The Cop's Missing Child

“We’ll see.” Finally, they reached the window. Placing her order, she glanced back at her son, who’d finally fallen quiet. He was staring at something in the parking lot. As she followed his gaze, she recoiled. Mac Riordan stood next to a large white pickup truck, talking to another man. As far as she could tell, he hadn’t seen her.

Struggling to hide her fear, she handed the money to the window cashier, accepted her order and put the car in Drive. Heart pounding, she pulled away, using only her rearview mirror to make sure she hadn’t been spotted.

All the way home, jumpy and unsettled, she kept checking to make sure they weren’t being followed. Nothing out of the ordinary occurred, and they pulled into the driveway slowly.

Not for the first time, Emily wished she could afford an automatic garage door opener. How much simpler and safer it would be to just hit a button, pull into the concealed garage and close the door behind you, all before even getting out of the car.

If she stayed in Anniversary, she’d have to put money aside to buy one.

Parking, she gave the rearview mirror one final check before unlocking the doors. The smell of fast-food made her stomach growl, and she was glad she’d opted for a grilled chicken sandwich instead of a salad. She needed something a bit more substantial today, especially since she knew she wouldn’t be getting much sleep.

Making decisions had never been her strong suit. She literally had to force herself to act at times—especially if she didn’t have a clear picture of potential repercussions.

She wished she could be one of those kinds of people who could go with their gut, trusting their instinct. Not her … she always required the facts.

Helping Ryan out of the car, she took his hand. Together, they walked up the sidewalk to the front of their circa 1960 rental house. Then she realized something was wrong.

“Hold on.” Grasping Ryan’s hand firmly, she stopped. “Don’t move.”

Though she’d locked it securely that morning, the front door was slightly ajar and obviously unlocked. Someone had been—or was still—inside her house.

Chapter 3

Since Emily wouldn’t hire him as her bodyguard, Mac knew it was time to go to plan B. He sauntered into the Anniversary Police Department, intent on asking Renee for a job. To his surprise, she sat at the front desk in the receptionist’s chair, typing up something on a decrepit manual typewriter.

“You got a minute?” he asked.

“Sure.” Pinning him with her direct gaze, she dragged a hand through her short hair. “Perfect timing, Riordan. I’ve been meaning to call you and ask you to come in. Follow me,” she ordered, jumping to her feet and giving Mac a hard look as though she thought he might run off.

When they reached her office, she took a seat behind her desk and indicated he should sit in what he thought of as the suspect’s chair … interesting.

Taking a seat, he leaned back, crossing his arms. He’d let her go first, since obviously she had something on her mind.

In typical cop fashion, Renee got right to the point.

“How well do you know Emily Gilley?”

“I’ve only met her one time, in the park.” It was a truthful answer—especially since Renee didn’t need to know about all the research Mac had done to find her, and more importantly, to find Ryan.

“You seemed very interested in her.”

He spread his hands. “What can I say? She’s a pretty lady.” Again, he only spoke the truth.

Renee seemed to sense this—or at least, he hoped she did. “You know, Riordan, I’m just doing my job. I actually believe you.”

“Good to know.” He allowed a slight smile. “I did offer to be her bodyguard. She turned me down flat.”

Staring, Renee narrowed her eyes. Then, apparently deciding he was serious, she dipped her head, grinning. “I should tell you that I ran a check on you and talked to your former partner back in Albany. Joe and I go way back. He had nothing bad to say about you.”

It was unsurprising. Joe was his best friend, and Mac had been a very good police officer. He would still be, if he hadn’t left his job. But Joe had understood that finding Ryan had become more important to him than anything else.

“And on top of that,” Renee continued, “Joe put me through to your lieutenant. Just like our mutual friend Joe, your former boss speaks very highly of you.”

“Good to know.” Aware of his precarious position, he debated whether or not now would be a good time to broach his proposal. On the one hand, if Emily and Ryan were in serious danger, then he couldn’t afford to wait. On the other, he didn’t want to do anything that would make Renee even more suspicious of him.

To his surprise, Renee broached the subject for him. Dragging her hand through her cropped blond hair, she tapped her pen several times on her pad of paper. “Emily’s scared. I’m beginning to think she might have a good reason to be. Unfortunately, we’re really short-handed here.”

Though her words kick-started his heart into overdrive, he held himself perfectly still and merely nodded.

Appropriately encouraged, she continued. “I know you have a trucking business to run and all, but would you consider coming to work for me part-time? Like a few hours a week?”

While he pretended to consider her offer, she tossed out what for him clenched the deal. “I’d really like you to handle the Emily Gilley case exclusively.”

A thousand thoughts raced through Emily’s mind. First and foremost, she had to keep her son safe.

“Don’t move,” she repeated.

“But I’m hungry,” Ryan started to whine, raising his face to hers. Something he saw in her expression must have gotten through to him, because he instantly went silent.

“What’s wrong, Mama?” he whispered, his blue eyes huge in his small face. “Is everything okay?”

No, everything was not okay—though she didn’t say that out loud to her five-year-old. “I don’t know yet,” she said instead, moving them backward. “I think we need to get back in the car and call the sheriff.”

She wouldn’t panic. She couldn’t, even though she knew if her front door was open that someone had been in her house.

Backing out of her driveway, she drove to the corner gas station and mini-mart and parked.

“Go ahead and start on your Good Times meal, honey,” she told Ryan, handing the brightly decorated box back to him. “Remember, no toy until you finish your meal.”

She waited until he was happily munching away before taking a deep breath and pulling her phone from her purse.

Keeping the doors locked and the engine running, she made the call. When she asked to be put through directly to Renee, the dispatcher immediately did so—yet another difference between living in a large city and a small town.

Speaking quietly and calmly so she wouldn’t alarm Ryan, she told Renee what had happened. “I didn’t go inside,” she said. “I have no idea if anyone is still in there.”

“That’s a wise move,” Renee said. “Where are you now?”

Emily relayed her location.

“Stay put. We’ll meet you there in less than five minutes,” the sheriff promised. “The car will be an unmarked cruiser. No lights or sirens.”

“All right.” Disconnecting the call, Emily shoved her phone back into her purse and eyed her sandwich. It now looked wilted and completely unappetizing, though probably due more to the circumstances than the actual appearance. Even the thought of trying to eat made her stomach roil.

Law enforcement pulled up just over four minutes later, the unmarked Chevrolet still looking official and police-like. It was not Renee, Emily realized, but another officer, which was unusual since the Anniversary Police Department was so small.

Squinting, Emily tried to make him out. The passenger door opened, and a familiar dark-haired, broad-shouldered man emerged. She squinted, certain she wasn’t seeing correctly. But as he approached, she realized that Mac Riordan, while not decked out in a crisply pressed navy police uniform, wore a police badge pinned to his button-down shirt.

As he walked toward her car, she was struck once again by the way he exuded masculinity. He was one of those men who, with one glance at their steely gaze, could make a woman feel safe and protected.