Imperfect Daddy Read online

  Amber stood the doll up, looked her over, and made a couple of adjustments. "My mommy fixes her hair for me." She looked at Kathleen. "Can you fix it for me? My mommy can't anymore. She's not coming back."

  A wave of grief for the child's losses started in my chest and crashed into my throat. I saw the tears glisten in the corners of my friend's eyes.

  She reached for the doll. "I haven't fixed a Barbie's hair in a long time, honey, but I'll try."

  "You look like her." Amber's eyes centered on Kathleen, who was tall and thin with long blond hair. The kid had a point. "Can you fix her hair to look like yours?" Amber selected a small yellow band from the pile of miniature accessories and handed it to her.

  "Sure, why not?" Kathleen struggled with the tiny band but succeeded in gathering Barbie's blond tresses into a ponytail at the nape of her neck. "I'll be back in a minute." She left the room taking Barbie with her. When she returned, she pivoted Barbie in her hand to show off the bright pink ribbon adorning her hair. She had trimmed a small piece off her own hair ribbon. I suspected someone with better fine-hand coordination than Kathleen had tied it in place.

  We stayed with Amber for almost an hour before Connie came to the door to tell us Mikey was bored and restless. He'd played with a couple of trucks in the playroom and had tired of the programs on television. As we said our goodbyes, I felt like an outsider. Kathleen and Amber seemed to have a special bond.

  While we waited at the elevator, Kathleen said, "I understand why Dick is taken with Amber. I love her, and I only met her an hour ago. Maybe, just maybe . . ."

  "Taking on an abused child is not an easy task," I said. "You're aware of that, and stress causes problems with your health. I think you have to give it some real thought before you proceed."

  "I know." She looked in the direction of Amber's room, pulling Mikey to her side.

  It wasn't the last I'd hear about it.

  9

  I believe Dick and Kathleen intend to bring Amber into their home." I sliced cheese into a late Saturday night omelet. "Kathleen wants a daughter and is in a bind with her medication and her disease. She's thirty-four."

  Ray stood next to me buttering thick slices of crusty bread. He seemed tired but said he was hungry. While the clock was bonging midnight, he'd come through the door. I was in the Florida room with Sunshine on my lap, reading the latest Randy Rawls thriller.

  Ray's cheeks twitched and tugged at the edges of his goatee, a sure sign he was angry. "I can't believe Dick would consider taking the girl. What were you thinking when you took her to see the child?"

  "I promised to visit Amber, and Kathleen was with me. She's a nice lady. What in the hell is wrong with that?" I glared at him.

  Ray was tired, cranky, and frustrated. I'd missed all the cues before raising the subject.

  He didn't answer my question, but continued with his own thoughts. "Can you imagine what Pyle's defense attorney would do with that piece of information?"

  "Ray, what about what would be good for the child? A loving, accepting home with two doting adults is key to her healing." I waved my miniature grater in the air to illustrate the point.

  "Leaving Pyle free to do the same kind of thing to someone else. Is that what y'all want? The murderous bastard. I can't let them do it, not now anyway. I'll see the captain tomorrow and clue him in. He wants Pyle as bad as I do."

  "Why the personal interest?" Usually Ray kept the emotional piece of police work at arms length.

  "Sophi, Pyle killed his son, killed his wife, raped his daughter."

  "Not the first and not the last man to do that. And, not the first or last to do that in one of your cases either."

  "Guess it's the season." He peered into the frying pan. "Grind some pepper into mine, please."

  Using a tall Lucite pepper mill that was a gift from Ray when he moved in, I added fresh cracked pepper and folded the omelet into thirds. Rich, yellow cheese ran out both ends. I slid the whole creation onto a warmed plate and grated extra sharp cheddar on top. The aroma of the cheese rose off the omelet, filling the room. After I'd arranged a couple of biscuits on either side of the eggs, I set it in front of him on the counter. "Want coffee?"

  "Juice, please. Coffee will keep me awake."

  "I doubt that," I said as I slipped behind him and retrieved the orange juice from the refrigerator. After I poured a glass for him and one for myself, I pulled over the second stool and climbed onto it. "So, you're pissed."

