Bannon Brothers Read Free Page B

perilously close to his spine, just short of severing it. The surgeons had left it in. Bannon thought of it as a souvenir of his own unsolved case, a meth lab bust that hadn’t gone too well. The dealer had used his young sons for a human shield and Bannon had no choice but to drop his gun, unable to ignore the terror in their eyes. But the dealer had opened fire.
    Two other bullets had been successfully removed from his chest. He had them somewhere, maybe in his sock drawer. The dealer’s sons were on the lam with him as far as anyone knew. RJ would give anything to set them free. But he wasn’t going to get the chance.
    He had lived—Bannon was grateful for that. And he planned to keep on living. But he’d learned you never knew, that was all.
    Opening the file, he looked through the faded photographs of a smiling little girl, pale blond hair caught back in ribbons, clad in a smocked dress. A photo-studio shot showed her holding a favorite toy, a pink teddy bear with flowered tummy and paws. There were others of her: most with her parents as a baby, as a toddler, as a three-year-old.
    Nothing he could go on now.
    â€œNo age-progression images, looks like,” he said absently.
    â€œThey didn’t have the software back then.”
    â€œGuess there were no sightings of the suspects. There’s no police composite either,” he said. “For what they were worth. I’ve heard they used to give a cop a crayon and hope for the best.”
    Doris snorted. “I know what you mean.”
    Looking at the photos stirred feelings in RJ that went beyond a mere hunting instinct. Protectiveness was chief among them. A vulnerable child had vanished. That kind of crime got under the skin and stayed there.
    Apparently not with Hoebel, though. The chief was declaring the case cold exactly when anyone who knew the particulars of the reward might come forward. Stupid bastard. Still, he had to concur with Hoebel on the probable outcome of the kidnapping.
    Ann Montgomery hadn’t lived long. Somewhere there was a shallow grave that had never been found. A small one.
    Someone ought to be behind bars, facing the maximum penalty for that, no matter how long it took to make it happen. Bannon knew it was wrong to let this one go.
    He put back the drawings and sketches of Ann at three. What was the point? He knew the odds that little girl had lived for more than a couple days after her abduction weren’t good.
    â€œWhat else needs to be organized?” he asked briskly.
    â€œEvery freakin’ file on that table. Pick a letter,” she said absently.
    RJ went one row down to the N files and opened folders for other cases that were a lot less sensational, sorting police documents by date and methodically dealing with the miscellaneous papers in them.
    After a couple hours of sitting in one place, his back began to ache, a warning signal that he needed to move around if he didn’t want it to start stiffening up. Right now a break and some fresh air had a welcome sound to it.
    Pushing his chair back from the table, he stood up. “I have a couple errands to run, Doris.” Truth to tell, he didn’t, but it was a good excuse. “I’ll be back in an hour or so, okay?”
    Doris acknowledged that with a nod. “Off you go. Give my regards to the real world.”
    â€œWant anything?”
    She made a face. “A vacation would be nice.”
    â€œI meant something to eat. Or is there food at an Art Walk?”
    â€œWe are below the Mason-Dixon Line, therefore there is food. It’s the unwritten law of the South. But I’m not hungry. Thanks, though.”
    â€œYou’re welcome. See you later.” RJ put the folders he’d been working on into some kind of order and left, taking the stairs up from the basement two at a time. At the top he hesitated and glanced down the corridor. There was Jolene, still talking on the phone. When she caught his