The Innocent

by Amanda Stevens

  “What about a license-plate number?” Sam asked hopefully.

  They both shook their heads.

  “Either of you get a look at the driver?”

  Marcus shrugged. “Other than the fact that the guy was a lousy driver, I didn’t pay much attention to him.”

  “Was anyone else in the car?” Abby asked.

  “Didn’t see anyone else.”

  “Not even in the back seat? A child maybe?”

  “Look, I said I didn’t see anyone else, okay?”

  “What about you, Mitchell?” Sam asked softly. “You see anyone else in the car?”

  “Naw.” The boy shook his head. “But I didn’t really look.”

  “Then how can you be certain the driver was male?”

  “He had on a baseball cap,” Marcus said. “And sunglasses. I guess it could have been a chick. But not like Agent Scully here. Her, I would’ve remembered.”

  Abby gave him a cool smile and a card. “You boys think of anything else that might help us out, give me a call at this number.”

  She handed Mitchell a card, too, and he gazed at it for a moment, then stuffed it in his pocket. To Sam he said shyly, “Could I have one of your cards, too?”

  Sam fished a card out of his pocket and handed it to the boy. It had the FBI seal on the front and a number at Quantico. “Cool,” Mitchell said. “I never met an FBI agent before.”

  “Yeah,” Marcus agreed dryly. “It’s been a real thrill.”

  Chapter Four

  “One more stop before we go back to the station,” Abby told Sam as they headed toward downtown.

  “Dinner?” he suggested, taking his eyes off the road long enough to give her a hopeful glance.

  “We can stop at a convenience store and grab a hot dog and some chips if you’re hungry.”

  Sam winced. “I can wait.”

  Abby was hungry, too, but she was used to eating on the run or skipping meals altogether, and her schedule had been even more chaotic since the abductions. There’d been so much to do, so many people to interview, leads, such as they were, to follow, that her appetite had been the least of her worries. The rumbling of her stomach now, however, reminded her that she was human. That she couldn’t function on adrenaline and sheer determination forever.

  But if they stopped for dinner, they’d have to make small talk. They’d have to reveal parts of themselves—no matter how innocuous—to one another as a matter of courtesy. And Abby didn’t want that. She didn’t want to know anything about Sam Burke’s life, and she didn’t want him knowing about hers. She didn’t want to invite an intimacy that seemed to be hovering just beneath the surface with every spoken word, with every glance.

  The attraction she felt for Sam Burke was unwanted, unwelcome and very unwise. She knew better than anyone what such an explosive chemistry could do to one’s scruples and inhibitions. All she had to do was look at her own family.

  “So where to?” he asked, drumming his thumb on the steering wheel.

  “Vickie Wilder’s apartment.” She gave him directions. “You said you wanted to talk to her, right? I figured the sooner, the better.”

  He glanced at her as he signaled for a right turn. “Are you always this…focused?”

  Abby shrugged. “I try to be. Anything wrong with that?”

  “No.” But he hesitated before he said so, making Abby wonder what he was thinking. She couldn’t shake the notion that he disapproved of her for some reason. Because she was a woman? Because she was a local? Because he was attracted to her, too?

  “Look, about what I said earlier, after the interview with Fayetta Gibbons—” he began tentatively, but Abby cut him off.

  “You mean when you accused me of incompetence?” He scowled at the road. “I never said that.”

  “But that was the implication, wasn’t it? That I’d somehow bungled the initial interview?” Abby glared at him then glanced away. It was hard to meet his gaze. Hard to look him in the eye and not give herself away. Hard, even in anger, not to acknowledge in some small way the awareness tingling through her.

  “I was out of line and I apologize,” he said quietly.

  His words left Abby momentarily speechless because they were so unexpected. In a male-dominated environment, apologies were few and far between. “I—don’t need an apology,” she said a bit defensively. “I just want you to realize how hard everyone in my department is working to find those little girls. All we want is to bring them home safely.”

