Chapter 4

Cynthia Kendall walked down the hallway toward Carly's room, the heels of her shoes clicking loudly on the tile floor. As she approached her room, she heard screaming and shouting. It was Carly. She was in trouble.

Cynthia's heart raced erratically as she ran toward her room. When she tore open the door she froze, stunned at what she saw.

There were clothes scattered in heaps on the bed and even the floor as if someone had lost their temper. In a corner of the room Officer Gilmore squatted down, holding Carly in his arms as she squirmed to get away. A purple bruise covered half of her left cheek bone and part of her left eye.

Gilmore's grip was firm but gentle. He whispered soothing words close to Carly's ear. After a few seconds, she was calm once again. But the officer continued to comfort the child. It was clear to Cynthia that the officer had listened to what she had said, and was slowly building Carly's trust.

After a few moments Gilmore released Carly and she slid away from him. She grunted a few times as she did so.

Cynthia knelt down in front of Carly. She reached out her hand and stroked the purple spot on her cheek. The girl flinched and pulled her face away from the unwanted touch.

“Carly, it's Ms. Kendall. Do you remember me?”

Automatically Carly lunged forward and clutched her arms around Ms. Kendall's neck. She squeezed her so tightly that Cynthia felt remarkable pain. She returned the girl's hug giving her reassurance that she was loved and protected.

“Can you tell me who hit you, Carly?” Cynthia asked lightly.

Terrified Carly shook her head frantically. All she could mutter were grunts and groans.

Cynthia picked the child up from the floor and carried her to the bed. She placed Carly on her lap and cradled her against her chest. Officer Gilmore crept up to the side of the bed holding out a pink rabbit and a pink blanket.

“Here, I thought Carly might like to have these,” Gilmore said with tenderness. “When I searched the home, I found a blanket and a pink bunny in her closet. Maybe this will help her to feel safe again.”

Cynthia took the bunny and the blanket and showed them to Carly. Quickly she snatched them both up and hugged them to her body.

“That was good thinking,” Cynthia responded politely . “You are a very smart man.”

He shrugged her comment off as if it were nothing. “Who do you think did that to Carly?” Gilmore asked pointing to the bruise on Carly's cheek.

Cynthia eyed him with a certain sweetness about her. She smiled timidly. “I don't know,” she said. “I believe that's your job to find out.” She skimmed the room. “Did you buy Carly all of these clothes?”

Gilmore shook his head and began scooping up shirts, pants, socks and underwear from the floor. He laid them on the bed with the other clothes.

“That's was awfully nice of you to think of Carly like that,” Cynthia acknowledged with sincerity. “How did you know what to get her?”

Gilmore smiled. “I had help from one of the clerks at the department store. I described Carly the best that I could and this is what she picked out.”

“Will the department reimburse you for your expense?”

Gilmore shook his head. “No. I paid for this out of my own pocket. But that's okay. I didn't expect anything in return.”

Cynthia glanced at Gilmore. “Maybe I can help you then? I'd like to pay for half of whatever you spent on the clothes?”

Gilmore knew that a teacher's salary wasn't that great. He was certain that things were tight financially where Cynthia was concerned. But he could tell she really wanted to help. He could read the sympathy and concern on her face.

“That would be nice,” he said, “but not necessary. Look, I'm going to go ask a few questions to the staff out there and see if I can find out who's responsible for that bruise. Do you think, possibly, that you could give Carly a bath while I'm gone? I'm sure she'd feel better afterwards. I would do it myself, but my being a man and all, I think it would be better if you were to do it.”

“I think that's a splendid idea. What do you say, Carly? You want a bath?”

Carly grunted and wiggled off of Cynthia's lap. She grabbed hold of her arm and began leading her toward the bathroom in an excited rush. Cynthia laughed. Gilmore watched the antics for a few seconds, then he left the room intent on finding some much needed answers.

An hour later, Cynthia and Dean were seated at a table at a small diner near the hospital. Their moods were quiet and subdued. Cynthia stirred sugar and cream into a cup of coffee then took a sip. Gilmore watched her with curiosity.

“So what did you find out about the bruise?” Cynthia asked.

“I find it very suspicious,” Gilmore answered. “The head nurse stated that the bruise was there this morning when she came on duty. She checked the file and the nurse on duty, at the time, claimed Carly woke from a nightmare around two in the morning and fell off the bed. They gave her a sedative to calm her down and help her get back to sleep.”

