The Watcher (A Miranda and Parker Mystery Book 4) Page 23

  She looked back again, could barely make out the cop. That meant he couldn’t see her either. She’d done it. She’d escaped. But he’d be hunting her in these woods soon. Probably call out the cavalry, too. Maybe she could make it to the other side. It was part of a subdivision, after all. She couldn’t remember the layout of the forest from her map.

  Better move faster. She took a quick step, then another. Found a spot where the trees opened up. She started to sprint. Wrong move. Something caught her foot. Down she went. She tried to catch herself on a tree, but her hand scrapped across its bark. Her palms skidded across the muddy ground.

  Damn. She didn’t need this now. What had she’d tripped over? She brushed her hair out of her eyes, hoping she hadn’t landed on a slithering snake.

  Then she froze.

  Inches away from her face, lay a shape. A familiar shape. She stared at it, her breath coming in snatches. Was she hallucinating? It looked like a kid’s sneaker. Peeking out from a pile of wet twigs and pine straw, like it had been lost there. Or buried. She reached out and whisked away some of the debris covering it.

  Her chest tightened. The sneaker had a foot in it.

  She got to her knees to sweep off more dirt. An ankle. A sock. A hem of denim. Oh, God. It was a leg. A human leg. She found the other sneaker. She was shaking all over by now.

  Her heart choking her throat, she crawled to the side of what she now realized was a mound. Desperately she shoved away the muck and grimy pine straw, the dreck someone had used to…she couldn’t even think it…to bury someone?

  Two legs appeared under her hands, clad in a pair of designer jeans. The type hip young girls liked to wear. She kept going and found the bottom hem of a fancy, girlish T-shirt. Then two young hands…tied with thick rope, clasped together as if in prayer. Oh, God. This couldn’t be happening. Tears burned her eyes. She couldn’t stop herself. Madly, she brushed away the rest of the dirt, and at last, the face appeared. Young. Pretty. More than pretty. Beautiful. And perfectly still.

  Dead.

  Miranda’s mind reeled. This was the missing girl everyone was talking about. This was Madison. Had to be. But how did she get here?

  Her whole body shuddering, she put her hands to her head. She had seen death before, knew the look of a body in a casket. An uncle she barely knew who’d passed away when she was a child, a fallen officer who’d been a buddy of Leon’s, her own mother lying so still in her coffin with her hard, stony face. But she’d never seen death like this.

  So close, so stark, so…undeniable.

  The air had a dank smell. Long, dark hair lay damp and matted on the ground. Gnats and flies buzzed around the swollen face, glistening with the raindrops that fell on it. Instead of a childlike expression of innocence, there was the whisper of a smile. An air of superiority, as if she had felt far above whoever had left her this way.

  It was the eyes that got her. Open, staring, lifeless. Looking at them, Miranda felt as though a fist had reached inside her chest and yanked out her heart.

  She forced her gaze away from the eyes. Her breath caught, as her mind cleared. The girl’s neck. She had to take a look at the girl’s neck.

  She crept closer and saw that a wide, white ribbon had been tied around the young girl’s neck. What was that for? She didn’t know, but she had to look under it. She shouldn’t touch it. It was evidence. But she had to know.

  Slowly, she reached out with trembling fingers and lifted the soft cloth, moist with the rainwater. Her hands shivered so hard, she could barely slip it down, but somehow she managed.

  And then she saw it. The mark on her neck. Dark, round, distinct.

  She put the soaking ribbon back in place. Her hands shook violently, shot to her mouth, her head. Her chest felt like it would burst. Tears streamed down her cheeks, mingled with the rain, dropped onto the forest floor.

  This was Amy. This was her baby.

  Someone Else’s Daughter – Book I

  If you enjoyed Clowns and Cowboys, you may also enjoy a novel about another strong woman, Maggie Delaney. Chicago Cop is a police thriller featuring GUTS team lead Lieutenant Maggie Delaney, a tough cop—with troubles at home—who must hunt down a crazed mafia hit man bent on revenge before everyone she cared about ends up dead.

  This time it’s not business. It’s personal.

  Chicago Cop (A cop family thriller) — Excerpt

  The floor of the Timberwood Station had a polished glow, giving it that familiar, sterile feel of government buildings, a nearly futile attempt to disinfect the ugly gore that often permeated police work. As Maggie’s heels clicked stoically on the linoleum, she noted two grim-looking suits emerging from a room down the hall.

  “Internal Affairs?” she murmured to the man beside her.

  “That would be my guess, Lieutenant.”

  Her escort was Captain Wallace Nye. A thin man, maybe in his fifties, with a blond, old-fashioned crew cut that made his protruding ears more pronounced and bulging, bloodshot eyes that told Maggie he wasn’t used to the night shift. He looked like he could use some coffee.

  Without fanfare, he stopped at the door the IA men had just exited, opened it for her. “The suspect’s in here.”

  Annoyed at Nye’s callous reference to a fellow officer, she peeked inside the room.

  The “suspect” sat at the low table under the harsh florescent lights, still dressed in his uniform, his head buried in his hands. Some of his partner’s blood was still caked along the sides of his fingers. His despair seemed to fill the room.

  It was him. Cousin Jen’s son, Tony. Dear God.

  Well, maybe she could do something to save his hide before she had to recuse herself. She stepped inside the cramped room as Nye closed the door behind her and stared down at the young man.

  Slowly he raised his head.

  His eyes were swollen, his dark hair disheveled, his youthful face streaked with tears. He looked like he had aged ten years in one night. “Aunt Mag?” He sounded like he thought he was dreaming.

  “Hi, Tony.” Her heart broke for him.

