“You focus on Sam. Laurie will help me get Eva home.” He paused, then squeezed Coop’s arm. “Sam’s a tough lady, Dad. And I know you’ll find her.” Jason’s grip tightened. “I know you will.”
Coop wanted very much to share his son’s optimism. Unfortunately, time wasn’t a friend in these situations. As worst-case-scenarios played through his mind, his throat tightened. Please let me find her before it’s too late.
The cop side, rational and systematic, competed with the personal side. His heart refused to give up hope, so he’d go through everything again. And again, till he found the thread needed to unravel the mystery of who had Sam…before time ran out.
The loud peal of his cell phone broke the somber moment. “Delaney. Now? No. Don’t do anything. I’m on my way.”
“What’s happened? Is it Sam?”
Jason’s worried voice broke through the buzz in Coop’s ears.
“No, I’m afraid not. Someone I need to talk to just got home. I’ve gotta run. Don’t wait up.”
Coop sat in the car for a several minutes, taking deep breaths, forcing his cramped shoulders to relax before he knocked on Anson’s door.
“Well, Sheriff Delaney. What a pleasant surprise.”
The pinched expression on the lawyer’s face said otherwise.
“May I come in?”
“Why?”
“It’s chilly out here.”
The silent standoff continued for several long moments before Anson stepped aside.
Coop eyed the twelve-foot ceilings in the foyer, the antique chandelier, and the polished hardwood floors. “Nice place. Never seen the insides before.”
“I must remember to add you to my party list.” He moved to his left. “We can talk in the parlor.”
They entered a tidy room that could have graced the pages of any antique catalog. The furnishings, even to his untrained eye, were antiques and expensive. The thought of sitting on any of the delicate pieces filled him with dread.
He brought his gaze back to Anson. “I didn’t realize lawyering paid this good.”
Thin lips pressed into a tight line and heightened color on his cheeks indicated the jibe hit home.
Anson strode to a table against the wall and poured a drink from a crystal decanter. “It belonged to my grandfather.” He gulped down the amber liquid, scowled and poured another. “I inherited it. As you well know.”
“Oh, yeah. I guess I forgot that part, what with two murders and all to deal with.”
Coop could almost hear the other man count to ten as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Good. Rattled men were more apt to let something slip.
“We’ve already had this conversation, Delaney—”
“Where were you all day?”
He sipped his drink. “Minding my own business. You should try it sometime.”
“Murder and kidnapping make it my business. Where were you?”
Anson’s cheeks took on a rosy glow, which Coop surmised had nothing to do with the alcohol he’d consumed.
“We can talk here, or we can go to my office. Your choice.”
The lawyer’s chest puffed out, and his eyes flashed fire. “I’m not some dimwitted country bumpkin,” he snapped. “I know my rights. Unless you have probable cause you’re wasting my time. And you know it.”
Body tense, begging for a fight, Coop moved forward, his voice low and ominous. “Don’t make me ask again.”
The lawyer’s jaw clenched twice and the stare down ended. “I had a deposition at eight this morning. In Texarkana. It lasted till almost noon.”
Coop disguised his disappointment with derision. “Now, was that so hard?”
Thankful looks couldn’t kill, he probed further.
“And then?”
Anson’s shoulders drew back as he swirled his drink. “Extended lunch with a friend.”
“This friend got a name?”
“…Yes.” The word came out strained, as though it took all his energy to say it.
Coop snickered. “Does her husband know?”
One dark vein in Anson’s forehead pulsed as he silently sipped his drink.
Coop pulled the small notebook from his pocket and passed it over. “Names and contact information.”
