Trumped Up Charges

Chapter Twelve



“It’s a tough neighborhood,” Quinton said. “It’s not really safe to walk around here by yourself unless you’re in the members’ club.”

“Go to hell.” Adam spit out another mouthful of blood.

“First Detective Lane, now you. I seem to be growing more popular by the hour.”

“Where are Hadley’s daughters?”

“Beats me. From what I hear, their mother is the most credible suspect. But you come in a close second, Adam. Can’t say that I blame you if you are guilty. Who wants to put up with another man’s kids?”

Adam struggled to stand. Quinton offered a hand. He ignored it.

Quinton smiled. “Since you came all the way out here, you might as well come inside, shoot the breeze, check out the closets and look under the beds.”

“And have you sic your attack dogs on me again?”

Quinton pulled a pistol from his waistband. “I’ll tell you what, Adam. Just to show you what a trusting guy I am, you carry the weapon. It’s loaded. I’ll show you the clip to prove it.”

He did and then he handed the gun to Adam. “The door’s unlocked. Stay as long as you like. Help yourself to a shot of whiskey to help dull the pain. But you’d best check every nook and cranny in the house while you’re in there. Show up again and I’ll kill you as an intruder.”

Quinton turned and walked away from the house leaving Adam alone with a pistol and a body that was so bruised he could barely move.

He staggered to the house and onto the porch. He knew he wouldn’t find the girls. But just maybe he’d find some sign that they’d been there. There might even be another video planted inside with directions for handling the exchange.

That was his best hope for anything good coming out of this venture into Quinton Larson’s world.

Two hours later, he went back to the kitchen and poured a double shot of whiskey into a glass. He downed it in one gulp. If there was any hint that Lila and Lacy had ever been inside this house, he hadn’t found it.

Yet he was more certain than ever that Quinton was behind the kidnapping. But if Quinton had realized that his chances of getting away with this were going down the toilet, he might have panicked and gotten rid of all evidence against him.

It would take a monster to kill two innocent children. Quinton fit that description to a tee.

But he wouldn’t give up hope yet. Nor could he go on like this. He took out his phone and called Meghan Lambert. If she had any pull with the FBI, now was the time to use it.

They needed every advantage possible on their side.

* * *

SHELTON LANE PULLED the fax from the machine. This is what he’d been waiting for. Now he dreaded reading it. Not that he had a choice. He was a cop. Evidence had to rule.

He read it through twice, making sure he’d absorbed every detail. The facts were there. Adam Dalton was the biological father of the twins.

The girls’ DNA had been easy to come by. It had been on the glass of water Hadley had taken to the kitchen during the night. Adam’s had been more difficult to get. He’d had to go all the way to the hospital in Germany where Adam had gone through two years of recovery and rehab.

Too many lies usually equaled guilt.

Ironically, he’d been almost sure that Hadley was behind the disappearance from day one. Doors locked. Windows locked. Alarm not set. Ransom letter sent before the abduction. Boyfriend who shows up from out of the blue. A rich mother.

He hadn’t seen Hadley as a child killer, but he had more trouble ruling out that she’d planned the kidnapping to get some of her mother’s money.

And then he’d met Quinton Larson. The more the scumbag had talked, the more convinced the detective was of his guilt. But it turned out his alibi was almost airtight for the time of the abduction. He’d been caught on the security camera going in his girlfriend’s apartment early evening and out the next morning at 9:22.

Lane looked up at a tapping on his door.

“Got a minute?” the police chief asked. “It’s important.”

“Then I’ve got a minute. And a fax.” He handed it to the chief.

The chief read it and tossed it back to Lane’s desk. “That goes right along with what I came in to discuss.”

“I thought it might.”

“The mayor got a call from the FBI. They’re requesting that they be invited in on the case.”

“And I take it he’s not too keen on that,” Lane said.

“No, and neither am I, not when we have as much credible evidence against Hadley O’Sullivan as we do. If they walk right in and make an arrest, we’ll look like buffoons.”

“I’m not completely sure Hadley is guilty,” Lane said. “I can’t rule out that Quinton either abducted the girls or masterminded the whole thing.”

“Do you have evidence to back that up?”

“Not a shred. Just a hunch that there are still some loose ends that can’t be tied up yet.”

