But that’s where it got real. Samuel Grayson
was
a dangerous man. And he might very well have killed her biological mother. It put things in perspective in a way that hadn’t been clear before. It was as if a haze had been lifted from her vision, and the picture she saw scared the socks from her feet.
Maybe she ought to cut her losses and leave. That would be the smart thing to do, but what about Rafe? She couldn’t leave him behind. And he wasn’t leaving without his son. Not that she blamed him. He had a very good reason to stay.
Rafe’s patient said her goodbyes, and then Rafe appeared, framed in the hallway. “Did you talk to McCall?” she asked.
“Not yet. I’m going to go there after the clinic closes.” He rubbed his hands together, deep in thought, as if wrestling with something. Then he said, “How do you know McCall?”
She stopped, wondering how much to tell. In hindsight, carjacking an officer she hadn’t known very well seemed very foolish, and she really didn’t want to admit her folly to Rafe. But she also felt a bit of guilt for sharing her secret with McCall when she hadn’t managed to tell the man she was falling in love with and, oh, incidentally, sleeping with every night. She fretted for a moment as a second thought came to her. Would McCall tell Rafe about her paternity? Even as she considered the possibility, her instinct told her McCall wouldn’t. She might be off base, but she had to trust in something and she chose to trust in McCall’s silence.
“I met him in the library, remember? I told you about that,” she said, hoping that was true. “He introduced himself to me when I was doing research. He seemed nice and not crazy like the rest of the Grayson disciples.” She shrugged it off. “Why?”
“No reason. Just curious,” he said, backing away. “My next patient should be here soon. I’ll be back in a second.”
“Okay,” she said, watching quizzically as he excused himself. That man was an irritatingly deep well. She dialed the vet’s office to check on Brando for the third time that hour. She didn’t care if they were tired of taking her calls. For some reason, that dog meant something to her and she couldn’t fathom the thought of him dying.
And it gave her something else to focus on rather than the reality of what she’d willingly put herself into.
Chapter 20
B
y the end of the day, Rafe could tell something was eating at Darcy but she wouldn’t share, so he opted to give her space. It wasn’t his first choice, but apart from sitting her down and coaxing the issue out of her, his options were slim. While Darcy went to check on Brando the dog, Rafe went to report Liza missing.
He walked into the station hoping to find McCall but got Chief Fargo instead.
“What can I do you for, Doc?” Fargo asked around his shredded toothpick.
“I’m here to report a missing person,” he answered, hiding his hatred for the man behind a mask of professionalism. Rafe knew of Fargo’s dirtier deeds since Brenda Billings was one of his patients. He’d seen the bruises and the look of fear when Fargo was around. In Rafe’s eyes, Fargo was no different than Samuel. Fargo, at the very least, didn’t pretend to be anything other than what he was—a self-serving prick. Rafe supposed he could give him credit for that, but only grudgingly so.
Fargo’s brow went up as he leaned forward in interest. “Who?”
“One of my patients, Liza Burbage?”
Fargo searched his memory, then squinted in memory. “That the fat older gal?”
Rafe’s mouth seamed shut for fear of telling Fargo to go screw himself and to get off his high horse. Fargo wasn’t exactly svelte these days. It was a wonder Samuel didn’t have his favored pet on a diet, as well. But Rafe supposed that when you were the number-one whore for the man running the show, you can get away with a lot that others can’t. Rafe ignored Fargo’s insult and continued, saying, “She was a type 2 diabetic. I hadn’t seen her in a while and I went to her house to check on her and found the place empty, plants and dog nearly dead.”
“A dog?” Fargo repeated, something in his expression. “What kind?”
“One that was her heart and soul, which is why I know she wouldn’t have left him behind. Something is wrong.”
“I’m sure it’s nothing. Probably got tired of taking care of the mutt and just took off. It happens.”
Rafe counted to ten mentally. “Maybe. But not with Liza. She wasn’t that kind of person. It’s safe to say I knew her fairly well as my patient. She wouldn’t have left without that dog, and I’d appreciate it if you’d file a missing-person report.”
