Search And Seizure

“Rodriguez.”

“A.J.” Dwight hadn’t even considered the time, but the sleepy sound of a woman’s voice in the background reminded him. “Damn.” Dwight planted his feet and filled his deep barrel chest with a cleansing breath as he gathered his wits about him. “Sorry to call so late. I didn’t mean to wake you or your wife, but I need a detective’s expertise.”

A subtle rustle of movement told Dwight that A.J. was moving out of bed.

“The ADA doesn’t call at twelve-thirty in the morning unless there’s a problem. What’s up?”

“I’m at the office.”

“You work too much, amigo.”

“I wish this was about work. It might be. I came in to check messages and… Hell, I don’t know. I’ve probably already compromised the crime scene.”

“Crime scene?” The sudden gravity of A.J.’s voice was drowned out by the renewed fussing of the infant two rooms away. “Is that a baby? Madre dios. What’s going on?”

Dwight turned and walked away again. “You once said that you owed me one after helping you and Claire take care of that incident at Winthrop Enterprises last year.”

“I meant that. Most of KCPD owes you a favor, counselor.” A.J.’s hushed voice was insistent now. “Tell me what you need.”

“I need to call in that favor.”

“YOU WENT DOWN to No-Man’s-Land on your own?”

Maddie glared across the desk at the bald man who sounded more like one of her high-school students than a badge-wearing, gun-toting detective. How many times was he going to ask that same question? “Yes.”

“At night?”

“Yes. I was there last night.”

“Are you crazy?”

The detective, who looked almost ten years younger than her thirty-six, wasn’t bald so much as he’d shaved his head. And he wasn’t impressed by the temerity of her forays in the night so much as he seemed to think she was totally bonkers for taking it upon herself to help the only family she had left.

“I’m desperate, Detective Bellamy. Katie’s only seventeen. I’m supposed to be raising her and protecting her.”

“From what?”

From monsters like the man who killed Katie’s mother. From users like Zero. From a world that overlooked a woman who was shy and sensible and took advantage of a girl who was vulnerable and afraid.

“I need to protect her from whatever made her run away in the first place.”

Cooper Bellamy nodded and thumbed through the papers in his file. It was pitifully thin, considering she’d first reported Katie’s disappearance a month ago. “Let’s see. You said there was no inciting incident that prompted her to run away—no breakup, no family squabble, no change in location?”

“No. None of that.” For four years now, Maddie had done everything she could think of to provide Katie with a stable, secure home life. “She’s a normal, healthy teenager.”

“Except for the pregnancy?”

Maddie kneaded her purse in her lap, feeling the stirrings of the temper she worked so hard to keep in check. “Katie was fine with the baby. I was fine. She and the father amicably parted—he didn’t want any responsibilities to ruin his opportunity to attend Stanford, and she didn’t want a father who wasn’t interested in the baby.”

He flipped another page in the file. “Do you think she could be trying to reach her own father?”

Joe Rinaldi. The sickness that infected Maddie’s and Katie’s lives—shadowing every memory, coloring every decision.

Trust me, sweetheart. The only time I’ll send you flowers is for your funeral. He’d sent a dozen roses to the house just after Maddie’s sister, Karen, and Katie had moved in. The roses had arrived the day before Karen had disappeared from work. Two days before Maddie had been called to the morgue to claim her sister’s mutilated body.

But that was four years ago. Karen had been his obsession, his daughter little more than an afterthought. Katie had been an innocent bystander trapped in the nightmare.

But that nightmare had nothing to do with this one, right?

Maddie steeled her voice against the inevitable guilt, fear and loathing she associated with mention of her ex-brother-in-law’s name. “Joe’s in prison, serving a life sentence. He’s not a part of Katie’s life anymore. He’s not a part of our life,” she enunciated, as if saying it could make her believe it. “Joe Rinaldi couldn’t have had anything to do with Katie’s disappearance.”

“You’d be surprised what a man can accomplish from inside a prison cell if he’s determined enough.”

Hadn’t Joe made a similar promise to her on that last day of sentencing in the courtroom? A private little aside for her ears alone before the bailiff led him away?

I’ll find a way to get to you, bitch. Tellin’ those lies about me. You’re just jealous I married Karen instead of you. You turned her against me. Don’t think no jail cell is gonna keep me from giving you what you deserve.

