Deadly Holidays Part 4

"Who are some of Shawn's other friends at school? Maybe I could talk to them to see if they know where he is."

"I don't know. He sometimes talks to Joey, but mainly to me. We're best friends."

"Okay, if you think of anything that might help us find Shawn," Blake began as he slipped his business card out of his jacket, "just call the number on my card."

In his vehicle as Blake wrote up his report about the visit to the Collins' house, he thought about the way Billy averted his eyes when he answered his questions. In nine out of ten times, when a suspect did this during an interview, he was lying. But Billy wasn't a suspect. He was a five-year-old. Billy could have been telling a lie, or he could have been a small boy who feared to talk to an officer.

The only thing Blake knew for certain was that when they found Shawn, he was going to need some professional help. The child had experienced emotional, psychological and physical abuse. Shawn was going to need all the support and help he could get. And if it was the last thing Blake did, he'd make sure Shawn got it. If only he could find him. The clock was ticking. Forty-eight hours had pa.s.sed. If he didn't find him soon, it was unlikely he'd find Shawn alive.

Frankie arrived early, with Hunter in the back seat, but parking s.p.a.ces were scarce. It looked like every county resident, along with friends and family, had arrived to partic.i.p.ate in the organized search for Shawn Isaac. Not that she was surprised. In one year's time, the county had lost three young women to a vicious serial killer, and now they had a missing five-year-old. Still reeling from the shock and sorrow, residents were determined to find this little boy alive.

Frankie and Hunter had retraced Shawn's steps from the courthouse the day before. But Hunter lost the little boy's scent near the shops, where an indefinite number of holiday shoppers had spent the day buying gifts.

Media trucks, along with some food trucks, lined up near the building. There were already long lines, with volunteer searchers waiting to get hot coffee to ward off the chill of the snowy, winter day. A helicopter sat on its pad, ready to take off with the sheriff and pilot. If Shawn had not been found by sunset, they'd fly over the entire area looking for him with thermal imaging equipment that detects heat radiating from humans and animals.

Frankie got out of her SUV, then pulled Hunter out of the back. The Giant Schnauzer was electrified with energy as he was every time he worked a search and rescue. Wearing a neon-yellow sweater, the dog seemed to know it was time for him to do his job. Frankie, with Hunter in tow, waded through the crowd of people until she could see Lane and Blake running the command booth. Lane stood in front, dividing up the group into four and five volunteers per team, and a.s.signing a deputy as their lead. They were focusing their search on a wooded area and neighborhood near Shawn's elementary school, as well as the forest near the farm where he grew up. Volunteers were given a photo and description of Shawn, as well as water and a detailed map of the specific area they were a.s.signed. They were instructed to stay close to their group leader, a deputy who had a walk-talkie to communicate with the command post that Blake and several deputies were manning.

Lane, Frankie and Hunter were a.s.signed to the wooded area near John Isaac's farm. Blake handed Lane the bag containing Shawn's s.h.i.+rt. The three boarded the small yellow bus donated by the school system, and headed toward the farm with the rest of their volunteer team.

Frankie watched Hunter sitting in the seat next to her, gazing out the window. She'd often told Anne Mason-Brandt that her gift of Hunter as a puppy was the best present she'd ever received. Not only was Hunter a valued member of the community for his scent-driven searching abilities, but he was also an important member of Frankie and Lane's family. The dog was devoted to their three-year-old daughter, Ashley, and slept next to her bed each night guarding her.

Frankie could never have predicted Hunter's uncanny ability to find the lost, whether it was an Alzheimer's patient who had strayed, or a child cowering under a piece of roofing after a tornado.

The bus pulled up to John Isaac's farm. Its boarded-up windows were a haunting reminder of the man's death, along with his wife's, just a day before. Moving to the edge of the wooded area to be searched, the bus stopped and the volunteers gathered outside to listen to Lane's directions about how their search would be done. Using a single-line search pattern, Lane directed each volunteer to his/her placement along the line. Each person was reminded to call out if anything were found, and flag the item.

Wearing latex gloves so he wouldn't add his scent, Lane pulled a secured bag out of his duffle bag. He handed the bag containing one of Shawn's s.h.i.+rts to Frankie, who stood next to Hunter. She'd learned long ago that humans, alive or dead, constantly emit microscopic particles bearing the human scent. Her air-scenting Giant Schnauzer was trained to locate the scent of a human in a specific search area. Not restricted to the missing person's tracks, Hunter could search long after the tracks were destroyed.

Also wearing latex gloves, Frankie opened the bag, pulled out Shawn's soiled, striped T-s.h.i.+rt, and handed it to Hunter to sniff. Fiercely wagging his tail, the dog sucked in the scent of the s.h.i.+rt, then sat in an alert position, looking up at Frankie to communicate his readiness to begin.

