Fifty yards or so from the back of the house, a row of falling down buildings—chicken coops, an old outhouse, a tool shed—marked the perimeter of the woods. They each took a building to search, joking about which one would get the outhouse.
Behind the tool shed, a path led back into the woods. Abby started down it, glancing back to make sure the buildings and the deputies were still in her sight. The sun was fully up and hot, but the trees dappled the light. Humidity thickened the air, and she could feel perspiration running down her back. The mosquitoes were out, too. She wished she’d taken the time to use a repellent, but it was too late to worry about that now.
The path narrowed, and for a moment, Abby thought it simply disappeared into the woods. She started to turn back, but then through a thicket of honeysuckle and bramble, she glimpsed the weathered wood of another shed. She glanced back. She could no longer see the outbuildings behind the house, but she could still hear the deputies.
The structure had been a smokehouse, by the looks of it, a place where bacon and ham had once been cured. But she had no idea what it had been used for last, and for a moment, the image of all those writhing snakes made her feel queasy in the heat, but she shoved the discomfort aside and continued toward the structure. Ray Dean Hatcher and his snakes were a long way from here, and she hoped neither his brother nor his cousin shared the same pastime.
Slipping her gun from her shoulder holster, she flicked off the safety. That was better, she decided. The gun in her hand was like an old friend, and she was suddenly thankful for all the hours she’d put in at the firing range.
Abby moved slowly through the briar that tore at her clothing. Perspiration ran down the side of her face, and she used her shoulder to wipe it away.
In the distance she could hear the deputies continuing their search. The only other noise was a faint breeze that whispered through the trees. Abby didn’t know why, but she was suddenly scared, and not of snakes. She was afraid that someone would be waiting for her inside that shed. Afraid that no one would be there. Afraid that the hair clip she’d found in the house belonged to Sara Beth. Afraid that it didn’t. Afraid that even with the discovery of Luanne Plimpton’s body, Bobby Lee Hatcher was going to turn out to be another false lead. And that when all was said and done, they would still be no closer to finding Sara Beth or Emily.
There was a window in the shed, but it was too high for Abby to see through it. Moving as quietly as she could, she rounded the corner to the front of the building. The door sagged on its hinges and was held shut by a wooden latch that swiveled on a nail. The latch had been turned upward, but the door didn’t hang open. It remained closed, as if someone were holding it from inside.
Abby’s heart started to pound. She gripped her gun. “Police!” she yelled. “Come out with your hands up!”
No sound but the ruffle of leaves in the wind. Then behind her, she heard someone yell.
Abby called over her shoulder, “Down here! There’s a path—”
The door of the shed shot open and a man rushed out, striking Abby with the full force of his weight. She fell backward to the ground, the breath knocked out of her. The gun flew out of her hand.
Abby had only a brief impression of the man as she rolled over. Gasping for air, she reached frantically for her gun. Whoever he was, he was big. Tall. Muscular. Dark hair. He fit the description they had of Bobby Lee Hatcher.
Bobby Lee Hatcher, who’d been in prison for aggravated assault and kidnapping….
Bobby Lee Hatcher, who might have killed his own wife….
Who might have kidnapped Sara Beth and Emily…
The heel of his work boot came down hard on Abby’s wrist. She screamed in pain as she tried to roll away. He flung himself on top of her, and his knee crushed her wounded wrist. He pinned her other arm beneath her, trapping her. She could smell sweat, sour and nauseating, as he reached for her gun.
A wave of blackness washed through Abby, but she fought the dizziness. Tried to block out the pain. The worst thing she could do was panic.
She tried to remember her training, but even apart from the man’s size, the odds were against her. He now had her weapon.
“I won’t go back,” he rasped. His breath was hot and fetid against her face. He had a tattoo, a huge, fanged snake, that wrapped around his neck. It seemed to move as his veins bulged in agitation. “You hear me? I’m not going back!”
Their gazes met as he lifted the gun. His finger squeezed the trigger. Abby heard the shot, but for a moment, nothing seemed to register. Then she saw the bloom of red on his chest a second before he fell backward.
