Finding Her Son(50)

Emily’s dot moved farther away. Where was she planning to go? He couldn’t think of anywhere safe except Noah’s home, and she wouldn’t go there. The dot moved toward downtown, back to the first attempt on her life. Why should he be surprised? With Ghost still at large, she was much too vulnerable. He dialed a number.

“Teen Mother’s Shelter.”

“Sister Kate. It’s Mitch Bradford.”

“Officer. I was hoping to hear back from you. How are you and Emily doing?”

Mitch winced at the smile in the nun’s voice. “Um…that’s why I’m calling. Emily’s in trouble, Sister. I think she might be heading your way.”

“What kind of trouble?”

“Someone wants her dead.”

“Ghost?”

“It’s more involved than that. Can you hide her? Get her to stay put? I have something to take care of, but I’ll be there soon.”

“We can hide her, Officer. I’ll tell her you’re coming—”

“No. Don’t do that. She…let’s just say we’ve had a falling-out.”

“But you’ll be here?”

“She needs protection. It’s my job.”

Sister Kate laughed. “Oh, boy-o, it’s way more than a job. I can hear the feelings in your voice. Don’t you fret.”

“I won’t stop worrying until she’s safe,” Mitch said, leaving off the one phrase he wanted so badly to say aloud…in my arms. “Thank you, Sister.”

He hung up the phone. He needed help, and there was only one man he could ask. He just wondered if he’d make it out of his dad’s house in one piece.




MITCH PULLED INTO HIS father’s driveway. The place hadn’t changed much, except for the ramp leading to the front door. Before Mitch even rang the bell, the ex-sergeant opened the door.

“Cameras?” Mitch asked, scanning the perimeter and spying the small electronics in several strategic locations.

“Of course.” He reversed his wheelchair to let Mitch enter. “I hadn’t expected to see you here.”

“Noah didn’t call and spill my latest screwup?”

His dad shrugged. “He mentioned you might be by for some intel.”

Mitch walked into the living room. The photo of his father and mother still held a place of honor on the fireplace mantel. Short of a few adjustments in the furniture to widen spaces, his dad’s place hadn’t changed much in the ten years since his mother’s death from cancer.

“I need some advice. I’m out of my league, Dad.”

“You’re a good cop.”

“I’m a good SWAT entry man. Emily needs protection, and clearly I can’t do it. If I’d been one hundred percent, I would’ve caught the perp who blew Perry Young’s head off. This would be over.” He rubbed his leg and took a deep breath. “The problem is, I’m not a detective. And this case is complicated. She needs an investigator. She needs you, not me.”

“How’s the injury, Mitch?” His father nodded toward the leg. “Really?”

“Fine.” Mitch quirked a smile. “Emily hates it when I use that word.”

“Means you don’t want to talk about it. I get that, son.”

“I’m at seventy-five percent. Not good enough for SWAT, and if I can’t be SWAT, what’s the point?”

His dad pointed to the wheelchair “You’re here asking for my help, despite this chair. What makes you think a slightly bum leg makes you less of a cop?”

“You were vice. You used your smarts. That was never me.”

“You think on your feet. You strategize quickly. You’re good at your job, Mitch. Investigation might be slower paced, but you have a gift for reading people. Better than your brothers or sister. Use your talents. What does your intuition say about the situation?”

“That Emily’s going to die if I don’t figure this out.”

Mitch sank into the couch. He’d never said the words aloud, and he ached with the knowledge that if he couldn’t figure out who wanted her gone, he could very well lose Emily, the only woman he’d ever loved. He had to push those emotions aside. He had to focus on the pieces that didn’t fit.

“Follow your gut. About the investigation and the girl.”

“It feels like there’s more than one element, and I’m not seeing the connection. Perry knew a lot, but he’s dead. His notes are like a few pieces of a five-thousand-word jigsaw puzzle. I know there’s a mole in the Denver PD, but I don’t know who.”

“You asked me before about Tanner. Is he the mole?”

Mitch shook his head. “I trust him.”

“Good enough for me.” His dad rolled his wheelchair into an elaborate office. “Ever since you called, I’ve been doing a bit of research. Tanner’s financials look good, but I’ve got the names of four cops who have some interesting data. Two were on duty the night Ghost escaped: Vance and Lincoln. I’m following up.”

“Thanks, Dad. Call me if either one hits.”

“You got it. And Mitch.” His dad rolled over and slapped the back of Mitch’s head. “Did you forget everything I ever taught you about women? If you care about them, what’s the one thing you never, ever do?”