owens believed the father, but needed a direction.”

“That’s when he called you?”

Her question triggered another memory, one that played in his mind with gruesome detail. He opened his eyes to escape the stomach-turning images. “Officers found some of Tommy’s clothes. When I touched them, I knew. It wasn’t the father. It was James Morley.”

He caught her nod so he didn’t elaborate. If she knew about the serial molester, then she knew what he’d done to the kid before finally killing him. The boy’s clothes showed every injury, every indignity he’d suffered.

“When I held Tommy’s jacket, I could hear him calling for help. Begging for it.” Anguish balled up in Stafford’s throat like a fist. He coughed and eased in a breath.

“How?”

He waited until he could trust himself to speak without sounding like a teenager hitting puberty. “He was still alive.”
Enduring Morley’s torture.

Stafford concentrated on the steam forming on the windshield and gritted his teeth. There was no way he was going to break down in front of her. She had her own pain. She didn’t need to see his too.

“So you
did
find him?”

“Yes. But too late.” In the dim light, he prayed she didn’t notice his struggle. Every word was torture, open-heart surgery without anesthesia. “I found Tommy...in a shallow grave.”

His chest ached, as if a truck’s weight sat on top of it. A small dose of what Maggie must be feeling. She’d understand the implications of his failure and it had to be ripping her up inside. Because, if he couldn’t save Tommy, what chance did Davie have?

“There’s more, isn’t there?”

Earlier, he’d admired Maggie for her doggedness. Now, it dredged up all kinds of things he didn’t want to talk about.
Liquid fire pumped in his veins. “Do I have to spell it out? Okay, here it is. If I’d figured it all out sooner, I could have caught Morley in the act, saved the kid, and brought a creep to justice. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

“That’s not what I meant,” she whispered, her words caressing him like an angel’s touch. “There’s something else. Something you’re not saying, and it’s eating you alive. Please, tell me.”

He couldn’t. Didn’t dare burden her with the knowledge. Or risk coming apart by voicing it out loud.

“Please, Stafford. Say it, then let it go.”

He felt her hand on his, and that busted him. All the pain he’d kept submerged came rushing to the surface. Voice cracking, he repeated the coroner’s results, words that had haunted him for the last six months.

“Tommy didn’t die of his wounds. He died of asphyxiation. Morley buried him alive.”

* * *

Davie played his new game.
International Superspy.

He knew all about secret agents. He’d seen Austin Powers at his dad’s place. His mom wouldn’t let him watch the movies at home. Said they were
inappropriate
. Whatever
that
meant.

Still, Austin was pretty funny, the way his teeth stuck out and the way he danced
.
Davie would sit and hold his stomach he’d be laughing so hard.

There were some boring bits—with
girls—
and some of the jokes didn’t make sense—those were the parts his dad liked—but watching the movies was something fun the two of them could do together. When Linda wasn’t around.

Davie liked playing spy. Spies didn’t get hurt. Strange ladies might tie them up, dye their hair, even steal their mojo, but they always won in the end. Being one made him feel bigger. Braver. Like a spy, he kept an eye on the road, checking for clues and anything that looked unusual. That way, if he did get to a phone, he could tell the good guys where to find him.