All I've Ever Wanted (2 page)

Scene of the crime
Sunday, 7:15 a.m.

D
etective Maxwell Collier groaned inwardly as he parked his black Maxima behind a swarm of patrol cars. The sun had barely been up for an hour and it was already time to deal with the aftermath of a full moon. Dread seeped into his bones as he stared at the dismal scene from behind his dark sunglasses.

A quick tap against his window drew him out of his trance. When he looked up, he saw his partner, Det. Michael Dossman, grinning crookedly and
holding two steaming cups of coffee. Whether Max liked it or not, it was time to face the day.

“Morning,” Dossman greeted, handing Max a cup as he got out of his car. “I hope you enjoyed your vacation because we've just been handed a case from hell.”

Max groaned. One could hardly call spending a week on an ugly custody battle a vacation. “After fifteen years on the force, I've come to the conclusion that every case is a case from hell.”

Dossman shrugged. “I guess you have a point there. But this is one for the record books,” he said as they headed toward the crime scene.

“Just spit it out, Dossman.”

“I think I'd rather wait until you see it for yourself.”

“Suit yourself.” Max shrugged off his irritation at his partner's baiting game and took a sip of his coffee. Now the morning was complete.

He didn't know what he'd expected, if he'd expected anything at all, but he'd recognized the victim. In one glance, he realized the truth of Dossman's statement; this
was
going to be the case from hell. “Assistant District Attorney, Marion Underwood.”

“I see you have a good memory,” Dossman said. “Frankly, I never cared for the man.”

“That goes for everyone who ever met him.” Max exhaled, and then took a look around the perimeter. “What in the hell was he doing out here?”

“Now that's the million-dollar question.”

“This definitely wasn't a robbery gone awry.”

“No. This looks more like an execution—a single bullet to the back of the head. It doesn't look like anything was taken. The man still had twenty-five hundred dollars in cash and six platinum cards in his wallet.”

“Who discovered the body?” Max questioned.

“A group of teenagers. They said this place is a popular make-out point. Can you believe that?”

“Here? It's the middle of nowhere.”

Dossman smiled. “They say that that's the beauty of it.”

“Of course. What was I thinking?” Suddenly, his coffee lost its appeal. “The media is going to have a field day with this one.”

“There's that. There's also the fact that we have no leads and no witnesses.”

“And no suspects.”

Dossman shook his head. “On the contrary. I suspect that we'll be swimming in suspects. It'll be a ‘Who shot J.R.?' kind of thing.”

“Great. I can hardly wait. How much time to you think we have before—”

“Detective Collier, Detective Collier. May I ask you a few questions?”

Max jerked around to Aaliyah Hunter. She was clutching a microphone and her cameraman was
waving frantically. The sight of them twisted his stomach into knots.

“She's got to be kidding,” Dossman said, shaking his head. “Wasn't she the reporter who put you in the hot seat last year?”

“Hot seat?” Max ground his teeth, then turned away. “She damn near cost me my job with her misquotes and creative editing skills.” To his surprise, his face flushed with anger. He'd thought that he'd turned the corner long ago and put the whole incident behind him.

“I can see why you were easily led down the road to hell.” Dossman openly assessed the reporter's physical assets. “A woman who looks like that could only be trouble.”

Max cast another glance at Ms. Hunter. He hated to admit that his partner had a point. She
was
perfect; too perfect. With her long hair, her dancer's legs, and her Colgate smile, she definitely spelled trouble. “Do me a favor?” Max said, returning his attention to Dossman. “Stay clear of her.”

“That could have gone without saying. Let me be the first to remind you to do the same.”

For the first time that morning, Max allowed a smile to curve his lips. “Consider it done.”

“Detective Collier,” another female voice rang out.

He turned toward his fellow detective, Julia Wash
ington, who was waving him over. “I think you better take a look at this.”

“You go ahead,” Dossman encouraged. “I'm going to see if I can work out who was the last person to see Mr. Underwood alive. Maybe I'll get lucky and find his date book. I should be able to search his office or place of residence. Let's say we check in with each other—” he glanced at his watch “—in about three hours. Is that good with you?”

“Sounds like a plan.” Max nodded, then headed toward Detective Washington. As he walked, he took a closer look at his surroundings. What an odd place for teenagers to hang out. Back in his day, if he'd even thought about bringing a girl to some remote area like this, he'd never even gotten near first base. Surely women hadn't changed so much that they no longer wanted to be romanced or wooed.

“What did you find, Julia?”

“Casings. Several of them, in fact. If I was a betting woman, I'd say they are from more than one gun.”

