Broken Lullaby
Pamela Tracy

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Patricia Osback—my sister-in-law, a terrific

writer, a dedicated mother and a valued friend—

who took me to the small town that became Broken

Bones in my imagination and spawned three books.

Thank you for answering all my questions. And to

Auralie Stegall—my aunt, a terrific keeper of family

memories—who welcomed me to the family and

introduced me to the Osback history.

CONTENTS

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

ONE

Four days, eight hours, twenty-two minutes.

That’s how long it had been since Mitch Williams pulled the trigger and killed a man.

Two days, five hours, twelve minutes.

That’s how long Mitch had been holed up in the isolated cabin he’d purchased on a whim almost six months ago. Thanks to the locale, he hadn’t had any visitors.

He didn’t want any visitors.

But he had one now.

The whrrr of an engine and the crunch of tires had left the road and headed up Mitch’s drive. He did what he always did when he heard an unexpected noise. He checked to make sure his gun was nearby. Then, he got mad at himself.

He couldn’t remember the last time he hadn’t treated his gun the way he treated his wallet and watch—as items to always have either on his person or nearby. His watch was on his wrist. His wallet was on the nightstand by the bed. His gun? His gun was in Phoenix, tagged as evidence in an officer-involved shooting.

He was the officer. He’d done the shooting.

And now he was on administrative leave that the attorney general, Melody Griffin-Smith, kept referring to as a much needed vacation. Unfortunately, Mitch kept hearing the unspoken word permanent before the spoken word vacation.

He slowly stood, leaving the safety of the all-terrain vehicle he’d been tinkering with. Climbing from an old blue truck was one of the few people who just might be able to cajole him out of his funk. If anyone knew about injustice, it was Eric Santellis. Eric had been born into a major crime family, yet managed to turn into one of the most self-assured, content Christian men Mitch had ever encountered—even after serving years in a penitentiary for a crime he hadn’t committed.

Mitch set down his wrench, wiped grease from his fingers and grinned for the first time in days—four days, eight hours and thirty-six minutes.

“I wondered if you’d be here. I still can’t believe you bought this place!” Eric yelled out.

“And I can’t believe you didn’t stop me.”

“Stop you? I think it’s great. A place in the wild is what you need. Especially now. I heard what happened. Man, I—”

Mitch held up a hand. “I’m not at liberty to talk about it.”

Eric nodded and studied the cabin once again. “So, what have you done to the place so far?”

“Not a thing. I think the old sheriff hired a dump truck to come load everything up and cart it off. There’s nothing left.”

“Good thing. My sister used to complain about what a mess this place was.” Eric checked his watch. “She’s due to arrive any time.”

Mitch raised an eyebrow. “You found Mary?”

Eric nodded. “The private detective called last week. He found her in Florida. I’ve spoken to her twice now.”

“What did you say to her?”

“I told her I’d help her, told her that things were different now, told her both God and I loved her.”

It must have been quite a phone call. Mitch didn’t know Mary Graham personally, but if she were a typical career criminal’s wife, not to mention the typical daughter of a local crime lord, she’d be a woman who didn’t trust anybody easily.

Including her brother Eric or God. “She believed you?”

“She says being on the run isn’t healthy for Justin. He isn’t anywhere long enough to make friends. I’ve already spoken with her caseworker. It won’t be easy, but Mary has a few things on her side.”

Mitch managed to keep his expression neutral. He had no sympathy for wives, husbands, mothers, fathers or even children who helped keep criminals in business and on the street. Yes, Eric had turned out to be different than Mitch had expected, but his sister had two strikes against her: not only was she the daughter of a criminal, but also the wife—correction, widow—of one. To Mitch’s way of thinking, Mary probably enjoyed the roles and money that came with being Yano’s daughter and Eddie’s wife.

“I know what you’re thinking, but I think you are wrong about my sister. I’m asking you as a friend, since your cabin is right next door to where she’ll be staying, to keep an eye on her.” Eric’s eyes bore holes into Mitch. “This might be her only chance to make good. Maybe she turned a blind eye to some things that she shouldn’t have, but remember, she was trained from birth. And even with that type of upraising, she never acted as a messenger or go-between. Not for our father, not for her husband. I think we can prove that she can’t be charged with mafia association or as an accomplice to any of Eddie’s dealings. That will leave just the child-endangerment issue and aggravated assault for the way she clocked Eddie after Justin ended up in the hospital. I think that I’ll be able to get her probation or even a suspended sentence. What do you think?”

“You don’t want to know what I think.”

“You’re too hard, Mitch. Not everyone is like you. Will you come with me to meet her, maybe give her a hand with a few boxes so you two get off on the right foot?”

Mitch nodded, then laughed and shook his head. “She’s going to hate living next door to me.”

Eric laughed. “Got that right. You couldn’t possibly be any more establishment.”

“And proud of it.”

He was proud of it and always had been, ever since the first time he’d read about Eliot Ness and then later watched all the cop shows his mother would allow. And that was before his sister disappeared. After that, he’d known exactly what he wanted to do with his life—find missing people. He’d started as a beat cop, finally worked his way to detective, and segued into Internal Affairs. He found lots of missing people; most of them didn’t want to be found.

He turned his attention back to his friend. “Where’s your wife? She’s a much better-looking officer to hang around with than me.”

Eric sobered. “Ruth would have come, but she’s working on a missing baby.” He pulled a folded piece of paper from his back pocket. “You remember José Santos?”

“Sure, great guy, good cop. He died last year after pulling over a kid who’d stolen a car. Kid had a gun.”

“His family is still having a hard time dealing with it. His sixteen-year-old daughter, Angelina, has a little boy now.”

“So young,” Mitch murmured.

“It’s her baby that’s missing. Sunday she took her son to a festival in town. Somebody snatched him.”

Sunday. Mitch felt prickles up and down his spine. On Sunday, while he was busy shooting a fellow police officer, here in small-town America somebody was stealing a baby. “What do you have there?” Mitch sat down next to Eric and reached for the piece of paper.

“It’s a drawing. Right now we’re calling her a person of interest. She’d approached Angelina at the festival and touched the baby. Angelina thought she was just admiring little José. When José was taken, Angelina thought again.”

The sketch was of a young Hispanic woman, probably no more than eighteen. Her dark hair spilled past her shoulders. Her cheekbones and the lines of her chin were too thin. Her eyes radiated sadness. There was nothing special about her except…

Suddenly, he remembered. Six months ago, an illegal crossing gone wrong near Yuma cost a young man his life. He was shot while trying to cross the border by a crooked border patrol officer.

Mitch had seen a photo of a girl that the dead man carried in his pocket.

Same girl.

Mary Graham winced as the U-Haul bounced over the uneven pavement of the Santellis Used Car Lot. It was all hers now: every broken window, every cracked sidewalk, every shattered dream.

“Justin, we’re here.” She tapped her son’s shoulder and removed one of the earbuds that ran from his ever-present iPod into the sides of his head.

“That’s nice.” Justin shoved the earbud back in. He was still punishing her for picking up their lives and moving yet again.

After three years on the run, she thought it would feel good to come back to Gila City and Broken Bones, Arizona, the place she had grown up—the place she used to call home.

Mary climbed out of the car and looked around.

She should be excited that she and Justin could settle down again in a place with family.

She wasn’t.

Not with her family.

As Mary surveyed the ramshackle car lot, she pictured herself standing in that same spot three years before—the day her estranged husband, Eddie, had been led away in handcuffs and her life in Arizona had ended. From the looks of things, the decades-old family car business had ended that day, too.

The grimace on her son’s face as he joined her broke Mary’s reverie.

“This is it?” Justin, way too discerning for an eleven-year-old, muttered after getting a good look at his mother’s inheritance. “You’re kidding. Dad really used to work here?”

Like something out of a low-budget 1950s horror flick, the one-level main building that rose out of the dusty parking lot was dingy-white, almost gray, with a large bay behind it where cars were once repaired. By the street, an oversized sign still had enough pitiful letters for Mary to make out the words: S-ntel-s Us-d Ca-Lot.

