When she did finally speak, her words jarred him. “Why would someone give us a tip about a deserted house? There’s no reason to think the girls were being kept here.”
“Maybe that was just to check you out,” Brad replied, wishing again that the media hadn’t provided Gillian’s name in items about the kidnapping. She’d been interviewed the first day and her face had appeared on television and in the newspapers.
“That could be a good thing.”
He turned to stare at her. “Are you nuts?”
“Maybe he likes to toy with his victims,” Gillian mused.
Brad hated the cold knot of dread that developed as she voiced his theory. But it fit the profile the bureau had drawn up on the kidnapper. “An even better reason for you to keep your head down.”
“That’s exactly what I’m not going to do.”
The cold settling over him was at odds with the warm day. “What are you saying?”
“That we’ve had nothing on the perp, no way to rescue the girls. Until now. If he’ll come out of hiding to follow me, we could have our first break.”
Terror, unlike any he’d experienced in his career, gripped him. “Gillian, you can’t use yourself as bait.”
She caught his gaze, her mahogany eyes glowing in the midday sunlight. “And if it were you? Would you walk away, knowing you’d possibly cheated these children out of their only chance?”
Brad cursed briefly, knowing his answer. Worse, Gillian knew as well.
BY THE TIME THEY RETURNED to Houston, Gillian had some preliminary news on the house in Galveston. The place had been empty for years. No utilities were connected, nor had much maintenance been performed. It belonged to an estate. The owners, an old couple who paid the taxes, hadn’t been in the place for years. They were keeping it for a nephew who might or might not decide to live there someday. It was too run-down to currently be habitable. The nephew lived in Florida, but no one had been able to reach him.
Interviews hadn’t gone well, either. Another trip to Deerling hadn’t yielded anything. Parents of Katie’s friends were eager to help but knew nothing.
Hours later, Brad glanced at his watch and swore under his breath when he saw that it was after eight o’clock.
Gillian pushed at the hair around her face, the humidity of the day taking its toll. “What is it?”
“I didn’t realize it was so late.”
“Plans?”
“Dinner with my parents. But I’ll cancel—I’m already late.”
“You don’t have to cancel. Go ahead. I can take it from here.”
“Alone?”
“Brad, in case you haven’t noticed, no one’s attempted anything.”
He tried to hold his temper, but frustration spilled into his words. “Let’s not argue the point. I’ll call my parents and let them know I’m not coming.”
Snapping open his cell phone, he was surprised when Gillian placed her hand over his, blocking access to the number pad.
“You should see your parents. I’ll be fine on my own.”
“No way.”
Surprise made her draw back. “You can’t shadow my every move.”
“Until we’re sure why you were led to that deserted house, that’s exactly what I plan to do.”
Her expression grew incredulous. “In order to guard me, you’re going to disappoint your parents?”
He brushed away the words. “Not a big deal.”
Gillian shrugged. “If that’s the case, why not take me along instead of canceling?”
Startled, he studied her expression. “Why do you want to go?”
“What a gracious invitation.”
“Sorry, that’s not what I meant. I’m sure they’d like to see you. But—”
“If you think you can ditch this visit, then follow me, you’re nuts. It’s your choice. We can go there and you can keep your watchful eye on me, or I go it alone. And trust me, I can lose you faster than a kid loses his homework.”
Exasperated, Brad wondered how so much stubbornness had been poured into such a small package. Realizing he wasn’t going to win this one, he threw up his hands. “Fine. We’ll do it your way.”
She smiled, that sleek, satisfied smile he’d once relished.
Retrieving his cell phone, he called his parents, to tell them to eat without him. He also warned them the visit would be abbreviated due to work. His mother was delighted over the prospect of seeing her former daughter-in-law. Brad wished he could say he was delighted by the thought of bringing Gillian to see his parents again.
GILLIAN WAS UNACCOUNTABLY nervous as they drove to Brad’s parents’ home. She hadn’t seen Elizabeth or Thomas Mitchell since the divorce. They’d been stricken by the action, obviously hurt over the loss of another family member.
The Mitchells had been a family in crisis. Even though they had lost Amanda sixteen years ago, the pain remained immediate. It was something Gillian had lived with on a daily basis when she and Brad had been married.
On more than one occasion he’d pointed out that she’d never had a loss, and therefore couldn’t understand how he felt.
He was wrong, but only because she hadn’t told him about what had happened to her in college. She’d had a brief affair that had resulted in a pregnancy during her senior year. She’d gone into premature labor late in her fifth month, and her tiny son had lived only a few hours.
Gillian had never said anything to Brad because she hadn’t wanted him to agree to have a baby out of pity. Although, she’d never stopped hoping he would come to want a baby on his own.
Despite the secrets and their differences, they had loved each other, but Gillian couldn’t give up on the idea of having a baby. Brad wouldn’t budge, either, and eventually their childless marriage had ended.
However Gillian had never put any of the Mitchells out of her mind, always wishing she could do something, anything to help them move on. She wanted Brad to be happy, even if that meant he was apart from her.
Nervously adjusting her jacket, Gillian wondered if she would find the Mitchells unchanged, as though not a single page in the calendar had turned.
