Mac took care of the dicey informational side of things at the hospital, fielding the bombardment of questions from nurses and doctors as they loaded Noemie on a stretcher and wheeled her away. I sat in an uncomfortable plastic waiting chair, my head tipped back to rest against the wall behind me. A puddle of lake water accumulated beneath me as the gusty AC vent above chilled my sopping clothing.
Mac, having finished her conversation with the nurse at the desk, flopped down in the chair next to mine. “God, what a day. It’s a good thing we found her when we did.”
“What did they say?” I asked her, shivering. “Is she going to be okay?”
“From the state of her, she’d been under that dock for a while,” Mac explained. “A day or two at least. If it weren’t for that trick she pulled with the rope, she definitely would’ve drowned. Even so, submersion like that can have some pretty perilous effects on the body.”
“Like what?”
She ticked each horror off on a finger. “Dehydration, ironically enough. Infection. Muscle atrophy. Not to mention the mental strength she’ll need to get over this.”
“She’s been through worse,” I muttered. “Believe me.”
“With Fox’s gang, you mean.”
I nodded wearily. “This is all my fault. She wouldn’t be here if not for me—”
Mac sat up. “Hey. This is absolutely not your fault. You did what you had to do to survive in a shitty situation. I can’t imagine the courage you needed for that.”
I scoffed. “Courage. More like cowardice.”
“You got out of there,” Mac reminded me. “And so did Noemie.”
“Not everyone else did though.”
Mac opened her mouth to reply, but a nurse with a friendly smile and holding a neatly folded pair of mint green pants interrupted. “Honey, I noticed that you were dripping wet,” she said to me. “I found a clean pair of scrubs if you’d like to change out of those clothes.”
“Thanks,” I said, standing to accept the offered clothes. I patted Mac’s knee. “Be right back.”
When I returned to the waiting room, dressed in the scrubs, Mac paced back and forth across the hallway. As soon as she spotted me, she rushed over.
“Hey,” she said. “Noemie’s awake. They said we can go in and talk to her. Are you ready?”
I cleared my throat. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
I followed Mac to a room down the hall. As the nurses cleared the way, I caught sight of Noemie. She was alert and awake, sitting against the headboard of the hospital bed. Some of her color had returned. She was hooked up to a bag of IV fluids, one arm strewn out to the side to accommodate the needle while she used the other to feed herself gray mashed potatoes from a plastic tray. Mac lingered at the door as I hesitantly stepped toward the bed. Noemie glanced up, setting her fork against the tray when she recognized me.
“I thought the food would be better in America,” she said.
“Not hospital food,” I told her, unsure whether or not I should come any closer.
Noemie looked me over from head to toe, taking in my damp hair and borrowed scrubs. “The last time I saw you, you abandoned me at a train station in Brussels.”
Mac shifted her stance behind me. This was not a part of the story that she’d heard.
“I got you out of Paris,” I said. “I made sure you were safe.”
“You left me alone in a strange city,” Noemie countered. “After we—”
“Don’t,” I cut her off.
Her eyes wandered to Mac, who listened at the door. “Your friend doesn’t know, does she? You haven’t told her everything yet?”
“Stop it,” I warned. “Don’t go there.”
Noemie leveled a challenging stare at me. Her time beneath the dock had not knocked the fight out of her sunken eyes.
I sagged against the bed. “I’m sorry. For all of this. For everything. From that first night in Paris until now. I get that you wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for me, but I need your help. You met Holly, didn’t you? Do you know where she is?”
Noemie’s expression softened, but her eyes were sad as she looked up at me. She set aside the tray of food and patted the space beside her for me to sit down. “You should know that this is a long game. They have been planning this ever since we left Paris three years ago.”
“Who?” I asked. “Who is it?”
“I don’t know,” Noemie replied, shaking her head. “I imagine a few of Fox’s closest men. You dismantled their lives, Brigitte, and this is how they’ve decided to repay you.” She swallowed hard, looking away from me to stare out of the hospital window. “For a while, I thought I was safe. I went home to my family in Algiers. When they asked me about university in Paris, I lied. I told them I had dropped out. They were disappointed, but my relief overpowered their dismay. I settled for working at a local school and tried to put the past behind me.”