Looking at Justin in this setting from her past made her realize again how much he looked like Eddie, the Eddie she had at one time loved, the Eddie who had broken her trust and her heart. She softly said, “He actually managed the place.”

“When?”

“From the time you were a baby. Your father took over the business two years before you were born and ran it until just a few years ago…”

“You mean until I went in the hospital and he got arrested,” Justin stated quietly as he looked around. “Until we left Phoenix,” he added.

The lot took up a full acre of land in a prime location just off the Interstate. According to the estate executor, the deserted gas station next door was also part of her inheritance.

“Did it look like this when Dad worked here?”

“Oh, no. Your father kept it up.”

And Eddie had. Truthfully, he hadn’t sold many cars, but the place had somehow managed to look like a semisuccessful business, not just a front for her father and brothers’ criminal activities.

Justin tried to look impressed, wanting no doubt to believe he could be proud of something his dad had done. Mary understood; she had felt the same way about her own father once.

As if he could read her mind, Justin asked, “Did Grandpa work here, too?”

The very thought made Mary want to chuckle. Of the great line of Santellises, Yano Santellis had been the most successful of all. Well, if you thought that having a finger in just about every till in Gila City made you a success, that is. Her dad was happy to skim most of the profit from the dirty dealings the used car lot fronted, but seldom got his own hands dirty.

In Mary’s eyes, her father was neither successful nor great. And now the great Yano was a mere shadow of his former self, Alzheimer’s had claimed his mind. Mary finally shook her head in response to Justin. “Grandpa owned it.”

Except that wasn’t true. Mary owned it. And had for some time, according to the will her grandfather left behind. Conveniently, Eddie hadn’t passed that information along. She’d only discovered it when the detective her brother hired had tracked her down a few weeks ago. “Your grandfather was here a lot, but he hired others to actually work it.”

“Dad worked for him?”

“Yes.”

“Will I get to help you fix this place up?” Justin frowned.

“Probably.”

Justin made a face that Mary pretended not to notice. No matter what the lot looked like now, it would be good for him to be part of something that belonged to the two of them, because nothing had belonged to them for a long time. She’d made the decision to go into hiding when Eddie was arrested, knowing she could be charged as an accomplice in whatever crimes he had committed and that Justin might be taken from her if social workers believed that her family connections had put him in danger.

After all, she was Eddie Graham’s wife, even if they had been separated for years. If she had been arrested, too, what would have become of her son? Justin had been hospitalized after swallowing some pills that he had mistaken for candy—pills that Eddie had stashed in the back of his car when he came for a visitation.

On that awful day, Mary never left Justin’s side, not even as she heard the nurse say she was being reported to social services, not when she heard the words protective custody, not when she heard the term aggravated assault and not even when the photographer started snapping pictures right in the hospital room to start the criminal investigation.

Right there in the hospital that day, a tightness gripped her heart as she realized what she’d allowed to happen, what she’d become—way too many years ago. She was as much to blame as Eddie because she knew. She knew!

The only way she could live with herself was to get Justin away from the life she’d always known and to make a change. That meant getting away from not only her husband but also her family. Rather than wait for the fallout, she ran. She’d do anything to keep her son safe and away from the life the rest of her family had chosen.

She and Justin had spent the past three years moving to a new place every time Mary feared someone was watching. He’d heard more “We’ll see” and “Not this time” putoffs than a kid deserved.

He headed toward the abandoned bay. Mary let him go. He was pushing for space and she needed to let him have some. Once again, everything in his life had changed. But this time, they were home. At least, she hoped it could be home again.

“Maybe coming back was a mistake, but I just couldn’t run anymore,” Mary whispered to the wind.

The wind didn’t dispute her; a lone tumbleweed offered no advice.

Justin disappeared around a corner, and Mary wished she could disappear, too. Instead, she stoically marched toward the decaying office building, stuck her key in the knob and turned.

The door still squeaked when you opened it. The floor still had ugly green-speckled tile and sloped a bit. The whole place smelled like dust and neglect. When Eddie managed it, it had smelled like exhaust fumes, cigarette smoke and tension.

At least the tension was gone.

“I’ve made so many mistakes,” she whispered into the stale air. And it sounded like she got an answering moan. Mary stepped back in surprise, then peered into the door of Eddie’s former office.

At first, Mary thought the prone figure wrapped in an aged blanket surrounded by years of grime and neglect was dead. Then, it rolled over and sat up.

Mary screamed.

TWO

The wide-eyed young woman in the blanket struggled to sit up, then fell back and looked ready to cry. Now that her heart had dropped back into her chest, Mary could see she was no more than a girl, a teenager, really, with matted black hair.

“Are you hurt? Do you need me to call someone?” Mary did not need any complications. Not on her first day back to the Gila City and Broken Bones area. She’d wanted to slide in under the radar. A girl in a blanket hiding out in Mary’s abandoned car lot didn’t bode well at all.

The girl responded with a blank stare.

“Are you well enough to move?”

Still no answer. Mary had grown up around some of the best con artists in the world, namely her father, brothers and her late husband, and she knew when someone was playing her. She hadn’t liked the game then; she didn’t like it now. She reached into her purse for her cell phone and said, “I only speak English. What a pity. I guess I’ll have to call the police.”

The girl finally sat up. She hardly weighed anything and her torn and dirty clothing looked two sizes too big. Mary swallowed.

She punched numbers into her cell phone and waited. The girl didn’t have to know that the numbers she’d dialed were only to check her voice mail.

“No, please,” came the response in halting but clear English. “I will leave.”

Mary flipped her phone shut. Truthfully, she was hoping to avoid the police at all cost, but now what was she going to do?

The girl slowly got to her feet, took two steps, stumbled, fell and passed out cold. This was definitely not the new beginning in Arizona Mary had hoped for, but maybe it was the beginning she deserved.

Bending down next to the girl, Mary said gently, “I’m right here.” There was no response. Taking a breath, Mary reached for an arm. The girl was heavier than she looked but Mary was able to drag her into the main room and lay her on the dusty couch. Still, the girl remained unconscious.

“Who are you?” Mary whispered, “And what am I going to do with you?”

The girl still didn’t stir.

Justin chose that moment to stomp in. His unruly hair flopping over his sweaty brow; he stopped at the door. In his hand, he held up what looked like a tailpipe. “I thought I heard a scream. Are you okay, Mom?” When Mary nodded, he threw the pipe back out the door. “This place is a mess. Are you sure we want it?”

“I’m sure.”

“Are we leaving now to meet Uncle Eric?”

“I don’t think Eric is our main concern anymore. But, you’re right. We need to get moving and I need your help.”

Looking suspicious, Justin slowly moved from the door to the desk. Now he could see the girl lying on the rundown couch. “Wow! Who’s she?”

“I don’t know. I found her in the back room and—” Before Mary could say another word, Justin interrupted.

“Is she dead?”

“No!”

Justin looked intrigued. “Are you sure?”

Great. Not only did her kid assume the worst, but he did it in an offhand manner. Shades of her brothers? Too much television? Mary wasn’t sure, but it bothered her. “She’s not dead. She just fainted.”

Justin nodded, managing to look both interested and unfazed.

“Go out to the car and get me a bottled water,” Mary finally said. “And grab something for her to eat.”

The water woke the girl up, the small bag of chips lasted about thirty seconds and the sight of Justin made her cry.

“What did I do?” Justin asked.

“Nothing, she probably just needs a good cry.”

The girl hiccuped and asked, “Are police coming?”

“I didn’t call them,” Mary said.

The girl relaxed a bit and stared at Justin. “Your brother?”

“Oh, I like you!” Mary exclaimed. “No, this is my son.”

“Son?” The girl seemed to draw into herself. This time, when the tears flowed, it didn’t look like they’d stop anytime soon. They certainly showed no sign of ceasing while Justin and Mary finally helped her to her feet and propelled her toward the door and out to the car. She went willingly into the backseat and curled up in a fetal position.

