by Bonnie Vanak
Kyle scribbled notes in his pad. “We checked out the last place Rosa, or whom we believe was Rosa, lived. It’s a trailer park with mainly Spanish-speaking residents. Kids, yeah, maybe she hung out with children who were bilingual.”
“It wasn’t the fact she spoke English, but her vocabulary. She said her favorite food was beef in chipotle sauce.”
His pen stopped. Now, that was truly bizarre. “Gourmet food for a kid who’s lived in a trailer park and a tent? What else did Anna say? Anything about where she ate this food?”
“No.” Belle bit her lower lip. “I wish I’d asked.”
“Could be an upscale restaurant her mother worked for. Or a caterer. It’ll be difficult to trace, especially if they employed her under the table and paid cash.”
She looked around the shed and took a deep breath. “I think Anna made herself cough so she could come to the clinic and give me that note. She was trying to save herself and her mother and I failed her.”
Despite her seemingly inward strength, she looked frail. Then she looked at him, frowned.
“Is there anything else I can do here?”
“No.” He signaled for a deputy. “I’ll have an officer drive you back to your car. We’ll search your clinic later, but right now we need to follow up on any fresh leads.”
“Of course,” she murmured. She handed him a cream-colored business card, her family name elegantly engraved on the front. “I’ll be at my parents’ house at four o’clock.”
Kyle tapped the card on the edge of his jacket, watching her walk out of the shed.
He liked her.
Too bad.
Belle North was still a suspect and would remain one until cleared.
Chapter 8
Emotionally and physically exhausted, Belle dragged herself back to the house to shower and change for her mother’s tea that afternoon.
Socializing with her mother’s wealthy friends was the last thing she needed, but she’d receive nothing but lectures if she skipped it. Belle stripped off the now-filthy blue dress, letting it drop to the rug, and stared at herself in the mirror.
Dirt smudged her chin and jawline, and her mascara had run, making her resemble a raccoon. No, a raccoon with pearls.
She thought about tossing on a pair of old jeans and a Harvard sweatshirt for tea. Maybe mother wouldn’t criticize her appearance if she wore her alma mater’s logo.
Belle laughed humorlessly. Her mother would expect her shining and well dressed, makeup perfect, hair coiffed.
Special agent Kyle Anderson hadn’t cared that she resembled a drowned raccoon. No, he’d offered her a clean handkerchief to wipe away her tears.
She recognized in him the same tenacity others said she’d exhibited in school and with patients. Belle refused to give up.
So did special agent Anderson. The thought cheered her. With his dedication, Anna had a chance at being found.
Humming as she showered, she washed her hair, thinking of the hunky agent with the burning blue gaze. He’d been intense and focused on the search and investigation. Kyle possessed a ruthless streak that promised results and punishment for those who hurt innocents.
I bet he’s like that in bed as well...all that intensity and concentration centered on his partner. She shivered delicately. Not that I’ll find out. He isn’t interested in me.
Romantically speaking, Kyle was far out of her league in both experience and skills as a lover. Her résumé might impress medical professionals, but it had come at the cost of sacrificing her personal life. In college, she’d had a boyfriend for nearly two years. The sex had been average. When he headed off to law school, it was almost a relief to wave goodbye so she could concentrate on her studies and accelerate through undergraduate school.
There was nothing average about Kyle Anderson.
Less than an hour later, she arrived at her parents’ oceanfront mansion for tea. Belle politely greeted the guests after the maid ushered her into the living room. She glanced at the priceless oil paintings and artwork, the wide glass windows showing the Atlantic Ocean’s turquoise waters, the glass tile that tastefully complemented the powder blue walls.
Belle perched on the edge of a chair, suddenly wishing she was anywhere but here. She focused on her mother’s friends.
Mindy Worthington was a genteel and elegant woman in her late sixties whose pet project was tracing back her family lineage to the Mayflower. She was a member of the Daughters of the American Revolution and came from very old money.
