Mommy May I Page 21

  Helena wanted him to hold her, hoping it would ease her pain, and his. Her heart beat rapidly, as their lips joined. The warmth that came from Patrick’s mouth felt sweet. She knew then that he really did still care. As their kiss turned from gentle tenderness to raw passion, Patrick pulled Helena on top of him.

  Something clicked inside her. She knew that if this went any further it could be very damaging for both of them. As suddenly as it had begun, she stopped. She rolled over, lying next to him, straightening her blouse. Patrick sat up looking dazed. Tears clouded her vision. “I can’t. I’m sorry. It’s all wrong,” she whispered.

  “Its not. We love each other. I know that. We always have. Nothing wrong is going on here. We need each other now, Lena. I know I need you, and I can see the same written all over your face.”

  Helena stood up. “We can’t force this, especially not right now. We did that once, and we hurt each other and our daughter. We owe it to her not to get our emotions all mixed up. You’re wrong, Patrick, it’s not right. It’s never been right between you and me.”

  CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

  Tyler didn’t like any of it. Collier was on a rampage to find anything he could to bring down Helena Shea and Patrick Kiley, not only for arson and Leeza’s murder, but also for their daughter’s abduction. He insisted that they’d hired a professional to do the dirty deeds, even though he had little evidence to back his theory.

  Collier believed that they couldn’t handle the kid and had decided to get rid of her. Tyler called Loretta down in Los Angeles, and she’d brought him up to speed on Collier’s shenanigans. Tyler pleaded with his boss to do something about the numbskull, saying that he was only making things worse for him and his team. He reminded her that Collier’s theories were fueling the damn media blaze, making Tyler’s relations with the reporters difficult and unnecessarily time-consuming.

  “I’ll see what I can do,” Loretta told him. “But you know how these police departments are when they think we’re treading on one of their cases. Looks like I might have to pull rank. As I’ve said a dozen times if I’ve said it once, I really hate getting into a turf war with the local PD. I don’t think it’s ultimately productive for either of us, but for you . . .”

  “Thank you. I knew I could count on you to put the hammer down. One other thing I’d like to ask you to do for me down there. Would you pay a visit to Ms. Shea’s friend Rachel Winters over at the UCLA burn center? I know that Helena’s been very concerned about her. She’d feel relieved if I could tell her that we have someone looking in on her. And I’d like someone to question Rachel, ask her about the night of the fire. Who knows, maybe she saw someone. She might have a missing piece we’re unaware of.”

  “You think it’s possible our man is also an arsonist?”

  “Not by trade. I think he’s got a vendetta, and he’s determined to destroy anything having to do with Helena Shea. I have a strong feeling that the same individual is responsible for all three incidents: the arson, the murder, and the kidnapping. He’s trying to destroy her by taking everything she values away from her.”

  “Sure I can do that for you. I’ll interview her myself, but I’m pretty certain Collier’s already spoken with Rachel already.”

  “Oh, I’m sure he has. But Collier’s almost certainly trying to dig up anything he can that could be twisted into implicating Helena. However, we might see things differently, if you get my meaning.”

  “I do, Ty.”

  “I don’t understand why he’s pressing so hard to convict this lady. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s the one with the vendetta.”

  “No. He’s just a washed-up cop who knows that frying someone like Ms. Shea will score him points.”

  “If you want to know my opinion, Loretta, I think he needs to retire.”

  They both laughed, and Tyler thanked her once more before hanging up. Then, he picked up the phone again and tried to get a hold of Claire, knowing that she’d arrived in Santa Barbara around noon. She didn’t answer, and he figured her cell was out of range or turned off. When they’d spoken earlier she’d suggested they get together for dinner. After a little prodding on her part, he’d agreed.

  “Everyone has to eat, don’t they? Even FBI agents,” she’d goaded.

  “I’d like to, it sounds really nice, but I’m very busy with this case,” he protested.