Tears shone in her eyes as she continued. “I allowed myself to think that I was safe. After all, I assumed that we had left all of our troubles behind when we fled Paris.” She turned toward me again, a hard edge in her tone. “Brigitte, they never stopped tracking me. They followed me for three years, waiting in the shadows, which means they’ve been watching you too.”
“God, all this time…” I rested my head in my hands, trying to think. The other side had organized this attack far in advance, and I’d been trekking around the world, completely oblivious to their slow poison.
Noemie took my hand. “Listen to me, Brigitte. You must hurry. They’re getting impatient, and your sister is running out of time.”
“What am I supposed to do?” I asked her. “They want me to play by their stupid rules! I get one postcard a day—”
“Check again,” Noemie said. “Go now. I’ll be fine.”
I stood up from the bed, looking mournfully down at a girl who’d gone from victim to ally to savior and back again, all because of me. “They’ll know I rescued you. They’ll come back here.”
“I’ll keep watch over Noemie,” Mac offered from the doorway. “I can call the station and say that something came up.”
I squeezed Mac’s shoulder. “Thank you. Take care.”
She took my arm before I could pass her. “Be careful.”
“Never.”
7
Worn Thin
I took a cab back to the Star Motel. Every minute that passed felt like a minute wasted. The game was picking up. Noemie was meant to have died. It was a message in itself. Though Holly’s captors wanted to toy with me, this game was not meant for children. It was psychological torture, and the more I thought about the fact that someone in Fox’s crew had been planning this for years as a sick way to get justice for what happened in Paris, the more determined I was to end this as soon as possible.
The cab fare was atrocious. My lack of a car was getting to be a nuisance, and it wasn’t like I could ask Mac to borrow her cruiser. Officer Scott would love that. When we pulled up to the Star Motel, red and blue lights blinked outside the reception office. I handed over the cab fare, slammed the door, and jogged inside, where Officer Scott was talking to Grant, the front desk nerd.
“Bridget,” Scott said as I walked inside. “Just the woman I wanted to see.”
“Did I do something wrong?” I asked, lingering by the door in case I needed to make a quick escape. “Whatever it was, it wasn’t me.”
Scott’s deep chuckle echoed through the small room. Grant seemed relieved that Scott’s attention had been redirected elsewhere.
“Don’t worry,” Scott said. “I’m not here to arrest you for anything. I do have some bad news though. Your room’s flooded.”
“Flooded?” I repeated, glancing between Scott and Grant. “What do you mean?”
“A pipe burst,” Grant explained. He swiveled around on his rolling chair, tapping his feet against the wheels. “In the wall between your room and the next one over. I tried to get all of your things out, but a lot of your stuff got ruined. I�
��m really sorry.”
“We moved the rest of your things to a room at the bed and breakfast down the road,” Scott said. “Don’t worry about the bill. The station’s going to pick it up for you. We figured you’ve got enough to deal with already. You want a ride there?”
It didn’t feel like a coincidence that my motel room flooded the same day that I rescued Noemie from nearly drowning. Something else was going on here. “Can I see the room actually?” I asked. “Just in case you guys missed something.”
Scott clapped me on the back. “Sorry, kiddo. I can’t let you do that. It’s too much of a hazard.”
“What about the trashed stuff?” I said. “What did you do with it?”
“It’s in my trunk,” Scott said. “You want to look through it? See if there’s something else you can salvage? There’s not much.”
“That’s okay,” I replied. “Do you mind if I talk to Grant? I’ll be out in a second.”
Scott raised an eyebrow but didn’t question my request. “All right.”
I waited for the door to close behind Officer Scott’s hulking figure before turning to plant my hands on the front desk in front of the greasy-haired kid who ran it. “Grant, tell me the manager got the security cameras fixed before that pipe burst in my room.”
