Gone From Me: Hearts of the South, Book 10 Page 11

  “We’ve got to go or we’ll be late.” Rob hurried back into the room and paused long enough to drop a quick kiss on both women’s cheeks. “See you later.”

  After they were gone, Savannah lifted an eyebrow at Amy. “Is that the partner?”

  Amy nodded.

  “Does he always give you that look?”

  So Savannah had noticed it as well. Amy worried her bottom lip between her teeth. “No. I’ve only met him a couple of times.”

  With a speculative glance at the door where the two men had disappeared, Savannah reached for Amy’s biscuit and broke off half. “He knows something you don’t, and he doesn’t like what he knows. I bet Rob’s talking to him. Makes sense. They ride around all day; what else are they going to do but talk? That’s probably good for him too.”

  He couldn’t talk to her, but he could talk to a guy he barely knew. The realization hurt, but at the same time, it lessened a little of her desperation. She needed him well, and she didn’t care if that meant he confided in someone other than her. She sucked in a shuddery breath, her throat tight and aching.

  “You’re going to cry, aren’t you?”

  Eyes burning, she nodded hard and wrapped her arms around her waist. That did little to subdue the huge, wobbly sobs. Savannah huffed a sigh and dropped the half a biscuit to fold an arm around Amy’s shoulders. She pressed their cheeks together. “Go ahead. You probably need this.”

  Amy cried harder and wound shaking arms around her sister.

  “It’s okay to be a princess sometimes.” Savannah patted the back of her head and pressed a kiss to Amy’s temple, a familiar gesture going all the way back to their childhood. “But the very best princesses learn how to be queens.”

  For long minutes, Savannah held her while she wept, until there seemed to be no tears left. Amy released a tremulous sigh, and Savannah hugged her tightly. “It’s going to be okay, Ames. I’m going to help you take care of him.”

  *

  Rob pounded a fist on Mike Smithwick’s trailer door. No response. Not that he was surprised—no vehicle sat outside the small singlewide—but it didn’t hurt to try. He tugged a card from his wallet, scribbled a note on it for Smithwick to call him, and stuck it in the doorjamb. The metal steps clanged under his feet on his way back to the yard where Troy Lee waited, leaning against the Charger’s hood, arms folded across his chest.

  They’d already checked Smithwick’s place of employment—a local-parts house where the kid worked part-time on the counter—and found he was off until the weekend.

  Face shaded by the brim of his campaign hat, Troy Lee frowned at his approach. “So explain to me why you want to talk to him so bad if Britt’s safe?”

  “One, I need an official statement for the case file.” He walked around to the passenger door. “Two, there’s more to this story than anyone is saying, and I can’t stand not having a full story.”

  Behind the wheel, Troy Lee fired the engine. “You have to have unsolved case files in your past.”

  “Yeah, and they drive me nuts. It’s like having something stuck between your teeth.”

  “You still think Britt’s lying.” Deep pine forests lining the road flashed by them. Troy Lee bounced his thumb off the steering wheel, brows twisted together in a thoughtful expression.

  “I think nothing about her story adds up.” He shrugged. “But the local news will move on, she and Zeke will go back to their normal lives, and maybe it won’t matter.”

  “Maybe?”

  “She went after Smithwick with a bat. That’s some strong emotion.” The trees thinned out the nearer they got to town. The rain had moved out overnight, and the damp woods steamed under the midmorning heat. “I’d simply like to know what the deal is with them.”

  At the second traffic light, Troy Lee took the right instead of hooking the left that would take them to the department. After a couple of blocks, he eased into the library parking lot and stopped in the shade of a spreading oak. He reached for the mike. “C-13 to Chandler.”

  “Go ahead, C-13.”

  “C-13 and C-2-A, 10-6 at the library.”

  “10-4, C-13.”

  Rob lifted a hand in inquiry and pointed toward the library. “We’re busy? Here?”

  “Trust me and c’mon.” Troy Lee donned his hat as he exited the car.

