"My name is Bree Adams. I'm a special agent with the FBI." She showed her badge to Christie, whose expression immediately turned wary. "I'm working on a case involving a missing child."
"The one on the news?" Christie asked.
"Yes, but there's another little girl that we're concerned about at the moment, and I have a lead that she might be staying here at the shelter. This is a photo of her. It's obviously taken from the back, but maybe you recognize her?" She handed her phone to Christie.
Christie looked at the picture. "I'm sure you know that I can't give out any personal information on our residents. It's for their safety." She gave Bree back her phone. "I'm sorry."
Judging by the uncomfortable gleam in Christie's eyes, she had recognized the girl.
"I completely understand," Bree said. "But this is a matter of life or death. And I know you would want to help us."
"This little girl is in danger?"
"Yes."
"I can ask the director…" Christie began, stopping as the door to the office behind her opened.
Bree was shocked to see the older woman with white hair and piercing blue eyes that she and Nathan had just been talking about. "Miss Lucy," she muttered. "You're still here."
Lucy Harper's gaze swept across her face and then moved on to Nathan. "Well, well. You two look familiar. Let me think." She gave Bree a long look. "Bree Larson."
"I can't believe you remember me."
"Brown hair, beautiful green eyes that were always hopeful," Lucy said, then turned to Nathan. "And you are Nathan…oh, what was your last name?"
"Bishop."
"Of course. Nathan Bishop, the very protective big brother and devoted son."
"You have an excellent memory," Nathan said. "I was thirteen years old when I was here. That was a long time ago."
"I like to think of the people who stay here as family. And I have to admit your mother's face still haunts me, Nathan. When she left, I was very worried about her. She never came back. I didn't know if that was good or bad," Lucy said with concern in her gaze. "Dare I ask?"
"She's okay now," Nathan said tightly.
As Bree heard the words, she wanted to feel relieved. But she felt like there was something Nathan wasn't saying. Now, however, was not the time to get into it.
"Oh, I am so happy to hear that," Lucy said. "Now what brings you two back to our shelter? You don't look like you need help anymore."
"They're with the FBI," Christie put in.
"Actually, I'm with the FBI," Bree corrected. "I'm looking for a little girl. She's in danger, and I need to find her. I know you can't give out confidential information, but this is really important. I have a picture of her. I just showed it to Christie."
Lucy gave Christie a nod of encouragement. "Go ahead."
"The girl's name is Emma Lowell," Christie said. "She came in two nights ago with her sister Tasha. Tasha showed me her ID. She's eighteen years old. Emma said she was ten. They told me that their mother was sick and couldn't pay the rent and they needed a place to stay until she got out of the hospital."
"You didn't call DCFS?" Bree asked.
"Since Emma was with her adult sibling, we did not," Christie said, a defensive note in her voice. "We try to help families stay together, not get ripped apart."
"She knows that," Lucy said, giving her a pointed look. "Don't you?"
"I do. And I'm not here to make trouble. I just want to find Emma. Is she here now?"
Christie shook her head. "She and her sister checked out a few hours ago. They said they'd found a better place to stay. They seemed quite happy, as if things had turned around in an unexpected way."
"Did they say anything else? Like where they were going?"
Christie thought for a moment. "Emma said something about getting a part in a play. That's all I know."
A part in a play or a part in a con?
"Have the cleaners gone through their suite?" she asked, wondering if Emma had left anything behind. It seemed unbelievable that the flyer would bring them to the shelter and then there would be nothing. "Did they leave anything behind?"
"The cleaners won't be in there until morning. We don't have a full house right now, so there wasn't a rush."
"Can I see where they were staying?"
"Well, I suppose there's no harm in that," Lucy said. "But you'll have to wait here, Nathan. As you might recall, no adult men are allowed upstairs."
"I understand," he said.
She gave Nathan an apologetic look. "I won't be long."
"Take your time. I'll be here."
As Bree walked up the stairs with Lucy, she noticed that the shelter had definitely been updated. There was fresh paint on the walls and tiled floors instead of the old, stained carpet that had always smelled bad.
"How does it feel to be back?" Lucy asked, giving her a sharp look.
"Weird. But this place was good for me and my aunt for the time we were here."
"What happened to your aunt?"
"I'm not sure."
"You don't keep in touch?"
"No. I haven't seen her in years. She fell apart after we left here. Like my mother, she was toxic. She just couldn't get herself together, and she certainly couldn't take care of me. I ended up in the system. I kept thinking she would get better and come looking for me, but that never happened."
"Well, I'm glad you're doing well now. How do you like working for the FBI?"
"I love my job. I spend most of my time looking for missing kids, and while it's difficult at times, it's also rewarding."
Lucy smiled. "I'm sure they are all very lucky to have someone like you on their side. You were always a stubborn girl. I bet that works well for you now."
"I'd like to think so."
"And Nathan. You two are together? I remember you were very close when you were here."
"How do you remember us? So many people come through here. It seems unbelievable."
