by Bonnie Vanak
Belle shook her head. “I work out, but nothing martial arts.”
“You should try Krav Maga. A pretty woman like yourself needs to know self-defense.” Roarke helped himself to another pickle.
The scowl on Kyle’s face almost amused her. Almost. She didn’t mind flirting, but she wanted to flirt with Kyle, not Roarke.
“I’m capable of defending myself. I don’t need anything fancy.”
“It’s not fancy,” Kyle told her. “It’s a simple technique for self-defense used by the Israelis to be easy and learned by anyone. I’ll teach you.”
“He does have a black belt in Krav Maga,” Roarke said, grinning. “Not bad for a fed. He does make a good sparring partner.”
“And I suppose you have a black belt as well in one of those things,” she told him.
Roarke’s smile dropped. “I have a black belt in survival.”
Their food arrived and she dug into her salad as they argued about the best self-defense techniques. Then Roarke ate another pickle, dusted off his hands and saluted her.
“Thanks for the food, Doc. Gotta run. Enjoy.”
With a grin at his partner, the federal agent pushed off toward the crowded bar.
“He’s not a bad sort, just has poor taste in dress. If only I could get him to stop frequenting surf shops,” Kyle joked.
Belle laughed.
“Belle North, such a pretty picture you make. I can’t believe you’re slumming in a place like this.”
The blond man saying this stood before their table. Sudden disquiet curled through her. Belle’s laughter died. The excellent salad turned to cardboard in her stomach.
“Hello, Evan.” She gestured to Kyle. “This is FBI special agent Kyle Anderson. Kyle, this is Evan Worthington.”
The two men silently sized each other up.
Evan ignored her dining partner. “Mother told me your residency should come through any moment now. Maybe you’ll get a match near me. I’m based in Boston. Mass General has an excellent cardiology department. Even a little lady like you has a good shot at one.”
His words slurred, clearly indicating he was more than a little drunk. Tension radiated from Kyle, but he remained silent. She gave him credit. If she weren’t a lady, she’d deck Evan right now.
“I may not get a cardiology match,” she murmured. “Have a nice evening, Evan. Do say hello to your mother.”
“Well, if you’re planning to hang around town longer, we should see each other.”
“I’m busy,” she said tersely.
“Oh, come on. You can’t work all the time. Mother says the clinic is closed now, so you should have free time. Maybe we could play doctor again, like we did when we were younger.” Evan winked at her. She wanted to slap him.
“The lady said she’s busy.” Kyle gave him a long, cool look. “If you don’t mind, we need to finish our dinner.”
Evan scowled. “Cool it, G-man. Was I talking with you?”
As Kyle started to slide out of the booth, she interjected. “Evan, you’d best leave. Now.”
The man shrugged. “Lots of other women. Who wants a cold fish when you can have a warm one? Goodbye, Belle. Have a nice life.”
When Evan sauntered off, she released a deep breath. “What an ass.”
Kyle eyed her. “Old boyfriend?”
“Hardly. We grew up together, had one date in college. He’s the son of my mother’s good friend. He’s not my friend.”
Instead of answering, Kyle peered out the window as Evan staggered out of the bar. He watched. Belle turned her head. To her relief, she saw a car pull up front and Evan climb inside.
“You were waiting to see if he’d take an Uber,” she said gently.
Kyle’s gaze hardened. “I don’t tolerate those who drink and drive.”
Belle nodded. “Evan’s an ass, but he’s not stupid. His blood-alcohol level was probably up there in the ozone layer. I hope the driver doesn’t faint from the fumes.”
At last he smiled, lines forming at the edges of his eyes, the shadows vanishing from his eyes.
“So tell me, Doc, what made you want to work at the clinic?”
The question surprised her. “I like working with people.”
He looked puzzled.
“I thought about cancer research. But getting stuck in a lab all day with test tubes and microscopes isn’t for me.” Belle stared at the hand covering hers, the dusting of dark hair across the back, the tanned skin and strong fingers. “But I like working with children too much to stay stuck in a lab. My parents are pushing me into cardiology. Surgery. Any day my cardiology match should come through.”
Kyle frowned. “A heart surgeon when you enjoy working with kids? Why not pediatrics?”
It was a question she’d pondered herself. The answer shamed her.
“I don’t want to disappoint them. They think I need a specialty that is more elite and will earn more income. Most pediatric doctors don’t earn anything close to what a cardiologist does.”
“You always do whatever your parents want?”
The question stung, and yet in an odd way, she’d expect nothing less from him. It was direct and blunt, reassuring.
Typical of this hardened agent with a gentle heart he tried hard to hide from the world.
“When they’re footing the bills, yes.”
“So you’d rather be a frustrated cardiologist than a happy pediatrician. Don’t residencies pay?”
They did. And she had secretly gone over the figures if she’d gotten the one she’d applied for in Washington, DC, fretting over how she could afford a place of her own while working insane hours that would mean some nights spent at the hospital.
