Beloved Captive: New Orleans Detectives, #4

By Melanie Atkins

Detective Kevin Jacobs believes that integrity is the most important trait a cop can possess, until a beautiful psychologist accuses him of murder and he's forced to take her hostage in order to clear his name. Dr. Rebecca Daniels cooperates with Kevin and soon finds herself in a desperate fight for her life—and her heart.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Melanie Atkins
• Release date: Mar 18, 2019
• ISBN: 9780985880583

Book preview

New Orleans Detectives Series

Book One: Cherished Witness

Book Two: Prime Suspect

Book Three: Chosen Target

Book Four: Beloved Captive

Book Five: Unwilling Accomplice

Book Six: Perfect Partner

Dedication

To the residents of the Mississippi Gulf Coast who have endured so much adversity thanks to hurricane Katrina and the BP oil spill. You are resilient; you are strong. You are survivors. I admire you.

Chapter One

I cried when Daddy begged the man not to shoot him.

What did he say? The man, I mean. Not your daddy. The sour-faced judge glared at the frightened little girl seated in his chambers.

Eight-year-old Sonia Thomas, aka Meg Jacobs, wiped her nose with the back of her hand. He laughed. Even when Daddy told me to leave. Her voice dropped. He made me watch.

You're going to have to speak up, young lady. The judge scowled. I can't hear you.

Tears filled Sonia's big brown eyes. Her chin trembled.

Dr. Rebecca Daniels took her young patient's hand. Are you all right, honey?

Sonia nodded meekly.

Her lawyer, Maggie Bennett, leaned over to Becca. Don't coddle her, Doctor. She has to get this right.

Becca frowned. Yes, the girl's testimony was important. But Becca's main concern was the child's mental state. As the psychologist assigned to evaluate her, she had to make sure testifying before the judge and grand jury wouldn't harm the child. She'd already suffered so much. Becca knew, from personal experience, what damage witnessing a murder could do to a young girl's psyche.

He didn't let me leave, Sonia said. A tear slid down her cheek. "I saw everything. The man's gun was so loud. Daddy fell, and blood got on the floor."

What did the man look like? the judge asked in a weary voice. Was he tall? Short? Skinny?

No. Sonia shook her head. He was fat, like you.

Judge Henry Boykin's jowls turned red. His angry gaze landed on Maggie. Talk to your young charge, Counselor. She needs to show some respect for the bench.

Your honor, she's only a little girl, Maggie began. She's overwhelmed and—

Becca cut her off. I'd like to meet with you privately, sir.

Without counsel, doctor? The judge's bushy eyebrows flew up. He turned to Maggie. What do you have to say about this?

I don't know. Maggie hesitated. Do you think it's really necessary?

Yes, I do. Judge Boykin is trying to ascertain if Sonia is a reliable witness, Becca said. The child was trying to remember her new name and she was terrified, tormented, and lonely. Just like Becca had once been. She needed a buffer. Her father's death was traumatic enough without subjecting her to—

All right, Boykin said with a sigh. "I'll grant your request. If counsel agrees."

Maggie turned to Becca. I'm assuming you have Sonia's best interests at heart.

Of course I do. Becca looked down at the child and squeezed her hand.

The little girl bit her lip.

Becca urged her toward Maggie. Go with Ms. Bennett, Sonia. I need to speak with the judge.

Yes, ma'am. The little girl bravely released her hand and got up. She turned away, but swung back, grabbed Becca's arm and whispered loudly, Is it okay if I use the phone later?

Of course you can. Any time you need me, you call me, Becca said with a smile. She'd given the girl a prepaid cell phone so she could contact her whenever she grew fearful. My number's programmed in. Remember what I showed you?

The child nodded gravely.

Good. Becca patted Sonia's hand. Call me tonight.

Maggie put her hand on the child's shoulder. Come with me, Sonia. We'll talk about what's going to happen tomorrow.

Sonia dropped her hand from Becca's arm and turned away. Becca watched them exit the judge's chambers. The little girl's sad, dark eyes haunted her. How many times had she seen her own eyes reflect that same sadness in the mirror? Rebecca Daniels, aka Mary Louise Craft, child witness. That familiar ache began in the center of her chest.

Dr. Daniels, Judge Boykin said gravely. Let's get started. I have a meeting.

Becca shook off her unwanted bout of melancholy and turned.

I'm concerned about your witness, he said.

She lifted her chin. I'm aware of that, Your Honor. But you must remember she's only a little girl—one who watched two men brutally murder her parents.

"Allegedly."

"Yes. Allegedly." Becca pressed her lips together. She believed every word Sonia had told her and the police about that night. Why would the child lie?

The judge sat back in his chair. It's dangerous bringing a child that age before the grand jury.

You could direct her to testify on video, Becca offered. It would be much easier for her. Right now she's frightened. Of the men. Of being alone. Even of you. You can be quite intimidating, Your Honor.

