Her One and Only Hero

by Sharon Hartley

  The knots in her middle loosened ever so slightly.

  “I have a buddy in the FBI that I’m going to reach out to. I’d like to hook up with Javi and pick his brain.”

  Tears flooded her eyes. “Thank you.”

  “Don’t thank me yet. If I’m able to set up a meet, you need to come with me. I’m certain there are details he’ll ask about that I won’t have the answers for.”

  Fran wanted to leap to her feet and hug Dale, but lacked the strength to move. Her outburst had spent her energy.

  “Of course,” she managed to say.

  Dale stepped toward her and handed her his phone. “Give me your cell number. I’ll call you and let you know what time.”

  When she attempted to enter her number into his phone, her fingers refused to cooperate. She stared at her hands, willing them to stop trembling, and realized Dale was right. She was not in control. This is not me. What has happened?

  “Let me do it,” Dale said in a kind voice. He took the phone from her and punched in the digits as she relayed them to him. After pocketing his phone, he scribbled something onto a business card and handed it to her.

  “Here are my numbers.”

  “Grazie,” she murmured, relieved she had a way to contact him.

  “Please eat some breakfast,” he said. “Go for a walk or to the hotel’s fitness center, maybe get a massage. I know you’re upset, but we want to convince the FBI to help us.”

  “Yes, okay,” she murmured.

  “Are you all right?” he asked quietly.

  She nodded, staring at his card.

  “I’ll be in touch. I promise.”

  When she was alone in the suite, she released a breath, grateful for the quiet. She stared at her hands again, opening and closing her fingers, trying to understand why they wouldn’t obey her commands. She rubbed her palms and fingers to loosen the muscles. Perhaps they had cramped.

  Nothing helped. Still her hands trembled.

  She closed her eyes. It did not matter. All that mattered was finding Bella.

  * * *

  AFTER ROLL CALL, Dale stood at attention before Lieutenant Thomas Marshall, his current commanding officer. Seated behind a messy desk full of files and a large computer monitor, Marshall scowled at him, obviously not in a good mood. Dale squared his shoulders. He’d missed roll call. Was LT pissed because of that?

  Or was it because of another exposé in the Miami Herald alleging police corruption?

  Dale blew out a breath. He’d always gotten along well with Marshall, but it was never a good idea to be late when you needed to ask a favor of your boss. Good thing Marshall wouldn’t be his boss much longer.

  “What can I do for you, Officer Baldwin?” Marshall demanded.

  “I need to request some time off,” Dale said.

  “Not a good time. We’re shorthanded.”

  “It’s important, sir.”

  Marshall glanced at Dale sharply. “At ease, Officer.”

  Dale relaxed his posture.

  “You sick?” Marshall asked, in a friendlier tone.

  “No, sir. A personal matter has come up.”

  “What kind of personal matter?”

  “It’s personal, sir.” Dale was nowhere near ready to tell the world he had a kid he hadn’t known about who had fallen in with a pedophile while searching for him.

  “One that you don’t want to discuss,” Marshall responded with a frown.

  “One that requires a couple of days off.”

  Marshall nodded and glanced down at a calendar on his desk. “You’ll only be under my command another three weeks before you transition over to the detective bureau.”

  “Yes, sir,” Dale said.

  Marshall folded his hands. “I’m not sure I’ve congratulated you on your promotion.”

  Dale raised his chin. “Thank you, sir.”

  “You’re the first of your class to get the gold shield. You should be proud.”

  “I am, sir.”

  “I expect you’re looking forward to getting out of the uniform and wearing plain clothes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  Marshall nodded again. “Considering your promotion, this is an unusual request. You know we’re stretched thin because of the suspensions.”

  “I understand, sir,” Dale said. “And I’m sorry. This is an unexpected situation that can’t be helped.”

  Marshall held his gaze for a long time. “Anything going on the department needs to know about?”

  “No, sir,” Dale replied with emphasis. Damn. Did Marshall think he had some connection with the internal affairs investigation that had rocked the department, the reason so many officers were riding a desk? Every time they thought the corruption scandal had quieted down, there was a new report in the Miami Herald.

  “I’m relieved to hear that,” Marshall said. “You have an exemplary record, Officer Baldwin. I’d hate for anything to torpedo your progress through the ranks.”

  “Believe me, sir,” Dale said. “This is purely a personal matter that I’m hoping to resolve quickly.”

  Marshall sat back, evaluating Dale with narrowed eyes. “Very well. You have two days personal leave, today and tomorrow. Use them wisely. I don’t want to read about you on the front page.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  Dale exited Marshall’s office and headed for the media room. He grabbed a cup of coffee, sat at a computer monitor, and entered “sex trafficking” into a search engine. He wanted to get up to speed on the subject before he called Javi. Sure, he’d heard slavery was an old problem, one that had never really gone away, but the world was full of problems. Fortunately, this particular trouble had never been on his radar before.

  But now it was. Big-time.

