Daddy's Home (30 page)

She jotted him a quick note back telling him where she was and that she was fine in case he wanted to call. She told him that she thought a house in Hawaii was a fine idea, and if that was what they decided to do, then she’d certainly have to get over her fear of flying.

She also saw that Landon had e-mailed her. She opened it up, read the note about Lady Godiva and the forwarding attachment.

Daddyman,

I need you. I always have. I’ve done this for us. I now know that you finding that perfect wife and family is only a farce. You never can find or have them. You’ve found what you need in me. Please see this and come be with me. We can disappear. We can be together and be married in a place where others don’t care. Please contact me so that I can tell you where I am, and we can be forever always. I love you always.

Lady Godiva

Another e-mail had come in a few hours later from Landon. Dammit, why hadn’t she opened this earlier? See what taking time away does? And you made a vow to Kristy! The next e-mail was the reply back from this Daddyman. It was crass and cruel and held the telltale truth that Daddy didn’t give one iota about this Lady Godiva. The weird part was that he’d found the perfect woman with a Christmas-like name.

Shit! Holly was a Christmas name.

Please. Now paranoia had set in for sure. Joy is a Christmas name. Noel. Mary, even. Maybe December. Holly once knew a gal named December. They called her Dee Dee.

It bugged her, but she knew it was silly.

The third e-mail was again from Landon. It said:

I’m sorry, Holly. I haven’t heard from you, and it’s getting late—almost seven here. I’ll have to let the powers that be know what I’ve found. I’ll hold off until tomorrow morning if I can. Chad’s breathing down my neck as is. Please call.

Holly looked at her watch. Dammit. That was nearly two hours ago. The wind howled outside. Probably going to be a fresh bout of snow. The lights flickered in the cabin. Chloe yelled out.

“It’s okay, honey. It’s just the wind,” Holly yelled back to her from the bedroom. “I’ll be out in a minute. Meg, why don’t you two make some hot cocoa with marshmallows? I’ll be right there. We’ll have that talk about sisters like I promised.”

“Sure thing,” Meg hollered back.

Holly turned back to the computer and noticed she’d been booted off the internet. She tried to reconnect with no luck. She picked up the phone to dial out. The lines were dead. Dammit. Her cell phone was on the charger. She’d have to wait for the battery to charge before she could get a hold of Landon, if he hadn’t already left the office. Maybe she should try Chad? But what use would that be? It would only get her buddy Landon in trouble.

She quickly picked up the mail and thumbed through it, deciding to take her mind off of what she couldn’t do anything about. She tore open the priority mail letter from her sister and was shocked to see that it wasn’t from her sister. Out dropped a photograph. Holly gingerly picked it up, studying it. It looked like a late 70s, maybe early 80s photo from Olan Mills. The picture was of a man, sort of handsome in a very white trash way. He was smiling, but his eyes were like those Holly had seen one too many times—psychotic, dangerous, empty. Killer’s eyes. The woman with him was a strawberry blonde, somewhat attractive. Like a young Sissy Spacek. She looked tired, worn, defeated. The smile on her face was a mere upward turn at the end of her lips. Her eyes were brown, sad, and not scared exactly . . . But just not really all there. They were as void as the man’s, but they were not a set of killer’s eyes. Then there were three children. The youngest was a very cute little girl of about three with her mother’s strawberry blonde hair pulled into a couple of piggy tails and hazel eyes. Her eyes were lively, yet that tinge of sadness that was reflected in her mother’s was also in hers. What had this family been through?

The next little girl was probably Chloe’s age—somewhere between seven and eight. Very pretty. Something about her struck a chord with Holly, almost like she’d seen or recognized this girl. But how could she? The girl’s hair was very long and very blonde like the father’s. Her eyes were sad, too, but there was some mischief behind them, and if Holly didn’t know better she’d have to say that in them, too, she recognized a bit of that psychotic look. Boy, this group would’ve probably had a doozy of a story to tell on Jerry Springer. Then there was the boy, maybe twelve. Handsome. That was the word for him, but his eyes were exactly like his father’s, and a shiver went sailing down her backside.

What the hell was this? Who had sent it?

Holly turned over the photograph and read the back. There were names above all the children. The youngest was Kimberly Drake, then Jennifer Drake, the boy was Gunter, and the parents were Mary and Frank Drake. Weird. She looked at the postmark. Brooklyn. Who could have sent this? And why? It nagged her. She scratched her head as if trying to pick at an answer.

Drake? Drake? Wait a minute. Wasn’t Drake one of Darla Monroe’s aliases? Fucking hell. She tried to get back on the internet and make another call to Landon, but had no luck connecting to either. Something was not right here. She walked out of the den and went into the front room where the files on Darla Monroe were. Her cell phone was on the charger, and she hoped that it had enough juice in it to call down to San Diego.

She knew this was big and felt it definitely had something to do with this case. She had to get a hold of Chad, even if it meant either taking a back seat on this case or killing her career entirely. But if this thing went down and was solved because of this photo, she wanted some respect. No, actually. What Holly wanted was this sick bastard who was behind these killings. She looked back down at the photo in her hand—at the eyes of the boy and the man. They were both very disturbed people. It was obvious, and the three females seated with them were victims of some sort. That much Holly knew and felt for sure.

