by Bonnie Vanak
She led the way to the living room overlooking the lanai and the turquoise pool water. Kyle moved aside a multicolored throw and sank down into the couch with a soft curse. Belle laughed.
“I should have warned you. It swallows you whole. You can get lost and they’ll have to send out a search party.”
Her smile faded as she remembered the reason why he was here. “I’ll get you those files.”
In a few minutes, he was sifting through the information she had on Mike Patterson. Mike had mentored her, taught her a few things about medicine long before she’d started college.
From the file he lifted out a photo of Mike and her brother on a tropical beach. On the back was penned “Bahamas.”
“Mind if I take this?”
“Go ahead. I don’t need it.” She went into the kitchen and returned with two glasses of iced tea.
Kyle set down his glass. “Tell me about your dog.”
“Boo isn’t a purebred. Well, he might be. I found him wandering in a parking lot down south. He was hungry and dirty.” She rubbed the dog’s ears. “Saving dogs is a passion of mine. Too many are abandoned. I have a pet project I support that rescues them.”
“Pampered Strays,” he said, not missing a beat. “You sit on the board of directors.”
Belle blinked. “How did you know... Oh. You investigated me.”
Of course. She was probably still considered a suspect. And there was the matter of that mysterious sealed file with the FBI. She made a mental note to ask her mother later. “Did you find out all my dark secrets? Discover all my dirty laundry? What’s next, wiretapping my phone?”
She said it in a light tone, but it disconcerted her to think Kyle had dug into her past.
He stretched out his long legs and rolled a shoulder. “Naw. Wiretapping’s a pain, so unless there’s a good reason for it, I avoid it. Background checks are easier. Less cumbersome. You have quite a shocking past, Dr. North.”
“Good thing you never found out about how many times I played truant from finishing school.”
Kyle took a long swig of tea, his throat muscles working. She watched with fascination. He set down the glass and gave her a solemn look. “I know. There’s no statute of limitations on that, Doc.”
As her jaw dropped, he laughed. His laugh, so hearty and carefree, lifted her spirits. Belle suspected this FBI agent seldom laughed while investigating cases. “I had an excuse. I sneaked out with my girlfriends to hang at the beach.”
“And here I thought you were a perfect lady.” Kyle scratched Boo’s ears as the dog jumped onto the sofa.
“I’m not always a lady, and far from perfect.” She glanced ruefully at her mussed clothing. “My mother would be appalled at my appearance right now.”
His warm gaze swept over her. “You look pretty good to me.”
Heat crawled up her throat to her face. Compliments from admiring men, she could handle those. But this one was different. It wasn’t empty flattery to coax her into bed or get something else from her. Sincerity toned his voice.
Belle sensed he didn’t give compliments often, but when he did, they were like rare gems.
Much to her chagrin, she liked this agent. Bad news. Don’t fall for the man investigating you and your family.
She glanced at her cell phone. As much as this man intrigued and aroused her, they were too different. And she knew he still regarded her as a suspect.
“I have to visit my parents before they leave.”
Kyle nodded. “I’ll need all their contact information and where they’ll be staying.”
Police cars blocked the road to her parents’ house, allowing access only to residents. They allowed Belle through. Her mother was upstairs, packing, looking worn-out.
Belle sat on the lounge chair by the window, watching. “Do you need anything from me while you’re gone?”
“No. Your brother has arranged everything and we’ve paid the staff and gave them time off.”
Belle toyed with a pile of scarves on the bed. “Mom, how well do you know Mike Patterson?”
Mrs. North snapped the suitcase shut. “We’ve known his family for a long time. Why do you ask?”
“The police can’t seem to locate him.”
“He’s probably in hiding after all this dreadful publicity surrounding the clinic.”
“Do you trust him?”
Shirley turned and frowned. “I don’t know him well enough, Belle. Your brother does. He’s friends with him.”
She watched as her mother went into the dressing room and emerged with a small Louis Vuitton cosmetics case.
“Mom, what happened to me that I have an FBI record?”
The case thumped to the floor. Shirley rubbed her hands together. “That’s preposterous. Why would you have a record?”
“I don’t know. But you do. Apparently I was too young to remember what happened to me.” She jumped up, picked up the case. “What happened?”
Her mother rubbed her forehead. “Belle, must we talk about this now? I have less than two hours to pack before we have to leave for the airport.”
Belle held on to the case as her mother reached out for it. “Yes, we do. What happened to me? Was I witness to a federal crime?”
She sighed. “We’ll talk, Belle, I promise, but now is not the time.”
Knowing her mother wouldn’t discuss it further, she changed the subject. “Paying Rosa’s medical bills is very generous of you. Why are you doing it?”
“I paid Rosa’s medical bills because when that poor woman awakes, she’ll be going through hell,” Shirley said softly. “The guilt and self-blame, the terrible fear that something awful happened to her baby and there is nothing, absolutely nothing, she can do about it.”
Such a far cry from her mother’s accusations earlier, blaming Rosa for losing track of Anna. “From what you said before, you blamed her for Anna disappearing.”