  “That’s what we all want.” He stopped at a traffic light and turned to face her. His gaze was deep and very intense, and Abby couldn’t help but wonder at the shadows in his eyes.

  Be careful of a man with secrets, her grandmother would have cautioned her, but Abby didn’t need the warning. There was no way she would ever get involved with a man like Sam Burke, a man who would be here today and gone tomorrow.

  That mercurial quality in the opposite sex had always been a magnet for the women in her family, but Abby was determined to break the pattern. She wouldn’t travel down the same road to heartbreak that her grandmother, mother and sister had all taken. She had a different set of priorities, but somehow, in the space of a few hours, Sam Burke had managed to threaten those convictions.

  She could feel his curious gaze on her, but Abby turned to stare out the window. If she didn’t look into his eyes, she’d be okay, she decided.

  The light changed, and the car pulled forward. Neither of them said anything else until Abby directed him into the parking lot of a small apartment complex in downtown Eden.

  The entire complex consisted of four units—each containing four apartments, two up and two down—built in a semicircle around a central courtyard that had once featured a three-tiered clay fountain ringed with flower beds. The terra-cotta bowls were dry now and filled with dead leaves and pinecones, and all that remained in the flower beds were a few droopy petunias.

  Abby led the way up the stairs of the second building and knocked on Vickie Wilder’s door. Several moments later, the door opened a crack, and a young woman peeped out.

  “Yes?” When she saw Abby, she drew back the door, her hand flying to her heart. “Sergeant Cross. Oh, my, God. Have you found Emily? And Sara Beth?” She spoke the second name hesitantly, as if she’d momentarily forgotten there’d been another abduction.

  Abby said, “No, I’m afraid we haven’t found either child. This is Special Agent Sam Burke with the FBI. He’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  Vickie Wilder’s gaze flicked from Abby to Sam, then back to Abby. Her hand crept to the neckline of the black T-shirt she wore over jeans. “But…I’ve already spoken with the police on several occasions. I don’t know what else I can tell you.”

  “You may be surprised,” Sam said cryptically. “Things often come to light after the first or second interview. May we come in?” His voice was courteous, but firm, brooking no argument.

  “Of course.” She stepped back to allow them to enter. Abby glanced around as they walked into the small apartment. She’d interviewed Vickie twice after Emily’s disappearance, once at the sheriff’s station and once at school. And after Sara Beth’s disappearance, she and Dave Conyers had conducted a group interview of all the teachers and school personnel in the cafeteria at Fairhaven, going over a list of routine questions. In the one-on-one interviews, Abby had been struck by the young woman’s eagerness to cooperate and by her obvious devotion to her students. She’d barely been able to finish a sentence without tearing up.

  Tonight, however, there was something different about her. She appeared more nervous than distraught, her hands flitting from her lap to her hair, then back again to her lap. She couldn’t seem to remain still, and her gaze kept darting about the room, as if she were worried she’d left a pair of underwear lying in the middle of the floor.

  Or something far more incriminating, Abby thought.

  As Sam began the interview, Abby tried to study the young teacher with a fresh perspective
. Had she been wrong about Vickie? Had the affection for her students been nothing more than an act?

  Abby didn’t think so. She was trained to spot inconsistencies, and unless Vickie was an exceptionally gifted actress, her distress following Emily’s abduction had been genuine.

  But why was she so nervous now?

  Abby watched her carefully during the interview, looking for other telltale signs of agitation. She was a small woman, no more than five-three or five-four, and slightly built. Her hair was cut in a short, boyish style that flattered her gamin features, and her green eyes, behind thick, black-rimmed glasses, looked soft and earnest.

  Abby had learned from her interviews with the parents of some of Vickie’s students that she was a much-beloved teacher. Kind, sweet and very concerned with each child’s welfare. “Even a bit meddlesome at times,” one parent had confided. “But she means well. And the kids adore her.”

  “Both Sara Beth Brodie and Emily Campbell are in your kindergarten class at Fairhaven, is that right?” Sam was asking.

