Dying for Love (25 page)

The strong scent of coffee wafted toward her. She dragged on her robe and tiptoed into the kitchen. The room was empty, but she looked through the front window and saw John sitting on the porch with a cup of coffee in one hand, his phone in the other.

Fresh snow dotted his hair, the dark strands beckoning her fingers to embed themselves in the thick depths.

Needing to be near him, she dragged on her coat, poured herself a mug of coffee, and walked outside. Just the sight of him made her heart stutter and her body ache again.

John glanced up, turmoil on his face. His eyes were slightly bloodshot as if he hadn’t slept either. His hair stood in disarray as if he’d raked his hand through it a dozen times, and he needed a shave.

But that dark beard stubble and his unkempt look only made him sexier.

“Thanks. I’ll meet you there.”

He ended the call and stood. “How’s your head this morning?”

“Fine.” Amelia reached up to touch his hair, to smooth down the rumpled ends, but he pulled away.

She dropped her hand. “You didn’t sleep?”

“I don’t need much sleep.” His gaze met hers, and she saw something there. Need. Lust. His own brand of pain.

But something else tainted his eyes. Some emotion she couldn’t define. A cold hardness that made her wonder if he wasn’t the man she thought he was.

He jerked his gaze away first. “I have to go. We have a lead on the suicide bomber case.”

John parked at the convenience store on the mountain road, noting the signs for the pumpkin farm nearby and others advertising the camp where tourists panned for gold. Too late in the winter for either. Instead, the places were deserted, like a ghost town.

With every mile he’d driven, he’d regretted bringing Amelia along with him.

But leaving her alone would have put her at the mercy of the person who’d attacked her two nights before.

Dammit, he was letting his feelings for her cloud his judgment. Back there when she’d nearly touched him, he’d almost given in. Almost let her.

But that would have been his undoing.

Because it had taken every ounce of his restraint and several walks in the cold during the night to keep him away from her bed.

Amelia opened her car door, not bothering to wait on him, and he quickly followed her, squashing images of her between the sheets with him on top of her. A black pickup was parked in front of the store, a beagle poking his head out the front passenger-side window.

Signs for fresh produce pointed to a small stand beside the station where steam oozed from a big black cauldron. An old-timer was stirring what he assumed was a pot of boiled peanuts. But the vegetable bins were empty, coated in ice.

Wind swirled dead leaves around their feet, the sky nothing but black clouds. He held the door open for Amelia, instinctively scanning the store as they entered.

A rail-thin man in overalls stood at the register to pay for his beer and cigarettes. He gave cash to the cashier, a scruffy-looking man who was as big around as he was tall. The buttons on his shirt looked like they might pop, revealing a wifebeater undershirt, and his jaw bulged with chewing tobacco, his teeth black.

John waited until the man left, then approached the cashier. “Are you the person who called in the tip about the Ellingtons?”

The man spit a string of tobacco into a Styrofoam cup. “Yeah. Name’s Wally. You the police?”

“TBI.” John flashed his ID, then showed the man a picture of the couple. “Is this the man and woman you saw?”

“Yeah.”

“Were they alone?” John asked.

“Naw. They had a couple of kids with ’em. Two boys about five or six.”

Amelia gave him a concerned look.

“Were the children hurt?”

“Not that I could tell. They was real quiet. One of ’em had to pee so the man took him to the bathroom while the lady stocked up on snacks.”

Danny Kritz was the latest to be taken. Could he be with the Ellingtons? Were they working with the kidnapping ring? “Did they call the boys by name?”

“Didn’t hear it if they did. They weren’t here long, seemed like they were in a hurry, like they were nervous.”

He supposed they were. “Did they say where they were going?”

He pulled at his chin with stubby fingers. “The man was looking at a map. Said he was hunting for some campground.”

“Where?”

“There’s one about twenty miles from here.”

“What were they driving?” John asked.

“An RV.”

John glanced around the store for security cameras but didn’t see any. “Did you get the license plate?”

“Tag was missing. Had one of them handmade signs saying they’d ordered it.”

“Can you give me directions to that campground?”

“Sure enough.” The man took a map from the stand by the register, opened it, and drew a line with a red marker outlining the route. “What did these folks do?” the man asked.

John took Amelia’s elbow to escort her to the door. “They may be involved in a kidnapping ring,” John said over his shoulder.

The man looked surprised, but John and Amelia hurried to the car. If the Ellingtons were involved in the kidnappings, maybe they would lead him to the person behind the abductions.

John wound around the mountain, driving deeper into the ridges. The Ellingtons were obviously looking for a place to hide and planned to use the isolation of the woods to cover their whereabouts.

What did they plan to do with those boys?

Trees hugged the embankment, making it shadowy and dark as he followed the road along the creek until he spotted the sign for the campground. It was a tourist spot, but off the grid, and this was the off-season. Campers parked and hiked the five miles up to the waterfalls. Here they enjoyed peace and quiet and nature.

Here they could camp for days or weeks and no one except another tourist or hunter might see them.