  “Look, why don’t you come over to my hotel? I’ll order up some room service. We’ll have a quick dinner, then I’ll release you back to your work. Besides I have that info you wanted on Bridgett Core.”

  “Boy, you sure know how to get to a man, don’t you? Since you put it that way, I’d be delighted to join you for dinner.”

  They’d made plans to touch base this afternoon and then signed off. Remembering the conversation now, he realized he was looking forward to seeing her. He was brought back to the present seeing a picture of Frankie on the shelf above her desk. What kind of hell was that poor kid going through right now? He thought she was still alive, but if so, was she injured? What was this sicko subjecting her to? She was so pretty with her dark hair and light eyes and a big smile on her face. She looked a lot like her mom.

  He got up from the chair and found Helena and Patrick in the kitchen where they were making sandwiches for his team. “Hey, I need to leave for an appointment, but if you need to reach me, I’ll be at my hotel. Don’t hesitate to call,” he told them. They both looked at him, worried expressions on their faces.

  “Would you like a sandwich first?” Helena said, obviously not wanting him to leave.

  “I really appreciate that, and thanks for taking such good care of my men. Unfortunately, I need to get going.”

  Patrick nodded, but he could tell neither wanted him to go. “Will you be back tonight?” he asked.

  “Probably later. In the meantime, three of my men will be on duty here at all times. They know exactly how to get in touch with me. I’m no further than ten minutes away.”

  “You could stay here tonight, if you’d like,” Patrick suggested.

  Tyler realized that his presence had a soothing effect on their frayed nerves. “Thank you, but a little distance might honestly give me some perspective. It’s happened more than once, believe me.” Tyler thought of Claire and knew he wasn’t getting out of the house simply to gain a new perspective.

  ****

  As Tyler stood outside the door of room 237, he felt a little nervous. Was this a date? Though Claire Travers wasn’t a colleague, he did think she could offer some insight into the case. But if anyone found out that they’d so much as spoken . . .

  He hadn’t dated anyone since Susie’s death except for one girl his sister insisted he go out with. That was a fiasco. But something intrigued him about the tabloid journalist, so he rapped on her door. He heard movement on the other side.

  She opened the door, smelling like evening jasmine, and looking fantastic in a tight, gray turtleneck and blue jeans. She took his jacket and hung it in the closet. She was already chilling a nice Chardonnay, and had set out some fruit, cheese, and crackers.

  “I took the liberty of ordering dinner. Hope you’re a surf-and-turf kind of guy.”

  “Sounds great.” She handed him a glass of wine. “I like your choice in wine.”

  “I hope you’re not on duty. I know that old line: ‘I can’t, I’m on duty.’” She laughed, and he liked the sound of it—full yet feminine.

  He laughed too, releasing the tension in his neck and shoulders. “Technically, until this case is solved, I am on duty, but I don’t think a glass of wine will hurt.”

  They sat outside on the balcony overlooking the Pacific, making small talk while they waited patiently for their dinners to arrive. Tyler let down his guard, pouring himself a little more wine. They enjoyed each other’s company, and their conversation steered clear of business. But after dinner, Tyler said, “So, you have some info on Bridgett Core?”

  “Nothing really jumped out at me, but I made a few phon
e calls for you.”

  “You didn’t need to do that.”

  “I thought maybe something would come of it.”

  “And?”

  “Some women who knew Bridgett back in early ’95 said she dated a lot and liked to party pretty hard. I got a few names of some of the guys she hung out with. I figured you could look into them.”

  “Of course.”

  “I also got a hold of a gal who was on Bridgett’s last set. She said their makeup artist had gotten friendly with Bridgett even though he creeped everyone else out. They were all pretty sure he was gay.”

  “That doesn’t fit the MO. Did she tell any of the cops this?”

  “No. These women don’t like talking with cops, so she stayed out of it, said she knew nothing.”

  “What’s this guy’s name?”

  Claire looked through the file for a minute, “Here it is—Richard Shelton.”

