The Past Came Hunting (2 page)

Chapter One

Fifteen Years Later

The kid looked like he’d lost his best friend. Probably because he had.

From the passenger side of the vehicle, Melanie Norris glanced over her shoulder and forced back the stirring of tears. Slumped in the backseat, her teenage son stared wordlessly out the window. She ached for him. Not only had he lost his father, she’d taken him away from his school and his friends.

As if the boy were deaf and not depressed, the realtor murmured, “How long has his father been gone?”

“Three months.” Before Luke tuned into the conversation, Mel added, “The properties you’ve shown me are out of my price range, Mrs. Sims. I need to stick to the budget I gave you.”

The trim, silver-haired saleswoman cast Mel a look as if to say,
but your budget’s so low
. “I think the next house will better suit your needs. It’s more modest than some, but the neighborhood’s safe. It’s in District 11 and the high school’s a few blocks away.”

Years ago, Mel had learned the value of remaining silent. She’d bide her time. One more house. One more stop, which would prove a huge waste of time, and then she would demand the woman take them back to their car.

Dark gray clouds hung low in the sky, threatening to unleash snow flurries at any time. Dreading to forsake the warm vehicle again on the brisk October morning, she snuggled deeper into her coat and suppressed a sigh.

Mrs. Sims steered the red Honda onto a street called Serendipity. Crisp golden leaves littered the ground, aspens with barren limbs lined the narrow lane and snow-capped Pikes Peak loomed like a sentinel over the city of Colorado Springs.

Four houses from the corner, however, she saw the for sale sign, and beyond the sign, a path led to a pristine white two-story structure with forest green shutters and trim. And for a moment, she dared to dream.

Until her gaze fell to the flyer stating the price, a full fifty thousand above her pre-approved loan amount. She was set to protest when the realtor pulled alongside the curb, and Mel caught sight of a teenager close to Luke’s age shooting baskets from the driveway next door.

From the backseat Luke made a shuffling noise. She turned to find his eyes lit up and that he’d suddenly straightened.

Mrs. Sims looked between the two and smiled. “Shall we go inside?”

With her son bolting from the car, what else could Mel do?

The realtor took her through a property that had been vacant for almost two years. Though musty and layered with dust, the house had so many good points Mel almost strayed from her common sense. The kitchen with its wood floors was airy, the back yard immense, and although the upstairs bedrooms were tiny, the house came with two full baths and an unfinished basement. The landscaping wasn’t much, but since that was Mel’s strong suit, she wasn’t worried about it.

She found herself mentally calculating the additional mortgage payment when she and Mrs. Sims returned to the front door. Luke would start college in three years, and although there’d been talk in Cañon City of an athletic scholarship, she couldn’t count on that. And no matter how much she liked this house, she couldn’t risk his future.

Her heart sank when she stepped onto the porch and found the boys engaged in a rowdy game of one-on-one. The neighborhood kid showed moves that said he wasn’t a novice. Twice he even stole the ball from Luke and drove to the basket. Not many boys Luke’s age gave him a challenge. Obviously Luke agreed. It had been too many months since she’d seen her son smile.

But a game of basketball and a neighborhood kid had made it happen.

Out of breath, Luke and his new pal came running. “Hey, Mom, this is Matt Crandall. He lives next door. He’s a sophomore like me.”

She shook the boy’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Matt.”

“You gonna buy the place, Mrs. Norris? If you are, better hurry, basketball tryouts start in November―”

“Whoa, whoa, slow down.” Mel laughed. “Talk about being outnumbered.” Both boys towered over her, Luke fair and blond as his father, Matt a head shorter, dark and brunet.

Luke’s youthful expression remained ever hopeful, but too soon she would disappoint him again. Buying time, she said, “Give me a moment will you, sweetheart?” She turned to the realtor. “I’d like to see the backyard again, if you don’t mind.”

By the time they reached the rear of the property, pressure was squeezing the life out of her. A sweater she’d paid too much for snagged on a diseased Juniper bush, only adding to her frustration. She gritted her teeth and worked the fabric free. “I can’t afford this house, Mrs. Sims. I work for a florist. I earn enough to pay my expenses. I have my husband’s pension and a savings account, but I’ve set it aside for Luke’s college tuition.”