“I take it you don't believe her story.”

“No, not at all,” Gilmore replied. “I think someone backhanded her and clipped her across the face. I just don't know how to prove it.”

“Is there anything you can do about it?”

“I'm not sure, but I think maybe I can. I'll have to run it by my captain first and see what he thinks.”

Before Cynthia could ask anymore questions, a waitress brought their dinner to them stalling any further conversation. Cynthia ordered spaghetti and garlic bread while Gilmore ordered a double cheeseburger and fries. For the most part they ate in silence only occasionally taking time to steal a glimpse of one another. Cynthia finished her meal first which gave her time to observe Gilmore on a more personal level.

She playfully swiped a few french fries from his plate. He lightly tapped her across the knuckles.

“Hey,” he said with fained indignation. “Those are mine. You get your own.”

Cynthia laughed and tried to steal another french fry, but Dean quickly swept his plate out of her reach. She leaned back in her chair crossing her arms across her chest in mock surrender.

“Okay, Okay, I give up. They are your fries, so eat them. They're likely to give you high cholesterol or something.”

“Or something,” Dean replied back. “My cholesterol is just fine, thank you very much. I'll have you know I have routine check ups and I've been declared fit as a fiddle.”

Cynthia giggled impulsively feeling a bit bashful at the same time. She turned her attention away from Gilmore by taking another sip of her bitter coffee. She was fully aware of Dean sitting across from her just staring at her with deep green eyes the color of emeralds. The table seemed to diminish in size and it seemed that suddenly they were dangerously close to one another. To Cynthia it felt awkward yet very pleasant. She thought how easy it was to be in Gilmore's company.

She had to steer her thoughts away from the man or she was going to drive herself crazy. She was halfway there as it was. Anymore encouragement and she'd find herself over the edge.

“So, do you really think Carly's father killed her mother?” Cynthia questioned.

Gilmore set his half-eaten hamburger on his plate and pushed it away from him. He took a napkin and rubbed it around the table to clean any debris left behind. He took a drink of his soda and set his glass down with a slight thud.

“He's my most likely suspect, this far in the investigation. We have an approximate time of death. Tomorrow I'm going to this work source agency. I'm going to find out where Aadan was working that day.”

“And what will that tell you?”

Gilmore watched her from across the table. He kept smelling the sweet scent of apples. She wore a deep purple yet simple dress with dark hose and black shoes. She wore her hair down over her shoulders and it lay in shimmering waves across her back. She was tall, thin and perfectly structured for her age. She was more beautiful than he remembered. She was exuberant, youthful, yet at the same time she seemed a bit refined. Gilmore found it impossible to look away.

“If I can find out where Aadan worked that day, I can find out how long it would have taken him, on an average day, to get home. If I can pinpoint his arrival at or around the time of Eloise's death, I can bring him in for questioning and, possibly, arrest him for suspicion of murder.”

“That sounds plausible,” Cynthia said. “I want to say thank you for what you are doing for Carly. I mean the clothes and the way you held her today when she was throwing her tantrum. You were good with her.”

Suddenly shy, all Gilmore could think of as a suitable reply was, “I'm just doing my job, ma'am.”

Cynthia shook her head and her curls swished around her shoulders.

“I don't believe that,” she replied back. “You've taken a personal interest in Carly. Not as just another victim, Gil. You look at her as a human being. Someone who needs special care and attention.”

Gil shrugged hesitantly, afraid to look up at Cynthia for fear of what he might find shining in her eyes. He didn't deserve her admiration. He deserved nothing.

“Look,” he said with a brittle edge to his tone, “I'm not who you think I am. I'm no hero. I'm far from it actually. The truth is, I made a mistake. Now it's up to me to fix it. If I don't get Carly out of that place, I'm afraid of what might happen to her.”

Cynthia could see a serious determination in his expression.

“I believe Carly is a lot stronger than you give her credit for,” Cynthia acknowledged. “You forget what kind of environment she lived in. When you're raised like that you learn quickly how to fight back. Carly's a fighter. I can see it in her eyes.”

What Cynthia said was true. But it didn't make him feel any better. In fact, his guilt seemed to magnify and overwhelm him. He needed to change the subject and steer clear of any more thoughts of Carly.

