Home to Stay

  They’d been so young and hopeful when they got married. He hadn’t had a single doubt.

  With a resigned sigh, he replaced the picture.

  Maybe he was a one-woman man, not capable of falling so deeply in love again.

  He got out of the vehicle, and forced what he hoped was a casual smile as he unlocked the door leading from the garage into the mudroom. He steeled himself to face Meg—and more than likely the prospect of a solitary life.

  CHAPTER TEN

  SAWYER HUNCHED OVER the table in the interrogation room at SDPD headquarters. With him were Detective Richard Bigelow and Special Agent Gavin Leary. Sawyer had wondered if he’d see Shannon, but a casual question to Bigelow had informed him that she was out in the field. He’d avoided calling her since their dinner together while he tried to sort out his scrambled thoughts about her—and Jeannette. When Shannon had texted to thank him for dinner and offered to return the favor, he’d made some feeble excuse about being busy.

  It was hard trying to keep his mind off her without being in the place where she worked.

  And being there just annoyed the hell out of him.Sawyer was as anxious as anyone to have the person or persons responsible for Dylan’s abduction caught, but his nerves were frayed by the incessant questions. He’d been a prosecutor; he knew how the system worked. But he was getting tired of going over his past, having the FBI special agents and the SDPD officers digging into details about his friends and acquaintances, business associates and the people he’d prosecuted and sent to jail.

  No, he didn’t have any idea who’d abducted Dylan.

  No, he couldn’t think of anyone who might have such a serious grudge against him.

  Dylan was home and seemed to be getting better day by day.

  Couldn’t well enough be left alone?

  No, he answered his own question. He wanted—needed—justice to be served. Whoever was responsible had to be held to account. Wasn’t that what he’d dedicated the early part of his career to?

  If not for wanting to be available for Dylan, he’d still be working in the DA’s office. And a lot of good changing jobs had done for his son!

  At least Dylan’s therapist was pleased with his progress. The Stockholm syndrome diagnosis had explained why he hadn’t tried to run away. The therapist clarified that in Dylan’s case, the situation was exacerbated by the fact that he’d been—no offense meant, she’d said—deprived of a mother figure in his life. The woman who’d been taking care of him in Marina del Rey had briefly filled that void. This information ripped open all the wounds Sawyer had been struggling with, leaving them raw and festering. Dylan’s nightmares, which had started soon after Jeannette left, were recurring.

  On the positive side, the therapist was giving Sawyer encouraging reports about how resilient Dylan was. She was also giving him hope that they might, after all, escape any long-term consequences. He prayed that would be the case.

  But he couldn’t ignore the facts.

  Someone had abducted his son.

  That person—or persons—had to be caught, had to pay for this crime. There would be no justice without it.

  So he continued to meet with the FBI and the SDPD, and kept answering their questions. Over and over.

  They’d also gotten all the relevant files from the DA’s office, so Sawyer had a hard time understanding what additional value he could provide.

  Well, at least they’d cleared him. That was something. They’d told him first thing today when he’d sat down with them. They said they’d found no reason to suspect that he or any member of his family had anything to do with Dylan’s disappearance.

  “Are you with us, Mr. Evans?” Bigelow’s voice broke through Sawyer’s musings.

  “What? Oh, yeah. Can we get on with it?”

  “Okay. Of the people you prosecuted, the most likely possibilities remain Stewart Rankin in first place. He killed an entire family while driving under the influence of alcohol. Next is Donna Thompson, convicted of being a drug mule for one of the Mexican cartels, serving a seven-year sentence. We moved Nadine Crosby up to third place, based on her psychological profile. Last but by no means least is Colin Jansen, serving time for killing another man in a bar brawl.

  “Let’s start with the most recent conviction first and work our way back, if that suits you,” Bigelow suggested.

  “Number one, Stewart Rankin, is from a wealthy family,” Sawyer began, as he dragged his fingers through his hair. “You know all this already,” he said, not hiding his annoyance.