  "Sorry, I had a long day." He put down his fork and turned toward me. "Dick pulls me into this case, then threatens to screw it up. He knows I'd rather do anything other than a child's homicide, but he calls me anyway. Then García approves it and assigns me to the case. The suspect bolted, we think, out of town. The stolen car from Pyle's cousin's neighborhood was found in Orlando parked a couple of blocks from where a second car disappeared. I imagine we'll find that pattern all the way up the coast until we lose him completely. The bastard has a plan. I'll say that much for him."

  I patted his arm, urging him to continue. I thought he needed to get some of the frustration off his chest, or he'd never sleep. "Then to make matters worse, I finally connected with Branden on the telephone. First he called Ervin a liar . . ."

  "Ervin? Jake Ervin the police chief, right?" I was beginning to connect the names of the people in Parkview, Virginia with their roles in Branden's drug problems. I didn't remember hearing Ray talk about Jake Ervin before the problem arose with Branden. Guess it was because the two men had been co-workers, and Ervin was just another cop in the few stories Ray told about his time on the police force in his hometown.

  "Jake Ervin has been chief for a while now." He pushed back his plate. "That was good. Thanks."

  "What happened with Branden?"

  "He said he'd been set up, and because of me, Jake Ervin had it in for him. My kid said he hated me and wanted to know where I was when he needed me anyway."

  I touched his arm. "Angry child."

  "Very. But then, Branden has reason." Ray sipped at his juice. "The captain talked to the state attorney about the trials next week. The defendant changed lawyers, postponing the court date while the new counsel prepares. I'm leaving for Parkview tomorrow."

  "Oh, are you now?" I picked up his plate, stuck it in the dishwasher without rinsing off the cheese, and stomped out of the room. So much for being a couple. Shit. Was Elaine luring Ray to Parkview, using Branden as bait? It wouldn't be the first time.

  I jumped into bed and turned out the light, then heard the water running in the kitchen and knew Ray was rinsing the plate. A moment later, he appeared in the bedroom door.

  His voice cut the darkness. "You forgot the dog." He put Sunshine on my pillow—the dog would have gotten there himself given a few minutes—and sat on the bed. I heard one shoe hit the floor, then the other. "I thought if you didn't get off from work, you'd fly to Roanoke on Thursday. I want you to come."

  "If I had known during the day, I would have arranged for the time off."

  "Sophi, I'm sorry. I wasn't thinking, just reacting. You know I want you there." He bent close to me and kissed me.

  Tears rolled into my pillow. It took Sunshine a second to notice and soon he was licking them away. "Maybe it's PMS, but it doesn't seem that way to me," I said. PMS, I thought, Permanent Male Syndrome. It's sure to cause headaches, anxiety, stress, and sleepless nights.

  He didn't say anymore until he'd crawled in bed next to me. "I'd like to have you with me. You can call Nancy in the morning and arrange it, and we can drop the dog at Connie's on the way out of town."

  I rolled over closer to him and put my head on his arm. "I'll try. I love you. I'm sorry I overreacted." We snuggled together.

  The next thing I knew, it was Sunday morning. Splashing, spraying noises from the front yard announced the washing of the Honda, Ray's preparation for the trip to Virginia.

  Sun streamed into the window, and the clock told me it was almost seven. After showering, I called my manage
r at home—she was an early riser, even on her days off—and Connie at work.

  "Ray," I said, sticking my head out the front door. It was like a blast furnace outside. Ray made a sexy picture, dressed in denim shorts, naked sun-tanned shoulders glistening with perspiration, polishing the shiny red car. "I'm clear to go. Connie will pick up Sunshine here on her way home from work. I'll leave his stuff by the front door." Sunshine is in his senior citizen years. He takes pills for his heart, has special food, likes his baby, which is one of those fuzzy stuffed dog toys, and is spoiled rotten. Not by me, of course.

  "Great. When can you be ready?" He walked across the driveway and planted a kiss on my forehead. His distinctive male smell was intoxicating.

  "Can't you do better?"

  Ray did better the second time, giving my neighbors a show. "When can we leave?"