  Muggy heat blasted them on the short walk across the parking lot. Troy Lee tipped his hat at a couple of elderly ladies on their way out of the building, then braced it on his hip. Inside, the modern building was blessedly cool, despite the long curtainless windows. Troy Lee raised a finger in greeting at the man working the circulation desk and headed for the children’s section. Mothers and children of various ages gathered on the multicolored carpet there, an empty chair waiting in the center.

  A young blonde sat yoga-style at the very edge of the carpet, two toddlers in her lap.

  “Troy Lee.” One of the toddlers surged up and ran to him. The blonde’s head jerked up, a bandaged hand instinctively tightening on the other child’s abdomen. Brittany Jenkins.

  “Hey, Butterbean.” Troy Lee scooped up the little girl and bussed her cheek, then set his hat atop her head. She chortled and clutched it with both hands. He crooked a finger at Brittany, who cast a glance around and rose with obvious reluctance. Troy Lee reached out his free arm for the other baby. “C’mere, Emma June.”

  The toddler went to him easily and made a grab for the gleaming brass whistle and chain clipped to his uniform. Brittany crossed her arms over her midriff and glared at him. The angry scrape on her chin had begun to scab over, but was still noticeable against her tanned skin. A hint of sunburn lingered on her cheekbones.

  “What are you doing here?” She spared a scowl for Rob and lifted that vulnerable chin to a defiant angle. “I’m not talking to him.”

  “You need to stop, think and be smart.” Troy Lee lowered his voice to a quiet whisper. “You and I both know you love this little girl, and we both know you’re a good mom. I know you want what’s best for her. If you’re scared and whatever you’re scared of is putting her at risk, you need to talk to him, Britt. You do what’s best for this baby, not what your mama wants or what you think Zeke would want. End of story.”

  Biting her lip, Brittany stared at him.

  “She comes first, Britt.” He spared her an almost-grin. “Now what do you need to do?”

  Her lashes came down, hiding her eyes for a moment. When she opened them, the blue depths shone with tears. “I’ll talk to him.”

  “Fantastic.” Troy Lee shifted the little girls higher on his arms. “Tatum, Emma June and I will go do story hour.”

  Almost disbelieving what he’d just witnessed, Rob cast a desperate glance around for a private spot. A bench sat tucked into an alcove near the front door, away from the computer area and the fiction stacks. “Let’s go over there.”

  Still reluctant, Brittany followed and perched as far as possible from him. She curled her pink-tipped toes into her flip-flops. Blisters and scrapes marred the red tender skin above her soles. Souvenirs of walking along a hot highway in the Georgia sun.

  He leaned forward, elbows on his thighs and hands clasped between his knees. “You’re not facing any charges, but I need to tell you that your Miranda rights still stand. Remember those from the other day? You don’t have to talk to me, but if you do, what you say can be used against you in court—”

  “I remember them.” Brittany picked at the edge of her bandage, the gauze not the bright white it had been two days before. The hem frayed into strands of dingy cotton, as if she’d picked at it over and over.

  “Do you want to tell me what really happened?” He spun his wedding band around his finger and noted that her own ring finger was bare. “The tall white guy in the gray car never existed, did he?”

  “No.” She wilted beside him. “It was Mike.”

  “Mike Smithwick.”

  She nodded, then seemed to realize some impact of what she’d said. She straighte
ned, panic invading her wide blue eyes. “But I’m not pressing charges against him. It was just—”

  “We’ll get to that later.” He damn well intended for his voice to stay calm and gentle. He would not spook her this time. He also didn’t bother to point out the fallacy of thinking she could or couldn’t press charges—that power belonged solely to the district attorney’s office. If she thought she was in control and that got her to talk to him…so be it. “Tell me what I need to know.”

  “It was just stupid. He came by that morning, but Zeke was already gone to the field. He—Mike, that is—was an ass like he always is. Saying mean stuff about me and—” She bit the words off and scrubbed her wrist across her nose. “Saying mean stuff. I got mad and told him to get out. I went in the bathroom to finish getting dressed. I was still mad, and I…and I threw my phone into my makeup organizer on the vanity. My screen shattered, and when I went to clean it up, I cut myself.”