Ignoring the pain in her wrist, Abby struggled from underneath him. Footsteps came out of the brambles toward her. She looked up. Curtis Brodie stood over her, .38 Special pointed down at her. Then he took aim at Bobby Lee Hatcher, who was lying prone in the dirt.
“No!” Abby screamed. “Don’t! He may be the only one who can tell us where your daughter is!”
For a split second, Curtis hesitated, then he tossed his gun to the ground and spat. “I hope the son of a bitch rots in hell.” He turned and started back toward the house.
ABBY LAY ON HER BACK in the emergency-room cubicle and stared at the ceiling as she waited for the doctor who’d set her broken wrist to sign her release papers. She’d been here for hours it seemed, and the inaction was driving her crazy. She hated not being down at the station where all hell was breaking loose.
Luanne Plimpton was dead. Bobby Lee Hatcher was dead. The two people who, it now appeared, had kidnapped Sara Beth would never be able to give up the whereabouts of their tiny victim.
Abby squeezed her eyes closed. She couldn’t help feeling partly responsible. If she hadn’t let Bobby Lee surprise her like that, and if she hadn’t lost her gun, she might have been able to prevent Curtis from shooting him.
Curtis Brodie’s sudden appearance on the scene was still under investigation. He hadn’t been charged, and, given the circumstances, the fact that he’d saved Abby’s life, it was doubtful that he would be.
He’d provided a statement without hesitation and without benefit of counsel. He swore that he’d driven out to that house thinking Sara Beth was there. Thinking he might be able to save his daughter. Who could blame him for that? When he saw Hatcher with Abby’s gun, he’d reacted without thinking. He saw the man he thought was his daughter’s kidnapper trying to kill a law-enforcement officer, and his instincts had taken over.
Abby was hard pressed to believe that Curtis’s motive had been that heroic. She still wasn’t convinced that he’d shot Bobby Lee in order to save her.
Then why? Out of revenge?
She heard voices outside her room, and she hoped it was the doctor with her release papers. When Sam walked in, her breath left her in a painful rush.
Their gazes met, and Abby felt tears sting her eyes unexpectedly. Which was crazy. No reason for Sam’s presence to make her so misty. No reason that she should be almost pathetically glad to see him.
He crossed the room to her bed. “Hey.”
She gave him a weak smile. “Hey.”
“How do you feel?”
She held up her cast. “Doctor says I’ll be good as new in six weeks.” But they both knew a broken wrist could have dire consequences for a police officer. If the bone didn’t heal properly, it could affect her ability to shoot a weapon accurately. Abby didn’t want to think about that now. She didn’t know what she’d do if she couldn’t be a cop.
“Did you just come from the station?” she asked him.
“Yeah. The place is crawling with reporters.” Abby had expected that. She stared at the ceiling. “I can’t help feeling responsible for all this. If I hadn’t let Hatcher get the jump on me—”
“Don’t beat yourself up over this,” Sam said. “You were doing your job. You can’t go back and change what happened.”
“I know that.” The tears threatened again, and Abby struggled to blink them away. “But if I hadn’t lost
my weapon…if I’d been quicker to react…if I’d seen Curtis coming…” She trailed off. “Luanne’s dead. Hatcher’s dead. What if they hid Sara Beth or Emily away someplace where we’ll never find them? What if—” She broke off again, unable to put into words the horror that was running through her mind. Those tiny little girls alone somewhere. Frightened. Hungry. Maybe hurt. If they didn’t find them soon—
Sam took her hand. “We’ll find them, Abby.”
“I want to believe that,” she said softly. “I’ve thought all along that if I just put in enough hours, if I just gave it all I had, I’d be able to find them in time. But now I’m not so sure. Now I’m thinking, what if those children are lost forever because of something I did or didn’t do?”
Sam sat down on the edge of the bed, and before Abby could protest, he pulled her into his arms and held her tightly.
