by Rita Herron
Maybe it was right that he’d come back to Sanctuary. If he had the opportunity to find closure for even one of the families involved, it was worth it.
Then maybe he could finally find peace and forgive himself for his sister’s death.
NINA’S BABY’S CRY HAUNTED her every day.
Peyton would have been eight years old had she survived, the same age as the children Nina taught at Sanctuary Elementary.
She tried to envision what her daughter would look like now as she watched her students rush to the school bus, squealing and laughing, excited to be out for summer break. Most of the teachers were jumping for joy, as well.
“Freedom at last,” one third-grade teacher said with a laugh.
“Vacation,” another one boasted.
But instead of dreaming about long, lazy days at home or a vacation road trip, tears filled Nina’s eyes.
To her, summer break meant weeks of being without the kids. Long, lonely days and nights of silence. Of no tiny hands reaching out for help, no sweet voices calling her name, no little patter of feet or giggles, no little arms wrapping around her for a big bear hug.
Tortured nights of an empty house and more nightmares of what her life would have been like if her little girl were alive.
For a moment, she allowed herself to dream of taking her daughter to the beach. They’d build sand castles, collect shells, ride bikes. She could almost hear her daughter’s laughter in the wind roaring off the ocean….
The bus driver gave a big honk of its horn, jerking her back to reality. Kids waved and screamed out the window, and the bus roared away. Teachers cheered and waved, laughing and talking about their plans as they dispersed back to their rooms to tidy up for the day.
Nina wrapped her arms around her waist and watched until the last bus disappeared from the school drive, then turned and walked back inside, her chest tight.
She should be over the loss of her daughter, people had told her. “Move on with your life,” her father had insisted. “Let it go,” the ob-gyn had said.
But sometimes at night, she heard her baby’s cries, and she sensed that Peyton was still alive. That she hadn’t died in that fire. That she was out there somewhere, and that she needed her.
Moving on autopilot, she went to her classroom, packed up boxes, wiped down the chalkboard, stripped the bulletin boards and cleaned out her desk.
Finally she couldn’t procrastinate any longer. The empty room was almost as sad and overwhelming as her house. Here she could still see the kids’ cherub faces, hear their chatter and smell their sweet, little bodies.
She stuffed her worn plan book in her favorite tote, one emblazoned with a strawberry on the front and sporting the logo Teachers Are Berry Special, then added a copy of the language arts guide for the new language arts program the county had adopted, threw the tote over her shoulder, flipped off the lights and headed outside.
The late-afternoon sunshine beat down on her as she walked to the parking lot. The sound of engines starting up filled the air, and she noticed a group of teachers gathering for an end-of-the-year celebration.
Celia, her friend from the classroom across the hall from her, looked up and waved as she climbed in her minivan. Celia had invited her to join them, but she’d declined. Celebrating was the last thing on her mind.
Instead she drove to the little bungalow she’d bought in town, picked up the newspaper on the front stoop, then dragged herself inside and poured a glass of sweet iced tea. Hating the silence that engulfed her, she flipped on the television, then glanced at the front page of the paper.
The headlines immediately caught her eye.
Murder of Natalie Cummings and Kidnapping of Her Son Ryan Leads to Answers about the Hospital Explosion and Fire Eight Years Ago.
Nina skimmed the article, her own memories of the explosion taunting her. For years now the town had mourned the lives lost back then. Now they finally had answers.
Police have learned that a meth lab built by local teenagers at the time was the cause of the explosion that killed dozens. Recently Natalie Cummings had overheard students at Sanctuary High discussing a new meth lab nearby, and she was apparently murdered when she connected the current lab to the one eight years ago.
Derrick McKinney, an agent from Guardian Angel Investigations, was instrumental in uncovering the truth about the explosion, the kidnapping and murder connection.
Nina frowned, her heart racing. That night had been horrible. The explosion, the fire, the terrible confusion. The burning bodies.
Her frantic rush to find Peyton…
Her stomach knotted. She’d wondered if her baby might have been confused with another that night, or if she could have been kidnapped in the chaos.
But the investigation had been a mess, and the sheriff had assured her her fears had been unfounded. Even worse, the P.I. she’d hired had been convinced she was just a hysterical mother and had done nothing but take her money.
Still, one question nagged at her. They had never found Peyton’s body.
She glanced at the article again. Guardian Angel Investigations. They specialized in finding missing children.
Her hand shook as she went to the mantel and picked up the photo of her newborn. Peyton had been so tiny Nina had been able to hold her in one hand.
If someone had kidnapped her, how would she have survived?
Still, every night when she crawled into bed, she heard her cries. And every time she closed her eyes, a little angel’s voice sang to her in the night.
Determination and a new wave of hope washed over her as she grabbed her purse. “I’m going to find you, baby.”
If GAI had dug deeply enough to find out who’d caused that fire, maybe they could dig even deeper and find out what had happened to her daughter.
JUST AS THE MEETING was about to disperse, the bell on the downstairs door jangled. Gage gestured for the group to wait while he descended the stairs. A minute later, he returned, escorting a young woman with him.
