Cold Target (27 page)

“I'll look in the rest rooms,” the librarian said.

“I'll start out here,” Holly said, her voice rising in panic.

Two other patrons overheard and also started searching, going through each aisle of books.

Her heart pounding, her breath caught in her throat, Holly ran through the room, hunting behind shelves, every corner. She could barely breathe. What if her husband …?

Panic exploded in her. She prayed even as she searched.
God, don't let anything happen to him
.

The rest room. Maybe Louise had found him.…

But the woman came out of the men's room, shaking her head. “I'll call the police,” she said.

Outside. Maybe he went outside. She ran for the door, almost tripping.
Please, God
, she begged again.
Let him be there
.

She threw the door open. Her gaze swept the street in front and she dashed outside. Praying. Hoping. The street was empty.

She ran around the side of the building. “Mikey,” she called.

Then she came to an abrupt halt.

Doug Menelo was on one knee, talking to her son. Both looked up, obviously startled by the sound of her voice.

Mikey
!

She sped across the distance and grabbed her son, hugging him so tightly he yelped.

She released him only slightly. “Why did you leave?”

“I looked out the window and saw Sher'f Doug outside,” he explained, his eyes wide. “I wanted to ask to ride again.”

“Don't ever run off again without telling me. Ever.”

His eyes started to fill with tears. She was almost never severe with him. Her own cheeks were wet. She put her face next to his and their tears intermingled.

After a moment, she stood, looked at the sheriff who was watching her every move. She had called out “Mikey,” not “Harry.” Her stomach seemed to fall away.

“I'm sorry,” she said. “I'm not usually hysterical.” She was afraid to say more, to explain. It would only draw attention to the error. Maybe he hadn't even heard her.

“I've noticed,” he replied. “I should have brought him inside immediately. I was just going to do that. I didn't realize that you didn't know he saw me.”

“He disappeared so … quickly. I was watching, then …”

She was stuttering, the panic lingering in her voice.

“I know how frightening it is to lose a child,” he said in a gentle voice.

Had she overreacted? Did he think her reaction too extreme for a mother who had misplaced her child for a few moments?

“There are so many stories about—”

“I know,” he said. “I would feel the same way about my niece.”

She picked up Harry and hugged him again. She didn't care what Doug thought. She just wanted to hold her son. Forever.

“I'd better let the librarian know,” she said. “Everyone is searching for him.”

“I'll go and tell them,” Doug Menelo said.

“Thanks, but I have some books to pick up.”

“Is your car here? Can I take you home?”

Did she look that spooked? She and Harry had walked to the library. She wouldn't use the car any more than she absolutely had to until she received her driver's license.

Had he noticed her reluctance to drive? Would he put two and two together?

The fear in her deepened.

Doug Menelo was looking at her with concern. “Liz?”

She suddenly realized she hadn't answered his question. She also knew that this moment showed the disaster of becoming involved, even on a friendship basis, with anyone.

“I'm all right, truly I am,” she said. “It was just … I had a fright.”

“I can get those books for you. Louise can show me—”

“No!” The word was sharper than she intended. Still holding her son, she turned and hurried up the stairs. She didn't look back as she opened the door and rushed to the checkout desk, where Louise was dialing a phone, evidently calling the police.

“I found him,” Holly said.

“Thank God,” Louise said.

The few other patrons crowded around, visible relief on their faces, and she thanked them all for their efforts in looking for him.

People cared here in Bisbee. People cared, and they wanted to know their neighbors.

She closed her eyes and hugged Harry again until he wriggled in protest. She never wanted to let him go.

Holly lowered him to the ground but clutched his hand as she hurried to the computer. The monitor still showed the article about the fund-raiser. The photo of her husband. She quickly clicked off the website. She should visit another site or two, but right now, she wanted nothing so much as to get home with Harry.

Home
. The small shabby cottage had become that in these past few weeks. It was more than home. It was her refuge.

“Let's go,” she said to Harry.

“Where?”

“Home.”

He looked disappointed. “I want tacos.”

“Tacos are not for little boys who wander off.”

“But … Sher'f Doug …”

“I don't care who it is,” she said. “Please don't do that again.”

“You're crying, Mommy.”

She reached up and wiped away the tears. “I was frightened for you.”

“I'm a big boy.”

“You are a very big boy, but I love you. I worry about you.”

“I'm sorry,” he said earnestly.

She hugged him again. Her hand tightened around his as they started walking. It tightened even more as she saw Doug Menelo leaning against his patrol car, his gaze following their every step.

Her stomach was still tight, sick with lingering fear for Harry.

Every mother's nightmare.

But she wasn't just every mother. And her nightmares were all too real.

In that one moment of complete terror, she'd learned what it would be like to lose a child.

N
EW
O
RLEANS

Charles Rawson left his daughter's home and went to his office. It was still lit. One associate was in the library when Charles walked by. A paralegal was sitting at her desk, staring at a computer screen.

Charles passed both without speaking, went into his office and closed the door. He sat down and started typing.

When he finished, he looked at the clock. More than three hours had passed. He printed out four copies of the document he'd typed, placed one copy of each into individual envelopes and sealed them. He then placed each of the envelopes into a larger one, carefully adding a cover letter and a check to each before sealing the outer envelopes and addressing them.

He turned off the computer, placed three envelopes into his briefcase and tucked the remaining copy, addressed to Meredith, into a file for a case under appeal. He would take that copy to his safe deposit box in the morning.

He would drop the envelopes into a mailbox on his way home.

In the morning he would make several phone calls, relating what he had done.