But someone else had heard the threat that day. The prosecuting attorney, Dwight Powers. A cold, unflappable man who’d done the one thing no other man had ever done before or since in Maddie’s life—he’d saved the day. Defended her honor. Got in Joe’s face and told him, in no uncertain terms, that he would be watching every move Joe made. And if he did one little thing to challenge the verdict or violate the sentencing he’d worked so hard to obtain…

“Ms. McCallister?”

There were no heroes in Maddie’s life to save the day now. She pressed her back into the vinyl chair, sitting up as straight and tall as five feet five inches would allow. She had to fight her own battles. She had to be the hero Katie could count on.

Weary from a night without sleep, Maddie wished she’d taken the time to do more than shower and throw on some lipstick and jeans. Maybe a power suit. She should have at least put her hair up in one of those sensible buns that made grown men and the high-school students in her English class take her more seriously.

She tucked one brash-colored strand of hair behind her ear and put on her best schoolteacher voice. “I don’t think Joe has anything to do with Katie’s disappearance. I’m more interested in what that man named Zero told me last night.”

The detective stopped shuffling his papers. “Zero? Hefty black guy? Lots of jewelry?”

Maddie nodded. “I’m sure he’s a pimp. I was talking to one of his girls first, a woman named—”

“KCPD is well aware of who Zero Chambers is. You don’t have any business messing with him.”

“Yes, well—” she breathed deeply to ignore the memory of his hands and body rubbing against hers “—he mentioned something about a clinic. One where pregnant women go to sell their babies. I guess it’s more profitable than giving the child up for adoption.”

“Wait a minute. Go back.” Cooper touched his fingers to the back of Maddie’s hand, where she still clutched her purse in her lap. “Zero knows about a clinic where they’re buying babies?”

Isn’t that what she’d just said? “Is Zero—this Mr. Chambers—reliable? He talked as if it were something he’d considered investing in.” Maddie pulled her hand away, embarrassed that she wasn’t a better judge of men. “Maybe he just made it up. I’m sure he was trying to shock me.”

Instead of another lecture on the foolhardiness of conducting her own private investigation, Cooper Bellamy was suddenly, intensely interested in everything she had to say. “If there’s word on the street, Zero would know about it.” He pulled out his pen and notepad and turned to a fresh page. “Now tell me again exactly what he said about this clinic.”

Hoping that she’d finally provided a lead in the search for Katie while praying that a place that bought and sold babies couldn’t really exist, Maddie carefully related the details of her encounter with Zero—minus the touchy-feely, groping part. “I can’t imagine anyone doing something so awful—taking advantage of the most vulnerable people in our society—and not hearing about it on the news.”

Detective Bellamy raised his dark eyes from his notes and looked at her as if he thought she was simpleminded. “It’s not something they want to advertise, Ms. McCallister. Those babies are for sale. They want to keep their operation way under the radar so that it doesn’t generate any press. They have to be sidestepping a bunch of legalities—medical licenses, government inspections, forged documentation, taxes.”

“Who’d want to buy a baby?”

“Wanna-be parents who can’t or don’t want to conceive themselves. Couples who’ve gotten stuck for years in the legal-adoption process or who don’t qualify for some reason. If they can meet the asking price, Junior can be theirs.” He pulled up something on his computer and scrolled down the screen.

“KCPD suspected something like this was going on.” He spared her a glance from his furtive work. “Six months ago, we had an eighteen-year-old show up in rehab. The girl’s parents claimed she’d been pregnant before disappearing on a meth binge. The girl wasn’t pregnant when she surfaced again, and she had no recollection of the baby’s whereabouts or even having been pregnant.”

“Katie isn’t a drug addict. If that girl you mentioned was a meth user, then her baby might have—” it was tragic to even suggest the possibility “—died. Katie wouldn’t take drugs, drink or smoke anything that could harm a fetus.”

Bellamy nodded, but Maddie had a feeling the detective’s interest in her search had moved way beyond Katie. “We had another vic, unidentified, show up two months back who, according to the medical examiner, had recently gone through a healthy delivery. The mother was dead, but there was no sign of the baby—alive or dead. It matches a case in St. Louis. We haven’t had any leads—”

“Dead? The mother was dead?”

