Reckless Whisper KO PL B

by Barbara Freethy

  While Bree had dismissed the possibility that Hayley was her child, he still wasn't completely convinced. And since the Chicago FBI investigation team had decided to keep Bree out of the field, maybe he could discover something on his own. It was probably a long shot, but he was going to take it.

  He stopped to pick up coffee and pastries from a bakery that he and Mark occasionally went to after a run and then headed to their house.

  He was surprised to find the street empty and quiet. For the past two days, there had been tons of news vans and reporters. He hoped that didn't mean the media was losing interest in Hayley's story. But it was only nine a.m., so maybe they'd be arriving later.

  When Mark answered the door, Nathan's first thought was that his friend had aged ten years in the past two days, with dark shadows under his eyes, pale, pasty skin, and desperate eyes.

  He felt terrible that all he had to offer were sweets and coffee. "I wanted to drop these by, Mark. I thought Connor and Morgan might like the sweets, and I got you your usual coffee."

  "Thanks." Mark took the coffee container out of his hand. "That was thoughtful. Do you want to come in?"

  "If I'm not intruding."

  Mark waved him inside and shut the door. "I'd welcome the conversation. Lindsay's parents took the kids to their house last night. I was glad to get them out of here. I thought I'd be happy with fewer people around, but now the silence is…terrifying."

  "Is Lindsay here?" he asked, following Mark down the hall to the kitchen.

  "I'm hoping she's getting some sleep now. She was up all night sitting in Hayley's bedroom, holding her stuffed animals and rocking back and forth. She's not doing well."

  "I'm so sorry, Mark."

  "Thanks."

  Nathan sat down on a stool at the kitchen island. Seeing the boxes of donuts, pastries, cookies, and pies on the counters, he realized he'd had a very unoriginal idea. "Looks like you were already well stocked."

  "People don't know what to do so they bring food. You should see all the casseroles in the refrigerator. And the irony is that I've never felt less like eating in my life. I will take the coffee, though. I was about to make another pot." Mark pulled one of the coffee cups out of the cardboard container and sat down across from him.

  "Is there any news?" he asked.

  Mark shook his head. "No. I don't know if you saw, but we made a public plea on the news last night. It generated some leads, but none of them have panned out. I spoke to both the police and the FBI this morning, and they assure me that they're still devoting every minute of every hour to Hayley's case. There's going to be another full-scale volunteer search starting in about an hour, expanding the grid that was searched yesterday. The last kid who was taken was found in an abandoned building so they're concentrating on properties like that." He ran a weary hand through his hair. "I can't bear the thought of Hayley sitting in the dark and the cold in some condemned building. But then, I can't bear the thought of anything that could be happening to her."

  Mark's pain rolled off him in thick waves, and Nathan had never felt more helpless to comfort someone in his life. There was nothing he could say to make Mark feel better and trying almost seemed insulting.

  But seeing Mark's grief also made him more committed to doing whatever he could to help find Hayley. "It sounds like there are a lot of people looking for your daughter," he said quietly, wanting to give Mark some reassurance, no matter how hollow it might be.

  "The police have been good. Better than I expected."

  "Why do you say it like that?" he asked curiously.

  "I haven't found the cops to be too helpful in the past. We've had a lot of car break-ins on this street the last month, and they can't seem to catch anyone."

  "Your car was broken into?" An uneasy tingle ran down his spine.

  "Actually, it was Lindsay's SUV. Luckily, she didn't have anything of value in there, just some kids' toys and soccer shoes and a pair of expensive sunglasses. But they hit five other cars that night, and one of our neighbors had left a computer tablet in the car, so they lost that." Mark paused as Lindsay came into the room.

  She wore black leggings and an over-sized long-sleeve sweater that enveloped her thin frame. Like Mark, she looked completely exhausted and emotionally spent, her eyes and nose bright red from crying.

  "Oh," she said, stopping when she saw him. "Nathan. I didn't know anyone was here."