Her mother shrugged, her expression impartial once more. “Perhaps I misjudged her. Besides, I know your generous side. You’d be paying Rosa’s medical bills yourself and you need all your cash for the move to Boston when the residency comes through.”
Oh. That. Belle picked up a pile of cashmere scarves, carried them to the suitcase. “Do you need any help?”
“No. Go downstairs—see if Clint is here yet. He promised to drive us to the airport. I don’t dare call a taxi or an Uber, having them find out we’re besieged by the media.”
Belle understood. Her mother needed time to regain her lost composure, repair the armor of cosmetics and grooming that shielded her from the world.
If only it were that easy for her. But the greater question remained—why wasn’t Mike Patterson back yet and what did he have to do with Anna’s disappearance?
Chapter 10
By Thursday, Belle reasoned the media frenzy would have died down outside the now-closed clinic. After leaving the cardiology practice, she decided to stop at the clinic to look for the missing files once more.
Maybe they could even reopen tomorrow.
Always an optimist. But the community needs us and needs our services.
As she drove, her thoughts drifted to the attractive agent. Such a paradox. Growly and distant one minute and then compassionate and gentle the next. She itched to dig beneath the prickly outer shell to find the man beneath.
See what he was really like. Sure, he was hot. Sexy in a subtle way, with his urbane charm and quiet dedication. He made the other men in her slim social circle seem inconsequential and shallow as a puddle.
Her cell phone beeped. Belle pressed the Bluetooth button on her dashboard.
“Dr Pepper, where you at?”
Kyle’s deep, laconic drawl sent a tingle rushing down her spine. The pleasant sensation made her squirm with anticipation. The man had a voice that could seduce a celibate.
<
br /> “In my trusty little red Corvette. Why?”
“Thought we could get together, go over the details of all the other girls that you can recall. And then maybe grab a bite to eat.”
A date. Sort of. Not really. “Sure. Good timing. I’m going to check on things at the clinic.”
Instantly his voice became alert, his tone sharp. “Are you driving there alone?”
“Yes. I figured the media circus would have departed town by now.”
“They have, but there’s another circus taking their place. Turn around. Don’t go.”
“I’m almost there. It’ll only take a minute.”
“Wait for me. I’m getting in my car now.”
He hung up. Odd. She turned right onto the back road of the clinic, saw a commotion down the street.
Maybe the media frenzy hadn’t died down yet. There was always the back gate.
She pulled up to the back, unlocked the gate and pulled her car inside, before locking the gate behind her. A crowd gathered in front of the clinic outside the gate. The back door was bolted from the inside, so she’d have to go around the front.
Dismay and regret filled her as she walked around the building.
Dozens of people lined the metal security fence outside the clinic. They held signs and waved them. Some held candles. A few people held up photos of Anna printed in the local newspapers.
As she stared at them, the crowd spotted her and began to point and shout.
“That’s her! I saw her on TV! She’s the doctor who owns this place!”
“Dr. Death! What did you do with Anna!”
“Child snatcher!”
“How many more of our kids are going to disappear?” one woman screamed.
Angry voices, filled with grief and rage. Now was not the time for reassurance. They needed an outlet for their emotions, and she was it.
Why hadn’t she listened to Kyle?
Too late now. She’d just run inside, comb through the files and then dash out.
Keys rattled in her hand as she unlocked the front door.
When she returned outside, the crowd had grown. Six local police tried to keep order. Perspiration trickled down her back and her palms went clammy. Bright sunshine showed the angry faces in harsh relief.
She wanted to run and hide, but forced herself to walk slowly outside. Heels clicking on the concrete, she locked the front door and closed the steel grate.
Smile and wave.
Belle waved but could not smile. Not when her stomach churned and she felt nauseated.
She didn’t need these people to point fingers and make accusations. Not when she’d already wallowed in the pool of self blame.
Screeches and shouts increased in tempo and volume, blending into a chorus of rage.
“Hey, Dr. North!”
Automatically she turned. A rock whistled through the air. Sharp pain exploded on her temple as she gave a startled cry. Belle touched her head and her fingers came away stained red. The red blossomed, and warmth trickled down her cheek.
She was a doctor, accustomed to healing people and being thanked for her services by patients. The vicious burst of violence jolted her. Not since a playground fight with Roger Brown had anyone tried to deliberately hurt her.
Immobilized with disbelief, she could only stare at the roaring crowd.
She might have stood there for a while longer, but a black SUV pulled to a screeching halt on the street outside, along with four police cars. Kyle pulled to a stop, jumped out.
“Clear this area,” he ordered the police.
They moved the crowd back and Kyle opened the gate before driving through. He parked inside the complex, turned and faced the people.
“Get back, all of you, or I’ll haul you in for trespassing,” he said in a deep voice that carried clear across the parking lot.
Maybe the crowd recognized him from the press conference. Or maybe it was his natural air of authority. They eased away as he came toward them.
