Mother by Fate. Tara Quinn Taylor
couldn’t be helped. Regret was a wasted emotion that he shrugged off as best he could.
Sliding his cell phone out of its holster, Michael dialed the number he’d told himself to forget.
* * *
SARA’S TENSION HAD not dissipated one bit. There was no encouraging news. A frustrating lack of it, as a matter of fact. Trevor Kramer, and his infant son, Toby, were both at home where they belonged. Trevor had been sitting alone watching the Food Network on television when the detectives had knocked on his door. Toby, asleep on a blanket on the couch next to him, appeared to be healthy, rosy cheeked and content.
The three-bedroom rental was clean. No sign of drugs or booze. It had smelled slightly of bacon. Trevor said he’d made an omelet for dinner.
He’d asked if there was any news on his wife.
The detectives had asked if he’d sent someone after her.
His adamant reply to the negative had convinced the LAPD that he was on the up and up.
Which made no sense to Sara or any of the other members of the High Risk Team, who were gathered in Lila McDaniel’s office just after ten that Saturday night.
They’d just received a call from the Santa Raquel police with a follow-up report on the truck that Nicole had reportedly ridden away on. The driver had never known she’d been aboard. Officers were canvassing the neighborhood but didn’t want to alert the public at large, or show Nicole’s picture in case her husband didn’t know she’d been in the area.
“I’m going to be off, then,” Officer Sanchez, one of the members of the High Risk Team, said as he reached out to shake Sara’s hand, and then Lila’s. “You two should get some rest, too. There’s not a lot more we can do tonight.” He looked toward Bethany, Nicole’s new victim witness advocate. “She has your cell number. My guess is that’s the one she’ll use if she wants to get in touch with us.”
“She has mine, too,” Sara said. They did things on a case-by-case basis at the Lemonade Stand. If she wanted to hand out her private cell number to residents, that was her business.
“And mine,” Lila added.
“Security’s all been alerted here,” Tammy Severnson, the most senior of the four full-time security agents at the Stand, said as she moved toward the door. “If she shows up, they know to get her to safety ASAP and be on guard for anyone following her.”
They all knew that. And that an APB had been sent, alerting officers in surrounding areas to be on the lookout for the woman.
“So...” Lila also moved toward the door. “We’re repeating ourselves here,” she said, stating the obvious. “Let’s all say an extra prayer that the night brings Nicole safely back to us and then try to get some rest.”
Sara wasn’t going to be sleeping well that night. And, she suspected, neither would Lila. But they had to go through the motions. Sara’s phone rang and everyone froze. She glanced from the screen to her teammates. “I don’t recognize the number,” she said, just before pushing the talk button.
“Sara?” She recognized the voice, though. Strange, considering that she’d only met him once. Maybe because he’d been the only bright spot in an otherwise difficult day.
Something had to account for the fact that he was still in the back of her mind.
“Yes, this is Sara.” The others were listening.
“You home?”
“No...” Everyone was watching her expectantly. She shook her head. Turned her back. She told him she’d been called into work. He wanted to meet. And as she agreed to meet her new neighbor at the condo’s pool in thirty minutes, she was aware of Tammy, Bethany and Officer Sanchez leaving the room.
She’d been thinking she’d stay for a while. Sit with Lila until the older woman was ready to retire for the night. The managing director had already said that she was going to be staying in her small apartment at the Stand that night rather than traveling the short distance to the home she owned and lived in alone.
Instead, she finished her phone call and said good-night to Lila right behind the rest of the High Risk Team members who’d been present that night. Feeling selfish. And leaving anyway.
She needed relief. Distance. She was in deep with this one, and Nicole needed her to be alert and professional.
If the police were successful in doing their jobs that night, if they were able to bring Nicole back safely, Sara was going to have to be refreshed enough in the morning to tend to the woman’s psyche.
And in the meantime, for the first time in a very long while, she was romantically...intrigued. Maybe this was fate’s way of telling her it was time for a little change in her life.
* * *
HE’D HAVE LIKED to have gone home and changed, but Michael didn’t want to risk waking Mari and getting her hopes up that he’d be sitting at the breakfast table with her in the morning. It was shaping up to be a long night.
And at the moment he wasn’t feeling all that hopeful that he’d have the case closed by morning.
When Sara Havens had told him she’d been called into work, he’d offered to meet her there. Sitting in his car across from the thrift shop, he figured she couldn’t be all that far away. She’d opted for the pool at the condo instead, and he hadn’t hated the idea.
He’d find out where she worked as soon as he came clean. If all went well. And Michael was a man who, when he was working, counted on things going well. A moment of doubt could cost him his life. Or his prey.
There was no doubt in his mind that his deception was going to anger Ms. Havens. But surely if she cared half as much about her job as she’d seemed to, she’d agree to help him. What reasonable person wouldn’t?
He was equally confident that he’d never get another personal invite from her again as long as he lived. And couldn’t be distracted by the regret that tried to surface yet again.
Confidence didn’t stop Michael from having a backup plan. He waited long enough for Sara to say the good-nights she’d told him she had to say and then called her back. He watched for her as he did so, on the street outside the thrift shop. Would she be walking or in a vehicle?
“It hasn’t been half an hour yet,” she answered on the first ring.
“I know. I just wanted to let you know that I’m not home, either, so if I’m a minute or two late, don’t think I’m standing you up.” Translation—“I want to know when you’re at your car so I can try to figure out where you’re coming from.”
“I don’t take you for a man who’d call and then not show. I’d have waited.” There was a chuckle in her tone that got to him. He shifted in his seat, pretending not to notice.
“It’s late,” he said. “I didn’t want you out in the dark alone, putting yourself at risk on my count.” Probably a stupid statement based on her understanding of what was transpiring. But not stupid at all. An armed and dangerous woman was on the loose. Because he’d spooked her.
And she knew Sara.
“No need to worry, Michael. I’m used to taking care of myself.”
But how often did she deal with women who’d kill to get their way?
She’d called him Michael. Only Shelley had ever done that. And then she’d stopped. He’d become Mike. Just like he was to everyone else he’d ever known. Mike. Just Mike. Simply Mike...
He’d told Sara his name was Michael.
“So have you left work yet?” He was doing a job. And had to do it to the best of his ability. And when he saw no one in his rearview mirror, he turned in his seat, doing a visual three-sixty.
“Not yet. I’m just getting to