  "He brought us coffee and pastries," Mark put in.

  "Thanks," she said, without much meaning in her voice.

  Mark grabbed the second coffee from the cardboard holder and handed it to her. "Why don't you start with this?"

  She took a grateful sip. "Caffeine has become my best friend."

  "Is there anything else I can do for you guys?" he asked.

  "The FBI said that Grace remembered that the man had a World Series Cubs ring on his finger," Mark said. "Has she remembered anything else?"

  "No. I'm sorry."

  "It's not her fault," Lindsay said, leaning against the counter.

  "You want to sit down?" he asked, ready to give up his seat.

  She put up a hand. "It's fine. I need to move around, find some energy. I have to be strong for Hayley."

  "You are strong."

  A phone rang on the counter, and both Lindsay and Mark jumped, but Mark reached it first.

  "Is it the police?" Lindsay asked impatiently.

  "No. It's work," Mark said. "I'm just going to take it, all right?"

  "Sure," she said in a dull monotone.

  Despite Lindsay's earlier statement about wanting to find some energy, when Mark left the kitchen, she took her husband's seat.

  "Is Grace all right?" she asked. "We were practically yelling at her the other night. She must have been scared. I feel badly about that."

  "Don't feel bad. Grace is okay. She just wants Hayley to come home."

  "Even though they're a year apart, they've really become close since they started ballet together. They both love to dance, and that bonded them."

  "Grace can't seem to stop twirling, even when she's supposed to be doing her homework."

  "Hayley is the same way."

  "Did you dance as a kid?"

  "No, not at all. I have two left feet, and it never interested me, but Hayley was drawn to ballet from the time she could walk. She just loves it." Lindsay bit down on her bottom lip. "But I keep thinking that if I hadn't pushed her to be on stage, none of this would have happened. Hayley didn't want to perform. She was nervous about being in front of people. She really just likes to dance for herself. But I didn't want her to miss out, and all the kids were doing it. If I hadn't pressed—" She stopped abruptly. "Everything would have been different if I had just made other decisions."

  "What you're going through, Lindsay—I can't imagine. It must be hell on earth."

  "It really is. I feel her calling out to me, Nathan. Every time I close my eyes, I hear her voice asking me to come and find her, and it just breaks my heart. She was such a miracle baby. It was just by chance that I became her mother, and now I feel like I failed. I didn't protect her the way I was supposed to. I was going to give her the better life that her own mother couldn't. But I didn't do that."

  He was shocked that Lindsay was talking about Hayley's adoption. According to Bree, no one except the family knew about the adoption, and Hayley was completely unaware that she had different birth parents. But clearly Lindsay was distraught. She was rambling on, and he wasn't sure she was even aware of what she was revealing. However, now that she'd given him the opening he needed, he had to squeeze through.

  "I didn't realize that Hayley was adopted," he said, thinking that was the most normal response he could make.

  "Oh." She suddenly realized what she'd said. "Yes. I shouldn't have said anything. Not a lot of people know. I haven't really thought about it in years, but since she was taken, and the police asked a lot of questions about her birth parents, I can't stop thinking about it."

  "Do
they think the birth parents have something to do with this?"

  "I don't believe so. The mom died very soon after Hayley was born. No one knows who the father is. And no one has ever reached out to us."

  "What do you know about the biological mother?"

  "She was young, seventeen, I think. She didn't have parents around. She said she wanted to give up her child, so she would have a better life."

  "Did you meet her?"

  "No, it was a closed adoption done through an agency. Mark handled most of the details. After so many disappointments, it was hard for me to keep getting my hopes up."

  "I can't imagine how tough that was."

  "But after we got Hayley, I did write the birth mother a letter. I was sitting in the nursery that I never thought I would fill, and Hayley was sleeping so peacefully in her crib, and I picked up a pen and paper, and I told this young teenager how grateful I was. I said I would guard Hayley's life with my own. I would give her everything I could. But I didn't do enough." Lindsay blinked back tears. "You'd think I'd be out of tears, wouldn't you?"