“I understand, but the pressure is on me and the department. Give it until morning. If Hadley hasn’t heard from the kidnapper by then, get an arrest warrant and book her. In the meantime, I’ll give you all the manpower you need to do everything possible to find those girls. Dead or alive, we need answers. For everyone’s sake.”

Lane couldn’t argue with that.

* * *

SOMEHOW ADAM MADE it back to the ranch and spent the rest of the afternoon playing roulette ice packs. Hadley had practically gone into shock when he’d stepped through the door covered in bruises and still not standing completely straight.

She wanted to call for an ambulance, but he’d vetoed that. All he wanted was a clear path to the sofa.

After he’d downed a couple of pain pills, he explained to Hadley, R.J. and Fred how his outing had gone from bad to worse. Since then, they’d all pretty much left him to suffer in peace except for Hadley’s checking on a regular basis to make sure he didn’t need anything.

R.J. had presented him with steak cut from Dry Gulch beef for his left eye which was swollen almost closed earlier in the afternoon. He’d grilled four more steaks for their dinner. Hadley had baked potatoes and made a salad.

Surprisingly, Adam had eaten his fair share. His muscles were on fire, but he’d hurt worse. Much worse. Compared to the night of the ambush, today’s beating seemed like a pillow fight.

He was pretty sure there were no internal injuries and no concussion. All in all, he wasn’t in too bad a shape for a man who’d been treated like a soccer ball by men who could have played for any team in the North American League.

He’d retired to the family room after dinner, this time settling in the recliner. Fred joined him.

“Do you think we’re just wasting your time here?” Adam asked.

“Absolutely not. The kidnapper’s not going to turn his back on five million dollars. But since we haven’t heard from him yet, he may need some encouragement in taking this to the next step.”

“What kind of encouragement?”

“The knowledge that the police are closing in and about to make an arrest.”

“Have you heard something I haven’t?”

“No. But that doesn’t mean that the information can’t be leaked to the local media.”

“I don’t think they’d print something from an unnamed and unproven source.”

“They’d print it if the information came from the lead detective in the case.”

“And exactly how would we get Lane to agree to that?”

“You can always call and ask. It’s worked for me before. Just tell him what we’re trying to do. After all, it’s the lives of two little girls that are on the line.”

“Let’s run it by Hadley first.”

“Run what by me?” she said from the doorway.

Adam and Fred explained the proposal.

“Call him now,” Hadley said. “If he agrees and he acts on it quickly, it might make the ten o’clock news.”

Adam made the call. To all of their surprise, the detective agreed without an argument.

R.J. joined them in the family room and they talked for a while, mainly about Quinton. They were all in consensus that he was guilty as sin, but no one had a clue why he was dragging it out so long.

Hadley finally called it a night though Adam doubted she’d get much sleep. He followed soon after.

Once in his bedroom, he stripped and got under the hottest shower he could stand. He let the water sluice over his bruised, aching body.

His mind slipped back into the past, to three and a half years ago when life as he’d known it came to a painful end. He couldn’t stand in a shower that night or for many nights to follow. He hadn’t been able to even move his legs.

The doctors had said he might never walk again.

And he didn’t need to relive that tonight. He stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and went back to the bedroom. He was bending over to get an undershirt from the chest when his bedroom door squeaked open.

He spun around, but one look at Hadley’s face told him it hadn’t been quick enough. She’d seen the scars and the burned, clotted welts of skin that deformed him.

The look of horror would give way to one of pity. And then she’d know, but she would never understand. The deeper scars were more than skin-deep.

“Oh, Adam. Your back. What happened?”

“I was in a fight.”

“No, not the bruises from today. The scars. The burns.”

He yanked the shirt over his head. “Yeah, hideous, aren’t they?”

“They’re ghastly. The injuries must have been near fatal.”

“They weren’t that bad.” Unless you considered misery laced with agony a bad experience.

“What happened?” she asked again.

“I took a little heat in Afghanistan, the same way a lot of guys have. That’s war.” His attempt at nonchalance sounded forced even to him.

“When?”

“Does it matter? The worst is over now.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“And saddle you with a husband who might have been an invalid forever? You were young. You had everything going for you. You wanted a big family.”

She closed her eyes. Tears slid from the corners and rolled down her cheeks. His heart felt as if it were breaking all over again.

Hadley stepped into the room and closed and locked the door behind her. “There was never another woman, was there?”