THE MORNING AFTER the shoot-out in Homestead, Kelly stood at attention before the desk of Detective Monroe DiSilva for her interview with Internal Affairs. She wasn’t worried. She’d never patrolled the district where the alleged payoffs took place. They had no evidence against her.
This interview was just a formality, something to satisfy the brass. Or the media.
Although, interestingly, the paparazzi hadn’t followed her today.
DiSilva, a dark-haired man of maybe thirty-five, shuffled through papers on his desk. He glanced up at her with a steely glare.
“As you were, Officer Jenkins,” DiSilva barked.
Kelly stood at ease, eyes focused on the wall over his head.
“Is it true you were with the FBI in Homestead yesterday?” he demanded.
She cut him a quick glance. Uh-oh. DiSilva didn’t sound happy. “Yes, sir.”
“Why? You were placed on restricted duty.”
“The Bureau cleared it with my lieutenant,” Kelly protested.
“No one cleared it with Internal Affairs.”
She raised her chin. “I’m sorry, sir.”
“Brass wanted you out of the field.”
“Yes, sir.”
DiSilva shook his head. “I’ve been ordered to suspend you, Officer Jenkins.”
No way. Kelly stared at the grim-faced IA detective. He wasn’t kidding.
She swallowed hard. “I’m suspended?”
“Please surrender your weapon and badge.”
* * *
THAT AFTERNOON, KELLY moved restlessly around her apartment.
DiSilva had suspended her. He’d taken her weapon and badge.
Nothing she said could dissuade the IA detective. Not the fact that she had permission from her lieutenant, not even the fact that there was zero proof that she’d taken kickbacks. At least the suspension was with pay.
She’d already completed a long run and a brutal strength workout, one she’d pay for later with sore muscles. Out of desperation, she’d even attended a yoga class, which Lana claimed would quiet her thoughts. She was willing to try anything to help her stop thinking about what a disaster her life had become.
Suspended. Unbelievable.
She hadn’t heard from Trey since she’d called him from the scene in Homestead. She hadn’t tried to contact him, either, but why should she? She still needed his car, and what else was left for them to say to each other?
Apparently nothing.
She’d thought he’d want to know about the investigation, if the FBI had managed to interview Caleb, if they’d developed any leads on the whereabouts of Adam. But maybe Ballard had kept Trey informed. There was nothing new to report anyway.
Caleb was still breathing, but barely. The doctors had him sedated and wouldn’t let the FBI near him. Without good intel from Caleb to aid in the search, Adam remained a ghost. The Bureau had checked every location Maria had given them, but so far the kidnapper remained in the wind. Convinced he’d fled the area, they’d suspended surveillance on her apartment.
Her stomached grumbled, so she took that as a clue and walked into the kitchen, jerked open the refrigerator and wrinkled her nose at the odor. Any produce or dairy had gone bad in the two weeks she’d been gone. Now, there was a fun project—she’d dispose of all the rotten food.
She looked under the sink for plastic gloves, but before she could finish snapping them on, her phone sounded. Caller ID revealed Patrice was checking on her again. News of her suspension had spread through the ranks like wildfire.
“Hey, Trice,” Kelly said. “Are you on break?”
“At the Coral Bagel with Sean.”
“Anything going on? God, I miss patrol.”
“It’s pretty quiet today. How long will you be suspended?”
“No way to know.”
“At least the paparazzi should leave you alone. You’re old news since Wentworth issued the denial.”
“What denial?” Kelly asked.
“The Wentworth PR machine issued a release denying any truth to the rumors of a relationship between you and Trey Wentworth. You didn’t know about that?”
“No, I did not.” Kelly slid her back down a lower kitchen cabinet and plopped her butt onto the floor.
“Yeah. Sorry, kiddo.”
“Where did you hear that?”
“It was on all the television entertainment shows last night. They even dredged up old photos of him with his ex and reported he was still in mourning, not yet ready to date.”
“Well, the release is absolutely factual. There is no relationship whatsoever. There never was.”
“If you say so.”
“I do.”
“Okay, then.”
Kelly disconnected and, still on the floor, stared across the kitchen without seeing anything. She lowered her head and wondered why it felt like her heart was collapsing in on itself. Why was she so disappointed by the press release? There’d never been any chance of a continued connection between her and Trey once Jason regained his memory. She’d known that all along.
Still, a little heads-up from Trey would have been nice.
He obviously didn’t think a warning was necessary, that they’d said all they needed to say to each other.
So the thing—whatever it had been—between her and the billionaire was over. Really and truly over.
They came from different worlds, worlds that had nothing to do with each other. He was one of the beautiful people, while she’d had a big fat L for loser tattooed on her forehead most of her life.
But not anymore.
Get over yourself, rookie. Get your ass off the floor.
Kelly pulled herself to her feet. She might be suspended, but she was still a cop.
