She pulled back finally, her eyes scratchy, her throat raw. Sniffling, she reached to wipe her eyes, but Brad checked the motion.
Ever so gently he eased his thumb over the tears. “I’m so sorry.”
She took a shaky breath. “You didn’t even know me then.”
“I’m sorry I made it impossible for you to tell me when we were married. Gilly, I’d do anything to change that.”
She searched his face, then accepted his embrace, fitting her head against his shoulder in a way that was not only familiar, but right. And the smallest seed of hope blossomed.
TERI WIPED THE KITCHEN counter, erasing the final evidence of a long day with three energetic children. Thank goodness they were all napping, even though that rarely lasted long enough to get the family room completely tidy.
Four-year-old Dallas wandered through the doorway at that moment, rubbing at his eyes.
She didn’t mind that he was awake. Although she wouldn’t admit it to her equally harried friends, Teri missed the little monkeys when they weren’t underfoot. She scooped him up and began tickling his neck with light kisses. He giggled and kicked chubby legs.
“Should we go see if Kevin and Rachel are ready to get up?” she asked, carrying him toward the bedrooms.
Kevin, the other twin, still slept blissfully. Pulling up his small quilt, she decided to let him sleep a bit longer. Quietly humming a tune for Dallas’s benefit, they strolled into Rachel’s room.
Teri scrunched her eyebrows together when she saw that the bed was empty. “Rachel?”
No one answered.
“Is Rachel hiding from us?” she asked Dallas in a conspiratorial tone.
With an indulgent smile, she walked to the louvered closet. “Hmm, I wonder where she could be.” She opened the door, but the closet was empty except for clothes.
Teri looked more carefully around the room, setting Dallas down so she could see properly. Rachel wasn’t in her room. Once awake, she usually played with her dolls, collecting them for their “snack.” But the dolls remained on the window seat.
Assuming Rachel was in the bathroom, Teri checked there next, but still didn’t find her daughter. Frowning she headed down the hallway. Perhaps Rachel had scampered into the family room, hoping to surprise her mother. When she wasn’t there, Teri’s concern became real. Despite her young age, Rachel was a creature of habit. What on earth could have made her vary her routine?
Telling herself not to overreact, Teri quickly looked throughout the house, but couldn’t find Rachel. She dashed into the backyard. Surely, Rachel was out there. She had to be!
But she wasn’t. Fear came cold and fast. Teri searched the side and front yards as well. Stomach roiling, she called the neighbors on each side and across the street, then her husband and Gillian, all the time praying. Dear God, don’t let anything happen to her!
“WE’VE PHONED THE NEIGHBORS we know,” David told Brad. “And they’ve each taken a street. Teri and I have called all her friends.” His face was grim, determined. “I’m going to find Rachel if I have to rip open every door in Houston.”
Brad knew exactly how the other man felt. He laid a hand on David’s shoulder. “We won’t stop until we find her.”
Police filled every room in the house. Uniformed officers, detectives and bureau agents all crowded the once peacefully cozy home.
The crime-scene unit was busy, trying to find any clue to help. Suzanne and Frank Kramer had arrived, as well. Suzanne had taken over the care of young Dallas and Kevin, freeing Teri. The other Kramer siblings were arriving now, too, wanting to be involved in the search.
The responding patrol officers felt the intruder must have found an easy way into the house. Teri insisted that all the doors and windows had been locked. The intense heat and humidity in Houston made it impractical to leave windows open, and Teri’s house was cool from central air-conditioning.
Brad immediately connected the break-in method to the one used in Gillian’s apartment. In and out, leaving no trace.
Search and Rescue had been notified and they had joined the local police and sheriff’s department already looking for Rachel. Copies of the composite from the sketch artist had been distributed. Volunteers were nailing that, along with Rachel’s picture, to anything upright in the area.
Gillian had clung to her sister when they arrived, offering her support, but Brad had seen the agony on Gillian’s face. He knew her well enough to realize she felt at fault.
