Quest For Justice

A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. He’d had a soft spot for Bailey Cox before she’d stolen that money. He’d run into her several times when he’d been a beat cop, newly on the job, and she was a brash teenager. In fact, he’d even felt sorry for her back then. She’d had a tough start and gotten in with a bad crowd on more than one occasion. Her mother was a meth user who valued drugs above her daughter’s welfare, and her father had abandoned them both years before. She’d basically been left to her own devices, and although she was smart, she’d still made a series of horrible choices.

She’d always had a smile on her face, however, and been full of fire. She was one of those who was given lemons and somehow always figured out how to make lemonade. He admired that.

Once she’d moved up to committing felonies, however, his soft spot had hardened. Now when he thought of Bailey Cox, he felt nothing but anger and frustration. Sure, she’d had a rough life, but nothing justified her crimes. Still, when she looked at him with those dark blue eyes of hers, it still affected him, even though he fought the feelings.

He pushed the thoughts of Bailey aside and approached the scene where gunfire had erupted. A dark-haired man wearing a sweatshirt was lying faceup in a pool of blood. He certainly wouldn’t be answering any questions, but hopefully they could get other clues from the scene. Already two uniformed officers were putting up police tape while another was bagging and tagging the offender’s gun. He had obviously been firing on the officers when he’d been shot.

“Hey, Frankie.” Another detective from his unit, Ben Graham, was leaning near the body and nodded at him.

Frank returned the nod. “What have you got?”

“Here’s the first one. The other is around the corner. Both were firing on us, and both are now dead, shot by our team. We didn’t have much choice.” Ben stood and motioned down the alley. “Take a walk over to the vehicle by the Dumpster and look in the trunk.”

Frank rose an eyebrow and walked over to where the car still sat with the trunk door open. There wasn’t much light from the street lamp, so he pulled out his flashlight and shone it in the trunk of the car.

There was quite a bit of blood pooled around the body, especially around the man’s gunshot wound in the forehead. He turned to the cop who was standing by the car. “You got a name for our victim?”

“Yeah. His wallet had a photo ID. You’re looking at Matt Cox.”

Frank leaned closer to get a better look, not wanting to believe what he was seeing. Bailey’s father’s dead eyes stared back at him.

TWO (#u63a0b0ec-751f-56b5-b57d-c2504b7bfdc9)

Franklin Kennedy stepped up to the table where Bailey Cox was manacled in the interrogation room and took a seat across from her. She’d been there for over three hours while they had verified her story, and so far everything she’d said had checked out. They’d found the text on her cell phone, and she did indeed have a concealed weapons permit, despite her criminal history.

She’d been in the wrong place at the wrong time just because she was worried about her father—and now he had to tell her she’d never see the man again.

Frank hated giving death notices. He dropped the file on the table and leaned back. She was antsy and her hands moved constantly, giving away just how uncomfortable she was in the police station. He said nothing for several minutes, and his quiet seemed to unnerve her.

Finally, she gave a frustrated groan. “Well? Are you ready to release me? I’ve been here for hours.”

“Not quite yet, Ms. Cox.”

“You’ve known me half of my life. You might as well call me Bailey.” She leaned back. “Surely you’ve had time to check my cell phone and verify my story.”

Frank nodded. “We have. We found the text.”

Bailey’s eyes widened. “So? What else are you waiting for? I’ve got to go find my father. You can’t just hold me here forever. I haven’t done anything wrong.”

Frank shrugged and eyed her closely. She hadn’t changed much in the last six years. Her face was more mature and she’d grown into her figure, but her eyes held the quick intelligence they always had, and her high cheekbones and full lips still made her one of the most attractive women he’d ever seen. In his book, it was a pity that such beauty was wasted on a criminal.

She spoke again and her voice was caustic. “You’ve heard of false imprisonment, right? I mean, they do teach you something at the police academy.”

He ignored her comment. She’d always had a feisty mouth. Her refusal to be cowed was actually something he admired about her. Even when the chips were down, she was a firecracker, vivacious and spirited.

Finally, he opened the folder and sifted through the papers it contained that detailed her life for the last six years. After prison, she’d worked in Mobile, Alabama, taking night classes in computer science until she got her degree. She lived a simple lifestyle. No extravagant purchases. What had happened to the money she stole? Was she afraid that if she spent it, he would be able to trace it back to her? His mind was full of questions, but he held his tongue. Now wasn’t the right time, especially because he saw the vulnerability shining in her eyes beneath that tough veneer.

