Don't Cry Part 27

Keeping his eyes glued to the road ahead, he replied, "I'm sure."

"What will happen if anyone finds out that you've shared confidential information with Steve Kelly?"

"I've shared the same information with you," he reminded her.

"And I've told no one, not even Lance. And you have no idea how much I want to tell my son. But I would never betray your trust. Are you sure you can trust Steve Kelly?"

Wayne didn't respond immediately; instead, he mulled over her question. Could he trust Steve? h.e.l.l if he knew. But he did know one thing for sure-Steve Kelly had a right to know about the DNA results on the two toddler skeletons. Sooner or later, the police would have to release that information to the press about the toddler skeletons and the DNA results. Steve needed to be told beforehand so the news wouldn't catch him off guard. He needed to be prepared for the possibility that if Whitney Poole became the Rocking Chair Killer's third victim, when her body was discovered, she would probably be holding a tiny skeleton. And since the first two victims had been holding the first two Baby Blue toddlers, then the odds were that the next toddler skeleton would belong to Devin Kelly.

"You didn't have to come with me," Wayne told Grace.

"I didn't want you to have to do this alone."

He didn't reply. He couldn't. If he did, he might cry. And d.a.m.n it, Wayne Sherrod didn't cry. Not in front of anyone, not even the woman who loved him.

Grace understood him better than anyone and accepted him as he was, warts and all. He was a lucky b.a.s.t.a.r.d. Not many men got a third chance at happiness. Yeah, d.a.m.n straight. Grace made him happy. And he hoped he made her happy. He tried, did the best he could. What had begun as a friends.h.i.+p cemented with their mutual grief had gradually grown into love, and now, he couldn't imagine his life without her.

They rode along in silence until they reached the turn-off for the Cedar Creek Mobile Home Park. Then Wayne said, "If you change your mind, you can always wait in the car."

As he pulled to a stop, Grace reached over and laid her hand on his arm. "Is there some reason you don't want me to go in with you?"

Wayne tensed. "He's living with some woman. A pretty rough customer. I'm not sure...h.e.l.l, you know what I'm trying to say. She's a different kind of woman than you are, and I wouldn't want you to be offended by-"

"Oh, I see." Grace leaned over and kissed his cheek. "Wayne Sherrod, you are, without a doubt, an old-fas.h.i.+oned gentleman. You're the type who still divides women into two categories, ladies and wh.o.r.es."

Wayne cleared his throat, but didn't look at Grace.

She laughed. "Considering the fact that you and I have been fornicating like crazy for a number of years-"

He turned, grasped her shoulders, and looked right at her. "You, Grace Douglas, are a lady through and through."

Grace smiled at him; then apparently something caught her eye as she glanced over his shoulder.

"What is it?" he asked.

"It's Steve Kelly," Grace told him. "Or I think it is. A man just opened the door to his trailer and is standing there looking at us."

By the time Wayne got out, rounded the truck's hood, and opened the door for Grace, Steve had walked out into the small yard at the side of his trailer. He stood there and waited for them.

Steve inspected Grace from head to toe. "I see you brought somebody with you."

"This is Grace Douglas," Wayne said. "Her son Shane was the fifth Baby Blue toddler."

Steve's gaze softened. "Ma'am." He nodded and then turned toward his trailer. "Y'all come on in." After opening the door and stepping aside on the small attached porch, he glanced back and looked from Grace to Wayne. "Juanita's not here. She...uh...reconciled with an old boyfriend."

Wayne breathed a little easier knowing that Grace wouldn't have to meet the s.k.a.n.ky Juanita.

Steve's trailer was as neat inside as it was outside, even if the furniture was old and worn, as were the appliances in the kitchen. He indicated for Wayne and Grace to sit on the sofa. After they sat, he settled into the ratty leather recliner.

"When you called, you said you had some information about the Baby Blue kidnapping cases." Steve stared at Wayne. "I figure it's not good news."

"The DNA from the two toddler skeletons found with Jill Scott and Debra Gregory belonged to Keith Lawson and Chase Wilc.o.x."

Grace slipped her hand over Wayne's and entwined her fingers with his.

Steve didn't say anything. Moisture glazed his eyes.

"The CPD and the TBI are pretty sure that the Rocking Chair Killer abducted Whitney Poole," Wayne finally said, breaking the silence. "If he has her...if he kills her...and poses her in a rocking chair with a toddler skeleton in her arms, then..."

