by Diana Palmer
“No!”
The word exploded from two pairs of lips at the exact same time.
Grace and Garon looked at each other, surprised, as Coltrain’s eyebrows reached for the ceiling.
“Excuse me?” the doctor asked.
“You’re not terminating my child,” Grace told Coltrain.
“Grace, it’s just too risky,” he said softly. “Listen to me, Jacobsville is still a small town, with old-fashioned views on unwed mothers. Even if there was no risk, how would you feel about having a child out of wedlock?”
“She won’t be,” Garon said curtly. “I’ll get a license first thing Monday. We can be married in the ordinary’s office Thursday morning. If a blood test is still required, you’ve got hers, you can do me while I’m here.”
Grace felt as if she were falling into an abyss. “You don’t want to marry me,” she said, knowing the statement was true even as it choked her pride.
Garon leaned back against the examination table and glanced from Coltrain to Grace. “This doesn’t go outside this room,” he said quietly. “Even my own brothers don’t know.” He sighed heavily. His dark eyes seemed to see into the past as he spoke. “It was two years after I graduated from the FBI Academy. I’d just been posted by the Bureau to a field office in Atlanta when I met Annalee,” he began. “She was a civilian employee who had a degree in computer technology. She did background checks for us. She was a strong, independent, intelligent woman. We both knew on the first date that we’d be together forever.” His jaw tautened. Beside him, Grace felt her heart sink. “We were married two months later. She got used to having me work long hours and sometimes travel out of the country on assignment. But she had her job to occupy her. We drifted along, we grew closer. We were happy. When we knew she was pregnant with our first child, we spent hours walking the malls, picking out furniture and toys…” He stopped until he could compose himself. “When she was five months pregnant, she started feeling tired all the time. We thought it was a part of the pregnancy, but she was having other symptoms as well. I took her to the gynecologist, who ran blood tests and sent us immediately to an oncologist.”
Coltrain’s jaw clenched.
Garon saw it. “The oncologist diagnosed it as non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma.”
“One of the most aggressive cancers,” Coltrain said.
“Yes. And she refused treatment. She wouldn’t risk the baby, even to save her own life. But the cancer was advanced and quickly aggressive.” He felt again the grief of that knowledge, the coldness in the pit of his stomach. “I lost them both,” he added flatly, forcing himself not to yield to grief. “That was ten years ago. I decided that I’d never take that risk again. I’d live for my job. And I did. I volunteered for the Hostage Rescue Team. For six years, I was on the front lines of any desperate situation where lives were in danger. From there, I went to one of our SWAT units. When I started losing my edge physically, I opted for a transfer to one of the Texas field offices. I was sent to Austin, and then transferred down here, to lead a squad in the violent crime unit. But I’ve only been going through the motions of living,” he concluded. He looked down at Grace and there was an odd light in his dark eyes. “I want this baby, Grace. You don’t know how much!”
Coltrain felt himself losing ground. He looked at Grace worriedly.
“I’ll be all right,” she assured him. “I’m not giving up my baby. I’ve never had anyone of my very own, Copper,” she added in a soft, husky tone. Her hands lay protectively on the small rise. She smiled with wonder. “He’ll be my whole world.”
Coltrain couldn’t fight that look on her face. And he wasn’t without sympathy for Garon, now that he understood the man a little better. It didn’t take a mind reader to know that Garon was the child’s father. But this was going to be more dangerous for Grace than she realized.
“I need to talk to your prospective husband,” Coltrain began.
“No, you don’t,” Grace told him belligerently.
“There is such a thing as patient-doctor privilege. You don’t have my permission. That’s the end of it.”
Coltrain was worried. But she was right. He couldn’t betray her secret. He understood why she didn’t want Garon to know. That didn’t make it less risky. But he couldn’t force himself to go behind her back, not after all she’d been through. She obviously wanted this baby enough to fight any hint of interference. His lips compressed. “All right, I’ll do the best I can.”