“So why did you become a teacher?” Gil asked curiously. “The pay's not that great as I'm sure you've discovered. And I'm certain that kids can be trying on the nerves at times.”

Cynthia agreed. “Every day I am faced with another challenge. But to me, each of those children deserve the best education they can get. Neither of my parents had much of an education. My father made it to the ninth grade before dropping out of school.”

“Why did he do that?”

“My father was the second oldest out of ten children. His father passed away from lung cancer when my father was only fourteen. His mother was left alone to raise the children and needed the extra income that the older children could provide.”

“What about your mother?”

Cynthia's eyes seemed to smolder with unspoken love.

“My mother was beautiful. She died when I was four. She was killed in a mining explosion along with her father and two brothers. My father was in the mine when the explosion occurred. He never really got over losing my mother that way. Sometimes I think he wished he would have perished right along wit her.”

“Is you father still alive today?”

Cynthia nodded. “He's in a nursing home not far from here. I see him nearly every day. If I could, I'd bring him home with me to live. But it's impossible.”

“Why is that?”

Gil could read the sorrow hiding behind those bright blue eyes. “My father is bed-ridden. He can't even feed himself. He needs continuous care that I cannot provide.”

“I'm sorry to hear that. Do you have any siblings?”

“No, I was raised an only child. But I turned out okay, didn't I?”

Gil smiled sympathetically. “Yes, I say you did just fine.”

“So what about you?” Cynthia asked. “What was your family like?”

“Well,” Gil replied, “I come from divorced parents. My father was on the Colorado Police Department. It seemed only fitting that I would follow in his foots steps. Some how, I see myself as a disappointment in his eyes.”

“Why would you feel that way?”

He lifted his right shoulder slightly. “My father was good at his job. He earned numerous citations and made it all the way to Captain before he finally retired. He was dedicated to his job to the point of obsession. I don't believe I will ever be as good as him.”

“Let me say that you should never compare yourself to your father,” Cynthia whispered softly. “You have good instincts and I believe you're going to be a fine officer one day. You just need to believe in yourself.”

“So I've been told,” Gil replied with a slight rasp in his voice.

Cynthia could hear the silent recriminations that seemed to swirl around Gil like a thick blanket. Her heart went out to him. She felt the urge to reach out to him to comfort him. She wanted to wash away the doubt she heard in his voice. Yet she was uncertain what to do.

After a while they seemed to run out of things to say leaving a deafening silence between them. Cynthia looked down at her watch and decided it was time to go.

“I'm sorry, but it's time for me to leave,” Cynthia informed her friend “I promised my father I'd be by to see him tonight. I'm suppose to bring him a chocolate milk shake. It's his favorite.” The last was said with a heaviness in Cynthia's heart. It was easy to discern that she worried continually about her father's health and how much time she had left with him.

“I understand.” Gil threw down a five dollar bill for a tip. He grabbed the check and headed toward the cash register. “Thank you for agreeing to have dinner with me. It was nice having someone to talk to for a change.”

“It was nice,” Cynthia agreed. “Maybe we can do it again sometime.”

“I would like that,” Gil responded. His breath seemed to stick in his throat. The air around them was charged with electricity. There was definitely a spark that had ignited and it threatened to consume them. It was powerful and potent. It scared the daylights out of Gil. He felt his insides shaking.

Gil escorted Cynthia to her car. He opened the door for her and helped her inside. They smiled at each other before she drove away. But no matter how many miles she put between her and Gilmore, she couldn't put him out of her mind. Something told her soul was in danger. She had never experienced anything like this in all her life.

At twenty-five, she had never perceived herself to be in love with anyone. And though it was too soon to love Gil, Cynthia knew in her heart it would be so easy to let herself do just that. He was kind and sweet and caring. He was unlike anyone she had ever dated before.

She had dated men. But most of them had been self-centered, boring, and lacked true initiative. Some were content to barely get by in life. They had no drive or ambition. They were lazy, but only tried to disguise it in so many different ways. She'd gotten tired of the games and the lies. Finally she had given up on love all together. She had been so sure that love would never come her way.

Now she was almost as certain that it had. Was she strong enough or courageous enough to let it happen? She wasn't so sure. There was a side of her that was eager to run head long into the unknown. But there was a part of her that was scared to death.

