by Jessica Loft
"Lily, you find a homeless guy, give him twenty bucks and he'll read some words for you."
"That's sick," Lily said, flatly.
"That's life." Brinson hated sounding cruel, but he meant what he said.
Brinson stood up and took his bowl to the sink. He was aware of her eyes on his back, shocked and disbelieving. When he turned back around, Lily was still staring.
She crossed her arms. "I refuse to believe that anyone would do that."
"You've never seen addicts? They'll do anything for a fix. I'm just throwing it out there, Lily. I'll talk to the sheriff in the morning," he said. Brinson wanted to keep the peace, so he let it drop.
"Okay," Lily breathed. "I'll show you to your room."
Brinson picked up his battered duffel and followed her up the stairs to a small guest room. He took in the soft blue walls, the pine bed with a white spread and lace curtains. It was plain and appealing, softly scented like lavender and that smell that was Lily.
"The bathroom is through there," Lily told him, gesturing toward a door that Brinson had assumed was a closet. "I'll see you in the morning."
Lily left the room quickly, not meeting his eyes. She shut the door softly behind her. Brinson looked at the closed door for a moment before grabbing his shower kit and heading to the bathroom.
It was another small room with light walls and fluffy towels. There was a vase full of dried wildflowers on the sink. He smiled at the simple arrangement, remembering how Lily was always doing things like that.
Brinson took his time in the shower, trying to clear his head. He lathered his soap and tried to sort through everything. He couldn't figure out what detail he was missing. There had to be some clue that he was overlooking.
He finished his shower, brushed his teeth and fell into the bed, trying to ignore that he was in Lily's house, in a bed that smelled like her.
Brinson thought about the first time he'd made love to her. It had been Lily's first time. He remembered, as he lay surrounded by her scent, the sweetness of her surrender, the way she had given herself so completely.
No matter how many women Brinson had had before, or after, the memory of Lily always came to mind. She had been passionate, sweet, giving. Lily was everything any man could want.
September eleventh had changed everything. He had finally found his purpose. Brinson had joined the army without a second thought, without any regrets. He had known, with all the certainty of youth, that he had to defend his country.
Brinson remembered the way Lily had clung to him the day he told her. She had been proud of him, scared for him. She had agreed that they should put the relationship on hold until he returned from Afghanistan.
On hold had been the end, as Brinson suspected they both knew it would be. He had left for basic training; Lily had graduated college and moved back to Arizona. They had gone on to live their separate lives.
Young as they had been, they had both known that they weren't ready for marriage. Brinson had never offered, Lily had never asked. They had parted on friendly terms, eventually losing touch.
Now life had brought them back together. Brinson didn't want to think about what that might mean. Life, he knew, was a complicated series of bumps and turns. He knew Lily trusted him to find her daughter.
He would find Tory or die trying.
Brinson took out the picture of Tory that he had been looking at earlier. A slight child, with her mother's exotic eyes and her father's brown hair. Tory smiled up at him from the frame, a trusting, innocent child with her life stretched out in front of her.
I'll bring you home, Tory. I'll find you.
Chapter 3
Brinson spoke to the sheriff in the morning. The lawman, David Gillman, turned out to be a fit former marine who had grown up in the area. He was as puzzled as Brinson about the ransom call.
"Lily said it sounded like it was recited," Brinson commented, trying to get David's opinion without coming right out and asking for it. He'd discovered that people told you more if you acted like you already knew the answers.
The sheriff nodded. "It did. Almost like a bad actor reading a bad script. I'm not sure, but if I had to guess, I'd say Tory knew whoever took her. Her friends, the little girls she was with, said she went right to the truck, hopped in."
"Truck?" Brinson asked. Lily hadn't mentioned that to him. "Could they describe it?"
"One said it was green, another said blue, one said black. They're seven, they don't pay attention. She said her ride was there, and that was that. She waved and skipped off to go home," David told him. "Nobody saw anything out of the ordinary."
"So we're looking at someone she knows?" Brinson's mind was racing. "I thought only Lily or Sam picked her up."
"They do," David confirmed, nodding his head once. "Lily was running late, she'd called the school and said she had car trouble. That truck of hers wouldn't start."
"It's a new truck," Brinson said, thoughtfully.
The sheriff shrugged. "Battery cables were loose. It happens."
"Where was Sam?"
"Repairing the cabin for some visitors. The last occupants had been a bachelor party. Sam said they were pretty rough on it." David shrugged massive shoulders. Brinson could tell the man was frustrated, trying to connect the missing pieces.
"So no leads, Sheriff?" Brinson asked, hopefully. "Or any ideas on why the guy claims to have killed Lily's husband?"
