Beverly Long – For the Baby's Sake (страница 2)
Noise thundered as more bullets spewed through the open window, sending chunks of plaster flying. Liz grabbed for Mary, pulling the pregnant girl to the floor. She covered the teen’s body with her own, doing her best to keep her weight off the girl’s stomach.
It stopped as suddenly as it had started. She heard the car speed off, the noise fading fast.
Liz jerked away from Mary. “Are you okay?”
The teen stared at her stomach. “I think so,” she said.
Liz could see the girl reach for her familiar indifference, but it had been too quick, too frightening, too close. Tears welled up in the teen’s eyes, and they rolled down her smooth, freckled cheeks. With both hands, she hugged her middle. “I didn’t mean it. I don’t want to die. I don’t want my baby to die.”
Liz had seen Mary angry, defensive, even openly hostile. But she’d never seen her cry. “I know, sweetie. I know.” She reached to hug her but stopped when she heard the front door of OCM slam open and the thunder of footsteps on the wooden stairs.
Her heart rate sped up, and she hurriedly got to her feet, moving in front of Mary. The closed office door swung open. She saw the gun, and for a crazy minute, she thought the man holding it had come back to finish what he’d started. She’d been an idiot not to take the threat seriously. Some kind of strange noise squeaked out of her throat.
“It’s all right,” the man said. “I’m Detective Sawyer Montgomery with Chicago Police, ma’am. Are either of you hurt?”
It took her a second or two to process that this man wasn’t going to hurt her. Once it registered, it seemed as if her bones turned to dust, and she could barely keep her body upright. He must have sensed that she was just about to go down for the count because he shoved his gun back into his shoulder holster and grabbed her waist to steady her.
“Take a breath,” he said. “Nice and easy.”
She closed her eyes and focused on sucking air in through her nose and blowing it out her mouth. All she could think about was that he didn’t sound like a Chicago cop. He sounded Southern, like the cool, sweet tea she’d enjoyed on hot summer evenings a lifetime ago. Smooth.
After four or five breaths, she opened her eyes. He looked at her, saw that she was back among the living and let go of her waist. He backed up a step. “Are you hurt?” he repeated.
“We’re okay,” she said, focusing on him. He wore gray dress pants, a wrinkled white shirt and a red tie that was loose at the collar. He had a police radio clipped to his belt, and though it was turned low, she could hear the background noise of Chicago’s finest at work.
He reached into his shirt pocket, pulled out a badge, flipped it open and held it steady, giving her a chance to read.
“Thank you, Detective Montgomery,” she said.
He nodded and pivoted to show it to Mary. Once she nodded, he flipped it shut and returned it to his pocket. Then he extended a hand to help Mary up off the floor.
Mary hesitated, then took it. Once up, she moved several feet away. Detective Montgomery didn’t react. Instead he pulled his radio from his belt. “Squad, this is 5162. I’m inside at 229 Logan Street. No injuries to report. Backup is still requested to secure the exterior.”
Liz stared at the cop. He had the darkest brown eyes—almost, but not quite, black. His hair was brown and thick and looked as if it had recently been trimmed. His skin was tanned, and his lips had a very nice shape.
Best-looking cop she’d seen in some time.
In fact, only cop she’d seen in some time. Logan Street wasn’t in a great neighborhood but was quiet in comparison to the streets that ran a couple blocks to the south. As such, it didn’t get much attention from the police.
And yet, Detective Montgomery had been inside OCM less than a minute after the shooting. That didn’t make sense. She stepped forward, putting herself between the detective and Mary.
“How did you get here so quickly?” she asked.
He hesitated for just a second. “I was parked outside.”
“That was coincidental,” she said. “I’m not generally big on coincidences.”
He shrugged and pulled a notebook out of his pocket. “May I have your name, please?”
His look and his attitude were all business. His voice was pure pleasure. The difference in the two caught her off balance, making her almost forgive that he was being deliberately evasive. There was a reason he’d been parked outside, but he wasn’t ready to cough it up. She was going to have to play the game his way.
