The Cop's Missing Child

Backing up slightly, she tilted her head and peered up at him. “Let me ask you something. Are you the one who mailed me the note? It was postmarked Dallas. Is that where you’re from?”

“Note?” He eyed her warily. Had someone tipped her off about his arrival? “What note? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You didn’t send me an anonymous note? Cut out letters on white paper?”

Was this a joke? Then, as he realized what she’d said, his former cop instincts made him ask, “Is someone sending you threatening notes?”

Again he got the sharp, brown-glass stare, as if she thought if she tried hard enough she could read his mind. Since he’d been looked at all kinds of ways by all sorts of people in his previous life in law enforcement, he let her. Silence was often the best interrogation method of all.

“You didn’t answer my question. Are you from Dallas?”

“No,” he fired back. “Albany, New York. Now tell me about this note.”

“That’s none of your business,” she said calmly, her spine so rigid he thought it might snap. Then, apparently considering he might in fact be harmless, she swallowed, still eyeing him warily.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so rude. I’ve got to go.” She mouthed the words, sounding anything but. Without another word, she marched off, her spiky dark hair ruffling in the breeze.

Watching her slender, lithe body as she went, he couldn’t help but respect that she knew enough to be wary. Because if their situations had been reversed, he’d have done exactly the same. People on the run from former lives couldn’t afford to befriend curious strangers.

This was exactly the reason he had to make sure he gained her trust—no matter what it took.

Even as she hurried away, Emily Gilley felt the tall, dark-haired stranger’s gaze boring into her back. She felt flushed and hot, though not entirely from her brisk walk. Instead, she worried about the man with the striking cobalt eyes. At first glance, the tinge of gray in his hair had made him look older by at least a decade. But up close, his rugged face appeared to be only a few years older than she. Mid-thirties, perhaps, a handsome, muscular man who moved with easy grace. Any other woman would have been intrigued by his blatant masculinity, his self-confident virility.

Not she … she knew better. Sex on the hoof didn’t last past the morning, and men like him were nothing but trouble. After all, she’d been married to one once.

This man singled her out. Why? She couldn’t help but wonder if this attempt to appear older was deliberate, an effort to camouflage who he really was—or what he was.

He was a threat. She couldn’t believe his sudden appearance the same day after getting her first threat since moving here was a mere coincidence. How could it be?

The unsigned note that had appeared in her mailbox that morning had been similar to the ones she used to get back in New York. Letters cut and pasted from a magazine, the three sentences read exactly like the ones she’d received before. Her stalker—and Ryan’s, for the note always mentioned her five-year-old son by name—had somehow found her here, in an innocuous small Texas town.

This meant it was time to move on.

She considered, suddenly exhausted by it all, she could run again. Or she could stay—and fight.

Because quite frankly, she liked living here in Anniversary, Texas. She’d made friends, and while her receptionist job at Tearmann’s Animal Clinic wasn’t glamorous, she loved the sheer ordinariness of it. All in all, she’d made a cozy home for herself and her son here.

Damned if she would give that up without a battle. She’d paid enough for crimes she hadn’t even committed. Never mind that she’d been completely clueless about her husband’s nefarious activities. A lot of people thought she should still be held equally responsible, especially now that Carlos was dead.

Without any idea why, she’d always assumed the threatening notes had come from one of Carlos’s mistresses. She knew of two, and there’d probably been more. Any one of them could have viewed his death as a breach of promise and his wife as the rival who got everything—especially since Emily had always suspected one of those women had been the one to birth her son and give him up for adoption, no doubt at Carlos’s urging. She could only hope he hadn’t forced the issue, which would mean there was another woman out there mourning the loss of her son.

Even though Emily could definitely sympathize if that was the case, she was Ryan’s mother now, and she’d made a good home for him here. The only thing she wanted to do was pretend her former life had never happened. All she’d brought with her from that life was her son. He was all that mattered.

Hurrying from the walking trail and across the parking lot to Sue’s Catfish Hut, she refused to look over her shoulder at the man. She sensed him still standing where she’d left him, watching her. She could feel his gaze burning into her back.

