Page 7 of Deception

“No. God always showed me the special children, the ones who needed to be given to special parents.”

Special children were those with birth mothers who could be guilted into giving up their babies to special parents who couldafford to pay Judith’s asking price. If she thought God approved her thievery ... The coffee in his stomach soured.

The furrow between her brows deepened and her lips compressed in a tight circle. “Do you regret denying an appeal that kept a man in prison so he’d get ‘rehabilitation’?”

A slow burn started through his chest. How dare she compare what he did to her thievery.

“Don’t give me that sanctimonious, holier-than-thou stare. It all started with you.”

Her words were like a knife slicing his heart. He’d been trying to save his daughter from spiraling into the depths of depression. And he had. For a while.

“I am sorry about Sharon ... her suicide,” Judith said, touching his arm.

Anderson flinched, barely able to stand the woman’s fingers on his skin. By sheer willpower, he masked the anger that consumed him. A mother who cared nothing for her own granddaughter certainly had no feelings for his daughter.

“She did not commit suicide.”

Judith frowned. “But the paper said—”

“I know what the paper said.” Somehow a reporter in Natchez had gotten the autopsy results, and the newspaper had broken its usual code of silence regarding the cause of death. The judge had yet to accept it. For all he knew, the worthless womanizer Sharon had married could have killed her.

Gregory Thorn had certainly contributed to her death. Thank God the judge hadn’t shown her the report from the private investigator he’d hired to follow Gregory. He probably shouldn’t have threatened to expose his son-in-law to his company at the funeral, though. With their strict morals clause, Gregory would’ve been gone in an instant.

Revenge wasn’t like him at all, but his daughter was dead, and he wanted someone to pay.

He raised his gaze and pointed to the paper she wanted himto get his colleague to sign. “No more. Not today, not tomorrow, not ever again.”

“Think about it. And think about what you have to lose if you don’t.” She stood and walked away.

When he was alone again, the judge slumped in his chair. Madison. Judith would use his granddaughter for leverage.

He had to tell Madison the truth, make her understand. He couldn’t wait one more day. Something could happen to him, and the papers in his safe-deposit box would tell the harsh truth without him there to explain that he’d done it all to save his daughter.

Just thinking about what he had to confess made him sick.

5

At 10:05, Madison pulled into the parking lot at 314 State Street. Just before she reached Mount Locust on the Trace, she’d received a text from FBI agent Hugh Cortland that their meeting had been pushed back to ten. With an hour to kill, she’d stopped off at the historic site and lost track of time. Now she was once again late, but as she scanned the parking lot, she didn’t see Hugh’s car.

Madison stared at the old Victorian structure and then read the sign. Adams County Historic 1891 Jail. Below that was another sign. Adams County Administration and Board of Supervisors Building.

Good for you, Natchez.Instead of tearing down the historical building, they’d repurposed it. She’d seen more than one of these types of buildings destroyed in the name of progress.

Hugh had chosen the county supervisor’s office to discuss the investigation because it was larger, and they would draw less attention than at the National Park Service maintenance building.

Madison looked around as another dark sedan pulled into the parking lot. Cortland. She climbed out, then reached for her bag, and the ticket the ranger had issued fell out. Tempted to let it lay on the floor, she almost shut the door, but the neat freak in her wouldn’t allow it. With a sigh, she retrieved the ticket, glancing at it before stuffing it back in the bag. “Well, I’ll be...”

She closed the car door and turned to Hugh. “Good morning,” she said, envying the Styrofoam cup he grabbed after he stepped out of his car. Like her, he wore business casual—khaki pants and a blue shirt with no tie.

“Happy Hump Day,” he said, handing her the coffee. Swallowing her surprise, she took it, and he reached back inside his car for another cup. “Thought you might need it after I heard you had a detainment on the Trace.”

Heat infused her face as she imagined the laugh the agent and Clayton Bradshaw probably had at her expense, and almost handed the coffee back to him. Except she needed the caffeine desperately. “So the ranger called you and tattled?”

“Not exactly. He wanted to know what an ISB agent was doing in Natchez, and I told him we were working together on a case,” Hugh said. “Don’t get your hackles up about the ticket, although I think I did warn you about the Trace.”

“You did, and I should have listened.” She took a sip of the coffee and regrouped. “Truth be known, if he hadn’t stopped me, I might’ve plowed right into a group of cyclists. I can’t believe he only issued me a warning.”

His eyes widened briefly before he nodded approval. “He’s a good guy, and now you know if you drive the Trace, keep your speed limit to about fifty-five—rangers rarely bother anyone going five over. Any faster and I doubt he’d give you grace again.”

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