Chickasaw County Captive

Chapter Ten

Excitement pushed aside any lingering unease Kristen felt. “Detective Foley’s with me. I’m putting you on speaker.” She pushed the button. “How do you know Darryl Morris?”

“About eight months ago, his teenage son was killed in a traffic accident. The other driver had been distracted by his kids, hadn’t seen the light change to red, and he slammed into Charlie Morris’s motorcycle. The kid didn’t have a chance.”

“What does that have to do with you?” Foley asked.

“It was one of my first cases when I joined the Jefferson County D.A.’s office. I was assigned to assess the case and see if any criminal charges should be filed.”

“And you didn’t file any charges,” Kristen guessed, beginning to understand.

“Not criminal charges,” Sam answered. “We worked out a plea deal-the other driver pleaded down to reckless endangerment, was put on probation and did several hours of community service as well as taking a remedial driving course.”

Kristen thought that sounded fair, given the circumstances. But she wasn’t the father of a dead kid. “Morris didn’t think it was enough, right?”

“His only kid was dead. I don’t think anything would have been enough.” There was a hint of bleak understanding in Sam’s voice, and Kristen knew he was thinking about Maddy.

“Did Darryl Morris ever threaten you? Send you any angry letters?” Foley asked.

“He was definitely upset when we told him about the plea deal. There might have been an angry letter or two-I’ll have to check my files. But I don’t remember ever feeling as if he were any kind of real threat to me.”

“Can you meet us at your office?” Kristen asked. “I’d like to take a look at any letters Morris might have sent.”

“I’ll have to bring Maddy. I don’t feel like letting her out of my sight today.”

She glanced at Foley. “That’s okay-Foley can use the extra babysitting practice.”

Foley made a face at her. “I’d better track down Morris, make sure he’s not making a Mexico trip or something.”

“I could do that,” Kristen said quickly.

“Actually, Detective Tandy, I need to see you about another matter anyway,” Sam interjected.

Kristen ignored Foley’s curious look, heat rising up her neck. “I can be in Birmingham in about an hour,” she said, knowing that further protest would only pique her partner’s interest more.

“See you then.” Sam rang off.

“Are you blushing?” Foley asked.

She frowned at him. “What?”

He looked ready to tease her further but stopped himself. “I’ll drop you back at the station to pick up your car.”

She spent most of the drive to Birmingham dreading her arrival, worrying over the “other matter” Sam wanted to talk to her about. Was he going to want to do an extensive postmortem of her behavior the night before? She already knew she’d thrown professionalism out the window. And his willing participation didn’t change the fact that she was the one with the ethical constraints, not him. She was the cop. She was the one who should have behaved better.

The worst part was, she wasn’t sure she regretted it enough. The memory kept creeping up on her when she least expected it, whether at a preshift meeting with Carl and Foley or listening to a preschool principal give her a new lead on the case. Even now, with the air conditioner running full blast and the police radio squawking now and then, she felt Sam Cooper’s warm lips moving with slow, devastating skill over hers as surely as if it had just happened.

She gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to drag her focus back to the case. She reached for the phone clipped to her waistband, thinking Foley might have had time to locate Darryl Morris by now. But before she even had a chance to flip it open, the phone rang, making her strained nerves jangle.

The number on the display was unfamiliar, an Alabama area code but not local. She flipped the phone open. “Tandy.”

“Detective Tandy, this is Dr. Victor Sowell with Darden Secure Medical Facility. I’m the psychiatrist in charge of your mother’s case.”

“How did you get my number?” she asked bluntly. If Carl had given the facility her number, she was going to kill him.

“Your mother gave it to me.”

Kristen felt the blood drain from her face. “How the hell did she get it?”

“I’m not certain. It’s one reason I thought I should call you.”

Kristen checked her mirrors and pulled over on the highway. She didn’t want to have this conversation while navigating traffic. She put the car in Park and hit the blue light on the dash to flash. “Tell me what happened. From the beginning.”