Now it was virtually empty. Desolate-looking with winter and cold.

He approached the campsite, slowing as he searched the shadows. Even though it was daylight, the heavy, thick trees and storm clouds added a dismal gray cast.

The perfect place to hide.

Chapter Twenty-Four

J
ohn swung the SUV to the side, parked, and opened his door. An RV was parked at the edge of the creek. An animal moved through the woods, brush crackling. Creek water raced over jagged rocks.

The area was isolated, no other people or campers around. People usually didn’t come in winter.

Another indication the couple was running from something.

Suddenly a man emerged from the RV, holding a shotgun aimed at them. John started to reach for his own weapon, but the man raised the gun higher, his finger on the trigger. “Don’t come any closer, Mister.”

“Mr. Ellington, put the gun down!” John shouted. “I’m with the TBI.”

“How do I know you’re not lying?” Ellington yelled.

John flashed his badge. “I tried to see you at The Gateway House, but when we arrived, it was on fire.”

“Please, we just want to talk to you,” Amelia shouted as she stepped from the passenger side. “Think about the children with you.”

“I’m trying to protect them,” the man said.

“Then talk to us,” John shouted. “We don’t want anyone to get hurt.”

Seconds stretched into minutes. Mrs. Ellington appeared, looking frightened, and the two of them spoke in low voices. Finally Ellington lowered his shotgun to his side. “All right. We’ll talk.”

John motioned to Amelia to stay behind him as he stepped from behind the SUV. “Put the gun down first,” he ordered.

Ellington laid the shotgun on the ground, and John lowered his own weapon and stowed it into the holster beneath his jacket. Amelia’s sigh of relief mirrored his own.

He approached Ellington slowly, noting that his wife gripped his arm as if she was holding him back.

“Is there a place we can sit down and talk?” John asked.

Mrs. Ellington pointed to some lawn chairs situated by a campfire and led the way to them. John spotted the boys peeking from the camper door. At least they were safe.

“What’s this about?” Mr. Ellington asked.

“I think you know,” John said. “We were coming to talk to you the day The Gateway House burned down. Why did you run?”

“Who said we ran?” Ellington muttered.

“It’s obvious,” John said. “You’re hiding out here now.”

“We had to,” Mrs. Ellington said in a broken voice. “We were scared.”

“Scared of what?”

The couple exchanged worried looks. “Tell him everything,” Mrs. Ellington said to her husband.

The man patted his chest. “First of all, I don’t want me and the wife to get in trouble.”

John’s instincts kicked in. “Why would you be in trouble?”

“It’s about the adoptions,” Mrs. Ellington said. “We think that’s why someone set fire to the house. They wanted to get rid of us so we wouldn’t talk.”

“Then you have to tell us what’s going on,” Amelia cut in.

“What do you have to do with this?” Mr. Ellington asked.

Amelia squared her shoulders. “Commander Arthur Blackwood took my baby when he was born. Then a woman dropped him off at a church. I think he was sent to The Gateway House from there. It would have been around July fourth six years ago.”

Mrs. Ellington pulled a shawl around her shoulders. “We did get a little boy about that time,” she said. “A woman left the infant all bundled up in a blue blanket with a note asking us to find a good home for him.”

Amelia exhaled. “What happened to him?”

“A nice couple adopted him just a couple of days later.”

“Do you remember their names?” John asked.

“Adoptions are confidential,” Mrs. Ellington said. “We have to protect the adopted parents’ rights.”

“What about my rights?” Amelia said. “I didn’t give my son up. He was stolen from me.”

John wanted to comfort her, but he forced himself not to touch her. “She’s right,” John said. “This is a kidnapping case. I can get a subpoena—”

“Our records burned in the fire,” Mr. Ellington said.

“But you remember the name of the couple?” Amelia asked.

Another look of fear passed between the couple. “A nice couple named the Baylers.”

Amelia gasped softly. “That’s the reason the Baylers left town,” Amelia said. “They must have known we were onto them.”

“Do you think they set fire to The Gateway House?” John asked.

Mr. Ellington shook his head. “No. We think it was the man who arranged the adoptions. He called and told us someone was asking questions, and that we’d better not talk to anyone.”

John folded his arms. “Who is he?”

“His name is Axelrod,” Mr. Ellington said. “He has his own agency that places children. He’s found homes for several of the boys who’ve come through The Gateway House.”

John grimaced. “I take it these are private adoptions and he charges a hefty fee.”

The couple nodded.

“And Mr. Bayler handled the legal work?”

Mrs. Ellington tightened the grip on her shawl. “That’s right. But everything was legal.”

“Not if they were selling stolen kids,” John said.

The couple’s eyes widened. “We don’t know anything about that,” Mr. Ellington said. “I swear. We just tried to give the children who needed it a temporary home.”

Sincerity laced his tone, but John reserved his opinion. “Did you follow up on the placement of these children?”

“No,” Mrs. Ellington said. “The adoptions were private.”

“What made you run?” John asked.