Grant rolled away from me, holding up in his hands at eye level. “I already told your cop friend this morning. She’s as scary as my mother in the morning, by the way. The manager put off repairing the cameras because he can’t afford it right now. No budget. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but the bed and breakfast has been taking a lot of our business.”
“That’s because they have complimentary breakfast,” I said though clenched teeth. “Listen, Grant. Did you see anything weird in my room when you went in there?”
“Like what?”
“Anything at all out of the ordinary.”
“Miss, I saw a room full of water,” Grant replied dryly. “To me, that definitely ain’t ordinary.”
I heaved a sigh. “God, I hate this place.”
“You can leave a review on Yelp.”
Officer Scott waited for me outside, leaning against the trunk of his car. He swept his hat off, wiped his brow, and replaced his headgear, then peered up at the sun through his aviators as though it had personally offended him.
“Damn, it’s hot,” he remarked as I approached him.
“Getting hotter.” I gestured to his trunk. “Do you mind?”
He popped it open and drew out a white trash bag. Water dripped from the bottom as he handed it over. He looked me up and down. “Should I even bother to ask why you’re wearing hospital scrubs?”
“I wouldn’t.”
He grunted in agreement. I opened the bag and tried not to groan. There hadn’t been much in the motel room for the water to ruin, but the bag was full of stained or torn clothes from Autumn’s store, a book of Holly’s that was now unreadable, and the letters and pictures that my little sister had sent me over the years to keep me updated on her life. I rifled through the mess, stifling the pang in my chest at the look of the ruined photographs. They were all I had of Holly, and if I couldn’t get her back, I wouldn’t have any memories of her at all. I shoved the thought into the recesses of my brain.
“Did you find anything else?” I asked Officer Scott. “A postcard maybe?”
Scott stroked his mustache. “Nope. Not that I recall.”
“Shit.”
“Anything you want to tell me?” Scott asked. “Get something off your chest?”
I twisted the mouth of the garbage bag around to keep it from leaking. “I’m good. Can we head to the B and B now? I could desperately use a nap.”
“Hop in.”
It was only a few blocks to the bed and breakfast, but it felt like forever. Scott drove at a snail’s pace, often pausing to let other cars change lanes in front of him as we trundled along. Twice, he pulled over to talk to a random citizen passing by on the sidewalk, and when he fixed to do it a third time, I smacked my head against the window in annoyance.
“Scott! Can you just get me to the damn inn?”
He straightened the steering wheel. “Jesus, Dubois. What’s got your knickers in a twist?”
“Don’t talk about my knickers.”
Scott waited a moment before replying. He knew from years past that it was best to let my anger burn off before engaging in any further conversation. “This is about Holly, isn’t it? I heard about what happened between the Millers. Bill’s been staying with one of the other guys in town. This is what happens when a kid disappears, Bridget. People discover what’s really important to them, and sometimes, it gets nasty.”
“You don’t know the half of it.”
“Why don’t you fill me in?” Scott suggested.
“No, why don’t you fill me in?” I countered. “She’s been gone for almost two weeks, Scott, and there’s no sign of her anywhere. Have you been doing anything at all to try and find her or are you too busy wringing out the sweat from your uniform?”
“My officers—”
“Your officers are morons,” I interrupted. “Except for Mac, who you won’t even let near the case. Why’s that, by the way? Because you know that she actually has a conscience, and she’ll fill me in on whatever she finds out at the station?”
“Officer Hart is already in hot water with our superiors,” Scott growled. “If you want her to keep her job, I suggest you leave her out of this.”
“At least she’s actually trying.”
“Who said we’re not trying?” Scott demanded, turning down the main street. “I’ve got half of my officers watching hours of security footage from every bus and train station in the surrounding counties.”
“No wonder,” I scoffed before I could stop myself. “That won’t do you any good.”
