The Cradle Will Fall

“Tea?” Grace stared at the teabag now dangling from a string clenched between his fingers as if it were an alien life form. “This coming from the man I’ve seen consume a gallon of task-force coffee without a wince.”

“I’ve turned over a new leaf. If you could nuke some water, I’d appreciate it.”

“No problem.” In minutes his tea sat steeping in front of him.

Grace refilled her coffee mug. “In addition to the cinnamon rolls, we’ve got croissants and poppy-seed muffins.”

“All baked by Morgan, I suppose.”

“Correct.” Grace carried her mug around the island and slid onto the stool beside his. “I’m going to miss her when she gets married and moves out.”

“When’s the big event?”

“Valentine’s Day. She’s marrying Alex Blade. Do you know him?”

“Blade.” Mark sipped his tea while reaching into his memory. “When I worked here, he teamed up on a couple of undercover assignments with Sara Rackowitz, one of our female agents.” Mark paused, his mouth curving. “Are you sure Morgan’s old enough to get married? Last time I saw her, she had just gotten her driver’s license. She had a mouthful of braces.”

Grace’s eyes met his over the rim of her mug. “You’ve been gone a long time, Mark.”

“True.” So long that he couldn’t remember anymore what it felt like to go into the same office each day. Sleep in the same bed every night. He took another sip of the tea that was touted to be mild on the stomach, all the time wishing it were coffee.

Leaning in, Grace pinched an anemic-looking leaf off the otherwise thriving poinsettia.

Watching her, Mark felt memories flood over him. At the beginning of their affair, Grace had visited his apartment and been appalled at its bare-bones look. Since he spent most of his time at the office, he’d rented only the basic amount of furniture needed for one person who was rarely home. It sure as hell had never occurred to him to add accessories. Before long, Grace had brought over scented candles, woven throws and colorful pillows. Several potted plants from the landscape business her mother owned had soon followed. He could picture her in that apartment now, clipping leaves off those plants. For the first time, he understood that Grace had created a nest of contentment for him. The only one he’d ever had.

When she shifted back on her stool, the movement sent her light, subtle scent drifting over Mark like a gentle stroke of hands. Soothing. Inviting. He closed his eyes for an instant, wishing he could lose himself in that scent. In that soft voice. In the woman.

“So, Agent Santini, ready to tell me about the case we’ll be working?”

“Ready.” He could wish for a hell of a lot of things, he thought as he opened the cover on the file folder he’d brought with him. Problem was, he’d learned a long time ago that wishes were futile. “Does the name Landon Grayson ring a bell?”

Grace’s brows shot up. “Slightly. He’s only about the most powerful man in the U.S. Senate.”

“The most powerful. Which is why I’m here. The Bureau’s annual budget is at Grayson’s mercy.”

“What would law enforcement be without politics?” Grace asked dryly. She paused. “How is he involved in this case?”

Mark flipped up a page in the file. “Grayson’s daughter died here not long after she’d given birth at a state-run medical clinic. She apparently died of complications associated with the birth.”

Grace narrowed her eyes. “If she wasn’t a victim of a violent crime, why are you here? Why not use an agent from the local office if Grayson wants the death looked into by the FBI?”

“The Bureau did that to begin with.” Mark took a minute to decide the best way to explain things. “I need to back up and walk you through this from the beginning.”

“All right.”

“From all accounts, Grayson’s daughter, Andrea, was a headstrong and stubborn kid. One who apparently gave new meaning to the word rebel. She and the senator never got along.”

“What about her mother?”

“Died when Andrea was an infant. Over the years Andrea ran off a couple of times. The cops always found her and brought her home. By the time she was fifteen she’d figured out how not to get caught. She had a fake ID made in the name of A’lynn Jackson, her mother’s maiden name. The next time Andrea and the senator fought, she walked out of the house and vanished.”

“How long ago was that?”

“About three years.”

“And now she’s dead.”

Nodding, Mark pulled a photo from the file of a smiling girl, full of eager youth. Andrea had a pretty face framed by long auburn hair, and a tall well-shaped build. “This is the most recent picture the senator had of Andrea, taken just before she left home the last time.”

Grace studied the photo. “She looks a lot older than fifteen.”

“She drifted around the country, using her mature looks and the above-average singing voice she inherited from her mother to score gigs with bands in country-western bars. If anyone questioned her age, she had the fake ID that upped her age to legal. She also worked as a waitress in those bars, and gave dance lessons.”

“Did she have any contact with her father during that time?”

“Twice. Right after Andrea left home, Grayson hired a private investigator to find her. Somehow the P.I. figured out she was using her mother’s maiden name, and he picked up her trail in Kansas City. The report in the file doesn’t say how, but Andrea got wind the guy worked for the senator. She called Daddy, told him if he didn’t call off his P.I. she’d disappear from his life forever and never have anything to do with him.”

“I take it the senator is the one who backed down?”

“Yes. Andrea was his only child, and he blamed himself for her rebellious streak.”

“Why?”

“When his wife died, the senator dealt with his grief by burying himself in his work. He hired a series of nannies to raise Andrea.”

“So she basically lost both her mother and father at the same time.”

“That’s the size of it,” Mark agreed. “Fast forward to a month ago. The senator returned from an overseas trip to find a message from Andrea on his private answering machine. She acknowledged they’d had their differences and a lot of what she called ‘bad stuff’ had happened between them. Said she wanted to call a truce, then added she was pregnant and due any day. After asking if she could bring her baby home, she assured her father she would call back in two days to find out his answer.” Mark took a sip of tea. “Apparently being pregnant changed the way she looked at things.”

“Knowing a baby is on the way can do that.”

Mark glanced up. Grace’s voice had gone soft, taking on an almost elusive sadness. As had her dark eyes. “Something wrong?”

Her eyes cleared as she handed the photo back to him. “Nothing more than the fact that a young girl is dead. In the message, did Andrea say where she was?”

“No, but Grayson got the number off his phone’s caller ID. She didn’t call back when she said she would, so he contacted the Bureau’s assistant director and asked for help in finding out where she’d called from. The number checked to a place called Usher House in Oklahoma City.”

“I know it well.” Grace sat her coffee mug aside. “A woman named Millie Usher established the shelter about five years ago for homeless, pregnant girls. I’ve dealt with several runaway juvies who’ve stayed there.”

“The home is church funded, right?”

“Right, but Millie opens the door to girls from all faiths. Her rules are simple—no drugs, no alcohol, no men allowed.” Grace propped an elbow on the counter. “I take it that’s where the agent from the Bureau’s local office comes in? He went to Usher House to see if Andrea was still there?”

“Yes. The agent didn’t find a record of Andrea Grayson. But when he showed her picture around, several people identified her as A’lynn Jackson and said she’d lived there a short time. When our agent asked about the baby’s father, two girls staying at Usher House told him Andrea didn’t know the guy’s name. Just that he was some trucker passing through the city.” Mark flipped through a few pages in the file. “Millie Usher claimed that when Andrea showed up, she told Millie she had decided to give up her baby for adoption. Andrea’s decision on that was so firm, she’d already had someone at the clinic help her fill out the paperwork to legalize things.”

“She had an ID under a fake name showing she was of legal age,” Grace said. “She probably claimed she had no next of kin and signed an affidavit swearing she didn’t know the identity of the baby’s father.”

“All correct,” Mark said. “Which, according to Oklahoma’s parental consent laws, cleared the way for the state to handle the child’s adoption.”