Justin raised his eyebrows, glanced at his mother and shrugged. It was actually refreshing. For the first time in days Justin wasn’t bemoaning the move to Broken Bones, Arizona.

For her part, the girl in the back was busy talking to God in Spanish. Mary figured part of the prayer had to do with the way she backed up the car with the U-Haul attached. The prayer was enough to keep the bud out of Justin’s ear and inspire curious looks that might mean actual conversation.

“What are we going to do with her, Mom?” Justin positioned himself so he could stare at their passenger.

“Take her to the cabin, feed her, clean her up and,” Mary switched to a fake German accent, “ve haf vays to make her tock.”

Justin chuckled and looked back at the girl. She struggled to a sitting position as Justin asked, “Do you have a name?”

“Alma.”

Trust Justin to ask a simple question and get a simple answer. Mary felt relieved. “Well, Alma, now that you’re talking, why don’t you tell us where we can take you? What you were doing at the car lot?”

Alma didn’t answer. Obviously Mary hadn’t mastered asking “simple” questions. “Alma?” Justin said to himself. “I’ve never heard of that name.”

Alma answered in flawless English. “I am named after my grandmother.”

“Are you from Mexico?”

“Yes.”

“When did you move here?”

“Maybe it has been a week.”

Justin was on a roll. “We just got here today. Mom says I’ll get to go to school and play sports. Baseball’s my favor—”

Mary butted in. “Are you homeless? Are you hiding from someone?”

No answer.

“I can help,” Mary said softly.

“Yeah,” Justin agreed. “We’re real good at hiding.”

Alma frowned. “I am hiding. From…No. I’m looking for my husband and—”

“Husband?” Mary interrupted. Yikes! The girl barely looked old enough to be past Barbie dolls and high school pep rallies. “Where is your husband?” Mary asked. “Do you need me to call him?”

“I think he’s dead.” The words were soft and they tore at Mary’s heart because she could hear the sorrow infused in them.

“Oh,” Justin said. “My dad’s dead, too. He died just a few years ago.”

“Leandro has been gone six months.” Alma choked up and then continued, “He was coming here.”

Justin asked the question before Mary could. “What do you mean gone? Is he dead or just missing?”

“He is missing, but I know he is dead or he would come for me.”

“My dad’s really dead.” Just like that Justin bought into the missing equals dead explanation. Well, in their world, at one time, missing meant dead, but not anymore. After all, Mary had mastered the art of “missing” without dying. Her brother Kenny was missing, yet Mary didn’t think of him as dead. She also never brought Kenny’s name up in Justin’s presence because at first, the mention of Kenny’s name made Justin cry.

Mary may wish that Eric would be the favorite uncle, the role model, but in truth, Uncle Kenny had been around when the going got tough. And Justin remembered Kenny as a happy-go-lucky uncle. One who chased him down halls and put together train sets. Justin, fortunately, didn’t know that Kenny did all this with a gun strapped to his ankle. Mary didn’t want Justin to miss Kenny. Justin was too impressionable now.

Alma went back to her original fetal position. The fetal position was a surprisingly good don’t-ask-me-any-more-questions technique that Mary had used herself once or twice. Then, the cabin came into view and Mary slowed. “Home sweet home,” she told Justin, looking at the century-old cabin that had been Eric’s inheritance from their grandfather. But now Eric lived in Gila City with his new wife and family and he was letting them stay here rent-free.

“And you’re sure we’ll have TV?” Justin asked.

“I’m sure. Maybe not today, but by next week for sure.”

Justin sat up and peered out the windshield. “Is the dark-haired guy Uncle Eric? I don’t remember him. He’s not as big as Uncle Kenny.”

No, Eric wasn’t as big as Uncle Kenny. Both Mary and Eric looked more like their mother. They were tall, dark and sinewy. Their older brothers, Sardi, Tony and Kenny, looked like their father. They resembled tall, dark, walking refrigerators. Eric’s friend had good-looking down to an art, but he sure wasn’t dressed for the dirty work of unloading furniture and unpacking boxes.

Both men started walking toward the driver’s side window. The friend’s walk was sure, deliberate. He moved without a smile. There was something about him…“He’s a cop,” Mary muttered.

Alma ducked.

“What are we going to do, Mom?” Justin sat up, half excited, half worried. In the backseat, panic seemed to roll off the girl in waves.

Mary recognized the extreme fear. A lifetime of avoiding police detection came back too easily. “Justin, it’s more like what you are going to do. Jump out, run over, give your Uncle Eric a hug and turn them away from the car. Alma, you slip out when they’re not looking and go hide. You’ll need to hide for quite a while. They’ll be unloading the U-Haul. Take some food and water from the box on the floorboard.”

Justin obeyed, and Mary watched as he approached and the men turned to the side.

Glancing in the backseat and watching as Alma rolled trail mix, chips and bottles of water into her blanket, Mary knew Alma had no intention of coming back.

Being alone for two days must have damaged Mitch’s vocal chords. Yes, that was it. Two days without giving orders, conducting interrogations or heading up meetings had combined to render him speechless. Otherwise, he’d have to admit it was the gorgeous woman stepping out of the car who left him tongue-tied.

Speechlessness wasn’t a comfortable feeling for Mitch, especially over the likes of Mary Santellis-Graham. He could see that she wasn’t nearly as bowled over by him. She had already made him as a cop and he wasn’t surprised by her quick assessment. Mary was a Santellis who’d been on the run for the past three years. Cop and bogeyman were synonymous in her world.

Eric appeared oblivious to the tension between Mitch and his sister and asked, “How was the drive?”

That’s when Mary smiled and his tongue went from tied to gone completely. Mitch hoped he didn’t need to say anything because he couldn’t, even if he tried.

She flipped her long hair over a shoulder and confidently strode toward her brother. The resemblance was uncanny. And both had mastered the art of attitude.

“The drive was fine. Now, why did you bring a cop with you?” Mary spoke the words to Eric but shot the get-off-my-property look at Mitch.

“He’s not a cop, exactly,” Eric said easily. “Mitch Williams is with Internal Affairs, which means unless you’ve done something bad with a cop or because of a cop, you’re safe.”

“My mom doesn’t go near cops,” Justin stated. “Me, neither.”

It was the young boy who helped free Mitch’s tongue. He had the blue-black hair and attitude of the Santellis clan, but from Mitch’s recollection of his run-ins with Eddie, the boy had his father’s stockiness. “So who do you go to when you’re in trouble?” Mitch asked.

“I go to my mom.”

Mitch turned to Mary. “And who do you go to when you’re in trouble?”

She met his gaze head-on. “I distance myself from the problem.”

Mitch almost grinned. He was pretty sure she was thinking he was going to be a problem.

“Hey, hey,” Eric butted in. “What’s going on here? You two, stop it. Sis, Mitch is your nearest neighbor. He lives right up there.”

Mitch watched as Mary warily looked up Prospector’s Way to the only cabin in sight.

Eric didn’t appear to notice her discomfort. “Mary, I came out early because I wanted to scout out the area. I didn’t know Mitch was even at his place. I’ve been filling him in on a case Ruth is investigating, and he’s willing to help.”

“What kind of case?” Mary asked carefully. Her son edged a little closer, looking interested.

Eric continued, “A two-month-old baby boy was kidnapped Sunday in Gila City. We know the family. The local police have done everything they know how to do, but each hour that passes gives whoever took the baby a greater chance of getting away.”

Mary’s eyes softened and she reached out and put her hand on her son’s shoulder, as if checking to making sure he was really next to her, really safe. She was taking care of her own.

There was no one who felt that way about Mitch.

And it was his own fault.

“They already rule out family members?” she asked.

“Yes, pretty much.” Eric said. “The mother’s a sixteen-year-old girl, Angelina Santos. Her father, a police officer, died just a year ago. The father is a fifteen-year-old boy. His family’s taking a little bit more time to warm to the idea of being grandparents, but, hey, they had plans for their son.”

“Sixteen, huh?” Mary said, slowly. “And Hispanic?”