“Liz Mayfield,” she said. “I’m one of three counselors here at OCM. Options for Caring Mothers,” she added. “This is Mary Thorton.”
The introduction wasn’t necessary. The girl had been keeping him up at nights. Sawyer knew her name, her social security number, her address. Hell, he knew her favorite breakfast cereal. Three empty boxes of Fruit Loops in her garbage had been pretty hard to miss. “Miss Thorton,” he said, nodding at the teen before turning back to the counselor. “Is there anybody else in the building?”
The woman shook her head. “Carmen was here earlier, but she left to take her brother to the orthodontist. Cynthia, she’s the third counselor, just works in the mornings. We have a part-time receptionist, too, but she’s not here today. Oh, and Jamison is getting ready for a fund-raiser. He’s working off-site.”
“Who’s Jamison?”
“He’s the boss.”
“Okay. Why don’t the two of you—”
Sawyer stopped when he heard his partner let loose their call numbers. He turned the volume up on his radio.
“Squad, this is 5162, following a gray Lexus, license Adam, John, David, 7, 4, 9. I lost him, somewhere around Halsted and 35th. Repeat, lost him. Keep an eye out, guys.”
Sawyer wasn’t surprised. He and Robert had been parked a block down the street. Sawyer had jumped out, and Robert had given chase, but the shooter had at least a two-block advantage. In a crowded city, filled with alleys and side streets, that was a lot. Every cop on the street in that general vicinity would be on the watch now, but Sawyer doubted it would do any good. Mirandez’s boys would have dumped the car by now. He turned the volume on his radio back down.
“Why don’t you two have a seat?” he said, trying hard to maintain a hold on his emotions. They hadn’t gotten the shooter, but maybe—just maybe—he had Mary Thorton in a position where she’d want to talk.
The counselor sat. Mary continued to stand until Liz Mayfield patted the chair next to her.
Facing both women, he said, “I’d like to ask you a few questions. Are you feeling up to that?”
“You okay?” Liz Mayfield asked Mary.
The girl shrugged. “I suppose.”
The woman nodded at Sawyer. “Shoot,” she said.
Mary snorted, and the pretty counselor’s cheeks turned pink. “Sorry,” she mumbled. “We’re ready. Proceed. Begin.”
Wow. She was a Beach Boys song—a regular California girl—with her smooth skin and thick, blond hair that hung down to the middle of her back. She wore a sleeveless white cotton shirt and denim shorts, and her toenails were the brightest pink he’d ever seen.
What the hell was she doing in a basement on the south side of Chicago?
He knew what he was doing there. He was two minutes and two hundred yards behind Dantel Mirandez. Like he had been for the past eighteen months.
And the son of a bitch had slipped away again.
Sawyer crossed his legs at the ankles and leaned back against the desk, resting his butt on the corner. He focused his attention on the teenager. She sat slouched in her chair, staring at the floor. “Ms. Thorton, any ideas about who is responsible for this shooting?”
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Liz Mayfield sit up straighter in her chair. “I—”
He held up his hand, stopping her. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to give Ms. Thorton a chance to answer first.”
“I don’t know anything, Cop,” the teen said, her voice hard with irritation.
Damn. “You’re sure?”
Mary raised her chin. “Yeah. What kind of cop are you? Haven’t you heard about people in cars with guns? They shoot things. Duh. That’s why they call them drive-by shooters.”
It looked as if she planned to stick to the same old story. He walked over to the window and looked out. Two squad cars had arrived. He knew the officers would systematically work their way through the crowd that had gathered, trying to find out if anybody had seen anything that would be helpful. He didn’t hold out much hope. In this neighborhood, even if somebody saw something, they wouldn’t be that likely to talk. He heard a noise behind him and turned.
“I’m out of here.” Mary pushed on the arms of her chair and started to get up. “I’ve got things to do.”
He wasn’t letting her off the hook that easy. “Sit down,” he instructed. “We’re not done.”
“You can’t tell me what to do,” Mary shouted.