All I've Ever Wanted (16 page)

S
andra Hickman stared into the bottom of her amber-colored drink and couldn't remember how many shots she'd had. What had she done? She questioned herself repeatedly. She might as well have pulled the trigger herself that killed Marion. A deep sob tore from her.

Her beloved Marion. Dead. For little over a week, she had tried to adjust to the realization that this time their separation wasn't a result of another argument, or some knockdown, drag-out fight. He was never going to call. He was never going to walk through the front door again. And it was all because of greed, her greed for money and power.

The judicial system was going to hell in a hand-
basket anyway. What did it matter that she took a bribe here or there on insignificant cases?

There were more than a few cases. And they weren't always insignificant.
Sandra cringed from her berating inner voice and lowered her head to rest against the bar's countertop. How many drinks would it take to shut off her conscience?

When she closed her eyes, she summoned an image of Marion from memory. She thought she'd die from the clarity her mind gave to detail. Even now, in what she knew to be a drunken stupor, she swore a trace of his favorite cologne drifted on the air.

The thought of life without him plunged her further into despair. After all, they were soul mates. More tears fell as she wished like hell that she was the one that lay six feet under at Hillandale Memorial Cemetery, instead of her husband.

He went to the FBI.
She shook her head at the realization that even that betrayal didn't matter. How was it that she stood there, stupefied, when her partner in crime had told her he'd killed her man? It was as if he'd told her the time.

The fact was there was nothing that she could have done. Another sob was wrenched from her soul.

Sandra lifted her head. The cool waft of the air conditioner kissed her tears. Her gaze fluttered over her immaculate home, none of her material posses
sions filled the gaping hole in her heart where her love had resided.

You could avenge his death.
Her sobs stopped and her body went still.

The idea was ludicrous. The repercussions would be severe. Regardless, Sandra warmed to the thought.

 

“So, you found her,” Dossman said, propping himself up against a stack of pillows, though he could never quite get comfortable. “At least that's good news. Where is she now?”

“Believe it or not, she's downstairs getting a cast for her arm.”

“You broke her arm?”

“No, but I could've wrung her neck for that little stunt she pulled.”

“Technically, we don't have a real reason to hold her.”

“Damn technicality.”

Dossman laughed.

“What?”

“What do you mean ‘What'? What's the real deal with you and Ms. St. James?”

Max folded his arms and thought about not answering his partner's idiotic question. “There's no deal, as you put it.”

“You're in denial.”

“You're a fine one to talk. What about
your
secret love affair?”

“I'm not in denial. It's just none of your business.”

“And my life is an open book. Is that it?”

“It is when it involves a case.”

“Is that right?” Max's expression conveyed his disbelief.

“That's my story and I'm sticking to it.”

“I figured as much.”

Dossman shrugged. “Frankly. I think that you two would make a charming couple.”

“A charming couple?”

“Yeah. She's tough, funny and smart. Not to mention she's extremely easy on the eyes.”

“Extremely?” He unfolded his arms. “You've checked her out?”

“It's kind of hard not to. Wouldn't you say?” Dossman watched his partner sputter, and even imagined his mind churning for something clever to say. “All right, let's change the subject. I had no idea that the woman had you tongue-tied. Though I have to admit, I'm dying to know exactly what happened between you two at your apartment last night.”

“I just bet you are.”

“If you ever want to clear your conscience about anything at all, you know I'm here for you, don't you?”

“Cut the wise-guy act. Help me figure out what our next move should be.”

“Fine. Fine. Tell me the situation.”

Max filled Dossman in on all that he knew and some that he speculated. When he finished, Dossman cradled his head in the palms of his hands with a look of defeat.

“It doesn't look good,” he said finally.

Max stood and glanced at his watch. “Tell me something I don't know.”

“I don't see where we have a choice in the matter. We have to call the FBI. Kidnapping is a federal offense.”

“She's dead set against it.”

“Tough. I say we play this one by the book. A child's life is in danger. It's not the time for one of us to go off playing supercop. You know what I mean?”

Max hesitated, and then nodded. His partner made sense. Though, if he was honest with himself, there
was
a part of him that wanted to play the part of the hero for Kennedy St. James.

Dossman cocked his head with a bemused grin. “Damn, you got it bad. Are you daydreaming now?”