"Then that toddler could be Devin." Steve closed his eyes. "He was the third child who disappeared. Whitney Poole is the third woman."

"The information about the DNA results hasn't been released to the press. Not yet. I thought you had a right to know now, to be prepared, just in case."

Steve looked at Grace. "Your son was the fifth little boy that she kidnapped, wasn't he?"

"Yes." Grace clenched her teeth tightly and Wayne knew she was fighting back tears.

"That woman did more than just kill our little boys," Steve said. "She destroyed so many lives. If you ask me, she got off way too easy just being confined to a mental hospital for life." He dropped his clasped hands between his knees and looked down at the floor. "I went to see her, you know."

"We all went to see her," Grace said. "You and Wayne and I and Chase Wilc.o.x's mother and Keith Lawson's parents. We all wanted her to tell us if she had taken our babies...if she had killed them."

"I'm not talking about more than twenty years ago. I went to see the b.i.t.c.h about a week before she died."

"Why would you do that?" Wayne asked. "What possible reason-?"

"It was Devin's birthday. He would have been twenty-nine. All I could think about was that d.a.m.n crazy b.i.t.c.h and how she was alive and Devin was dead and..."

Grace stood, walked over to Steve, and knelt in front of him. "Steve." She spoke his name in a soft whisper.

He looked up at her. "I wanted to kill her," he said. "I wanted to strangle her with my bare hands. After all these years, I still wanted-" He squinched his eyes tightly shut. Tears squirted out from the closed lids and dampened his face.

Grace took his big clasped hands and covered them with her own much smaller hands. "I understand. Wayne and I both understand. We've felt what you've felt."

Steve opened his eyes, but couldn't speak. Grace released him and rose to her feet. Wayne came up behind her and slid his arm around her waist. They were three kindred souls, each a parent who had lost a child to the same madwoman's senseless actions.

The Hideaway was a bar. It wasn't an upscale, urban white-collar hangout or a redneck roadhouse watering hole, but something in between. Hart knew that this was the kind of place he should avoid, a place where beer flowed like water and a guy could easily score a hit in the men's room. So far, he had been able to withstand temptation because he hadn't come here tonight looking for a fix. He'd come here to meet Jessica Smith, the long-legged, dark-eyed manicurist that Audrey had warned him to stay away from.

He had considered listening to his sister's advice. She was right about him being too old and too worldly for a kid like Jessica. But when he thought about Jessica, how she had responded to him, all giggles and fluttering eyelashes, he'd done what he knew he shouldn't do. He'd called the spa and asked to speak to her.

She'd been the one who suggested they hook up at seven-thirty, here at the Hideaway. The girl couldn't be all that sweet and innocent if she frequented places like this. His big sister had to realize that not all women-young or old-had her high moral standards. Some women liked s.e.x for the sake of s.e.x, with or without love being involved. Just as many women as men enjoyed an occasional walk on the wild side.

It might be good for Audrey if just once she would come down off her high horse and wallow in the mud with the rest of the peasants.

Hart laughed at the thought of his sister literally wallowing in mud. Even as a kid, Audrey had been fastidious. Her room had always been neat and clean, nothing out of place. She had ironed her clothes and his, too, and reminded him to comb his hair and brush his teeth.

And G.o.d, she was a chronic hand washer. She kept both hand sanitizer and lotion in her purse and in her car. A bottle of liquid soap and a bottle of lotion were by every sink in her house and office.

He loved Audrey. Even though they weren't biological siblings, they had bonded as brother and sister during the first year of their parents' marriage. In all the years since Blake's death, no matter what he did or how many times he screwed up, she had never deserted him. He owed her, owed her more than he could ever repay.

Maybe he should have listened to her and not gotten in touch with Jessica.

"Hey there," a female voice said. "I'm not late, am I?"

The minute he looked at Jessica Smith, any second thoughts he'd had disappeared instantly. The girl looked good enough to eat. She had freed that mane of dark hair so that it hung around her shoulders in thick curls, the ends almost reaching the tips of her high, firm b.o.o.bs. b.o.o.bs that obviously needed no a.s.sistance from a bra in order to stand at attention. The silky red top she wore clung to her body and did nothing to hide her erect nipples. And d.a.m.n if she didn't look like she'd been melted and poured into her black jeans.