  Vickie nodded. “Yes, that’s right.”

  “Are they friends?”

  “It’s a small class. All the children are friends.”

  “Let me clarify,” he said. “Did they play together at recess? Have sleepovers? Things like that?”

  Vickie hesitated. “They weren’t best friends, if that’s what you mean. They didn’t play together exclusively.”

  “Were they on a sports team together? Soccer, for instance?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Did you ever take the class on field trips or outings of any kind?”

  “Not yet. The school year has barely gotten under way.” She frowned, glancing at Abby. “I don’t understand where all these questions are leading.”

  “I’m trying to establish when and where Emily and Sara Beth may have come into contact with some of the same people, other than at school,” Sam explained.

  Vickie made a helpless gesture with her hand. “They live in a small town. They come into contact with the same people all the time. Everyone does. Besides, shouldn’t you be asking their parents these questions?”

  “Oh, I will,” Sam said. “You can count on that. But in the meantime, I’m sure you want to do everything you can to find both Emily and Sara Beth.”

  The subtle inference that she might desire otherwise took both Abby and Vickie aback. But where Abby managed to keep her expression neutral, Vickie’s face turned quite pale. “I would do anything for those children,” she said passionately, almost angrily. “Anything.”

  Sam nodded. “Good. Then just a few more questions…”

  As he continued, Abby’s gaze traveled over the apartment. The living room was neat and compact, like Vickie herself, but the furnishings were eclectic—contemporary bookcases intermixed with antique tables and fringed lampshades—suggesting a more complex personality.

  On the end table beside Abby were several framed photographs. One was of an older couple who, judging by the resemblance, were Vickie’s parents or grandparents, and another photo had captured a teenage Vickie in the arms of a handsome young man. She and the boy looked to be about sixteen or seventeen in the picture and very much in love. The backdrop was a wooden building with a crescent moon cut out near the roof.

  Something about the picture touched a glimmer of recognition in Abby. A fleeting memory that was gone before it had ever clearly formed. She frowned at the photo—

  “Sergeant Cross? Anything you want to add?”

  She turned to find Sam’s curious gaze on her. “No, I think we’ve taken enough of Miss Wilder’s time this evening.” Abby stood. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  Vickie walked them to the door. “I meant what I said. I would do anything for those children. For any of my students. The thought of someone hurting them—” She broke off, her eyes filling with tears behind her glasses.

  “I understand that you indicated after Emily’s abduction you would be willing to take a polygraph,” Sam said at the door. He turned back to face her. “Are you still willing?”

  She had a tissue to her eyes, and she took a moment to dab away the tears before answering. When she glanced up at Sam, her gaze was still very bright. “Does this mean you consider me a suspect?”

  “Everyone in this town is a suspect, Miss Wilder. Would you still be willing to take a polygraph?” he pressed.

  “Yes,” she said quietly. “But I think it would be in my best interest to consult with an attorney first.”

  “THIS IS THE FIRST TIME she mentioned anything about an attorney,” Abby said as they drove back to the sheriff’s station. The whole interview had left her oddly disturbed. After Emily’s disappearance, Abby had been so certain they could write off Vickie Wilder as a suspect. The woman had been shattered by the abduction.

  But today Abby had seen a different Vickie Wilder. A nervous, reticent woman who’d indicated she might want to consult with a lawyer before further cooperation with the authorities.

  Of course, her anxiety could be attributed to Sam’s presence. Guilty or innocent, it was an unnerving experience being questioned by the FBI. Abby said as much to Sam.

  His response was to ask what kind of car Vickie Wilder drove.

  “Not a white Caprice, if that’s what you’re thinking,” Abby told him. “She owns a five-year-old dark blue Mustang. I saw it myself at Fairhaven.”

  “Any anomalies turn up in her background check?”

  “You mean priors?”

  “I mean anything.”

  Abby shrugged. “Not so far. She grew up in Memphis, got her degree from Memphis State University, and taught for a semester at a public school in Germantown before getting the job at Fairhaven. No record. Not so much as an unpaid parking ticket.”