And she had an idea.
Ballard had already sent agents to the rehab facility where Adam and Maria had met in their support group. Of course the feds got nothing useful. Federal agents always wore suits, and in certain situations, that tended to put people on edge. She, however, was her mother’s daughter. She could rock a pair of ragged jeans and a faded T-shirt. She could walk the walk, and talk the talk.
And nothing slammed the difference between her and Trey into her face more clearly.
* * *
KELLY PARKED TREY’S SUV across the street from a rambling concrete block structure. Signage featuring a huge yellow sunburst read: Sunshine Center.
She checked her surroundings. Adam was still out there somewhere. She wouldn’t drop her guard until he was in custody.
Trice had been right about the paparazzi losing interest in her. No one had followed her when she drove away from her apartment. She was now last week’s news.
Telling herself she was relieved by this development, Kelly released a breath and exited the SUV. But she still couldn’t return to patrol. Not until IA was done with her. God, was it really possible she could lose the only career she’d ever wanted?
She heard shouts indicating a soccer game in progress and headed toward an athletic field on one side of the two-story building. No bleachers or scoreboard, but maybe fifty people of all ages stood on the sidelines encouraging the young teenagers on the field, both boys and girls.
Not exactly the depressing scene of downtrodden addicts she’d expected to encounter, but the relaxed atmosphere of an amateur athletic competition might be a great place to pump onlookers for information.
Or not. When she arrived, spectators were so intent on the game that no one took notice of her. She waited for a time-out and turned to the dark-haired woman beside her who had been a vocal critic of the goalie.
“Who’s winning?” Kelly asked casually, keeping her gaze on the field.
Still focused on the field, the woman cursed and in a Hispanic accent said, “Sunshine can’t do squat today.”
Kelly nodded. These players looked too young and healthy to be recovering addicts.
“I thought this was a rehab center,” Kelly said. “What’s with all these kids?”
“And halfway house,” the woman said. “And shelter for abused women. Father Hernandez does what he can for those in need.”
Something in the woman’s voice made Kelly glance her way.
“Are you in need of aid?” the woman asked softly.
“Maybe,” Kelly said. That was the impression she’d wanted to create, that she was a druggie in search of a safe spot to crash.
“A friend of mine says he got clean here,” Kelly said. “Did I get that wrong?”
“Who is your friend?”
“Adam Chandler.”
“I don’t know him, but go inside and talk to Sister Aleta,” the woman said.
“Yeah, maybe,” Kelly muttered, not wanting to seem too eager. Sister Aleta? Father Hernandez. Was this facility run by a church?
“Tell her that Nancy sent you.”
“Thanks.”
Kelly moved off, scanning the crowd one more time for any sign of Adam. She didn’t see him anywhere, or even anyone that looked like him, so retraced her earlier path and entered the doorway beneath the large sunburst design, which made her think of a benevolent all-seeing eye.
A plump fortyish woman wearing jeans and a T-shirt with the same logo of the sun greeted her with a smile. “May I help you?”
“I’m looking for Sister Aleta,” Kelly said, deciding to go with Nancy’s advice.
“She’s in the gym.” The woman pointed. “Down that hallway, two doors on your right. Just follow the noise. You can’t miss it.”
Kelly moved in the direction indicated. Was this place a rehab facility or the YMCA? Maria and Adam had met in group therapy, but no one here looked like they were in recovery.
She passed an open door and peered inside to find rows of chairs before what appeared to be a chapel. Responding to shouts further down the hallway, she pushed into the gym where a basketball game was in progress with players from six to ten years old, all boys.
An ebony-haired woman in her twenties raced up and down the court with the contestants trying to officiate what appeared to be bedlam. Kelly watched a bit of the action. When two of the players fought over the ball and one of them went tumbling to the ground, the official raised a whistle hanging around her neck and blew shrilly, bringing the dispute to a halt.
“That’s it,” she shouted, hands on her hips. “Game over. I warned you guys.” The boys wandered off amid much grumbling and pushing and light punches on each other’s shoulders.
Kelly walked across the now deserted court where the official stuffed equipment into a duffel bag.
“Sister Aleta?”
The woman turned, pushed sweaty hair that had escaped a ponytail away from her face and smiled at Kelly. “Can I help you?”
“Are you Sister Aleta?”
“That’s what they call me.”
“Are you a nun?” Her mom claimed to be Catholic, but Kelly could count on one hand the times they’d attended mass. Kelly didn’t know much about the church, but was surprised a nun would wear shorts.
“No,” Aleta said. “But the kids all call me sister anyway.”
“Nancy sent me,” Kelly said.
“Ah,” Aleta said, her smile fading. “What are you on?”
“Oxy.”
Aleta nodded. “Do you want help?”
Before Kelly could answer, cries of “Sister Aweta, Sister Aweta” bounced off the high gymnasium ceiling.
