"One of several times she tried to leave my stepfather," he said, a harsh note in his voice. "It just never lasted longer than a few weeks. She always went back, and she always took us with her. But for that short time…"
"Everything felt almost normal," she murmured, meeting his gaze. "We played cards after school—hearts and spades."
"And poker," he reminded her. "I taught you how to play seven card stud."
"And you made up stories to entertain Josie, so she wouldn't be scared. There were a lot of tales about soldiers and white knights and magical spells that would protect us."
"But they weren't real." He set the flyer down on the table, giving her a speculative look. "You know what you're supposed to do with this."
"I'm supposed to go to the shelter."
"Do you really want to walk through those doors again, Bree?"
She thought about his question for a long moment. "I really don't."
"But you're going to."
"It's the next move. I have to find that girl. Maybe she's there."
"She's not. That would be too easy. I think you should stop playing his game."
"I've had the same thought."
"I sense a but coming."
"But the Chicago office has a lot of manpower on Hayley's case, and if I follow these clues, maybe he'll make a mistake. Perhaps he'll reveal something that will lead us to Hayley."
"He doesn't seem like someone who is going to make an easy mistake."
"No, but if I don't go, I'm just going to spend all night wondering what I would have found there." She paused, glancing down the hall. "There's a back door. The little girl must have left through that door. Although, it appears to be locked now." She got up and went over to the counter, waiting for another opportunity to speak to the cashier. "Do you have a security camera off the back door?"
"We did, but it broke last year, and the owner hasn't gotten it fixed."
"You didn't see anyone with the little girl? She didn't meet up with someone here in the café?"
"Nope. As far as I know, she was alone. Sorry."
"Thanks."
Nathan got up as she returned to the table. "I'll drive you to the shelter."
"You don't have to do that. I can take a cab." She licked her lips, knowing she should send him away, but she wasn't quite feeling it. She liked having him around.
"You're not taking a cab, and you're not going there alone."
"You're not the one in charge," she said, feeling it necessary to remind him.
"You're not, either, Bree. The person in charge is the one sending you on this sick scavenger hunt."
She frowned. "You're right. It is sick, and I need to find that girl, because she's a pawn in this game, and even if she isn't my daughter, I need to make sure that she's safe."
"Then we'll go to the shelter, and we'll take it from there." He grabbed her hand. "And, yes, I am going to hold onto you until we get to the truck, so get over it."
She didn't have to get over it, but she wasn't going to tell him that. "If it makes you feel better, fine."
Eight
Nathan only felt better until he had to let go of Bree's hand and usher her into his truck. As he walked around the vehicle, he felt a cold chill and a deep sense of foreboding that only got worse as he got behind the wheel and started the engine.
Bree was being targeted in a destructive, terrifying manner, forcing her to walk back through the darkest moments of her past. He didn't know if he agreed with her decision to keep the Chicago FBI team out of this, but she knew her business more than he did, so he had to go along with it. What he wasn't going to do was let her go to the shelter on her own.
He rationalized that helping her was also helping Hayley, but deep down, he knew he was still with Bree because he couldn't walk away from her. He'd never been able to do that completely. Sure, he'd kept his distance at times, especially when she was with Johnny, but he'd always been close enough if she'd ever needed him.
And she had. She'd needed him to help her leave town. Even though he'd let her believe that she'd blackmailed him into helping, it wasn't really true. And helping her exit his life had been one of the hardest things he'd ever done. Even when she'd been with someone else, she'd still been in his life; he could still see her smile, hear her laugh…
Knowing that he would probably never see her again had gutted him.
But knowing that she'd be out of Johnny's power and that she and her child would be safe, would have better lives, had helped him get through it.
He really didn't want her to get sucked back into the quicksand that had once been her life.
But she wasn't going to quit—at least, not yet.
Neither was he.
Glancing over at her, he wondered what she was thinking. She hadn't spoken a word since they'd gotten in the car, and her gaze was on the dark city streets, blocks that were becoming more and more familiar. Mack's Deli, where they'd saved up change to buy a Mack special, which was really just a lot of processed meats and cheese: bologna, pepperoni, Swiss cheese, a mound of lettuce, a couple of tomatoes, and a lot of red onions. They'd loved those sandwiches, usually sharing a half-footer, washing it down with a soda, chasing it with some gummy worms.
It was any wonder they'd survived on the food they'd eaten.
But some days there hadn't been much food at all…
He could still vividly remember the feeling of hunger in the pit of his soul, gnawing away at him, making him feel hollow. But the hunger hadn't been nearly as bad as some of the other emotions he'd had to get through. He'd take an empty stomach any day over the alternative—having to deal with his stepfather, a mean-assed son-of-a-bitch.
Clearing his throat, he was tempted to turn the truck around and speed away as fast as he could.
Bree turned her head, gazing back at him, as if she sensed his sudden discomfort.
"I know," she murmured. "All this sucks. We both have our lives together and now we're going to relive a painful time in our past."