The idea that anyone would treat an innocent baby like a commodity didn’t stun her as much as the expression on the detective’s face that said Zero’s story could be true.

Maddie felt the blood draining to her toes, leaving her light-headed and sick to her stomach. “Katie doesn’t want to give up her baby. She picked out names. We decorated the nursery together. We’re not rich, but we’re not hurting for money, either. She wouldn’t get involved in something like that. Not if she had a choice.”

But Cooper wasn’t listening now. He was on his feet, glancing through the deserted rows of paired-off desks and cubicle walls that filled the Fourth Precinct’s Detectives Division.

Katie wouldn’t sell her baby. Where would she meet such people? Why?

For the first time in twenty-nine days, Maddie hoped that Katie was just another teenage runaway.

The blood of determination started pumping through her veins again. Maddie braced her hand against the desk and rose to her feet. “Katie’s in more trouble than I thought, isn’t she? She might already be dead.”

Cooper’s own color blanched, as if he just now realized how many gruesome details he’d shared. “I’m sorry, ma’am. I was just thinking out loud. I’m sure your niece will turn up perfectly fine. The baby, too. The possibility of that clinic is just something we were briefed on. Something to watch for. If it happened in another town, it could be happening here. But we don’t have any proof of that yet.”

Maddie didn’t want his apologies and reassurances; she wanted cold, hard facts. “You think it’s a possibility, though, don’t you? That this baby-selling clinic exists. That Katie’s a part of it.”

“I don’t know, ma’am.”

“She’s important to you now because she could be a lead on a major case.”

“Just sit tight for a sec. Please.” He waved toward the chair beside his desk and urged her to take a seat. “Let me run this story by someone else. Make sure I’m not crazy for even considering it.”

Maddie hesitated. Was this a brush-off or a reason to hope? “What about Katie?”

“Ms. McCallister, if your niece is involved in an illegal-adoption ring—whether by choice or against her will—then I can guarantee you that every resource KCPD has will be put into finding her. This could be a huge case.”

“And if this adoption ring doesn’t exist?”

“We’ll still find her.”

He asked her to sit one more time before zipping toward a door marked Captain. But Maddie hugged her arms around her middle and chose to pace instead.

Whether Katie was involved in a major criminal operation or just a seventeen-year-old girl, confused and alone on the streets, Maddie was beginning to fear that she’d never see her again.

Chapter Two

“What am I supposed to do with it?”

The Fourth Precinct’s briefing room was generally empty on a Saturday morning. But drawn like bees to a dewy flower, a surprising number of plainclothes and uniformed officers alike had gathered around the front table. Some of them weren’t even on duty. Grown men spouted nonsense words; professional women cooed. Stories about kids and grandkids and kids some hoped to have one day filled the air like a party.

Dwight hovered near the back of the room, staying well away from the happy throng. His all-night marathon of answering questions about the baby’s mother and what the blood in his office and on the note might mean made him testier than usual. “There’s no way I’m taking it home with me.”

“He’s not an it, Dwight,” A. J. Rodriguez insisted. “His name is Tyler, and even though he’s only been around a couple of weeks, he’s still a living, breathing human being. You have to deal with him.”

“No, I don’t,” Dwight enunciated, in case there was someone on the planet who didn’t yet know just how little he wanted to be responsible for the welfare of a child. “I bought him a bag of diapers and some formula. I gave you my report and turned over all the case files you requested. The Department of Family Services is on the way to take care of the kid from here on so he’s not in any danger. If they can’t locate any family, they’ll find someone else. I’ve done my part.”

“Nice speech. But I don’t think you really believe that you can write off that kid.”

Dwight didn’t even blink. “Believe it.”

The Latino detective wore his guns, his badge and his usual cool-under-fire expression. Dwight hadn’t rattled him one bit. “If what the note says is true, that baby is the grandson of a man who murdered his wife and terrorized his family. Maybe he is in some kind of danger.”

“Then it’s a good thing I turned him over to you.”

“What happened to the bulldog prosecutor who goes to the mat for victims who don’t have the right kinds of allies? Where’s the man who had the cajones to back me up when the DA said my wife had only imagined that bastard hit man who was after her? People count on you, counselor. That baby’s counting on you.”