“I can’t really discuss the details of your mother’s treatment,” Sowell answered. “I can only tell you that she’s been allowed some privileges recently. Visitors now and then. We allow her to make phone calls on a limited basis, and we monitor them to make sure she’s not harassing anyone.”

“And is she?”

“Not that we’ve been able to ascertain. But she has had a visitor recently. A man showed up yesterday, introducing himself as a lawyer interested in offering her representation pro bono. He said he was with an organization that represents the mentally ill in criminal cases.”

Kristen pulled out her notepad. “Did you get a name?”

“Bryant Thompson. But that’s really why I called,” Dr. Sowell said, his voice troubled. “We had someone check Thompson’s credentials and that of his organization, Humane Justice, just to make sure he wasn’t trying to pull some sort of scam. The organization exists, absolutely. There’s even a Bryant Thompson who works as an attorney with the group.”

“But?”

“But the guy who came to see your mother was definitely not the same Bryant Thompson.”

“DADDY, WHEN’S MISS KRISTEN gonna get here?”

Sam looked up at the sound of his daughter’s plaintive voice, realizing he’d been staring at the same page in the file for the last twenty minutes. Too easily, he’d let his mind wander from the case at hand to the memory of Kristen Tandy’s warm, strong hands moving urgently over his body.

He cleared his throat. “Anytime now, baby.” Kristen had called back thirty minutes ago to let him know she’d gotten held up and would be there as soon as she could.

She’d sounded odd. Troubled. Probably upset about the lines they’d crossed the night before. He supposed he should be, too, but he couldn’t bring himself to worry about ethical lapses when every cell in his body wanted to give it another go.

He just hoped he’d have enough self-control to wait until Maddy wasn’t watching.

He distracted himself by dialing the number of the ICU waiting room at the hospital where Cissy was being treated, asking to speak to someone with the Cooper family. His brother J.D. came to the phone.

“It’s me,” Sam said. “Just wanted to check on Cissy.”

“She’s moving around,” J.D. said. He was trying to keep his voice calm-self-control was J.D. Cooper’s defining characteristic-but he couldn’t mask an undertone of excitement. “The doctor says it may be a sign she’s coming out of the coma.”

Sam felt a massive weight lift from his shoulders. “That’s great news!”

“The doctor’s not sure how much she’ll remember, if anything, so I don’t know if she’ll be able to help you catch the guy who did it,” J.D. warned.

“All that matters is getting her well.” A knock sounded on his office door, and Maddy jumped to her feet at the noise. “Go tell her that Maddy and I are rooting for her.”

“Will do,” J.D. said.

Apparently tired of waiting for Sam to get off the phone, Maddy went to the door and opened it, throwing herself at Kristen Tandy with a squeal of excitement. Kristen’s wince, though quickly suppressed, made Sam’s stomach knot.

“J.D., someone’s at the door. I’ll call you later.” Sam rang off and hurried to the door to peel his daughter off Kristen’s legs, swinging her up to his hip. “Sorry about that.”

Kristen shook her head. “Just caught me by surprise.”

“Miss Kristen, come see what I drawed!” Maddy held her hands out, her fingers wiggling with excitement, as if she could draw Kristen to her through sheer force of will.

Kristen pasted on a smile and caught one of Maddy’s flailing hands. “Slow down, cupcake.”

“Why don’t you finish it up while Miss Kristen and I talk? Then when we’re through, you can show it to both of us.” Sam put Maddy down on the floor again.

Maddy looked ready to argue, but he gave her a gentle nudge toward the coffee table where she’d been filling a couple of his spare legal pads full of squiggly drawings. With a long-suffering sigh, she picked up one of the highlighter pens he’d given her to draw with and went back to work with renewed zeal, the tip of her tongue peeking through her cupid’s bow lips.