  “Yes, we have the facts,” Leary responded. “But we’d appreciate you taking us through it again. We’re particularly interested in any impressions or hunches. Keep in mind,” he added, his tone placating, “we have the same goal here.”

  Sawyer planted his elbows on the table and fisted his hands. He wished none of this had ever happened. But since it had, he wanted it all behind him.

  He raised his head and his eyes were drawn to the one-way mirror. He could’ve sworn he felt Shannon watching him from the other side. Reminding himself of the role she’d played in returning Dylan safely to him, his determination to avoid her wavered.

  Forcing his thoughts back to the question, he got his emotions—and temper—under control.

  “All right. Here we go again. So, the twenty-seven-year-old son of the Rankin construction dynasty had gotten behind the wheel of his Porsche Carrera 911, inebriated after his bachelor party, and killed five members of a family. With his money and resources, you’d have thought he’d be smart enough to arrange for a driver. No, he didn’t. He was convicted and sent to prison over three years ago.” Sawyer heaved a sigh of frustration. “If it’s him, why now? He’s still in prison. You’ve looked at his father and other members of his family, too, and eliminated them all. And if it is one of them, why now?” he repeated. “Why three years after he went to jail?”

  “Sometimes a situation can chafe for a long time,” Leary said. “Did Rankin or any member of his family make threats against you?”

  “No.”

  “Did you ever feel intimidated by any of them?”

  “No. In fact, to me, Rankin seems to have shown high levels of remorse, and I got the sense that his father was disappointed in him, so not in a frame of mind to avenge him.”

  “All right, Mr. Evans. Let’s move on to Donna Thompson.”

  Sawyer tried not to roll his eyes. “In Donna’s case, you have all the information I do and probably more, since your Sergeant Vasquez was instrumental in apprehending her and bringing her to justice.” He glanced at the mirror. “One of the best examples I’ve seen of a clear-cut case with solid documentary evidence. Sergeant Vasquez made my job easy.”

  “Rick is one of our very finest,” Bigelow acknowledged. “Let me remind you, we’re looking for impressions, which only you can provide. Do you remember anything about her family or loved ones?”

  “The name wasn’t the one she was born with. Her heritage is Mexican. She’d changed it when she moved here. She had no family in the US at the time.” He paused. “But she did have an unpleasant boyfriend. A high-ranking cartel operative. He probably moved on quickly and I can’t see him holding a grudge for...” He thought back to when she’d been convicted. “For nearly four years.”

  Bigelow closed the file in front of him and opened the next. “How about Nadine Crosby?”

  “Crosby was twenty-three when she was charged with the attempted murder of her mother and her mother’s then-boyfriend. She’d claimed self-defense because of sexual abuse by the boyfriend. There was no evidence to substantiate her allegations. A psychologist diagnosed her as emotionally unstable and motivated by jealousy rather than abuse. Crosby had made similar allegations against a couple of her mother’s former boyfriends, and those were deemed to have been false, as well.”

 
“Crosby fits the profile of someone wanting revenge against you,” Leary stated. “She and Thompson are the only two females we’re looking at. The fact that she’d been recently released contributed to moving her up to number three on our list.”

  “Yes, but she’d never shown any hostility or resentment against me,” Sawyer said.

  “She’s also alibied for the time of the abduction,” Bigelow added. “If the alibi holds, she’s off our list.”

  They ran through Colin Jansen in a similar fashion, but nothing about him seemed to resonate. He’d lost his temper in a big way in that barroom, but it hadn’t been premediated and he hadn’t intended to kill anyone.

  “We haven’t got much further with Blackstone. Seems like a dead end. Should we keep digging?” Bigelow asked Leary.

  Leary glanced at Sawyer. “No harm in it, if Mr. Evans doesn’t mind, since we don’t have any clear winners at this point.”

  Sawyer shrugged, but his eyes were drawn to the mirror.

  “So, Blackstone was fifty-six at the time, and a father of four who defrauded his company of nearly a million dollars,” Bigelow said, flipping to the next file.