“I understand,” the woman said. “And, of course, your son’s education comes first. But the listing does say motivated seller, and I have it on good authority she’ll negotiate.”

“But will she come down fifty thousand dollars?” Mel asked dismally.

“Maybe not the full amount. For the right buyer, though, she’s been known to make things happen. She’s made a nice living buying and selling properties like these, and the house has been vacant awhile, so she’s willing to deal.”

“You sound like you know the owner personally.”

“Let’s just say we’re acquainted.” Mrs. Sims stuck out her hand. “I’m ready to do business if you are, Melanie. The owner of 39 Serendipity Lane is
me
.”

Lieutenant Joe Crandall
suspected his trek around the cubicles of the Police Operations Center resembled the acid churning a path through his gut. This morning’s briefing had held one surprise after another. Joe hated surprises.

He also hated premonitions, and as he stared at the third shift’s list of callouts, the bad feelings just kept on coming. He’d entered his office, dumped the reports on his desk and logged on to the Op Center’s computer. His second in command chose that moment to waylay his suspicions.

“Mornin’, L.T. Got a second?”

Joe waved the sergeant inside. “One second’s all I’ve got, Chris. What the hell happened last night?”

Chris Sandoval looked between two chairs, then chose the one closest to the door. “I wish I had an answer. Can’t even blame it on a full moon, there wasn’t one. But Dispatch was on overload.”

Some cops were superstitious. Joe wasn’t one of them. Like most growing cities, Colorado Springs had its share of drugs, gang activity, domestic violence and other sporadic crime. Typically, multiple events going down all at once were anomalies.

He clicked on the police activity reports and scrolled to a weekend earlier in the month. A liquor store holdup, a burglary, a convenience store robbery, all reported within minutes of each other, all in various sectors of the city. Add to this barrage, a surge of seemingly unrelated 911 calls were phoned into the call center.

Now the previous evening, a Thursday, an identical scenario had happened again, the events severely diluting police resources and slowing backup. Not one arrest, not one positive I.D. Joe set his jaw. By the time help arrived, it was too late. The only difference, it wasn’t the weekend.

“This is orchestrated,” he said. “One incident I wasn’t sure. Twice, we’ve got a gang on our hands. Let’s increase second and third shift patrols, alert vice to contact their snitches. See if we can’t shake something up.”

“Right.”

“Anything else?”

Chris leaned forward. “Ran into Bruce Bennett at the courthouse yesterday.”

“He ask for your vote?”

“He didn’t have to. He’s been a decent D.A. He’ll make a fine attorney general.” Chris grinned. “Speaking of which, he mentioned I may be looking at the division’s future commander.”

“
May
being the operative word.” Along with not being superstitious, Joe wasn’t into wishful thinking. “We were talking about Bruce.”

“He wanted me to tell you a prisoner by the name of Drake Maxwell is up for release. He said you’d want to know.”

Intimately familiar with the California bad boy, soon to be a Cañon City ex-con, Joe nodded. “When?”

“First of next month.”

“Is the victim aware of the timeframe?”

“D.A. said he and his family haven’t missed a hearing in fifteen years. But come November, Maxwell’s a free man. He’s done his time.”

Joe grimaced. As a convict who’d served his sentence, Maxwell reported to no one. “Appreciate the heads up.”

“No problem.” Chris started to rise, then hesitated. “Sir, I understand the vic’s involvement. But why you? I mean, you’ve put hundreds of these types behind bars. What’s so special about this bad guy?”

A knot formed at the base of Joe’s Adam’s apple. “Drake Maxwell was my first violent arrest. When his gun jammed, he pistol-whipped the clerk and left him for dead, all for a measly hundred dollars and change.”

“Ouch, L.T., that’s tough. But if the clerk survived, why’d Maxwell get fifteen years?”

“One of his previous victims wasn’t so lucky.” Joe held the man’s gaze. “He had an accomplice, you know, a real babe.”

“Babe, sir?”

“Literally. Seventeen.”

“She do time?”

“Oh, yeah,” Joe replied. “Bruce Bennett was an assistant D.A. in those days. Judge sentenced her as an adult. Real smart-ass. Drug user, anti-establishment everything. Claimed she never knew what Maxwell was up to.”

“Did she?”

“The clerk remained conscious long enough to identify her. Accomplice claimed, of course, she tried to stop Maxwell.”