  * * *

  FRAN SAT ON the balcony of her hotel suite with a sketch pad in her lap and her feet propped on the railing. She stared at the stunning vista before her, longing to recreate the scene with the pencil clutched in her right hand. Wind ruffled the surface of Biscayne Bay, scattering the reflection of the many towering high-rises into an impressionistic blur. The light glistened off the water, making the colors vibrant.

  She moved the pencil to the pad but couldn’t even bring herself to press the tip onto the paper and draw a line.

  She was paralyzed. Terrified of her future. Of failure.

  Was it karma? Because she had neglected Bella, been unaware of her daughter’s confusion and longing, the person she loved most in the world had run away from her? And now the second most important thing, her ability to create, had also been snatched from her?

  Was this punishment for her sins?

  How would she get through life without her daughter and her art?

  She’d done as Dale had ordered. She’d taken a long walk to organize her thoughts. No question the exercise had helped. She’d gone to the fitness center and sat in a Jacuzzi to loosen her muscles, hoping the heat, the steam and rushing water would force her to relax.

  She closed her eyes and suppressed a laugh. Can anyone be forced to relax?

  After a shower, she’d eaten a healthy breakfast, including both protein and carbs. She’d had no appetite, but had forced down a cheese omelet and fresh melon.

  By the time she returned to the suite, the room had been set to rights leaving no sign of her outburst. The coffee stains she’d created had magically disappeared from the carpet, although there was a lingering odor from the cleaner.

  She was now ready to face her problems, to begin the search anew for her daughter. Either with or without Dale.

  Or as ready as she could be.

  She stared at the street below, thinking about last night. Swallowing her pride and asking for Dale’s help had been by far the hardest request she had ever made. For so long she had resented him for abandoning her, for not lovin
g her enough to come for her, to fight for her. Maybe that was not precisely what had happened, but old feelings ran deep, were hard to rationalize away.

  During the long, lonely months of her pregnancy, even after her forced marriage she had held tight to the dream that Dale would magically appear and whisk her back to the States to live happily forever with their child. In her fairy tale, she would sculpt while he would sing to her. Dale had a lovely voice, clear and pure in tone, although he refused to do anything with his gift. She snorted. Musical theater was not macho enough for a tough American football player.

  Did he ever sing now? She smiled. Maybe in the shower. Men loved to sing in the shower. Her breath caught at a sudden vivid image of Dale naked, water sluicing over his chest, muscled arms raised to shove wet hair away from his mesmerizing green eyes. She stared at the empty page, realizing her fingers itched to sketch that particular vision.

  Would he pose for her?

  She snapped her pencil in half and slammed both pieces to the table.

  Perhaps he sang to his girlfriends as he had once sung to her. She knew he had not married, but a man who looked like Dale must have many partners. Was he serious with anyone? Would her sudden reappearance cause him trouble in his love life?

  She’d worried she would not hear from him—that he would abandon her again—but he had left a voice mail that he would pick her up at eleven, asking her to meet him downstairs. They had an appointment with his friend at the Bureau at noon.

  Would this visit with the FBI do any good? What would be different? She had badgered the American federali daily since arriving in the States, first in New York and then in DC. The Italian Department of State had reached out and brought pressure, demanding full cooperation. But still no one had offered any hope. All the agents had arranged their faces to appear properly grim, shaken their heads and insisted that the time had been too long. The sons of whores believed her Bella was gone forever.

  But if she wanted Dale’s help, she had to let him conduct the search his way. Maybe things would be different since he was in law enforcement. Perhaps he would come up with another solution.

  Yes. Of course he would. He had to. Or she would find another way. She would never give up on Bella.

  She grabbed another pencil and slashed a curved line across the pad, immediately disliking the contour. She tried another angle, but that was all wrong, too. She ripped off the page, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it behind her.

  Why had her muse deserted her when she needed help the most?

  Before Fran could try again, the phone rang. Knowing it was the alert she had programmed to go downstairs and meet Dale, she stuffed the pad in her purse and exited the suite.

  In the lift, she smoothed the front of her lightweight cotton skirt, wishing she could soothe the butterflies in her stomach as easily. Why was she nervous? About meeting with the FBI? No.

  Much as she hated to admit it, she was edgy about seeing Dale again. But why?

  She worried he judged her and found her lacking. He had not said so precisely, but maybe he thought she was a bad mother. Well, he had no right to judge. She raised her chin. He knew nothing about her, about her life.

  She had raised their daughter on her own, gladly leaving her parents’ home when forced to marry Paolo and never taking another damned euro from them. Maybe she had not been a perfect mother, but she loved Bella with all her heart. She had accepted nothing but a place to live from Paolo, working any job she could find, sometimes two at a time, until her work began to sell. Her husband became a friend who had understood her need for independence.

  Fran placed large white sunglasses over her eyes as she exited the air-conditioned lobby into the bright Miami September. Spotting Dale’s huge dark SUV, she headed that direction. Humidity clung to her like a damp towel, and her skin grew sticky on the short walk to his vehicle.