“Sorry about the delay.” Kristen settled into the armchair he indicated. He pulled up the chair’s twin and turned it to face her, unwilling to have the bulk of his large oak desk between them.

“Everything okay?” he asked. She looked distracted.

“I’m not sure.” She shook her head. “Doesn’t matter. Nothing to do with this case. Did you find any letters from Darryl Morris?”

“A couple.” He handed her the letters he’d culled from his files. “The first one is pretty straightforward. Morris asks me to reconsider the plea deal. His tone is urgent but not particularly hostile.”

“I see that.” She set that letter aside and picked up the second one. “This one’s not quite as…diplomatic.”

“No.” In the second letter, Morris had informed Sam in angry language that he’d contacted the mayor to lodge a formal complaint against Sam and the district attorney’s office for their decision to make the plea bargain. He also informed Sam that if the D.A.’s office didn’t reverse the decision, he’d contact the media, as well.

“Did he contact the media?” Kristen asked.

“Probably. But Charlie Morris was a seventeen-year-old kid who’d already been pulled over twice for speeding and who had just dropped out of high school because he ‘didn’t like all that school stuff.’ The driver of the other vehicle was a devoted father and husband who ran a popular pizza restaurant and volunteered at a homeless mission. Honestly, the media wouldn’t have touched the story with a ten-foot pole.”

“And he never wrote you again?”

“There’s nothing else from him in the files.”

Kristen’s brow furrowed. “I guess we at least bring Morris in to tell us why he was taking photos of the kids at the preschool. Maybe if we keep him talking long enough, we’ll find out if he still holds a grudge against you.” She held up the letters. “Can you make me copies of these?”

“Those are the copies. I thought you might want them.” He gave her the file to hold the letters. “Any chance I could take a look at the interrogation video when you’re done?”

She shot him a wry look. “I think you overestimate the technological savvy of the Gossamer Ridge Police Department.”

“You do record audio, at least?”

“We do. I’ll ask Carl if it’s okay to let you take a listen.” Kristen stood up, tucking the folder under her arm. Sam was about to remind her of Maddy’s request when she turned to Maddy on her own and said, “Now, Miss Maddy, you had something to show me?”

Maddy beamed at Kristen as she crouched beside her at the low coffee table. “It’s me and Uncle Gabe, see? He taked me fishing. I catched a big catfish, see?”

“I see,” Kristen said, sounding impressed. “Did your daddy clean it and cook it for you?”

Maddy looked up at Kristen in horror. “Cook it?”

“We haven’t told her where fish sticks come from yet,” Sam said quietly.

Kristen gave him a “now you tell me” look and turned back to Maddy. “I’m sorry, did you say catfish? Of course you don’t cook catfish! So, that’s you in the green dress, right?”

Maddy nodded, pointing her stubby little finger at some more squiggles on the page. “That’s Uncle Gabe, and that’s Rowdy-”

“J.D.’s dog,” Sam supplied. “Mom and Dad are keeping him, along with Mike, at the lake while J.D.’s up here at the hospital with Cissy.”

“And that’s Uncle Jake in his boat,” Maddy continued, pointing at a speck just above the patch of blue that Sam supposed was the lake, “and that’s you and daddy.” She beamed up at Kristen.

Kristen turned and gave Sam an odd look. Bending closer, he saw why. The stick figures Maddy had identified as Kristen and him were standing on the pier, holding hands.

“That’s a beautiful picture, baby,” Sam said. “Why don’t you draw us another one?”

Maddy grinned up at him and went to work on a fresh page of the legal pad.

Kristen pushed to her feet and turned to Sam, keeping her distance, “no touching” written all over her body language. “I’m going back to the station to pass all this by Carl and get the go-ahead to bring Darryl Morris in for questioning. I’ll see you later, Maddy, okay?”

Maddy looked up at her, frowning. “Don’t you wanna see my picture?”

“You can show it to me later at the house. Make it pretty!”

“Okay!” Maddy turned back to her drawing.