“If I had a dollar for every time I heard that one,” Chris said, standing. “Let’s hope the sentence turned her around. I’ll let you get back to work.”

Joe nodded and reached for the reports.

Turned her around.

It could happen.
Maybe
.

The girl, a runaway, had run like the devil to avoid apprehension. He’d chased her into an alley. Tackling her, he’d discovered a juvenile reeking of marijuana, wearing too much makeup and using language that would make a cellblock proud.

He’d thought of the girl often over the years. He had no choice; she’d left a five-inch scar on his inner forearm.

He glanced at his watch, then opened his briefcase and stashed the reports inside. His day was jammed with budget meetings and the need to provide justification for additional patrols. If no problems arose, he might make it home for dinner. Raising a teenage son alone was proving harder than expected, and his ex-wife was just waiting for him to screw up.

Joe flipped the lights and closed the door to his office. He could only hope a burgeoning crime spree and soon-to-be-ex-con didn’t give her the opportunity.

Chapter Two

On the first day of basketball tryouts, Joe changed his open door policy to closed. If someone dropped by, he cut the conversation short. His phone was an albatross; his pager an anvil. This week Coronado High School selected its varsity players.

Joe left the office, warning that short of a homicide, he wouldn’t be available for the next several hours. Parents had been invited to observe the tryout process. For once, he planned to be there.

Now sitting beneath a huge mural of a snarling cougar, he and other anxious onlookers watched the coaches and hopeful players run drills. A propped-open side door only half-eliminated the smell of rubber and sweat as the sound of screeching sneakers and dribbling balls filled the air.

At five-ten, Matt was still growing and Joe only had him by a few inches. His son wasn’t the tallest on the court, but he was one of the quickest. And since he’d been practicing with their new neighbor nonstop, the two knew each other’s moves.

Joe searched the room for Luke’s mom, but had yet to see a woman he didn’t recognize. Luke Norris was all Matt talked about these days, and Joe wanted to thank her for taking his son under her wing. As soon as his schedule let up, he planned to return the favor.

Clad in his ever-present warm-up suit, Head Coach Rick Hood called for a time out, talked briefly with spectators, then climbed the steps to sit beside Joe. Stretching his long legs in front of him, Rick crossed his arms, leaned back and said, “So, what do you think?”

Joe had met Rick during a police investigation years ago when a disgruntled ex-player had shot out the coach’s windows. Sports fanatics, they’d shared their frank opinions and love of basketball ever since. “Mighty tough choices, Coach.”

Rick furrowed his brow. “Yep. My job gets harder every year. I’m losing six seniors after this season, and there’s been speculation, so I’ll make it official. I’m bringing up two sophomores for Varsity. One happens to be your son.”

It took everything Joe had not to stand and beat his chest. He was a cop to the bone, but a parent to the marrow. He’d hoped Rick would see Matt’s potential, but one never knew what went on inside a coach’s head.

“If you have any objections to him being a nonstarter, tell me now. He’ll step up his game playing with these older kids, but he’ll ride the pine a lot this year. Next year, though, he’ll be a leader.”

Tamping down his excitement, Joe said, “He’ll work hard for you, Rick.”

“That’s why he’ll be part of this team.”

A lump formed in Joe’s throat as he focused on the boy working his ass off on the court. Matt needed this accomplishment. After the divorce, his mom had transferred to Chicago, taking his little sister Trish with her. Karen had begged Matt to come, too. He’d staunchly refused. He wasn’t leaving his school or his friends.

Secretly, Joe harbored the hope Matt had stayed because of him.

“He’ll be back-up to Kinsey,” Rick explained, referring to a talented senior point guard. “But Matt needs to get his grades up. They’re border-line.”

Guilt twisted Joe’s insides. “I’ll talk to him.” It had been too easy to blame the divorce. The plain truth was he hadn’t been paying attention. “I take it the other sophomore’s Luke Norris?”

Rick grinned. “Hardly a guess. Kid’s a coach’s dream. At six-two he’s still growing, says ‘yes, sir and no, sir’. Good god, Joe, I’ve watched him and Matt in open gym. The way they read each other’s amazing.” The coach paused for a moment. “Have you met Mrs. Norris?”

Here came the guilt again. Joe shook his head. “I haven’t had the pleasure.”

