Time to Heal (Harlequin Heartwarming) (9 page)

“There wasn’t much doubt who the intruder was when I heard that yell,” Jake drawled, affectionately hooking his arm around Michael’s neck.

The boy accepted the rough caress ruefully. “I bet you’d yell, too, if somebody was heading straight at you with a loaded gun.”

“You better believe it.” Chuckling, Jake released him.

Rachel moved around them and secured the lock on the patio door. “It’s late, Michael. You’d better get back to bed.”

He gave her an anxious look. “I’m sure sorry about this,” he said.

Rachel sensed that he was referring to more
than the disturbance over the alarm. But it was Jake who replied. “Forget it, Mike,” he said, still smiling. “In my line of work I’m used to being routed out of my house at all hours. Keeps me in practice.” He gave the boy a gentle shove. “Good night, son. We’ll see you in the morning.”

“Okay. G’night.” With one final look at Rachel, Michael went.

Jake’s smile faded as he went to the wall and punched in the code that reset the security system. Rachel waited until he finished. When he turned, his features had the grim look he’d worn after Scotty disappeared. Until Michael came. She hadn’t realized that until just now, and she felt regret and sadness that it had returned.

“He heard us, you know,” she said.

“Yes.”

“I’m sorry.”

He looked at her. “Are you, Rachel?”

“Of course. I’m not so unfeeling that I’d purposely hurt a child.”

“Even my illegitimate child?” His tone was bitter.

She picked up a cushion from the couch. “Any child. I was angry…
am
angry over this whole situation, and I said some things I sincerely regret he overheard. It goes without saying that Michael is the innocent one in this. I’m sorry he’s bound to
be hurt because of a mistake you made fifteen years ago. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

After a moment when he didn’t answer, she tossed the cushion aside. “It’s late and I’m tired.”

“Yeah.”

She met his look defiantly, thinking of the heated moments they’d just spent. From the expression on Jake’s face, she knew he was thinking the same thing.

She pulled the folds of her robe closely around her. “I’m going to my room now.”

They both knew that Jake would not be going with her.

J
AKE GLANCED AT HIS WATCH
. Nine-thirty. He’d been at his desk for more than two hours without a break. He leaned most of his weight backward in his chair, stretching his cramped muscles. Tipping his head back and then forward, he rotated it a few times. Releasing a deep breath, he straightened up and reached for another file.

The place was quiet. Sundays usually were quiet in Tidewater. Only a skeleton crew was necessary to carry the administrative load. On the street, it was another story. There it was business as usual.

Concentration should have come easy. It was one of his strong points, the ability to focus his mind, to shut out everything but the task at hand. In his line of work, the ability to handle a weapon
or subdue a suspect was important, but ninety-eight percent of a man’s time was devoted to sheer drudgery, mountainous paperwork, wading through written testimony, analyzing case histories, studying the habits of suspects, looking for vital, often obscure clues that would pull everything together. Jake was good at it. Years ago, in the DEA, where he’d perfected his skills, he’d been known as the best.

Wearily he rubbed a hand over his face. This was the only way he knew to try to unravel the mystery of Scotty’s kidnapping. Since it had happened, he’d spent his Sundays scrutinizing cases of known child molesters, analyzing recent arrests all over the United States, following up every lead, no matter how faint. He must have sifted through thousands of photographs of lost and missing kids. Even though he held the top job in Kinard County and could have delegated much of the detail, he didn’t dare trust anyone else. Scotty’s life was at stake.

His concentration wavered again. He shoved the file aside, but his features relaxed as he caught sight of Michael through the half-glass wall of his office. As usual, Michael was haunting the computer that linked Kinard County with nationwide law-enforcement offices.

Jake stretched in his chair, folding his arms behind his head. Since that first day when he had
walked into Jake’s domain, Mike had made no secret of the fact that he couldn’t wait to be a cop. He had quickly grasped departmental routine and was computer literate within an amazingly short period of time, according to the deputy on Jake’s staff who had coached him. At first Jake was amused—along with the rest of his staff. With all the other new experiences in his life, Jake figured Mike would soon find something more interesting than hanging around the sheriff’s office, but it hadn’t happened. Mike begged to come every chance he got. And whenever Jake could manage it, he allowed it. Sundays it was no problem.