He frowned. “I thought that our victim was killed execution style?”

“He was. But I'd say that whoever killed him wasn't alone and perhaps Underwood wasn't intended to be the only victim.”

 

Kennedy flinched as she removed the small Band-Aid from her ear. At least it had stopped bleeding,
she consoled. She leaned toward the mirror to get a better look and grimaced when she fingered her left lobe. She would probably never be able to wear earrings in that ear again.

She opened the medicine cabinet and found a half-empty bottle of peroxide. She tended her discolored ear as best she could, then placed another Band-Aid over the wound.

Slowly, she moved away from the vanity area and over to the tub, where she turned the shower on and made the water as hot as she could stand it. As she disrobed, she gazed at the numerous scratches that marred her skin. How she had survived that horrible night was beyond her. All she could remember was running…

 

“This way,” a man yelled to his companions.

He was a little too close for comfort. The thought of giving up crossed her mind, but she quickly dispelled the notion. She'd never considered herself a quitter and she had no intention of becoming one now.

Her lungs burned and her legs ached as she finally broke through into the clearing around her development. She wasted no time gauging her location; she ducked into the first building she reached. She knew the building's floor plan well since it was a duplicate of her own.

Keep moving, keep moving.
Down the stairs and into the basement, she ran.
Faster, faster,
she urged herself. When her hands pushed open the laundry-room door, she heard a crash on the floor above her. Her heart pounded as she plunged onward.

She stopped short the moment she spotted the small window. There were shards of broken glass scattered everywhere beneath it and two wooden boards were nailed across the opening. Dear God, what am I going to do now…?

 

“Mommy, can Jimmy go to church with us this morning?” Tommy's inquisitive voice broke Kennedy's reverie and jerked her back to the present.

“Uh… Sure, honey. As long as it's okay with his mother,” she answered above the sound of the shower spray. She couldn't remember when she'd stepped into the shower, or even lathering, but she rushed to rinse off. She had a million and one things to do before they left for the eleven-o'clock service.

Determined to put Friday night's events behind her, Kennedy concentrated on preparing breakfast, which consisted of milk and cereal due to her running behind schedule. As usual, Jimmy's mother had dropped him off without feeding him breakfast and Kennedy found herself preparing another bowl.

While the boys ate, Kennedy mended her son's only good pair of slacks and then rushed to get
dressed herself. By ten o'clock, she had everyone clothed, fed and standing at the bus stop.

“Mommy, are you okay?” Tommy questioned, swinging her hand.

Startled, she jumped and refocused her attention on her son. “Of course, baby. Mommy is just thinking, that's all.” Her forced smile grew warm as she stared down at him. Every time she saw him she was reminded of how much he looked like his father.

Standing beside Tommy was Jimmy. He was only six months older than her son, but probably weighed a good twenty pounds more. He had the deepest pair of dimples she had ever seen, and right now the boy also had the misfortune to be missing his two front teeth. It was impossible not to like the exuberant boy. In fact, she often felt more like a second mother to him than a neighbor.

Their bus arrived and the three of them stepped on and took their seats. Throughout the ride, Kennedy remained on guard. Of course, she still had no idea what she'd do if she recognized one of the gang members from the other night.

Just put the whole thing behind you,
she coached herself. But, even as she thought the words, her thoughts traveled back to that night….

 

“He had to have gone this way,” the now familiar voice shouted.

As what sounded like a stampede descended the stairs, again Kennedy felt as if her feet had rooted themselves to the floor. She couldn't seem to think. Couldn't move. Then her eyes fell on the double-load dryers and a solution became clear.

Now she could move again. She ducked inside one of the dryers in a time an Olympic sprinter would envy, and tossed strange clothes over her body. Just as she finished and pulled the dryer door closed from the inside, she heard the laundry room door burst open.

She heard sounds, for a while, then everything went quiet.

Were they still in the room? Were they searching the other dryers? The possibility terrified her. She closed her eyes and prayed. Hard.

Time stretched. Yet, she still couldn't hear anything. Should she risk a peek? Her heart lurched. How had she gotten herself into this mess? The answer came quickly: her damn curiosity.

Lord, if you'll get me out of this one, I swear, I'll mind my own business from now on.
Hadn't she promised that before?
I mean it this time,
she added
.

Even after her pledge, Kennedy remained in the dryer for some time. She couldn't be sure whether her prayer had been answered, but she couldn't stay cramped in there forever. Shifting her weight, she started to push open the door, just as it jerked open from the other side.

A woman screamed before she could.