Natalie Haven was younger, in her midfifties and had ascended the social ranks so quickly, it made the blue-haired ladies’ heads spin. Estancia Pointe was known for its wealth, privilege and social snobbery. Yet with her Southern charm, deep pockets and social connections, Natalie had overcome the traditional prejudice against “new money.”
Mindy chaired the prestigious North Ball each February in Estancia Pointe, while Natalie sat on the silent-auction committee. Proceeds from the gala benefited the North Family Foundation.
Great cause—helping underprivileged children with scholarships and funding for the clinic. Belle wholeheartedly supported it.
But she tired of the pretense and the artifice. Working in the clinic had given her an idea of the real world and the difference she could make.
A difference other than picking floral arrangements for a charity ball.
Silver platter on her outstretched palms, the maid brought in the tea service, setting it on the coffee table. Mrs. North poured, chatting about the latest coverage in the papers of the committee tea.
Pursing her thin lips, Mindy shook her head as she accepted a cup. “That photographer was terrible. He made me look awful in that lighting. I was simply appalled he chose to photograph me with that brash Stacy Keens. I insisted on photoshopping her out.”
Hiding a smile, Belle stared at her tea. “I thought Stacy was a dedicated volunteer. Hasn’t she contributed significant amounts to the foundation?”
Mindy’s chipmunk gaze turned bright. “She’s a poor replacement for you, Belle. If you had reconsidered and chaired the silent-auction committee...”
“I did last year,” she pointed out. “I will be at the gala, but work at the clinic consumes my time.”
“The clinic.” Mindy made a face. “A wonderful cause for your family, but must you rub shoulders with those people?”
The society matriarch gave a delicate shudder. “Those diseases they must carry...”
“I’m a doctor.” Belle struggled to clamp down her temper. “I became a doctor to help treat disease and help people. They get sick same as you and I do, Mrs. Worthington.”
Just as your son did. Evan, Mindy’s only child, was Belle’s age and had completed his chemotherapy after being diagnosed with cancer.
Her own mother smoothly switched the subject. “Mindy, dear, if the pictures the photographer took aren’t to your satisfaction, there’s still time to find another photographer.”
“That would be for the best.” Mindy sighed. “The photograph of me showed all my crow’s-feet. And he thought that suitable for the society page? In color?”
Belle sipped her tea. Bland, weak. She added another lump of sugar, just for taste. Natalie peered over the top of her cup. “Belle, are you looking forward to getting a cardiology match for your residency in Boston? Your mother has talked of nothing else.”
Her smile slipped a little. “It’s a wonderful opportunity.”
Not that I’m really certain it’s for me. But what else am I going to do? My friends say if I get matched it’s the chance of a lifetime.
“Of course, if she found the right man, Belle could be convinced to forgo moving to Boston.”
Belle narrowed her gaze at her mother. “Perhaps I’d be convinced to forgo it for other reasons than a man.”
“Belle...”
Mindy
gave her a knowing look. “You remember my son, Evan? He’s a full partner now at Ludwig & Sterns.”
Who could forget him? Short, arrogant, horse-faced and preoccupied with his investment career. He’d pouted like a child when she’d beaten him at tennis when they were teenagers and once tried looking up her dress. Evan had confessed a teenage crush on her. She had felt bad when he’d been diagnosed with cancer, but it hadn’t changed his personality for the better.
“He’s back home now, Belle. Why don’t you two have dinner tomorrow night? I know he’d love to see you again.”
I have to wash my hair. Or weed the garden. Maybe even do my taxes.
The buzzer at the front gate rang. Saved by the bell. She set down her teacup in the saucer with a hard clink.
The maid stood at the living room entrance. “Mrs. North, there’s an FBI agent here to see Miss Belle.”
“Please open the gate and send him in,” Belle told her.