Still, the chance to work with children in need, to maybe diagnose them early and give them a fighting chance...
Belle slipped her hand free of Kyle’s grip. “I’m finished and I need to get home now.”
End of conversation. Always, it worked before in the past with a date she’d wished would end. Problem was, she didn’t want the time with him to end.
Just this uncomfortable conversation where she’d had to examine her own motivations and future.
Kyle glanced at his phone. “I have to get back, as well.” He signaled for the check, which the waiter immediately brought.
As she started to protest, he shook his head. “You’re a witness and I need to feed you, Miss North.”
“Thank you, Agent Anderson.”
So they were back to that again—last names.
“I need you to call Dr. Patterson soon as possible and let me know where he is.” His gaze searched hers.
“I will. I promise.”
He dug a credit card out of his wallet, slid it into the vinyl folder holding the check. “You surprise me, Doc,” he said quietly. “When I first met you, you seemed like the type of woman to go after whatever it is she wanted and not give a damn about the expectations of others. Do you really think pleasing your parents is more important than selecting a career that will fulfill you long after they’re gone? Who are you living for then?”
Belle gritted her teeth. “Is it really any of your business what I do with my life? Is your life so sterling that you can criticize mine?”
“Not criticism, just an observation.” His expression shuttered. “Maybe you’re right—what your family wants is more important than what you want. Maybe if I had paid more attention to my home life instead of trying to advance my own career, my daughter wouldn’t be in her grave right now.”
Kyle shook his head. “Forget I said it. Your life is your life.”
Her heart twisted at the pain he must have suffered. She suspected this man seldom let down his barriers...and perhaps regretted saying what he did.
As they left the restaurant, he held the door open for her and checked the parking lot, st
icking to her side.
Even though they’d disagreed, he still looked out for her. Belle enjoyed being with a man who was both courteous and protective.
Yet she found herself wishing she had never met Agent Kyle Anderson.
Because he yanked open a door she’d tried to keep closed for a long time, and seeing the tantalizing glimpse of what lay beyond made her frustrated and wistful. It wasn’t merely a future with a pediatric residency in a busy urban hospital.
It was a relationship with an intriguing man who truly knew her—maybe even better than she knew herself.
Chapter 12
Belle couldn’t sleep that night. She rolled over, glanced at the clock on the nightstand.
Two in the morning.
Her conscience kept nagging her. She’d promised Kyle she’d contact Mike Patterson, and yet, she felt the need to keep her brother in touch with everything that happened.
When she’d called Clint after arriving home, he’d told her not to worry. Mike would be in touch.
It wasn’t the same as direct contact. Her older brother had been brisk and eager to end the conversation. And for once, he didn’t nag her about her personal life.
It made her wonder what was going on. Part of her didn’t want to get involved.
Yet she’d promised Kyle she would find out.
I always keep my promises. I’m not breaking this one.
Rolling over, she fumbled for her cell phone and dialed Mike’s number. Voice mail.
“Mike, this is Belle. Call me on my cell. It’s urgent.”
She hung up. That would motivate him to call. If he didn’t, then she’d have to drive straight to Clint’s house and demand to know what her brother knew, and she did not.
Sitting up, she reached for her bathrobe. At the bed’s foot, Boo stirred. She patted him. “Back to sleep, sweetie. It’s too early.”
Her cell phone chimed. Mike.
“Mike, where are you? Why are you ignoring the FBI’s phone calls?” Her fingers gripped the phone.
“In the Bahamas.” He gave a breathy, humorless chuckle. “Staying at my vacation house for a while until all this blows over.”
Her stomach knotted. “All this has to do with missing children, Mike. You need to return to the States. The agents need to question you. You might have information that can help us find Anna.”
“Us?” His voice sharpened. “You’re helping the feds?”
“Why wouldn’t I?” Her heart raced. Belle switched on the bedside lamp, but the soft light did little to chase away her bout of sudden fear.
“Did they search the place?”
“Yes. And your house, as well.”
“Find anything? Anything at all?”
“Nothing out of the ordinary. They could search again.”
“Doubt they’d waste time. Time is money, Belle. I’ll never forget that.” The sharp tension eased from his tone.
Tired of his usual platitudes—how often did she have to listen to him drone about examining patients, make a diagnosis and then move on to the next—she sniffed. “Time is money, but a little girl’s life is at stake. And the clinic remains closed, Mike. We need to open it again, show the community our support.”
“Let it stay shut. Patients can find someplace else to go. I’m staying the hell out of it and as far away from that clinic as possible. And if you know what’s good for you, Belle, you will, as well. Before you end up missing.”
The phone clicked off.
Heart racing, she stared at the phone’s screen. Mike Patterson had always been an efficient doctor and seemed to care about patients. The clinic’s foundation had paid him a good salary, but not equal to what he could make in his own practice. They’d thought he’d asked for the position because he was semiretired and wanted to still practice medicine.
What if Mike was involved in something far more sinister? What if he was at the heart of these disappearances?
