Chapter 36
J ohn responded with a huff of disbelief. “My service weapon? Derby, just about everybody in the CAP unit saw me surrender that gun to Tom Barker.”
“And several of them heard you tell the ogre that you were going to blow his head off. Which somebody did.”
“Mitch knows I wasn’t that somebody.”
“Told him that,” Mitch said. “Told him all about that escapade last night, how it was a bait-and-switch set up by Barker, and how it all went down.”
John said to Derby, “We left the ogre locked inside that shed, stewing in his own juice. You said deputies discovered him. How did they open the shed?”
“They didn’t have to. The door was ajar, padlock shot to pieces.”
“Huh. It’s my shed, right? My padlock? I know the combination to it. Why would I shoot it out?” He glanced over his shoulder. The gurney was being lifted into the ambulance.
Coming back around, he said, “The last time I saw that pistol, it was on Tom Barker’s desk alongside my badge and ID. If you want to know how it got into the brambles behind my house, start by asking him.
“By the way, you know how many homicides I’ve worked, Derby? Some of them I’ve worked with you. Do you really think that I’d use a weapon registered to me to murder a man? And then be stupid enough to throw it into the bushes twenty yards from where I’d killed him?”
He began backing up. “I’m going to the hospital with my daughter now. If you want to talk about this some more, you can find me there.”
“Don’t make yourself hard to find, John.”
“Wild horses couldn’t drag me out of town while Molly is in the hospital. Put an ankle bracelet on me if you like.”
Derby gave him a pained look.
“Okay then.” He turned to Mitch and slapped him on the shoulder. “You came through again. Saying thank you isn’t enough.”
“So don’t bother. I love Molly, too, you know.”
“Dare I ask for one more favor?”
“See to that ugly dog?”
“Would you mind?”
“Is that beer I bought you still in the fridge?”
“Help yourself.”
He smiled. “Later.”
They fist bumped, then John took Beth’s hand and together they walked quickly toward the ambulance. “You still have my car key?” he asked.
“Yes, I’ll be right behind you.”
The EMTs had the gurney in place and were ready to go. Before climbing in, John turned to her. “It could take a while. Don’t feel like you have to be there.”
“Don’t be stupid.”
She said it sternly, but her lips were smiling and her eyes were warm. He touched her cheek with his knuckle, and whispered, “Watch yourself.”
She tilted her head to one side and looked at him with puzzlement.
The woman EMT leaned out. “Mr. Bowie?”
He held Beth’s gaze a second longer before climbing into the ambulance. The doors were shut and the vehicle pulled away. He hadn’t had time to finish what he’d been about to say to her.
He told himself that it was just as well.
“As I’ve said, Ms. Collins, Mr. Brady is in a meeting .” His lofty assistant had lost her patience with Beth. “As soon as it concludes, I’ll give him a message.”
“Which he will ignore.”
“He can’t just up and walk out of the boardroom in order to talk to you. He’s heading the meeting.”
“If he airs that episode tonight, his head will roll . And probably yours, too.”
So it had gone for the hour and a half that Beth had been in the ER waiting room, calling Brady’s office at fifteen-minute intervals and being given the same spiel. She’d also called Richard’s cell number repeatedly, but it had gone directly to voice mail each time, and he hadn’t responded to her appeals for him to call her back.
She hadn’t seen John since he’d been driven away in the ambulance. The ER staff courteously but firmly declined to answer her inquiries about Molly’s condition since she wasn’t family.
Family had shown up in the form of a tall, slender, attractive brunette. Appearing high-strung and harried, she’d strutted up to the desk and introduced herself as Roslyn Bowie. She’d been immediately admitted through a pair of double doors operated from the other side.
Now Beth’s agitation level was at its peak over both Brady’s assistant’s condescension and anxiety over John’s daughter. What was taking so long? She’d worried herself into believing that Molly’s injury was more serious than originally thought.
Continuing with the assistant where she’d left off, she said, “If I don’t speak to your boss because of your refusal to put me through, he won’t thank you later. In fact, you’ll probably be fired within the hour.”
During a lengthy pause, the woman reconsidered. “I’ll connect you.”
Beth’s chest expanded with relief, but she thanked the assistant with cool curtness.
After a fifteen-second interval, Brady came on and began by saying, “Stop calling me. You no longer work here.”
“You won’t either if you air that show tonight.”
“It’ll be broadcast at ten o’clock eastern time.”
“It falls short of telling the whole story, Winston. The police here have a suspect in custody who could be tied to Crissy Mellin’s disappearance.”
Rather than react with the astonishment Beth had expected, he chuckled. “After all this time, this suspect appeared out of the blue?”