"I look at people. I listen to them. I almost always remember their names and at least some part of their story. It's actually much harder to forget some of the things I see and hear than to remember."
She saw a sadness in Lucy's eyes and could only imagine some of the horror stories she'd had to hear, to live through. "The people who come here are lucky to have you."
"I was on the streets when I was a little girl. I understand the needs, the despair, the dreams of the people who come here. I do what I can to make life a little better for a short while."
"You do a great job. This is the best place I ever stayed." She paused. "Do you know any more of Emma's story than what Christie told us?"
"Unfortunately, I don't. I didn't meet Emma or her sister. I've been in and out the last couple of days." Lucy paused in front of Suite 2102. "This is it."
Bree sucked in a quick breath. "This is it? But this—this was my suite."
"Is it? I didn't realize. That's odd."
She didn't think it was odd or a coincidence. "Did they ask to be in this suite?"
"I don't know. I can check with Christie. I don't know why they would have. They'd never been here before. It's not like they wanted to go back to a favorite room." Lucy opened the door and waved her inside.
As she stepped into the room with two double beds, it felt much smaller than she remembered. Both beds were unmade, covers tossed about. There was a pizza box on the dresser and a couple of empty soda cans.
There was also something on one of the pillows—a large white envelope.
She walked across the room with a growing sense of trepidation that worsened when she saw her name scrawled across the front of the envelope. She'd just found her clue. Inside, she found two newspaper clippings. It took her a moment to realize the clippings were actually of one photograph that had been ripped down the middle. And that photograph was of her. After high school, she'd done some modeling to make some cash, and she'd made it into the newspaper while walking the runway at a charity fashion show.
She couldn't believe s
omeone had dug up this old clipping, ripped it in two and left it for her.
"Can I ask what's going on?" Lucy enquired.
She saw the concern in the older woman's eyes. "Someone is trying to drive me mad."
Lucy frowned as she showed her the ripped photo.
"I don't understand. What does this mean?" Lucy asked.
"That someone knows my past and is digging it up piece by piece. I got a lead to come here, and now I find this. Only problem is I don't know where to go next."
"How are Emma and Tasha involved?"
"I don't know. Emma told Christie she had a part in a play. Maybe they were paid to come here, ask for this room, leave me this note, and then they left. I just hope that means that they're safe." She took another look around the room and the adjoining bathroom. There were no other items of interest. "Thanks for letting me up here," she told Lucy as they made their way downstairs.
"If I can be of any more help, I'll certainly try."
"Will you let me know if Emma or Tasha come back?"
"Of course."
She left her phone number with Lucy and then joined Nathan, who got up from the bench by the door, a questioning gleam in his eyes.
She handed him the ripped photo.
His gaze narrowed. "I remember this event."
"Yes. I thought I was going to be famous when I made the paper."
"Johnny called you his supermodel," Nathan said, a terse note in his voice. "What the hell is this supposed to mean? Was there a note?"
"Nope. I think it means that they can rip me apart whenever they want, or am I being too literal?"
"Let's get out of here," he said, giving her back the clippings.
She put the envelope in her bag and they headed outside. She shivered as the wind gusted down the street, the temperature having dropped at least ten degrees. It was after seven now, and she was happy that the truck was close by, also happy that no one had tampered with it.
"What do you want to do?" Nathan asked, as they fastened their seat belts.
"I have no idea," she said with a sigh. "I need to think, but I'm tired, I'm hungry, and I'm pissed off that I am playing puppet to some master I don't even know."
"I can't do anything about the puppet master, but I can do something about food. You want to get some dinner?"
"I would like to eat something, but you don't have to babysit me, Nathan."
"I'm hungry, too. Where are you staying?"
"In a hotel by Michigan Avenue and the river."
"I know a place in that neighborhood, which is not tied to our past in any way."
"Thank goodness for that." Maybe after some food, she'd be better able to put some of the clues together in a pattern that made sense and would hopefully lead them to whoever was sending her on a sad trip down memory lane.
Nine
In a cozy restaurant, over one of Chicago's infamous deep-dish pizzas laden with vegetables and spicy pepperoni, Bree felt her tension begin to ease. Part of that was because of the pizza and the glass of wine she'd consumed, but most of it had to do with Nathan.
She'd forgotten how much she'd liked him when they were kids, how easy he was to talk to, how he seemed to know what she was thinking or where her brain was going even before she got there. Since they'd tabled all subjects involving the past for the duration of their pizza, it had been fun to hear him talk about his construction business and the triathlon he planned to do in the spring. He also clearly adored Grace, talking with great affection about his niece's love of reading and drama, how she was always roping him into playing imaginary games when he babysat for her.
Nathan had always loved his family beyond compare. She didn't think she'd met anyone who would go to the kind of lengths that Nathan had to protect the people who shared his blood. Certainly, her family had never done that for her.
But she shoved that thought aside, preferring now to concentrate on Nathan's very attractive face, his light-brown eyes that darkened with his moods, his strong jaw that could be incredibly stubborn, his sexily tousled brown hair, his full mouth that could utter both incredibly sharp but also incredibly kind words.