  "I don't think there's a limit when it comes to heartbreak. Did you ever send the letter?"

  "I didn't know where to send it. I was going to give it to the agency, but Mark didn't think it was a good idea. He said we should let things be the way they were set up—no contact whatsoever. We didn't want to risk the birth mother changing her mind, so I put it away. One day I'll give it to Hayley. I hope she won't hate me for not telling her she was adopted all these years."

  "When are you planning to tell her?"

  "I don't know. We didn't want to do it when she was really young, so we kept putting it off. She's only ten, but it feels almost too late and yet too soon at the same time. I can't think about it right now." Lindsay gave him another pained look. "Do you think it's wrong that we haven't told her?"

  "I wouldn't presume to say what's right or wrong, but I do know that you're a great mother, Lindsay. And this isn't your fault."

  "How can it not be? It happened on my watch." She drew in a breath. "I keep thinking that she must be terrified, and she doesn't even have her bunny."

  "Is that her favorite stuffed animal?"

  "Yes. It's a tiny little thing, but she always has it with her—in the car, in her backpack—it goes with her everywhere. She loves it so much. My mother gave it to her when she was a baby. Unfortunately, it was lost a few weeks ago, so it didn't go with her to the school concert."

  "How did she lose it?"

  "It was in our car when it got broken into. I don't know why anyone would take it, but then they took everything that belonged to the kids that had been left in the car. I guess they sell the stuff somewhere. Hayley was so sad. It was the first time I'd seen her cry in forever. She's usually a pretty happy kid." Lindsay paused as Mark returned to the kitchen.

  Nathan was surprised by the change in Mark's appearance. He'd changed out of his sweats into slacks and a shirt. His eyes were bright. He looked like he'd found some energy and a new purpose.

  "Are you going out?" Lindsay asked in surprise.

  "I have to go to the office for about a half hour."

  "Why? What could possibly be important now?" she demanded.

  "It's my biggest client, Lindsay. All I have to do is pull something off my work computer, and hand it off to Brian. Then I'm home again."

  "Brian can't do that himself?"

  "He can't. I'm sorry. I swear I'll be back soon. And to be honest, I need the break, Lindsay. I need a few minutes out of the house. I'll have my phone. If anything happens, you'll call me."

  "I just don't understand how you can think about work right now."

  The doorbell rang, interrupting their tense conversation. "Why don't I get that?" he suggested, sensing that the two of them had more to say to each other. He jogged out of the kitchen and down the hall. When he opened the door, he was surprised to see Josie on the porch. "Josie—what are you doing here?"

  "I wanted to check on Lindsay and Mark. What about you?"

  "The same."

  "Is Bree here, too?"

  "No."

  She gave him an assessing look. "But you've been talking to her, haven't you? Is she still going after Kyle? He told me what happened in his office. He said his attorneys are on it, and I shouldn't worry. Should I believe him?"

  "You should."

  "Good, because I can't believe anyone could think that Kyle would take Hayley. I really hope no one suggested that to Mark or Lindsay."

  "They did not mention that to me, so I don't think they did."

  Relief filled her eyes. "Thank goodness. Are they here? Are they busy?"

  "They're here. Actually, Mark has to run into work for a brief time, and Lindsay isn't happy about it. Maybe you can stay with her."

  "Of course. Are you going to work?"

  He hesitated. "Eventually."

  His sister gave him a knowing look. "It's Bree, isn't it? You're getting tangled up with her again. You took one look at her and you were right back where you were before."

  "Bree is focused on finding Hayley. And so am I."

  "I don't want to see you get hurt again, Nathan. You have Adrienne now."

  "You don't have to worry about me. I know what I'm doing."

  "You always say that, and most of the time I believe you. But when it came to Bree, you never knew what you were doing. You were blinded by love or lust or something very, very strong."

  He let Josie have the last word, because there was a big part of him that knew she was right. He'd made a lot of mistakes when it came to Bree. And there was a good chance he'd already made one more by kissing her the night before. "I'll see you later."