With Lane close behind, they began covering their area downwind, so Hunter would have the best scenting coverage. Frankie removed Hunter's leash, knowing the dog would never stray too far from her sight.

They'd walked a short distance when Frankie spotted the decomposing carca.s.s of a deer. She raced to a nearby tree and heaved what remained of her breakfast.

"Baby, are you okay?" asked Lane, who had rushed to her side.

She nodded, but her stomach was doing Cirque du Soleil-worthy acrobatics as she wiped her mouth with a tissue.

"You don't look okay. You look as green as one of the walkers in The Walking Dead."

Frankie glared at him and said, "Thank you, Lane. That was the exact look I was going for today." She pushed past him as he chuckled, and ran to catch up to Hunter.

They spent the rest of the day looking for Shawn, but found nothing. It was a long shot, Frankie thought, that the little boy could have walked the five miles from town to the farm, but it had been worth a try. As they headed back to town, she prayed that the other searchers had found him a" alive.

Though exhausted from the search, Frankie made it home in time to change clothes. She then followed Arthur Holden, president of the Holden Gasket Factory, pillar of the community and suspected adulterer by his wife, as he left work. Frankie tailed him as drove directly to a CVS drugstore downtown on First Street. He was acting like a man on a mission, and being the good P.I. she was, Frankie was suspicious.

She donned a curly brown wig and a cowboy hat and ventured into the store. Frankie made her way to Aisle C, where Mr. Holden stood in front of the condom and personal lubricant product display. She pretended to be shopping for feminine products and eased down the aisle until she sneaked a look over his shoulder. He was holding up a large box of Trojan Pleasure Pack Condoms. Although in his sixties, Arthur Holden looked a lot closer to seventy than to sixty. It seemed to Frankie this particular purchase could result in a life-altering or -ending situation. Mrs. Holden was certainly correct about one thing. Her husband's mind was not on the subject of poker, or any other card game.

Frankie slipped back into her car and watched Arthur Holden through the store's plate-gla.s.s window as he paid for his items. She slunk down in her seat when he entered the parking lot. a.s.sured he had not seen her, she followed his car at a discreet distance until he reached Pine Street, where he parked his Mercedes in front of a white house with its porch light blazing. Frankie pulled in front of a neighboring home, parked, and pulled out her night-vision binoculars and a camera.

Soon a twenty-something, buxom young woman wearing a red nightie, a Santa-helper hat, and a smile opened the front door and thrust herself into Holden's arms. She squealed as he twirled her around a couple of times. This was definitely not poker night with the boys. Focusing and aiming her camera, Frankie took several candid and compromising shots of the couple before they went inside.

Frankie arched her back to stretch, then placed her hand over her mouth as she yawned. It had been a long day. Since Lane had to work tonight, too, she'd taken Ashley over to her Aunt Megan's house to make holiday cookies. That her little girl loved to visit her aunt a.s.suaged Frankie's guilt in not spending the evening with her.

She dug in her duffle bag until she found a thermos of hot Starbucks espresso, and poured some in a plastic cup. Hoping the shot of caffeine would perk up her system, she drained the cup, then filled it again. Taking a deep breath, she leaned her head against the car's headrest and watched the house. After an hour, her eyelids feeling heavy, she draped her red-plaid stadium blanket across her legs and turned up the heat. Frankie was drifting into a nap, when a loud boom a" sounding like a tree had just fallen on top of her vehicle a" startled her so much, she screamed and jumped in her seat in alarm, hitting her head on the vehicle's ceiling.

It was then that a very large man jerked open her pa.s.senger door and plopped himself down in the seat next to her.

"Lane, d.a.m.n it! You could have given me a heart attack!"

"Serves you right for sleeping on the job," Lane returned.

"I thought you were working tonight. How did you find me, anyway?" Could the man be any more annoying? The shame of it all was that she'd known this, and married him anyway.

"Got the night off, and since when has it ever been difficult for me to find you? I'm a good a" make that excellent a" detective," he replied with a smirk.

"So why are you here?" Frankie asked, as she folded the stadium blanket and threw it in the back seat.

Lane grew serious and whispered, "I miss you, baby. It seems like we rarely have time together anymore."

His eyes, filled with a curious, deep longing, swept over her. Guilt was a knife slicing deep into her heart. Lane was right. With Lane working two jobs, they didn't have much time together, and it was all her fault. The economy nose-dived and her business followed. It was all they could do to make ends meet, and she felt responsible. And now she was pregnant, adding another mouth to feed.

Frankie leaned back to look at him. "I miss you, too."

Lane slid his arm around her shoulders, as he threw her duffle bag in the back. "Show me."

