Special Forces Father - By Mallory Kane Page 0,20
pocket.
A lump grew in her throat and she felt the threat of tears swelling behind it. He’d put the photo of his son in his wallet—because he wanted to be close to his son or because that photo might be the closest he’d ever be to him? “I should get ready to go to work,” she said tightly, pushing the thought that Travis might never meet Max out of her mind. She’d never make it if she let thoughts like that in.
Travis turned to her and smiled. “You should. It’ll be good,” he said. “Trust me. You’ll see when you get there. You need to figure out how you’re going to make a case for temporary insanity.”
Temporary insanity. What if Stamps had shot Paul to stop him from saying whatever he’d been about to say, as Harte and Dani claimed?
“Kate?”
She blinked and realized that, for one moment, she’d gotten caught up in the case. “You’re right,” she said. “I’ve got to get to work. There’s a lot to do before the trial starts. I need to interview Danielle Canto, and probably talk to Harte again. I need to find out just exactly what Stamps said and did before he pulled the trigger.” She stood. “I should get dressed.”
Travis watched her walk determinedly into her bedroom and close the door. She’d finally started thinking clearly about Stamps’s insanity defense. That’s what she needed to do. It was the only way she could ensure her son’s safety. Travis’s thoughts screeched to a halt. Their son. “My son,” he whispered. The words felt alien on his tongue, like a different language.
He’d never intended to have a child. That notion was ranked Number Two on Travis’s Top Five Taboos, right behind Number One, getting married. But that Top Five was dwindling fast. Another item on his taboo list had been seeing Kate again. He laughed shortly. So much for Travis’s Top Five.
He glanced toward Kate’s bedroom. He needed her out of the house—preferably without her cell phone. She’d asked him to promise he wouldn’t tell anybody. But the only thing he’d agreed to was not calling any of his police-officer brothers or cousins.
When he heard the pipes creak, telling him she’d turned on the water in her bathroom, he looked around for her purse, hoping she hadn’t taken it into her room with her. There it was on the corner of the kitchen counter. Feeling guilty as hell, he fished in it until he came up with her cell phone, and pocketed it. Now, if he could just keep her distracted until she left the house without it.
* * *
BENT PARKED HALF a block from Dr. Chalmet’s house in the Garden District at a few minutes after eight o’clock in the morning. He lowered the driver’s side window and felt along the door panel to be sure his magnetic car sign was still in place. It was one of his best ideas ever. The sign advertised ACME Realtors with a large graphic of a house, an eight-hundred number and a bogus web address. Few people gave him a second glance once they saw that sign. Bent knew it was impossible to read the letters and numbers from more than about fifty feet away, but the graphic of a simple, boxy house with its pitched roof was the universal symbol for real estate agent.
Satisfied that his cover was in place, Bent took in Dr. Chalmet’s house. Her Accord was parked in the driveway, but a little hatchback with a Maryland license plate was at the curb. He made a note of the license number for later reference. Then he spent about half a minute debating whether to call his contact or to wait and see what happened. He decided to wait and see if the doctor kept to her routine and headed to her office between eight-fifteen and eight-thirty.
Sure enough, at around eight-fifteen Dr. Chalmet got into her car and headed toward her office. The other car stayed put. Bent stayed put, too. He wanted to see the owner. It could be a family member or a friend. Hell, it could be the kid’s father, except that none of his research had turned up a father. With a license plate from a thousand miles away, the owner of the hatchback couldn’t be a cop. But as his law-enforcement training as well as his fourteen years on the police force in Chicago kicked in, Bent’s pulse slammed into high gear. Montgomery County, Maryland, was so close