The door opened before they could knock, and Gillian realized the Mitchells must have been watching for them.
“Gillian!” Elizabeth cried, rushing forward, her hug warm and welcoming.
Incredibly touched, she returned the hug.
“What a wonderful surprise!” Elizabeth continued, finally releasing Gillian.
Brad’s father, Thomas, hugged her as well. “My dear, you’ve stayed away too long.”
“It’s so good to see both of you,” Gillian responded, realizing how true it was. Although their pain had scarred Brad, they had been nothing but kind and generous toward her.
Elizabeth chattered nonstop as she led the way into the cherry-wood-paneled den.
“Tell me what you’ve been up to,” Elizabeth said, once they were settled in cozy chairs.
Seeing their expectant faces, Gillian felt a tad like a Santa Claus who had arrived without the expected presents. “Well, I’ve been working quite a bit. In fact, that’s how Brad and I ran into each other.”
“Stands to reason,” Thomas replied. “Both of you in law enforcement.”
“What kind of case are you working on?” Elizabeth asked. “It must be something big if it involves the police and the FBI.”
Brad and Gillian exchanged glances.
“We can’t really discuss it, Mom. It’s an ongoing investigation.”
The pleasure in her face dimmed. “Sounds dangerous.”
Gillian’s compassion spilled over, knowing how Brad’s job worried them. “Not really. It’s just a matter of protocol, so to speak, between the locals and the feds.”
Elizabeth, a sharp woman, didn’t look completely convinced, but she did look as though she wanted to be.
“Whatever the reason, we’re glad it brings you back here,” Thomas told her.
Gillian smiled in return, wishing for the thousandth
time that these people hadn’t been subjected to so much pain.
“I kept the roast and mashed potatoes warm, if you’re hungry.” Elizabeth started to rise.
Fueled by the need to get back to the case, they waved away the offer.
“Fine, but I’m sending home plates. Brad lives on fast food and frozen dinners. I doubt he sees a vegetable unless he’s here.”
As they talked, Gillian guessed the situation hadn’t changed since she had seen them last—the Mitchells rarely had company. Their social life had ended all those years before and had never been repaired.
The loss was all around them, in the aging but touching possessions of Amanda’s that still held prominence in the house. Brad had admitted that the memories associated with the house had made his parents consider a move, but they never could, worried that Amanda would come here and be unable to find them. Like many parents whose child was never found, the Mitchells had clung to the hope that someday she would return. The house had become their prison. They no longer subscribed to the newspaper and rarely watched the news.
Elizabeth smiled at them both. “If you won’t eat dinner, how about some strudel?”
“No, thanks, Mom. I told Dad I’d take a look at the table saw.”
“Brad’s the only one who can keep that monster tamed,” Thomas agreed. “But we don’t have to do it tonight since Gillian’s here.”
“Don’t mind me,” Gillian responded quickly. “I’m sure Brad would like to take a look at your newest project.”
Thomas seemed surprised. “You remember my woodworking?”
“Who could forget? You’ve made some incredible pieces.”
Thomas waved away the compliment. “Just my puttering. But I enjoy it.”
And it was all he had to distract himself, Gillian knew.
As the men left, Elizabeth rose. “I don’t want to forget your doggie bags.” However, her face was pensive, her mind obviously not on food.
“Is something wrong?”
Elizabeth lifted her gaze. “The case you and Brad are working on, it’s the little girl who disappeared, isn’t it?”
Gillian stiffened. Keeping the media under control was a difficult chore in a case that captured the public’s attention. She and Brad had argued about further publicizing the case. Gillian believed additional publicity could keep the perp from snatching more children. Brad believed exactly the opposite. He feared the publicity would scare the kidnapper into getting rid of the victims.
Frowning, she wondered if he had talked about the case with his parents. “You know we’re not supposed to discuss—”
“Ongoing investigations, I know. I’m right, though, aren’t I?”
Reluctantly Gillian nodded.
“When I saw that little girl’s picture posted at the grocery store, it brought everything back,” Elizabeth confessed. “It’s all I’ve thought about.”
“Elizabeth, stop me if I’m interfering, but have you considering counseling?”
“Yes. We tried, but it didn’t help.”
“Wasn’t that years ago?” Gillian probed gently.
“It was when Amanda…when she disappeared.”
“Perhaps, since so many years have passed, it might turn out differently this time.”
“Counseling,” Elizabeth murmured. “I don’t know. It seemed to make everything that much more painful.”
“What about a support group?” Gillian suggested. “There are general grief groups and ones specifically for parents who have lost a child.”
Elizabeth swallowed visibly. “It sounds so final that way. As though it’s time to give up what hope is left.”
Gillian clasped Elizabeth’s shaking hands. “Actually, it’s just the opposite. From what you’ve all told me, Amanda was a kind and caring girl. I’m sure she wouldn’t want you to go on suffering.”
A spark brightened Elizabeth’s eyes. “Amanda was incredibly thoughtful for one so young. Always bright and full of laughter.”
“And you could share that with other parents, help them as well as yourselves.”