When she looked at Gil, she could read everything about him. There were no secrets between them. From the moment they had met, there had been an instant connection between them.

Today that connection had grown stronger. There was no doubt in Cynthia's mind that Gil was attracted to her and wanted to spend more time with her. She felt the same way. She felt a longing so powerful that it was nearly painful.

Before Gil had come along, she had been happy with her life. She'd been content to get up and go to work every day, visit her father once in a while, then go to a small home with two cats. Now she felt her life was void of something that was as essential as the air she breathed. For the first time in her life she felt alone. For the first time in her life she desired companionship, laughter, and something more. Love.

Was it possible to have those things. Suddenly those things seemed more important than anything else in the world.

Suddenly Cynthia felt a nausea roll deep in her belly. She was terrified of the newfound feelings that Gil had awakened in her. She wasn't sure she was ready to deal with them.

Chapter 5

Gil was waiting outside in the rain. He was dressed in a pair of rugged work jeans and a plaid button-up shirt with a dingy gray hooded jacket. It was barely five in the morning and already there were a dozen men standing in the cold, breezy morning hoping to get a job that day.

Gil took the time to inconspicuously observe the men standing around. Some drank hot coffee while others smoked cigarettes. Some of the men looked decent enough and respectable enough. But there were those he spotted that seemed a little on the suspicious side. He tried to put names and faces to them. But he came up with nothing.

Stanton's Work Source Agency had been founded five years earlier by a man named Tim Therman. The company was run by Ben Struggs a middle-aged man with eyes that seemed brutal and uncanny. Gil had done some research on the man but hadn't been able to discover very much.

He'd seen a picture of Ben on Stanton's website. Gil knew he shouldn't draw conclusions about the man before he had the opportunity to meet him in person. But Gil was certain that he wasn't going to like him.

Just by looking at his picture Gil had found out a few things about Ben. He was about twenty to thirty pounds overweight. He wore a brightly colored shirt that at first glance looked gaudy. But after studying it for some time, Gil realized it was made of a fine imported Italian cloth. He wore one thick strand of gold around his neck a chunk of gold on his left pinky. Gil couldn't see his feet, but he was sure Ben's shoes were made of only the most expensive leather available.

It was evident that Ben had expensive tastes. He had a bad feeling about Ben and about Stanton's. He had tried to find out more about the agency, but he had hit a dead end. Now here he was, waiting for the doors to open so he could continue his investigation in the death of Eloise Singleton.

Gil wasn't sure how far he would get with a man like Ben Struggs. From his outward appearance it seemed the man was well-trained in dealing with difficult people and new how to take control of a situation. He was a man who would not let his guard down easily. If he wasn't willing to talk, it was almost guaranteed he wasn't going to talk. And if he didn't like Gil on sight, he'd just as easily throw him out on the sidewalk.

Gil had rehearsed over and over again what he was going to say to Ben when they finally met. Gil was not going to allow himself to be intimidated by the man. He was going to stand tall and proud and honorable.

By the time six o'clock came around, Gil was drenched. The pounding rain hadn't eased up and he was chilled to the bone. He had decided that some of these men had to be pretty desperate for a job to endure the elements like this. By seven the line of men was two miles long.

Finally the doors opened up. One by one men started filing into the building. Gil spotted Struggs immediately standing behind a small wooden table. He wore a dark tan suit with a Indian brown satin neck tie. The chain was missing around the neck but the ring was still on his finger.

Gil watch him closely. He wanted to see how Ben interacted with the men he put out on the street to work.

He would hand each man a pink sheet of paper and a white sheet of paper. He assumed one was the work order for the day and the other was the time sheet they would use to record their hours worked.

Gil took an interest in certain men that were waiting in line. They seemed anxious. One thing that Gil found strange is that once the men received their pieces of pink paper they left the building the same way they entered. A few of the more paltry men in line, Gil noticed, were given the slightest nod from Ben and were sent down the hall toward a room at the back of the building. After fifteen minutes, neither of them had returned.

The minute Gil stepped up to the table, Ben Struggs seemed to size him up. His eyes raked over him with great displeasure. There was the slightest twitch at the corner of Struggs left eye. It was almost as if he sensed something about Gil that threatened him.