He harrumphed and glared at her for one long, tense moment, and then he sighed. All right. She can testify on video, as long as you're certain she can handle reliving the event.

Thank you, Becca said. Relief rose inside her like an ocean swell. Opposing counsel would get the chance to cross-examine the child as well, and that might upset Sonia. But it would be so much easier to keep her calm outside the courtroom in more comfortable surroundings.

Judge Boykin opened his mouth to say something else, but was cut off when the door suddenly burst inward and a man in a black stocking cap stormed inside. Becca leapt to her feet.

What the hell? Boykin rose.

With a deep growl, the intruder rushed the judge and slammed him into the wall. He pulled out a pistol outfitted with a silencer and pressed it to Boykin's forehead. Becca screamed.

Oughta cut out your fucking tongue, the man snapped, his bitter voice reviving memories she wanted to forget. He pulled the trigger and a soft zzpptt echoed through the air. A tiny, dark-rimmed hole appeared in the center of the judge's forehead. Blood ran down his shocked face.

Horrified, Becca backed away, her hands over her mouth. She tried not to make a sound.

The man released Boykin, who slumped to the floor, and pinned her with flat, dark eyes. You! Come here.

She shook her head and glanced at the door. It was too far away.

He advanced on her. Perspiration popped out on her brow and a terrifying feeling of déjà vu paralyzed her. In her mind's eye, she saw the man in black shoot her parents and stalk her across their cluttered living room. One step. Two. Three.

He had come closer, towering over her, with his stringy black hair and dead eyes. She would never forget those eyes. Terrified, she'd dived behind the couch and crawled into the kitchen. She knew how to open the back door, even when it was locked. She'd flung it open and bolted into the yard, like her mommy had told her to do if a stranger came after her. She'd screamed and screamed, until a neighbor found her.

The hush in the room intensified as the man skirted the desk and kept coming, his black boots silent on the gold-flecked carpet. Becca's back met paneling. She went cold. There was no door on this side of the room. Only the hard, immovable wall.

He kicked a chair aside. Kept moving. His black pistol gleamed. She caught a whiff of his sweat and the shakes hit her.

You saw me shoot him, he said, his rough voice grating her frayed nerves.

She shook her head. I won't tell.

You won't get the chance, bitch, he snapped, pointing his pistol at her forehead.

No! Becca screamed, but the word lodged in her throat. She instinctively raised her hands to hit the gun. Before she could block it, however, his body slammed against her, knocking the breath from her lungs. She barely registered the presence of another human in the room before her head bounced off the wall. She cried out in agony as pain speared her skull and brilliant lights flashed behind her eyes. Then everything went black.

*****

Detective Kevin Jacobs hauled himself to his feet and snatched up the fallen weapon. Shit. His luck had just run out. He slapped his pants pocket, cursing the loss of his own police-issue Glock and his shield. His heart pounded as he stared down at the black-clad man who lay motionless on top of a major complication. A woman who was already coming around.

Damn.

She had medium length blonde hair, golden eyelashes and pretty pink bowed lips. One arm was cocked awkwardly beneath her and her chest heaved as she struggled for air.

There was no sign of little Meg.

With a violent curse, Kevin yanked the stocking cap off the man. Alan Fowler. He should have known. Another cop, one of the few in the New Orleans Police Department capable of gunning down a man in cold blood. He had to wonder if Fowler had killed Mike and Cindy.

The guy would do anything to protect the empire of bribery, sexual favors, and protection that reached from New Orleans to Mobile. The same racket Kevin, in his new position with the Police Integrity Division, had been trying like hell to bring down. His brother and sister-in-law had died because of it. And now Judge Boykin, who was scheduled to preside over the case, was dead.

Kevin's stomach knotted as Fowler moaned and the woman stirred beneath him. He tossed the cap on the floor and pulled Fowler off her.

Fowler's black eyes flickered open. Recognition flashed across his face and he scrambled to his feet. His eyes riveted on his pistol, now clutched in Kevin's hand. He made a fist.

Damn you, Fowler, Kevin said, choking on his anger. You killed him.

You left me no choice, Fowler snapped. An evil smile ghosted across his lips. He'd have given us up. I couldn't let that happen.

You put my niece in danger. Kevin trained the pistol on Fowler's bent form. Where is she?

How the hell should I know? Ask the U.S. Marshal Service. With a lightning-fast kick, Fowler knocked the pistol from Kevin's hand and sent it skittering across the floor. He bolted for the door.

Kevin tackled him and the two of them lunged for the gun, which spurted from beneath them like a greased pig. Fowler pulled a knife.

Get off me, he snarled, jabbing the stubby blade into Kevin's side.

The smooth, cold blade slipped neatly between his ribs, and pain arced through him. Blood coated his side with warmth.

