Don't Cry Part 6

"Everything's odd," Garth said. "There's nothing normal about it either."

Willie glowered at Garth before turning back to Audrey. "It's about what the two women held in their laps."

"Jill Scott was holding a doll, right? Or at least that's what everyone a.s.sumes. That's what the reporters said. So, what was Debra Gregory holding?"

"The media present at the scene where Jill Scott's body was discovered were kept at a distance and a.s.sumed they saw a doll lying in her lap." Willie shuffled through the photos in front of him, chose two, and held them up to show Audrey. "It wasn't a doll."

Audrey stared at the crime scene photograph of Jill Scott. It took her brain several seconds to grasp the reality of what she saw. Her mouth parted to release a soft, startled gasp.

"It's a...a skeleton." Audrey took the photo from Willie and studied it more closely. "Oh my G.o.d! The killer laid the skeleton of a small child in Jill's lap."

"It's horrible, isn't it?" Tam said as she came back into the office.

"Then it's real," Audrey said, barely believing her own eyes. "It's the actual skeletal remains of a human child?"

Tam set two colas on the desk, one by her sandwich and the other by Audrey's. "All too real. We're waiting on DNA results in the hopes we can identify the child, but the UT Body Farm has identified the remains of the child found with Jill Scott as a white male, probably between the ages of twenty and thirty-six months."

"What about Debra Gregory? Was there a...?" Audrey couldn't bring herself to say the words.

"Yes, there was another child found in her lap," Tam said. "About the same size."

Willie stood and placed his big hand on Audrey's shoulder. "Pete Tipton will examine the remains, take DNA samples from bone and teeth, and forward them to the lab."

Audrey suddenly felt as if someone had dealt her a body blow hard enough to knock the wind out of her. For a few seconds, she couldn't breathe, couldn't think, couldn't allow herself to accept the impossible possibility. Not now. Not after twenty-five years. Not now. Not after twenty-five years.

"Is there any chance that one of those little bodies could be..." She swallowed hard. "Could be..." She couldn't get the words out, couldn't say the unthinkable.

"It's possible," Tam said. "We'll know as soon as the DNA testing is completed."

"Oh, G.o.d, does my father know?" Audrey asked.

Whitney Poole hated her job, especially when she drew the Sunday lunch s.h.i.+ft at Callie's Cafe. Crowds of churchgoers descended on the restaurant in droves, and many of those good Christian people treated the waitresses as if they were unemotional robots. As if being yelled at, ordered around, and occasionally cursed wasn't bad enough, the cheapskates who ate at Callie's because they could buy a meat and three vegetables for $5.99 were definitely not big tippers.

Whitney glanced at her wrist.w.a.tch-4:15 P.M.-and smiled when she realized her s.h.i.+ft would end in fifteen minutes. Her feet ached, her head hurt, and she probably had a bruise on her b.u.t.t from where a customer had pinched her. The son of a b.i.t.c.h had actually pinched her a.s.s. When she'd given him a nasty look and told him to keep his hands to himself, he and his two buddies had whooped loudly in her face.

After going from table to table and refilling coffee cups and tea gla.s.ses, she hurried to print out the bills for her two remaining tables. One was a blond guy sitting all alone. He seemed quiet and shy and hadn't said another word to her after placing his order. He had simply answered when asked if he wanted more tea or a dessert. He had declined both. He'd been pleasant enough, although he hadn't smiled at her or anyone else, but she had caught him staring at her a couple of times, and the way he'd looked at her had sent chills up her spine. She couldn't pinpoint what it was about him that spooked her; she just knew that he did, despite the fact that he was young and good-looking.

She laid his check on the table, asked if he wanted anything else, and turned to go to the next table.

"Wait," he called to her.

She hesitated, feeling a sense of dread spreading quickly through her; but she turned, smiled, and said, "Yes, sir?"

He held up a five-dollar bill. "I just wanted to make sure you got your tip."

She stared at the money in his hand for a couple of seconds, then s.n.a.t.c.hed it away from him and said, "Thank you."

