by Amy Vansant
But what if they didn’t keep him?
What if the police put him in an orphanage?
A horn blared. Kim jumped, startled to hear something louder than Mason Bennett.
Green light.
She hit the gas. She traveled another quarter of a mile in a daze and stopped at the next light, for once, happy to hit the light. It gave her time to think. The baby settled into quiet wet sniffles, as if he wanted her to think, too.
Josh Jr. in an orphanage.
She couldn’t let that happen.
Kim perked as a thought lighter than the dark notions roiling in her brain bobbed to the surface.
I could adopt him back.
Maybe no one would want a blind baby and she could adopt him?
No sooner had her spine straightened with this buoying thought, than her shoulders hunched again.
No. Josh would never allow her to adopt someone else’s baby. Not when he was happy to make his own kids. And they wouldn’t pass the finance hurdles adoptive parents no doubt had to clear. Not to mention the inspections. The State only had to spot the fist-sized hole in the living room wall to know Josh couldn’t deal with another screaming child. He’d been staying at the bar even later since she brought home wailing Mason Bennett.
They’d put Josh Jr. in an orphanage and he’d be adopted by another couple. They could be anyone. They’d probably be kind, if they were the sort of people to adopt a blind baby in the first place. But they might move him clear across the country. They might be hiding how horrible they really are. They might be devil-worshippers for all she knew, looking for a cheap baby to sacrifice—
Kim stomped on the gas and made an abrupt turn in front of the car sitting next to her at the light. The driver hit the brakes and horn but she barreled on, heading for the bridge that led to the beach.
I have to see Joshy. I have to get him back.
At the next light she fumbled for her phone and plugged in the address she’d scrawled on that scrap of paper. She knew the way. The streets weren’t difficult to navigate once you were on the island — there weren’t that many of them.
Kim drove over the bridge and turned onto the street where the Bennetts lived. She slowed the moment she made the left so it wouldn’t look strange when she slowed in front of the Bennetts’ house. She passed a few parked cars, her eyes locked on the police cruiser sitting outside the Bennetts’ address. Thanks to the hedge wall she couldn’t see much, but the low, decorative gate had the right address bolted to its bars.
She strained, trying to see anything. No officers sat in the cruiser sitting outside.
They had to be inside.
Give me a glimpse. Give me a peek at Josh Jr. to let me know he’s there and he’s alright.
As her minivan crept past the house, Mason screamed.
Kim almost jerked the wheel directly into the police cruiser. Panicked, she hit the gas and passed the house.
She drove a few streets away and pulled to the curb, sobbing.
“Why? Why couldn’t you just let me see if he was there?” she screamed at the baby behind her.
Mason settled. When she turned she could have sworn he was smiling.
Kim swallowed.
You’re the angel of revenge.
Chapter Thirty-Two
Charlotte heard a rattling noise and opened her eyes. The room was dark and it took her a moment to realize where she was.
Loggerhead Inn. Right.
Her legs curled like question marks to make room for a sleeping dog not there, and then she stretched to give her knees a break. A peek at her watch told her it was three-thirty in the morning.
She groaned. Way too early to wake.
No wonder I feel like my brain is full of wadded paper towels.
Wiping the sleep from her eyes, she sat up.
Something felt different. Something different had woken her. Over the past two nights she’d heard boats motoring down the Intracoastal, and the occasional whistle of what she guessed was some sort of cargo train, but something about this awakening felt different.
Beside her, her phone glowed.
Ah. Phone.
She picked it up and saw two texts from the mysterious Hunter.
Hunter, my butt.
The woman on the paddleboard was Siofra.
She felt it in the very marrow of her bones.
Though the only photo she’d ever seen of Siofra hailed from two decades earlier, the woman bore an uncanny resemblance to her own mother, whom she’d seen in her forties.
Besides, who else would work the baby-napping case and case the Inn?
Hunter was a striking beauty, even with her long dark hair pulled into a ponytail and not a pat of makeup on her face. Still, the lines near her eyes told Charlotte she had to be at least forty-five, which put her at the right age. She was in great shape, though. As she’d paddled away, Charlotte had watched the muscles in her arms and back flex.
She had to be some sort of athlete.
Did she run away to join the Olympic team?
It had killed Charlotte to not be able to burst into the Inn and tell Angelina she thought she’d met Siofra. For one, Angelina was the only person—well, the only conscious person—who could positively identify her. But another nugget kept her from telling Angelina all.
She found it odd Hunter had chosen to talk to her. Why would she risk her cover?
Did she know I’m her niece before I told her? Or was it a coincidence?
And now here the woman was again, texting her pre-dawn.
Almost pushy.
Charlotte needed time to find out what Hunter was up to without Angelina scaring her away. She didn’t get the feeling Angelina would be able to sit tight and keep her mouth shut. If Hunter was as savvy as Angelina implied, Charlotte guessed her aunt would be long gone before Angelina caught her.
Charlotte took a moment to silently vow to let Angelina know about ‘Hunter’ before Siofra went missing again.
I’ll tell her today.