Die like your daddy, boy. From my shank.

Breathless with pain, Kevin knocked the knife from Fowler's hand and dove for the pistol. Fowler leapt to his feet and sprinted for the door.

Kevin came up firing despite the burn in his side, the pistol sounding like a cat sneezing thanks to the silencer. One bullet caught Fowler in the top of the shoulder, but he only faltered. He hit the door running and disappeared into the hall.

Kevin cursed and scrambled after him, but halted when his vision blackened. His side burned like someone held a flame to it. He blinked and looked down. Blood soaked his shirt and crept beneath his waistband. The room spun and he began sweating profusely.

The sound of a door closing echoed down the hall.

He spat an oath and shut the judge's door, careful to not make a sound. He had to escape, but not that way. He turned. The woman's leg jerked and she groaned.

He pressed a hand to his side and hobbled over to her. His wound burned, but his heart felt as if it had been split in two. Judge Boykin was the key to clearing his name. With him dead, Kevin wouldn't be able to help little Meg. Even worse, if they caught him here, they'd try to pin Boykin's murder on him. Hell, he had Fowler's gun. That might have been the bastard's plan all along.

A picture of his father's defeated face flashed into his head. These same men had brought Rob Jacobs to his knees when he'd tried to take them down. He'd died a broken man, imprisoned for crimes he hadn't committed, and murdered behind bars like some scumbag. And here was Kevin, about to fall into the same evil trap.

The eerie silence closed in on him, the cold silence of death—until the woman's eyes flew open. They were a soft blue, which darkened as alarm flared across her face. She made a choking sound. Her hands searched for purchase as she scrambled away from him.

Shh! He dropped one hand off Fowler's Glock and reached for her. She kicked him. Hard.

He released a string of expletives. Stop it. I'm not going to hurt you.

G-get away from me, she sputtered, her face turning red. She put her hands on the wall and tried to propel herself to her feet, but she kept slipping.

Kevin gripped her elbow and hauled her upright. She was tough and scared, but no match for him physically. He would use her to get out of the building and leave her behind when he fled.

Shh, he said, clamping his bloody hand over her mouth. I'm not here to—

The telephone on Boykin's desk shrilled, cutting Kevin off. His nerves jangled along with it. The woman bit his palm, and he lost his hold on her. She kneed him in the balls. Pain arrowed from his groin to the cut in his side and he doubled over. She slipped past him and raced for the door.

With a throaty roar, Kevin fought through the haze of blood and pain and lunged for her, bringing her down on the worn carpet. Agony pierced his side.

She screamed and twisted her body, trying to get away.

Shut the fuck up! he growled, holding her fast as he crawled forward over her to press his mouth to her ear. He lifted the pistol and rested the barrel on her temple as the telephone finally quit ringing. Now, we're gonna get up and you're coming with me. Quietly. No yelling, no biting, and no trying to get away. Understand?

Her breath continued to shoot out, but other than that she was still. Waiting, so she could attack him again.

He kept her pinned with the length of his body and reached into his back pocket for the plastic handcuffs he'd brought just in case. He drew in a deep breath and yanked one of her arms behind her, then the other, securing them with the flexible white fasteners.

She squirmed beneath him and he became hyper-aware of her taut buttocks moving against his crotch. Despite the awkward situation and the pain throbbing through his gut, his body reacted.

He gritted his teeth. We're going to get up together and you won't make a sound. Got that?

She didn't answer. Didn't move, didn't breathe. Silence filled the space around them so completely Kevin forgot to breathe, too. When he did, he drew in the bitter tang of blood. The coppery scent caught in his throat.

He gripped the back of her neck and squeezed, careful to keep his fingernails from digging into her tender skin. You hear me?

She nodded slowly, and a lone tear dripped down her cheek. Her pulse skittered wildly beneath his hand.

He tamped down the urge to be gentle with her slender, quivering body. He needed her to fear him so she wouldn't cause a commotion as they left the courthouse. How he'd get away without leaving a trail of blood, he didn't know. But he had to try, and she was his best hope.

Get up. He rose and pulled her with him.

She held herself rigid. He grabbed her arm and propelled her toward the window. The light hit her face and he reeled from the animosity written there. Her eyes were the color of a clear summer sky. They snapped with rage.

You killed Judge Boykin. Her sharp words made him blanch.

He tightened his grip on her arm. It wasn't me.

Oh, no? I saw you. Her accusing gaze slid down his black-clad body and he suddenly realized he and Fowler could be mistaken for twins—except for the blood now soaking his shirt and jeans.

She tried to wriggle free, but he held her fast.

I can't let you go. I need your help.

Are you crazy? she demanded, gaping at him.

A wave of dizziness washed over him, and he swallowed, hard. I have to get out of here. I'm losing blood fast.

She looked at his side and her eyes widened. Oh, my God.

He stabbed me.