  Her mind flashed back to long ago scenes. The christening celebration at her mother’s house when Maggie was barely eleven, holding the wriggling baby boy in her arms. The phone call several years later and trying to comfort him after his father was killed in the line of duty. Driving to his house when she was a teen to babysit him for spending cash. The night he’d told her so seriously that he was in love with a neighbor and wanted to know what girls liked. She’d told him flowers and candy. And that they liked to be listened to.

  “They called you in?” he said in a hoarse voice.

  Maggie barely had the will to nod. “Chief Detective Zielinski called the BIS Deputy Superintendent.”

  “What?”

  “He asked the GUTS unit to investigate the incident.”

  He stared at her like she’d just become a ghost.

  A good-looking man sat at the table next to Tony. Maggie had seen him as soon as she came in but hadn’t acknowledged him. He wore a tailored, black worsted suit with a neat, equally expensive-looking red silk tie at his attractive throat. A throat which he now cleared as he raised a thick, expressive brow.

  Maggie turned her attention to him and quietly studied those dark, intense, deep-set eyes. That black, stylishly tousled hair with a touch of gray at the temples. That rugged, Al Pacino face.

  Bryce Brooks, local criminal defense attorney.

  She nodded toward him, her eyes back on Tony. “Did you call him?”

  “My mother did. They said I’d need a lawyer.”

  Maggie recalled that Brooks’ firm had handled Jen’s divorce from her second husband a year ago. She knew the man from the courtroom.

  He rose and offered his hand. “Good evening, Lieutenant.”

  Reluctantly, she shook it. His grip was firmer than she expected, rife with masculine strength and confidence, charged with unnerving electricity. She ignored the sensation.

  “Are you primary on th
is case?” he asked.

  She glared at him without answering. Brooks used to work for the State’s Attorney’s office but went over to the dark side years ago to open a practice with his partner. Since then, he’d garnered a litany of high-paying clients.

  He was good, one of the best criminal defense lawyers in the city. But in Maggie’s book, Bryce Brooks was a bottom feeder. He’d take any case for the cash.

  “You are related to my client, aren’t you?” he persisted.

  “Is he your client? I didn’t think you defended cops.” She put a hand on her hip. “As I recall, you’re usually the one raking the cops over the coals in the courtroom.” She’d seen him badger officers on the witness stand, had experienced his methods a time or two herself. He wasn’t unethical, but he came damn close to it.

  He smiled with one side of his face, looking far too smug, far too sexy, testosterone-fueled arrogance oozing from every pour. “Everyone has a right to a defense attorney. Even a Chicago police officer.”

  Maggie snorted. “I’m not sure the union will pay your fees.”

  His dark, masculine gaze fixed her like a black hole from some surreal galaxy. “Lieutenant Delaney,” he said in a low, clipped tone. “Since you can’t be here in an official capacity due to your relationship with Officer Lombardi, are you here to give my client moral support?”

  “I just want to ask a few questions.”

  “The gentlemen from Internal Affairs have already done that.”

  “So I saw. I want to hear what Tony has to say.” She pulled out a chair without waiting for his invitation and sat down. She leaned toward Tony.

  “Lieutenant,” Brooks warned.

  Maggie ignored him. “What happened tonight?”

  Tony put his head down again, began pulling at his hair. “I didn’t do it, Aunt Mag. I didn’t shoot Perez. He’s my friend. He’s like an older brother to me. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt him. I’m dating his sister, for God’s sake.”

  “His sister?” Good Lord.

  “Lieutenant,” Brooks said again.

  She shot up a hand. “Are you sure it wasn’t an accident?”

  “No, it wasn’t an accident,” he said as softly as a prayer.

  She leaned closer. “Tony, Perez was shot from behind. The other shooters were on the hill in front of you.”

  “I know it doesn’t make sense, but I didn’t pull the trigger on my weapon until I was past Perez. I know it.”

  “It was your first gunfight. It’s easy for your mind to play tricks on you. It’s hard to remember things accurately.”

  Brooks put out a hand. “That’s enough, Lieutenant. Don’t answer her, Tony.”

  Tony slammed his fist on the table. “My mind is not playing tricks on me. I know what I did.”

  Brooks came around the table. “Lieutenant, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

  “One more minute,” Maggie snapped. “Tony, just let yourself think. Try to remember.”

  Tony ran his hands over his face. “Remember? I can’t get it out of my mind. All I can hear is the blast of gunfire.” His eyes filled with tears and his voice broke with emotion. “Is Perez all right? The ambulance took him away. Is he going to live?”

  Maggie swallowed. “I don’t know. He’s in surgery.”

  The poor young man laid his head on his arms and began to sob. “Oh God, please let him live. Let him live.”

  Brooks inhaled loudly and stared down at his manicured nails, as if suppressing a violent storm he could unleash any moment. “I would hate to press harassment charges against the head of the mayor’s dream team.”

  She glared up at him. “You don’t have to. I’m leaving.”

  His gaze locked with hers. Almost imperceptibly, his lip turned up at the corner. What did that look mean? Triumph? Gloating? Or had he just enjoyed sparring with her? What an egomaniac.

  She reached across the table and patted the grieving officer on the hand. “Hang in there, Tony,” she said softly. “I’ll do what I can for you.” At the moment, she didn’t think that would be much.

  Chicago Cop (A cop family thriller)

  Thank you for reading The Watcher, the fourth Miranda and Parker mystery.

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  A Final Word:

  My thanks to all my wonderful writing sisters in Georgia Romance Writers and RWA.

  And most of all, thank you, dear reader, for choosing my book. You make it all worthwhile.

  Copyright © 2014 Linsey Lanier

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of various products referenced in this work of fiction, which have been used without permission. The publication/use of these trademarks is not authorized, associated with, or sponsored by the trademark owners.

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