“Afternoon, Letty.” Lifting her hand in a friendly wave to the elderly cashier, Emily slid inside the empty booth. She spent quite a few of her sixty-minute lunches exactly the same way—a brisk walk around the park and then a bite to eat at Sue’s with her friend Jayne Cooper.

“Hey, lady.” Jayne plopped into the seat opposite her. Jayne’s normally frizzy blond hair had been tied back in a ponytail. She worked in the police station down the street, one of three dispatchers. “Who was that man you were talking to in the park? He looks like that new guy who moved here from up north somewhere. I can’t remember his name.”

Surprised, Emily tensed and then forced herself to relax. Good grief, she was tired of being suspicious of everything and everyone. She’d honestly believed she’d gotten over that, until the stalker’s note timed with the appearance of the strange man had brought all her old fears back to life.

“He said his name is Mac Riordan. He said he’s new in town.”

“That’s right, he is.” Snapping her fingers, Jayne nodded. “Everyone in the sheriff’s office has been talking about him. Apparently, he and Renee Beauchamp go way back. He moved here a couple of weeks ago and opened a trucking company. He bought the Stamflin place out on FM 3356.”

Emily simply nodded. “So he’s legit then?”

Now Jayne studied her closely. “As opposed to what? Some crazed serial killer? You are the biggest worry-wart I know.”

Somehow, Emily managed to effect a careless shrug. “That comes from living in Manhattan. You can’t be too careful there.”

As Jayne was about to speak—no doubt to launch into her favorite topic, the bliss of bucolic existence in Anniversary—their friend Tina appeared with two tall glasses of iced tea. “Here you go, ladies. Are you both having the usual today?”

“Yes,” Emily and Jayne answered in unison.

“Good.” Grinning widely, Tina winked. “I already put in the order ticket. Lord, help me if you ever decide to walk on the wild side and try something else.”

Just then, the front door opened, and the noisy dining room went abruptly quiet for a moment before the noise level resumed. Emily’s heart sank. Mac Riordan’s large frame filled the doorway and he scanned the room.

When his gaze connected with hers, Emily tensed, resisting the urge to duck under the table. Just because the man decided to have his lunch at the same place didn’t make him her stalker. Right?

“Oooh, my,” Jayne breathed. “Emily, honey, why didn’t you mention that he is absolutely gorgeous?”

“You saw him in the park.”

“From a distance, Em. Only from a distance.”

“Emily? You know him?” Tina asked sharply.

When Emily shook her head, Tina narrowed her heavily made-up eyes. “You’re blushing,” she pointed out. “Why is that?”

Blushing? It was true that her face felt warm, but Emily never blushed. “I just met him a few minutes ago in the park, that’s all,” she said, aware she sounded as if she was trying too hard to be casual.

“Uh-huh.” Clearly believing there was more to the story, Tina nodded. “I’m calling an immediate lady’s night this Friday. Mexican food and margaritas. I can’t wait to hear all about this.”

“There’s nothing to tell,” Emily began. “I …” The words caught in her throat as Mac began slowly making his way toward her booth, drawing the gaze of every busybody in the restaurant—in other words, just about everyone.

Jayne and Tina grew wide-eyed as he approached them. Idly, Emily wondered why it seemed every woman in the restaurant appeared to be drooling, then pushed the thought away.

Her skin prickled as he dipped his chin at Tina, then Jayne, before facing Emily. “I’d like to have a word with you, if you don’t mind,” he said in a quiet yet authorative voice.

“I’m about to eat lunch,” Emily told him firmly, refusing to look at either of her friends, though she could feel them staring in astonishment.

“Fair enough. How about after?”

Most of the other patrons in the restaurant made no attempt to hide their avid eavesdropping. Slightly desperate, Emily hesitated. She hated to think that this one chance encounter could undermine all of her attempts to fit in this town.

“Fine,” she finally said, just to make him go away. “Now please, let me eat my lunch in peace.”