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry,” Kennedy apologized as she climbed out.

The other woman turned out to be a teenager, and the sheer horror etched in her features would have been comical under different circumstances. This time, Kennedy thought it would be best not to offer an explanation. She simply handed the woman the laundry that was still draped over her and took off.

By the time she made it home, it was well after one in the morning. To her surprise and relief, Eve accepted her excuse of having missed the bus and having had to catch a ride with a colleague….

 

“Mommy, isn't this our stop?” Tommy asked.

Kennedy jumped again, but quickly got her bearings. “Yes, sweetie. Go ahead and pull the cord. Jimmy, are you ready?”

His two dimples appeared as he nodded and Kennedy had to resist the urge to pinch his chubby cheeks. Despite his cheerful presence, she was as jumpy as a preteen at a horror movie. She had to keep telling herself there was nothing to worry about. No one had seen her that night. She might as well relax.

She held hands with both boys and led them down the aisle. But, as she hurried, her purse strap snagged
on something and jerked her back. She turned to pry the straps loose, but stopped cold when her gaze met a murderer's.

A
aliyah Hunter clenched her teeth while her anger simmered. She knew damn well that Det. Collier had heard her asking him for an interview. She didn't have much time before other members of the press arrived on the scene. She'd already tried talking to the other members of the police force on the scene, and they'd all told her that they weren't able to comment at this time. That was a lot of crap.

“I have to figure out some way to get an exclusive.”

“Good luck,” Reggie Weiss, her cameraman, said from behind her. “It seems that everyone is avoiding us like the plague.”

She turned and flashed him an irritated glare. “I'm quite aware of that. Thank you.”

Reggie shrugged. “Forgive me for stating the obvious.”

Aaliyah returned her attention to the crime scene, and particularly to Det. Collier. Maybe she should have thought twice before crossing him. She shook her head to dispel any thoughts of wrongdoing on her part. Hell, she'd just been doing her job. Why couldn't people understand that?

A cool breeze ruffled her hair and sent chills down her spine. She cursed. There had to be something she could do here other than freezing her butt off.

“You know, there's always the possibility that they really don't have any information,” Reggie offered. “I'd say, judging by your friend's expression, that he doesn't know what the hell happened out here.”

“Great. Are you suggesting that we now do our investigative reports by reading body language?”

“Hey, there's no reason to take my head off. I'm not the one who burned the bridges.”

He was right, she realized. Her gaze locked on Collier. He was a fine specimen of a man. At six foot two, he had a body of a pro athlete, and a face of a movie star. What red-blooded woman wouldn't be attracted to him? Even now, as she stared at him, she could feel her pulse quickening. In truth, when she'd
made the decision to reedit her exclusive interview with him six months ago, it had been a direct result of a lovers' quarrel—for him, a one-night stand.

A slow smile curved her lips. It hadn't been easy to seduce the dedicated detective, but the reward had been well worth the work. He'd surprised her by being a tender and sensual lover. So much so, that she still dreamed of that night. So much so, that she'd vowed to have him again.

 

Kennedy's heart stopped, or at least it felt that way. She stared at the man she'd seen in the woods, Keenan Lawrence, the leader of The Skulls. She couldn't believe that she'd run into him here of all places.

“Mommy, come on,” Tommy called, tugging on her arm.

Wordlessly, she pried her purse strap loose from the bus seat, and then managed to turn away from the gang member's black glare. She could feel his gaze burning through her, as she somehow managed to get the children off the bus. Only then was she able to heave a sigh of relief.

However, that relief didn't last long. Throughout the church service, Kennedy badgered herself over the way she'd behaved on the bus. If Keenan hadn't suspected her before, she'd just given him a reason to. She shook her head and vowed to do better if their paths crossed again.

Maybe I should call the police
. Kennedy almost laughed aloud at the thought. To go to the police would be like signing her own death warrant. She looked down at Tommy and realized that she had a lot more than just her own life at stake. She knew the streets well enough to know that The Skulls were a force to be reckoned with and no amount of police protection could protect you from the infamous gang.

When it came time for every head to bow, she prayed for forgiveness, guidance, and above all, wisdom. Cowardice was a bitter pill to swallow, she realized.

After the service, Pastor Warner approached Kennedy. “Ms. St. James, I'm glad to see you. The missus and I wanted to thank you for helping with the children's Bible study last week. I swear, I don't know where you find the time to help out with the church's functions, but I'm mighty glad that you do.”

She offered him a genuine smile. “There's no need to thank me. I'm glad that I was able to help. Really.”

