Finding Her Son(3)

Sister Kate gave the cop a thorough once-over, then nodded her head before standing and walking away from Ghost. “You’re one of the Bradford boys. Handsome as sin, the lot of you. The middle one, I’d wager. You’ve got the look of your daddy. I’ll give you a pass. For now.”

Emily almost smiled at the man’s slack-jawed expression.

“You know my father?”

“Oh, my, yes. Sergeant Bradford visited my halfway house to recruit for his football team. I hear you’re following in his footsteps, Mitch.” At his slight nod, she patted his arm. “I was sorry about what happened to him.”

The man’s jaw tightened, but Emily didn’t miss the flash of pain across his face. She recognized the emotion all too well, but she couldn’t let herself sympathize with him, even if Sister Kate was right, and his rugged good looks would make angels weep.

Emily had only one mission. Finding her son. And this cop—Mitch Bradford—had ruined her most promising lead. With nothing to lose, she bolted to Ghost and grabbed his collar. “Tell me the name,” she said, her permanently husky voice still foreign to her ears, but an all-too-physical reminder of her entire purpose in life. “It’s the only way you might talk your way out of this.”

“Go to hell. You and your nun.” Ghost flipped on his back and kicked out. A chair near his feet flew across the room. He lunged at Emily.

“Get away from him.” Mitch grasped Emily’s arm and yanked her to safety before subduing Ghost and pinning him with a knee to his back.

The brute on the floor grunted. “You should’ve stayed out of it.”

“Shut up,” Mitch said. He double-checked the zip-tie cuffs just as a cruiser pulled up, sirens blaring. A uniform raced inside.

“Get this guy out of here,” Mitch said. “I’ll file my report once I get back.”

The cop nodded and escorted Ghost from the building. Officer Bradford walked toward the girls huddled in the corner, his gait slightly off when he put weight on his right leg. As he approached, they shrank away. Emily didn’t blame them. It had taken her months to get past the fragmented flashes of memory when any man in a dark coat had come near her. For these teens—one girl’s eye was swollen shut; another’s face was mottled yellow and green from old bruises—all they’d see would be a tall, muscular brute who had shown he could incapacitate anyone who crossed him.

Then his expression softened. “You did great, Heather,” he said softly. “Is everyone else okay? Anybody need a doctor?”

The girls shook their heads.

“Sister Kate takes care of us,” one said, crossing her arms in defiance. “She’s a nurse.”

He nodded, not pushing just accepting. Emily couldn’t get over the change in his demeanor. He’d transformed in seconds from a warrior—someone she was convinced could’ve killed Ghost if he’d wanted—to a man with a gentle gaze. Still, none of the girls would look him in the eye. His focus lowered to the discolored cheeks of one of the teens. His lips grew tight. Good. If nothing else, the evidence of abuse made him angry.

“Will you tell me about Ghost?” he said, still keeping his voice calm and low.

Amid the blare of more sirens, the girls looked as if they’d rather die than say anything.

“I got proof they’re hooked up with drug dealers.” Ghost’s shouts rammed through the open doorway. “I can give you names, dates, places. I know their johns. I can help you put ’em away. Give their babies to people who deserve ’em.”

Heather shivered and caressed her burgeoning belly. Her gaze rose to Mitch’s. “He trolls for girls who get knocked up. Tries to sweet-talk the ones who haven’t been around too long. He sells himself as someone who can help. We know better. They’re buying a one-way ticket when they go with Ghost.”

“You never see any of them again,” Mitch said, the statement stark and certain, the ending unspoken.

A commotion sounded from the kicked-in doorway.

“I got something for Coach…Officer Bradford,” a young kid shouted.

The cop stood and walked over to the boy, who handed over a cell phone. “I couldn’t find Vance, Coach.”

“That’s okay, Ricky.”

The boy received an affectionate ruffle to his hair, and Mitch guided the kid over to them. “Sister Kate, Mrs. Wentworth, this is Ricky Foster. He’s looking for his sister, Kayla.”

Over the next hour, Mitch questioned the girls and Ricky. Pregnant girls vanishing. Their babies gone. Not one of them reported missing. Until Kayla Foster.

“You’ll find her?” Ricky asked, his voice laced with hope as Mitch led him to the back exit, past the front door he and Ricky had worked side-by-side to barricade to the back exit.

“Get me the picture, and I’ll put the word out. We’ll discover what happened.”

Ricky walked out of the shelter with an expression that could only be described as cautiously optimistic.

“I wish we’d seen her.” She spoke to the nun standing at her side.

“I have a feeling with Officer Bradford on the case, Ricky will be reunited with Kayla.”

“It doesn’t always end the way we’d want, Sister,” Mitch said from behind them.

Emily hadn’t realized he’d approached. She stiffened as his huge presence overwhelmed her, making her heart race. Not with fear, though. With something else—unfamiliar and enticing at the same time.