Her mother’s guests exchanged puzzled looks, while her mother’s jaw tightened so much Belle feared her teeth would crack.
Minutes later. Belle jumped to her feet as Kyle Anderson strode forward. “Good afternoon. Sorry to interrupt your party, Dr. North,” he said in his deep voice. “I’m headed over to the clinic and need the security code to get inside.”
In his dark gray suit, blue tie mussed and day beard scruffing his cheeks, Kyle had a no-nonsense air. His vibrant, quiet masculinity sharply contrasted with the fussiness of the tea, the ladies in their pretty designer dresses and the lace doilies on the table.
The women in the room were deeply concerned about photoshopping their photos in the society pages.
Kyle was deeply concerned about finding Anna and saving her life.
Belle gestured to the room and made introductions.
“A real FBI agent.” Mindy simpered. “Are you in trouble, Belle?”
“She’s aiding an official investigation.” Kyle didn’t smile. “A child is missing.”
Belle’s mother put a hand to her chest. “Oh dear. That’s terrible! And how is our clinic involved?”
“The girl was visiting the clinic. It’s standard procedure, Mom. I promised special agent Anderson our full cooperation.”
“Of course. Anything we can do to help.” Belle’s mother looked distressed.
“Did you find anything else at the shed?” she asked.
He glanced at the other women. “No. Everything was wiped clean. The suspect was a pro. Even the car didn’t have prints. We’re hoping to find something at the clinic. Do I have your permission to search it?”
He eyed her. “We could obtain a search warrant, but it would go faster if we had your permission to enter and search the premises.”
“Of course. I’ll go with you. I’ll leave my car here and take an Uber back.”
Belle’s mother clenched her hands. “How old is the child?”
“She’s six.”
Mrs. North’s mouth wobbled. “Poor baby. Please, Agent Anderson, let us know what you need.”
“Thank you, ma’am.”
“I mean it, agent. Anything we can do to help find her. Our family’s resources are at your disposal.”
Belle blinked. That was kind of her mother. Then again, her mother was known for her altruism.
“Is the FBI offering a reward?” her mother asked.
“Yes, it’s twenty thousand dollars.”
“Good. If no one comes forth with information in the next day, let myself or my husband know and we will double the amount. Anonymously, of course.”
While her mother’s generous gesture had her friends cooing with approval, it only sharpened Kyle’s gaze. Belle silently cursed. Did her mother realize it made the family only look even more suspicious?
“Thank you, ma’am.” He turned to Belle. “I’ll need the security code to disarm the alarm system and the keys. If you’ll give them to me, I’ll be on my way and you can return to your guests.”
“They’re not my guests.” Belle smoothed her dress. “I’ll go with you. We’ll need to stop off at my house. The keys are there. And you’ll need the passwords to the computers, as well.”
Mrs. North blinked, “Honey, can’t you get one of the staff to do that?”
“It’s Sunday, Mom. Their day off. The clinic is closed Sundays and Mondays.” She turned to the two other women. “My apologies, ladies. It was lovely to see you again.”
“Belle.” Mrs. North’s voice trembled. “You promised me you’d attend tea.”
Shooting her mother a defiant look, she picked up her cup and drained it. China clattered as she set the cup down. “There. I’ve had tea. There’s a child’s life at stake. I should think that’s more important than discussing society-page photos.”
Her stomach in knots, she stormed outside. Kyle held the door open for her, his mouth twitching in apparent humor.
“Rough day at the mansion?” he quipped.
She took a deep breath. “I’ve never done that before.”
He opened the passenger door of his sedan. “Have tea?”
“Told off my mother.” She slid inside.
Kyle whistled. “Takes a lot of courage to stand up to family.”
She ran a hand through her coiffed hair, ruining it. “Not courage. More like foolhardiness. My mother will never let me forget this. Maybe I should leave the country.”
As his dark eyebrows raised, she added, “That’s a joke.”