  Sawyer ran a hand over his face. “If I’ve ever regretted sending someone to jail, it would’ve been him. His wife quit her job after their fourth child was diagnosed with autism. When their oldest child developed muscular dystrophy, Blackstone’s income was insufficient to care for their children. I don’t believe the man had an evil bone in his body. He acted out of desperation to provide for his family and take care of two children with serious disabilities.”

  Leary scratched his chin. “Tell us about the wife,” he said. “If we hypothesize that the abductor acted alone, then it’s reasonable to conclude we’re looking for a female, since it was a female who took Dylan from that campsite, and a female who contacted and retained Sanchez—and is there anything more you can tell us about Blackstone’s wife?”

  Sawyer searched his memory. “She was...broken.” It was the best word he could come up with. “Even so, it was clear that her priority was her children.”

  “How would you characterize her, other than broken?”

  “Tenacious. Committed. I sensed she was all about family and those kids.”

  Leary nodded. “I wonder if the fact that there were kids involved is a consideration. You sent her husband to jail, depriving them of their source of income and the kids of their father. Might she have wanted to get back at you through your son?”

  Sawyer shook his head. “No. If there was anger, it was directed at her husband for having done something illegal and placing them in the predicament they were in.”

  Leary and Bigelow asked Sawyer a few more questions, but there was nothing Sawyer could think of that might help.

  The police had no answers. Still, the meeting took far longer than Sawyer had expected, and he wanted to get home to Dylan. He wanted to spend as much time with him as he could before he went back to work in a few days.

  As Sawyer hurried out of the conference room, he almost collided with someone coming around the corner. He reached out to steady her and wasn’t entirely surprised that it was Shannon. His instincts had been correct. She must have been watching the interview.

  “Sawyer. Hi.”

  Whatever slight resistance he still had to seeing her again dissipated at the sight of her. She looked so fresh and beautiful, even in uniform. “Uh, I’m sorry I’ve been...busy,” he stammered. He didn’t want her walking away. “Do you have time for a coffee?”

  “When?”

  “Now?”

  “No, not right now. I’m on duty.”

  Her eyes were like a clear summer sky. He wouldn’t have been able to look away if he’d wanted to. He didn’t give himself time to think. “If you don’t have plans, why don’t you come over to my place when you finish your shift? I’ll throw a couple of steaks on the barbecue. You could see Dylan. He’s been asking about you...and your dog. You two made quite an impression on him. Bring Darwin,” he rushed on. “If that’s okay for police dogs.”

  Shannon laughed. “Darwin might have an important job, but he’s still a dog. When he’s not working, he’s like any other dog. And he loves kids. Dylan seemed to be fascinated by him when they met.”

  “So you’ll come over?” Suddenly, it felt as if his life hung in the balance. He didn’t want her to say no. “You’ll come and bring Darwin?”

  “Sure. Why not?” she said, making it possible for Sawyer to breathe again.

  * * *

  WHEN SHANNON HEARD that Sawyer was coming into the division that afternoon to meet with Bigelow and Leary, she hadn’t been able to resist watching the interview.

  Or was it more about seeing him?

  She’d planned to head out into the field again before he left the interrogation room. She hadn’t expected him to rush out as quickly as he had.

  Sawyer had been polite enough in his texts since the night they’d had dinner, but she felt he’d been making excuses not to see her, although it was hard to judge on the basis of texts alone. And the fact that those texts were all that had passed between them since their dinner added to her concern that she might have misread his feelings. But then those kisses would come to mind, and just the thought of them heated her skin. She might have intended to avoid him, but sometimes things happened for a reason. Half an hour after the end of her shift, she was changing into the civilian clothes she kept in her locker at the division. She was looking forward to seeing Sawyer again and Dylan, too. She was a little nervous about spending time with Dylan—for the obvious reason that he was Sawyer’s son. She didn’t want to say or do anything that might remind Dylan of his ordeal or cause him to associate her with what had happened to him.