  As he walked across the street to his truck, he was surprised to see Bree get out of a car a few doors down. He walked down to meet her. "I thought you were benched."

  "I need to talk to the Jansens."

  "Has something happened?" he asked quickly.

  "Yes. I received two texts this morning." She turned her phone, so he could see a photo.

  The picture was of a baby about a year old. The child was sitting in front of a Christmas tree. She was dressed in a pink dress with a pink bow on her head, and a happy smile on her face. Across the photo, someone had scrawled the letter I in black marker.

  "Who is this?" he asked.

  "I don't know. There's one more." She swiped the screen.

  He found himself staring at a toddler, probably about three. Her back was to the camera, but she was blowing soap bubbles in the middle of a playground. Her hair was brown, but he couldn't see her face. Across this photo was the word am.

  "What does this mean?"

  "I think he's going to tell me who my daughter is, starting with the words I and am," she replied. "I'm pretty sure the next word is going to be your. The texts came in thirty minutes apart. I was waiting for the next one, but it's been sixty minutes. What I need to know is if this is Hayley. All the photos in her FBI file are of her at age ten. I know Lindsay had a baby photo she showed me the first time we spoke, but I didn't look at it closely enough to know if that child is the same as this one. I need to see it again, and I need Lindsay or Mark to tell me if these photos are of Hayley."

  "Who else could it be?"

  "Emma," she said, giving him a helpless shrug. "I know you don't agree, but I can't ignore what happened on the train."

  "It's possible. But I still lean toward the idea that Emma is more of a little con artist, and that she and her big sister are just pawns in the game. Her sister could even be involved with the kidnapper."

  "I have considered that. Frankly, it's not a huge leap to think my daughter could be a con artist. When I was ten, I would have taken money and told some woman she was my mother without thinking twice about it. I just hate the idea that my child might be living my horrible childhood."

  He felt a wave of compassion at the pain that filled her eyes. "This is what the kidnapper wants—to get in your head, to make you second-guess your decisio
n, to drive you crazy with guilt."

  "Unfortunately, it's working. But I am trying not to focus on myself and my feelings. This is about Hayley."

  "Have you showed your fellow FBI agents these texts?"

  "I forwarded them to Agent Cox. Tracy is my main contact within the Chicago team. I told her I was going to stop by the Jansens and verify that the photos are of Hayley."

  "What did she say?"

  "She hasn't answered yet. I didn't want to wait."

  So, Bree had decided to take things into her own hands. He couldn't blame her. These photos were the biggest clues they'd had so far.

  "Are the Jansens home?" she asked. "Is there a big crowd at the house?"

  "Actually, no. My sister Josie just arrived, and she's with Lindsay now. Mark got a phone call when I was inside the house, and he told Lindsay he needs to go down to his office for some quick hand-off of files or something. Lindsay is not happy about it. But then they're both exhausted and stressed out. I think Mark is probably looking for an excuse to get a little air. He said Lindsay sat up all night crying."

  "This situation is awful."

  "It is. But I did find out a little information. I was actually going to call you when I saw you."

  "What did they tell you?"

  Before he could reply, the front door opened, and Mark walked quickly out of the house. Instead of heading straight to his car, which was parked in the short driveway, he walked around to the other side of the house and grabbed a backpack from the ground.

  "What's he doing?" Nathan muttered.

  "Nothing good," Bree said, a frown on her lips.

  Mark jogged toward his car, threw the backpack onto the passenger seat and peeled off down the street.

  "What the hell was that about?" he wondered aloud.

  "We have to follow him," Bree said, running toward his truck. "Give me your keys, Nathan. I want to drive."

  "I can drive," he protested.

  "You don't know how to follow someone; I do." She held out her hand.

  He tossed her his keys and got into the passenger seat as she slid behind the wheel.

  He winced as she crunched the gears, then braced his hand on the door as she sped down the street and around the corner.