Unsmiling, Rick leaned forward. He placed his elbows on his knees and clasped his hands together. “You’re going to like her.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“Could be. Young widow. Divorced cop. The boys are like glue. She’s a looker, Joe. It could get awkward around your place if you get involved with the mom.”

A smile tugged at his lips as he resisted the urge to laugh out loud. Was Rick out of his mind? Finding a woman wasn’t Joe’s problem, finding time to spend with one was. “The woman’s lost her husband. I’m never home. I wish I had time to spend with my neighbors.”

The coach stood, glancing around. “Good. Just thought I’d mention it. Your lack of free time might get us to the playoffs. By the way, now’s your chance to prove me wrong.”

“And how can I do that?”

“She just walked in. C’mon, I can kick myself later, but I’ll introduce you.”

Joe came to his feet and turned in the direction the coach indicated. As a woman with auburn hair, wearing jeans and a green jacket, crossed the gym, his preconceived notion of what Mrs. Norris looked like died instantly. With Luke’s coloring, he’d envisioned a tall, full-figured blonde. This woman stood somewhere between five-six and five-eight with honey coloring and a slender build.

This was Luke’s
mother
?

Joe’s collar grew tight, and all at once he appreciated the coach’s concern. Still, he had no choice but to meet her. The way Matt had taken up residence at her place, Joe should be paying her rent.

He descended the bleachers as a few of the players’ moms intercepted her, and Joe paused mid-stride. One woman, in particular, he wasn’t anxious to see. “Tell you what, I’ll meet her some other time.”

Amusement lit the coach’s eyes. “I’d heard the rumors. This is a first. Joe Crandall scared?”

“Terrified.”

One of the returning varsity player’s moms, Lydia Ryerson was also a recent divorcee. From the amount of calls he’d seen on his Caller I.D. arising out of one dinner date, she’d apparently taken an interest in him.

“Suit yourself,” Rick said, laughing. He sauntered down the bleachers and onto the gymnasium floor.

Joe lingered long enough to listen to the coach’s informational spiel, then headed to the parking lot toward his unmarked unit. He replayed his excitement over Matt making the team as well as his curiosity over the attractive widow he’d seen on the court.

Incredibly, his pager was clear, and only two calls were logged on his voice mail. The sun had set and sodium streetlights illuminated the parking lot. Joe pushed the vehicle’s interior light to check the numbers as people exited the gym.

Mrs. Norris strode to a white late model Toyota Corolla located a few spaces down from his. He watched her get safely inside and proceeded to return his calls.

An uneventful status report later, he noticed the Corolla was still in place. His interest further piqued when Mrs. Norris left the vehicle and appeared to survey her surroundings uneasily. Joe ended the call to the patrol sergeant and started the engine.

Ready or not, it was time to meet the new neighbor.

Drawing a deep breath,
Mel massaged a pounding temple. She’d stayed late at the shop to make a last-minute arrangement for a long-time customer, then rushed to get to Coronado for tryouts. Of course, she hadn’t noticed the gas gauge. Why would she? Didn’t all cars run on fumes?

Someone pulled alongside her, and instantly she regretted getting out of her car. Life had made her an untrusting soul and she stepped back.

“Problem?” the stranger asked.

“Not at all.” She held up her keys for emphasis. “I was just leaving.”

“Mrs. Norris?”

The shadows hid his face, and at the use of her name, her heart did a flip-flop.

“Joe Crandall,” he said. “Matt’s my son.”

Standing in the presence of Matt’s never-stay-at-home dad, relief flooded her. “Oh, Mr. Crandall, thank heavens. My name’s Melanie. Call me a flake, but I’m out of gas.”

He reached across the seat and opened the passenger door. Light flooded the interior. “Happens to the best of us. There’s a gas station on the corner. Hop in.”

Even though his voice seemed kind, she hesitated. After all, taking rides from sweet-talking strangers had been her downfall. But that had been a lifetime ago, and she knew this man. Or at least his son. The decision made, she rounded the car. Sliding in beside him, the scent of coffee and his musky fragrance filled the air. “I can’t thank you enough. I wanted to start... dinner.”

That’s when she saw this was no ordinary vehicle. A laptop computer was bracketed to the console, and above it a radio. The world seemed to slow as she focused on every detail. The dash... the console... and finally the man behind the wheel.