“You're new here,” Struggs said with a deep, threatening voice.

“Yes, I am,” Gil answered back, trying to remain calm despite the fact that suddenly his heart was racing in his chest.

He was getting a negative vibe from Struggs. He was instantly on the alert. He felt the tension in his body mounting.

“What are you doing here?” Struggs asked.

Gil shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly casting a glance over his shoulder. “Same as everyone else standing in line. I'm here to work.”

“How'd you find out about this place?”

Ben's gaze was intent and hard.

“I know someone who was working here a few weeks ago. He told me about you. He said you could keep me busy. Said his name was Aadan Singleton. You heard of him?”

Ben's expression remained steady and focused, unwavering.

“Nope, don't recall the name at all,” Ben replied. His eyes were like daggers, sharp and unyielding.

“The last I heard he was working here.” Gil refused to become a pawn in a game.

“Must be a mistake,” Ben remarked with a scathing smirk on his face.

“I'm sure the name was Aadan Singleton. We met at a bar near Riversdell. He was pretty persistent. He even claimed you paid better than normal wages. Why would he lie about something like that?”

The two men were eye to eye with each other. Gil felt exhilarated. He'd come here merely to ask a few questions but was getting more than he bargained for. Struggs did not like him for one reason and one reason only. Because he was a cop. Struggs didn't like cops.

Sturggs was uneasy. It was clear the man was hiding something. And Gil was only irritating the man.

“Look kid, I don't have any work for you today. I save all the work for the regulars. You ain't no regular.”

Gil could detect a strain of condescension in Ben's voice.

“I need a job, man. I'm desperate. I'll do anything. You just put me to work and you won't be sorry.”

Gil felt a power inside of him that had, until today, lain dormant inside of him. He had never expected to be role playing, but, at the moment, that was exactly what he was doing. Something seemed to transform him and he found a strength and passion he didn't know existed. This is how it must have felt with his dad. No wonder he had been so compelled to take on the world.

Struggs glowered at Gil. His right hand coiled into a fist. Ben raised it high above his head. His eyes flashed with anger and for a moment Gil thought the man was about to hit him. He prepared himself for the blow. But instead, his fist came down hard on the table.

“I'm not telling you again, Kid. I aint got no work for you. Not today, tomorrow, or any other day. You got that?”

Gil swallowed hard. “Yea, I got that. Loud and clear.”

Gil turned and sauntered across the room. He could feel the man's eyes burning holes through his back. He had the urge to stop and look over his shoulder at Struggs, but he didn't want to cause any alarms to sound. Every move he made from this point on was crucial. And making a mistake would be like suicide. Struggs had lied to him. He had lied about knowing Aadan Singleton.

There was only one reason why Ben Struggs would lie to him. He was hiding something, covering something up. Gil could see the guilt in his eyes. But more than anything else, he could detect the ambivalence that simmered just beneath the surface.

Ben Struggs felt threatened by his presence. He was suspicious of him. When he felt threatened there was no telling what the man might do.

Gil smiled to himself as he got inside his car. He cranked the engine, kicked it into gear and slowly pulled away from the curb. He drove around to the back of the building but there wasn't anything activity going on so he quickly left before he was seen.

Twenty minutes later he pulled up to the police station. He was still wet from the rain, his hair was messed up and he was out of uniform. When he walked into the building everyone seemed to glare at him.

“What happened to you?” someone asked from the crowd.

“Working,” is all Gil replied and went straight to his desk.

It wasn't more than a minute or two before Captain Morgan appeared beside him. He hovered over him.

“Where have you been?” Morgan asked abruptly.

“Following up on a lead.” Gil responded. “I've been standing out in the rain since five a.m. this morning.”

“Do you think it will lead anywhere?”

Gil studied the captain for a moment. He was trying to read his expression, but he was unable to gouge the man. He was sure whether he should lie or tell the truth. He decided, in this case, that honesty was best.

“I believe it could. But I might need some help though.”

Captain Morgan lowered himself into a chair and leaned forward. “What kind of help?”

Gil took his set of keys and unlocked his bottom drawer. He opened it and extracted the manila folder that contained all the evidence to Eloise Singleton's murder. He pulled out a picture of Ben Struggs and laid it in front of Captain Morgan. He analyzed the picture, but showed no outer signs of interest.