Eric nodded, and Mitch watched Mary’s face. Something was bothering her and it wasn’t just him. Finally, she continued, “And you’re sure neither family is suspect?”

“Absolutely sure,” Eric insisted. “The girl’s family attends our church and when little José was—”

Mary held up her hand for him to stop. “Is the mother way too thin?”

“Too thin? No,” Eric said, “What makes you ask?”

“Mom, don’t!” Justin suddenly jerked away from his mother’s hand and turned to face her. His whole face shouted, don’t trust the cop! Stop talking.

They learned so young, this distrust of the system—a system supposed to help not hurt.

“Mom, Angelina’s the wrong name. Our girl’s Alma. Don’t tell them anything!”

Mary shot her son a look that almost made Mitch want to back down. In the silence of the moment and because years of habit told him just what to do, he pulled a small notebook from his shirt pocket and starting writing down names. “Tell me more about Alma, son,” he urged.

“Should I show—” Eric started to say.

“Not yet,” Mitch said. He wanted to see how the story went both before and after showing the drawing.

Mary glanced at Eric, then began to talk. “We stopped at the car lot on the way here. We were running early and I wanted to see my inheritance. Justin was exploring outside and I started inside. What a mess.”

“Some things did get taken when we were working on your husband’s case,” Mitch said. “We did a full investigation. We have the books and a few other personal items. I’ll see that they’re returned. Now, tell me more about this Alma.”

“I heard a moan and went in Eddie’s office. Even though it was over a hundred degrees, I found a young girl in there rolled up in an old blanket. I thought she was dead, but she moved.” Mary looked at Eric. “Made sense to me. When you moved to Broken Bones you found dead bodies, the same could happen to me. But, she moved. She opened her eyes and looked at me and when I threatened to call the police—”

“Mom would never call the police,” Justin interrupted.

“—she sat up. She was a teenager, Hispanic. She spoke pretty good English. She was also undernourished.”

“Is she still at the car lot?” Mitch asked, looking at Eric’s old truck and wishing he’d brought his own vehicle.

“No, I brought her here. Back at the car lot, she got somewhat hysterical after Justin stomped in.”

“I didn’t mean to scare her,” Justin defended himself.

“You didn’t scare her, honey. She fell apart when I told her you were my son.” Mary looked at Eric. “She looked pretty young, maybe sixteen. She told us her name was Alma. Could she be Angelina?”

“No,” Eric said. “There’s no reason for Angelina to be hiding at the car lot, and I saw her last night. She’s not malnourished.”

“Did this Alma have an infant with her?” Mitch started for the car.

Mary yelled after him. “She’s not in there. And, no, she didn’t have an infant with her. I had Justin divert you guys and she slipped away. I told her to hide until you left, but I’m pretty sure she’s not of a mind to come back.”

Mitch bypassed the car and disappeared behind the cabin.

“Alma?” Eric shook his head. “That name doesn’t ring a bell as one of our missing children or their mamas.” Then, he took off after Mitch. Justin followed behind.

“Missing children?” Mary said, although no one, not even Justin, stuck around to listen. “You mean, there’s more than one?”

THREE

What a homecoming. Standing behind the cabin, Mary watched Mitch as he studied the ground, moving right, then left, careful where he placed his feet. His crisp brown Dockers blended in well with the scenery. He was definitely a sharp-dressed man. A good-looking one, too, even if he was a cop. He glanced back—not at them but at the location of the sun—pulled his cell phone from his belt and motioned for Eric while holding a hand for Justin to stay put.

Eric slowly moved toward Mitch, careful to step where Mitch had stepped. Justin paced at the top of an embankment. Oh boy, her son wanted to go along on the hunt, find Alma, be involved. It was disconcerting to see another adult influence her son’s actions. She’d been handling Justin alone for so long.

And Mitch Williams wasn’t the type of man she wanted to influence her son.

Powerful men worried Mary. Maybe that was why she’d married Eddie. She hadn’t thought of him as powerful. If Mary ever got involved with a man again, she’d try to choose a nice, safe accountant or maybe a barber.

“He’ll be back in a moment.” Eric, already red and sweaty, joined her. “When Mitch gets an idea, sometimes it’s best to let him be.” He reached inside his back pocket. “Here, take a look at this.”

Mary took the police sketch and felt her knees go weak.

“Is that the girl that was at the lot?”

“Yes.”

“No doubt?”

“None. If you knew about Alma, why’d you let me think it was Angelina?”

“We didn’t have a name for this girl. Right now she’s a person of interest. We do know she was at the festival on Sunday, and we do know that for some reason she was fascinated with little José. Sis, you have no idea what a help you’ve been. Now, thanks to you, we have a place to start. I need to call Ruth. She can run the name, and she needs to know Mitch’s involvement in the case. Then I’m guessing she’ll call the Santos boys, see what they think.”

“The Santos boys?”

“Angelina’s brothers, José’s uncles, all cops.”

Mary shook her head. “I can’t imagine Alma has anything to do with the missing children. She’s nothing but a child herself. She acted scared of her own shadow.”

“Fear’s a powerful motivator. You know that.” Eric’s words, so softly spoken, almost put Mary in tears.

“You know,” she said, “you’re starting to sound like a cop.”

“No surprise since I’m married to one.”

Eric handed Mary a key to the cabin before walking to the edge of the driveway. Mary almost lost her breath when she stepped into the living room. It was like traveling back in time a whole decade. She and Eddie had lived in this cabin as newlyweds. She’d been ecstatically content for maybe the first two years of their marriage. Eddie had worked long hours at the used car lot, trying to prove to her father that he could handle it on his own. Occasionally, he’d take a day off and they’d hike or just veg in front of the television. A few times they’d taken day trips.

With Eddie, she’d almost had it all. For two years, two blessed, happy years, she’d loved her husband, loved her life and started to believe bliss was hers. She’d learned to cook, studied antiques, learned to craft and discovered a genuine love of the land. She’d been free to do what she wanted without her family dictating every move.

She still loved those things. Her feelings for her late husband had certainly changed, though. As Eddie got more involved in her family’s dealings and spent more time with her brother Tony, the husband she thought would keep her safe turned into her nightmare.

Tony was not a nice man, and it only took two years for Eddie to become just like Tony.

Mary had not been surprised when the private detective hired by Eric finally tracked her down just a week ago and told her Eddie had died in prison. Her two older brothers had both been executed the moment they walked out of prison.

Mary had been surprised by the private detective’s next words. Not only did Eric want her to come home, but he and Ruth wanted to help her get free of potential charges of child endangerment and assault. With regard to the assault charge, they thought she had nothing to worry about. Even Eddie said he deserved the black eye. And Eric knew and liked the caseworker assigned to Justin and Mary because of the child endangerment issue. He believed she would be receptive to Mary’s situation. Still, it chilled Mary’s heart. She knew the law. Once a report is made, be it by a doctor or police officer, concerning a minor exposed to illegal drugs, an investigation starts and a caseworker is assigned. That’s why Mary ran in the first place.

She walked across the wooden floor to the window and stared out at Justin. She’d show him that honor and respect were traits to believe in. She’d do it the legal way. Her son wandered down the embankment, clearly torn between what he wanted to do and what he thought his mother would allow. Mary knew that with every fiber of his being, her son wanted to be out there, looking for Alma with Mitch.

Not a chance.

“You okay?” Eric stood in the doorway, looking and acting more like a big brother than baby brother.

“I’m fine. So what happened to the baby who’s missing?”

Eric didn’t need much prompting. “It’s the craziest thing. There was some type of Hispanic celebration in town—”

“Gila City?”

“Yes. Angelina was there with her mom and one of her brothers plus his family. Her nephew needed to use the restroom, so Angelina took him. She had little José in a stroller. Manny, that’s the nephew, apparently got upset at being shut in the port-a-potty, so Angelina stepped in for just a moment. When she stepped out the stroller was gone. At first, she thought her older brother was pulling a prank on her.”

Mary’s eyes misted.

“He wasn’t,” Eric growled.

