“Could be.” His boss’s jaw tightened. “But she knows
something
. And someone tried to kill her tonight. And that someone wasn’t Ghost. I want an explanation.” His eyes were cold. “There’s dirt there. I can smell it. Find the proof. Whatever it takes.”
N
O MORNING SUN
PEEKED
through the winter clouds closing in on the cemetery. The day
should
be dreary. Nothing good should happen on December fifth. Ever again. Emily ran her fingertips over the engraved inscription on the wall of stone.
Eric Wentworth. Beloved son and father.
“Beloved husband,” she whispered the words his family had denied her and wiped away a single tear.
She stood alone just inside the open archway of the Wentworth Family Mausoleum, the large marble temple as cold and unforgiving as Eric’s family. They’d made their feelings perfectly clear with his marker. They had never accepted her. They blamed her for Eric’s death and Joshua’s kidnapping. If only she could remember that night. Something more than headlights, screams and a hooded man.
A gust of icy winter wind buffeted against her, and she stuffed her hands in her pockets. She should know what happened to her child. The diaper bag had been left in the car, but Joshua and his car seat were gone. “I still haven’t found our baby, Eric,” she said in the husky voice her husband wouldn’t have recognized. “I’m sorry.”
A lonely bell tolled from afar, and just as the tones died, a rustle of grass fluttered. She tensed. She’d had a sense all morning someone was watching her—again. For weeks she’d fought her instincts, but after last night’s attack, she didn’t doubt the feelings.
A looming shadow crossed the side of Emily’s face. “You don’t belong here.”
Emily shivered at her mother-in-law’s sharp words and turned slightly. Victoria Wentworth looked the perfect, elegant role of grieving mother, her black veil hiding her expression and eyes Emily knew were accusatory.
“You’re not family.”
“He’s my husband,” Emily countered softly.
“You killed him.”
“Mother, you know that’s not true.” Victoria’s son, William, stepped forward to pull her back. He shot Emily an apologetic look. “It was a tragic accident.”
Victoria slapped William’s hand away and faced Emily. “You set up the murder of my son and grandson. And someday I’ll prove it.”
Emily winced. She’d been eager to get along with Eric’s family, but from the beginning the Wentworths had pushed her away until finally Eric had made a choice. He’d turned his back on them, their money and their corporation until Joshua was born and Emily had persuaded him to reconcile. Their baby deserved a family. The snowy drive to Cherry Hills Village last December had been
her
idea. In so many ways, his death in the hit-and-run truly was on her shoulders. “I loved Eric.”
“You wanted a way at the Wentworth money,” Victoria said as her husband, Thomas, entered the tomb and stood by her side. She reached out and clasped his hand. “Well, we won’t allow it. Eric disinherited himself, and we told the insurance company his death was your fault. We even found your secret account. You’ll get nothing. Nothing.”
Account? “What are you talking about?”
“As if you didn’t know.” Victoria turned to her son. “William, get her out of here.”
Victoria tilted her head into Thomas’s shoulder and broke down in sobs. William whispered something to his mother and hurried to Emily.
“I think you’d better go now,” he said. “I’ll walk you to your car.”
“I didn’t
do
anything. You know that. He was my husband. I loved him.” With one last look at Victoria and what might have been, Emily slid on her gloves, fighting tears of confusion, anger and hurt. William escorted her out of the cold building. Their footsteps crunched over frozen grass as they crossed toward the parking lot.
“I know you loved him,” William said. “Mother can be a real witch when she wants to be. She can’t let go of Eric. None of us really can.”
“You think I’ve let go? I fight to find our son every day.”
“And that’s something else we have to talk about.”
William’s tentative voice, so similar to Eric’s, sent a chill of foreboding through Emily.
“I don’t quite know how to say this, so I’ll just tell you. Mother and Father found my receipts for your private investigator and some of the airline tickets I bought. They came unglued when they learned I’d been helping you financially. I had to promise I’d quit.”
Emily halted and faced William. “You can’t stop now. I’m counting on your help.” She clutched at his arm. “I’m so close.”
“You’ve found Joshua?”
William gripped her arm, the eagerness in his voice gratifying, but she couldn’t mislead him. “Not exactly. I’m collecting information on adoptions from last year because I discovered these missing babies downtown. Well, at least there are missing pregnant girls, and—”
“Oh, Emily. How many times have we traveled down this path?” He shook his head. “I’m sorry, but they’re my family. In some ways they’re right. It’s been a year. We have to accept reality. We’ve tried to find him. Even my parents tried. But Joshua’s gone.”
“I’m not giving up. Not ever, but I need more time. With your parents painting me as a Black Widow in the gossip rags, my clinic is barely making it.”
“I can’t help anymore. I’m sorry.” William opened the door of the decade-old compact Eric had complained about so often. When she slid onto the cracked vinyl seat, William knelt beside the car. “Take my advice. Move on with your life. Close this chapter.”
“How can I do that when my son is out there somewhere? You may not believe I’ll find him, but I refuse to accept that I won’t.”
William gripped her hands, his gaze regretful. “Then I’m sorry for you. Goodbye, Emily.” He shut the door and, after a pitying look, walked back to the family crypt.
She shuddered and let out a slow breath, the cold filtering into her bones. This couldn’t be happening. She started her car and cranked up the heater as high as it would go to ease her shivering, though that had little to do with the weather. She’d wondered why the life-insurance company kept stalling on the check. She had her answer. And what was that about the so-called secret account? She’d have to call the bank, but she’d never get at the money. The Wentworths would see to that.
She glanced at her watch. Officer Bradford had an appointment and would be waiting at her clinic. Could she trust him? Right now, she needed him as much as he needed her. The second phase of her plan made her stomach churn, but she had to take drastic action. She needed funds to ramp up her search for Joshua. Eric would’ve understood.