“I see that you brought Mr. Hughes with you again,” he said, referring to little Jimmy. “You know our church is always happy to see more young black men enter the Lord's house.”

Jimmy grinned broadly, displaying the gap in his front teeth.

Kennedy had discovered long ago that he loved it
when he was referred to as Mr. Hughes. Especially since his mother always called him “the man of the house.” She placed a comforting arm around Jimmy's shoulders, as well as Tommy's.

“Well, we all enjoyed your sermon this morning.”

“Good. Does that mean you'll be returning this evening for the six-o'clock revival?”

“I wish we could, but—”

He held up his hand to cut her off. “Don't worry, I understand.” His smile widened to reflect his sincerity. “You know, you've been a member of this church since—what, you were three?”

She nodded.

“I know that you've traveled a hard road. And you may have even harder times ahead of you. I just want you to know that I think you're doing a wonderful job, caring for Tommy and putting yourself through school. I know both of your parents are proud and smiling down at you right now.”

Tears welled in Kennedy's eyes. “Thank you,” she managed to say, but her voice cracked under the emotional strain. In truth, she often wondered if she'd still be a great disappointment to her parents. Her highly educated parents had certainly been quite vocal about how she was throwing her life away when they'd heard that she was pregnant.

Somehow, she succeeded in saying her goodbyes while her mind whirled over her pastor's praises.
She'd give anything to hear her father say that she was doing a good job, or even have her mother around to give her advice on pediatric care. Lord knew she could have used some when Tommy was a baby.

She smiled at the memories those thoughts evoked. As a teenager, Kennedy hadn't been a rebel, nor was she “the girl next door” type. She'd considered herself to be in the middle. Ordinary. Which was exactly what she hadn't wanted to be. The funny thing was that she couldn't see how to change that, until she ran into Lee Carsey. Her smile widened.

Lee was an ordinary girl's dream. He was the captain of the football, basketball and swim teams. Kennedy had often thought that when Lee smiled, he could light up the darkest room, no matter how cliché that sounded. The mere fact that he'd even noticed her proved that God indeed answered prayers.

When she was on Lee's arm, suddenly, the other students had taken notice. She hadn't been so ordinary anymore.

She'd thought it was the romance of the century—a love of a lifetime. They'd done everything and gone everywhere together. There were times where she hadn't been sure where he began and she ended. She'd been engaged and four months pregnant when she lost her lover in a horrible motorcycle accident. She missed and longed for him.

Kennedy withdrew from her private thoughts long enough to take the boys to Piccadilly's Cafeteria. The restaurant had long been a part of their Sunday ritual. It was also a place where she could continue to mingle with the church crowd, though her heart wasn't in such socializing today. She'd rather spend the rest of the day watching Tommy and Jimmy tell jokes over flavored Jell-O.

As the boys played, she reveled in their youth and carefree ways. Soon, she jumped into their joke-telling, and even made fun of the latest street slang terms. Why couldn't every day be Sunday? she wondered.

By three o'clock, the threesome piled back on MARTA and headed home. For Kennedy, the day's nostalgic peace had ended and her fears returned. No matter how hard she tried to act normally, she couldn't help casting worried glances over her shoulders.

 

Max felt the stirrings of a migraine. Nothing about this scene made any sense. That wasn't exactly unusual for a murder case, but he'd hoped for a nice simple scenario and a quick resolution that would appease his boss, and the media, as well.

His cell phone rang.

“Yeah.”

“Hey, partner. Any new news?” Dossman's inquisitive voice filtered through the line.

“Not yet. What about you? How are things coming?”

“I'm waiting for a judge to sign a warrant to let us search Underwood's home for his date books, calendars and memorandums. There's no one there who can give us a consent to search. That's why I called. What do you say you meet me at Underwood's residence around five o'clock? I should have this taken care of by then.”

Max jotted the address down in his notebook and agreed to meet Dossman. He hung up just as Detective Washington returned, shaking her head.

“Well, there's definitely no shortage of footprints out here. Being that this is supposedly a popular place with the local kids, we could spend a lot of time following tracks and still end up following the wrong trail.”

Max removed his shades and sighed with frustration. “The evidence still needs to be cataloged, too. That might lead us to the right trail. By the way, how many casings did we find?”

“Twenty-five, so far.”

“It looks like you were right. They were chasing something.”

“Or someone.”

Max remained silent for a moment, then said, “Maybe someone stumbled on the scene.”

“A teenager,” Washington suggested.

“That would be my first guess. And since we haven't found a second body, I'm willing to bet that we've got ourselves a witness out there somewhere.”