When You See Me (Detective D.D. Warren #11)(104)

The older woman glared at her now, her grip still tight on her makeshift weapon, but the vast table blocking her from her target. Franny narrowed her gaze shrewdly, obviously, just like D.D. moving on to plan B.

Kimberly had mentioned some things about the woman. She was tougher than she looked, a born survivor who’d had to rebuild her life after losing her newborn child, and highly skilled at overcoming obstacles. Which explained how determined the massive woman looked right now, staring at D.D. across the table, fire poker at the ready.

Shit.

Quickly, D.D. glanced around the room. No sign of Bonita. Hopefully the girl had headed upstairs and tucked herself someplace safe. Now, D.D. made a show of clutching her right arm, wobbling unsteadily on her feet. In a showdown of brawn, no way D.D. was coming out on top. Not against an opponent this large and aggressive. Which left her with . . . stalling. Buying time for Bonita to escape, for reinforcements to arrive, for D.D.’s field of vision to clear enough so she could successfully get off a shot.

“Why?” she asked. It didn’t require any acting to make her voice rough with pain.

“None of you should be here. We had everything under control!”

“Importing young girls for hired help? Organ donors? Sex slaves?”

“We offer only the best product to the best customers,” Franny answered matter-of-factly. “No shipments of sickly immigrants for us. We take orders, and personally acquire what would best suit our clients’ needs.”

D.D. could read between those lines. Most human-trafficking operations involved importing container loads of girls who were then shuttled out to “massage parlors” and the like. Mass product for mass distribution.

Tucked this far north in the mountains, dozens of foreign girls would stand out. But specific individuals, brought in as housemaids till the right fit could be made . . . D.D. felt ill.

“But why? After everything you’ve been through . . . the loss of your own child . . . why kidnap someone else’s?”

“I didn’t lose him.”

D.D. stared at the woman. Franny smiled—it was not a nice expression on the woman’s face.

“I knew I had to give the baby up once he was born. Back in those days, it was the only option for an unmarried woman like me. Especially in a small town like this. Bunch of close-minded, judgmental asses. Looking down their noses at me because what, I was only a waitress, and a young, stupid, pregnant one at that. I heard their whispers. I took it. I told myself what must be done. But then, I held my baby in my arms. And I . . . I couldn’t do it.”

“You kept your baby . . . but told everyone he’d died?”

“I’ve always been smarter than people assumed.”

“You can’t hide an infant,” D.D. said.

“You can if the father is willing to take him.”

“Wait, who’s the father?”

Franny still had her poker raised in a batter’s stance, but with the enormous table lodged between her and D.D., they were currently at a stalemate. The older woman’s gaze, however, kept darting past D.D.’s shoulder. Expecting company? Bonita’s demon man? D.D. was killing time, looking for the right opportunity. Was it possible Franny was doing the same?

D.D. shifted slowly to the right, closer to the fireplace, where she’d have at least a partial line of sight on the gaping wooden doors.

“Who raised your son, Franny?” D.D. asked quietly, though she thought she might have an idea. Franny knew all about the taskforce team’s activities these past few days, being part of the meetings. But there was one other person who’d had a front row seat. Keith and Flora had included him, with neither of them being the wiser.

“Doesn’t matter,” Franny replied stiffly.

So D.D. said it for her: “Bill Benson, the owner of the ATV shop. He kept talking with Keith and Flora. And today, you said he was the one who came into the station and raised the fuss to distract the on-duty deputy. You two were in on it together. You told him when to arrive, when there would be only one deputy around. And while Deputy Chad dealt with Bill, you were the one who paid the visit to Mayor Howard. Good God, you’re behind all this. But why?”

“I love him. I’ve loved him most of my life,” Franny said simply. “And he loves me, too.”

“Then you should’ve gotten married. Raised your son together. Instead . . .” D.D. gestured with her good hand in the empty air. “You built an entire life out of lies.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Seriously?”

Franny frowned at D.D. Her gaze returned to the open doorway behind D.D.’s shoulder. No doubt about it, the woman was waiting for someone. Shit, D.D. thought again. Because even if she could shoot with her left arm, she could still only aim in one direction at a time.

“Bill’s married. His wife, however, isn’t well. Schizophrenia. Sad really. Most days Bill keeps her locked in her room.”

“Because that’s kinder than having her hospitalized?”

“Have you seen those places? Terrible. Just terrible.”

D.D. took another step to the right. Something was up. Franny’s willingness to talk, buy time of her own. D.D. could feel the impending threat. She just couldn’t see it. “So your married lover with a mentally ill wife raised your son. And you what, visited as a family friend, monitored your own kid growing up?”