Her gaze took in his long legs, the veins in his powerful-looking hands, his rolled-up sleeves and at last settled on the sizeable scar on his inner forearm.

Shock made her numb.

It wasn’t possible. How had she missed the connection? She hadn’t thought of the man in years. The cop who’d arrested her, his name had been...
Crandall
.

Somehow Mel found the strength to look into his eyes. And when she did, she came face to face with what could only be a mutually shocked expression.

“You,” she whispered.

“You,” he replied.

She swallowed hard and reached for the handle. Discovering it locked, she said, “On second thought, I’ll walk.”

The cop just sat there.

Louder this time, and with more resolve, she said, “I’d like you to open the door, Officer Crandall.”

“It’s Lieutenant.”

“What?”

“It hasn’t been officer in years, and you’re not walking anywhere. The closest gas station’s on Fillmore. It’s a mile away and it’s dark.”

“I’ll walk
fast
.” She glared at him. “And next time I’ll stick to my promise never to accept rides from strangers.” Mel pointed to the door. “
Now,
Lieutenant.”

Ignoring her demand, he continued to stare. “The change in you is incredible.”

Forced to relive a time she’d vowed to forget, humiliation wound its way through her. She’d been high the night that had changed her life forever, and scared out of her mind. None of the cops on scene would believe she had nothing to do with the robbery. She’d acted out of desperation. She must’ve said horrible things, but in truth, drugs and fear had sent her into a hysterical fugue. “I was told I acted... that my language was... atrocious.”

Lt. Crandall’s laugh was sardonic. “Ya think?”

Mel bristled. “I wasn’t guilty. They called me an accessory when I had no idea what Maxwell was up to. When you tried to handcuff me, I panicked.”

Holding out his left arm, he displayed the scar. “You resisted arrest. I had no choice.”

A younger version of the man seated beside her had trapped Mel face down in an alley. A piece of broken glass had lain within reach. She flinched at the pain she’d inflicted and looked away. “I repeat. I was innocent. I spent time in prison for a crime I didn’t commit.”

“The clerk identified you.”

“Of course, he did. Drake pulled a gun. I came out of the bathroom and tried to stop him.”

“The only reason that clerk isn’t dead is because Maxwell’s gun jammed. Probably hadn’t taken time to clean it from his last murder,” the cop said.

The unfairness of his words hit her like a blast of arctic air. She’d had no idea she’d taken a ride with a cold-blooded killer. She itched to slap the man who wouldn’t listen to reason. Thinking of Luke she held back. Striking a cop would be a huge mistake. She gritted her teeth and dug her nails into her palms. “My lawyer advised me to take the plea.”

Their mutual amazement culminated into stunned silence. The dashboard lights immersed the car’s interior in a soft, eerie glow. Her temporary jailer gazed out the windshield, revealing a masculine profile enhanced by the dark stubble framing his jaw. She understood now where Matt got his good looks.

Oh, for crying out loud. Why would she notice this now?

As the lieutenant stared straight ahead, his voice held gruff disbelief. “What were the odds of this happening?”

When she didn’t reply, he turned sharply in her direction and answered for her. “I’d say the odds were nil. Did you plan this?”

A burst of hysterical laughter escaped her lips and she slapped her thigh. “Did I plan this? Well, gosh, you found me out. I called my realtor and said, ‘Oh, by the way, when you’re looking for houses, see if you can find the police officer who arrested me way back when. I think living next door to him would be a hoot.’” Amazed at his illogical thinking, she shook her head. “Are you nuts?”

“What I am is a cop, and you’re pushing your luck.”

“You’ve obviously made up your mind about me.”

“Damn straight I have.”

Her gaze slanted toward the parking lot. Nausea overcame her and she clutched her stomach. If only the earth would split open and swallow her whole.

The lieutenant’s eyes narrowed. “What’s wrong? What’s happening? Are you sick?”

“The boys,” she whispered. “Practice must be over. They’re headed this way.”

“I’ll handle this.” He opened the door. “Stay here.”

“I will not.” She wasn’t about to take orders from this man.

“We’re not finished, Mrs. Norris.
Stay here
.” Without a word or a look back he stepped out of the car.

She strained to see him talking with the boys. In the dark, the vehicle’s headlights captured their profiles. Oh, God, what was he telling them? Suddenly, Luke and Matt gave each other high fives and darted back toward the gym.