She stopped, rereading the address listed on the license. 1240 Copperhead Road. She slumped in her seat. “This address doesn’t exist,” she told Sam, showing him the photocopy. “There’s no 1240 Copperhead Road. Addresses on that road only go to the 900s.”
“What does that mean?” Jennifer asked.
“It means this license is a fake,” Sam answered.
AFTER ANOTHER HOUR AT THE school listening to Kristen, Riley and the rest of the officers and deputies who’d arrived on scene interviewing the other students and teachers, Sam had a much better idea of what had transpired that morning.
Kristen’s theory had proved right; at least three of the other students and one of the assistant teachers had noticed the guard leading Kristen away from the playground. Nobody had thought anything about it, assuming Maddy had become upset and the guard had decided to take her away from the commotion to calm her down.
“This guy knew just how to pull this off,” he murmured to Kristen later at his house. She’d suggested that they go there after they stopped at the police station to drop off the evidence and make extra copies of the security guard’s fake license. Kristen figured Grant Mitchell or whoever he really was would probably call Sam there with further instructions.
She sat on the sofa beside him, studying the photo. The Chickasaw County Sheriff’s Department had offered their services setting up a tap on the phone in case the kidnapper called, so there wasn’t much left for either of them to do but sit and wait to hear from the man who had his daughter.
“I keep thinking I’ve seen this guy before,” she said distractedly. “I don’t think I’ve met him, though. Just-seen him. Like maybe a photo or-” She stopped short, her brow furrowing. “I wonder-” She started to dig in her pockets of her jacket, first the left, then the right.
“What are you looking for?”
She came up empty-handed. “I may have left it in my other jacket at home. It was a photo that Dr. Sowell gave me-he’s the doctor who’s treating my mother at Darden. Anyway, he gave me a copy of a screen grab from the surveillance cameras at the facility, a picture of the man who visited my mother the other day-the one who took her that newspaper clipping about the attack on Cissy and Maddy.”
Sam felt the first niggle of hope he’d had in a couple of hours. “Could it have been the same man?”
“I’m not sure. He didn’t have a mustache, and I don’t think his hair was as dark as the guy calling himself Grant Mitchell.” She gave a little growl of frustration. “Where is that damned photo?”
“Could it be in your car?” Sam suggested.
“I’ll go look.” She jumped up from the sofa and ran out the door.
Sam picked up the photocopy and stared at the phony driver’s license, trying to picture the man with lighter hair and no mustache. A memory danced around the shadowy edges of his mind but wouldn’t come out into the light.
His cell phone beeped, the signal for a text message. He pulled his phone from his pocket and punched a couple of buttons. Five words showed up in the display window:
BELLEWOOD MFG 730 2NITE ALONE.
Sam’s heart stuttered, then began to race.
Kristen burst through the front door, slightly out of breath but grinning. “Found it.” She crossed the room in a coltish bound and dropped onto the sofa beside him.
He quickly tucked his phone into his pocket. Alone, the message had said.
No one else could know.
“Any news?” Kristen asked, following his movement with her sharp blue eyes.
He shook his head, trying to look calm even though his insides had turned to ice. “Nothing. Is that the picture?”
She showed him the grainy photo. The photo showed only the side of the man’s face, but it was enough. The elusive memory that had been nagging him for the past few minutes crashed into full view, bringing with it both enlightenment and a heavy, crushing sense of despair. He knew the man in the photo. And now he understood the meaning of “Your child for mine.”
Ten years ago, at a snowy staging area in Kaziristan, Sam had killed this man’s son.
Chapter Sixteen
The look on Sam’s face made Kristen’s blood freeze. “You know who he is, don’t you?”
Sam looked up at her, his expression bleak. “His name is Stan Burkett. I killed his son.”
“You killed-how? When?” The ice flooding her veins spread to her skin, raising goose bumps on her arms and legs. Her hand shook as she reached for Sam’s hand.
He eluded her touch, rising from the sofa. Apparently he’d found the nervous energy that had just drained out of her; he kept moving as he spoke. “It was ten years ago, in Kaziristan.” He stopped pacing long enough to look at her. “There’d been an earthquake, and we’d sent in the Marines to help with the search and rescue, carry emergency supplies-you know the drill.”
She nodded. “I remember that.”
He went back to pacing. “I was there because I was assigned to the humanitarian mission as a legal liaison. Some of the kids who went over there were fresh out of boot camp at Parris Island. This was their first overseas assignment. Richard Burkett was one of them. Nineteen, with a chip on his shoulder. He got crossways with his CO, a real tough guy-Captain Kent Sullivan.” Sam’s lips curved slightly. “Sully was hard but fair. Most of the other Marines respected that, but Burkett was convinced Sully was picking on him specifically. Burkett had a temper. And a weapon.”
“Burkett fragged Sullivan?” Kristen asked, guessing ahead.
Sam stopped and looked at her. “He tried to. I stopped him with my service weapon.” He seemed to have run out of steam, dropping heavily into the armchair across from her. “He was a second away from blowing off Sully’s head with an M16 rifle. I didn’t have a choice.”
“But Burkett’s father didn’t see it that way?”
“I was cleared by a JAGMAN investigation. I had acted within reason. But Burkett yelled cover-up, claimed the investigation cleared me because I was one of them. He raised a stink but it never went anywhere.” Sam ran his hand over his face, his palm rasping against the beard stubble darkening his jaw. “He went away after a few months. I thought that was the end of it.”
Kristen crossed to the chair and crouched in front of him, taking his hands in hers. “Not exactly the break in the case you wanted, huh?”
He squeezed her hands, his gaze meeting hers, dark with fear. “If he’s been nursing this grudge this long, he’s dangerous. And he has Maddy.”
“But it’s not really Maddy he wants, right? The note in the backpack said it’s you he’s after. So he’s not going to hurt her while there’s a chance to use her to get to you. He’s going to be in touch again soon, and then we can figure out how to catch him and get Maddy back.”
Sam dropped his gaze to their hands. “Yeah.”
She felt the tension in the room rise a few notches, reminding her of the furtive way Sam had tucked his phone in his pocket a few minutes earlier. What wasn’t he telling her?
Had he already heard from Burkett?
“Sam, has he already contacted you?”
There was the faintest hesitation before he spoke. “No.”
Now she knew he was lying. He’d been holding the phone when she came back in the house, as if he’d just rung off. She’d figured it was one of his family, or maybe Riley Patterson.
What if it had been Burkett?
“Kristen, can you do me a favor?” Sam finally looked up, meeting her gaze. “I need to stick around here, in case a call comes in, but we could really use a little more background information on Burkett. Find out where he’s been the last few years, what he’s been up to. You have resources at the police department, and I trust you to be thorough. Will you do that for me? And see if Foley’s gotten anything out of Darryl Morris.”