He rose to his feet so quickly that before she had time to move, he was facing her, only a couple of inches separating their bodies. Instinctively, she moved backward, forced another smile, and rushed to the next table. By the time she laid down the check and glanced back, the man was walking out the door. She released a heavy breath, glad to see him leaving.

But suddenly he stopped, glanced over his shoulder, and smiled at her.

The only thought that came to mind was something her grandmother had said whenever she got a peculiar feeling. I feel as if somebody just walked over my grave. I feel as if somebody just walked over my grave.

Get real, Whit. Just because that guy was sort of creepy doesn't mean you should freak out or anything.

By the time 4:30 rolled around, she had all but forgotten her weird customer. The only thing on her mind was her Sunday night date with Travis. He was bringing over pizza and a DVD. They'd eat, watch the movie, and then do the nasty. They'd been dating a couple of months. Nothing serious. At least not yet. But neither of them was seeing other people. That meant something, didn't it? He hadn't said the L-word and neither had she, but she already knew she loved him. And she knew better than to push him. She'd done that before, with disastrous results. Danny had walked away and never looked back, leaving her with a broken heart. That had been nearly two years ago. She wouldn't make the same mistake with Travis. She'd wait for him to make the first move, to say "I love you," and take their relations.h.i.+p to the next level.

Whitney dug the car keys out of her Wal-Mart red purse and slung it over her shoulder as she exited Callie's Cafe through the back entrance. When she reached her Honda Civic, a reliable used car she'd bought last year, she paused when the hair on the back of her neck stood up. Someone was watching her. She could feel it.

Play it cool. Don't panic. It's broad daylight. You aren't alone. There are people inside the restaurant and probably out here, too.

She glanced around casually, doing her best not to draw attention to herself. Besides the other employees' vehicles, she counted three other cars, all three empty. And she didn't see another soul anywhere in the parking lot. No one was following her. No one was watching her.

After hurriedly unlocking her car, she slid behind the wheel, closed the door, locked it, and tossed her purse into the pa.s.senger seat. While starting the engine, she surveyed the parking lot again and saw nothing out of the ordinary. But just as she drove into the street, she spotted an older-model car parked across the road at the nearby Kangaroo gas station and mini-mart. A man stood beside a white Lincoln, the driver's door open, and he was looking right at her.

My G.o.d, it was the weirdo from the restaurant, the one who had given her the five-dollar tip.

Her heartbeat accelerated.

What would she do if he followed her?

You'll drive to the nearest police station, that's what you'll do.

For the next few blocks, she kept looking in her rearview mirror to see if he was following her. He wasn't. No sign of his big old car or one that even vaguely resembled it.

If that guy ever came back to Callie's Cafe, she'd ask one of the other waitresses to take his order. And if he ever dared to follow her when she left the restaurant, she'd sic the cops on him.

She was the one. He had known the minute he saw her. Everything about her was familiar, everything from her long, dark hair to her young, slender body and full, round b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

Her name tag had read Whitney.

But she couldn't fool him.

He knew who she was.

He always recognized her.

I'm going to take you home, where you belong. I need you. We need you, Cody and I.

A child needs his mother. Someone to love him. Someone to rock him and sing to him. Someone to ease his suffering when he's in pain.

I've taken very good care of Cody. I've made sure you will be with him forever so he will never be alone again. I'll keep my promise. I'll help you make everything right.

It's what you need in order to rest in peace. It's what Cody needs so that his little soul can go to heaven and the two of you can be together for all eternity.

He drove out of the parking area there at the gas station/mini-mart and slipped un.o.bserved into the late Sunday afternoon traffic. His plans to follow her to wherever she was staying now went up in smoke the minute he realized that she had recognized him standing there across the street from Callie's Cafe. Why she always resisted when he tried to take her home, he didn't know. She always pretended she was someone else, someone who didn't know him, someone who had no idea why she was so desperately needed.