He wished briefly for a cup of coffee, but it was probably so bitter and strong that it would react like battery acid on his stomach. Instead he relaxed a little lower on his spine and put his feet up on his desk. With his hands behind his head, he stared at the ceiling. This morning, for the first time in a long time, he had wanted to stay home. He thought of Rachel as she had looked last night. If that alarm hadn’t gone off…

He still couldn’t believe it. For months Rachel had been locked in some kind of emotional twilight zone where he was excluded, her gentleness and femininity locked away from both of them. They hadn’t shared so much as a kiss on the cheek in months.

Raised voices in the outer office brought him
upright in his chair. Through the glass, he saw a deputy enter the swinging doors with a handcuffed prisoner in tow. Jake got to his feet, automatically assessing the individual as he went out to the main desk. Young, male, a juvenile, fifteen, sixteen—no more—good clothes, surly expression. Jake drew in a deep breath, heading for the front desk. At least the boy wasn’t another runaway.

“What’ve you got, Dempsey?”

“Morning, Sheriff.” Keeping one hand on the youth’s shoulder, the deputy tossed a plastic bag on the counter. “Possession and DUI. Stopped him out on Deer Creek near the approach to the interstate. He was all over the road. Lucky he didn’t get on I-75. He coulda killed somebody.”

Jake lifted the plastic bag and briefly studied the contents. With a noncommittal grunt, he tossed it to the desk sergeant, who had produced a large brown envelope used to hold evidence. At a look from Jake, the deputy released the boy.

“What’s your name, son?”

His head down, the boy mumbled something inaudible.

Deputy Dempsey let out a long sigh. “Speak up when the sheriff asks you a question, boy.”

“James.”

“James who?” Dempsey said, fast losing patience. “This isn’t kindergarten you’re visiting, James. You’re in trouble, boy. You—”

At a look from Jake, the deputy backed off.

“You live around here, James?” Jake asked, signaling Dempsey to remove the handcuffs.

“Yes, sir.” Looking dazed and a little sick, James rubbed at his freed wrists with his fingers. “Fifty-six twenty Brightside. It’s in Meadowcrest.” He sent Jake an anxious look. “Are you gonna call my dad?”

Meadowcrest was one of Tidewater’s better neighborhoods. “It’s the law, James. Do your folks know you use?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Well, they will now, kid. Come on, right through these doors.” Dempsey grasped his shoulder and nudged him toward the swinging doors. An hour or two in central lockup would probably be more of a deterrent than any lecture. “You know what I hate, boy?” James’s reply was indistinct. “Paperwork, that’s what. And because of you, I got to do some. I don’t like to spend my Sundays doing paperwork, but that’s what happens when a kid does something dumb like fooling around with an illegal substance and then acting even dumber by getting behind the wheel of a vehicle. Your daddy’s gonna be mad, boy. Let’s hope he’s a man of patience.”

Dempsey’s words faded as the doors swung closed with a whoosh. Jake stood a minute, look
ing troubled as he watched them through the tall, narrow windows in the doors. “Moody.”

Jake glanced at Michael, who was standing at his elbow. “What?”

“His name’s James Moody. I’ve seen him around at school.” He looked at Jake. “What’ll happen to him, Dad?”

Jake dropped a hand to Michael’s shoulder and they walked toward his office. “First of all, he’ll be turned over to Jacky Kendall in Juvenile. She’ll call his parents, of course. I hope they’ll recognize the problem and care enough about their son to want to know what they can do to help. If they listen to our people—the ones whose job it is to deal with this kind of thing—with luck we’ll never see James Moody again.”

Michael nodded, walking along with his eyes on his feet.

“You say you know James?”

“I don’t know him. I just recognize him from school. Anybody would.”

“Recognize him, you mean?” When Mike nodded, he went on. “Big name on campus, hmm?”

Mike shrugged. “He’s got a hot car and there’re always a bunch of people hanging around him.”

“Girls, too?”

“Yeah. Yes, sir. Mostly girls.”

Jake looked at him, amusement in his eyes. “Amazing what a hot car can do.”

“I guess.” Michael turned and stared thoughtfully at the swinging doors. “But he didn’t look too cool wearing those handcuffs and kinda green around the gills like he was ready to barf all over everything, did he?”

Jake laughed. “No, son, he sure didn’t.” And simply because he couldn’t resist, he clamped an arm around Mike’s neck and ruffled his kid’s hair. Mike probably thought he was too old for hugging, but if he was going to say things that made his old man proud of him, he’d just have to take it.