The Kramer family strength was evident as Teri and David insisted on searching themselves. There were plenty of people to man the house and neither of them wanted to sit by and let others look for their child. Gillian assigned an agent to go with them.
Then she approached Brad, her face haunted.
He pulled her toward a relatively quiet spot. “Gillian, don’t do this to yourself.”
Slowly she shook her head. “But—”
“But nothing. You couldn’t have expected the perp to connect you to Teri.”
“He must have begun watching me the first day I was assigned to the case.”
“He’s smart,” Brad reminded her. “But he’s not smart enough to evade all of us. Do you want to stay here or canvass the blocks around the party and toy store?”
She looked undecided, then a determination he recognized filled her face. “They have enough searchers here. I’ll go with you. Our only real hope is to find his hiding place. I’d like to believe that Rachel will be found playing in someone’s yard, but I can’t take the chance that won’t happen.”
Brad didn’t care if the entire HPD and FBI surrounded them, he pulled Gillian close. She resisted for a moment, then sagged against him.
“We’ll find him, Gilly. And Rachel will be all right.”
THEY HAD SPOKEN TO EVERY shopkeeper for blocks and no one recognized the man in the sketch. But neither Brad nor Gillian was ready to give up. They stood at the last corner of the grid they’d canvassed.
Brad spotted a small grocery store to the north. “The guy has to eat.”
Gillian scanned the streets in the other directions. “Okay.”
The store was a throwback to past times. While slightly larger than a minimart, it lacked the size and inventory of modern grocers. This was clearly a neighborhood shop that catered to a small, familiar clientele. One freezer contained all the frozen food, and a single display showcased all the canned goods. It wasn’t a store that could compete in any fashion other than convenience and familiarity.
A middle-aged man stood behind the sole checkout counter. “Can I help you?”
Gillian and Brad showed him their badges and then the sketch.
“Do you recognize this man?” Gillian asked tensely.
The man raised his eyebrows at her tone, then took the sketch. “Looks like the guy who lives with Mrs. Carstairs.”
Brad tensed as well. “Has he been in lately?”
“Yeah. Mrs. Carstairs usually does most of the shopping, but he said she wasn’t feeling too good.”
“When was this?”
The man scratched his head. “Tuesday. Funny thing, she was in the day before. I remember because she had really crisp, new bills. The ones the guy had the next day were the same.”
“Do you have his address?” Gillian questioned urgently.
“In a manner of speaking. I have Mrs. Carstairs’s address. She runs an account near the end of the month when her social security money is low.” He pulled out a worn cardboard file box, digging through the dog-eared cards. “He ought to be in a good mood when you find him.”
“Why is that?” Brad asked.
“He bought cake, ice cream and punch. Looked like he was getting ready for a party.”
Gillian and Brad looked at each other. The man handed them the card. The address was only a few blocks away.
“Time to call in reinforcements,” Gillian said, punching in the bureau’s number on her phone.
“And I’ll call Maroney to get HPD backup.” Brad p
ulled out his own phone.
Her eyes searched his as the phone rang.
“I can’t worry about my career right now,” he told her.
As soon as backup was summoned, they raced to the car and drove the scant distance to the house. Parking across the street, Brad and Gillian split up to question the neighbors. They couldn’t be sure they had the right man. But if they did, they didn’t want to tip him off, possibly prompting a gun battle that could endanger the children.
It took only a few minutes to learn that Mrs. Carstairs hadn’t been seen in a week and that the neighbors hadn’t been allowed inside to check on her. Her boarder insisted he was caring for the older woman and that she couldn’t be disturbed. The neighbors assumed he had taken off work to do so since his van remained in the driveway.
Van. The choice of abductors.
Gillian and Brad ran toward Mrs. Carstairs’s home. The weatherbeaten house had two stories and a wide porch with sagging steps.
Steps that would creak in warning.