The squad car bounced into the parking lot of the B and B. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
I clamped my mouth shut. Part of me wanted to tell Officer Scott everything. It would be a relief to get it all out in the open—to have as many professionals as possible know the real details of Holly’s kidnapping—but there were too many complications. For one, Holly was in danger. Fox’s gang was ruthless. If I involved the police, they knew that the best way to torture me would be to kill Holly. Second, telling Scott everything meant telling him everything. Not even Mac knew the extent of what I had done in the past. I wasn’t sure what the consequences would be if all of Belle Dame knew.
I kicked open the door and got out of the car, dragging the wet trash bag along with me. “Nothing.”
Scott caught me by the arm before I could escape into the air conditioned lobby of the B and B. For a second, I felt sixteen again, at odds with the law in the pettiest of ways. If only things were that simple.
“Bridget,” he said in a low voice. “If you know something that might help us find Holly, you really need to tell us.”
I looked straight into his eyes. “I don’t know anything.”
He released me with a sigh and nodded toward the front door of the B and B. “I already checked you in, but you need to pick up the key for your room at the front desk. Ask for the rest of your things too.”
I heaved the garbage bag over my shoulder and started to walk away.
“And Bridget?” Scott called. “If you change your mind, let me know. We could use all the help we can get.”
I ignored him, leaving him behind in the parking lot as I walked into the lobby of the B and B. Unlike the grimy reception office of the Star Motel, the main room of the bed and breakfast was cozy and cute. It was locally owned by one of the older couples in town, Mr. and Mrs. Edwards. Pictures of their monumental wedding anniversaries decorated the wall behind the desk as if to prove that romance wasn’t dead. Mrs. Edwards herself—a stooped woman with curly white hair and kind gray eyes set deep in the wrinkles of her once-beautiful face—read the daily newspaper in one of the comfy armchairs in the sitting area. She glanced up as the bell over t
he door chimed, and when she saw who had entered, she set her paper aside to greet me.
“Oh, my dear!” she cried, tottering across the patterned carpet to pull me into a deep hug. “You poor girl. I can’t stand that all of these terrible things keep happening to you!”
“Uh, thanks, Mrs. Edwards,” I said, holding the leaking garbage bag away from our awkward embrace so that it wouldn’t drip on her slippers.
Thankfully, she drew away, wiping sympathetic tears from the creases beneath her eyes. “I hope you don’t mind. I set out your things to dry. Everything was sopping wet! But I put you in our nicest room. It’s the honeymoon suite. It has a king-sized bed and the softest pillows in the entire inn! You deserve a good night’s rest.”
“As much as I would love a nap, I really just need my things,” I said, following Mrs. Edwards to the front desk.
“Of course, of course!” She took a key from an organized corkboard behind the desk. “Come along.”
I followed her to the room behind the desk, which was usually off limits to guests. It served as an office for Mr. and Mrs. Edwards, complete with old filing cabinets, a large writing desk, and even a pool table. Today, a wash line had been strung haphazardly throughout the room. I recognized my clothes on the line and stifled a blush at the sight of my underwear pinned above Mr. Edward’s cigar cabinet. Thankfully, the elderly gentleman wasn’t around.
Mrs. Edwards pulled the damp garments from the line without an ounce of shame and dropped them into a waiting laundry basket. “If you need some quarters for the laundry room, just let me know. Here’s your backpack too, dear.”
I shouldered the backpack and lifted the laundry basket from her sturdy grip. “Thanks, Mrs. Edwards. You’ve been amazing already.”
She shyly waved away my compliment and shuffled out of the office. “Before I forget,” she said, her voice muffled as she ducked underneath the front desk. “Someone left this for you earlier.”
She straightened up and handed me a postcard. I dropped the laundry basket in my haste to take it from her, spilling the clothes across the carpet of the lobby. The photo was relatively normal compared to the last few postcards. It showed the Avenue des Champ Elysées, one of the most recognizable shopping districts in Paris. On the back, Holly’s handwriting simply said, Go shopping.
Little Girl Lost: A Riveting Kidnapping Mystery- Book 1 Page 10