The years had put a few lines around that mouth, but his lips looked full and inviting, and she wondered what it would be like to kiss him. She had a feeling a lot of women wondered that. Their waitress had certainly made more than the normal number of stops by their table to ask if they needed anything, her gaze always on Nathan when she asked the question.
She'd always thought Nathan was attractive, but he'd put up a lot of walls between them as they'd gotten older. Actually, he'd put up a lot of walls around himself in every area of his life. He'd been much more open and outgoing in his early teens. By the end of high school, he'd been closed off, guarded, always on the edge of anger, and her behavior had certainly annoyed him.
"Where are you?" Nathan's voice cut through her reverie.
She started, realizing she was still staring at his mouth. "Sorry. Just thinking."
"About what?"
She raised her gaze to his. "I was actually thinking about you—how different you seem now in some ways, and yet very much like your old self in others."
"Do I want to ask you to explain?" he asked dryly, taking a swig of his beer.
"I'm not sure I could. It's weird how we seem to meet up at critical junctures in our lives. The first time we met was at the shelter. My mom had died a few years earlier, and I was living with my aunt, who had her own struggles. You and your mom and sister were escaping from an abusive situation. But being friends with each other made everything seem better. You were like Grace back then. You loved to tell stories, too, act out imaginary scenes, and I liked being part of that. You made me believe things were going to get better."
He tipped his head. "You made me believe that, too."
"No way."
"Yes, you did. You had the ability to compartmentalize in a way that I didn't even understand back then. But you could turn all your focus onto whatever we were doing, and that's all you cared about, whether you were beating me at board games or conning some street vendor out of a pretzel with some pretty real tears. You were a brilliant and competitive genius."
"I'm glad you said genius. For a minute there, I thought you might go with freak," she said with a smile.
He grinned back at her. "That might have been a better word, but it's what you're doing right now that always made my day better."
"What's that?"
"It's your smile. It didn't come that often in the beginning, and it became a challenge to me to see if I could make it appear."
"Really?" She couldn't imagine he'd cared that much.
"Yeah. Because somehow when you laughed, when you were happy, I felt happy, too."
She was touched by his words. "I think it worked both ways." She paused, tilting her head, as she thought about their past. "But that changed when we met up again in high school. We hadn't seen each other in several years, and I was so excited when I first saw you. I'd been in three foster homes by then and two other high schools, but when I saw you in the gym, it was like my world tilted upright again. I thought, this is going to be okay—Nathan is here."
His gaze darkened. "You never told me that."
"Well, I didn't want it to go to your head. But that first great feeling faded over the next year. Once I got involved with Johnny, you didn’t want much to do with me."
"I couldn't believe you couldn't see what he was really like."
"But was it that obvious then?" she challenged. "I mean, Johnny was funny, right? He was popular. We knew his parents were probably criminals, but a lot of kids had parents who did bad shit—yours and mine included."
Nathan frowned. "He was funny, but there was a core of ruthlessness and cruelty that you didn't see or that he didn't show you. I thought your relationship would be over as fast as it started, because just about nothing lasted back then for more than a few weeks, but you and Johnny just kept getting closer. I tried to warn you a lot of ti
mes, but you stopped talking to me."
"You stopped talking to me," she countered. "You were super critical. And when I wouldn't do what you wanted, you were done."
"You were throwing yourself away; I couldn't watch it," he said harshly. "I'd seen that show before. I hated that helpless feeling of watching someone I cared about heading straight for pain and suffering."
Seeing the dark depths in his eyes now, she sensed they were talking about more than just her. "You haven't told me anything about your mom. Is she well? Does she live in Chicago?"
He cleared his throat and sat up straighter in his chair. "We weren't going to talk about the past, remember?"
"That was during pizza." She tipped her head toward the empty platter. "We're done."
"Yeah, and we should probably get going," he said, picking up the check.
"We can split that."
"I've got it." He pulled out his wallet and put some cash down on the table. "Ready to go?"
She wasn't ready to go. She'd been having a lovely conversation with him, and he'd just pulled the plug. But he was already on his feet, so she had no choice but to put on her coat and follow him out the door.
"I can walk to my hotel," she said, as they stepped onto the sidewalk in front of the restaurant, which was situated along the river and only a few blocks from where she was staying.
"I'll walk with you."
"I don't need a bodyguard. In fact, I could probably take someone out faster than you."
"Oh, yeah?"
"I'm very well trained."
"I didn't notice a weapon tucked under your jacket."
"Well, I don't usually need one when I've been relegated to desk work."
"Maybe you should think about actually staying at that desk, considering everything that is going on."
"I probably should," she agreed, as they headed along the path that wound itself along the river.
A party boat came down the dark canal with its lights on and music wafting across the water. "I really like this area. I don't know why we never came down here."
"That invisible fence," he reminded her.
"I guess so. And if we did come, it was to pick some cash from some distracted tourist."
His eyebrow shot up. "You never told me you did that."
Reckless Whisper KO PL B Page 10