Maybe tomorrow.
Charlotte read Hunter’s first text.
I’m doing the hospital search.
Huh? Now? She’s decided three-thirty a.m. was a great time to grill nurses for information about a blind baby?
I guess hospitals are open twenty-four-seven.
Apparently, so were Hunter’s eyes.
Maybe early was a good time to talk to the nurses. They’d either be tired from a long shift or tired from waking up too early. They might be happy to talk about something other than late night trauma victims or the long work day ahead of them.
Or maybe Hunter was just an early riser and had already started planning her day.
Charlotte read the next text.
That means you do the surveillance.
She frowned. And just like that, Hunter was her boss, assigning her a job for the day. They’d discussed two plans and somehow she’d drawn the short stick.
How come she gets to do the fun thing and I have to watch the Bennetts’ house for regretful kidnappers?
Charlotte looked at her watch again. Does she mean now? Would the kidnapper drive by the house at night?
Maybe. If the napper couldn’t sleep, ruing the day she swapped her own child for another. Though, at night she wouldn’t be able to see much... Should I start now?
The phone buzzed in her hand to announce another message from Hunter.
I’d start now.
Charlotte huffed and considered several reply text versions before punching in four letters and a period.
On it.
She wanted to keep it short. Hunter was much too cool. She didn’t want to be all, Sure, Hunter, whatever you say! I’m on the case! Smiley-face, smiley-face, thumbs up, unicorn, rainbow! and come off like a huge dork.
No sooner did she send it than she regretted it.
I should have said ‘Fine.’
That would have implied she didn’t appreciate having her assignments picked for her, too.
A
h, the nuances of text.
Charlotte waited a moment to see if any more texts came in, realized she was acting like a teenager waiting for her boyfriend to call back, and put the phone down.
Be cool.
She showered and dressed and checked the phone again. Nothing. Apparently Hunter had delivered her message and moved on with her life.
Like a cool person.
Charlotte sighed.
Maybe, someday, I’ll be cool.
Chapter Thirty-Three
Hunter picked through the pile of books sitting on the seat beside her, noting the name of the second-hand bookstore stamped on the inside covers. Jana DeLeon, Janet Evanovich, Kathi Daley, Julie Smith—apparently the owner of the vehicle liked mysteries. Too bad now she had to crack the case of why this woman didn’t have an extra set of scrubs in her car.
She’d thought for sure the older nurse she’d watch leave the vehicle would have a spare set of scrubs in the trunk somewhere. Didn’t nurses always carry a change of clothes? They never knew who might bleed or barf on them. And this woman had particular taste. The scrubs she’d been wearing had tiny wiener dogs wearing party hats scattered all over them. No way she’d be happy changing into a plain blue or green set provided by the hospital. Perish the thought.
But nope. No spare wiener dogs. Not even cats.
Hunter had thought she’d hit the lottery when the woman failed to lock her door. Someone whose clothes implied she had a penchant for carrying spare outfits, an unlocked door… How dare the universe align all the planets just to skip Pluto.
I guess Pluto is a bit of a red-headed stepchild these days.
Didn’t the space scientists declare it not a planet?
Ah well.
Nurse Pluto didn’t have a change of clothes. Just a pile of well-creased books from a second-hand bookstore.
From her new seat in Nurse Pluto’s car in the employee parking lot, Hunter watched another car enter and park. A man in scrubs exited an old Honda and headed for the hospital.
Hm. A man. Men were less likely to think ahead, but she’d give it a shot. With an older car she didn’t have to worry about alarms, so there was no reason not to try.
Hunter got out of the mystery reader’s car and moved to the man’s vehicle. He’d left the windows cracked far enough she was able to snake her arm inside, but she came up short of releasing the lock. She grunted and leaned farther inside. Something snapped and the window dropped another inch.
Whoops.
She opened the car and sat inside. Stretching back, she grabbed a backpack from the backseat and pulled it to her.
Voila. There, among the protein bars and running clothes, nestled a spare set of scrubs.
Hunter pulled them out and slipped into the top. The collar of her own tank plunged deep enough she didn’t even need to remove it. Stepping out of the car, she gave the area a visual sweep and dropped her shorts to the ground to don the scrub pants.
Not bad.
They fit pretty well, considering. She was tall and the owner of the car wasn’t, so the pant bottoms didn’t drag on the ground. Hunter stashed her shorts inside a flowering shrub sprouting from a planter-slash-retaining wall in front of the car. She took one step toward the hospital before stopping to stare at the collapsed window of the Honda.
Shoot.
Poor guy. A working nurse with such an old car. It was criminal what they paid nurses in Florida, and now here she was vandalizing the guy’s car.
Maybe it’s not really broken.
It was hard to tell how broken the window might be without turning on the car.
Hunter returned to her shorts and peeled three hundred dollar bills from her pocket. Thinking better of leaving her cash in a planter, she tucked the remaining wad into her shelf bra and stuffed the shorts back into the shrubbery. Slipping her hand through the fallen driver’s-side window, she dropped the bills onto the front seat of the car.