“I thought you were supposed to change the subject.”

 

Tommy clutched his grandmother's hand, surprised that she had managed to stop trembling whereas he could not. The man promised them that
it would all be over soon, once his mother got there, but Tommy found himself praying for her not to come. The man planned to hurt her, despite his claims of being a friend.

“Does this place have a basement?” Keenan asked.

“Yes,” his grandma replied, tilting her chin.

“Good. Take me to it.” He waved his gun at her.

She stood and Tommy did likewise.

“What are you going to do with us?” Tommy asked boldly.

Keenan's mouth twisted into a cruel smile. “I think I'll keep that a secret, little man.” He returned his gaze to the older woman. “Show me.”

His Nana stiffened, and Tommy squeezed her hand for reassurance. She turned and led the way to the basement.

Keenan's smile widened at the sight of a key jutting out of the lock. “Look what we have here. It's Christmas in October. Get in.”

She pulled Tommy against her. “Please don't do this.”

“Don't waste my time begging. It won't do you any good.” He took a threatening step forward. “Now get in there.”

Their hard gazes battled before she complied and pulled Tommy in with her. The door slammed closed and impenetrable darkness surrounded them.

Tears rushed from Tommy's eyes as violent tremors shook his small body. Images of the boogeyman and other scary monsters crowded his imagination.

“Shh, baby. It's going to be all right.” She lowered onto her haunches to console him.

He tried to stop trembling, but it only got worse. “I'm scared,” he admitted.

Her arms enveloped him in a powerful hug as she confessed, “So am I.”

 

“Good news. It's not broken,” Kennedy said with a crooked grin. “It's just a sprain.”

He returned the favor before unloading the bad news. “I've talked to my partner and we both agree that we need to go to the FBI on this one.”

Her smile vanished. “No.” She turned on her heel and headed toward the exit.

With lightning speed, Max blocked her from the door.

“Out of my way, Collier. You have no right to hold me. I know it and you know it.”

“I don't need you here to call in the FBI, Kennedy. It's going to happen with or without you.”

Kennedy's jaw clenched with anger. “If you do, he's going to kill my son. Doesn't that mean anything to you?”

“It means everything. That's why we have to do
this. We have less than forty-eight hours. We don't have a choice.”

She rolled her gaze from him, too angry to speak.

“If you would just be honest with yourself, you'd realize that you can't solve this on your own. Lawrence wants you because you witnessed a murder. He'll kill your son and grandmother to get to you. That is if he hasn't killed them already. We're talking about a no-win situation here.”

Kennedy sagged into a nearby chair. Despair descended on her like a ton of bricks.

Max knelt beside her. “I'm sorry. If I thought that there was another way—”

“Don't be sorry. You're right.” She wiped her eyes dry. “If you think this is what it's going to take to save my family—then let's do it.”

He took her trembling hands into his. “I know just the guy to call.”

M
ax pushed open his door and swept out a hand to allow Kennedy to enter first.

“What's this?” Her tote bag slid to the floor at the sight of the elegant dining-room table.

“I…uh…prepared a lunch for us this afternoon, before I discovered you'd jumped ship.”

She lifted a curious brow. “More soup?”

“Hardly.” He moved over to the table and lifted the top off his serving dish. “Homemade crab Alfredo. It's ice-cold now.”

She walked over to the table with a timid smile. “Well, for what it's worth, it looks beautiful.”

He turned in her direction with a disarming smile.
“Too bad you didn't stick around, this meal would have knocked your socks off.”

Her heart fluttered. “I'm here now.”

“So you are.” His steady gaze probed hers. The room's temperature seemed to rocket and Kennedy suddenly found it hard to breathe. Her mind suddenly cluttered with memories of being locked in his arms, and relishing the taste of his lips.

She blinked and broke the hypnotic spell, only to notice that he, too, stared at her with the same level of intensity.

Kennedy cleared her throat. “Maybe this time I should fix us something to eat.”

“Not only are you beautiful, but you can cook, as well?”

She blushed at his casual compliment. “There are a lot of things I can do that aren't in your little folder.”

“Really?” He inched closer. “Like what?”

Her thoughts scrambled and she quickly forgot what they were talking about. “Huh?”

Max laughed, jolting her out of her stupor.

