Desperate Choices (9 page)

After leaving the police station, Max and Theresa drove in silence. Max had spoken with Brad alone while she waited in the truck. She knew he needed those few minutes to himself. He hadn’t let it show, but he was devastated she’d been unable to find anything new. Even with his inherent skepticism, she knew something inside him wanted her to prove him wrong, to find Tommy.
You’ve disappointed him.

Max’s voice broke into her thoughts. “It’s been a long day. Feel like getting something to eat?”

“Sure, sounds good.”

“There’s a little place about fifteen miles from here. It has terrific seafood.”

Theresa’s stomach grumbled audibly at his words. She loved seafood. All of it—shrimp, crawfish, snapper, mussels—you name it, she’d eat it.

“Absolutely.” She grinned at Max. “I’m always willing to make a detour for good seafood.”

Max smiled. “Seafood it is.”

A few more miles down the road they took an exit off the highway heading south. After about twenty minutes, he pulled the truck into a hole-in-the-wall place. It wasn’t much to look at. Built like an old-fashioned log cabin, weathered and worn, it had seen better days. Family-style picnic tables lined up row after row, most of them filled with happily eating customers.

Max shoved the truck’s gear into park and loosened his seatbelt. At the dubious look on Theresa’s face, he burst out laughing.

“Come on. The food’s terrific and the fresh air will stimulate your appetite.” Coming around the front of the truck, he pulled open her door and thrust out his elbow. “Madame, your table awaits.”

Laughing, she placed her hand on his elbow and walked with him toward the benches. He found them a place to sit and went to the window to place their order. When he returned, Theresa quirked one brow at him in question.

“It’s a surprise. Trust me, you’ll love it.” They chatted for the few minutes it took their order to be ready. Superficial, mundane conversation. Small talk about the weather, anything and everything to keep their minds off the fact Tommy was still missing.

A burly overweight man with a shaggy beard called out their number. Max motioned for Theresa to stay and went to get their food.

He came back with a tray loaded with everything but the kitchen sink. She grinned as Max placed it on the wooden planks of the table, making quick time of passing out the paper plates, napkins and plastic utensils. Large paper cups filled with sweet tea accompanied the all-you-can-eat buffet overflowing the tray.

Fried shrimp, steamed oysters, fried catfish, clams, hot spicy jambalaya, loads of French-fried potatoes and hush puppies, along with malt vinegar, lemon wedges and coleslaw were calling her name. Spreading a napkin across her jeans-clad lap, Theresa loaded her plate with a bit of everything, as Max did the same.

After the first mouthful, Theresa’s eyes met Max’s. A deep-fried shrimp held suspended, ready for him to bite, he waited expectantly.

“You are absolutely right. It’s fabulous.” She grinned and raised her glass of tea, saluting Max with it. “Good choice.”

Max smiled and took a bite of the shrimp he held. “I hadn’t noticed how hungry I was till I saw all this food. This place is always worth the trip.”

Despite the polite conversation and his enthusiasm over the meal, she knew he’d hoped for more today.

“I’m sorry, Max.” Theresa spoke softly. “I was really hoping we’d find a clue to locate Tommy.”

“Yeah, me too.”

For once the silence in the air wasn’t filled with their usual tension, but a relatively calm, peaceful lull.

Max dangled an empty fork in front of him. “We’ll probably be later getting back than we’d planned. I hope you didn’t have any plans that’ll be disrupted because of this trip.”

“No, nothing important.” She was glad the day was taking as long as it was. As much as she enjoyed her seafood, she enjoyed Max’s company even more. Soon they’d be back in New Orleans and she’d be home, alone.

Holding the truck door open for her, Max glanced down at the caller ID on his cell phone. “Brad? What’s up?” He listened, his brow furrowed, before quickly walking around to his side of the truck and climbing into the driver’s seat. The crease in his brow deepened.

Flipping his phone shut, he cranked the engine and turned to face her.

“We may be even later getting home. Brad says the guy who bought Tommy’s Suzuki wants to make a deal. We need to head back. Now. His lawyer agreed to his client working with a police sketch artist, to give a description of the person who sold the bike to him.”

“That’s great, right? It’s the first break you’ve gotten in this case.” Theresa leaned over and squeezed his arm. “What are you waiting for? Let’s go.”

***

Max and Theresa made it back to the police station in record time. Within minutes they were with Brad in the interrogation room. There were already several other people there whom Brad identified as the suspect, his lawyer and the police artist.

Brad spoke quietly to Max. “You can be present while the artist does her work, but you won’t be allowed to ask any questions. Understand?” Max wasn’t happy about it, but he needed to get that picture. This was the closest they had come to a real lead. “Understood.”

His back against the wall, he listened as the alleged suspect gave a quick description of the man from whom he had bought Tommy’s Suzuki.