As he left the office, he noticed the paralegal was gone. So was the associate, but a light still shone in one of the offices. An eager beaver. He'd been one years ago. Now he was just tired.

He nodded at the night watchman and headed for the underground parking garage. It, too, was patrolled on a regular basis.

He had just about reached his car when a car gunned behind him. He turned around and saw two headlights coming directly at him. He braced for the impact.

Pain struck, ripped through him, then he felt nothing.

The sound of insistent knocking on her front door and loud barking woke Meredith.

She woke with a start, having finally sunk into a deep sleep after a restless night. Gage's friend had swept the house earlier, finding only the bug in her telephone. Still, she felt uneasy. More than uneasy. Mrs. Starnes's death combined with her father's visit haunted her.

When the knocking persisted, she reached for an old robe she kept at the foot of her bed and pulled it over the large T-shirt she slept in.

She went to the window and looked outside. A generic car that screamed unmarked police-department issue. Gage? What would he be doing here again?

The knocking became more urgent.

She hurried downstairs, Nicky keeping pace beside her. At least he was a good barker if not defender.

She looked through the spy hole that had been recently installed. Two men. And neither was Gage. They both looked grim.

One of the two—Max Byers—was familiar. A detective. He'd been a witness in one of the cases she'd prosecuted. The other also had the look of an officer.

She opened the door.

Byers couldn't meet her gaze. “Ms. Rawson,” he said politely. “May we come in?”

“Why?” she asked, instinctively knowing it was something bad. His eyes told her that. So had the insistent knocking at this hour in the morning.

He didn't have to say anything. She knew their message before they opened their mouths. Her head knew it. Her heart wouldn't accept it.

She couldn't bring herself to ask the question.

After a few seconds of silence, Byers repeated his request. “May we come in?”

Wordlessly, she opened the door for them, then went around the room, turning on the lights. Doing something kept bad news at bay. It delayed what she knew was coming. Someone had died. Someone close to her. If it had been her mother, a call from the hospital would have sufficed. There was only one person whose death would be announced to her this way.

She looked at the sofa where her father had sat several hours ago. In her mind's eye, she saw his worried face, the desperate plea in his voice. A plea she'd ignored.

Finally, she asked the question. “My father?”

Byers nodded.

“Is he dead?”

“I'm afraid so.”

She slumped against a wall.

“Are you alone, Ms. Rawson? Is there anyone you can call?”

“No. My mother is in the hospital.” She padded across to a chair and sat down. “What happened?”

“Hit-and-run in the parking lot of his building.”

Her heart thudded so loudly she thought they must hear it as well.

“When?”

“He was found two hours ago. The paramedics think he had been there less than an hour when they were called. So the best guesstimate as to time of death is one to two
A
.
M
.”

“There's a guard on duty in that parking lot. How—”

“We don't know. He says he didn't hear anything, but he also admitted he might have taken a nap. He's the one who found him.”

She was numb. Too numb to think. Except of her father's words.

Do you realize what you have done
?

She hadn't then. She was terribly afraid she did now.

The impact of those thoughts were like a boulder hitting her.

“Did your father have any enemies?” the second detective asked.

“I imagine he had quite a few. Attorneys usually do. There are losers in every case. But I can't think of any who would want to kill him.”

“Do you know why he was in his office so late?”

She wanted the questions to end. She didn't want to think that perhaps something she'd done had cost her father his life.

Do you realize what you have done
? The words echoed over and over again in her mind.

“Ms. Rawson?”

“I'm sorry,” she said. “What was the question?”

“Do you know why he was in the office so late?”

“He often worked very late.”

“Do you know what he might have been working on?”

“You'll have to ask his associates,” she said slowly. “I'm not that familiar with his cases. There has been a big corporate case but that's drawing to an end.”

“When did you last talk to him?”

The question she dreaded. “Earlier tonight.”

“Did he seem worried about anything?”

She hesitated, then said, “I need coffee.”

She really needed time. To think. To decide what to say.

Byers nodded. Nicky, who hadn't wandered farther than a few inches from her feet, went with her to the kitchen. Byers followed.

Mechanically, she started the coffee.

The phone rang, and Gage rolled over to his bedside table.

He had been up until three this morning, following up on the Starnes case. He looked at the clock and groaned.

Five
.

Less than two hours' sleep.

He picked up the phone receiver.

“You left too early, partner.”

“What do you mean?”

“Charles Rawson was just found. Dead.”

Gage sat up with a jolt. “What did you say?”

“Prominent New Orleans attorney Charles Rawson just bit the dust. A hit-and-run in his building's garage. Strange that his daughter was a murder witness yesterday, huh?”

“Christ,” Gage said. “Who has the case?”

“Not us. It's high profile now. I suspect we'll be taken off the Starnes case. I'm not sure if the captain knows the connection between the cases, but he sure as hell will soon.”

“Thanks for letting me know.”

“Hey, we're partners.”

The line went dead.

Gage hurriedly took a cold shower to wake up, then stepped into a pair of Dockers and found a clean blue shirt. Beast waited impatiently, obviously eager for a meal. He poured some dry food into a bowl and filled the water dish.

The impact of the news slowly sank in. Meredith would be devastated. Her mother dying. The Starnes murder. Now this.

Had she been notified yet?

Surely she had.

He wished she'd called him.

Would she want him near? Did she have anyone?

Surely yes.

Still, he would stop by her house, make sure she was all right.

Then he would start his own investigation. To hell with the department. Meredith Rawson was involved in something extremely dangerous. And he was damned well going to find out what it was.

From the time the phone rang to the time he stepped inside the car, only fifteen minutes had passed. He had not taken the time to shave.