Page 87 of The Last One You Loved
Mila rolled her eyes. “I’m going to be six soon. I’m not a baby.”
“You won’t be six for ten months, and six is not thirteen.”
She counted on her fingers, got lost, and then frowned. “How many more years is that?”
“Too many,” I said. “Give me a hug.”
She jumped up and hugged me tight, holding on like she was never going to let go, and I liked that just fine.
“Early to bed tonight,” I said. “You have Missy’s birthday party tomorrow, and you don’t want to be cranky. Rianne’s going to take you, and Auntie Gemma is going to pick you up.”
“Can’t McKenna take me?”
“McK and I have to run an errand in Knoxville. We’ll be gone for most of the day.”
“A road trip?! You’re taking a road trip without me?!”
I barely held back my laugh at her whine. “This isn’t a fun trip. This is work. You’ll enjoy yourself much more at the birthday party, trust me.”
I kissed her on the side of the head and set her down. McK walked me to the door and kissed me softly on the lips—a habit I could quickly get used to.
“You’ll be in my bed when I get home?” It was more demand than question.
She bit her lip. “You’ll be tired.”
“I won’t sleep at all if you’re not there.”
She hesitated, and I tugged her to me, kissing her deeply, savoring and tempting and reminding her of how we’d spent the previous night lost in each other.
She laughed and pulled back. “Fine. You win, Sheriff.”
She tapped the brim of my hat, and my chest filled with a well of emotions so deep it could drown me. Love I hadn’t expressed because it seemed wild to say those words after ten years apart and mere hours together, but it pounded through my veins.
The truth was painfully clear. I’d never stopped loving McKenna Lloyd.
? ? ?
The station was empty, the cells were empty, and even our dispatcher’s desk was empty. I’d take any calls that came in tonight so my tiny staff could enjoy their Thanksgiving. Sybil had been moved to the women’s jail while I’d been gone, and that filled me with nothing but relief. Hopefully, I was done with her.
When I sat down at my desk, I saw several reports Amy had compiled waiting for me there.
The first was the autopsy on Slider. No big surprise. He’d been killed with a nine-millimeter bullet, likely from a Glock or equivalent. The M.E. would know more once the lab had processed the mold he’d made of the wound. No defensive wounds, no other physical evidence. A dead end of sorts.
I pushed that report aside and opened the folder on Dr. Roy Gregory. Between Amy and Bruce, they’d talked to a host of different agencies in California to gather their facts. Before McK had filed the CPS report, he’d looked like an upstanding member of the community. It wasn’t just his role at the hospital. He and his wife were also on the board of several charities in the area. Well known. Well loved.
But the district attorney was considering filing abuse charges, and Layton Gregory was currently in the custody of his maternal grandmother. Originally, at CPS’s request, Dr. Gregory had removed himself from his residence, but the wife had allowed him back in after only a few days and then refused to let CPS inside the house. It was all within their rights but hadn’t won them any points with the investigators.
Nothing would have come of the report McK had filed if it hadn’t been for Layton. He’d run away when he’d realized his father was coming home. They’d found him with a friend, and he’d unburdened himself to the police officer and a child advocate, stating the abuse had been part of his life pretty much from the time he could walk. He’d said his mother had been hit as well, but there was nothing the law could do if she wouldn’t leave him and report it herself.
Gregory was still fighting back, though. He claimed McKenna had made the false report in retaliation for a bad review he’d given her, and then her report had encouraged a rebellious son to make up even more lies.
The hospital had put him on paid leave just as they’d put McKenna.
If we could prove the burner phones with the threats were from him, it wouldn’t solve anything, but I was eighty percent sure it would provide proof of his violent nature and could be added to the stack of circumstantial evidence piling up against him.
The fact his life was spiraling made him dangerous. A power-hungry, control freak like him would do anything to regain control, to prove he was as powerful as he thought he was. I was more relieved than ever that McKenna was thousands of miles away from the asshole.
I wondered if McK knew the kid had come forward. She hadn’t said anything, but then again, I had no idea how she was being kept apprised of what was going on in Davis.