Mr. Ellington ran a shaky hand through his white hair. “Like I said, Mr. Axelrod told us not to talk if anyone asked questions. That threw up a red flag. Then we saw the stories about those boys being kidnapped, and we got worried.”

Mr. Ellington talked with his hands, “You see, Axelrod specialized in finding homes for boys around the age of the kidnapped victims.”

John gritted his teeth. It sounded as if he was filling orders. Which could mean child trafficking. Or that he was sending the boys to that group to train them to be suicide bombers.

“You think Axelrod set fire to The Gateway House?” John asked.

The couple shifted, nervous again. Mrs. Ellington cleared her throat. “He called saying he had placements for the brothers staying with us now. I told him I wanted to know details about the adopting parents. But he went ballistic. Said he was doing these kids a favor, saving them.”

“Saving them?” John asked.

“That’s what he said. He was put on earth to save kids because no one saved him.”

“Do you have a way to contact him?”

Mr. Ellington went to the camper, returned a minute later, and handed John a business card.

The card indicated Axelrod was a social worker with a group named Safe Haven. It was also the same number on the card for Sonny Jones. At least one of the names was phony.

When he punched the number into his phone, a message said the number was out of service.

John called the forensics lab and asked the tech team to trace the number.

Maybe they could narrow down a location where he might have been calling from.

Amelia entwined her fingers to keep from fidgeting. “Tell us more about the baby the Baylers adopted. How did he come to you?”

Mrs. Ellington picked at her fingernails. “Like I said, a woman left a note with the infant.”

“How do you know it was a female?” John asked.

“The handwriting and . . . the things she said. She sounded upset, scared.”

“What exactly did she say?” Amelia asked.

“That she had to leave the baby with us to keep him safe. She swaddled him in a baby blanket and left a rosary with him, and asked us to find him a good loving home.”

“A rosary?” Amelia asked.

Mrs. Ellington nodded. “I figured she was a religious person.”

Amelia’s pulse jumped. The rosary Papaw had left led them to Sister Grace. Was this the same baby? Frustration mushroomed inside her. Sister Grace had disappeared so they couldn’t ask her.

“Did Axelrod place the little boy with the Baylers?” John asked.

Mrs. Ellington fidgeted with her hair. “Yes. I thought it was a little odd since he normally placed older children, but he said he was doing a favor for a friend who couldn’t take care of his baby.”

Amelia’s dream flashed in her mind. What if Mark was her baby? Had the Commander arranged for them to take Mark until he could come for him?

She gestured toward the camper where the two little boys had ducked inside.

“Who are the kids?” Amelia asked.

“They’re brothers. Their parents were killed a couple of months ago in a car accident. Unfortunately they didn’t have any family. And they don’t want to be separated.”

Amelia tugged at her scarf. “Do you have a family who wants to adopt them?”

“Not yet. It’s more difficult to place older children, especially two from the same family.”

Mr. Ellington folded his arms. “We decided to keep them and raise them as our own.”

Amelia pictured them traveling from town to town, always looking over their shoulders, hiding out. “You can’t raise them on the run.”

Tears filled Mrs. Ellington’s eyes. “I know, but after the fire, we’re afraid to back to Slaughter Creek.”

“Do you think Axelrod might contact you about them again?” John asked.

“I don’t know, but he was upset when we said we planned to keep the boys,” Mr. Ellington said. “We think he set fire to The Gateway House to get them. But we managed to escape before he could take them.”

“Can you give a description to a police artist?” John asked.

The couple nodded.

“Good, I’ll set it up.” John paused. “What kind of car was he driving?”

Mr. Ellington pulled his coat up over his ears. “A black sedan once. Another time I believe he was driving a white van.”

Amelia’s heart hammered, as John reached inside his pocket for his phone. “Help us, and we’ll provide protection for you.”

“What about Timmy and Clayton?” Mr. Ellington asked.

John narrowed his eyes. “First, if your story about the boys checks out, we’ll help you get custody and start a new life with them somewhere else.”

Mrs. Ellington clutched her husband’s arm. “What do we need to do?”

“We need to monitor your phone. If Axelrod calls, we can trace his location.”

Mr. Ellington put his arm around his wife. “Is that it?”

“Once we make an arrest, you’ll need to agree to testify against him,” John finished.

Mrs. Ellington looked at her husband, and he gave a small nod.

John agreed. But Amelia was more concerned about finding the Baylers.

Mark just might be her son.

John phoned his chief and made arrangements to put the Ellingtons into protective custody, then collected DNA samples from the boys to verify the couple’s story. He’d learned long ago not to trust anyone.

Coulter met them at the TBI office, where they gave a description to the police artist. He sent it to Brenda Banks as well as national databases for law enforcement authorities, airports, train stations, bus stations, and port authorities.

Coulter escorted the couple to a safe house. Arianna phoned that she’d heard chatter on the social media sites linked to SFTF, suggesting a possible location for the other militia group.

“I’ll drop you off, then go,” he told Amelia.

“That’s ridiculous,” Amelia said. “It would be way out of your way. Besides, I’m not crazy about going home alone, not after what I found at my house the other night.”