"What?"

"You heard me. Get over here and show me how much you miss me."

"Lane Hansen, I'm on surveillance. Professionals don't make out while they are on surveillance."

"Yes, they do." Lane did something he hadn't done in a long time. He grabbed the lever beside his seat and pushed his seat back as far as it would go. He then lifted her across the console in one smooth movement, ending with his surprised wife sitting on his lap, right where he wanted her.

He kissed Frankie hard, igniting a fire within her that heated all the way to her curled toes. Lane's mouth felt hard and hot. His hands were wandering down her back under her s.h.i.+rt, then beneath the waistband of her jeans. At that moment, the last thing on her mind was the geriatric adulterer inside the house she was supposed to be watching. Frankie moved sensuously against him until Lane groaned, and she felt the rock-hard evidence of his arousal. Lane lifted her, and before she could register what was happening, she was straddling him and he had her jeans zipper down. He planted soft kisses along Frankie's neck as he quickly helped her shed her coat and top. Now licking and kissing, his mouth moved down her neck until he pushed her bra up and cupped her breast, his lips touching her nipple with tantalizing possessiveness. Frankie struggled first with his jacket, and then his s.h.i.+rt. The desire to be against him, flesh against flesh, was overwhelming.

"You feel so good..." Frankie moaned.

The first blow to her vehicle was to the winds.h.i.+eld, loud as thunder and just as destructive as lightning. Safety gla.s.s rained in on them. They separated and Frankie, adjusting her bra, searched the back for her duffle bag to get her Glock. What the h.e.l.l was going on? Before she could find her gun, three more blows were delivered to the hood of her SUV.

Arthur Holden, holding a Louisville Slugger as if preparing for a home run, used her car as the ball. He swung the bat, this time cras.h.i.+ng on the driver-side door. By this time, Lane had gathered his wits, grabbed his service revolver, and popped out of the SUV.

Holden, getting a good look at Lane's six-foot-five, hard-muscled body, took off at a good clip, considering he was sixty going on seventy-something, with one p.i.s.sed-off law enforcement officer husband not far behind.

Frankie struggled with the driver's door until she realized it wouldn't open. She scooted across the console and flew through the open pa.s.senger-side door.

"Stand down, Babe." Lane called out to his wife, who was following in hot pursuit.

"Stand down? He's my target, dammit!" Frankie called back. "I've got this..."

"You've got it? You don't even have all your clothes on." Lane snorted.

Frankie was cold, as in freezing. She stopped, looked down to see that not only was she not wearing her coat, but she was also missing her top. "s.h.i.+t," she mumbled under her breath as she raced back to her SUV, gathered up her clothes from the floor, then put them on, leaning against the vehicle while sobbing hysterically.

Still running, Lane leaped and tackled Holden, holding him face-down in the snow. "You freaking idiot! You just made a huge mistake."

"Mistake? If anyone made a mistake, it was the s.l.u.t you were with. Did she really think she was following me unnoticed?"

Slipping a pair of handcuffs on Holden's wrists, Lane rolled the man over. "No, buddy, you're the one making the mistake. That so-called s.l.u.t is my wife. And let me introduce myself. My name is Lane Hansen and I run the Major Crimes Department for the County Sheriff's Office. Oh, by the way, you, sir, are under arrest."

Lane walked, half-dragged Holden to his vehicle, read him his rights, and then locked him in the back seat. When he returned to Frankie, she was still leaning against her SUV, sobbing.

Lane pulled her against his chest and rubbed her back in an effort to get her to calm down.

"Baby, it's okay. I know you could have handled this, but I was here and that jerk could have hurt you."

She pushed at him and smothering a sob said, "You don't understand. We paid off this SUV last week. It was finally paid for. One less bill. And now it will cost us hundreds if not thousands to fix."

"Not necessarily," Lane said as he brushed a clump of blonde hair out of her eyes.

"What are you talking about?" Didn't he hear what she just said?

"I a.s.sume the jerk in the back of my car is who you were following."

"Yes, that's Arthur Holden. His wife hired me because she suspected him of cheating on her," Frankie said.

"Was he?"

"Yes."

"Did you get photos?"

"Yes," she said as she glanced inside at her camera.

"Then you take more photos of the damage he just did to your car and you add it to your client's bill."

"Hmmm, not a bad idea. Mrs. Holden did say money was no object."

"I have another idea."

"Let's hear it," said Frankie, as she kissed him on the cheek.

"Give me an hour to get this guy to the jail, and then meet me at the house. We need to finish what we started here. I wasn't kidding when I said I missed you. I also want you a" a lot."

Frankie raised her wrist to look at her watch. "One hour. Our house. In the bedroom. No clothes. Got it? And I hope you've taken your vitamins today."