Garon, who’d just relived the most painful episode of his life, was only half listening to a conversation he didn’t understand anyway.
He looked down at Grace with an expression she couldn’t decipher.
“I’m sorry about the complication,” she said worriedly. “I didn’t know…”
“It isn’t a complication, Grace,” Garon said gently.
“It’s a baby.”
“But you don’t want to marry me,” she started again.
“No, I don’t,” he said honestly. “But it’s only for eight months,” he added. “After the baby comes, we’ll make decisions.”
Which meant he wasn’t ready for any happily ever after, and she couldn’t blame him. She’d been careless, but he was going to pay the price.
At least he wanted the child and wasn’t going to try to force her to get rid of it. She wasn’t going to tell him anything at all that might upset him. He’d lost one child. She was going to make sure, somehow, that he didn’t lose this one.
* * *
HE DROVE TO HER HOUSE, got out with her and went inside when she unlocked the door.
“Pack a bag,” he said. “You’re staying at the house until we get married.”
“But I just got home…”
“Do I have to remind you of the risk?” he asked quietly.
For one frightening moment, she thought he meant the other risk. Then she realized, relieved, that he was talking about the killer.
“He probably still thinks I have amnesia,” she said.
“He’s avoided arrest for twelve years and gotten away, if he’s the killer, with eleven murders. He’s not a stupid man. He must have lived here at the time.”
She’d never considered that possibility. She caught her breath and sat down heavily on the arm of her grandfather’s old easy chair. “Do you think so?”
“Most serial killers choose their first victim within a comfortable radius of where they live,” he said.
She bit her lip, thinking back. “We had two renters down the road,” she recalled. “One was married, but his wife was visiting family back east. The other was elderly and in a wheelchair.”
“He didn’t necessarily live next door,” he said. “He could have been involved in some program at school or church that brought him into contact with children.”
“He could have been anybody,” she said heavily. “All these years, I’ve wondered.”
“We’ll catch him,” he said with firm confidence. “I promise you we will. But right now, I’m taking you home with me. There’s no way in hell I’m leaving you here alone.”
She saw that he meant it. Well, at least he was concerned for her. He did want the baby, even if he didn’t want Grace. She got up and went to pack her things.
Miss Turner was fascinated, not only with the news of the wedding, at which she would be a witness, but at the prospect of a baby. She didn’t even seem shocked that they’d put the cart before the horse. She was already picking out yarn and patterns for baby clothes.
Grace laid out her one decent dress, the blue wool one, on her bed the day of the wedding. Garon came into the room after a perfunctory knock, carrying a big box. He gave the blue dress a hot glare and put the box down right on top of it.
“What is this?” Grace asked.
“Open it.”
She lifted the lid. Inside, there was an oyster-white suit and a small hat with a white veil. There was a silk bouquet as well. She looked at him, astonished.
“I’m not marrying you in that d
amned blue dress,” he announced.
She touched the silk gently. She knew what it cost, because she bought it for her secret project that he still didn’t know about. “It’s beautiful.”
“I got your measurements from Barbara,” he said, and didn’t add that he’d had to apologize his way into her café after his last appearance there. But once she heard that he was marrying Grace, and that a baby was on the way, she backed down just enough to go shopping with him.
“Thanks,” she said in a shy, husky tone.
He shrugged. “Your friend Judy at the florists’ is making you a bouquet. Barbara and Miss Turner will be witnesses.”
She looked up. “Rick?”
He had to clench his teeth. “He has to work tomorrow. He couldn’t get off.” That wasn’t exactly the truth. He refused to watch Grace ruin her life, were his exact words. The young detective was furious when he knew why Garon was marrying Grace. Garon could understand how he felt, but he couldn’t jilt Grace when she was carrying his child.
“Oh,” was all she said. She knew how Rick felt about her. She was sorry she couldn’t feel the same about him. It was probably better that he didn’t show up in the probate judge’s office.
“I’m going to drive to the courthouse. Miss Turner will bring you.”
“Okay.”