  Checking her watch, she realized she was later than she’d hoped. She called Sawyer as she was leaving the division to let him know.

  “That’s okay,” he assured her. “Dylan and I are in the backyard. I’ll start the barbecue and get the potatoes going, but I’ll wait until you arrive before I put the steaks on.”

  “Thanks! Sorry, again, for running late.”

  “Don’t worry about it. When you get here, come around the back. There’s a side gate.”

  “See you in about forty-five minutes.”

  Shannon’s house was on the way, and she stopped there to switch her police vehicle for her personal car. As an afterthought, she also picked up the ingredients for an appetizer.

  At Sawyer’s place, she grabbed her purse and the cooler bag from the passenger seat. Letting Darwin hop out of the back, she fastened his leash to his collar.

  The side gate was shut but unlatched. It opened silently when she nudged it.

  There was smoke drifting lazily from the barbecue. Dylan sat on the grass, building what looked like some sort of castle out of plastic blocks. But it was Sawyer who drew Shannon’s attention, and her buoyant mood dulled.

  He was sitting in a patio chair, one ankle resting on the other knee, a condensation-coated bottle of soda balanced on the armrest. He was dressed in khaki shorts, a royal blue polo shirt and Top-Siders. She should’ve seen it as a comfortable, relaxed pose. A man enjoying a cool drink in the late-afternoon sunshine, while his son played.

  But that wasn’t the sense she got. There was tension emanating from him, and his posture was rigid.

  He was staring, trancelike, at the child’s playset in the corner of the yard.

  “Sawyer,” she called softly, as she took a few hesitant steps toward him.

  He turned to face her, his eyes dark and unblinking.

  He gave his head a small shake and his eyes cleared. “Shannon!” he said, and the single word conveyed his pleasure at seeing her and made her feel welcome. He rose, toppling the bottle. With quick reflexes, he managed to catch and right it, hardly spilling a drop.

/>   “Look, Dad. The officer and the police dog are here!” Dylan said and ran toward them.

  “Dylan!” Sawyer called, a little more firmly than Shannon thought was warranted. “You know the rules about dogs. You don’t go near them unless the owner says it’s okay.”

  Dylan stopped in his tracks. Sawyer, catching up to his son, placed a hand on his shoulder.

  Shannon kept Darwin on a tight leash, not because the dog needed it but to keep Sawyer from worrying. She could understand why he might be more protective of his son these days. “Hello, Dylan,” she said.

  “Hi, Officer Clem...” Dylan linked his hands behind his back and gazed up at his father, his brows drawn together.

  “Officer Clemens,” he supplied.

  “Hi, Officer Clemens.”

  “You can call me Shannon, if that’s okay with your father.”

  Sawyer nodded.

  “What’s in the bag?” Dylan asked.

  “I’m going to make an appetizer.” She turned to Sawyer. “Neither of you have any food allergies?”

  “You didn’t have to do that, and no, we don’t have allergies. Here, let me take that from you,” he said, reaching for the cooler bag.

  Shannon passed it to him and set her purse on the edge of the raised patio.

  “Can I say hi to Darwin now?” Dylan asked.

  “Before you do that, would you please put the things Shannon brought in the kitchen?”

  “’Kay.” Dylan looked up at his father. “But can I say hi to Darwin after?”

  “Ah... Put the bag inside first.”

  Sawyer gave his son’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “I’m sorry I snapped at you.”

  Dylan wrapped his arms around Sawyer’s legs. “It’s okay, Dad.”

  Sawyer handed him the bag. “It’s not too heavy for you, is it, champ?” Sawyer asked.

  “Uh-uh.”

  When Dylan slid the patio door closed behind him, Sawyer sighed. “I can’t believe I did that. It’s the last thing the kid needs. I can’t seem to help it. I worry that he’ll shatter at any minute.” He sighed again and shook his head. “It’s great to see you,” he said, changing the subject, and touched his lips to hers. He bent down and held his hand out to Darwin, letting him sniff it. “Is it okay if I pet him?”