Now that he had found her again, all he had to do was wait for the right moment to approach her when they could be alone. Just the two of them.

Chapter 6

Audrey disagreed with Garth. And not for the first time. They came at life from two different angles. Always had and always would. Her step-uncle was relentlessly stubborn and refused to accept anyone else's viewpoint. He felt that he was right and everyone else was wrong. No opinion mattered except his. Audrey could be stubborn and fought for what she believed in, but she tried to keep an open mind and was willing to listen to other opinions and be proven wrong in any argument.

"Wayne doesn't need to know about this," Garth repeated adamantly. "We have no proof that either of those toddler skeletons is Blake." His brow furrowed deeply as he scrunched his face in a surly scowl.

"I think my father should be told," Audrey said, keeping her voice calm and even. "If he finds out that we kept this information from him, he'll be very upset. He won't appreciate us trying to protect him."

"G.o.d d.a.m.n it, Audrey, there's nothing to protect him from!" Garth shouted. When Willie gave him a concerned glance, Garth lowered his voice. "The odds of either child being Blake are slim to none. Why put Wayne through h.e.l.l all over again?"

"But what if this turns out to be a one-in-a-million coincidence and somehow-"

"Neither of them is Blake!" Garth cut her off midsentence. "The very idea that those two little skeletons might somehow be connected to a string of toddler kidnappings more than twenty years ago is a far-fetched notion. We are not digging up ghosts that are better left buried. We are going to keep Wayne out of this. Do you hear me?"

"Wayne Sherrod is one of my closest friends," Willie said. "He has been for a good thirty-five years, and I think I know him as well as anybody." Willie glanced from Audrey to Garth. "I'm calling him. We'll tell him together, the four of us. No matter what, he would want to know, even if there's only a slim possibility that either of those poor little boys is Blake."

Garth grumbled a string of partially incoherent obscenities so quietly that the words were barely audible, but his disapproval came through loud and clear.

When Garth stomped off, went downstairs, and headed toward the exit, Audrey followed him, leaving Willie to telephone her father. She caught up with her uncle in the parking lot adjacent to the Police Service Center. He pulled out a pack of cigarettes from his jacket pocket, removed one, and stuck it in his mouth. After replacing the pack, he lifted a lighter from his pants pocket and lit the cigarette.

Audrey walked up beside him. "Are you okay?"

Garth puffed on the cigarette, his eyes downcast, his shoulders hunched. "Yeah, sure."

"I almost wish one of those skeletons would turn out to be Blake."

Garth took several more drags off his cigarette, tossed it on the pavement, and ground it into pieces with the toe of his shoe. He gave Audrey a sideways glance. "Do you really think that would make it any easier for Wayne?"

"Maybe. I don't know. In most cases, closure is a good thing."

"Closure my a.s.s. That's psycho mumbo jumbo. How's it better to know for sure your son is dead than to hold on to hope that he's still alive out there somewhere?"

"Because we both know that statistics, logic, and hard, cold facts tell us that there is practically no chance that Blake is still alive," Audrey said. "You and Willie and Dad and everyone on the force, back when Regina Bennett was arrested, said that more than likely Blake was one of her many victims. Of the six toddler boys who were abducted, only one survived. The last one. And only because he was rescued before she killed him."

"Yeah." Garth lifted his gaze and faced Audrey. "Blake probably was one of her victims, but we have no proof that the skeletons found with Jill Scott and Debra Gregory belong to any of those missing toddlers."

"No, not yet."

Audrey's gut instinct told her that there was a connection, that after twenty-five years, they were finally going to bring Blake home.

J.D. kept the different parts of his life separated as much as possible. Of course, there were times when the various parts of a guy's life overlapped whether he wanted them to or not. His job as TBI agent J.D. Ca.s.s comprised the bulk of his waking hours, five days a week and sometimes on Sat.u.r.day and Sunday. The man J.D. was a loner for the most part who ventured into short-term relations.h.i.+ps for a little female companions.h.i.+p in and out of the bedroom. The family guy J.D. had lost his parents years ago, but he kept in touch with his kid sister, Julia, and usually spent Christmas with her in Nashville. And now J.D. had to include fatherhood as a sub-compartment under the family guy heading. Admittedly the role of parent didn't come easy to a confirmed bachelor who had sworn off committed relations.h.i.+ps when his s.h.i.+pwreck of a marriage finally sank.