  "Give me an hour to pack my things, have some coffee, eat. Then we can be on our way." I started to go back into the house, then stopped and faced him. "Ray, I know this is a serious trip, but can we try to have a pleasant ride there and back at least? Maybe we can pretend we're going because we want to."

  "Okay." He lifted me off the step and kissed me. "I owe you that much to make up for being a jerk."

  10

  Five hours later, we crossed the Georgia line. It should have been six hours from the house to the border, but we made better time. The day was clear but unbearably hot. We'd decided to keep the top down while the weather permitted, and our small passenger compartment reverberated with the music of the engine, the wind, and the road.

  "I'm hungry," I said in a voice loud enough to be audible over the roadster symphony. I pointed to a restaurant with a big family-style sign.

  "Wouldn't you rather have a sandwich now and wait for a bigger dinner?" Ray yelled, downshifting from sixth to fifth gear and switching to the far right lane. From the highway, I saw several eatery signs.

  When he slowed, normal conversation became possible. "I was thinking of something light." I waved my finger at the sign. "It says soup and salad bar, twenty-four hours."

  We pulled into the Shell station adjacent to the restaurant, and Ray gassed the car. Given the speed we'd been traveling and the capacity of the gas tank, it was the third time we'd stopped to fill up, the first having been prior to leaving South Florida. I watched him walk into the station.

  Ray's shoulders stretched the fabric of his dark blue polo, and his sand-washed dungarees rode easily on his narrow hips. His short hair didn't seem to be affected by the 90-mile an hour gale that had swooshed over our heads. Now that we were in Georgia, he'd have to moderate his speed. There would be no showing his badge to get out of a speeding ticket here.

  I dug a small brush out of my purse and ran it through my hair, then using the rear view mirror to put on lipstick, I pronounced myself fit for viewing by total strangers in the travelers' Mecca. I crawled out of the car, rubbed my achy hip and thigh, and followed Ray into the station. As I walked, I had a creepy feeling—spine tingling sensations running into the back of my head—as if someone was staring at me. I turned quickly, but didn't see anyone looking my way. In fact, I didn't see anyone at all. The only other vehicle in the area was a dark blue Ford Ranger pickup.

  Before the station door closed behind me, I glanced over my shoulder at the truck. I thought I saw a moving shadow behind the dark-tinted windows, but I wasn't sure. I remembered from my days on patrol how it unnerved me to make a traffic stop at night when the windows were tinted. Even when working with a partner, I found tinted windows terrifying. We'd spotlight the vehicle with our high-intensity strobes, but still we couldn't see inside.

  That was what happened the night the bastard blew my partner away. He approached the driver's side of the vehicle while I approached the passenger's side. It all happened fast. I heard a gunshot, and the next thing I knew, my partner was on the ground. I was shocked and didn't respond as fast as I should have.

  The bad guy burst out of the car and charged after me. Looking for shelter, I ran around the rear, gun in hand. He fired and hit me, once . . . twice . . . I'm not sure. It didn't hurt. It burned. I squeezed off a couple of shots, hitting him in the chest and sinking a slug into the tree behind him. Then I fell to the ground, breaking my pelvis. I lay there, terrified.

  He thought I was dead, I suppose, because he quit shooting, but I heard him moving. He was like a bull, unaffected by the blood draining from his chest. By the time backup arrived, I was semi-conscious from blood loss and my partner was dead. The shooter was on his way out. At least I'd accomplished that.

  I learned many things during that traffic stop. One of them was that I didn't think clearly under that kind of pressure. I never believed anyone wanted to hurt me, but wearing a uniform was like wearing a target. Someone always wanted to hit the bull's-eye. I had a tendency to put myself in harm's way, wanting to reach out and comfort the hurting, pat them on the back, make it better. Now, as a nurse, I can do that, and they don't shoot me.

  Ray finished paying as I let the door close behind me. We walked across the yard and climbed into the Honda. A couple of minutes later, we parked in the lot next door.

  I headed inside to inspect the contents of the salad bar. The lettuce fit the part of a twenty-four hour salad bar, brown and wilting at the edges. The vegetable soup didn't look much better. "On second thought, a Burger King sounds wonderful," I whispered as Ray appeared behind me.