"Are you sure you want to do this now? Maybe you should think about it, sleep on it, come back in the daylight."
"I can't afford to waste any time, Nathan. There's a clue at the shelter, and I have to get it."
"How can you be sure?"
"Because he wouldn't be sending me there unless he has something else to show me."
"Or he wants to hurt you."
"I don't think he's ready to do that yet. He's still in the slow build…savoring the game that he has so carefully put together. He wants to watch me twist in the wind, wonder if this girl is my daughter, worry if I'll find her in time."
"Okay, I have to bring something up," he said abruptly.
"What is it?"
"You've become fixated on the idea that the girl on the train is your daughter."
"That's not true. I know she's probably not."
"There's a part of you that is unsure."
"Well, you did hear the cashier at the café say she looked like me, didn't you?"
"Yeah, I get it. She has brown hair and green eyes. Lots of girls do."
"What's your point?" she snapped.
He made a quick decision and took a turn at the next intersection, then pulled over.
"Why are we stopping?"
"Because we need to have this conversation, and I don't want to be driving while we're having it."
"Okay. What do you want to say?"
He threw the truck into park and turned to look at her. "What about Hayley?"
"What do you mean?"
"If this kidnapper has Hayley, why didn't he just use her to get to you?"
"Well…because she probably wouldn't have done it. This girl might have been paid. She could have been a street kid, who was ready to make some cash. She wasn't afraid. Hayley wouldn't have been able to pull this off."
"All right. That makes sense. But what about Hayley?" he repeated. "Come on, Bree. It has to have crossed your mind that Hayley is also the right age to be your da
ughter. And she was adopted. If this kidnapper knows you had a kid, and wants to torture you in the worst way possible, how can you not consider the fact that Hayley might be your child?"
Her eyes glittered in the shadowy light. "I did think about it. But her birthdate isn't the same. Hayley was born in Joliet, Illinois, five days before I had my daughter."
"Five days isn’t very long."
"But my child was born in Detroit. And the mother listed on Hayley's birth certificate checked out. We verified that she did give birth in that hospital on that day. Nothing points to Hayley being my kid. She doesn't even look like me."
"Then why did the kidnapper pick her? Why did this person, who you said has been working in the northeast, come to Chicago and pick Hayley as his next victim?"
"I think he came to Chicago because of me. After I botched his last abduction, he wanted revenge, and obviously he did a lot of research on me. He probably thought I'd be weaker here in Chicago, not just because of my past, but because I wouldn't be with my normal team, the team that has been chasing him for months."
He supposed that made sense.
"As for why he picked Hayley?" Bree continued. "All I can say is that she matches the other victims for the most part. Her hair is brown, not blonde, but she has brown eyes, just like the other three girls, who were also around the same age. She lives in an upper-class neighborhood, goes to a good school, and comes from a happy family—also just like the other three girls. Her abduction follows the same patterns as before. She was taken from a school, a place where she should have been safe."
"Were any of those other girls adopted?"
"No, but I'm not sure how he would know that in advance."
"So that's different."
"Yes, and the other difference is that he's pulling me into his game, as well as this other little girl from the train." She blew out a breath. "When I say it all out loud, it sounds crazy. I know that. But there's a good chance this kidnapper is not sane."
"All right. I get it. Hayley fits the pattern. But if he knows you gave up a kid, why didn't he try to find her, take her?"
"Because he can't find her. He might have found out I got pregnant and left town and had a baby, but he doesn't know where my child is. My daughter is safe and far away from here," she said, a desperate note in her voice.
He knew she needed to believe that, and he didn't want to take her hope away, but he wasn't as convinced as she was.
"Can we go now?" she asked.
"One second. Tell me about Detroit."
"There's not much to tell. I lived in a studio apartment about as big as a closet. I had a part-time job in a taco shop, and I was there for three months until I gave birth." She sucked in a deep breath, slowly letting it trickle out. "Giving up my daughter was the most difficult and painful thing I've ever done. I was in labor for hours, and I was all alone. I should have been used to it by then, but it was still so lonely and terrifying. And when she was born, I heard her cry, and then she was taken away."
A tear slid out of Bree's eye, and his heart ached for her.
She ruthlessly wiped it away with her fingers. "All I saw was a tiny bundle in a hospital blanket. I didn't even see the color of her hair or her eyes."
"Why not? Why didn't they let you hold her—say good-bye?"
"Before I went into labor, I had told them I didn't want to see her, but after she was gone, I really wished I hadn't said that. I thought it would be easier if she just disappeared, but it wasn't. I cried the whole night and most of the next few months."
"You shouldn't have been alone. I wish you had called me."
"I couldn't call anyone. I had to make a clean break from my old life."
"What happened after that? Did you stay in Detroit?"
"No. I left three weeks later. It was too painful to stay in the apartment where I'd been pregnant. For months, it had just been me and her. I didn't make any friends there. It was too risky. At night, I'd read to my baby, play her music, tell her she was going to have a great life. Once she was gone, I couldn't stand being there."