  Tyler took the file from Claire and scanned it. “I’ll call this down to my boss to see what she can find out. I’m too wrapped up in the Kiley case right now. I’ll have to let my Jane Doe rest until I get back.”

  “Hope it helps.”

  “Me too.”

  She smiled again, and Tyler felt his gut sink. What a pretty lady Claire Travers was. For the moment, the case was forgotten.

  “Heard anything about the Kiley girl?” Claire asked.

  “I’m thinking someone out there really wants to get even with Helena Shea, destroy her. Bet we hear from him soon.”

  “For ransom?”

  “I think so, hope so. What I really hope is that he hasn’t hurt the kid, because I do think he murdered Leeza. He’s sick. They’re all sick. You have no idea how many children turn up missing each year. Often it’s a family member, but in as high as forty percent of the cases, it’s a psychopathic stranger. They molest, kill, or sell for profit. They could be anyone, even a neighbor from a few doors down whom you’d never suspect, just like that case in San Diego where the guy lived across the street from the little girl. He just walked in and took her from her room. That poor child had sold the asshole a box of Girl Scout cookies a week before. Sometimes, you just never know.

  “And you wouldn’t believe the pornography rings out there that involve young children. The Internet has made it really difficult to get these creeps. If you want to make a difference in the world, Claire, use your journalistic skills to educate people about these kinds of problems.”

  “Interesting you should say that, because I quit my job today. I couldn’t take being a journalistic pariah any longer. I need to do something more meaningful. Your suggestion is a good one; I like it.

  “I’m proud of you. Now you can use your talent for something positive, and I can be seen in public with you.” They both laughed, delighted to be together. He wanted to kiss her. The thought of this surprised him. For once, Susan’s memory didn’t blur his emotions. Just then his cell phone rang.

  Tyler groaned. “Sorry.”

  “Answer it.”

  He clicked on his phone and said, “Tyler Savoy here.”

  It was one of the men from his team who he had out combing the woods for Frankie. “We got a body—in the woods just south of Oxnard.”

  “ID?”

  “Nope. Mutilated. Female though, about the size of our vic.”

  “I’ll be right there.” Tyler hung up the phone as soon as he got an exact location and turned to Claire.

  “Bad?” she asked.

  He nodded, hoping he wouldn’t have to tell Patrick and Helena that they’d found Frankie.

  CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR

  As a new day dawned, Tyler was just returning to Patrick’s ranch from the crime scene. Some monster had tortured and bludgeoned a teenage girl to death, but it wasn’t Frankie. Tyler wondered if it wasn’t the same UNSUB.

  Pulling into the ranch, he saw Claire’s car, but even more surprising he found Claire and Helena drinking coffee in the kitchen. “Helena?” he said, noticing the shock in his own voice, while glancing over at Claire.

  “Good morning, Agent Savoy. This is Claire Tra . . .”

  “Travers. We’ve met. I thought we’d agreed not to invite the media into your home. I thought you wanted that as much as the Bureau.” He eyed Claire suspiciously.

  “Believe me, I agree, especially where Ms. Travers is concerned,” Patrick said walking into the kitchen.

  “Please call me Claire.”

  “Somehow she got through the phone system early this morning and said that she thought she could help with the case. She doesn’t work for The Scene any longer and claims to want to make some amends by helping out if she can, perhaps write some responsible journalism. We could certainly use somebody in the media in our corner, couldn’t we?

  “I told Helena I want to make amends, do something to help. Maybe I can lend a hand or at least give some support,” Claire said.

  Patrick stood in the doorway, shaking his head. “This woman has done nothing but harm us. Now she waltzes in wanting to help? If I had answered the security gate’s phone, she wouldn’t have gotten in.”

  “Patrick,” Helena pleaded, “she’s already helped by distributing Frankie’s photo. She’s also trying to get the press off our backs, trying to convince them that I had nothing to do with the fire or Leeza’s murder. And as far as I’m concerned, even if she is here for the inside scoop, which I really wouldn’t doubt, I’d rather she get it from our perspective. And, I have to say I’m to a point where I’ll take all the help I can get in getting our daughter back. I actually think it’s time we talk to the press.”