Sam hurried after Kristen, catching up at the door. He laid his hand on her arm to stop her from leaving. “We need to talk.”

Her chin went up, but her eyes didn’t quite meet his. “I’ll call to let you know how the interview goes.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

Her jaw squared a bit more and this time she met his gaze, her eyes defiant. “You’re not going to go all squishy on me about a stupid kiss, are you? Because if I’d known you were going to be such a girl about it-”

“You’re projecting, Detective.” He leaned closer, smiling a little as her lips trembled in response. “You don’t want to admit how much it got to you, do you? So you pretend I’m just imagining that pulse in your throat fluttering like a butterfly.”

Her throat bobbed and her eyelashes dipped to shield her eyes from his gaze. “Whatever last night was, it’s not going to happen again. We’re clear about that, right?”

His smile widening, he opened the door for her. “Let me know how the interview with Morris goes.”

Not looking at him, she slipped out the door and disappeared down the hall.

Sam’s smile faded as he walked slowly back to his daughter’s side. It might have been fun seeing just how far he could get under Kristen Tandy’s prickly skin, but she had a point. Sure, when the case was over and done, there’d be no ethical reason why he and Kristen couldn’t see where their attraction would take them. But there were other reasons not to entangle himself with her, beyond the ethical questions.

Kristen was kind to Maddy, and Sam had no doubt that she’d give her own life to protect his daughter, but that didn’t mean she was good for Maddy in the long run, did it? Kristen had been up front about her issues with children, even more than Norah had. Her reasons might be understandable, but they didn’t change the fact that she didn’t want to be a mother. And Sam couldn’t pretend it didn’t matter. He wasn’t some young stud Marine ready for action with any woman willing. He had Maddy to consider.

Maddy already had a mother who didn’t want to be saddled with children in her life. She needed stability, not more of the same.

He checked his watch. Almost lunchtime. He’d promised Norah he’d bring Maddy by the inn for lunch to try to repair some of the damage done the night before.

“Maddy, remember when I told you we were going to go have lunch with Mommy today?”

Maddy’s little brow furrowed. “Do we hafta?”

He nodded. “We hafta. Remember, we talked about how Mommy didn’t mean to scare you. She’s not taking you anywhere without me, right?”

“Right,” Maddy said, although she didn’t look entirely convinced. “Can Miss Kristen come, too?”

“Miss Kristen has to work.”

“Can’t we go see Miss Kristen work?”

“Not today,” Sam said firmly, though in the center of his chest he felt a flicker of unease. He already saw all the signs of a Maddy-sized fixation. He wondered how much worse it would get over the next few days, with Kristen living with them at the guesthouse.

A soft knock on the door pulled him out of his musings. Had Kristen come back? When he found a clerk standing outside, holding a manila envelope, he felt a twinge of disappointment.

“A courier dropped this off at the front desk a few minutes ago, sir.”

Thanking her, he carried the envelope to his desk, relaxing a little at seeing a return address on the front of the envelope for a law firm he’d crossed swords with before. He opened it to see what it was about.

But inside, he didn’t find a letter, legal brief or anything else he might have expected.

Instead, he found a stack of color photo prints. The top image was a close-up of Maddy and her mother, sitting at a table for two in the small dining room at the Sycamore Inn.

His heart in his throat, Sam fished in his pocket for a handkerchief. He used the cloth to handle the photos, flipping through the small stack of images, alarm swiftly giving way to a fierce and growing rage until he reached the last photo in the stack, a picture of Maddy cradled in Sam’s arms after he’d found her in the storage closet.

Arrogant son of a bitch had been right there in the restaurant the whole time.

He turned the photo over, knowing even as he did so that he’d find nothing. The wily bastard wouldn’t have sent the photos if he’d thought he could be incriminated by them.

But Sam was wrong. There was something on the back of the last photo-a message scrawled in firm, black felt-tip pen that made his heart freeze solid in his chest.

Your child for mine.