  “Have you talked to any of her friends or family, the people closest to her?”

  “No. There’s been no reason to regard her as a suspect, other than the obvious fact that she came into contact on a daily basis with both Emily and Sara Beth. But she was one of the teachers assigned to the playground the day Emily disappeared. I interviewed her myself. She was almost incoherent she was so upset.”

  Sam didn’t say anything, but Abby knew what he was thinking. Better cops than she had been fooled before.

  “Look, what is it you think you got from that interview?” she demanded.

  “I don’t know. Something about her—” He broke off, frowning, as if he couldn’t quite put his finger on what he meant. “I don’t think Vickie Wilder is a straight shooter, Abby. I think she’s hiding something.”

  Abby’s heart gave a painful lurch. “About Emily and Sara Beth?”

  He lifted a hand from the steering wheel to massage the back of his neck. “Maybe. Or maybe something else made her jumpy. Maybe it was my presence, as you suggested. But I’ve got a friend who works in the field office in Memphis. I’d like to give him a call, have him ask a few questions in Vickie’s old neighborhood. See what he can turn up.”

  “Sure,” Abby readily agreed. “If you think it’s warranted.”

  They pulled into a parking slot in front of the sheriff’s station, and Sam turned off the engine. The reporters who had been hanging around outside the front entrance that morning had either all gone home for the day or were over at the command post hoping to get a tip from one of the volunteers.

  “So what now?” He rested his arm across the back of the seat. His hand didn’t touch her hair, but it was close.

  Abby’s heart gave a funny little skip, but she managed to shrug. “We get some rest, and then we start all over again tomorrow.”

  Don’t look into his eyes! that little voice warned her.

  She was being ridiculous and she knew it, but even so, she turned to gaze out the window. It was late, twilight, a time of day that always made her feel restless. She would be going home soon to a dark, empty house. To a meal she would prepare and eat alone. To a bed that could be cold and lonely, even in summer.


  Abby had a sudden image of sitting down to eat with Sam Burke. Of lingering at the table over a glass of wine. Of talking long into the night. And then, when both the wine and conversation were spent…

  What kind of lover would he be?

  The question astounded her, and Abby almost jumped at the direction her thoughts had taken. She glanced at Sam nervously. Was he wondering the same thing about her? Was it her imagination, or had he leaned slightly toward her, as if he meant to—

  Oh, no, she thought, her breath catching in her throat. What if he tried to kiss her? How would she rebuke him? Like an offended woman? Like an officer of the law?

  What if she did neither? What if she simply kissed him back?

  No, no, no! her common sense screamed. She’d always made it a point never to mix business with pleasure. She’d promised herself long ago she wouldn’t get involved with another cop. That was a surefire way to kill a promising career, because fair or not, the double standard for men and women still prevailed in law enforcement. A male officer involved in an affair didn’t run the same risk of ruining his reputation and losing the respect of his colleagues as a female officer did. Abby had seen it happen, and she had no intention of taking such a chance. Not with Sam Burke. Not with anyone.

  She opened her mouth to say just that, but then she realized the intensity of his gaze wasn’t because of her. He’d become lost in thought. He wasn’t even seeing her. He’d never had any intention of kissing her.

  Abby felt her face flame at her assumption, at how close she’d come to making a complete and utter fool of herself with Sam Burke.

  Good going, she chided herself as she opened the car door. Nothing like a little humiliation to put a pesky libido back in its cage.

  ABBY DIDN’T GET HOME until almost ten that night. After she and Sam had gotten back to the station and gone their separate ways, she’d put in a few hours with the printouts she’d requested from the state crime center.

  Since Emily’s abduction, Abby had pulled a dozen or so names of possibles from the list of known child molesters and predators in the area, as well as from a list of inmates recently released from prison. As time allowed, she’d been checking out each name that sounded promising, but the results so far had produced no real suspects. Some of the men were back in prison. A couple were dead. Several others had concrete alibis.