A little boy close to the size of Jason Wentworth ran up to Sister Aleta and tugged on the hem of her khaki shorts. “Aweta,” he wailed in a childish voice, again reminding Kelly of the little dude.
Kelly gazed down at the child and her heart squeezed. He had a bruise on his right cheek where someone had slapped him so hard she could make out the outline of a palm. Suddenly she longed to see Jason, missing him with a physical ache in her core. Was he okay? Did he miss her?
She shook her head. Of course the little prince was okay, at least physically. He was safe, unlike this child. Trey would never strike his son.
And the Wentworth men had already forgotten she existed.
Aleta knelt so she was eye level with the child. “What’s wrong, Julio?”
“It’s my mommy. She won’t stop crying. Can you talk to her again?”
“Of course, sweetie.” Taking his hand, Aleta stood. “Will you wait for me?” she asked Kelly.
Kelly shrugged, playing the druggie unsure if she wanted to get clean.
“Go to your mom,” Aleta told Julio. “I’ll be right there.”
Julio bit his bottom lip, but trudged out of the gymnasium, glaring at Kelly over his shoulder. Guilt made her release a sigh. The people here may not all be addicts, but they were definitely in bad situations.
“What’s the deal with all the kids in this facility?” Kelly asked. “I was told it was a place to get clean.”
“Sunshine Center provides a multitude of services.”
“How can you have druggies hanging out in the same location with children at risk?” Kelly used her chin to motion the way Julio had exited.
Aleta’s gaze sharpened on Kelly. “Who sent you?”
“A friend told me she got help here,” Kelly said.
“Who is your friend?”
“Maria Navarre.”
“Is that so? I’m surprised Maria recommended us.”
“Why is that?”
“We were unable to do much for her.”
“She met a guy here,” Kelly said. “Adam Chandler. Have you seen him around?”
“Do you know Chandler?” Aleta’s tone turned sharp, so likely she knew Adam was a fugitive. Or maybe the FBI had already questioned her.
Kelly rubbed her cheek, as if she’d been slugged there. “He used to be my supplier. The thing is, he’s a bad dude. I owe him money and don’t want to see him, don’t want him to know where I am.”
“I can promise you he won’t come here.”
“Because?”
“Because he knows we’d call the police on him.”
Kelly nodded, as if she totally knew the score. Even if the counselors here didn’t know Adam was hunted by law enforcement, most likely they knew he’d abused Maria, and could do nothing to stop it.
Kelly looked toward the door, as if nervous. “Are any of his friends still around?”
Aleta issued a harsh laugh. “Adam doesn’t have any friends.”
“That sounds right,” Kelly muttered.
“Listen—what’s your name?”
“Kelly.”
“Kelly. I’m sorry, but I need to go. If you want help, I promise this is a safe place. Adam won’t be able to get to you here. Please wait for me to come back.”
Kelly nodded, but didn’t commit to waiting. No point in it. She believed Aleta that Adam didn’t have any friends here, so no one would have information on where he was holed up.
She watched Aleta hurry from the gymnasium, presumably to assist Julio and his weeping mother.
Kelly returned to Trey’s SUV and drove away, her gaze on the rearview mirror making sure she wasn’t followed.
Back in her apartment, Kelly again found herself with time on her hands. Her trip to Sunshine had been a bust, so she no longer had that bit of undercover police work to look forward to. Where else could she look for Adam?
It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours and suspension totally sucked.
She glared at the refrigerator, knew there was no help for it and shoved her hands into yellow latex gloves. Her garbage can was almost full when the phone rang.
“Jenkins.”
“Kelly, it’s Trey.”
She closed her eyes, willed her heart to slow down and managed to say, “Hi.”
“Are you at home?”
“Yes.”
“Would it be convenient if I brought Jason over to see you?”
Trey wanted to come here? “Sure. When?”
“Now.”
“Now?” She swallowed. Surely she’d heard him wrong. “Are you serious?”
“Yes. I know I should have given you more warning, but we’re in the area, and he’s been begging me to arrange a visit.”
“Since when are you in my area?”
“Dr. Barth believes Jason needs to get off Collins Island more often.”
“Trey, Adam is still out there somewhere.”
“I have adequate security in place. Hold on. Someone wants to talk to you.”
Oh, no. Kelly clutched her phone tighter.
“Hi, Kelly,” Jason said in his sweet little voice.
“Hi, Jase. How are you?”
“I want to come see where you live. Daddy says it’s okay.”
Kelly shook her head, doubting that was exactly how the discussion with his father had gone down, and examined her apartment with a critical eye. Not so bad. Then she looked down at herself and groaned. She likely stunk from rotten tomatoes. Did she even have time to take a shower?
But she couldn’t say no. She wanted to see Jason. She wanted to see Trey.
Did he want to see her?