“This clinic is where they took Lucy,” one man protested. “It’s all that rich doctor’s fault. They’re stealing children!”
“She’s the one treating your children, not hurting them. Dr. North and her foundation have been the cornerstone of low-cost medical care for your community. She’s provided us with valuable information to help find the girls. And this is how you treat her?”
He was magnificent the way he stood up to the angry mob. Never had someone defended her with such bravado and confidence.
Kyle went to her, slid an arm around her shoulders. Inside, she felt queasy with anxiety. Belle struggled to maintain her composure. His touch was an anchor in a maelstrom of emotions.
Some looked shamefaced. A couple of mothers started to weep.
Belle wanted to weep with them. I have to stop this. It’s tearing this community apart. We have to find Anna or no one will be safe.
“All of you, go home. I told you last night, the FBI is on this case and we will not stop until Anna is found. Standing here and shouting insults will not get them found. Is this the example you want to set for your own children?”
They began to drift away. Kyle gripped her shoulders, studied her face. “They hurt you.”
He removed a clean white linen cloth from his inside pocket, dabbed at the cut.
“It’s only a small laceration.” Belle took his handkerchief, pressed it to the wound.
“Infection, remember, Doc? Never mind.” He glanced at the people drifting away. “We’ll treat it at my place. Best to get you out of here.”
Hand on the small of her back, he guided her over to the SUV, opened the passenger door for her. “In.”
“My car...”
“I’ll have someone drive it to my place after the crowd fully disperses.”
Too exhausted and numb to argue, she climbed inside, clutching her purse strap in one hand, holding the cloth to her temple with the other.
So much anger.
So much violence.
They don’t hate you. It’s not personal, Belle. They are terrified of losing their own children.
Dimly she became aware of Kyle quietly talking on the phone to his partner, asking him to take care of her car. Belle turned away, staring at the passing buildings as he sped past.
Hope had buoyed her these past few days that Anna would be found soon so her family’s name would be cleared. She’d temporarily forgotten the horrific impact on other lives—those living in the community who worried about their own children.
Belle pulled the handkerchief away from her throbbing temple. The bleeding had slowed a little.
“Keep pressure on it,” he advised, getting on the freeway.
“Now who’s playing doctor?”
“I’ve suffered enough bullet wounds to know about first aid.” Kyle reached over, clasped her hand. “Want me to stop at a fast-food restaurant and get you a soda? You’re pale and trembling. Could use the sugar.”
“No, I’m fine. Did you learn about sugar to treat shock and raise blood sugar from getting so many bullet wounds?”
He winked at her. “I learned it from an arrogant, pretty doctor after a gun battle at the international airport.”
Belle sputtered. “Arrogant!”
“Well.” He considered. “More pretty than arrogant.”
“Says the agent who walked around with a bullet wound.”
“It’s just a flesh wound,” he said in a high falsetto, and she laughed.
“I love Monty Python movies.” Belle sighed. “It’s been a long time since I’ve seen any movie.”
“Stick with me, Doc. I’m better than Netflix.” He grinned at her, and the grin faded as his sharpened gaze studied her temple.
Kyle’s jaw tightened and a nerve jumped in his own temple. She could tell he was enraged, and c
ontrolling it.
“They didn’t mean to get violent,” she told him. “They’re scared.”
“Do you always make excuses for everyone who hurts you?”
Bitterness tinged his deep voice. Belle glanced at him, lowered the cloth from her temple. “Do you always castigate everyone who makes a mistake?”
“Some mistakes cost lives.”
“Is that what you learned on the job? How long have you been with the FBI?”
“Eight years. I started at the academy when I was twenty-three. A little later than most.”
“Decided to see the world first?”
“Got my degree in criminal justice, spent a year working for a buddy in Honduras doing security for a rich family.” He glanced at her. “Bodyguard work, investigations into who was most likely to kidnap whom and why. My friend taught me how to look for signs of gang activity.”
No wonder his Spanish was excellent. “Then why did you move here?”
A nerve jumped in his jaw again. “My wife. She was pregnant and it was too dicey in Honduras. Her family wanted her someplace safe.”
He snorted. “Safe. She was safe from the gangs here, but not drunk drivers.”
Silence draped between them for a moment. Kyle switched off the engine.
What a sad irony. His wife had moved to Florida to be safe and she died instead in a car crash.
“Was her family one of your clients in Honduras?”
Kyle nodded, not looking at her. “Caroline fell in love with me after I did a stint working security for her father. Family is all expats with a factory. Caro and I started dating, and she didn’t believe in birth control and I was young and stupid...and she got pregnant.”
Belle put a hand on his arm. “Everyone makes mistakes, Kyle. But not everyone owns up to them.”
They had driven only ten minutes on the freeway when he turned off. Belle blinked in surprise. “I thought your office was in Biscayne Glades,” she said, referring to the urban center where the FBI had a large field office.
“It is. I commute.”
When Kyle headed for a quiet residential area where a few of her friends lived, Belle felt more surprise. He turned into a tree-lined street. Two-story homes flanked them as he drove past.