“Does he look familiar?” Gil asked curiously.

Morgan continued to stared down at the picture but shook his head silently.

“The man's name is Struggs. Ben Struggs. Does the name ring a bell?”

“Ben Struggs? Should the name mean something?”

“I'm not sure, but I think so. I need to do some further checking on him. I tried to pull a criminal history on the man last night, but nothing came up.”

Morgan's interest was peaked. “How does this have anything to do with Singleton's murder?”

Gil removed a second picture from the folder that he'd found at Carly's house among the rubble. It was half singed and the edges were tattered, but there was enough of the man visible to get a good look at him. Gil laid it on top of the first one. “Does he look familiar to you?”

“No.”

“That Carly Singleton's father, Aadan Singleton. This man,” Gil said, point to Carly's father, “was employed by this man. I went to pay him a visit this morning, see if I could get any useful information. The man had eyes like a radar. He picked up that I was cop almost immediately.”

“What happened?” Morgan asked eagerly.

“He didn't recognize me, said I was a newcomer to the business. He asked me who referred me to him. When I mentioned the name Aadan Singleton he lied and said he'd never heard of the man.”

“And you don't believe him?”

Gill took the pictures and placed them back in the folder. “No, I don't. I know Aadan worked for the man. In what capacity, I'm not sure. But I have a suspicion that it may not have been legal.”

“And you think it could be in connection with Eloise's death?”

“I'm not one hundred percent sure, but I have a really good feeling about this.”

Captain Morgan stood up and looked down at Gil. “Good work, officer. Keep me posted.”

Two hours later Gil's desk was littered with thick books full of recent mug shots. He'd searched them from cover to cover looking for a familiar face. But he'd struck out. He was exhausted and restless. He needed a cup of coffee.

He went into the kitchen. He held the pot of black liquid into the light examining it as if might kill him if he were to drink it. The coffee was so thick it looked like sludge. He thought of pouring it out and making a fresh pot, but he couldn't make up his mind.

“Are you going to pour a cup or what?”

The voice was clearly irritated. Gil didn't have to turn around to know who it belonged to. Wyatt Palmer. He had been on the police force for nearly ten years. He loved his job and he was good at it. Through the years he had gained immeasurable experience dealing with criminals of every kind. Gil had once admired the man's abilities. But there was something about Wyatt Palmer that Gil didn't like.

The man was too cocky, too sure of himself. He had a self-confidence that just seemed to exploded. He was tall, with dark eyes and thick, bushy eyebrows. His cheeks were slightly sunken in and he had a dimple in the middle of his chin. He was well-muscled from hours of weight-lifting at the gym. His uniform was nearly a size to small which only enhanced his masculinity. He was the kind of man that everyone noticed. Especially the woman. And maybe that's where it all stemmed from. Jealousy. Envy. Rivalry.

It was no secret that the two men were in constant conflict with one another. Gil just did his best to steer clear of the man and give him his space.

“Sorry, I was just thinking of making another pot.”

Gil didn't want another confrontation. Instead he set the pot back on the burner and started to walk away with his chin toward the ground.

“Gil.” Gil was just at the doorway when he heard his name. He pivoted on his heels and met Wyatt's gaze. Where had his own self-confidence gone? Why had he allowed Wyatt to cast a shadow of doubt on himself like that? When he'd left Stanton's he'd felt jubilated. He'd felt this unrecognizable force within him that washed away all his fears and feelings of inadequacy. Now, just a few hours later, those feelings had vanished to be replaced with uncertainties and insecurities.

“Yes, Wyatt.”

“I heard you might have a break in the Singleton murder.”

“It's a good possibility,” Gil said without emotion. He was waiting for the laughter, the mockery. But it never came. He'd been teased so much over the last few months he'd gotten sick and tired of it.

“That's good news,” Wyatt replied with a note of sincerity laced in his voice. “If there's anything I can do to help, let me know.”

Gil was speechless. He shook his head and turned to walk away. Then he stopped and turned back to Wyatt and said, “Thanks.”

Wyatt smiled. “No problem, kid.”

When Gil returned to his desk, his confidence had been restored. Thanks to a man named Wyatt Palmer. Who would have thought. The man had a heart after all. He wasn't as insensitive as he had first imagined him to be. Maybe Gil had just misjudged him all this time? Maybe he'd never taken the time to really get to know the man. Maybe it was time he did.