"No, ma'am, you're right on time." Hart slid his arm around her slender waist.

"I'm starving," she told him as she cuddled against his side. "This place has some great burgers."

"Let's find a table and we'll order dinner."

"Burgers, fries, and beer for me."

"You are over twenty-one, right?"

When she giggled, he wondered if maybe she wasn't legal drinking age, but she a.s.sured him she was.

"I'm twenty-two. Almost."

As they searched for a table in the crowded bar, Hart caught a glimpse of someone he recognized sitting alone at a table near the dance floor. When Jessica noticed him staring at the man, she punched him gently in the ribs.

"Somebody you know?" she asked.

"Yeah, a...uh...fellow recovering alcoholic and addict." He should have told Jessica the truth about himself before he asked her out. But better now than later.

"Oh, somebody you just see at meetings, or are you two buddies?" Jessica asked, seeming unfazed by his admission.

He stopped, turned, and looked at her. "Did you already know about me?"

"That you've had problems with alcohol and drugs? That you haven't been out of rehab for long? Yeah, I knew. I'm your sister's manicurist. She's mentioned you and I asked around. People talk."

"And you don't care about-?"

"You're clean now, aren't you?"

"Yeah."

She shrugged. "Then who cares? It's not like we're getting married or anything. This is just a date. Two people grabbing a burger and getting acquainted." When he smiled, she continued talking. "And just so you know, I don't have s.e.x on a first date. Kissing is okay for tonight. And heavy petting on a second date isn't out of the question."

"And s.e.x on date three?"

"Sometimes. It just depends on how much I like you and how persuasive you can be."

Hart smiled. He liked Jessica Smith. There was a lot more to her than just perky t.i.ts and a pretty face. And if things went well tonight, maybe there would be a second date and possibly a third. It had been quite a while since he'd thought about actually dating a girl long enough to get to know her and even longer since he'd actually cared about someone.

As for love-there had been only one girl.

"Want to ask your friend to join us?" Jessica asked.

"Nah, let him find his own date."

The lullaby replayed itself inside her head, the melody and lyrics, once sweet and familiar, now bitter and terrifying.

Hush, little baby, don't you cry...

She was alone. Lost in the darkness. Only a glimmer of faraway light in the pitch blackness. Her heartbeat the lone sound in the unbearable solitude. Sometimes she thought she heard insects crawling all around her, on the floor, on the walls, on the ceiling. But she couldn't see the floor or the walls or the ceiling. Her world had shrunk to the size of one chair. A rocking chair.

She had stopped struggling, stopped fighting against the degrading confinement, stopped pretending that there was some way she could escape. She had become reconciled to her fate. Oddly enough, she had reached the point where she feared living far more than dying. Living like this, strapped to a chair, her feet bound, unable to do more than wiggle her toes and fingers and twist her head from side to side was un-endurable. But endure it she must. Until he killed her. And he would kill her.

But far worse than being bound to the d.a.m.n rocking chair or even knowing her captor would eventually end her life were those moments when he laid the tiny bundle in her arms, the body of a little child wrapped in a blanket. The skeleton of a toddler, just bones, baby teeth, and wisps of blond hair.

Poor baby. Poor little dead baby.

When he killed her, when she became his next victim, would anybody remember her name?

"I'm Whitney Poole!" she screamed. "I'm Whitney Poole and I don't want to die! I want to live! I want somebody to find me and get me out of this horrible place!"

Her voice echoed in the stillness. The room where he kept her had to be large and empty to create such an echo.

"I'm Whitney Poole," she murmured softly as tears trickled down her cheeks. "I'm Whitney Poole. Please, somebody remember my name."

Chapter 21

J.D. dropped Zoe off at Audrey's town house Sat.u.r.day night and remained in his car until he saw Audrey open the door and usher his daughter inside her home.

"Tell Audrey I appreciate her looking after you tonight," J.D. had said on their drive into downtown Chattanooga. "I'm not sure what time I'll be back by to pick you up. I'll try to make it before midnight. But if not, Audrey told you that you're welcome to spend the night, right?"

Zoe had given him a disapproving look.

"You aren't going to stay long enough to even say hi to Audrey," she had whined, more than just a little unhappy with him.

"Cara lives in Ooltewah. It'll take me half an hour to get there, and our dinner reservations are for seven. It's our first date and I don't want to keep the lady waiting."