“Do you really think the girl we found might have some connection?”

“Yes, and it’s our first real lead.”

“Our? Man, you sound like a cop.”

“And it feels good. Look, Angelina’s from a great family. Her father was killed just a year ago. In a way, his murder was by the same crowd who killed Ruth’s first husband.”

“I’m so sorry.” The words didn’t seem enough. Mary hadn’t even met Ruth, or Megan, her new niece, yet. She only knew that Eric had met Ruth when the body of Ruth’s first husband had been found here on Eric’s property. Even through those tragic circumstances, her little brother and Ruth had been able to find love. Mary had only spoken with Ruth, who had already given her an “I’ve always wanted a sister” welcome and an invitation to stay with them in Gila City anytime.

She sounded too good to be true. Maybe she was. Ruth was a cop and Santellises didn’t date cops, let alone marry them. What’s more, cops didn’t date Santellises; they arrested them.

And speaking of cops, Mary wasn’t sure she wanted a good-looking, good-hearted cop living so close. “So your Mr. Williams is Internal Affairs. Why is he involved in this case? Do they think a cop has something to do with this missing baby?”

“No, Mitch just heard the story an hour ago when I showed up at his house. I showed him the drawing. It reminded him of a case he was working on.” Eric started to say more, but Mitch entered the room with Justin on his heels.

“She’s gone,” Mitch stated, taking a handkerchief out of his shirt pocket and mopping his forehead. “And it’s more than hot out there.”

“Ruth and three of the Santos boys are on their way.” Eric said. “I showed Mary the sketch. It’s the same girl. Man, I hope this is a lead. Ruth has three names, three Hispanic children taken over the last two years. Three.”

“Three’s a big number,” Mitch agreed.

“And Ruth thinks that number’s low. She thinks more went unreported.”

“Who wouldn’t report their child’s abduction?”

“It goes back to fear, Mary.” Eric’s voice once again went soft and took Mary back in time to the years when they hid in closets to avoid encountering their father on one of his rants.

“We’re talking about adults. Mothers, not children,” Mary argued.

“You called this Alma nothing more than a child. Remember?”

Unfortunately, she did. She remembered the child she’d encouraged to take her offering of trail mix and bottled water and head out into the blistering desert. Mary shook her head. What was she thinking? Sometimes dumb wasn’t a strong enough word to describe how she felt about her actions. “And you think Alma has something to do with all of this? That’s a stretch, isn’t it?”

“I think a Hispanic girl who speaks pretty good English and gets upset at the mention of a son is worth talking to. And, now, I think that a girl willing to hide alone in the Sonoran Desert in the heat of the day just to avoid the cops is worth finding.” Eric looked at Mitch. “What does your gut say?”

“My gut says your wife might have her first lead.”

“You’ll need to give permission to search the used car dealership, too,” Eric said to Mary.

“You have it. What else can I do to help?”

Eric shook his head. “Wait for orders from Ruth. One thing we don’t want to do is leave any stone unturned. The Santos boys have tempers.”

Twenty minutes later Mary’s new home hosted one sister-in-law officer and the baby’s three uncles. More agitated cops, just what Mary needed.

Ruth wasn’t what Mary expected. The female cops she’d encountered were rigid, stern women who seemed to have chips on their shoulders and a need to prove something. Not Ruth. First, Ruth was a good foot shorter than both Eric and Mary. Her red hair was in a braid, but not one so tight that it strained her features. And instead of walking and talking like she needed to assert herself, she took on the role of taskmaster in an even-tempered voice. Without missing a step, she assigned everyone, even Mary and Justin, a task.

Eric and the three Santos boys were assigned Alma. “We need to find her quickly,” Ruth said. “Not just for questioning but before she dies from exposure. It’s not even noon and the temperature’s over a hundred. She’s not in good shape. Mary says she looks malnourished. If we don’t find her soon, she might not be alive.”

Mary felt the familiar sinking feeling of I’ve-messed-up-again. “Maybe I should stay here, help look.”

“No.” Ruth shook her head. “I want you to travel back to Gila City with me, both to the used car lot and to the police station. We’ll retrace every step you made. Maybe we’ll find some clue as to who this girl is and where she’s heading.”

“I’ll be right back,” Mitch said. He’d been the silent observer during Ruth’s take-charge moments. The two obviously had a history of working together.

A grim mask closed over his face as a cell phone appeared in his hand, and he strode from the room without inviting company.

“Will Alma be all right, Mom?” Justin asked. “I can stay here, look for her. She trusts me. I won’t go far.”

“No, you don’t know the area.”

“But she talked to me,” Justin argued. “She likes me.”

“You know,” Eric said. “He’s got a point. If Justin’s with us, Alma might be a bit more inclined to show herself.”

“Justin isn’t acclimated to this heat,” Mary protested. “Plus, we don’t know what or who she’s hiding from. I’m not putting my son in danger!”

“You said she seemed like a runaway, just a child. Is there something you’re not telling us?” Mitch came back in the room. His clipped words settled like ice around her heart.

“I agree with Mary,” Ruth said. “We don’t know what we’re dealing with….”

“I want to look for Alma,” Justin said.

“I’ve told you everything,” Mary snapped at Mitch. Then, she turned to Justin and said, “You’re too young to get involved with this.”

“I’m already involved,” Justin argued.

“I’ll keep him with me,” Eric promised.

Everyone looked at Mary.

“Mom?”

“I—”

“Mom?” Justin spoke firmly, reminding Mary that while at eleven he wasn’t grown up, he wasn’t a baby anymore, either.

“You can start with the shed,” Eric advised. “There’s even a root cellar. Maybe she’s down there.”

“Looked there already,” Mitch said.

“Mom, I really want to do this!”

Returning to Arizona was definitely a mistake. She was already losing control of her son, her emotions, her life.

“You’re not to go out of sight of this cabin and you’re to check in with Uncle Eric every 20 minutes.” Mary glared at Eric. “If anything happens to my son, we don’t need to worry about changing the caseworker’s mind. Got it?”

“Got it.” Eric nodded.

“Yes!” Justin jogged from the room as if he knew right where to go and what to do. Mary walked to the cabin’s door and watched her son start circling the shed, mimicking the Santos brother who walked a few feet ahead of him.

“I’ll keep an eye on him, ma’am,” the brother called out to her.

Ma’am? A cop was calling her ma’am?

“That’s Rico, the youngest Santos brother. He’s a rookie.” Ruth sat on the couch and opened a backpack. She withdrew a blue notebook and started writing. After a page or two, she looked up and said, “Mary, in just a minute we’ll head back to town. Mitch, you want to tag along?”

He nodded and stepped back outside. Mary watched. At first, she thought he’d be reaching for his phone again. Instead he joined Justin and Rico at the shed. They opened the door, stepped inside and disappeared.

Mary looked at her brother, looked at the almost empty cabin and shook her head. “Everything’s changing, again.”

“What do you mean?”

“Did you sell the antiques?” It surprised her how much she wanted, how much she needed, to see them again. Her grandfather’s big, bulky furniture had overpowered the room, dwarfing her grandmother’s old treadle sewing machine and hat rack. Now everything was gone, even the amateurish paintings. Eric obviously hadn’t needed much. The furniture in the room now looked like motel castoffs.

“Antiques?” Eric looked at her. “When I moved in, the place was pretty much empty except for mice.”

Mary circled the room. “There was an armoire here. I remember Eddie got mad because it was so heavy, we couldn’t move it.” She turned to the next wall. “An antique gun cabinet hung there. Eddie loved it. Go figure. Upstairs there was a four-poster bed, scratched up but with plenty of charm. And,” suddenly her eyes darkened, “there was a dining room table here by the front window. I used to sit at it and piece together baby quilts while I was pregnant with Justin. I must have made twenty. I’d work in the evening and watch the sun set.”

“None of that was here when I arrived,” Eric said.

When they’d moved, Mary had only taken what was theirs. She’d carefully covered everything else. A quick tour of the rest of the house, upstairs and down, showed that the other rooms had also been stripped.