And for the first time in a very long time, Abby wanted to put her faith in someone else. Wanted to believe that something good could come from all this, that maybe, just maybe, Sam was meant to come into her life. And that she was meant to fall in love with him.
If she would only let herself.
Chapter Fifteen
Abby protested all the way home from the hospital. She wanted to go back to the station, but Sam was adamant. “You’re in no shape to go back to work today. A wounded cop is a danger to himself—or herself—and others.”
“It’s just a broken wrist.” But he was right, and besides, her wrist was throbbing. Abby refused to take another painkiller, though, because she didn’t like losing control of her faculties.
Naomi’s car was parked in the drive when Sam pulled up, and Abby let out a long sigh. “Oh, boy. Looks like the general’s here.”
Sam gave her a skeptical look. “Who?”
“My sister.” Abby reached for the door handle, forgetting about her hand. She knocked the cast against the arm rest and winced. “Damn.”
“Here, just wait a minute. I’ll come around and open the door.”
“That’s ridiculous. I can do it myself.”
But before Abby could manage with her left hand, Sam reached across her and opened the door. For a second, their mouths were only inches apart, and Abby was bombarded with memories of how he had kissed her last night. Everywhere.
Their gazes clung for the longest time, and Abby wondered if he was going to kiss her again. She leaned toward him slightly, issuing an unmistakable invitation, but just then, the front door of the house flew open and Naomi came out on the porch. She waved to them anxiously.
“Thank God, you’re all right! I’ve been worried sick ever since Dave called!”
Abby and Sam climbed out of the car and started toward the porch. “Dave Conyers called you?” Abby asked in surprise. That didn’t sound much like Dave.
“He said you were going to be all right, but I wanted to see for myself.” Naomi opened the screen and stepped back for them to enter. A tantalizing aroma drifted out from the kitchen.
Abby sniffed appreciatively. “You’ve been cooking.”
“I didn’t know what else to do.” Naomi dried her hands on her apron. She glanced at Sam expectantly. “By the way, I’m Abby’s sister.”
Sam actually seemed speechless for a moment as he gazed at Naomi. He wore the same awestruck look on his face that Abby had seen on every other male who had come into contact with Naomi since she’d hit puberty.
She was beautiful without even trying to be. Her short, sleek hairstyle made her brown eyes look even larger and warmer and complemented a peaches-and-cream complexion that almost looked air-brushed. She was tall, slender, and even when she was wearing blue jeans and a simple cotton shirt the word elegant immediately came to mind.
Sam caught himself and thrust out his hand. “Sam Burke.”
Naomi’s brows rose. “The profiler? I’ve heard about you.”
“That worries me a little,” he murmured, shooting Abby a glance.
“Naomi helped found the Missing Children’s Network,” she told him. “She’s also helped to organize the volunteers down at the command post.”
Sam looked impressed. “I’ve heard of your organization. You do good work.”
Naomi smiled. “Thanks.” She turned to Abby and took her arm. “Let’s get you off your feet, young lady.”
Abby held up her cast. “My wrist is hurt, not my feet.”
“Don’t argue.” Naomi settled Abby on the sofa and bustled around plumping pillows and fetching a footstool. “There. Comfy?” When Abby nodded wryly, Naomi glanced at Sam. “I’ve cooked enough food to feed an army. You’ll stay and eat with us, won’t you, Sam?”
He glanced at Abby, raising his eyebrows slightly.
She shrugged. “You’re welcome to stay. Naomi’s a great cook.”
“Unlike some folks we know.” Naomi tweaked Abby’s cheek.
Sam said, “I’d love that, but if you’ll excuse me, I need to make a phone call first.”
After he’d disappeared through the front door, Naomi went to the window to peek out. “So what gives?”
“About what?” Abby asked innocently.
Naomi gave her a sharp glance. “Don’t be dense. About you and Sam Burke.”
“Nothing gives,” Abby lied. “We’re working together on a case, that’s all.”
Naomi came back to sit beside her on the sofa. “It’s more than that. I saw the way he looked at you. That man’s crazy about you, Abby.”