Snagging her purse, she dug into her pocket for the number she’d saved. With one last glance at the marble resting place of the man with whom she’d thought she’d spend the rest of her life, she placed the call. “Karen, it’s Emily. Put the house up for sale. I’ll take the first offer. I need the cash. Now.”
T
HE PHYSICAL-THERAPY
clinic looked too familiar. Mitch hated the fact he had a reason to enter the place, but after following Emily all morning, after zero leads on either the attempted hit-and-run, Ghost or Kayla’s disappearance, the trail was subzero. He had to shake something loose.
Mitch groaned as he pushed open the door and surveyed the plethora of exercise equipment and tables. The scent of menthol wafted on the air—an odor far too familiar for his liking. Several rehab patients worked on recumbent bikes. A few more did stretching exercises with the help of staff.
When he’d discovered she had an opening this morning, he’d scrambled to get a copy of his records, threw on his sweats and headed out the door. Mitch could now infiltrate Emily’s life, but he wasn’t an undercover cop. He didn’t like lying, he hated deceit and he was doing both. The bonus? He got the pleasure of being tortured in physical therapy for his trouble. A real win-win.
A young receptionist rounded her desk. “May I help you?”
With a quick, plastered-on grin, he scanned her name tag. “Hi, Cindy. Mitch Bradford. I have an appointment with Emily Wentworth.”
The door behind them flew open, and a familiar dynamo dressed from head to foot in black raced into the room. “Cindy, I know I’m late. Please tell me my new patient isn’t—”
She skidded to a halt, clearly dismayed to see Mitch standing there. “Shoot.”
Holy smokes. Emily Wentworth looked good. He didn’t know how he could’ve missed the impact of her up close and personal last night. She was completely his type, with a petite, fit body and long, light brown hair swinging from a ponytail—obviously so silky it would be amazing spread across his pillow. Then he stared into her eyes, and his heart skipped a beat. Thick lashes framed the bluest, saddest eyes he’d ever seen. For a moment he felt lost. Her look was kind and sympathetic, with depth that could embrace his soul.
Where had that come from, waxing poetic? He had a job to do. But as he took in the plain black dress, with its high collar circling her neck, he recalled her complete aloneness at the cemetery. He’d been watching, forced to back away once the Wentworths arrived. It was the anniversary of her husband’s death. Was she still in mourning, or was this all for show, all part of an elaborate plan to get at the Wentworth money?
Mitch’s gut told him she was sincere. He didn’t want to believe the pain on her face, the sorrow in her eyes, had been anything but real.
Then again, his gut hadn’t been all that reliable lately. A few months ago, Mitch had learned his mentor had been a traitor to the badge. He wouldn’t be fooled so easily now. Not anymore. He couldn’t afford to give Emily the benefit of the doubt.
Mitch gave her a deliberately innocent smile. “Did I get the time wrong?”
She bit her lip, embarrassment tingeing her cheeks.
“No,” she said. “I’m so sorry. Not a great way to make a first impression as a therapist. Let me change, and I’ll be right with you.”
“I’m not going anywhere.” Not until he knew for sure whether he’d completely lost his ability to tell the good guys from the bad guys. If he was wrong about her, he’d get the evidence he needed. And if she
was
guilty, he might as well just turn in his badge.
With a smile of gratitude, she disappeared behind a staff door.
Cindy handed him a stack of paperwork. “Emily will be right back. If you’ll fill out these forms…”
Mitch took the clipboard and sat in the chair closest to the receptionist before stretching his leg out. “So, I guess I was lucky to get in to see her so quickly. I heard she’s really good. I thought I’d have to wait longer for an appointment.”
“Oh, Emily’s the best, but…” Cindy hesitated. “She’s not that busy these days. Clients stopped coming because of her in-laws. They’ve said some things about her, and, well, some people gossip too much.” Cindy bit her lip and took a furtive glance around. “I need to get back to work.”
Obviously, Emily’s business had taken a big hit. That money angle his boss had mentioned reared its head again, but Mitch didn’t see the connection.
If
that secret account were hers, why not use it to save her business? Why work at all? Why not just disappear?
Mitch tried to get comfortable, but his leg had been giving him fits ever since that confrontation with Ghost. His body had revolted against a move he’d used a thousand times.
Once he finished the paperwork, he settled in for the long wait, but she returned in less than five minutes. Women usually took forever with clothes. Not Emily. Which shouldn’t have been surprising really. Nothing had been usual when it came to this assignment. The turtleneck she wore under her scrubs was a subtle reminder of what he knew lay beneath. He’d reviewed the crime-scene photos, had seen the jagged cut across her throat that had permanently damaged her vocal cords.
“Officer, come on back.” Her husky voice sent a shiver through him. He didn’t know what her voice had sounded like before, but this one was downright sexy.
“Call me Mitch. If you’re going to have your hands all over me, we should be on a first-name basis.” He followed her into a private examining room, trying to avoid studying the sway of her hips under the scrubs she’d changed into. Down, boy. Do
not
let yourself get taken in by a pair of baby blues and luscious curves. If she were innocent and wore black on the anniversary of her husband’s death, the implications made her so far off-limits, there wasn’t a measurement long enough.
She shut the door and cleared her throat, nodding at the exam table. Mitch was just relieved she didn’t offer to help him. His pride could only take so much. “Here’s my chart, just like you requested.”
He levered himself up on the table as she sat down and flipped through the pages. “You’ve been in therapy four months.” She closed the chart. “I didn’t really think you’d take me up on the offer.”
“Normally I wouldn’t have.” The words slipped off his tongue easily—since they were the truth. “I’ve got two months to requalify for SWAT. I’ll do anything to make that happen…Emily. Anything. And your reputation as a physical therapist… You’re one of the best.”