He hadn’t asked if she wanted a church wedding, or offered her an elaborate affair with bridesmaids and groomsmen. Probably he’d had that sort of wedding with his first wife. She didn’t protest. He was still grieving for the woman he’d lost. It was enough that he was giving their child a name. She’d never expected him to want her permanently. Nobody ever had.
* * *
THE PROBATE JUDGE was a woman, Anna Banes, and she’d been married herself for two decades. She knew Grace, and her family, and the ordeal Grace had been through. She gave them a short but dignified and poignant service, with Barbara and Miss Turner standing to the side of them.
She didn’t think Garon would buy her a wedding ring, but he had. It was a wide gold band with platinum edging and a grape leaf pattern. He didn’t buy one for himself. That was hardly surprising. The judge declared them legally married, and Garon bent to brush a cool kiss against her cheek. It had been a long time, but he still remembered the joy of his first wedding. He was fond of Grace, and he wanted the child, but he couldn’t separate himself from the past.
Garon treated them to lunch afterwards at Barbara’s Café, and the owner herself brought out a magnificent wedding cake that she’d made for the occasion. Grace felt tears running down her cheeks at the thoughtfulness. She hugged the older woman warmly, because she was the closest thing to family that Grace had.
They were on the way home, with Miss Turner returning separately in Garon’s Expedition, when Garon’s pager beeped. He pulled it out, slowed to check the text message and grimaced.
“I have to go in to the office,” he said, stepping on the gas. “We’ve got a new lead in the case.”
“The killer?” she asked excitedly.
He nodded. “I’m sorry,” he added. “But I don’t work a nine-to-five job.”
“Grandaddy was a deputy sheriff,” she replied. “He had to go out at all hours of the night if there was an emergency. Granny always raised the roof,” she added quietly. “I thought it was selfish of her. He saved lives.”
He glanced at her with a warm smile. “That’s why we’re all in the business.”
“I have lots to keep me busy,” she said easily. “Including my jobs.”
“You can quit them and stay home if you want to,” he said. “I make a good salary, and the ranch is additional income.”
She fiddled with the beautiful silk bouquet. She’d thrown the real one, and Barbara had caught it. “I like working,” she replied. “I’m not very domesticated.”
That was a surprise. She’d done nothing else, that he knew of, except look after her grandmother.
She felt his curiosity, but she didn’t say anything else. He pulled up at the door of the house and went around to help her out.
Unexpectedly he swung her up into his arms and carried her up the steps. That was when she noticed the Expedition sitting beside the porch. Miss Turner had gotten home first. In fact, she was already opening the door with a big grin.
Garon laughed as he carried Grace inside and put her back on her feet. He bent to kiss her with gentle warmth. “The roses can wait. You rest,” he said.
She gave him a gamine grin. “You planning to stop by and tell my roses where I am, on your way to work?”
He tapped her straight little nose with a long forefinger. “I’ll be back when I can.”
“Okay.”
He was gone in a flash, leaving a weary Grace to be shooed down the hall to change and rest by Miss Turner.
* * *
MARQUEZ WAS SITTING in Garon’s office when he walked in a few minutes later. He hesitated at the door.
The younger man gave him an impatient look. “Okay, I was way out of line, earlier,” he confessed tautly. “At least you’re not leaving Grace in the lurch.”
Garon’s eyebrows arched. “Do you know everything?”
“Pretty much. My mother and I don’t keep secrets from each other.” He studied his knee. “I talked to a detective in Oklahoma. There was a red ribbon involved in their child murder four years ago. They held back the information, just in case.”
“It’s got to be the same guy,” Garon said quietly.
“Yes. I imagine he’s been busy in other places in the past few years as well. We have DNA from this latest murder, but no hits when we ran it through the computer,” he added. “I had hoped the perp might have a history and a rap sheet.”
Garon shook his head. “He’s too good.”
“One of the older detectives on the Oklahoma case said they had an eyewitness who was sure he saw the killer abduct the child from her room.”