“Oh…uh…” She shook her head and laughed at herself. “I must be getting tired.”

“Uh-huh.” His smile widened. “Why don't we cook dinner together?”

“Together?” she repeated dumbfounded.

He nodded. “Unless being with a great chef, like myself, makes you nervous.”

“You know, you talk a lot of trash, Mr. Campbell's Soup.”

“You're never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not if I can help it,” she said, then realized the oddity of her comment. The chances of her returning to his apartment, or even seeing him again after all this madness, were slim to none.

“All right then. What would you like to cook?” He turned and walked to the kitchen, then stopped short when he saw the mess he'd left.

“My goodness.” Kennedy joined him. “It looks like El Niño hit this place.”

“I was creating.”

“Please don't start that again.”

He shrugged. “If you insist.”

“How about we just order a pizza?”

“I don't know. It doesn't sound too romantic.”

Kennedy's brows rose in curiosity. “Were you trying to romance me?” Her knees felt weak when he flashed her another potent smile.

“What if I was?”

“Why do you always answer my questions with other questions?”

Another shrug. “Didn't realize I did.”

“Bull. I think you do it in order to avoid giving me a straight answer.”

“Do you now?”

Her smile widened. “There you go again.”

“All right. You caught me.” He turned away from the kitchen.

Kennedy followed. “So, what's your answer?”

“To what?”

“You're impossible.” She laughed. “I asked you whether you were trying to romance me.”

“Ooh.”

“Ooh,” she mimicked him.

“I might have been,” he finally answered.

“It's a yes or no question.” She couldn't believe her eyes. He was actually blushing.

“Then the answer is yes.”

Flattered, her body warmed beneath his intense gaze.

“To be honest,” he continued, “I've been attracted to you since the moment I laid eyes on you at the Georgia Diner.” He lifted one hand and caressed her face, marveling at its softness. “There is just something about you.”

Kennedy placed her hand atop his, unsure as to why she stopped him. “I'm a woman with a lot of baggage. You don't want to get involved with me.”

“I have a lot of closet space.”

She shook her head. “You don't understand.”

“Look, Kennedy. I'm not going to force you to do anything that you don't want to do, especially right now. But I do want you to know that I'm interested.”

Spellbound by his sincerity, she gravitated toward him as if he had spoken magic words. She wasn't disappointed when his lips met hers halfway.

FBI Field Office, Atlanta, Georgia
Sunday, 8:45 a.m.

Special Agent Jonathan Mason reviewed Kennedy St. James's statement, satisfied that at least part of the Marion Underwood puzzle had been solved. Keenan Lawrence's case file had been delivered to him in less than thirty minutes, and plans to retrieve Thomas and Alice St. James were in full swing.

“Why didn't you come to us earlier?” Mason asked, returning to his desk.

“I told you. He warned me not to involve the police.” She glanced over at Max, who smiled encouragingly.

“And you have had no further contact with Mr. Lawrence since this morning?”

“I've already told you, no.”

Agent Mason locked gazes with her.

“Look, are you guys going to save my son or not? I've told you everything I know.”

“Calm down, Ms. St. James. We're doing the best we can. I just need to get some more information.”

Her shoulders drooped and she rolled her eyes heavenward. “This is a big waste of time.”

He smiled. “Trust me, we are going to do all we
can to protect your family. I'm only going over things because sometimes people bury things in their subconscious, perhaps dismissing them as irrelevant. More times than not though, it's the small things that are important.”

She dispelled some of her anxiety in a long sigh. This had to have been the longest day of her life.

After another hour of questioning, Kennedy and Max were led to another room, where a dozen agents were gathered, all either on phones or hunched over mounds of paper.

“We've already contacted our Memphis office. We'll fly up within the hour to establish a liaison.”

Kennedy pivoted toward the agent, her eyes wild with desperation. “What about me? You're not leaving me here, are you?”

Mason set a hand on her shoulder as he responded in a soothing voice, “We wouldn't dream of it.”

She then turned to Max. “You're coming, too, aren't you?”

His gaze dropped and he slowly shook his head. “This is no longer a police matter, Kennedy. I would just be in the way.”

She tugged on his arm, petitioning for his full attention. When his gaze returned to hers, her body grew warm and the air seemed dense.