Just when a man thought he had everything under control was usually when fate threw him a curveball. Zoe had sure as h.e.l.l been one of those totally unexpected pitches. And he had a stomach-knotting feeling that Dr. Audrey Sherrod just might be another one.

Holly Johnston, on the other hand, was exactly what he wanted, a woman who wasn't any more interested in a commitment than he was.

Holly had invited him to a late lunch today, lunch that she had a.s.sured him would include dessert.

"Something hot and spicy and oh so sweet," she'd promised. "I'll serve it to you au naturel on silk sheets."

Since Holly hadn't phoned him until ten o'clock that morning, he'd already halfway promised Zoe that they'd go to the movies that afternoon. Lucky for him, a group of her cla.s.smates was going to Hamilton Place to shop until the mall closed, and she'd been happily surprised when he'd changed his mind and told her she could go. Since Jacy Oliver's aunt was chaperoning, he figured the woman would keep an eye on the girls.

With Zoe off with friends and far happier than she would have been spending the afternoon with him, J.D. had the rest of the day for himself since, at that point, he wasn't officially a.s.signed to either Jill Scott's or Debra Gregory's murder case. Until his boss told him anything different, he wasn't going to stick his nose any farther into CPD business.

When he arrived at Holly's, as promised, she provided a late gourmet lunch-no doubt ordered from a nearby restaurant-and did indeed deliver a delectable dessert in her bed, on her hot pink silk sheets. The lady sure did have a way with her hands and mouth. Years of experience had honed her bedroom skills. If there was one thing Holly Johnston did well outside of her profession as an ADA, it was s.e.xually pleasing a man.

After a second vigorous round of hot and heavy, J.D. lay there completely spent, his hips and legs tangled in the top sheet. Holly rested beside him, her luscious body uncovered, a fine sheen of perspiration glistening on her skin from forehead to knees. As she sighed contentedly, she turned over and propped her elbow on the pillow as she looked down at J.D.

When she continued staring at him without saying anything, he grinned. "What?" he asked.

"If I were a different kind of woman, I think you would be on my top ten list of candidates."

If he didn't know Holly so well, her statement might have unnerved him. "Candidate for what?"

She laughed. "For a husband, of course."

"G.o.d forbid." He lifted his hand and ran his index finger over her throat and down between her large, round b.r.e.a.s.t.s. "I tried that once. I made a lousy husband."

She caught his caressing hand and lifted it off her naked body. "I have no doubt of that." She sat up, twisted around, and placed her feet on the carpeted floor. Glancing over her shoulder, she ran her tongue across her lips in a playfully seductive manner. "If all I wanted in a husband was a big d.i.c.k and mind-blowing s.e.x, you'd be my number one candidate, but when I eventually get married, it won't be for s.e.x or even for love."

Holly got out of bed, picked up the satin robe lying on the floor, and slipped into the semisheer knee-length garment.

"I believe that was a backhanded compliment." J.D. untangled his legs from the sheet and shot up off the bed. When he reached out and grabbed Holly from behind, she didn't protest.

Just as she turned in his arms and lifted her face for a kiss, his phone rang. He eyed the pile of clothes on the floor where his phone lay atop his slacks.

"Let it go to voice mail." Holly rubbed herself against him.

"I would, but I've got a kid, remember?"

Holly moaned. "You have my sympathy." She disengaged herself from his loose hold and headed toward the bathroom.

J.D. bent down and picked up his phone. The caller I.D. read Cara Oliver. d.a.m.n! He figured Cara Oliver was Jacy Oliver's aunt, the one who was chaperoning Jacy, Zoe, and their friends at the mall.