“Mommy?”

“Yes, baby?” Holly glanced up.

“What are you doing? I thought you were going to have hot chocolate with us.”

“I am, Chloe. I’m just finishing up some work.”

“You should come watch this movie. It’s pretty good,” Meg chimed in. “Maybe when it’s over we can watch something else.”

“We’ll see. It’s getting pretty late, and we want to hit those slopes early. Give me twenty more minutes, okay?”

Both girls nodded, neither one looking too happy about it.

Holly took Darla Monroe’s file into the back room with her and started reading it over. As she got to the second page she noticed that there was no noise coming from the other room. Odd. The girls were wide-awake not fifteen minutes ago, waiting for her to join them. Holly looked up at the clock. No, she hadn’t lost track of time.

“Girls?” she yelled. No answer.

Paranoia or instinct? Holly headed for the locked nightstand on the other side of the bed. She was getting her gun.

As she turned the key in the lock, a male voice said, “Uh-uh, Holly. I wouldn’t do that.”

Holly turned around, key in hand, and saw a man with one hand clasped over Meg’s mouth and the other with a gun pointed at her head.

“Don’t hurt her. Whatever you want, we can work this out, but please don’t hurt her.”

“I don’t want to hurt her, Holly. It’s me, baby. Daddy’s home.”

Holly’s stomach sank as she looked into the eyes of the man standing feet from her. The man poised to kill Megan. She looked deeply into those eyes and knew she was looking into the eyes of the boy in the photograph—Gunter Drake.

The Family Man.

CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

Brendan had been trying to reach Holly since first light. He hadn’t slept well. It was more than missing her, Meg, and Chloe. Something made him toss and turn, and he even had an odd dream about the strange man who brought his cat in the day before. The one with the cat named Holly. Something was not right, and Brendan felt it in his gut. He picked up the phone again. It rang and rang. Where were they? He thought about calling the ranger’s office in Mammoth.

Aw, Holly was a cop after all. If anyone could take care of herself and those kids, it would be her. She’d probably do a better job than he could, that he’d bet on. Maybe they’d decided to head out already so they could get home early and be rested up when he and Maddie showed up before the sun dawned on Friday morning.

However, now it was evening and there was still no word from Holly and the girls. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to call that cop she worked with. What was his name? Her partner? The one who had basically railroaded her? Chuck something? No, Chad. Yes, that was it. He didn’t want to phone him, but he didn’t have a better idea. Besides, even though he thought that her partner had given Holly the shaft, Brendan could tell that Chad respected her. He’d seen that when Chad had accompanied her into Brendan’s offices. Maybe there was even little something more than respect there, too. If Brendan was right, he could see that this Chad cared a great deal for Holly.

He picked the phone up and dialed, hoping Chad might have some answers or that he could at least help ease his mind. If not, Brendan had already made the decision to hop into his Land Cruiser and head north himself. A winter storm was setting in up there. He had watched the news, and maybe that’s all that was unsettling—too much snow coming down and the lines were dead. But the excuse didn’t make Brendan feel any better, and even though his Holly was a tough cookie, he had the strong sense that she, Chloe, and his daughter were in deep trouble.

CHAPTER FORTY

Chad shut the door to Brooke’s office behind him. “Looks like we’re both burning the midnight oil. You want to go grab a bite, maybe a drink, and call it a night?”

“I don’t know, honey. I’m working through some paperwork,” Brooke said, looking up from her the papers on her desk.

“I really need to talk to you. It’s about Holly and this case, and . . .”

Brooke leaned back in her chair and crossed her legs. “Sounds serious.”

“It is.”

She shuffled the papers and stuffed them inside her briefcase. “What is it?”

“I don’t know if we did the right thing by her.” Chad sat down opposite from her.

“Of course we did. She was harming herself and this case. She’s a good cop. I’ll give her that. But she wasn’t good enough to know when to get out. For goodness sakes, she knew the Greene family.”

“I know. But she is very good at what she does, and I’m her partner. I sold her out, Brooke. I did. She would never do that to me.”

Brooke shifted in her chair. “If she cared about you, she would have.”

“I don’t know. I don’t feel right about it. And I’ve been trying to call her, but I can’t get through.” Chad crossed his arms in front of him.

“Why are you calling her? You don’t owe her anything. She messed up. Face it. She did. Now you and the rest of the team are trying to get through Holly’s blurred lines. What in her investigation was fact and what was based on emotion?
She
certainly didn’t know. Leave her be. If she’s the smart cookie I think she is, then she took everyone’s advice and went away for a few days.”

Chad stood. He was seeing Brooke in a very different light. “Why are you so crass when it comes to Holly?”

“I’m not. I’m realistic, and it’s my opinion that the two of you have an unhealthy relationship. You’re too close. Your boundaries are too lax. You’re only supposed to be partners, not inextricably wrapped up into each other’s lives.”

“Is that your personal or professional opinion, Dr. Madison?”

“Honestly? Both. If you want the truth, I am only human. I have emotions, you know.” She looked down at her manicured hands and wrung
them together.

“Are you saying that you’re jealous of me and Holly?”