Dave Conyers had said something to that effect last night, but Naomi’s words still shocked Abby. “Don’t be ridiculous. He barely knows me.”
“He knows you well enough, I’d say.” Naomi hesitated, frowning. “Are you sleeping with him, Abby?”
“Naomi!”
“Well, are you?”
“Lord, why don’t you just make sure the whole neighborhood hears you?” Abby grumbled. “Much less Sam.”
Naomi looked worried. “I’m your big sister. I have a right to know these things.”
“No, you don’t.”
“Okay, so I don’t have a right. But I can be concerned about you, can’t I? He’s a lot older than you, Abby.”
“What difference does that make?” She was tired of hearing that argument—first from Sam, and now from her sister. “Besides, there’s nothing serious going on between Sam Burke and me anyway.”
“But there could be, if you’d let it.”
Abby sighed. “You’re such a romantic. Look, it wouldn’t matter even if we were serious about each other. Which we aren’t. Nothing could come of it. He lives in Virginia. I live in Mississippi. He has his life, I have mine. It wouldn’t work out.”
“Sounds like you’ve thought about it, though.” Again Naomi hesitated. “I can see why. There is something about him,” she murmured.
Naomi had noticed it, too. That indefinable quality that made Sam Burke dark and mysterious and pretty much irresistible.
Abby felt a little prickle of jealousy. Naomi was so beautiful and so smart and so sweet. And Abby was just…Abby. No reason for Sam to think of her as anything special. No reason for him to remember her, when he got back home, as anything but a pleasant interlude on one hot summer night.
No reason for Abby to think, suddenly, about the time when Sam would no longer be in her life.
SAM PUT AWAY his cell phone as he came back inside. He turned toward her, his expression tense. “I’m sorry, Abby, but I can’t stay for dinner after all. I really need to be with Karen right now.”
“I understand.” And she did, even though she couldn’t help feeling disappointed. She’d wanted to have dinner with him, maybe linger over a glass of wine. And then after Naomi went home…
Something flickered for just an instant in Sam’s eyes, an emotion Abby couldn’t quite define. Then he said grimly, “Karen and Curtis have been at it again, this time over whether to pay the ransom. Curtis claims he can’t come up with the money by tomorrow. He’s insisting Karen somehow work it out with the bank.”
> “There may not be a need for ransom money. If Luanne and Bobby Lee were responsible for Sara Beth’s kidnapping, then there won’t be another ransom demand.”
Sam’s mouth tightened almost imperceptibly. “I realize that. Abby—” he put his hands on her shoulders “—there’s something I need to talk to you about.”
“I’m listening.”
“No, not now. I really do have to go. But later…if it’s not too late…” He trailed off, bending swiftly to kiss her on the lips before he turned and left the house.
Abby was so dazed by the kiss that it took several moments for his final words to sink in.
…if it’s not too late…
Too late for what?
ABBY TOUCHED very little of the food Naomi had prepared, and was sorry after she’d gone to so much trouble. But her sister had merely shrugged, put everything into plastic containers and stored it in the fridge, remarking that at least Abby would have something decent to eat for a few days.
After Naomi had cleaned up the kitchen, which made Abby feel even worse, she’d left, making Abby promise to take care of herself. “Don’t even think about going in to the station,” she’d warned.
Abby couldn’t have even if she’d wanted to. She couldn’t drive with her right hand out of commission, let alone handle a gun.
Her wrist still throbbed, but Abby resisted the pain pills. She lay on the couch and studied the ceiling, trying to ignore the ache.
After a while, a car pulled up in her drive, but she didn’t bother getting up. It was probably Naomi coming back to check on her. Or scold her for something.
“Abby?”
Half asleep, she recognized Dave Conyer’s voice calling to her through the door, and Abby swung her legs over the side of the couch and got up to let him in.
“What are you doing here?” she asked in surprise.
Dave opened the screen door and stepped inside, wearing jeans and a casual shirt. He didn’t bother hiding his shoulder holster and weapon under a jacket.
“I just came by to make sure you’re all right.”
The Innocent Page 18