“But I need you there.”

His lips fluttered at the corners before a full smile carved his mouth. “Then I'll be there.”

The door swung open and a man, whom Kennedy assumed to be another agent, entered. “Is there a Detective Collier in here?”

“I'm Detective Collier,” Max said, stepping forward.

“We have a call for you—a Lieutenant Scardino.”

He nodded, and then turned back toward Kennedy. “I'll be right back.”

She nodded and watched with a whirl of tangled emotions as he disappeared with the agent.

 

Max followed the immaculately dressed agent into a small room at the opposite end of the hallway, all the while wondering why his lieutenant wanted to speak with him.

“Hello.”

“Collier?” Scardino's firm voice filtered through the phone line.

“Yeah?”

“I hope you're sitting down.”

He took a seat. “I am now. What's up?”

“I have a new case I need for you to go and check out.”

“Now? I'm still working on a few things down here.”

“Ms. St. James is the FBI's problem now. I need you back here.”

Max mumbled a curse under his breath.

“I think you'll be interested in this one. A homicide has been reported down on Memorial Drive. The victim has already been identified as Aaliyah Hunter.”

 

Sandra packed bank records, receipts and even tape recordings of every illegal transaction she had participated in into a large box. She had kept such records for insurance. Now it was time to cash in.

She then addressed the box to the one man she knew at the FBI to be trustworthy: Jonathan Mason.

Though she had never been a great fan of the Mason family, she did respect their reputation. There was a part of her that wanted to laugh at the irony of the situation, but she couldn't.

“I'm doing the right thing,” she reaffirmed repeatedly. Who was she kidding? If she was honest with herself, she'd know that the right thing to do was to turn herself in. However, the thought of enduring the humiliation of a media frenzy, and doing jail time, scared her. Instead, she elected to take a different approach.

Sandra removed the .45 automatic that she'd kept on the top shelf of her walk-in closet. She loaded the gun and then secured it in the holster that fit snugly against the small of her back.

She checked her appearance in the mirror and hardly recognized the woman dressed head to toe in black, with her long hair brushed back into a pony-tail. “It's time to fix this mess we got ourselves into,” she said to her reflection. She turned and slid on her leather jacket, picked up the box and left to execute her plans.

 

“I'm not going to be able to go with you after all,” Max informed Kennedy when he returned. “I'm sorry.”

“But, I need you there,” she sputtered, struggling to explain again. “I don't know how much more of this I can handle alone.”

“I know, but something has come up.” Guilt rattled his voice as he thought back on Aaliyah's phone call. She'd called him in her time of need, and he'd practically hung up on her.

“I've been assigned another case.”

Hurt shadowed her features, but she managed to nod in understanding. “I guess this is it then.”

A long silence hung between them as their gazes probed one another.

“It doesn't have to be,” he said.

She gave him a weak smile. “Twice you've saved my life. Thank you.”

“Ah, gratitude. I was just beginning to think that the emotion was foreign to you.”

Kennedy's smile slid wider as she playfully slapped at his arm. “You're not funny.”

Mason suddenly appeared beside them. “We're ready to leave, Ms. St. James.”

She nodded and the agent gave the couple some privacy.

“In case I didn't tell you earlier, I really do appreciate all that you've done.”

“I was just doing my job…and it was my pleasure.”

Another lapse of silence hovered over them.

“Thanks again.” She stood on her tiptoes and kissed him.

Max cradled her face and prevented her from delivering just a quick peck. He dipped his tongue into her mouth and had to stop himself from moaning aloud. The world spun into a blur as the sweet intoxicating taste of her mouth urged him to hold her close.

Kennedy sank into the feel of his embrace. Her mind drifted lazily on a cloud, as the smell, the feel, the taste of him threatened to undo her.

When the kiss ended, they both still savored the residue of their passion.

“This is definitely not goodbye,” he whispered.

She smiled tenderly at him. “I hope not.”

“We're waiting on you, Ms. St. James.”

“Of course.” She returned her attention to Max. “I have to go.”

“I'll be thinking of you,” he said, and kissed her once again.

It was excruciating when they finally parted and he watched her walk out with the FBI agents. But he held no illusions that, somehow during this crazy case, he'd found the one thing he hadn't known he was searching for: love.