They returned to the main room and Mary asked, “What was here when you moved in?”

“Dirt and mice.”

Mary looked around. “Where’d this furniture come from?”

“We hit a few garage sales last week and found a few things.” He glanced over at his wife. “Ruth really doesn’t like spending time here.”

Mary felt a little more understanding. Ruth probably never would attend a family gathering at this cabin. Her first husband’s body had been discovered a year ago, in the shed, by Eric. Hard to shake a memory like that. To give her credit, this morning Ruth hadn’t even blinked at being here. The need to find the missing children had proved more important than personal discomfort.

Mitch returned and sat down on the couch. Justin, who was now following Mitch for some reason, plopped down next to him. A cloud of dust enveloped them both, but only Justin coughed.

Mary walked closer and peered down. In the world’s smallest, neatest handwriting, Ruth created a timeline starting with Mary’s arrival at the car lot this morning, continuing with Mary’s decision to allow Alma to escape and ending with the search of the cabin and surrounding area.

“I went to the lawyer’s office before the used car lot. We ate at a fast food restaurant. I bought a coffee at a convenience store. Do you want to add all that? Would you like to know where we threw our trash, where we used the facilities? Where we spit out our used chewing gum? Where we—”

“No,” Ruth said before Mary could work up the energy for a full-fledged rant.

Well, Ruth deserved one because it hadn’t escaped Mary’s notice that her name was prominent in Ruth’s notes. Once again, through no fault of her own, she was involved in a situation beyond her control.

And once again, she’d put Justin at risk.

FOUR

“Looks like you’re stuck with me.” Mitch stood next to Mary on the front porch and watched Ruth’s cruiser disappear.

Mary didn’t looked pleased. “I wonder what’s happening.”

“Probably something with the kidnapping. Look, I’m going to run to my cabin, grab some stuff, then I’ll come back down and take you to the car lot. I’m going anyway, and it will take some time to unhitch your U-Haul.”

When they could no longer see the dust from the cruiser, Mary turned to face the shed and murmured a half-hearted, “Okay.”

He hurried, making it up the path to his cabin in just a few minutes. He grabbed his car keys and the folder that had had Alma’s picture in it, and rushed out the door to his car. Arriving back at Eric’s cabin, he tried not to appear rushed. It didn’t matter. No one noticed. Mary was at the shed door issuing dire warnings to Justin about what he could and could not do while she was gone.

Then, Mary turned and issued dire warnings to Eric. The best part? Eric soon had the same deer-in-the-headlight look Justin had.

What a woman.

When Mitch helped Mary into the car he figured driving her was a win-win-win situation. One, he got to sit next to a beautiful woman. And maybe he’d be able to shake his tongue-tied schoolboy feelings. Two, witnesses often remembered more details when in a relaxed environment like a car. The girl Mary called Alma might be more than a lead in the missing baby case. She might also be a missing piece from Mitch’s previous case, and he hated loose ends. Three, he was getting away from the cabin, away from his melancholy musings, away from feeling useless. In truth, being on the fringe of a case was better than having no case at all.

Still, far from opening up, Mary sat beside him in silence as they drove back toward Gila City. The most she’d said was something about hoping that everything went well because if it didn’t, she and her son would be sleeping on mattresses tonight since nothing would get unpacked before dark.

He recognized the bluster. She was worried about Justin, worried about Alma, mad at herself for sending the girl into the desert.

“They’ll find her. Quit worrying,” he advised.

“I’m mad at myself,” she said after a few minutes. “It’s just second nature to do any and all things to avoid the police. I wasn’t even thinking when I told that girl to scoot.” Her voice softened. “I wasn’t thinking that I was sending her into a desert with three-digit temperatures during a typical Arizona summer. Wrong, so wrong.”

“They’ll find her,” Mitch repeated. He wanted to believe it, too. The look she shot him said she knew the odds.

“She’s just a kid,” Mary muttered.

He nodded as the car bumped down Prospector’s Way. Finally, the gravel turned to pavement and they left Broken Bones behind and entered a two-lane highway. Mary elegantly crossed her legs at the ankles, looked out the window and didn’t say another word for miles. He so often dealt with uncomfortable silences. This silence actually felt good. It wasn’t the silence of a criminal with a cop but of a woman who’d made a bad decision and now intended to fix it. Not uncomfortable, just unfortunate. Finally, as if she’d reached some sort of impasse, she turned so she faced him instead of the window and asked, “New car?”

“I’ve had it five years.”

“Just drive it to church on Sundays?”

He laughed. He’d often been teased by the guys in the field about how sterile he kept his Taurus. Somehow the gibes never struck him as funny before. “No, I just tend to keep it clean.”

“Don’t cart kids around much,” Mary guessed.

“No, I don’t really know many kids.”

“You managed to bond with mine.”

“Justin and I had a mutual interest: finding Alma.”

Mary again looked out the window and finally muttered, “That girl kept up a running dialogue with God the whole time she was in my car.”

“Sounds like someone else I know,” Mitch said.

“Who?”

“Your brother.”

“My brother’s lost it.” Her tone belied the words.

Mitch understood the feeling. God was a little too abstract for his concrete way of thinking, yet his two best friends—Eric and Sam, both intelligent, savvy men—put all their faith in God. And it didn’t seem fake or hypocritical or simplistic. Their faith was part of their everyday lives in a way that made Mitch partly uncomfortable, partly envious. But logic told him it was crazy to believe in something he couldn’t see.

He needed tangible evidence: a fingerprint, a DNA sample, a bullet casing, an eyewitness, something.

“How long have you known my brother?” Mary’s words saved him from further self debate.

“I testified on his behalf almost a year and a half ago when he was cleared of murder charges. Then, I met him again last August when he found the bodies in the shed.”

“They called you to investigate?”

“Yes and no. Ruth’s partner, Sam Packard, and I have been friends for a long time. When it looked like his wife might be a suspect, he called in a marker.”

“Funny,” Mary said. “You cops have the same honor system the criminals have. Eddie was always paying off markers. Unfortunately, he seldom garnered any.”

“In my line of work, it’s easy to see how the two worlds, good versus evil, are merely inches apart.” If Mitch’s implication that Eddie was evil had any effect on Eddie’s widow, he couldn’t see it.

Mary turned to face him, this time all interest and poise. “If you’re Internal Affairs, how do you explain all your involvement in cases that don’t involve cops?”

“You don’t know about your brother’s case?”

“Sure, I know about Eric and the dirty cop that got him in trouble. It was in all the papers. But how can you justify your involvement with the bodies he found in his shed?”

Mitch smiled. “You didn’t study much about Broken Bones before you moved here, did you?”

“Didn’t need to. I lived here ten years ago. Not much has changed.”

“Who was the sheriff then?”

“Rich Mallory. Eddie didn’t think much of him, but then again the sheriff left Eddie alone. I always thought the sheriff worried about Eddie’s connection with my family.”

“More like the sheriff was worried about the fact that his brother Benjamin worked for Eddie who worked directly for and with the Santellises.” He glanced over to find her studying the scenery. Scenery that hadn’t changed in the past hundred years. Once he realized she didn’t intend to respond or react, he continued, “It was easy to justify my involvement since the sheriff’s brother was involved and the sheriff knew it and had contaminated a crime scene involving a dead cop. Benny’s in jail now. The sheriff resigned and moved. As for this case,” Mitch continued, “I’m not involved. When your brother showed up this morning, I knew nothing about the missing babies, still don’t. But I might know something about Alma.”

Without dropping speed, minutely swerving or even taking his eyes off the road, he reached for his back pocket, pulled out a wallet and, with one hand, extracted a white piece of paper.

Mary took it and unfolded it.

“Eric and I agree that’s your girl.”

The white piece of paper this time was not a police sketch. This time, Mary peered at a real photo of Alma. A picture of a definitely pregnant Alma.

Impossible. No way did Mary miss seeing a baby. There hadn’t been one at the used car lot; Alma didn’t hide one during the ride to Broken Bones.

“Where’d you get this picture?”