Deep down, he knew he was focusing on the money because he didn’t want to think about the conversation they needed to have. Somehow, he had to figure out how to tell her about her father’s death. He raked his fingers through his shortly cropped hair, unable to avoid the task any longer. “We found your father.”

She sat up quickly. “Where? Is he okay?”

He leaned forward, unlocked the handcuffs and then pocketed them. She rubbed her wrists and stood. “So?” Her face was expectant and so full of life and vibrancy that he hated to say the next words.

“I’m sorry to tell you that your father has been killed, Bailey.”

Bailey slowly sat back down. Her eyes widened and he saw a flicker of pain before her face became a mask. “How? Where?”

“We found him with a fatal gunshot wound. He was in the back of that sedan that was parked behind his office building. The two men who probably committed the crime are also dead after they fired upon police officers. We’re running forensic tests right now to verify that one of their guns was the weapon used to shoot him.”

“Why was he killed?”

“We don’t know yet. We’re investigating that now.”

“No! You’re lying!” She lunged at him across the table and he grabbed her hands, stopping the onslaught.

“He can’t be dead!” She was really upset now. Maybe he should have waited to release her from the handcuffs, but he couldn’t imagine telling her that kind of news with her hands manacled. Still, she was clearly out of control. For the second time today, he found himself bearing the brunt of her temper. She struggled against him, but he was much stronger and easily overpowered her. He pulled her to the side of the table and into a tight hold with her back against his chest and her arms secured so she could do no further damage. Sobs racked her body. She finally gave up her struggles and just sagged against him, the tears pouring down her face.

Her pain touched him. Sure, she was a criminal and justice had never been served in her case, but she was clearly suffering. He wouldn’t wish this type of agony on his worst enemy. He held her tightly, letting his strength buoy her up. He would hold her for as long as she needed. It was the least he could do, despite her past and his feelings about it.

* * *

Bailey just couldn’t hold it in. He couldn’t be dead. Her grief was overwhelming. Although her father had abandoned her as a child, Bailey had finally been able to forgive him and move forward with their relationship within the past year. It had been a slow and bumpy process, but getting to know her father had been a big part of her life over the last few months. She had even started working with him on his cases, and they were becoming a formidable team. How could all of that be over?

Once her tears ebbed, she felt numb and listless but savored the feel of warmth and security that Franklin Kennedy offered in his embrace. He might be her enemy, but at least now she knew he was human. He was aware of her criminal history and everything she had done, yet he still didn’t push her away in her hour of need. She was grateful and also a bit surprised.

Finally, she caught her breath and stepped back from his touch. He offered her a handkerchief and she took it and wiped her eyes. Who carried handkerchiefs anymore? It was an inane thought, but it distracted her for a moment, and she wanted desperately to think about anything but her father’s final fate. She took another step back, embarrassed by her behavior. “I’m sorry. I guess I feel overwhelmed by all of this, but I didn’t mean to take it out on you. Please forgive me.” She softened her voice as she brushed some stray hairs away from her face. “So where is his body?”

“At the morgue. I need to take you over there to identify him when you’re ready.”

“Is that why you kept me here so long?”

Kennedy nodded. “It’s one of the reasons. I didn’t want you to see him in the trunk of that car. That shouldn’t be your last memory of him. By the time we get downtown, they’ll have him cleaned up a bit.” He paused. “I’m sorry, Bailey. I really am.”

She nodded and was silent for a moment, trying to gather her thoughts. Okay. Kennedy had scored two points today in the humane category. They could never be friends, but at least some of her anger toward him had dwindled. Maybe he didn’t hate her after all. Six years ago, Kennedy had pursued her relentlessly and had finally caught her red-handed with the stolen medical equipment that her mother needed to survive. She’d been convicted and sentenced, but, even so, she doubted he counted it as a victory.

They both knew the prosecutor had failed to gather enough evidence to convict her of her more serious crime—stealing a little over a million dollars to pay for her mother’s medical bills. However, her mother had died shortly after the theft, and Bailey had actually spent very little of it. It was currently hidden away in an offshore account, well concealed from local law enforcement and the forensic accountants they’d hired.

She pushed those thoughts aside and focused on the here and now. A new thought hit her. “So who were the two men behind my father’s building?”

Kennedy shrugged. “I’m not at liberty to say.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re kidding, right? I think I have a right to know who killed my father.”

He pursed his lips, apparently unwilling to answer her.

She pressed on. “Were they American?”

He still didn’t answer.