“An older guy, probably in his fifties. Naw, I don’t know if it was early or late fifties, I’m not a good judge of anybody’s age. The old guy just wanted the bike gone. His kid had died and he needed the money that the bike would bring.” The suspect laughed aloud. “Guy didn’t even haggle about the price I gave him. I got the thing dirt cheap.”

Seated beside the sketch artist, the suspect continually peered over her shoulder to get a closer look at the picture coming to life under her fingertips. He corrected the shape of the nose here, the fullness of the mouth there, over and over making subtle changes.

The suspect’s lawyer murmured unintelligibly in his client’s ear then sauntered over to address Brad. “My client has cooperated with everything that’s been asked of him. We’ve fulfilled our part of the bargain with the District Attorney’s office. We’re done here.”

The acne-faced, stringy-haired, grease-encrusted suspect was led to the door by an officer who didn’t look old enough to drink, never mind keep a creep like that in line. Max leaned over to Brad and whispered, “You sure I can’t get a couple of minutes alone with him?”

Brad shook his head at Max and accepted the sketch the pretty police artist handed him. “Thanks, Annie. You’re the best.”

Max resisted the urge to roll his eyes. His godson’s life was at stake and Brad was trying to make time with the blonde sketch artist.
Great.
Annie handed the picture to Brad, with a few flirtatious comments. She smiled briefly at Theresa and Max as she exited the interrogation room.

Brad handed the sketch over to Max. “Recognize him?”

He stared intently at the drawing, his eyes taking in every detail, each nuance, searching for a spark of recognition. Instead it was his worst fear. He didn’t recognize the man depicted. The sketch was so basic, so generic, it could have been anybody.

All the expectations he’d hung his hopes on blew out of him like a rushing wind. He handed the picture to Theresa. Maybe he had one hope left. Even if he didn’t know who the guy was, she might.

Theresa scanned the page from top to bottom then left to right. Her eyes narrowed and he could feel her concentration, sense her willing the page to speak to her. He wasn’t sure which he saw first, the defeated slump of her shoulders or the shaking of her head. She handed the paper back to Brad.

“Let me get this processed. It’ll just take a minute, and I’ll get you a copy to take.” Brad patted Max on the shoulder then hurried into the busy front portion of the police station. The murmur of voices could be heard through the open door.

“I’m sorry, Max.” Theresa’s regret-filled voice drew Max’s attention back to her. She looked as sad as he felt. They were no closer to finding Tommy than when they started this search. The only new development had been the police finding his Suzuki. So far, even that hadn’t amounted to anything.

“Yeah. Me too.”

Tommy sat with his legs crossed at the ankles, the silver chain snaking across the concrete floor. Alone.
Damn it, where did Steven take Becca?

A couple hours earlier Steven had shown up, bringing their lunch. Before leaving the tray with their disposable cutlery and paper plates, he leaned forward, gently cupping Becca’s cheek. He spoke softly to her, so low Tommy couldn’t hear what was said. He could read the stricken expression on Becca’s face, though, and saw her barely contained tears. Tommy watched her give a bittersweet half smile then nod.

Now here he was, staring at a television set that wasn’t even turned on, worrying about a girl he barely knew. He heard the crunch of footsteps on gravel outside and straightened.

They’re back!
As quickly as the thought occurred, another followed.
What if it’s only Steven? What if Becca isn’t with him?
Fear knotted his stomach. Clasping both hands in front of him, he waited.

The garage door opened and within seconds Becca’s wheelchair propelled into the room, Steven gripping the handlebars. Becca sat head bowed, quiet. Even from where he stood, Tommy could see the track of tears down her cheeks.

“Are you okay?” Tommy’s words sounded squeaky, rusty. He cleared his throat. “Did he hurt you?”

Steven shot him a hot angry stare. Becca shook her head. “Of course he didn’t hurt me. My uncle would never do anything like that.”

“Oh, yeah?” Tommy raised his foot, shaking the chain.

“Uncle Steven?” Becca looked back at the man.

“Not now, honey. We’ll talk about it later.”

“Gee, Uncle Steven,” Tommy mocked. “Later—can you fill me in on everything, too? Like, maybe, why the
hell
you kidnapped me?” Becca cringed, flinching as though struck. Tommy hated that he’d upset her but he’d be dammed if he’d back down from Steven any more. He needed answers.

Ignoring him, Steven knelt in front of Becca’s chair. “I’ve got to go out for a while. Will you be okay?”

Becca nodded again, reaching for the wheels. Tommy watched her roll the wheelchair forward, maneuvering into the cramped bathroom, closing the door behind her with a click. His insensitivity cost him.

Steven wrapped one hand around Tommy’s throat, raising him up on to his tiptoes. Red-faced, breathing erratic, Steven looked wild.
Crazy.
Shaking him roughly, Steven threw Tommy back into the chair he had vacated when they’d arrived.