Brad motioned with his head toward the windows. Covered with curtains and a layer of grime, they revealed nothing.
“Mrs. Carstairs is older,” Gillian whispered. “She’d probably rent out the top floor so she wouldn’t have to climb the stairs.”
They both looked upward. There weren’t any room air conditioners in sight. Nor was there a central-air unit on the ground. But no windows were open at the front or sides of the house.
Staying against the exterior wall, they moved to the back of the house. Two windows were propped open.
“I can’t see anything,” Gillian whispered. “Can you?”
“Nope.” Brad studied the layout.
“Do you think we’ve got the right guy?”
“My gut says yes. What about you?”
She nodded. “It all fits.”
Just then a weak but distinguishable cry floated from the window. “Mommy.”
“Front door,” Brad spit out as they pulled their weapons.
“Side,” she said.
As they sprinted to the two entrances, police and FBI cars, sans sirens, sped onto the street.
Gillian pulled at the side door but it didn’t budge. Solid wood, it wasn’t penetrable. Running to the front, she saw that Brad had broken the glass at the top of the curtained front door, reaching in to unlock it.
He turned, meeting her eyes. “You take the downstairs.”
She knew he was trying to protect her. Still. She followed him into the darkened house. Although sunshine lit the day, not much of it penetrated the musty interior.
The living room was empty, as was the kitchen. Gillian looked down a long hall with two doors. Both were closed. She yanked open the first one, finding an empty bathroom. Taking a deep breath, she opened the second. An old woman sat in a rocker, her arms and legs bound, her mouth taped. Seeing the woman’s thin chest rising, Gillian knew she was alive.
Dashing back down the hall, she saw agents, detectives and officers running up the walk. “Cover the side door,” she ordered one officer. Gesturing to a second officer, she pointed toward the bedroom. “And take care of the woman in there.”
She reached the staircase. “Spiers, Campbell, with me.” The rest followed as she ran up the stairs. Three doors stood open. Motioning with her head, she directed the agents to two of the doors. She and Spiers approached the third. But they froze at the doorway of the bizarrely decorated room. Streamers and balloons were strung everywhere. A small table was set with paper plates, cups, elaborate party favors and a cake.
Brad and the perp were squared off, guns aimed. The man’s features were unremarkable. Thin blond hair and sallow skin were equally forgettable. Combined with a soft body and rounded shoulders, he didn’t look very threatening.
Brad’s gun was steady, pointed at the man’s heart. The perp’s gun wavered between Katie Johnson and Rachel.
Spiers spotted Brad. His sudden surprise switched immediately to confidence.
“It’s no longer one on one,” Brad told the perp calmly. “Your odds have gone down. You want to risk it?”
The perp’s gun jerked upward as he looked toward the doorway. Brad’s gun fired at the same instant. The perp looked first at Brad in disbelief, then at the blood that ran down his chest before he staggered and fell.
Gillian stepped into the room as young Katie Johnson flung herself against Brad.
“It’s all right,” he told her gently, holstering his gun, then picking her up. “You’re safe now.” He removed the now-grotesque party hat while patting her back.
Rachel ran to Gillian. Holding her niece tight, Gillian felt her throat work with emotion. Not only was Rachel safe, but Brad had finally been able to reverse the tide. He had rescued the girls, changed the outcome, and she could see from his face that it moved him beyond any words.
Biting her lip, Gillian tucked Rachel’s head against her shoulder. And watched the man she loved.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
BOTH GIRLS WERE TERRIFIED but unharmed. Nine-year-old Katie Johnson had refused to be parted from Brad, calling him the hero he had proved to be. He had taken her home while Gillian returned Rachel to her sister and brother-in-law. Holding her child tight, Teri had wept in gratitude. Then she and David absolved Gillian of the guilt she felt by connecting them to the case.