“Case I worked six months ago. We had a crooked border patrol officer. He was arresting his quota of illegals, but he was also working with a coyote, someone who takes money from illegal aliens to help them get across the border undetected. We finally nailed him. During the skirmish, the coyote got off a few shots. Two illegals were killed. One had this photo in his back pocket.”

“That must be what happened to Leandro then,” Mary said softly. “Alma said she thought her husband was dead.”

Mitch glared at her. “Leandro? You have a name? How about a last name?”

“No last name. But, yes, Alma mentioned a missing husband. She said Leandro crossed six months ago and that if he were still alive he’d have come for her. You mean nobody knew his name?”

“The guy who shot him probably knew,” Mitch said bitterly. “He got away.”

“What about your border patrol guy? Did he—”

“He’s in prison and no matter what we throw at him, he’s keeping his mouth shut.”

Mitch took out his phone, paused, and hit a button. After a moment, heard him repeat the information about Leandro. Then, she heard Mitch’s vehement promise not to get involved. She doubted he was a man who squirmed often, but after a few moments of listening to whoever was reprimanding him, Mitch started squirming. Finally, he growled a goodbye and hung up.

Mary didn’t ask any questions. She knew how to keep her mouth shut. She’d grown up with a mother who practiced a the-less-you-know, the-longer-you’ll-live theory. Mary was a bright child. She had learned that lesson well and, as a result, might live to see the ripe old age of forty.

Her mother hadn’t.

Her older brothers hadn’t.

And what about Kenny, the youngest Santellis? He’d be just thirty this year. She wondered if he had celebrated alone. Despite the fact that she knew Kenny was just as involved in a life of crime as her older brothers had been she still had a soft spot for the little boy she used to take care of, whose diapers she’d changed, who’d followed her around and took her stuff while shouting, “Mine!”

He hadn’t matured into a kind man, thanks to the influence of Tony and Sardi, but he’d always been good to her and Justin. He had even lived with them in Phoenix after she separated from Eddie. Then she had decided to disappear. Evidently Kenny had, too.

It would be a double-edged sword, finding Kenny. On one hand, she’d know he was safe. On the other hand, Justin was now old enough to understand what Kenny really was. Justin looking up to Mitch didn’t look nearly as bad when she pictured her son looking up to Kenny.

Eric was the only brother who escaped the life of organized crime. Maybe if she could change, come home, so could Kenny someday. When this mess with Alma ended, she’d remind Eric how diligently he’d worked to find her. She’d suggest they do the same for Kenny.

Mitch drove silently for a few minutes, the expression on his face changing so often she knew he was at war with himself. Finally, he muttered, “You’ll hear soon enough. Small towns seldom keep secrets. I’m on administrative leave, which is why I’m at the cabin. On Sunday I was involved in a shooting. I killed a fellow officer. Until the investigation is over, I’m supposed to abstain from duty.”

“That will be tough,” Mary sympathized. No doubt being inactive was the one thing Mitch Williams wasn’t good at. Then, she had another thought. “So that’s why you let the Santos brothers continue the search for Alma and got stuck with me.”

“I don’t consider myself stuck,” Mitch said, and something crackled to life between them.

Mary sat up straighter, uncomfortable now and wondering why. She cleared her throat and said, “Did whoever you were talking to have any ideas about Alma’s baby?”

“None.” Mitch hit the steering wheel.

Mary smiled. Her brother Eric hit his steering wheel a lot, too. It was a good habit; steering wheels never cried, never bruised.

Never wished they could hit back.

The used car lot hadn’t improved during the hours she’d been gone. The wind and the tumbleweed were long gone. The drab buildings remained. Two police cars looked right at home in the parking lot.

“So all this is yours?” Mitch said as they pulled into the parking lot.

“Lock, stock and barrel.”

He turned the car off but made no move to exit. He looked at her. “Have much experience with selling used cars? Did you help Eddie with the books or anything?”

“No experience and no intention of selling used cars. I met with the lawyer yesterday. The car lot’s actually been mine for quite a while, something Eddie and my family neglected to tell me. Surprise, surprise, the gas station’s mine, too. Also, my grandfather included an interesting stipulation in his will. If I keep the place a car lot, I’m on my own with it. If I change it into something else, I get additional money to turn it into any kind of business I want.”

“That’s an odd stipulation. I don’t remember Eric saying anything about any stipulation for him when he inherited the cabin.”

“I think Grandfather figured if he added a stipulation, Eric would just say no thanks and turn his back on it. Plus, it’s a great cabin. No need to make changes. It’s perfect the way it is.”

Well, that wasn’t true, but it had been perfect at one time. And Mary wondered if Eric hadn’t gotten rid of the antiques, who had.

“Did anyone else get stipulations?”

Mary thought back. “I read the will. My older brothers were left money, not things. Their families are taken care of for life. And Kenny—”

“The baby,” Mitch remembered.

“Kenny inherited land, a ghost town actually. I don’t remember a stipulation for him, either. I remember my father saying Grandfather always thought Kenny was useless and so left him something useless.”

“There’s no better investment than land,” Mitch said.

“Yeah, but according to the lawyer, this land’s pretty worthless. Just lots of old, broken-down buildings in the middle of nowhere. No roads near it and no water.”

“You know, Eric inherited a broken-down cabin, which he fixed up. You’ve inherited two buildings that are in a prime location. You could really make a go of something here.”

“I don’t have to make any decisions today.” Mary chewed a fingernail. Mitch Williams probably didn’t realize just how scared she was about meeting the caseworker, about the chance that Justin could be taken away from her while she served a jail term. How could she think of a new business when Justin was the only future she cared about? Mary swallowed hard and tried not to let her fears show. Mitch climbed out of the car, came around and opened her door.

Side by side, they entered the main building, to find Ruth sitting at the dusty desk adding words to her notebook and talking on her cell. The door to Eddie’s office was open and another cop stood inside. He turned when Mitch entered the main room.

The officer grinned boyishly and said, “Hey, long time no see.”

Mitch grinned back, shook the officer’s hand and turned to Mary. “This is Sam Packard, Ruth’s partner. If I remember correctly, Mary, you hung around with Sam’s wife, Rosa, when you were young.”

Next to reuniting with Eric, Mary was most excited about hooking up with Rosa again. They’d gone to Catholic school together, ridden bikes, sat at the same lunch table and dreamed lots of schoolgirl dreams. Mary lost her best friend after Tony got Rosa’s older brother hooked on the drugs that eventually killed him. Rosa’s family moved and Mary’s world got smaller, emptier.

Sam smiled. “You must be Mary Graham. Rosa’s gonna be more than annoyed that I got to see you first. She’s stuck at the house with our son, Jimmy.”

Sam said “stuck” like part of him would trade places with his wife in a heartbeat.

Mary immediately liked him. “I’m looking forward to seeing her again and your new son. I don’t know why everyone gushes about girls. Boy babies are much better.”

“Not!” Ruth called, still on the phone and without looking up.

Unfortunately, it was not the time for chitchat. Mitch mentioned the possibility that Alma had a child with her and Sam frowned. “Two plainclothes officers and I have been here for about twenty minutes. We haven’t found anything that looks connected to our girl so far.”

They began going over every move Mary had made when she found Alma.

“How long has this place been in your family?” Mitch asked.

“Decades, but it wasn’t always a used car lot. At first it was a garage that evolved into selling cars.”

Yesterday morning, Mary and Justin had sat for an hour waiting for the lawyer to finally see them. He’d graciously had his secretary hand her a folder containing her inheritance information. She and Justin had gone over every word. They knew more about the car lot than Eddie probably ever had.

“Was your grandfather crooked? Did he start the chop shop?” Sam asked.

“Yes, he was crooked. Whether or not he started the chop shop, I’m not sure. He died when I was little.”

Mitch studied the top of the desk. Then, after getting gloves from Sam, he opened and closed the drawers. “Nothing.”

