Chapter Two
Twenty-five minutes later, Sawyer pulled his truck up behind the black and white, killed the lights and wipers and turned off the engine. A smile from his mom had improved his mood if not his trepidation about tonight’s visit to Melissa Teague’s tiny white house in the Kansas City suburb of Independence. The place was neat, but plain and unassuming, showing the signs of its age in the sag of the front porch and the cracks running through the brickwork along the house’s foundation.
He pulled his badge from his jacket and slipped it back into his wallet before checking the gun on his belt and climbing out. Squinting into the rain, he braced his shoulders for the unpleasant task at hand and moved toward the officer in the squad car.
“I’m a friend of the family,” he explained, fudging a little on the friend part as the blue suit read his badge and ID and okayed him to approach the house.
Sawyer caught a glimpse of his drowned-rat reflection when the officer rolled up his window against the moisture splashing into his car. Big scary man coming in from the dark and the storm. Yeah, he’d be a real re-assuring sight.
One more reason to hate the rain.
Muttering a curse that was half damnation, half resignation to the inevitable, Sawyer jumped the torrent running along the curb and hurried across the street. Pausing for a quick scan up and down the sidewalk and into the side yards, he made sure there were no unwelcome eyes watching the place. In fact, other than the officer in the car, the block was deserted. The isolation of locked doors and dark windows nagged at him almost as much as the sight of someone spying on the house would have. But he supposed he was the only one without the sense to stay in on a night like this. Tomorrow, he’d order a rundown on all the neighbors to make sure there were no empty houses and that the residents were who they said they were.
Resolved that he could at least do that much to keep Melissa safe, Sawyer climbed the steps onto her front porch. The wood shifted and creaked beneath his weight, groaning like an ominous portent of unseen danger. But the light beside the door was on, so she’d be able to get a good look at him before opening it.
He pressed the doorbell, then shook the excess water from his unbuttoned jacket, making sure his Glock was tucked out of sight behind his back. He was squeegeeing the rain from his hair when the inside door nudged open a crack.
Sawyer braced for the impact of seeing Melissa again.
But the breath he’d been holding eased from his chest in an odd mixture of disappointment and relief as he caught his first glimpse of the woman peeking over the chain latching the door to its frame.
Not Melissa. Just as petite, though, maybe five foot two or three at the most. Pretty in a soft sort of feminine way that must be an inherited trait. The wary suspicion in this woman’s eyes was similar. But the hair was shorter, curlier, laced with silver amongst the gold. “Yes?”
“Mrs. Teague?”
“Who’s asking?”
Sawyer held his badge up beside his face. “KCPD, ma’am. I’m Detective Kincaid from the Fourth Precinct.”
The older woman squinted. “The Fourth Precinct’s in downtown Kansas City. What are you doing out…? Oh, shoot.” She turned away from the door and shouted inside. “Benjamin? Bring Grandma her glasses. Please.” She looked back through the screen that separated her from Sawyer. “I wondered when someone was going to come up to the house. That police car has been sitting out there for a half hour. I was still cleaning the dinner dishes when he pulled up. Makes me nervous.”
“It’s just a precaution, ma’am. He’s keeping an eye on the neighborhood.” Sawyer tucked his badge onto his belt and retreated a step to hopefully ease her concern. “Is Miss Teague here?”
“Gandma?” Short, chubby fingers pushed a pair of glasses into the woman’s hands, and then a little boy with shaggy black hair, barefoot and dressed in overalls, peeked around her leg.
Sawyer’s pulse hitched in recognition as he looked down into a carbon copy of Melissa’s clear blue eyes.
“Hey, pal. How’s it goin’?” Sawyer grinned at the little guy. He must be three years old. He barely cleared Sawyer’s knee, but there was no mistaking the bold curiosity in his expression as he inched his way around his grandmother’s leg and craned his neck to look up into Sawyer’s face.
“I can’t talk to stwangers,” he announced very wisely.
Sawyer nudged the boy’s age up to four, or maybe twelve or thirty-six, judging by his verbal abilities. “That’s smart.” He held out his ID again, now that the woman at the door had her glasses on. “Did your mom teach you that?”
“How come you’re so big?”
Laughter was the only option with a question like that. “My mom’s a good cook. And I’m a good eater.”
“I’m a good eater, too.”
“Of course.” The woman snapped her fingers in recognition, drawing Sawyer’s focus back up. “You’re that man who came to visit Melissa in the hospital. The co-worker from when she was waitressing at the Riverboat Casino. I don’t know that she was ever awake while you were there. For a long time, I didn’t think she was going to come out of that coma. I’m Fritzi Teague, Melissa’s mother. This is her son, Benjamin.” Her welcoming chatter slowed into suspicion once more. “I thought she said you were a bartender, though.”
“That’s how she knew me at the time. But I was working a case. I assure you I’m a cop.” He wondered if he should offer to let her call in his badge number for verification. “It’s a long story. Is Melissa here?”
“She’s at her accounting class tonight. She usually gets home around nine-thirty.” Fritzi hugged little Benjamin closer to her leg and dropped her voice to a whisper. “Is something wrong? Has something happened to her?”
“No, ma’am,” Sawyer quickly reassured her. “I wouldn’t be asking for her here if I thought she’d been hurt in any way.” Logical words in almost any case. Still, a tremor of uneasy awareness rippled over his shoulders at the idea that Ace Longbow had somehow survived his bloody escape and had already found a way to get to the Kansas City area and track down his ex-wife. “I’d like to wait and speak to her in person if I could.”
The older woman’s gaze darted down to her grandson. She offered Sawyer an apologetic smile when she looked back up. “My daughter doesn’t like anyone to come inside when she’s not here. Especially at night.”
Sawyer glanced over his shoulder at the steady curtain of rain whipping ahead of the wind. A soft drumbeat of thunder mocked him in the distance. But even as he shifted inside his soggy clothes, he had to admire the Teague women’s efforts to keep their little family safe. “No problem, ma’am. I’ll be out in my truck.”
“Wait.” Fritzi called him back from the edge of the porch. “It’s not like you’re a complete stranger. And since you’re the police, well, I just made a pot of decaf coffee. I don’t suppose it could hurt if you came inside and warmed yourself up. Just let me get the door.”
As she closed the door to unlatch the chain, Sawyer made a mental note to ensure there were secure locks on every entrance to the house. If Fritzi Teague thought that flimsy chain would keep unwelcome visitors out, she was living with a false sense of security. He hated to tell Melissa’s mother that he could have cut through the screen and busted down the door with little more than a shove. If she didn’t keep the dead bolt fastened, the chain and the knob lock would barely slow him down, much less stop him if he wanted to get inside. And they sure as hell wouldn’t stop a fanatic like Ace Longbow.
Sawyer fixed a smile on his mouth and, for the moment,
kept his concerns to himself when she reopened
the door and invited