  "I was thinking the same thing."

  I followed Ray out of the place. He crossed the lot in the direction of the adjacent Burger King and slipped through the hedge. After we purchased our food, we sat at a counter facing the window. The S2000 happened to be in clear view of where we sat. The Ranger was across the parking lot from it, the tinting and the angle of the truck defeating any chance of seeing the driver.

  "Baby," I said as I put my hand on his shoulder to get his attention, "look at that blue Ranger. Has it been behind us?"

  Ray glanced out the window. "Most of the way from the middle of Florida. He's going in the same direction."

  "Don't you think it's odd someone in a Ranger would try to keep pace with you, the way you drive?"

  "What wrong with the way I drive?" Ray grinned and took a healthy-sized bite of his burger.

  "Gee, I don't know. How fast are we averaging? Ninety?"

  "Close to it." He nodded at the Ranger. "I'm sure it's coincidence. We'll keep an eye out."

  11

  After we finished eating, Ray made a beeline for the Honda. I decided to inspect the Ranger. The driver was nowhere around. I made a show of standing behind the vehicle and noting the Florida plate number, hoping the driver would see me, take the hint, and stay away.

  We slipped into the car, fastened our belts, and were off. As Ray made the turn onto the highway, the Ranger pulled out of the restaurant parking lot and headed north, following in our tire tracks. Ray pooh-poohed me when I made mention of it, but I saw his brow furrow when he glanced at the rearview mirror. He appeared concerned.

  "It's there, isn't it?" I pointed over my shoulder without looking.

  "Yes," he said. "Coincidence." Ray attached the earpiece-microphone to his cell phone, punched in numbers, then cupped his hand around the mouthpiece to block the wind. "Give me the license number. I'll check it out."

  I handed him the scrap of paper.

  "Lewis," he said when his partner answered, "listen, there's a dark . . . Ranger that's been . . . a while, Florida plate number . . ." After he gave Lewis the plate number, he paused to listen. "That's what I told her. Coincidence." Ray made a shrugging motion. "I'd appreciate . . . You can . . . on my cell."

  The wind buffeted his voice, but I heard the gist of his conversation. "What did Lewis say?"

  "He'll run the plate, see who owns it, and let me know. It'll take him a while. He's involved in something."

  "What? Did he say?"

  He looked at me. I didn't ask many questions, because he doesn't give me answers. "Pyle was sighted�
��maybe," he said.

  "Where?"

  "Didn't say."

  We rode in silence, which wasn't unusual. Traveling at high speed with the top down made conversation tedious. I saw it as a tradeoff, since I loved to ride at high speed sans roof. I watched his eyes and thought he was continuing to check his rear view mirror for the Ranger. I wasn't concerned. Ray could and would protect us if necessary, but I didn't expect he would need to. Ray's service weapon was stowed under the driver's seat.

  After maybe a hundred miles of infrequent bits of conversation, Ray said, "I haven't seen the truck in a while. Guess it was coincidence."

  I nodded. "When did Lewis say he'd call?"

  "He didn't."

  I picked the cell phone out of the cup holder in the console and focused on the tiny green screen. "There's a message. I didn't hear it ring. We must have lost the signal for a few minutes." I pushed the retrieve message button, handed Ray the earpiece, and watched his face.

  The telltale sign—twitching whiskers.

  "What's up?" I asked. The one thing I've never mentioned to Ray is the way his cheeks tug at the edges of his goatee when he's angry or on edge. It's my main clue to what's going on in his head when he's not talking.

  "It was Lewis about the Ranger. The owner's boy is on the way to the Trail with his friends for a hiking trip. That's why the Ranger is going the same direction we are. They're starting their hike on the Blue Ridge."

  Since Ray was born in that area, I knew the Trail meant the Appalachian Trail. "Just coincidence then. Kid does have a heavy foot, though."

  After we stopped for gas, the Ranger nowhere in sight, Ray raised the ragtop. We were both tired of yelling over the wind noise. When we settled back in, I felt warm and comfortable, like Sunshine looks when he burrows into the pillows on my bed. Ray patted my leg and said, "We'll start looking for a hotel soon."