  “So that part was true.”

  She nodded, tears glittering on her lashes. “I grabbed Emma and was going to go see about it getting stitched up, but my car wouldn’t start. I figured I’d walk over to the neighbor’s place and use her phone to call Mama or Zeke to come get us.”

  “But you never made it that far?”

  “No. Mike was still in the driveway.” Her shoulders lifted and rose under a sad, shivery little breath. “He said he’d take me to the hospital, but he lied.”

  The lost note in her voice made him want to kick Mike Smithwick’s ass. Yeah, she was a spitfire like her mama and she’d led them on a snipe hunt, but underneath it all was a disillusioned little girl who still trusted, who still wanted to see the best in someone. “Instead, he drove you out to Haynes County and left you there.”

  Another nod, and this time the tears spilled over. She cupped a hand over her mouth, an obvious attempt to muffle the sobs. “I didn’t care about me, but it was so hot and Emma was crying and I couldn’t do anything for her.”

  “Does Zeke know this?”

  She shook her head, hair falling forward to shield her face. “He wouldn’t believe me if I told him.”

  “Is that what Mike told you?” Even trying to keep his voice level, he heard the hard note in it himself.

  “He didn’t have to.” Her shoulders trembled under another sigh. “I just know. He’d tell Zeke I was crazy and lying, and Zeke would believe him because he always does.”

  Rob frowned as a memory—of two fresh scratches marring Zeke’s neck—sparked in his brain. “Zeke wasn’t involved?”

  She didn’t look up. “No.”

  “Tell me about the scratches on his neck.”

  At his words, her posture tensed, then relaxed under a long breath. “We got into an argument that night, after Troy Lee left and everyone went home. He, um, he was trying to take the bat away from me and held me against the wall. I guess I scratched him then. I didn’t mean to or anything… I just wanted him to let me go.”

  Silence stretched a moment, broken only by her sniffles. She scrubbed at her nose again, and Rob handed her his handkerchief.

  “Thanks.” She looked at him over the white square, her eyes hardening after a quick flash of vulnerability. “You can’t arrest him.”

  Damn if he couldn’t. He was pretty sure he had Mike Smithwick on at least kidnapping and child endangerment, except the only witness had already signed a false statement. “I can’t promise you that. Right now, I can promise you I’m going to have a conversation with Mr. Smithwick.”

  “All I ever wanted was for Emma to have the best life possible, for her to have a mama and her daddy.” She stared down at her feet. “I try to be a good wife and mom.”

  “Apparently, Troy Lee thinks you are.”

  “I guess.”

  “Brittany, would you be willing to give me an official statement about this now?”

  “I can’t.”

  Something about the mournful words told him he could threaten her with obstruction and making a false statement all he wanted and nothing would change.

  He extracted a card from his wallet. “Think about it. If you change your mind, you call me, anytime, okay?”

  “Okay.” She tucked the vellum rectangle in her pocket.

  She wasn’t going to call. As he watched her walk away to where Troy Lee waited with the children, he knew it as surely as he knew this whole mess still wasn’t over.

  *

  An hour later, he and Troy Lee sat across from Tick Calvert’s desk. Calvert leaned back in his chair, elbow on the chair arm, mouth resting in his hand while Rob related Brittany’s newest version of events.

  “So let me get this straight.” Calvert tapped his index finger against his lips. “She lied, now says Mike Smithwick did it because he’s an ass, but doesn’t want him charged.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  With a grimace, Calvert lifted his hand and straightened in the chair. “I believe it.”

  “I wasn’t sure exactly what to do next. We can’t pin Smithwick down, and there are no other witnesses. She’s tainted the case and—”

  “And all of that could draw out an investigation for you that might never even come to the point where you could ask for an arrest warrant.”

  “Right.”

  “Throw it to the DA’s office. If they want to pursue it, their investigator can run it down.” He scratched a note on the legal pad at his elbow. “I’ll send out a statement to the news stations that we’ve transferred the case where it can receive the specialized attention it deserves.”