Gil went back to work. He kept thinking of Ben Struggs. He'd tried once again to find some kind of criminal history on the man, but he came up with nothing. He'd found a long list of arrests on Aadan Singleton. The last one was over a month ago. He'd been arrested at seven-thirty in the morning for possession of cocaine on his way to work. This was definitely no coincidence. His court date would be soon.

Gil checked the police report and saw that the arresting officer was no other than Wyatt Palmer. Gil had missed lunch and by this time he was hungry. He snatched up the folder and walked over to Wyatt's desk.

“Let's go grab something to eat. I'm buying.” Gil nearly yelled in his exuberance.

“Burgers?” Wyatt asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Burgers,” Gil agreed. “Now let's get out of here.”

When Gil and Wyatt entered the burger joint, Gil was slightly taken aback by all the attention the two of them were generating. Women were captivated by Wyatt's good looks and his sex appeal. They seemed to leer at him as he passed their tables. From all outward appearances, Wyatt seemed not to notice. But Gil could tell that he was totally emersed in the moment.

Wyatt slid into a booth, removed his hat and tossed it to the right side of the table. Within seconds a lanky red-headed, freckle-faced teenage waitress came rushing to take their orders. She lingered for a few minutes making small talk, then she disappeared.

Gil did his best to remain composed when all he wanted to do was laugh..

When they were alone, Gil opened his folder. He took out the picture of Aadan Singleton. Wyatt's eyes grew large with recognition.

“I know him,” Wyatt said, smiling.

“You should. You arrested him a little over a month ago.”

“I remember.” Wyatt grabbed up the photo and stared at it with an intensity that surprised Gil.

“Do you know who he his? I mean other than his name?”

Confused, Wyatt's eyebrows furrowed. “I don't get your question. His name is Aadan Singleton. He's just some low-life drug pusher.”

“No,” Gil scolded. “He's not just some low-life drug pusher. Don't you get it?” Gil waited a minute hoping the light would click on. When it didn't he became frustrated. He let his exasperation show in his voice. “This is Carly's father. I think he's the one who killed her mother.”

It finally registered. Singleton. The name was common in this part of Colorado. Wyatt never would have made the connection if it hadn't been for Gil. How could he have been so blind?

After all this time, Wyatt finally realized that Gil was a sharp and intelligent cop. The man was beginning to grow on him.

“I see some disappointment in your eyes,” Gil stated with concern edging his words. “Is something wrong?”

Their burgers arrived and they began eating. Wyatt seemed a little distracted. Gil didn't want to seem pushy but he was becoming a little anxious. He broke out into a sweat. He took one last bite of his burger and pushed it away in annoyance.

“Okay, something's wrong and you're not telling me. What is it?”

Wyatt had lost his appetite too. He laid his burger on his bed of fries and stared down at his plate a minute before looking up at Gil. He tried to mask his emotions, but he wasn't sure he was pulling it off. Through the years he'd been good at hiding his feelings. It was an important facet of his job. But this man sitting before him was a member of his team. He deserved to know the truth.

“Singleton missed his court date. It was yesterday. He failed to show up.”

“That's not uncommon, though,” Gil remarked. “Criminals do it all the time. You know that. Did you put out an APB on the man?”

“Yea, I have every cop in Colorado looking for him. If he's still in the state, we'll find him. But . . .” Wyatt's voice trailed off. There was hidden meaning in the silence that lingered between them.

“But you don't think his disappearance is a coincidence, do you?”

Wyatt grabbed a fry, thought about eating it, then tossed it back down on his plate, uninterested. “No, I don't. Now that I know that he's Carly's father, I find it even more suspicious.”

“Do you remember where you picked Aadan up the morning you arrested him? You stated in your report it was seven-thirty in the morning.”

“Yea, it was two blocks east of McIntire's and three blocks west of the river.”

“Do you mean the Sanchez River?”

“Yea, why?”

Gil knew the Sanchez River ran near Stanton's place. He'd driven past it on his way in the morning he'd paid Ben Struggs a visit. The river had been brutal because of the hard rain, pounding rain. The waters had flown with a rough current that could have swept away a freight train.