All this time she’d thought everyone at the clinic was beyond suspicion. But if Mike wasn’t, then she needed to alert Kyle.
Fingers on her cell phone, she hesitated.
If the clinic was at the heart of the disappearances, and the police hadn’t found anything, why would Mike seemed relieved?
Unless there’s something he is hiding, and it’s so well hidden, no one can find it except someone familiar with the building...
She stared at Kyle’s number on her cell phone. The right thing to do would be to call him, let him know there was something else there.
It meant another, more thorough search. More publicity. More attention.
If she searched the building first, without Kyle, and did it quietly, she’d avoid all that.
And if she found something?
Of course I’ll call him.
Belle picked up Boo, cuddled with the sleepy dog as she snuggled back into the covers. She finally fell into a restless sleep, filled with dreams of being chased by sexy agent Kyle Anderson.
In her dream, he drew her into his arms to kiss her. And then he frowned, telling her that he knew her.
“You did this,” he said in his deep voice. “You’re responsible for Anna. Tell me where she is.”
“I don’t know,” she screamed.
“Tell me!”
But there was nothing to tell and deep inside, she knew he was right.
She was responsible for what happened to Anna Rodriguez.
As guilty as if she’d kidnapped the little girl herself.
* * *
In the morning, after coffee, giving Boo his walk and breakfast, she drove to the clinic. The Corvette’s engine purred reassuringly, and her iPod blared Imagine Dragons. Music usually soothed her.
Today nothing would soothe her. Her mind kept envisioning the battered teddy bear in the backseat of the car they’d found in the abandoned nursery.
The bloodstains in the front seat of the car. The prim, neat area where Anna and her mother had lived in hiding.
Thankfully, the clinic parking lot was empty upon her arrival. But soon it would crawl with police and detectives investigating every square inch. Already the clinic was under suspicion. Now even more so.
Inside the clinic, she turned on the air conditioner. Stale air circulated as the system coughed into life.
Belle switched on the lights, wincing as the fluorescent bulbs buzzed like a swarm of bees. The clinic building was old and needed updating.
If they ever opened again.
She headed directly for the doctor’s office she shared. Nothing looked out of place. Nothing odd. The police had searched it thoroughly after they’d found Tony’s lunch tote and the hidden drawer in the desk.
The hidden drawer didn’t have any mystery attached to it, either. The desk, she’d told the police, came as a donation from Clint. He once used the desk in his business and hid important files in the false bottom because “I had a nosy secretary.”
The police had been most thorough.
Still, what if they missed something?
“I don’t have time for this,” she said aloud.
Belle glanced at the clock on the wall. She’d hated that clock ever since Mike ordered Tony to hang it.
“Time is money,” Mike was fond of saying.
He’d said the same thing last night. Dread raced down her spine. Belle shot out of her chair, reached up and grabbed the clock.
The police had lifted it from the wall and looked at the back, but everything looked normal. She studied the clock’s back.
The front facing. Then she shook it.
Nothing.
Belle turned the clock over. The second hand stopped.
Bringing the clock back to her desk, she set it down. Belle rummaged in the office’s junk drawer for a Phillips screwdriver. She unfastened the screws and lifted the back off
the clock.
At first she saw nothing. Belle turned the clock over. Held it to the light.
Something glinted on tape. She worked at the tape and then freed the object.
The key tumbled into her palm. Fingers trembling, she examined it. It had been painted black, to match the clock’s interior. Why would Mike hide a key in a clock, unless it was something he really needed to keep hidden? And where?
Sweat dripped down her forehead. This office was old, the air-conditioning system never working efficiently here. Tony had blamed the ventilation system and the air ducts leading to the office.
He’d always seemed to be working on the filter...
Key clutched in hand, she went to the air-conditioning return grille opposite the desk. It was partly blocked by stacks of boxes containing files.
She pushed them aside, and unlatched the grille and pulled off the filter. It was clean. Of course. Tony had only changed it three weeks ago.
Belle found a flashlight, shone it into the empty space beyond the grille. It looked normal, she guessed.
Running her fingers along the boxed confines, she found nothing.
Frustrated, she banged her fist against the wall.
Something rattled.
Belle pushed hard with her fingers and a panel came loose. She removed it and shone the light on a steel fireproof box lying beyond the false panel.
Stomach knotting, she took the box to her desk. The key fit perfectly. She unlocked it.
A manila envelope lay inside. Her fingers shook as she opened it. The contents spilled out onto the clean white desk blotter. Photos. Dozens of photos of young girls, some as young as six. All of them pretty, with green or blue eyes and dark-haired.
All of them taken at the clinic. She recognized the backdrop of the room where they conducted pediatric exams. Each girl was fully clothed but sitting on the table. Belle’s heart dropped to her stomach as she sifted through them. A clear invasion of privacy, and yet the girls didn’t look camera shy.
It was as if they didn’t realize someone took their picture.
“Oh God,” she whispered, dropping one of Anna.
Anna had been here before. There had been no record of her. It had been purged from the system.