  Troy Lee grunted. “McMillian will love that.”

  “I know.” Calvert’s quick smile held a hint of mischief. “But it’ll get them off our backs until the next hot story comes along.”

  “Do you think she’s in any real danger from Smithwick?” For once, Troy Lee’s trademark grin was nowhere to be found.

  “He’s still a kid and he’s an ass, like his daddy.” Calvert pondered the question, rapping his pen on the legal pad. “If he’d wanted to hurt her, he had the perfect opportunity, and he didn’t take it.”

  “She seemed more afraid of Zeke’s reaction than she did of Smithwick.” Rob crossed his ankle over his knee and smoothed the crease in his slacks. That part still didn’t make sense to him. The marriage must be in major trouble if she was afraid Zeke would choose his buddy over his wife.

  “I think you’ve done what you can do. Call the DA’s office, and if Brittany calls you, encourage her to cooperate with the DA’s investigator. And Troy Lee? If you go out there on another domestic call, please take somebody to jail.”

  “We covered that already, Tick. Ad nauseam.”

  “Trying to make sure it sinks in.” Calvert grinned and leaned back in his chair once more. “So the two of you working together… How’s that going?”

  Troy Lee and Rob exchanged a look and shrugged. Rob had no complaints. He was learning from Troy Lee’s experience, and Troy Lee had his back.

  “It’s good.” Troy Lee jerked a thumb in Rob’s direction. “He has issues, but we’re working on those.”

  What the hell? Rob’s pulse thudded in his ears.

  “Issues how?” Relaxed in his chair, Calvert didn’t appear perturbed in the least. “And how concerned should I be?”

  “You shouldn’t. Compared to what Chris’s issues were, Bennett’s are nonexistent.” Troy Lee frowned as if searching for a point of comparison while Rob tried to get his fucking breath back. One second, he’d been thinking Troy Lee had his back, then this. Fuck. This partner shit sucked. “Remember how you were during the Schaefer case? About like that. He’s holding it together. We’re good.”

  “Gotcha. Let me know if anything changes and I need to worry.” Satisfied and completely unconcerned, Calvert lifted a stack of folders from the basket at the corner of his desk. “Now go earn your pay.”

  They left the door open, and Rob waited until they’d cleared the administrative offices to speak, his voice an angry whisper. “What the hell, Farr?
”

  Brow lifted and with guileless eyes, Troy Lee spread his hands. “What?”

  The cluelessness only added to Rob’s anger. He jerked his head toward Calvert’s office. “What was that? ‘He has issues’?”

  “You do.” Troy Lee continued toward the side door. “You want me to lie? That never ends well.”

  “You don’t just tell him like that.” Rob caught the door as they exited and slammed it behind them with a satisfying metallic clang.

  “Bennett.” Troy Lee faced him at the bottom of the steps. “He was going to ask me at some point. It’s easier to have it out there with him.”

  Rob struggled to think through the haze enveloping his brain. “Shit.”

  “Breathe and calm down.” Troy Lee glared when Rob glowered at him. He cast a glance toward a couple of deputies who eyed them on the way to their units. “Get in the car.”

  “Not until—”

  “Get in the car.” Troy Lee gave him a half-shove in that direction, and for one brief moment, Rob considered punching him. “Don’t try it, Bennett. I’m on your side.”

  In the car, Rob snapped on his seat belt and focused on getting oxygen into his lungs and brain.

  “Look,” Troy Lee said, starting the car, “to some extent, we all have junk in our heads. If we don’t bring it from home, we pick it up on the job. We help each other through it. Trust me, Calvert’s been there. We’ve all been there. He gets it, and I know this about him—he’d rather know up front than be blindsided.”

  Rob nodded.

  “Have you always been this quick-tempered?”

  “No.” Hotheaded had never really been him. Up until recently, he’d been slow to anger and quick to get over offenses.

  “You get mad at me, that’s fine. Tell me.” Troy Lee shifted the car into gear and wheeled around toward the drive. He slanted a knowing look in Rob’s direction. “Because anger you don’t let out is another one of those things that will eat you alive.”