"Not a one. It doesn't make sense." The other man ran his hand over his short, bristly hair. "I was the sheriff here when Todd died. Ordered the autopsy myself. The coroner said his head was bashed in, very conclusive with a capsized boat."
"And now?" Brinson probed, curious on if the lawman had changed his mind.
"I wish there was a body to exhume," David admitted. "I wish we were able to reexamine what we thought we knew."
"There's no body?" Brinson raised his eyebrows and waited.
"Lily had him cremated. He requested it, in his will." The lawman shook his head and shrugged. "All we can do is keep digging."
Brinson privately agreed that there wasn't much to go on. He was up against a person crazy and cold hearted enough to take a seven year old child.
"There's just one thing that doesn't make sense," David said, turning his steely gray eyes to Brinson.
"What's that?" Brinson asked, praying that the sheriff had some information that would lead them straight to the killer, just like in the movies.
David's eyes never left Brinson's as he answered.
"The caller said "Toddy". To my recollection, the only person that ever called him Toddy was his father."
Brinson let that fact mull in his brain, then thanked him for his time and left, heading back to Lily's in his cramped rental car. He didn't have much to go on, but there was a buzzing in his mind that meant that something was there, just outside what he could see.
Tory had known the person enough to get in the truck. She had not only known the person, she had recognized the truck, at a distance.
This makes no sense.
This makes perfect sense.
~
Lily greeted him when he returned with a tense smile. He rested his hand on her shoulder, trying to give her some reassurance. She didn't shrug it off, but Brinson had a nagging feeling that she wasn't taking much comfort in it.
"You holding up okay?" Brinson asked.
"I'm holding," Lily replied, squeezing his hand gently before she moved out onto the porch.
"How did it go?" she asked, sitting on the porch swing. She crossed her jean clad ankles, then looked at him, her eyes searching his face.
"Her friends said she knew the truck," Brinson started, but Lily waved the words away impatiently.
"I know that. But it's impossible. She's not a bad kid and she's never been on social media. Tory knows that she only gets in my truck, or Sam's," Lily insisted. "There's no way she knew whoever took her."
"What if she thought she did know them? What if the truck looked like yours?" Brinson pressed h
er.
"She knew I was coming to get her," Lily replied, an edge in her voice. "And my truck is white. The girls she was with said three different colors when asked about the truck."
Brinson nodded and sat beside her. "They're seven, Lily."
"I know." She looked at him, met his eyes, her expression softening. "It's not their fault. It isn't Tory's fault."
"It isn't your fault, either," Brinson told her, firmly. He laid his hands on her shoulders and gave her gentle shake.
"I know," she whispered, looking down again.
"Do you?" Brinson asked, shaking her again. "Look at me, Lily. This is not your fault."
Lily brought her gaze back to his. She didn't respond, just looked into his eyes. The heat crackled between them like a storm. Brinson could feel her breath, cool and coming quicker on his face. He leaned closer to the temptation that was Lily.
The sound of gravel crunching interrupted them and had Brinson looking up, searching for the source of the distraction. He saw a truck coming up the drive from the cabins beyond the house.
Brinson blinked as the truck went from black, to purple, to green, to blue.
"Sam," Lily said, watching as the truck passed the house, heading from the cabin he lived in toward the main road. "He loves that truck. He drives way too fast, but Sam's a bit of a show off, if you hadn't noticed." She tried for an indulgent smile, but Brinson's expression killed the smile before it started.
"What's wrong?" Lily demanded, taking Brinson's arms and holding tightly. "What are you thinking?"
"Black, blue, green," Brinson said, slowly.
Lily looked at him, confused. "It's one of those prism paint jobs," she said. "It changes color in the light."
"What if the girls saw three different colors because the truck was three different colors?" Brinson asked, looking into her upturned face, watching her reaction.
Lily jumped to her feet, a thousand thoughts and emotions running over her face as she went into the house at a run.
"Lily?" Brinson followed her inside, amazed at the speed she was moving. Lily was a whirlwind of activity. She pulled a couple of hiking packs out of the closet, throwing one at him before racing to the kitchen.
"I know where she is," she breathed. "Let's go. It's a hike, but I know where she is."
"Lily-" Brinson started, but Lily shook her head.
"I know where she is," Lily hissed, grabbing at supplies with a kind of efficiency that spoke both of experience and panic.
"Lily, please, you have to call the sheriff," Brinson said, trying to be reasonable.
Lily ignored him and began throwing things into a pack.
"Call the police," Brinson commanded.
"I'm going to get my daughter," Lily hissed. "You can stay or go, but I'm going."
"How do you know?" Brinson demanded.
She turned away and kept arranging her pack. Brinson watched her for a moment before going upstairs to pack his own.