“It may seem that way, but he’s been waiting for another blood moon.”
“Oh, please.”
“He was arrested about two hours ago. He had an adolescent girl in an isolated, corrugated tin shed. She was bound. He was preparing for some kind of sick ritual involving surgical instruments and a home tattoo kit. It was to have been conducted tonight during the lunar eclipse.”
“Isn’t the timing of his arrest awfully convenient for you and your blood moon theory?”
“You think I’m making this up?”
“It did occur to me.”
“In the interest of time, I’ll overlook the insult to my integrity. I did, however, anticipate your skepticism. You can speak to a sheriff’s office detective named Glen Derby. I’ve obtained his cell phone number for you. He’ll verify everything I’ve told you.”
He thought it over. “Why do you think this guy has any connection to Mellin’s abduction?”
“He fits the profile.”
“So do hundreds of other whack jobs. You don’t know it’s the same guy, do you?”
“No, not yet, but—”
“Is there evidence that links him to the Mellin case?”
“There hasn’t been time to gather evidence. Give it a few days, a week. Withhold the episode while this suspect is being investigated.”
“And miss the blood moon angle tonight? No way.”
“Would it make a difference if I told you that the victim this time was John Bowie’s daughter? There’s a connection for you. Doesn’t it sound as though—”
“Sounds like this guy is a copycat, who saw the fabulous irony in taking that burnout detective’s kid. There may be a story there worth exploring for a future episode, but nothing you’ve told me changes my mind about the Mellin story. It only makes me question your objectivity and validates having fired you.”
“ Crisis Point is supposed to be a documentary. As is, this episode doesn’t include the police malfeasances that prompted Billy Oliver to take his own life. Now you want to also omit that police have in custody an individual who, at the very least, is a person of interest.”
“Hello?” he said, mocking. “None of that has been proven. You still haven’t convinced me that our story is wrong . It airs tonight at ten,” he said brusquely. “That’s final. Now stop bugging my assistant. Go away.”
When he clicked off, Beth growled at her phone, “I hope they boil you in oil.”
“Whew. Harsh.”
She looked up to find John standing in front of her. She surged to her feet.
“How is she?”
“She’s going to be okay.”
She flattened her hand on her chest. “Good to hear. It was taking so long, I got worried that it was more than a concussion.”
“They took X-rays and did a CT scan. No cracks or depressions in her skull, no brain bleeds. All good news, but every test… Well, you know how it goes in a hospital. Hurry up and wait.”
“Are they releasing her?”
“No, they’re keeping her here for at least twenty-four hours. Just as a precaution. They advised me to leave for a while so she’ll settle and rest.”
Hesitantly Beth said, “I saw Roslyn when she arrived.”
“At first Molly was glad to see her, but it wasn’t long before Roslyn switched from concerned mother mode to full-blown Roslyn. The staff is running her out, too.”
“You look exhausted.”
“Must say, I am.” He took her elbow and turned her toward the exit. “Since Mitch has Mutt covered, I booked a room in a hotel nearby. Nothing fancy. A shower and bed. I’ll sleep a few hours before coming back to check on Molly one more time before driving all the way out to the fishing camp.”
Beth said. “I don’t remember when I last slept.”
“Me either.”
On the way to the hotel, she briefed him on her conversation with Winston Brady. “He’ll be sorry,” John said. “Whatever the fallout, the jackass deserves it.”
“Yes, but Max and I are still credited as the producers. There go our reputations down the drain, and there’s nothing I can do about it unless Professor Wallace confesses between now and ten o’clock eastern.”
He commiserated, then told her that while giving Roslyn time alone with Molly, he’d called Gayle Morris and the detectives in Shreveport and Jackson and brought them up to date.
“They were shocked by the news that Molly had been abducted, but excited that Wallace’s capture, the dark web slant, gives them a new, strong lead.”
He’d also spoken to Derby, who’d told him that they were looking hard at Tom Barker as a suspect in the execution-style murder of Frank Gray.
“Derby told me that Barker is schmoozing the SO. He laid it on thick what a loss the ogre’s death was to the CAP unit as a whole, and to him in particular. He offered to help with the investigation in any way he could. Of course he also made a big deal of my gun being found within yards of the crime scene.”
“Aren’t you worried about that?”
“No, but I hate myself for missing that Barker had it in his possession. I thought I’d left him lying on my living room floor unarmed. He must’ve had that pistol hidden somewhere to use on an as-needed basis. In my house, in his car. I’m sure he’s held on to it, waiting for an opportunity to frame me for something.”
“Why would he kill his right-hand heavy?”