“D
ON’T YOU EVER
take a day off, Jake?”

Jake looked up and accepted the cup of coffee Jacky Kendall pushed across his desk. Kinard County’s petite juvenile officer looked a lot like a juvenile herself in her jeans and T-shirt. Her short red hair was a curly mop that defied any attempts to tame it. Her appearance was deceptive. When the occasion demanded it—and with juveniles, it often did—Jacky could be tough as old boots.

“Thanks.” Jake tasted the coffee, then made a face when he realized it was from the pot he’d made when he arrived more than three hours ago. “Am I the only one who knows how to make coffee around here?” he grumbled.

She sat down, curling one of her legs beneath
her. “No, you’re just the only one who makes it on Sunday.”

He grunted, drinking it anyway.

“Here’s an idea. Since Michael seems to accompany you every Sunday, maybe he’d be willing to take the coffee detail.”

Smiling faintly, Jake looked at Michael in the outer office. He was standing over the fax machine waiting for a photo transmission on a suspect. “I wouldn’t count on it. First I’d have to pry him away from the front desk.”

Jacky grinned. “I noticed. He monitors every call. If I ever saw a rookie in the making, Michael’s it.”

“You think so?” Jake said, his eyes still resting fondly on Michael. He felt a rush of fatherly pride.

“I think so,” Jacky said, smiling. “He certainly has a super role model. Which is more than I can say for most of the kids I see.”

“You here about the Moody kid?”

“James. Yeah. His father’s Jay Moody. I just had the pleasure of a twenty-minute interview.”

“The Reverend Jay Moody.” Jake leaned back deep in his chair. “I didn’t make the connection. How’d he take it?”

“Not well. If James hadn’t been barfing up his socks in the toilet, I wonder if I could have convinced him.”

Jake looked confounded. “Isn’t a preacher’s kid supposed to be at church on Sunday morning?”

“That’s where his dad thought he was,” she returned dryly. “After he’d cooled down, the reverend admitted James has been cutting Sunday school frequently. They had words over it even though James was sick as a dog.”

“They say it’s tough being a preacher’s kid.”

“It’s tough being any kind of kid these days,” Jacky countered. “But it’s still no excuse to get high and then try to drive.”

“What did he take?”

“I’m not certain. Dempsey found a couple of capsules in his car. Designer stuff. More than likely that’s what brought on the nausea.”

Jake got suddenly to his feet. “Where are they getting this stuff! Did you talk to him?”

Jacky shook her head. “It wouldn’t have done any good, Jake. Not the shape he was in. He’s at Tidewater General right now. We’ll handle it as soon as he’s able.” She stood up. “We might get some repercussions from this. The reverend didn’t pull any punches. He claimed it was our responsibility to see that the kids didn’t have access to this stuff. He sent you a message.”

Jake held her gaze, waiting.

“He said he wasn’t going to hesitate to use his pulpit to let people know that unless they see some progress being made to apprehend the
people who are dumping this stuff in our town, then maybe we need a new sheriff.”

“I
WANT TO TALK TO YOU
, Michael.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Here it comes.
Michael hitched his gym bag closer to his middle and gave Rachel a quick, wary look. He would probably have the granddaddy of all stomachaches before this ride was over.

He kept his eyes glued straight ahead, nothing on his face giving away his thoughts. As they pulled away from the school, a couple of the guys he’d made friends with waved, but he didn’t notice. He’d worried for two days over what he’d overheard Jake and Rachel fighting about, but he hadn’t been able to come up with what they might do about it. Only thing he could figure would be to farm him out with a foster family, but somehow he didn’t see Jake doing that. Miss Rachel, now… She was one tough lady. She just might be that fed up with him. Truth was, he hadn’t realized how much of a pain he was to her until he’d overheard her words on Saturday night.

He realized he’d missed some of what she was saying. He pulled himself up to listen.

“…and sometimes even adults get carried away and say things they don’t mean.”

It was pretty stupid of him not to catch on before now, he decided, staring at a red light. These
people really didn’t have much reason for wanting him dumped on them. Especially Miss Rachel. Even a dweeb would have caught on before now. The only excuse he had was that he’d been so blinded by the idea of having a real mom and dad. And so dazzled by all the
things
these people had.