She took a few steps away, thought better of it, and returned. If she left hundred dollar bills sitting on the seat, the car might be even more ransacked by the time the guy clocked out. She tucked the money in the ashtray and tried once more to head for the hospital.
One point for good karma.
Hunter checked the directory in the lobby and headed for the pediatric unit. Even if the mother of the blind baby had brought the child into the emergency room, it would have been looked at by one of the pediatric doctors, more than likely.
She strolled by the desk where an administrative woman sat typing on a computer.
Hunter leaned against the desk. “Whew, what a night.”
The woman looked up and smiled. “Just getting off?”
Hunter nodded. “Pretty soon. Had to tie up some loose ends.”
The woman nodded and returned to her work.
“Hey, do you know where I can find the doctor who diagnosed that blind baby a while back?”
The woman looked up again.
“What’s that?”
“I, um, accidentally took home some paperwork on a blind baby, and now I forget which doctor handed it to me.”
The woman scowled. “The doctor’s name isn’t on it?”
“No. Weird.”
“Let me see it.”
Hunter slapped at pockets she didn’t have. “Oh, I left it in my car...”
The woman sighed. “I don’t remember anyone diagnosing a blind baby.”
Another nurse walked behind the desk area, and Hunter recognized her as the older woman whose car she’d been searching. The partying wiener dogs gave her away.
“Hey, Jill, do you remember any of the doctors diagnosing a blind baby—” The administrator looked at Hunter. “Recently?”
“Couple of weeks ago?”
The woman’s scowl lowered another notch. “There’s no date on the paperwork?”
“Nope.”
“But you’ve had them for weeks?”
Hunter did her best to look shamed. “I know, it’s terrible. I had it in my car and kept forgetting to bring it up.”
The older nurse was already slowly shaking her head. “I don’t remember anything like that.”
Hunter sighed. “Alright. I’ll go get the papers. Maybe you’ll be able to figure it out from those.”
The woman behind the computer offered her a crisp nod. “I’m sure we will be.”
Hunter turned to leave, but not before she put a hand on the wiener-dog nurse’s arm. “Hey, you like mysteries, don’t you? Maybe ones with a sense of humor? You should try Amy Vansant. Really good stuff.”
The nurse’s eyes opened wider and she smiled. “Oh, yes, okay, thanks.”
Hunter left the hospital and retrieved her shorts from the planter wall. She hopped over the low, useless fence guarding the northern end of the gated parking area and returned to her own car waiting for her in a bank parking lot. She retrieved her notebook and a pen to scratch out the name of the hospital behind her.
“One down, four to go.”
Hers wasn’t the most thorough plan, but running through the pediatric units at this rate could drop them a notch on her list of possibilities pretty quickly. Maybe she’d get lucky and find a nurse who remembered the blind child.
She checked her phone and saw she had a missed call.
Who could be calling me?
Voicemail.
Spammers, probably.
She played the message expecting to hear a robocall running through its paces.
“Hey, Hunter, this is Charlotte. Just a heads up, I’m following a suspicious minivan that rolled past the Bennetts’ house. I’ll let you know when I know more.”
Charlotte.
Hm. I need to log her in as a contact so I know it’s her and not a robocall.
The girl had stationed herself outside the house as directed.
Good.
Hunter checked the tracing app on her phone. It looked as if Charlotte was parked not far from the hospital. She hadn’t returned to the Bennetts’ house fiftee
n minutes after leaving her the message, so she must have seen something interesting.
Maybe I’ll swing by.
Chapter Thirty-Four
When the sun finally rose, Charlotte checked her face in the rearview mirror of her Volvo.
I look like a crazy person.
Between getting up too early and not sleeping well the night before, she looked as if someone had dotted both her eyes.
It didn’t help surveillance was her least favorite part of being a detective and not the recipe for staying awake when already tired.
She closed her eyes and lowered her chin to her chest.
I’ll rest my eyes for a second...
She vowed to open her eyes on every count of ten.
…nine, ten.
She looked up. Nothing. Just like the last four hours.
…nine, ten.
Eyes harder to open that time. She looked up.
Nothing—oh, hold on...
A minivan turned on to the Bennetts’ street and Charlotte steeled herself to be bored to tears again. The false sense of excitement that bubbled every time a random vehicle appeared had worn her down.
She slouched down in her seat.
The minivan rolled down the street at a crawl, piquing Charlotte’s interest.
Why would anyone move that slowly?
Maybe the driver lived on the street and was about to pull into a driveway…
Nope. Still coming.
The vehicle rolled past the Bennetts’ house, slowing until it nearly stopped. After a weighty pause, it lurched forward and picked up speed as it departed.
The driver turned her head toward Charlotte as she passed.
Whoops.
Charlotte sat up a notch and squinted, realizing the rising sun beamed down on her face like a spotlight no matter how far she tried to fold herself into the seat.
The opposite side of the street had no parking, so the situation had left her little choice. Figures the first suspicious vehicle to go by would arrive right at seven a.m. when the sun sought her out like a laser pointer.