“The ogre swore to Mitch and me that he’d been roped into taking part in Barker’s absurd scheme. He’d predicted that it wasn’t going to work, but Barker was insistent they carry it out. When Barker found him in the shed, if the ogre dared to say, ‘I told you so,’ that would have made Barker livid.
“Ogre made the fatal mistake of turning his back on him. And to Barker the ogre’s death worked to his advantage. He could frame me for it, and all his dirty secrets died with the ogre. Or so he thought.”
“Oh?”
He grinned. “Before we left them, Mitch and I took both their phones. They’re in the trunk of my car along with their weapons. As the ogre handed his over, he told us he’d been recording his conversations with Barker. Just in case he ever needed an out. To use as leverage in a plea deal, he said.
“Those chats should make for some interesting listening to Derby and the PD superintendent. But Derby doesn’t plan to bring Barker in until they have something substantive, and then Derby wants to blindside him with it. I told him I thought that was a good tactic. Give Barker enough rope.”
Before they arrived at the hotel, he checked in with Mitch, who told him that he and Mutt had gone fishing, and that Mutt had caught more than he had. He agreed to hang around until dark and see to Mutt’s needs before he left.
As expected, the hotel wasn’t luxurious, but with the drapery drawn, the room was conducive to sleeping and the shower held promise.
But the instant the door closed with a solid click behind them, John placed his hands on her shoulders, turned her around, and fastened his mouth to hers with heat, urgency, and possessiveness.
She acknowledged that his arousal was an outlet for all the emotions he’d experienced last night and had had to keep under strict control. She didn’t care. She’d been containing herself, too.
Without breaking the kiss, they struggled out of their jackets and tossed them aside. He backed her into the wall, his hands going immediately to her breasts, his strong fingers kneading, palms grinding against the centers, which were already raised in anticipation.
Feeling that reaction from her, he made a darkly carnal sound and rapidly undid and discarded her top. Reaching around her, he unhooked her bra and pulled it off, then ducked his head and drew her nipple into his mouth.
Her head dropped back. Her back arched away from the wall, while, blindly, she fumbled with his belt buckle, then with the metal buttons of his fly. Finding him rigid, she stroked him through his underwear.
He groaned a swear word, his head came up, and his eyes seared hers. “Finally gonna have our afternoon rodeo?”
“Yes, please.”
He unbuttoned his shirt far enough to pull it over his head, while she shimmied out of her jeans and kicked them away. He put his hands on her bottom and squeezed as he looked down and admired first her bare breasts, now marked by his scruff, and then lower at the triangle of lace at the juncture of her thighs.
He whispered another curse, as, in one swift movement, he shoved his jeans past his hips. He lifted her onto his thighs, moved aside the leg of her underpants, and thrust into her. The raw lustiness of that caused her to gasp. There’d been no hesitation, no qualification. At this moment in time, the coupling seemed essential to both of them.
They moved against each other as though competing to see which of them could take more, give more. Then he hitched her up higher onto him, made an imperative thrust, and abruptly stopped moving.
“Kiss me,” he said hoarsely. “Now.”
Their mouths connected hotly. Her hands sought purchase on his back. He stayed as he was, but rhythmically rocked against the top of her sex until her breath caught and then ceased altogether. Unparalleled pleasure spiraled up from that spot, overtaking her body, her entire being. Her contractions around him became stronger.
His entire body tensed; he gave a sharp cry. She felt his pulsing in the innermost part of her, like an extension of her heartbeat.
Eventually their breathing returned to some semblance of normal. He separated from her, but caught her against his chest as she sagged toward him.
Together, they sank to the floor and sat facing, limbs loose and entangled, hands languidly caressing, faces flushed and nuzzling.
After a time, he stood and pulled her up with him. She followed docilely as he led her into the bathroom, where he turned on the shower. They lathered themselves, then each other. She was washing his chest when she addressed the triangle below his Adam’s apple. “You haven’t asked, but I’m on the pill.”
“I should have pulled out.”
“I doubt I would have let you.”
He placed his index finger beneath her chin and tipped her head up to meet his gaze. “I doubt I could have.”
That began another round of kissing and caressing with soapy hands. No part of one escaped exploration by the other. They emptied the squeeze bottle of shower gel.
Finally the water ran cool. They got out and dried and returned to the bedroom. They got into bed and lay spooned. His sex was heavy and full against her bottom. He placed his arm across her waist and cupped her breast.
They were quiet, replete, drowsy.
On the brink of sleep, she said, “Are you asleep?”
“Um-huh.”
She smiled. “I’ve been meaning to ask what you meant when you said to me, ‘Watch yourself.’”
She knew that he was still awake and had heard. But he didn’t respond.