“I never thought about it that way,” Elizabeth responded slowly. “I guess we’ve always thought of ourselves as alone. I know many children die, but not to know seemed so much worse. I really can’t say now which would be better.”
“Either way, you and Thomas need to begin the healing process, to learn to enjoy the things you left behind.”
Elizabeth glanced down. “I didn’t realize it showed.”
How could it not? “I know a psychologist from the bureau who can guide you to the right group.”
“So many years,” Elizabeth mused. “They’ve all run into one another. Yet, each day stands out separately, the inescapable conclusion once the night ends that Amanda hasn’t come home again.”
Gillian hugged her former mother-in-law, feeling the contained sobs in her thin body. “That’s why you have to get some help.”
Elizabeth withdrew finally, swiping at her eyes. “Perhaps you’re right. Do you suppose that’s why you’ve come back into our lives?”
Gillian wasn’t certain, only that she wanted to help all of them.
Elizabeth fixed her with a steady gaze. “Whatever the reason, I’m glad you’re back.”
Accepting another hug, Gillian didn’t quash the hope glimmering in Elizabeth’s eyes. Or the ridiculous bit in her own heart.
CHAPTER SIX
AS HE DROVE HER HOME, Brad wondered if taking Gillian to his parents’ house had been a mistake. He’d glimpsed the traces of tears in his mother’s eyes. And when he’d questioned them, both she and Gillian had given him no real answers.
Glancing over at Gillian, Brad saw that she was idly studying the rush of cars still on the road even though it was after eleven. Houston didn’t ever slow down. At least not visibly. Much like Gillian herself.
She turned just then, the deep brown of her eyes as dark as the night itself. “Not far now.”
Brad switched his attention back to the traffic, knowing it was too dangerous to dwell on Gillian for many reasons. A few blocks later he turned on the inconspicuous road that led to her neighborhood.
She seemed surprised when he parked and got out of the car.
“There’s no need to walk me to my door,” she protested.
Once again Brad was struck by the impression that Gillian’s courtyard would make a perfect place for someone to hide. “It’s part of the service.”
She shifted the plastic-wrapped plate of food Elizabeth had insisted on sending home with her. “I wonder how old we have to be before our parents are convinced we’re capable of feeding ourselves.”
“At least sixty. I noticed you didn’t complain when Mom put in an extra slice of strudel.”
Gillian sighed. “It’s heaven on a plate.” She reached for the wrought-iron handle of the gate.
Brad snagged her hand. “Did you leave the gate open?”
“I’m not sure.” She shook away his arm. “What difference does it make?”
Exasperation gripped him. “Gillian, you’re a cop. Don’t close your eyes just because you’re at home.”
Practiced eyes studied the terrace. “I don’t see anything out of place. I’m not concerned about the gate because a neighbor may have dropped by and not shut it securely when she left. That’s happened before. It doesn’t compromise the lock on the door.”
The white wooden shutters on the ceiling-to-floor windows appeared undisturbed, as were the lacy curtains on the French doors. But that was no guarantee. “Let’s make sure.”
She stooped to deposit the food on a round patio table.
Brad hoped he was mistaken about the uneasy feeling he was experiencing. But that didn’t deter him from checking his gun.
Gillian reached out before he could, testing the handle on her front door. It didn’t turn. “It’s secure. Just a false alarm.”
Brad wasn’t convinced. “Let’s go inside. Make sure.”
She rolled her eyes, then reached into
her purse for the key. “I think it’s overkill, but all right.”
Brad was close behind her as Gillian flipped on the lights in her living room. He scrutinized the area, but wasn’t familiar enough with it to be certain if anything had been disturbed.
Gillian walked through the room confidently, glancing from side to side. She paused suddenly.
When she didn’t stir, Brad moved to her side. “What is it?”
“Let’s check the rest of the apartment.”
Reflexively, Brad reached for his gun, noting that Gillian had drawn hers, as well. Apparently something was out of order.
It took only a few minutes to determine that the apartment was empty. All of the rooms looked neat, tidy, untouched. But Gillian wasn’t given to panic. If she’d noticed something, it was genuine.
Regrouping in the living room, Brad watched Gillian walk over to her desk. She didn’t touch anything, but instead studied the surface.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Something’s gone.”
He stepped nearer. “Do you know what?”
“My journal.”
“Journal?”
“A diary of sorts.”
“Are you sure it’s not in one of the drawers? Maybe you tucked it away without realizing it.”
A strange expression crossed her face. “No, I’m very certain.”
“Did it contain anything valuable?”
The callousness of his words didn’t hit until she raised offended eyes. “Put that way, I suppose not.”
“Sorry, that’s not what I meant. Did the journal contain any information another party would consider worth stealing?”
Slowly she shook her head. “No. Just my personal thoughts, observations.”
The unease that had stricken him in the courtyard returned. This time it made the hair on the back of his neck rise. “Observations?”
She shrugged. “Ones that have no use to anyone but me.”
“Not even to our perp?”
Gillian narrowed her eyes. “That’s a pretty big leap.”
“Luring you to a deserted house, then taking your diary—an instruction manual on how to get inside your head—is not a leap.”
“We don’t know this has anything to do with the case.”
Vanished (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 7