She watched Lane as he headed back to his vehicle. Yes, she needed to tell him she was pregnant. But not tonight.

December 23.

By the time Frankie reached their home, it was two in the morning. She bounded out of the car like an Olympian, unlocking and relocking the front door, and rus.h.i.+ng up the stairs, taking them two at a time. In her bathroom, she ran hot water in the big garden tub, using a substantial amount of the rose-scented bubble bath that Lane liked. Stripping off her clothes, she threw them into the hamper, and eased into the tub. It was steamy-hot the way she liked it, the heat relaxing her aching muscles. It had been such a long day with the fruitless search for Shawn Isaac in the woods beside the farm where he used to live. As if that weren't enough, she'd followed Arthur Holden to his girlfriend's house, where calamity ensued and her car fell victim to Arthur's Louisville Slugger. Frankie was exhausted, but then she was exhausted all the time when she was pregnant with Ashley.

Thinking of her little girl made her smile. She visualized Ashley fast asleep with Hunter by her side in one of Aunt Megan's and Uncle Tim's guest rooms.

Frankie heard the twist of the front door lock, then the door opened and slammed shut again. Lane was home. Her heart jolted and her pulse pounded. The man had the uncanny ability to turn her on just by thinking of him and his hard, ripped bodya"plus a s.e.xual attraction that seemed to emanate from every pore, pulling her to him like iron to a magnet. She was powerless to resist him.

Frankie heard his heavy footsteps racing up the stairs, so she jumped out of the tub, not caring that she was dripping water all over the floor. When she reached the bathroom doorway, she draped her naked body seductively against the frame, waiting for him to enter their bedroom. She couldn't help but wonder how long she could pull off s.e.xy before she'd start showing the baby she was carrying. She was already a bit self-conscious because she hadn't lost the last ten pounds after having Ashley. Lane had told her that any concerns about her weight were silly. He told her s.e.xy was an att.i.tudea"not a size or numbera"and she had lots of att.i.tude.

When Lane burst through the bedroom door, the only thing he was wearing was his white boxer shorts. She knew the moment he noticed her because her temperature shot up about one hundred degrees as his smoldering eyes raked boldly over her, starting from her eyes to her shoulders to her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. Slowly, sensually, his gaze slid downward until her body ached so much for his touch, she didn't think she could withstand another second without it. In one forward motion, she was in his strong arms, her soft curves molding to the contours of his hard body. She gasped as bare chest met bare chest. Claiming her lips, Lane crushed her to him. He kissed her like he was hungry for her, sending new spirals of ecstasy surging through her body, down to her toes.

"I think," Frankie whispered in a sultry voice, "you are wearing entirely too many clothes."

Lane chuckled as he suddenly lifted Frankie into the cradle of his arms and he carried her to the bed, gently setting her down. With a quick motion, his boxers were off and he was lying next to her, kissing her slowly and thoughtfully. But she didn't want slow and thoughtful. Frankie wiggled and pulled until he was on top of her, bracing himself on his elbows with her legs intertwined around his.

"Baby, slow down," he whispered against her lips. "We've got lots time. I want to explore every delicious inch of your body."

A soft moan came deep from within Frankie's throat as his tongue found a sensitive area on her neck. She had a burning desire, an aching need for him that couldn't wait. His kiss became forceful and she responded in kind. She arched against him and said, "Take me, Lane. Hard and fast. We can do slow later. Please, honey."

Lane reached across her and she heard the rip of foil. She wanted to tell him he didn't need protection, but his mouth clamped against hers and he made love to her with an urgency she matched with her own l.u.s.ty, unsated needs. He entered her and she gasped from the force of it. The pleasure was pure and explosive, making the real world spin and careen on its axis. Together they found the tempo that bound their bodies together, their bodies in exquisite harmony, until they exploded in a downpour of fiery sensations.

Panting as if he'd just run a marathon, Lane rolled over and took her with him, positioning her body close to his side, her head on his chest.

"I love you so much, Frankie," he whispered, his voice tight with emotion.

"I love..." Frankie couldn't finish her sentence because nausea rushed to her throat at breakneck speed. She rolled over and climbed off the bed before flying into the bathroom, throwing up in the toilet.

Lane brushed past her, grabbed a washcloth and ran cool water over it, pressing the cloth to her forehead.

"Baby, are you okay? First, earlier in the woods, and now. It's just like when you were pregnant with Ashley."

Wide-eyed she looked up at him.

"I'll be d.a.m.ned. That's it. You're pregnant, aren't you?"

Frankie nodded.

Lane picked her up and spun her around the room until she thought she'd get sick again. Finally, he set her down and said, "This is the best Christmas present ever! We're going to have a baby!"