Mrs. Carstairs was weak and frightened. Hospitalized for observation because of her age, she had an excellent prognosis. Her weak sight and hearing had kept her oblivious to her tenant’s activities. Unable to climb the stairs to the second floor, she hadn’t been a threat. But he had snapped after taking Rachel. A stray comment from Mrs. Carstairs had frightened him into tying her up. She was still shocked by her tenant, Vance Smith’s, actions, having believed him to be such a nice man.
The bureau was running a check on Smith. So far, they hadn’t turned up much. It was as though the man hadn’t existed prior to this crime. Knowing he had to be a blip on someone’s radar, they were digging deeper. The gunshot wound to his chest had been fatal, but before he’d died he’d bragged that he could snatch a child faster than parents could blink. Although weak, he’d seemed determined to gloat about his stalking of Gillian. They’d also recovered her stolen video surveillance cameras in the room where Smith had held the girls.
Sadly they hadn’t learned anything about the ten-year-old in Tyler who had disappeared. But seventeen-year-old Holly Brewster had been located in a Dallas shelter where she was safe, enrolled in job training. After notifying Holly’s mother, Gillian had spoken with the girl, urging her to call home.
Teri and David were still clutching their children closer, and the entire Kramer family continued to celebrate young Rachel’s return. Although the experience had been harrowing, her family’s outpouring of love would heal any emotional wounds.
Gillian had arranged a meeting with her boss to explain Brad’s role in the case. But first she wanted to speak with Captain Maroney. Even though she valued her own job, Gillian felt compelled to clear Brad.
Maroney wasn’t easy to read. Although the man lacked any obvious signs of anger, Gillian guessed they were there. After all, he’d ordered Brad off the case.
She considered a number of ways to approach him, then tossed caution out of the window. “Captain Maroney, I doubt you know this, but I’m Brad’s ex-wife.”
Despite Maroney’s seasoned professional aura, surprise covered his long, thin face.
But she didn’t allow him any time to reflect. “And I know him better than anyone else.”
Maroney regained his taciturn expression. “Then you know I ordered him to stay off this case.”
“Yes,” she answered truthfully, not caring what damage it caused her. Earnestly she leaned forward. “I also know that it isn’t in Brad to ignore the disappearance of a young girl.” Briefly she told him about Amanda. “Now you know about his sister. And you know Brad. Could you expect any less of him?”
The captain watched her carefully. “You’re awfully prot
ective for an ex-wife.”
She acknowledged. “Maybe. But you couldn’t find a better cop than Brad.”
Maroney picked up his coffee, had a leisurely sip. “I know that.”
“Then—”
“He has a future here.” The captain took another drink of his coffee. “Question is, does he have one with you?”
“A HUNCH?” BRAD ASKED HER a few hours later.
“I put together the facts of Tamara’s and Katie’s disappearances and analyzed similar crimes. It helped to add in the party paraphernalia since another crime scene contained the same materials. Probably one of the very few times he slipped up. It’s premature, but I believe there’s a slowly progressing pattern that’s stretched out over the past sixteen years. In fact, it began around the time Amanda vanished.”
“You’re not saying you think this is the same guy who kidnapped Amanda?”
“I can’t honestly say one way or another. But when the computer came up with a grid of the crimes, it’s a nearly perfect circle that extends outward from Houston, then retreats in the same way.”
“Like a bull’s-eye?” Brad asked in disbelief.
“It seems that way. One of the most marked similarities is the lack of physical evidence. The perp or perps were excruciatingly careful, like Vance Smith. I think when he deviated to follow me he couldn’t cope with the changes that caused, which made him uncharacteristically careless. That or he believed after all those years that he was invincible.”
“Makes sense. Any other similarities in the cases?”
“Only two of the bodies have ever been found. Then there’s the time span between crime sprees. There are exactly three years between each one.”
“That would be quite a coincidence.”
“That’s what I thought.” Gillian hesitated. “Did you ever try to link Amanda’s disappearance to any unclaimed Jane Does?”
Vanished (Harlequin Super Romance) Page 15