"You left Detroit and went where?"
"Colorado. I was given a bonus of five thousand dollars for delivering a healthy baby. I enrolled at a community college and got a part-time job and eventually made it to the University of Colorado Boulder, where I majored in criminal justice and psychology. I made a new life for myself, and several years after graduation, I got into the FBI. That's when I really came into my own. Now I'm trained in multiple weapons, I understand criminal behavior, and I can win at hand-to-hand combat. I don't need anyone to rescue me anymore. And I've been doing good work the last five years. I like who I am now."
"I like who you are, too," he admitted.
She flashed him a smile. "Really? I know I disappointed you a lot back in the day. You were pretty critical of my choices."
"Johnny was bad for you."
"I didn't find out how bad for a long time. I hate that we're going down this road into the past, Nathan."
"I think you're supposed to hate it."
"I still don't understand how the kidnapper knows my secrets. But it doesn't really matter. I just have to find him before he hurts Hayley or this other little girl. We only have a couple of days at most. The other girls didn't make it past the seventh day."
"Then we better get to it."
* * *
She couldn't believe she'd told Nathan about the night she'd given birth to her child. She'd never told anyone, and now she was feeling overwhelmed with emotion, remembering those first few minutes after the birth, when she'd yearned to see her baby's face, her eyes, her first look at the world.
For that entire first year, she'd thought about her child every single day, hoping she'd made the right choice. As time went on, she'd never forgotten, but she had found a way to move on, secure in the knowledge that she'd done the right thing. She'd imagined her child with loving parents, a beautiful home in a nice neighborhood, pretty clothes and good food and nothing but joy.
Had that been a fool's dream?
Had choosing total secrecy to protect the child from Johnny actually put her daughter in more danger because she'd used someone working outside of the law?
She needed to know. She needed to find her daughter. She'd told Nathan that her child was not the girl on the train and not Hayley, because none of the facts supported either scenario. He hadn't tried to argue with her, but she'd seen the doubt in his eyes.
She wanted to believe that her child was still living the dream life she'd given her away to get, but she needed to find out for sure. And the only way to do that was to keep playing the game, until she had a chance to make her own move.
A few moments later, Nathan parked under a streetlight, a block away from the shelter. She hoped the tires, the rims, and everything else would still be there when they were done, but in this neighborhood, you never knew.
Nathan took her hand again as they hit the sidewalk, and she didn't quite know what to think about that. She just knew that she liked it, probably a little too much. But she had enough to worry about right now, and her relationship with Nathan—whatever it was—would have to be dissected later.
When she saw the bright-blue door with the sign Open Heart Refuge, her heart sped up again. This particular shelter, housed in an old three-story hotel, was for single mothers with children, and instead of one or two big rooms filled with cots like most shelters, each of the eighteen hotel rooms could house one to four family members.
Having a room that she only had to share with her aunt had made her feel more normal. There had also been a large multi-media room downstairs with card tables, a big television, and plenty of games, as well as a smaller quieter room for reading and homework. Adults had their own computer center and private room for when they needed a break from the kids. There was also a kitchen and a dining room that actually provided decent meals.
They'd spent four months at the shelter before moving into an apartment. She'd been sad to leave,
but the shelter was very good at helping their residents move into longer-term situations. Unfortunately, longer term for her and her aunt had been about seven months. Then her aunt had ended up in rehab, and she'd been put in foster care, the first of several homes, all of them disappointing.
As they drew nearer to the door, Nathan's steps began to slow, and his fingers tightened around hers.
She paused, giving him a curious look. "Everything okay?"
His lips tightened. "I never thought I'd be back here."
"Nothing bad happened at this place," she reminded him. "Right?"
"Right."
"The director—what was her name?"
"Lucy Harper."
"Yes. Miss Lucy, we called her. I wonder if she's still here. Although, she seemed like a hundred years old when I was twelve."
"She was probably fifty," he said with a tight smile.
"She was fierce. I remember her chasing off bad boyfriends and bad husbands and just anyone who seemed like a threat. It was the first time I'd really seen anyone do that."
"She had a baseball bat behind the desk. She threatened to use it on my stepfather when he showed up one night. I only wished she'd done it. It would have saved us all a lot more pain."
She didn't know all the ins and outs of Nathan's life, but she knew he'd had a lot of trouble with his stepfather, and that hadn't ended until his stepfather had died when they were in high school.
"How is your mother doing now?" she asked tentatively.
"She's in a good place, but we don't need to talk about her. Let's get this over with."
She nodded, and they headed toward the door.
As they stepped inside the building, she felt as if she were stepping back in time. She had to remind herself she wasn't a scared kid looking for shelter or a safe place anymore. She was an FBI agent trying to save a child's life. That was what mattered.
She walked up to the desk, which was manned by a woman with a nametag that read Christie. She had blonde hair, blue eyes and appeared to be in her late thirties.
"How can I help you?" Christie asked.
Reckless Whisper KO PL B Page 9