Mary took off for the back room, Eddie’s office. It was crowded with stuff. File cabinets took up one wall. Three full trash cans lay against each other. Green garbage bags, loaded with stuff, mostly paper, leaned against them. Sam put on a pair of gloves and bent down to where Alma had been lying.

“This place is a fire waiting to happen,” Mitch muttered.

“Might be a blessing,” Sam said.

Mary shook her head. “In 1953, when this was built, they made things to last. This place has potential.” She moved toward Sam. “We took the blanket with us that Alma was using. It seemed she needed it for security. I’m not sure if it was already here in the room when she arrived or if she brought it with her. It was brown, black and tan striped. You can find them for under ten dollars at just about any tourist trap.”

“Is the blanket still in your car?” Mitch asked.

“No, she rolled up food and stuff in it before slipping away.”

“Too bad.” Sam kicked at something on the ground. Then he stopped. He took a pair of gloves from his back pocket, and then carefully, almost in slow motion, bent down and extracted something from behind a clump of dirty towels. “Seems our girl likes blankets.”

“What do you mean?”

The tiny blanket Sam held up said it all. It was light blue flannel with Winnie the Pooh on it, exactly the kind of receiving blanket a mother would wrap her newborn son in.

FIVE

Mary leaned her head back against the police station wall and stared at Rico Santos. Between telephone calls, dinner and leaving his desk constantly, he’d already asked her the same questions five or six times. She was determined to cooperate fully with the police. Then maybe they’d believe she had nothing to hide and her worries over her own charges could be put to rest.

Besides, Alma’s life was on the line.

Mary checked her watch. Ten. If she’d been allowed to return to the cabin, she’d be unpacked and settling into bed for a well-deserved sleep. Instead, she was now at the police station going over her story again and watching as the officers laid out the evidence they had so far, piece by piece. Where was Alma? Why hadn’t they found her? According to Eric, the search had been hot, hot, hot and fruitless.

Justin was worried about Alma, too, Eric had told her. He had dropped her son off at his house to meet his cousin Megan and stay with Eric’s mother-in-law until Mary was finished. Mary rubbed her eyes wearily. She hoped that would be soon.

Mitch sat beside Ruth, carefully reading her notes and making hushed, lengthy phone calls. Once, he glanced over at Mary and she felt something electric pass between them again. She shook it off, focusing on the question Rico had just asked her. Rico, who was leaning forward, hands on the table, just like a cop in a movie.

If Rico was uncomfortable interrogating not only a Santellis, but the sister-in-law of one of Gila City’s own, he didn’t show it. All he saw, Mary figured, was the woman who’d let their only lead escape into the desert. Mary wondered if Ruth thought the same.

Rico said stiffly, “Mrs. Graham, do you have a history of violence?”

“One time. I took care of my son. That’s what I did.” Mary fought to control her temper. This officer was dealing with a missing nephew. She understood that. But three years ago, Justin had overdosed and it was all Eddie’s fault. When she’d realized just what Justin had gotten into, what Eddie had in the back of his car, she’d lost it.

“You gave your husband a black eye.”

“We were separated. I didn’t think of him as my husband. And he deserved more than a black eye. He put our son in danger, in the hospital, because of his illegal dealings.”

Ruth, Mitch and Eric sat down in front of Ruth’s desk and began quietly conferring while Mary said, “Eric thinks the judge will waive the warrant, and yes, I know I face a felony. I came back willingly. You have the name of the investigator—”

Eric looked over as if willing to be involved in the conversation. Rico ignored him.

“—assigned to my case. He is aware that I’ve returned to Arizona. I already have an appointment to meet with him next week.” She didn’t provide more details. They didn’t apply to the search for Alma or the missing baby. Mary had plenty of hope on her side. During the last three years she’d been reading up on just what she might be charged with.

Bad: Her husband dealt in drugs, and she knew it.

Good: Eddie didn’t live with them, hadn’t since Justin was two. Yes, they were still married—Mary didn’t believe in divorce—but except for expenses, they shared nothing.

Good: The letter of the law, when it came to the child endangerment charge, had more to do with long-term exposure to places like methamphetamine laboratories. She didn’t even allow drugs in her home; she didn’t allow drugs on the person of anyone entering her home; and she hadn’t known Eddie was so stupid. It wasn’t that Eddie was so stupid as to stash drugs in the backset of his car. No. He had lollipops and baby pacifiers back there, which of course caught Justin’s interest. And, in the search for just the right flavored lollypop, Justin found a single pill, which he thought was candy.

That’s all it took.

A single Ecstasy pill.

A few hours later, Justin wound up in the hospital.

“Ma’am?”

Mary started. It was late; she was tired; the memories were starting to suffocate her.

Officer Santos continued. “The investigator assigned to your case would probably look favorably on the fact that you’ve cooperated with local authorities concerning Alma…what did you say her last name was?”

“I didn’t say because I don’t know.”

Finally, Rico seemed satisfied that he had gotten all he could out of her. He joined Ruth, Eric and Mitch as they analyzed and rehashed the case. Rico’s brothers arrived and joined them, too.

Mary looked at Mitch. He was back to being all business. Cop business. Maybe she’d imagined the earlier smile. He was impressive when working a case. During questioning, Mitch politely let Ruth take the lead, then when she wound down, he’d start up. He asked questions about the babies taken, where they were taken from, their ages, their gender, their ethnicity and who’d been questioned. He took them back to the beginning and, judging by the looks on the Santos boys’ faces, he’d taken them to a beginning they didn’t know enough about.

He was nothing if not thorough, and Mary grudgingly respected him for that. He asked more questions than anyone else. He also brought everyone back to the solid evidence.

As the alpha males postured—Mitch, Eric and the Santos brothers—Ruth put every word in that notebook of hers. Soon it was midnight. Ruth finally shut her notebook, closed down her computer and stood. “Anything else we need, Rico, we can get in the morning. We’ve scheduled the search to begin again at six. The sheriff’s posse is bringing in men and horses. Mary will be staying at my house. I take full responsibility.”

A few minutes later, Mary sat beside Eric in his truck. He looked at her and said, “Not quite the homecoming you expected, huh?”

Her thoughts tumbled as she leaned her head tiredly against the window and yawned. “Not quite the homecoming I expected, little brother. In fact, it’s exactly the kind I was hoping to avoid.”

“I know you feel like things are out of your control, Sis, but I can promise you that God is in control. Giving my life to Him turned my life around, and I know He has a plan for you,” Eric advised.

Mary didn’t respond. She would like to believe that, she really would. It’s just that it didn’t seem like God had been on her side for a very long time now.

Or maybe the problem was that she hadn’t been on His.

Mary woke the next morning when the bright Arizona sun cast an unwelcome beacon into the bedroom. Stretching, she felt a moment’s surprise when her toes hit the twin bed footboard. She was sleeping in Megan’s room at Eric and Ruth’s house, Megan was in her parents’ room and Justin had the couch.

For a brief moment, Mary almost felt safe. She felt good, which made her want to cry. Because almost wasn’t good enough, not for her and certainly not for her son.

She rolled from the bed and stretched before jogging in place. A few toy horses on the floor collapsed from the vibrations—or was it laughter? Mary got down on her hands and knees and righted the horses. Their tangled multicolored manes and crayoned sides proved that they were more than just props; they were loved. Megan must have more than a hundred. If they kept reproducing, her brother would need a bigger house or at least a bigger bedroom.

When they got to Eric’s house last night, she could see the warmth and love in this house. Family pictures lined the walls, two cats arched a welcome just inside the door and a wildly-colored crocheted afghan was thrown over Justin on the couch.

It was nothing like the home they’d grown up in.

Mary loved it.

Once the horses on the floor returned to an upright position, she grabbed her clothes from on top of a white dresser and managed to knock over six of the horses that made a home there. She left them on the floor. At the rate she was going, it would be noon before she could get the corral back in place. On top of everything else, putting on the same clothes as yesterday made her cranky.

Yuck, she’d spent hours in the car in these clothes, explored both a dusty business and a dusty cabin and sat for hours in a police station. Maybe she’d burn the clothes when she finally got back home.

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