“Uh-uh. Let me know if you want me to investigate her. Put a little heat on her. Did she ever participate in any radical protests in her wild youth?”
“My mother, wild? That’s like saying Jackie O was at Woodstock.”
His wicked grin charmed her. “You never know about people. Are there photos you can use to blackmail her? Maybe she was caught shoplifting at a big-box store?”
Giving a breathless laugh, she shook her head. “My mother? She’s more into her society appearances and charity work than breaking the law. She would no more frequent a discount store than she’d show up in public without makeup. But if you could loan me some duct tape for her mouth...preferably something in a nice pattern that wouldn’t clash with the furniture...”
A deep, hearty chuckle rumbled from his chest. Belle liked that sound. It reminded her that FBI Special agent Kyle Anderson was a real person.
As he started the car, he gave her a solemn look. “Thanks for your help.”
“It’s not a big deal. Afternoon tea is no longer my comfort zone.” She ran a finger over her black clutch purse. “In a way, it never was, but I kept trying. She is my mother. Have you ever tried pleasing someone and no matter how hard you work at it, you’ll never succeed at making them happy?”
For a moment he said nothing, only stared at the roadway and the elegant royal palm trees lining it. “Yes,” he finally told her. “My wife.”
Darn. Disappointment arrowed through her. Of course he wasn’t single. Weren’t all the good ones taken already? “You’re married?”
“Was. She died.”
Belle felt a pang of sympathy. “Oh. That’s so tragic. Disease?”
Kyle shot her a sideways glance. “No. Car crash. We had problems. My job doesn’t exactly make me a candidate for Attentive Husband of the Year.”
“No. I can imagine it doesn’t.”
He turned onto the ramp for the freeway. “You’re an interesting person, Belle North. Most people would gush and say they were sorry for my loss.”
“I am sorry for her death. And that she died so tragically. I’m just not good at meaningless platitudes.” She stared at her hands, remembering her mother’s disapproval at the ragged nails, how she badly needed a manicure. “Medicine has taught me that there are times for offering sincere condolences, such as when you lose a patient. But I wish there was something more I could say other
than I’m sorry.”
Approval flashed on his face. “So do I. When you’ve had to tell a parent, time and again, that you’re sorry for the loss of their child, it becomes almost meaningless.”
“Yet you have to say something, express some kind of regret. At least that’s how I feel about it. What do you say to them?”
His chest rose and fell. “Usually I leave the condolences to my partner. Then I tell them, I’m sorry I couldn’t do more to help your child in time. I tried my best, but it wasn’t enough. I promise you that we will do everything we can to give you justice.”
“I like that,” she decided. “It sounds like you are taking personal responsibility for each case.”
“I do,” he said quietly.
Such a heavy burden to bear. She studied his rumpled suit, the smear of grease on his trousers. Agent Anderson wasn’t afraid of hard work.
Neither was she.
“Do you ever have any fun? I mean, other than by handcuffing the bad guys?”
He gave another hearty chuckle. “Now you sound like my partner. I get downtime for errands and stuff like that.”
“I meant other than grocery shopping and laundry.” She rolled her eyes. “Take a vacation, indulge in sports.”
“There’s the sweetest little fishing spot near my apartment,” he murmured.
She rubbed her hands together. “Oh, baby, now you’re talking. Bass boat? Or do you have an inboard?”
“Outboard twenty-foot runabout I share with a friend. Haven’t taken her out in a long time.”
“Why? Don’t you like boating?”
“No time. I’m usually working.”
She wondered what made him so uptight. “I love boating. If you live in Florida, it’s a wonderful way to relax. You should try it.”
Kyle glanced at her. “My boat is small. Nothing like your family yacht.”
“My family yacht is a sailboat. I learned how to sail before I learned how to talk.”
Belle directed him to her house from the freeway. He turned onto the main road leading to her house. “Must have been hard to learn to talk anyway, with that silver spoon in your mouth.”