“You listen to me. I’m only going to say this once. Becca’s had a bad day. Leave her alone.” Steven ran a hand over his face, exhaling slowly. “I’ll be back to check on her.” He paused a moment. “Don’t make me regret keeping you here, boy.” He turned and left Tommy staring after him, mouth open, with one hand reaching for his abused throat. He could hear the turn of the lock outside, effectively sealing him back in his cage.

Damn, he’s lost it. I’ve gotta get out of here—fast.

Becca rolled out of the bathroom, dressed for bed. Never looking at him she wheeled herself across the room, struggling to maneuver the chair into place, locking the brakes. Grabbing the sliding board, she worked to position it between the chair and the bed, and after struggling for a few minutes managed to get situated beneath the blankets.

Tommy walked over to her. He didn’t know why, but he was compelled to make sure she was okay. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Becca glanced up. Tommy could see her eyes were red and he knew she’d been crying. Why that bothered him so much, he didn’t know. But it did. He balled his fists so tightly his joints popped and he opened them, flexing the fingers.

“I’m fine. Really.” Becca’s gentle voice soothed the fury that rode inside him.

“Uncle Steven…he took me to visit my parents’ grave.” A single tear streaked down her cheek. “I didn’t get to go to their funeral.”

“Oh.” What more could he say to a statement like that? Tommy wanted to reach out and wipe it away but didn’t. “Do you want to talk about it—the accident, I mean?”

Becca hesitated before answering. “I think I’d like to, if it’s okay. I mean, I haven’t had anybody to talk to since it happened. Except the shrink, of course.” She gave a sarcastic laugh. “Can’t forget the shrink they made me see after the accident. She was very sympathetic, assuring me everything was going to be okay.”

Slapping her hand against her legs, she asked, “Does it look like everything is okay to you? I can’t walk. I’ve lost my parents, I’ve lost my home. I’ve lost everything.”

Tommy wasn’t sure what to say or do. Perched on the edge of her bed, he awkwardly patted her hand.

“Well, I’m here. Got nothing better to do right now. And I’m a pretty good listener. Probably not as good as a professional shrink, but…”

Becca offered a weak smile. “When I woke up in the hospital, everybody was so happy. Apparently I was their miracle patient. Nobody expected me to get better. I was supposed to die, like my parents. Only I didn’t.”

“But that’s good, right? You’re alive.”

“I’m alive…but I’ll never walk again, never have the life I should have had.”

The despondency in her tone worried Tommy. The last thing he wanted or needed was for her to get depressed.

“The life you should have had? Oh, you mean like the one I should have had before some crazy man offered me a ride, chained me like an animal and locked me away where no one will ever find me?” Tommy folded his arms across his chest. “Ah, poor baby. ‘Look at me, I’m stuck in a wheelchair.’ Big freakin’ deal. You’re still
alive.
You still have the chance to do anything you want. I know it sounds mean, but
get over it!
” Becca’s mouth opened in an
O
of surprise. Tommy grinned at her expression.

“Pity party over?”

Becca stared at him then nodded. “Pity party over.”

“Good. Now tell me about your parents.”

“They were the best. Not that they spoiled me or anything. They were just always there when I needed them. The night of the accident, we were on our way to see a show. It had been raining. I don’t really remember what happened. I woke up in the hospital. Uncle Steven was there.” Becca fidgeted with the edge of the blanket.

“And?”

“When I woke up, he cried.”

Tommy couldn’t picture Steven ever crying about anything. But then he didn’t know the man well, did he?

“He came every day,” she continued. “Uncle Steven would tell me all about this place.” She waved her hand around. “He described all the things he was doing to fix it up, just for me. I
asked every day about my folks, but nobody would tell me anything. It didn’t take long before I figured out I wasn’t ever going home again.”

“So, before the accident did you spend a lot of time with your uncle Steven?”

“Enough, I guess. I mean, we spent birthdays and the holidays together, him and my mom and dad.”

“I guess he wasn’t always a twisted old freak who goes around kidnapping people?”

Becca gasped. Tommy knew his words were harsh, but it was how he felt. He’d lost track of how long he’d been cooped up in this converted garage, and he was damned tired of being here. Becca lost her family and he felt for her, but he still had his parents and he missed them. He wanted to go home.

“He’s not. I don’t know why he’s done it, but he must have a reason.”

“I’ve been here a long time and he still hasn’t told me why. Tell me the person who did this isn’t crazy.” Tommy grabbed the chain, rattling the links, the clanking metallic sound loud in the quiet room. He stood and stepped away from the bed, his back to Becca. He could feel the angry tears in his eyes and struggled to keep them from falling.

“My folks are probably going nuts looking for me.” At least, he hoped they were—looking for him, that is. Maybe they thought he’d run away. After they’d fought, when he didn’t come home, maybe…

“He’s all I’ve got,” Becca said quietly behind him. “He can’t be crazy, ’cause he’s all I’ve got left.”

“No, Becca. You’ve got me.”