The note of steel in his voice caught Fargo’s attention, and the cop’s stare narrowed, but he didn’t take the bait. Fargo must’ve realized to ignore Rafe’s concerns would be to cause undue attention on his practices, but even as he went to grab the necessary paperwork, it wasn’t done with any sense of grace. “Give me the details and I’ll put it out there. But I’m telling you right now, she probably just left.”
Oh, she left, all right, in a garbage bag, most likely, Rafe wanted to mutter but forced a perfunctory smile. “And there’s something else I want to talk to you about,” Rafe ventured, feeling a bit reckless in the face of Fargo’s blatant laziness. He was tired of being cautious, patiently waiting for word he knew wasn’t coming unless he prodded the man. “I want to know if there’s been any movement on my son’s case?”
Fargo barely looked up from the paperwork as he said, “No. I’ll call you if there is.”
“What will it take to put more resources on this case?”
“Look, Doc, I sympathize with your situation, but frankly, there’s the feeling that you’re barking up the wrong tree. No one remembered this Abby chick being pregnant. And even if she was, you don’t even know if it’s yours. Do you have a paternity test, something in writing that says the kid is yours?”
“No, but I know,” Rafe said, refusing to let Fargo think he’d swept away his conviction. “He’s mine. And his name is Devin.”
“And what makes you so sure?” Fargo asked, irritated.
“I have a picture of him and he is my spitting image,” Rafe said hotly, unable to keep his temper in check.
“A picture? Where’d you get a picture?”
Rafe saw no reason to lie. “Abby sent it to me.”
Fargo’s mouth tensed for a moment, but then he shrugged. “Well, all babies tend to look like the other, so who knows if that picture is even your kid? Listen, I hear you, you’re all fired up and I’ve put as much resources as I can into this case. But to be frank, it’s not going anywhere without more evidence. It is what it is. Maybe it’s time to move on.”
“Move on?” he repeated incredulously. “You don’t move on from your children.”
“To be fair, you never even met the kid.”
“Chief…you have no clue what you’re talking about,” Rafe said, taking great effort not to curl his hands into fists. But even so, his voice was cold enough to burn as he said, leaning forward to make his point clear, “Listen up, Chief. Here’s the deal. I’m not giving up. I will tear this town down if I have to to find my son. All I want is my son. That’s it. He’s mine and I want him. Plain and simple. I won’t give up. I won’t forget. Am I clear?”
Rafe was taking a chance—a desperate, bold and possibly stupid chance—but he’d reached his limit. The knowledge of those empty cribs lingered in his memory, spurring him to make a move, even if it was a foolish one. Desperate men made desperate choices and he fully recognized himself as one of those men, but he couldn’t waste another minute standing idly by while his son was possibly treated as an “it.” God only knew what was happening to those kids. He shuddered to think…
Fargo tried staring him down, but Rafe met him stare for stare, almost daring him to push. Fargo sensed a difference in Rafe and, ever the calculating man, dialed it down a bit with a mollifying gesture. “Calm down, Doc. You’re distraught. I want to help you out, I do. Sorry if that didn’t come across. How about this… Bring me that picture and I’ll post a bulletin. How’s that?”
“It’s a start,” Rafe said, his adrenaline still racing. He took a moment to compose himself. “Thank you, Chief. I’ll bring it first thing tomorrow morning.”
“Good.” Fargo took a breath. “Now is there anything else I can help you with?”
“That’s it.”
“Great. Easily done. Now before you go, I have a favor to ask of you. You help me, I help you. That’s the Cold Plains way, right?”
Rafe choked back the bile. “What do you need?”
Fargo lost some of his fake cheer. “That little lady that works for you. Mr. Grayson has taken quite a shine to her. Maybe you can convince her to stop by and say hello.” It wasn’t a question, it was a demand, and Rafe was under no illusion that it was otherwise. “That would be right kind of you. I’ve had a difficult time catching her. You keep her pretty busy, Doc.”