Who did? Her gaze jerked to his. The judge?

No. There wasn't time to explain further. He eyed the window.

There's no way out, she said, except the door.

We'll see about that. He lifted the Glock to her head. "Walk over to the window. Now."

Surely you're not planning to—

He glared at her.

The blood drained from her face. You are.

Another wave of dizziness swept over him, but he shook it off and shoved her toward the two wide panes partially hidden by thick gold drapes. If he remembered correctly, there was a flat roof with a service entrance across the way. If he could just get through that door and into the parking garage below...

They reached the curtains and she planted her feet, refusing to move another inch. Her body went rigid, and she crossed her arms. Kevin resisted the urge to laugh. She thought she was being tough, but he had the gun. She'd do whatever he wanted when the time came. He pulled back the stiff fabric and peered outside. The winter sun had slipped below the horizon. No clouds broke the seamless sea of blue above them, which meant the temperature would plummet once darkness fell in earnest, even here in downtown New Orleans.

He looked at her. What time does the judge usually leave for the day?

I don't know. She blinked. I don't work here.

He raised his eyebrows. You're not a lawyer?

No. I'm a child psychologist. My patient— She broke off and drew in a shaky breath. She's with her lawyer. Maggie will come looking for us when we don't show up.

Your patient? Hope filled Kevin. Who is it?

I can't tell you that.

Come on. It's important.

She shook her head.

He cursed. Is it Meg Jacobs?

She didn't say yes, but her eyes narrowed just enough to tell him he was right.

A sliver of ice slid beneath his skin. Meg was his brother's only child. U.S. Marshals had hidden her and changed her name after the shooting that had claimed the lives of both her parents, but he knew she was in New Orleans somewhere.

Is she okay? He had to know before he left. Even if it meant getting caught and framed for a murder he didn't commit.

She wet her lips. A quick, tantalizing movement of her tongue that at any other time would have fascinated him. Then she nodded.

Good. We have to go. Enormously relieved, Kevin unlocked the window and tried to tug it upwards with one hand, but it only slid up about an inch. He cursed and tucked the Glock into the front of his pants. Don't try anything.

A neat little furrow formed between her eyebrows as she stared at him.

He wiped his palms on his thighs and gripped the window with both hands. It wouldn't budge. Sweat poured down his spine. Finally, the glass sailed upwards. His breath whooshed out as pain nearly gutted him. Cool air chilled his damp skin.

She peered out into the falling darkness. You've got to be kidding.

Climb out. He swiped a hand over his face.

She balked. Her face turned ashen. Do—Do I have to?

What's the matter? he asked, genuinely concerned. She was scared, and that bothered him. He hadn't planned to involve anyone else in his scheme—and certainly not the beautiful psychiatrist treating Meg. Yet he had no choice if he wanted to clear his name. He studied her face.  Scared of heights?

Yes, she said, so softly he could barely hear her.

He gripped her arm to help her, because of the cuffs. You won't be at the edge, I promise. Go.

She obeyed, despite the twisting in her stomach. He might be injured, but she'd seen how deadly the pistol in his hand could be. Judge Boykin lay open-mouthed on the floor with a bullet in his head to prove it.

Tears filled Becca's eyes as she remembered how helpless the judge had been in the face of this man, a cold-blooded murderer. Yet another recollection tugged at the edges of her brain, the memory of being slammed into the wall by a hard body reeking of cigarette smoke. This man smelled more like fresh spice. And he had asked about Meg. How had he known Sonia's real name?

With a frown, she swung one leg over the windowsill, and teetered there until he steadied her and helped her swing her other leg outside. It was hard going with her arms cuffed behind her. She dropped silently to the shadowed roof and her feet slipped on the scattered pea gravel. Her stomach flip-flopped until she pressed her shoulder to the wall and regained her balance.

Though hampered by his wound, Kevin clambered out the window after her and awkwardly shut it behind them.

Head for the door, he rasped, pressing a hand to his side. He squeezed the gun in his other hand and nodded toward a service entrance about fifty feet away. Don't run or try to alert anybody. Understand?

She nodded. Not a chance of that happening here, with my wrists bound. If only she could get to the cell phone hidden deep inside her pocket. She couldn't believe he hadn't discovered it when he'd been lying on top of her. She needed to put it on silent, but that was impossible now. Her heart thudded. If it rang, he'd take it away from her.

She looked around. The roof was flat, except for several vents and air conditioning units scattered here and there. No place for her to hide and work on the bindings on her wrists. She would be too exposed and vulnerable. But once they were back inside the building or inside the parking garage, all bets were off. She hadn't survived a killer once, just to die because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Becca held her breath as they trekked through the open air. The cool wind whipped her face. The twinkling night sky lay above them like a star-studded blanket, making her dizzy with its vast emptiness. Her stomach turned over.

She held her breath as