  He’d changed from his police uniform, but his sharp gaze was still cop-like as she approached. Was he looking for signs that she had been drinking? Maybe she’d been escaping into a bottle more often than usual since Bella ran away, but she was no alcoholic.

  He jumped out and opened the passenger door for her, taking her elbow to assist her on the big step up. His touch felt foreign and intimate at the same time, confusing her. She jerked away.

  “Thank you,” she said, hating that she sounded stiff.

  “Sure thing,” he muttered, slamming the door.

  Relieved by the cool interior, she settled herself in the seat and waited.

  “How do you feel?” he asked when he’d resumed his seat behind the wheel. Her breath hitched as their gazes collided. His green eyes—so like Bella’s at this close range—scrutinized her again.

  “Better,” she said, looking away.

  “You look better.”

  “Grazie,” she murmured.

  “Hangover gone?”

  “I am fine.”

  “Did you eat?”

  “Yes, and I took a long walk as you demanded.”

  His eyes narrowed. “I suggested.”

  She shrugged, and silence descended over the vehicle. Dale started to speak, but shook his head and reached for his seat belt.

  “Fasten up,” he ordered. “It’s the law here.”

  After she’d reached behind her and clicked the restraint into place, he accelerated out of the parking space, maneuvering skillfully through downtown traffic. He did not speak. Neither did she.

  Funny thing. As teenagers, they never had any problems talking to each other. When they saw each other, they could not stop sharing what each had done while separated. But now she did not know how to talk to him. Or what to say to him. Too much time had passed. She longed to know everything about his life, but did not know how to begin.

  Their time together should focus on one thing: finding their missing daughter.

  “Is the Miami FBI office close by?” she asked.

  “Hell, no,” Dale said. “They moved their headquarters to Broward County a couple of years ago. We’ve got an hour’s drive.”

  Fran shot him a look. His face was expressionless as he stared out the windshield. She folded her arms across her chest. This would be an awkward journey.

  “Did you get the day off?” she asked.

  “My lieutenant gave me two days. I’ll ask for more if I have to.”

  “Thank you,” she said, her voice catching. She truly was grateful for his help. How could she let him know that?

  Silence again until he accelerated onto a highway where cars rocketed past them at what had to be ninety miles an hour. But Dale seemed at ease, not minding the drivers that zoomed up on their tail. Likely he was used to the erratic traffic. She knew how to drive, even owned a small roadster. But her car remained parked in the garage most of the time since she preferred the convenience of trains.

  And she seldom traveled anywhere.

  “I’ve spent the last hour researching sex trafficking,” he said, his somber voice breaking into her thoughts.

  “I am sorry,” she said. She could not even count the countless hours she had spent on search engines learning about a subject that sickened her, that should sicken every normal human being.

  “I had no idea,” he said. “I mean, yeah, I was aware human trafficking was a growing problem, but, man.” He shook his head. “What I learned made me queasy.”

  “I know,” she said. “I had the same experience when Bella first disappeared.”

  “I assume you’ve contacted the National Human Trafficking Hotline.”

  “That and all the other agencies,” she said. “I have filled out form after form in both Europe and here. Law enforcement everywhere is on alert about Bella’s disappearance.”

  “But no credible sightings?”

  “She got off a plane at the Miami airport and vanished. Do you think your friend can help?�
��

  “I hope so. He’s a good man.”

  “How do you know him?”

  “We worked on a case together last year. He specializes in drug trafficking.”

  “Everyone thinks drug trafficking is so horrible,” Fran muttered.

  “And it is. It’s the largest criminal enterprise in the world.”

  “Human trafficking is second or perhaps third,” Fran said. “The figure I have seen over and over is 150 billion dollars in profits each year.”

  “Yeah, well, because it’s illegal, the numbers are hard to quantify.”

  “So what?” she said, too loud. She sucked in a breath. “It is probably even more. And with human trafficking it is vulnerable children who are transported, often under horrible conditions, as if they are a commodity.” She spat out the last word as if it tasted bitter and cursed in Italian.

  She closed her eyes, but the horrors she imagined Bella enduring continued to play out inside her brain. Once the images started, she could not shut them down. Even sleep did not keep the terror away. The disgusting scenes invaded her dreams, perhaps the reason she could not draw. How could she create beauty?

  “You have done your research,” Dale commented.

  “I have done nothing for the last week but search for my daughter.”

  When Dale remained silent, she turned toward him. “And whether you choose to believe it or not, she is your daughter, too.”

  His jaw tightened, and he stared straight ahead.

  “You were the only man I had made love with.” She faced front again. “You are the father, or God is, and believe me, while I love her dearly, Bella is no angel. So that leaves you.”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  DALE TIGHTENED HIS grip on the steering wheel, uncomfortably aware of the woman sitting beside him. The girl he had adored in high school had matured into a stunningly gorgeous woman who radiated sex without any apparent effort.

  The appeal wasn’t because of some sexy style of clothing. Her casual skirt and blouse revealed a normal amount of skin for a warm day in Miami.