“I’ll save you the effort, Chief,” Rafe said. “She’s unavailable. She’s with me.”
Fargo’s jaw tightened, and the toothpick in his mouth stilled. “Come again?”
“She and I are dating. Darcy is unavailable.”
“My, my, Doc. You’re a wily one, aren’t you? Can’t say I blame you. She’s a hot piece of tail.”
Fargo was trying to get a rise out of him. Rafe simply held his tongue and shrugged. “She’s a good person. We have a lot in common.”
“I guess so. Well, Mr. Grayson will certainly be disappointed.”
“I’m sure he’ll recover. He has plenty of young ladies just waiting to make his acquaintance.”
“True. But he really had his eye on Darcy.”
Rafe used Fargo’s words against him, saying, “It is what it is, right?”
“Yeah…I guess it is.”
“I’ll bring the picture in tomorrow,” Rafe said, ready to end this conversation before someone went too far. He’d likely already bought himself a one-way ticket to somewhere bad in Fargo’s book, but he couldn’t restrain himself, not this time.
“You do that,” Fargo said, removing the toothpick and tossing it in the trash beside his desk. “See you around, Doc.”
Rafe nodded and split. One more second in that man’s company, and Rafe didn’t think he could hold back.
He might’ve already screwed the pooch, but it was time for action—one way or another.
Fargo’s gut churned. So the doc was nailing his pretty receptionist. Figures. Seems he wasn’t so high-and-mighty, after all. But that presented an ugly problem for him with Grayson. He’d become obsessed with having Darcy, and no one else seemed to appease his appetite. So where’d that leave Fargo? Between a rock and a hard place.
Maybe it was time for Darcy to leave town. If she wasn’t here to tempt or taunt Grayson, then maybe Grayson would lose interest and turn his eye elsewhere.
It was definitely food for thought.
Now for the bigger issue. Doc Black wasn’t giving up on that brat of his. Where the hell had a picture come from? That complicated matters. If Black chose to take this to a higher level, it could raise some uncomfortable questions for Grayson, which in turn would make his life miserable.
He leaned back in his chair, listening as the leather squealed in protest. Fargo rubbed his belly, wincing at the acid reflux splashing up his windpipe. He needed a vacation, one free from all the drama that dogged him here in Cold Plains. Or maybe he just needed to release some tension. He considered his options for a moment, then grabbed his cell phone. He texted Brenda, his favorite girl, their code. Maybe he’d marry Brenda. He liked her well enough. Liked screwing her, that was for sure. She was quiet, demure and knew how to keep her mouth shut. In modern days such as these, that was a golden quality. Marrying Brenda would give him an air of respectability, which he seemed to lack. He pictured her round eyes, the way she flinched when he raised his hand against her and the way she groaned when he was pounding into her petite body with his bulk. Yes, a visit to Brenda would ease the tension and then he could fix this Doc Black situation, which was a pain in his side.
With a plan in place, Fargo popped four antacids and happily headed out the door.
Samuel paced his secret conference room, angry. Darcy was with Dr. Black? How’d that happen? Was he losing his touch? What happened to the women who fell at his feet, eager to please him? Panic ate at his normal confidence, that self-assured quality that had gained him an empire, and he had to force himself to calm. This was a momentary setback, not a harbinger of doom.
One fickle woman was not a trustworthy gauge of his popularity, he told himself, smoothing his shirt of imaginary wrinkles.
However, it did add validity to that quack Bulger’s claim that he’d pushed a little hard. He had to remind people that he was there for them and only interested in the community’s health and welfare. Without those platitudes armoring him on all sides, he was left vulnerable to those who sought to take him down.
People like that damn Officer McCall. Oh, there were others, hiding behind their false smiles and pretend support, but McCall was being the biggest pain in his ass.
Damn you, Johanna.
Faithless bitch. It was her fault he had the FBI sniffing around his back door, trying to gain entrance into his sanctuary. If McCall hadn’t convinced Eden Police that the FBI lab ought to test the forensics on Johanna’s body, this whole sordid mess would have remained a bad memory.