Chapter 4
Brinson didn't know how Lily was holding up, but he was exhausted. The boat rocked as they hit the bank.
"There's about seventy million billion acres to cover," Brinson said, staring out at the wilderness and trying to be logical. "What makes you think you know where he's keeping her?"
"I know Sam," Lily replied, looking resolute.
"Obviously not as well as you thought you did," Brinson remarked.
"Shut up," Lily snapped. Her face was flushed with temper.
"You called me," Brinson snapped back, tired and cranky and wanting to lash out at someone. "I didn't choose this. Any other day, I'd be sitting on the beach with a beer."
"Oh, you and your precious beach," Lily snarled. "My daughter is missing and you want bikini clad bimbos on a beach."
"I didn't mean it that way and you know it."
"So you meant that it's my fault this happened. It's my fault that I didn't realize my brother in law was a murderer that was going to kidnap my baby." Lily turned away from him, pretending to study the terrain that Brinson suspected she knew well.
"I didn't say that either and you know it," Brinson said, watching her as she slammed supplies into her pack.
"No, I said it," Lily replied. "This is my fault."
"This is Sam's fault, Lily. This is nobody's fault but Sam's," Brinson said, immediately sorry that he had upset her.
Lily tied the boat up, even though they had pulled it onto the bank. She hefted her pack onto her back and refused to look at him.
The silence stretched out, tense and uncomfortable as she led him up a steep, narrow trail. He adjusted his own pack and decided that if she wanted to give him the silent treatment he'd give it right back to her.
Brinson was thankful for his fitness routine as they hiked. Lily, motivated by the thought of finding her child, set a grueling pace. Those long legs could cover a lot of ground.
He kept up easily, refusing to give in to the exhaustion that was plaguing his muscles. His military training was coming back to him, the mind set of putting one foot in front of the other no matter what.
"Brinson!" Lily suddenly stopped, causing him to nearly trip over her.
"Lily? What's wrong?"
She stooped and picked up something in the grass beside the trail. She held it to her face for a moment, then she held it out to him.
It was a bracelet, the kind little girls wore, stretchy with glittery pink beads and charms that looked like ballerinas.
"She was wearing this," Lily whispered. "She wears this everyday, she never takes it off."
"We're on the right track, then. This is good news, Lily."
She nodded, her eyes bright with tears.
"Hold it together, Lily. We have to keep our wits about us."
"She's close, Brinson. If we pushed harder-" Her voice broke off, her face glowing with hope.
Brinson hated to rain on her parade, but he took her arm and shook his head. "No."
"Excuse me?"
"Lily, what if Sam is there? It's getting dark and we're exhausted. We can't be tired. What if she's hurt and we need to carry her? Think, Lily."
"Sam doesn't know we're on to him," she protested, jerking her arm away from him. Lily looked ready to do murder, her eyes narrowed to slits.
"We've been gone all night and all day. He could be waiting on us," Brinson said, trying to sound reasonable.
From the incredulous look on her face, he was failing. Brinson knew he had to make Lily see reason.
"How? We're miles ahead of him. Let go of me," Lily warned, taking a step back, but Brinson held firm.
"There's no other way to get to this mystery location?” Brinson asked, his body tight with stress and fatigue.
"Of course I'm sure! Todd would have told me if there was an easier route."
He took her by the shoulders and forced her to meet his stare. She shuddered under his touch but met his eyes.
"What if Todd didn't know another route?" Brinson demanded. "What if Sam made another route?"
"I know you're right, Brin. I do. But this is Tory."
"Lily, where do you think she is? Tell me." He shook her again. "No more secrets, Lily. I need to know."
"There's an old cabin," she said, slowly. "We never use it. Too remote and it needed too many repairs. Todd and Sam argued about it a few times. Sam wanted to fix it up and rent it out. He said it could be a honeymoon cabin for adventurous newlyweds."
"Would that have worked?"
"No. It's a three day trip for professional campers, nearly a full day's hike on foot. The only other way to get there would be by mule because it's too steep for a horse. It would take longer riding because you'd have to ride nearly four more miles to a place where you could cross the river."
"Why is that a secret?" Brinson demanded.
"It's not a secret. I just wasn't sure that she was there. I wasn't sure until we found the bracelet." Lily stared off into the thick forest, towards the trail where she thought her baby was.
"There's some
thing you aren't telling me," he said flatly.
"There's a lot I'm not telling you, Brinson. Twelve years of things I have seen and thought and heard that I could chatter about."
"That's not what I mean and you know it. We need to make camp soon and you can fill me in on everything you aren't saying."
He pulled her off the trail, climbing the incline away from the path.