“That baby doesn’t know me from Adam.”

“His mother knows you.” A.J. held up the handwritten letter that had been sealed in plastic and labeled as potential evidence.

Dwight already had the desperate adolescent words memorized.

Dear Mr. Powers,

I wanted to talk to you in person, but I can’t stay any longer. It’s probably better this way. I always bawl at goodbyes.

Let me introduce you to Tyler. He was born August 2nd. I have something important to take care of, so I can’t be a mom right now. But I need to know that my son will be okay.

I don’t know how to say this so a judge will believe it, but I’m giving him to you. I remember my aunt reading an article in the newspaper a long time ago that said you had lost your son, so I figured there’d be room at your house. Please take care of him. You can change his name if you want, though I think Tyler Powers sounds pretty cool. Don’t forget to tell him how much I love him.

You saved me from Daddy when no one else could. Now I’m asking you to save my son, too.

Someday, I hope

The last sentence had been scratched out without being completed. Then the letter was simply signed

Thanks!

Your friend,

Katie Rinaldi

Dwight pulled back his jacket and splayed his fingers on his hips. He breathed deeply, trying to ease the tension that corded his shoulders and arms. Troubled as he was by the letter, the blood and the abandoned baby, he was hardly equipped to play the role of savior. “According to my files, Katie can’t be more than seventeen years old. She probably just contacted me because I’m the only attorney she knows.”

A.J. didn’t buy the argument. “She doesn’t want an attorney. She thinks you’re some kind of superhero who’s gonna save the day.”

Dwight edged toward the door when the kid began to fuss and the buzz of conversation turned to who wanted to hold the baby next. A superhero he wasn’t, not if an infant’s needy cries could turn him inside out like this.

“Hell, A.J., I barely know this girl. I prosecuted her father four years ago. Outside of my office and a few minutes in the courtroom, I’ve never even had contact with her. It doesn’t make any sense to leave the kid with me.”

A.J. pulled out his notepad and glanced at a notation. “When I ran Rinaldi’s name through the system, I found out that MODOC moved him to its mental-health facility in Fulton, Missouri, for psychiatric testing. His sentencing said he’s not to have any contact with his daughter, right? Maybe some paperwork got mixed up in the transfer or there was a glitch in supervision and he found a way to get a message to her.”

A chill of suspicion temporarily cooled Dwight’s pulse. “I just saw Warden Vaughn yesterday at a parole hearing. He would have mentioned if the Department of Corrections had had any trouble with Rinaldi.”

Unless he’d been so focused on keeping the man who’d ordered the murder of Dwight’s wife and son in prison that Ralph Vaughn hadn’t wanted to bother him with details on another prisoner. Dwight swiped a hand across his scratchy jaw. He needed a shave, a shower and a few hours of guilt-free sleep.

Yeah, right. Like that was gonna happen.

But he sucked it up, voided his own needs and gave A.J. the relevant feedback he was seeking. “It’s worth looking into, I guess. Rinaldi tried to pass himself off as some kind of Ichabod Crane in the courtroom. He tried to convince the jury that a skinny guy with glasses couldn’t possibly have committed murder. But there was something missing when you looked him in the eye. Like a conscience. It wasn’t any mild-mannered accountant who cut up his wife like that.”

A.J. dotted an I and closed his notebook. “So if this potentially crazy, definitely violent dad did somehow contact his daughter, that could spook her. Make her fear for her own life or her son’s. Make her turn to someone she trusts for protection—namely you—whether that threat was real or perceived.”

Dwight worried about the possibility of Katie Rinaldi being in danger, even as he shook off the notion that he could serve as her protector. “I’ve got issues of my own right now, A.J. I need to be out of the picture.”

“We can handle the investigation and keep tabs on Rinaldi’s activities. The mom’s already on our missing-persons list. But until we hear differently from family services, this document states that you’re the baby’s guardian.”

“That letter would never stand up in court.”

“Forget the legalities for two seconds.” A.J. thumped him in the chest. “What’s it telling you, right in here?”