A beautiful blonde with long wavy hair, enormous blue eyes the color of the sky on a clear North Carolina day, and a slim body with plump breasts that strained against her soft, white blouse.
But nothing about the woman indicated she was aware of her beauty.
Instead, those blue eyes looked wary and were filled with the kind of grief and sadness that indicated she’d lived through a hell of her own.
“This is Nina Nash,” Gage said. “She’s interested in our services.”
Gage gestured for her to sit down, and Slade noticed her body trembling slightly as she slid into a leather chair. Why was she on edge?
Was she intimidated by the agents, or in some kind of trouble?
“How can we help you, Miss Nash?” Gage asked.
She bit down on her lower lip and twisted her hands together, glancing at each of them as if to decide whether to continue.
“Just relax and tell us your story,” Gage said in a soothing tone.
She nodded, then jutted up her little chin, took a deep breath and spoke. “I read about your agency in the paper and saw that you found the people responsible for the hospital fire and explosion eight years ago.”
“Yes,” Gage said. “The police made some arrests.”
“I…lost my baby that night,” Nina said in a pained tone. “At least she went missing.”
A hushed silence fell across the room as everyone contemplated her statement. Finally Gage assumed the lead and spoke. “Why don’t you start from the beginning and tell us what happened.”
She rolled her tiny hands into fists as if to hold herself together. “My baby girl was early, a preemie, and I had to have a C-section,” she said as if she’d repeated this story a thousand times already. Then she rushed on as if she had to spit it out or she’d completely crumble. “I was asleep when the sound of the explosion woke me. Everyone started shouting and screaming, and I smelled smoke so I got out of bed and tried to get to the nursery, to Peyton…” Her voice crac
ked in the deafening silence stretching across the room.
But no one spoke. Her anguish was like a palpable force in the room.
“It was chaos,” she said on a choked breath. “Everyone was screaming, desperate to escape. Patients were struggling and needing help, and an orderly told me to go to the stairwell, but I couldn’t leave my baby so I pushed him away.”
She hesitated and drew a shaky breath. “Smoke filled the halls, but I ran toward the corridor leading to the neonatal intensive care unit, but it was on fire, and I couldn’t get past, so I tried the other way, then the ceiling crashed and debris was falling and I was hit…”
She swiped at a tear that trickled down her cheek, and Slade sucked in a sharp breath. Others shifted restlessly.
“I fell and was bleeding and a fireman carried me outside, but I wouldn’t let them treat me. I ran through the crowd searching for my baby. I found two nurses holding infants, but none of them was Peyton…” A shudder ripped through her body. “Then the building crashed down in flames.”
Slade knew the answer, but he asked the question anyway. “Did they find your baby’s body?”
She shook her head no. “The scene was a mess. It took hours for the firefighters to control the blaze. Later the police said my baby must have died when the building crashed, that it would probably take months for the medical examiner to sort through the bodies.” Her mouth tightened, then she looked up with steely determination in her eyes. “They never found her. And I know she didn’t die that night.” She pressed her hand to her chest. “I know it in my heart, and I want you to look for her.”
“Nina,” Gage said quietly. “I understand your grief, but if Peyton had lived, don’t you think the hospital would have informed you?”
“I don’t know,” she said in a quivering voice. “It was so chaotic that night, someone could kidnapped her, or she could have gotten switched with another baby.”
Caleb Walker cleared his throat. “You had a breakdown afterward, didn’t you, Nina?” His tone was low, not accusatory but understanding. “And you saw a woman who claimed to be a medium. You tried to communicate with your little girl, but it didn’t work.”
She clenched her jaw. “Yes,” she admitted. “But I’m not crazy. I’m not. I can hear her cries sometimes at night. I’m her mother, I have instincts. We bonded.” Another tear escaped but she didn’t bother to wipe it away this time.
Slade gripped the arm of the chair to keep himself from going to her and wiping it away.
“Peyton would be eight years old now,” she said, her voice growing stronger with conviction. “I know she’s out there and she needs me.”
Skeptical looks passed quietly around the room. Nina obviously noticed because she stood, anger sizzling in her eyes.
For some reason he didn’t understand, Slade couldn’t let her leave. Not yet. “You hired a P.I. before?”
She nodded and hissed in frustration—or rage. “But he didn’t believe me. He just took my money, then told me I was stupid to keep searching.” Her voice rose another decibel. “But how can I not look for my little girl when I think she might be alive? It would be as if I abandoned her.”
Slade gritted his teeth. Plenty of mothers did just that.
She jammed her hands on her hips. “Everyone thought that fire was an accident, and GAI proved it wasn’t. Why can’t you believe that my baby might be alive, that someone might have taken her that night? Why can’t you at least just look into it?”
Because they all knew the infant had probably died in the fire, Slade thought. But he refrained from saying it, and so did the others.
“With all the revelations you’ve uncovered about that fire, about people in the town covering up the reason for the explosion,” Nina continued, pressing, “maybe someone knows something about my baby.”