  “I know you doubt me, and with good reason, but I’m telling the truth. I’m not here to bring you down. That’s not what I want to be about any longer. I really do want to help you locate your daughter. I might be able to do that with my connections,” Claire said.

  “Folks, may I have a word with Ms. Travers?” Tyler cut in. “Maybe we can sort this out.”

  Helena glanced at Patrick, who nodded.

  Claire took her coffee mug and left the room following Tyler. He crossed his arms over his chest, staring at her. “What are you doing?”

  “It’s not what you think, I swear. It’s not about the story. After talking about these people with you, I feel terribly guilty for the things that I’ve written about them over the years. You made me see how decent they are, and how wrong and judgmental I’ve been.”

  “Really? Well, you might be able to convince a distraught mother who’s so exhausted and obviously out of her mind she can’t think straight, but you haven’t fooled me. I know reporters really well, and I think your reporter’s nose smells something juicy and worth some dollars. By the way, how did you finagle your way through the front door?”

  “I used your name, showed them your card, cell number, and pager.”

  “Jesus Christ, Claire! You’re using me, too? Did you really quit The Scene, or was that just a con job to get inside to wreck these peoples’ lives some more? I believed you wanted to do something worthwhile.”

  “I do,” she said, hands on hips. “Whether you believe me or not.”

  “I’ll let you stay, but only at Helena’s behest. If they want you out, you’re out!”

  “Fine.”

  The ringing of the phone stopped them both. Tyler charged out of the kitchen and into the family room where the wiretap was set up.

  “This might be our man,” Tyler shouted. “Helena, come around here and get this phone. Now wait until I give you the signal to pick up.” He looked around at all the monitors and men giving him the thumbs up. He nodded, and Helena picked up the phone.

  “Hello?”

  Tyler could tell immediately that the person on the other end had said something upsetting to Helena when her face turned pale as a newly laundered sheet.

  ****

  Helena had followed Tyler’s instructions to pick up the phone on the fourth ring. Her palms were clammy, and her stomach sank when she heard that same weird male voice on th
e other end.

  “Ms. Shea? This is you, isn’t it?”

  “Who is this?” Patrick’s hand rested on her shoulder, as if willing strength into her.

  “Who is this? Who is this? No quicker than our last conversation, but what can I expect from a former model? Not too bright, are you?”

  “Please tell me where my daughter is. Please, I’ll do anything. Pay anything, whatever you want,” Helena cried out hoping this madman would release Frankie.

  “I’ll pay anything,” he whined, mocking her.

  Helena held the receiver tighter. This wasn’t a prank. This was the maniac who’d stolen their child.

  “I don’t want your fucking money. I have what I want and it’s beautiful, she’s beautiful, and the things I’m going to do to her will be beautiful too. You will never see your child alive again. Do you hear me, you fucking whore? Never! I’ve taken away everything from you now, haven’t I? How does it feel? But you did this to me! I could’ve been good and whole, but you made me evil again! Now you’ll pay with everything you thought you possessed—freedom, friends, and family.”

  “Oh, God,” cried Helena. “Where is she? Don’t hurt my daughter, please! I’m sorry for the things you say I did to you. Please don’t hurt my baby. I’ll do anything, please.”

  “Good,” he laughed. “You’re right where I want you, in your own hell, where you’ll have plenty of time to think about what you’ve done.”

  As the line went dead, Helena fell back into Patrick’s arms. It had been him. Her fear and hatred grew along with the pain in her chest, as if someone was slowly, relentlessly squeezing the life out of her.

  She searched Tyler’s face, but did not see what she hoped. He, too, looked desperate for answers. What could she have done to make someone commit such a vicious act against Frankie? But it wasn’t about Frankie—he was challenging her to come find her daughter. She could hear it in his voice. That was exactly what he wanted.