Garon frowned. “We talked to Sheldon, the witness in San Antonio. And when I went to Palo Verde, the chief there said they had an eyewitness named Rich who lived right next door to the victim who said he saw the killer abduct the child. He left town just after the murder.”
“That’s three eyewitnesses at three crime scenes.”
Garon’s eyes brightened. “Yes. I think he’s been trying to insert himself into the case,” he said. Then he remembered something. “By God, remember Sheldon’s hands were scarred and he wore gloves? Grace only saw her abductor’s hands. She said they were very pale, and had scars! What if Sheldon’s our man?”
“Let’s go!” Marquez exclaimed.
Garon was right out the door after the younger man. For once, things were looking up!
CHAPTER 14
GARON AND MARQUEZ rushed to Sheldon’s house just inside the city limits of San Antonio. The killer just might be Sheldon, Garon thought. If they could get the man into custody, on any pretense, and question him properly, they might break the case. It would take some planning. He was intelligent. If he was the killer, he wasn’t going to confess easily, not after eleven murders.
“We don’t have probable cause to arrest him,” Garon muttered after he’d called the office on his cell phone and had one of his men check for any criminal history on Sheldon. There was none.
“We’ll think up something,” Marquez said.
“With our luck, he’ll have photos of the murder victims spread around, and we won’t be able to touch him without a search warrant. We should have asked a judge for one before we drove up here.”
“Without probable cause, we couldn’t get a judge to issue a search warrant,” Marquez said gruffly. “We’d have to list everything we hoped to find. Even then, if it wasn’t on the warrant, we couldn’t touch it.”
“I know,” Garon said, his eyes glittery with feeling. He was thinking about Grace and what had happened to her. He’d love nothing more that to catch her assailant and put him in the nearest prison.
“We could do a consent search,” Marquez suggested
, not quite jokingly, with a wry smile.
Garon gave him a wry look.
“Oh, come on! You go to the back door and I go to the front door,” the younger man replied. “I yell ‘knock, knock,’ and you yell, ‘come in.’”
“And we both end up in court,” Garon reminded him.
“No guts, no glory.”
They pulled into Sheldon’s driveway. There was no car in the driveway and no lights on in the house.
Garon knocked loudly, announcing that he was an FBI agent. But there was no movement inside.
An elderly lady from next door saw the men on the porch and called to them, with a shovel in one hand and Dutch wooden shoes on her feet. “If you’re looking for Mr. Sheldon, I’m afraid you won’t find him,” she said with a smile. “He moved out several days ago. Put everything he had onto a truck and drove away.”
“Do you know where he was going?” Marquez asked.
“He said California,” she replied.
“What sort of truck?” Garon asked.
“Just an old white pickup truck,” she said. “He was such a nice man,” she added. “So helpful. He’d carry my groceries in for me. If I got sick, he’d pick up my medicine at the pharmacy. Such a sweet man. I’ll miss him.”
Garon didn’t dare tell the old woman what he suspected about her sweet neighbor. He did go with Marquez to get a search warrant for the house. A team of FBI criminologists scoured the small house for any trace evidence, just as they’d done at the house in Palo Verde where the so-called witness had lived. Neither venture gleaned any evidence. There wasn’t so much as a stray hair left in either house.
Nor was there any way to trace the white pickup truck. They didn’t have a tag number, and they couldn’t find any information on a man named Sheldon. The day had started out full of promise. Now, like so many investigations, the trail went cold. The child’s parents phoned Marquez and asked if he had any leads. He had to tell them he didn’t. But he wasn’t giving up, and neither was Garon. Somehow, they were going to nail the killer, whatever it took.
* * *
BUT WEEKS WENT BY, and then months. There were no more child murders. Searches were launched for Rich and Sheldon, but no trace of either man could be found. There was no driver’s license, no fingerprints, nothing that would help them to locate either man. Garon recalled the man bragging about belonging to Mensa, but the organization had no information about a man named Sheldon.