“I think I know where Aadan got the drugs. And I don't think he was the only one carrying that morning.”

“What do you mean?” Wyatt asked.

Gil showed Wyatt the picture of Ben Struggs. “Does this man look familiar to you?” Gil asked.

“Yes. The man's name is Ben Hastings. And again, I'm asking what does that mean?”

Gil took his finger and pointed to the man. “I know him as Ben Struggs. I tried to find a rap sheet on him, but I couldn't find anything. Now I know why. He's using an alias.”

“What does this have to do with anything?” Wyatt asked, his irritation mounting. “You aren't making any sense.”

“I'm making perfect sense,” Gil replied. “I found out where Aadan was employed. So this morning I show up at Stanton's to ask a few questions.”

“I've heard of it,” Wyatt said, taking the picture and studying it more thoroughly.

“Look at the man, Wyatt. What do you see?”

It took a minute before Wyatt answered. “I see a man dressed in expensive clothes wearing a lot of gold. I see a man who's deeply connected to Rudy Hines.”

“The drug lord?” Gil questioned.

“Yea. I've been after Rudy for years, but I've never been able to put my hands on him. He's a smart man and knows how to play the cards just right. If you arrest him, he get's off with some technicality.”

“You think he knows someone on the inside?”

“Possibly. Where is all this leading?” Wyatt asked. He handed the picture back to Gil. He stuffed it in his folder.

“I think the drugs Aadan had on him the morning you arrested him came from Ben Struggs. I think he uses Stanton's as a front for his real line of business. Dealing. This morning there were a group of men that went to a back room and never came back out. I believe they work for Struggs for the sole purpose of delivering and distributing heroine, cocaine and any number of drugs.”

Wyatt mulled this over. It was possible. He had to know more.

“What else can you tell me?” Wyatt asked.

“I know that Struggs sniffed me out immediately. He knew I was a cop. He refused to give me any work and asked me to leave. He lost his temper and slammed his fist down on the table.”

“Do you think he could be connected to Eloise Singleton's murder?”

Gil thought about it and he agreed there was a connection. “Maybe. I know Carly's mother was a user. Mostly barbiturates and amphetamines. The same type that were found in Carly's system the night of the fire.”

Wyatt was fascinated by the information he was getting from his new friend. Wyatt couldn't believe that it had taken him six months to start liking the guy. He couldn't believe how mean he'd been. Now he felt terrible for the way he had treated Gil. He hadn't deserved that.

“Maybe she owed him a lot of money, so he killed her because she couldn't pay up.”

“What I think,” Gil said energetically and enthusiastically, “is that if there is drugs in that building, then Struggs will order the men to clear it all out. And he'll do it fast.”

“You mean tonight?” Wyatt asked.

“That's exactly what I mean. He suspected I was a cop. Most likely I scared him. Put him on the defensive. If he knows for certain I'm a cop, then he's got to get rid of the evidence before I come back again.”

“Well then, we need to move fast,” Wyatt exclaimed with the same amount of enthusiasm as Gil. “We need to get warrants to search the place before the place closes.

“And we need a warrant to search any employment records that can prove that Aadan Singleton was employed there as well as to get a possible address where the man might be staying.”

“Well let's get going,” Wyatt ordered, clapping his hands together triumphantly. He hadn't worked a case like this in a long time. He'd been itching for some excitement. Now it looked as if he were going to get it. He felt the energy pumping through his veins.

It was electrifying.

When Gil didn't move from his seat, Wyatt motioned for him to follow. “Come on, kid, we don't have all day. We've got lots of paper work to do, judges to call and we're short on time.”

Gil quickly jumped to his feet and stepped in beside Wyatt. He couldn't believe that after all this time the two of them were going to be working together. He felt a rush of adrenaline seeping through his blood.

“Thank you, Lord, for all that you have done.”

As they headed down the side walk, Wyatt grabbed Gil up into a big bear hug and skimmed his knuckles playfully across his skull.

“So, you ready for this kid?” Wyatt asked.

“I believe I am,” Gil answered. “Maybe this time I won't make any mistakes.”

“Don't worry. You'll do fine. You'll do just fine.”

With Wyatt by his side, Gil was certain nothing could go wrong. The two of them got in their squad car and sped off turning on their sirens as they left. They were on a mission and nothing was going to stand in their way.