Slade considered the possibility. The town had kept its secrets and people had suffered for it.
He’d also seen and heard bizarre stories before, knew that people could be devious. Gage had indicated that there might be more locals who’d known the truth about that night but hadn’t come forward. That there might have been more people involved.
Nina’s theory that someone could have kidnapped her baby in the chaos actually sounded feasible. If there was a chance that she was right and her child was alive, how could they not investigate?
Chapter Two
Nina recognized the skepticism in the room, and frustration welled inside her. She’d been a fool to come here, to hope that someone would finally listen to her.
That they would open a case that had been closed for nearly a decade—actually a case that had never been opened.
Even her own father thought she’d lost her mind and that she should let it go.
It was the reason she hadn’t spoken to him in months.
She glanced at the only female in the room, hoping she’d at least piqued her interest enough to take on the investigation, but pity darkened her eyes and she made no offer.
Irritated at them all, and with herself for thinking she might have found an ally in this group, she gritted her teeth. “Fine, if you won’t help me, I’ll ask around again myself.” Although she knew that would lead her nowhere. Most of the people she’d talked to knew her story and thought she should get psychological help, not a detective.
She had just reached the doorway when one of the men said, “I’ll take the case.”
Uncertain that she’d heard him correctly, she froze and slowly turned around. The intense man who’d sat next to Gage McDermont stood. “My name is Slade Blackburn, Miss Nash. I’ll look into your child’s disappearance.”
Nina blinked in stunned shock. Of all the men at the table, he’d acted the coldest, looked the hardest. He was tall and big, his broad shoulders stretching the confines of his black button-up shirt. Jeans hugged his thighs, thighs that looked like tree trunks compared to her own.
Her gaze fell to the scar down the left side of his cheek, a knife wound that had to have been done fairly recently. Tousled brownish-black hair fell across one eye, and he swept it back with his hand. A hand also scarred with a jagged cut.
This man looked intimidating, impressive, like a fighter.
“Slade,” Gage began, but the man cut him off with a dismissive gesture that seemed to surprise his boss.
“You don’t have another case you need me on right now, do you, boss?”
“No,” Gage said. “But you just returned from one. I figured you might want some time off.”
“No,” Slade said in a deep take-charge tone. “I came here to work. I like to stay busy.”
The woman spoke up next. “We’ll help any way you need us.”
A chorus of agreements and nods followed, and Nina finally released the breath she’d been holding. “Thank you.”
Slade didn’t acknowledge her thanks. Instead, he gestured toward the door. “I’d like to talk to you in private, ask you some more questions.”
Nina’s chest tightened. Searching for Peyton would mean opening old wounds, but she had to suck up her pride.
She’d do anything to find her daughter.
SLADE ESCORTED NINA to his office and gestured for her to sit. “Would you like coffee or some water?”
Her delicate body collapsed into the chair as if she were too weary to stand any longer, and the temptation to comfort her hit him.
But that would be a mistake.
“Water, please,” she said in a low voice.
He disappeared for a moment, went to the kitchen then returned with coffee for himself and a bottle of water for her. By the time he walked in, she’d straightened her shoulders as if regaining control and bracing for an interrogation.
His suspicions mounted. What was she hiding?
“All right,” she said. “What did you want to ask me?”
He offered a small smile as he settled at his desk, hoping to relax her, but she clenched the water bottle in a death grip.
“I need some background in
formation,” he said, then reached for a legal pad and pen. “Tell me the date of your daughter’s birth. And her name.”
“I named her Peyton,” she said, then gave him the date and time of her birth. The realization that she’d counted the birthdays since made compassion twitch at his veneer.
“You said she was in the NICU?”
“Yes, she was premature,” Nina said. “A seven-month baby. She had trouble breathing at first, and weighed a little over four pounds.”
His gaze shot to hers. “Any other problems?”
“She was only a day old. The doctors planned to run more tests… They thought she might have had vision problems…”
Slade swallowed. If someone had kidnapped this preemie, and she had had health issues, she might not have survived afterward. He needed to check old police reports to see if any premature infants had been abandoned around that time.
Or if any infants’ bodies had been found.
Damn. The thought made his own stomach roil. He couldn’t imagine the torture this woman had suffered. The fear, the horror stories of other abandoned babies she’d heard about on the news, the not knowing or thinking that each time an infant’s body had been discovered that it might be hers…
Forcing his mind back to his job, he glanced at her ring finger, but it was bare. No tan line where a wedding ring might have been either.
“Who was the baby’s father, and is he still in the picture?”
She glanced down at her hands. “His name was William Hood. He was nineteen, and I was eighteen at the time. And no, he’s not in the picture.”
“Tell me what happened between you.”
Her gaze flew to his, anxiety lining her face. “Is it really necessary for me to go into this?”
Slade leaned forward, his arms on the desk, his expression neutral. “I know this is difficult, but you came to me for help, Nina. If you want me to investigate, I need to know everything about that time in your life.” He swallowed. “And I mean everything. So don’t hold back or lie to me or I’m off the case.”