Dwight absorbed the flick against his skin like a heavyweight punch. Sure, with Joe Rinaldi as a father, Katie had been given a bum deal. Her abandoned son wasn’t getting such a hot start in life, either. But Dwight couldn’t fix those kinds of problems.

“You’re killing me, A.J. Give me murderers, rapists and drug runners to deal with any day. But not that kid.” He searched for logical reasons to back up his emotional claim. “I’m forty-three. Old enough to be his grandfather. I’m single. I work hellish hours. I have enemies. He needs…” Dwight fisted his hand in a frustrated plea. But he had to say the words. “The kid needs somebody who can be a father to him. That isn’t me.”

Damn the man. A.J. never even batted an eye. “When are you gonna let go and move on, amigo?”

A vein ticked along Dwight’s jaw, the only betrayal of the emotions he held in check. “Maybe when I find something to move on to.”

“I think you just did.”

The baby cried, right on cue. And while half a dozen police officers surged forward to help, Dwight slipped out the door into the hallway. There were consequences to caring that he wanted no part of ever again.

He squeezed his eyes shut against a gruesome image that was half memory, half imagination. Had Braden cried out like that, lying in his car seat on the edge of that deserted road next to his murdered mother? Had Dwight’s son suffered any pain that fateful night? Or, like Alicia’s, had Braden’s death been mercifully quick?

“Counselor.” A.J.’s low, emphatic voice cut through the haze of guilt and grief.

He should have known his friend wouldn’t give it a rest.

“I know. Live in the present, not the past. Fill your life with meaningful work, acknowledge your fears and all that other crap.” With a little embellishment, Dwight could recite the advice he and his trauma-recovery therapist had been discussing on and off for over five years.

But recovering from grief and guilt was a hell of a long way from being recovered.

Katie Rinaldi and A.J. were asking too much of him. “Tell you what, if that kid needs legal help, I’m your man. Pro bono, no questions asked. If I can’t handle the case personally, I’ll hook him up with the best attorneys in the business. I’ll pay for his care—hell, I’ll pay for his college—if I have to.” Dwight leaned in, using his size, strength and crisp, deep voice to make his point. “But I am not letting some panicked teenage girl turn me into a daddy again. I’m not responsible for that kid—period. End of discussion.”

The screech of a metal-chair leg sliding across the floor punctuated Dwight’s closing argument and diverted his attention down the hall into the main room. Normally a bustle of activity, the baby in the conference room and the weekend hours had left the detectives’ desks practically deserted.

Except for one young, exasperated officer. “Ma’am—”

And one shapely, compelling woman who’d shoved her chair aside to pace a circle around his desk. “That’s it? He’s going to look into it?”

The detective scratched the back of his shaved head. “Captain Taylor said he’s taking it to the commissioner herself. You just have to be patient.”

The woman spun around, the fires of anger and frustration coloring her cheeks. “No, I don’t have to be patient. I’ve been patient for twenty-nine days.”

“Ma’am—”

She raked her fingers through her hair, scattering the shoulder-length waves. “I’ve been patient all my life. And where has it gotten me? Waiting here, twiddling my thumbs, while you get permission to launch an investigation. I’ve seen for myself what’s lurking out there on the streets. And a lot of it isn’t pretty. I don’t know that waiting is an option my niece has, so don’t ask me to be patient!”

Dwight wasn’t sure if it was the woman’s distress that caught his attention or the color of her hair. It was a memorable shade, like a shiny copper penny, and it fanned against her shoulders and neck. He knew that hair. The last time he’d seen it, though, it had been twisted up, under control—prim, even—not free and flowing and bouncing with every shake of her head as it was now.

Dwight rarely forgot a name, and he never forgot a face. Though the packaging was different, there was something familiar enough about the thirtysomething female that he instantly started sorting through remembered details until he could place her.

“She’s an underage girl,” the sturdy redhead went on, articulating her words in a precise, passionate voice, “out there on her own.”

“Ma’am—”

“What if she’s hurt? Or worse? You have to do something now.”

“Ma’am, I—”

“Quit ma’aming me!” Red stopped her pacing, took a deep, steadying breath, and squeezed her palms to her temples. “Oh, God, I sound like that hooker now.”

Hooker? A.J. nudged Dwight’s elbow. “Looks like Bellamy’s got his hands full.”

Dwight was still processing the details.