Wow, and see how that’s turned out, she thought. She ought to hate Detective Seth Chandler for what he’d done to her.
Brooding over that, she crossed the lobby and almost pushed open the glass door before he stopped her.
“Let me go first, Bailey.”
Goose bumps prickled her skin. God. What if she’d carelessly stepped out only to be mobbed again? She blinked a couple of times, fast, as if flashbulbs were exploding in front of her.
“All right,” he said. “Let’s go.”
They made it without incident to her car. She slung her bag in and got behind the wheel, Seth standing in the open door. “Watch out that you’re not being followed,” he instructed her. “If you think you are, take a few turns to see if the vehicle behind stays with you. If you can’t shake someone, come back here or call me. Don’t drive to the cabin. Okay?”
She gripped the wheel to hide the fact that her hands were shaking. “Got it.”
“What if I bring dinner out there tonight?”
The depth of her longing rattled her as much as the idea of pursuers. It made her shake her head hard. “You’ve done a lot, Seth. You don’t have to feel responsible for me 24/7. It’s Saturday night. You must have a life.”
The silence had her finally turning her head to look at him. The muscles in his jaw were bunched, and he stared at her. Then whatever it was she was seeing on his face disappeared.
“Not as much as you’d think,” he said, tone unrevealing. “Enjoy an evening on your own, Bailey.” He nodded, stepped back and closed the door.
She found herself looking at his back as he strode across the parking lot. She was aware, however, that he didn’t go in until she’d turned onto the street so that he lost sight of her anyway.
CHAPTER SEVEN
SETH POPPED THE top of a can of beer the minute he walked in his door at almost six. He was hungry and should have stopped to get something on the way home. He sure wasn’t in the mood to cook.
You must have a life.
He scowled. Of course he did. He was perfectly happy with his life, and don’t let anyone try to say differently. Kemper, for example; he was good at mocking. It had taken Seth a while to figure out that it was a form of self-defense for Ben: hold up a mirror so whoever was getting too close had to look at himself instead. Seth didn’t usually let it bother him, but right now...
Right now, what? he asked himself, and didn’t have a ready answer. All he knew was that Bailey had knocked him off balance today, with her “Thank you for helping, but I don’t need you anymore” dismissal.
He turned on the Mariners game, but was too restless to sit and watch. He finished the beer and went to the kitchen for another, not caring when a burst of excitement from his television suggested some pivotal action.
Maybe he needed to take a couple of days and head into the back country, remind himself why he’d sought a job in this rural county backed by the Cascade Mountains instead of with a more respected urban police force. Rivers were too low for rafting, and he didn’t feel ambitious enough to aim for a climb, but backpacking...that sounded good.
Except it didn’t. It sounded lonely.
He wondered whether Bailey had ever done anything like that. Stupid damn thing to wonder. Of course she hadn’t. When would she have? Unless she’d had a boyfriend along the way who’d taken her up into the Sierra Nevadas. He had no idea what her life had been like since she “aged out” of her foster home. It hadn’t included college, obviously, until she’d made the decision to go back when she was— He had to think. She was twenty-nine now, and said she would be a senior this year, so she’d started as a freshman when she was twenty-six. Assuming she’d gone full-time, of course, which he didn’t know for a fact.
In the act of opening a second beer, he went still. He wanted to know everything about her, which wasn’t a good sign.
Truth was, he told himself, he didn’t know her. He’d been fascinated by her ever since he’d set eyes on the age-progressed drawing. He’d go so far as to say it had haunted him. But what did that have to do with Bailey in the flesh? Not much. No more than did the photos Karen had pressed on him of Hope as a baby, a toddler, a kindergartner. That child had been innocent, hopeful, secure. Bailey wasn’t any of those things. Never would be.
Except secure. The time could come when she’d feel safe, at least. Physically and emotionally both. A good start would be accepting the parents who had never stopped loving her, held on to faith that someday they would find her. She was resisting believing that, he knew, and yet a seed of longing must be inside her or she wouldn’t have made the trip up here to find out about her past.
Seth wondered what kind of relationships she’d had with men. Maybe she didn’t want anything to do with them, given what she’d experienced. That would make sense. Except he didn’t believe it. She felt the same spark he did. He’d caught her a few times looking at him with a kind of hunger he understood. As if she was fascinated, too. Unwillingly, maybe, but he could work with what was there.
Sure, to accomplish what?
He dropped into his recliner, tipped his head back and groaned. Bailey didn’t need a hot fling with the cop she depended on to guide her through the troubles she faced. She needed something he didn’t see how he could give her. Their lives were too far apart.
So get it out of your head, he ordered himself, but knew it wasn’t going to be that easy.
His phone rang and he felt an unfamiliar burst of hope. There was his favorite word these days. But the caller was his mother, not Bailey. Having always felt her sadness, he’d never been a rebellious kid. As long as he could remember, his goal had been to protect her from more hurt. An impulse to dodge her call wasn’t usual for him.
Ignoring it, he answered. “Hey, Mom.”
* * *
IF SHE WENT to town tomorrow, it could be a repeat of today, Bailey thought, but she couldn’t hide out here forever. The view from the cabin porch was pretty, and she’d relaxed for the first time in days this afternoon when she picked her way among the rocks to a place where the river ran deep enough she could dangle her legs in and feel the tug of the current—until her feet went numb, that was.
The day’s heat lingered in the cabin, making the air stuffy. Since she hadn’t seen a mosquito yet, she opened the door wide and also wrenched open a couple of windows in hopes of creating some airflow, then took her salad outside. She sat on the porch with her feet on the first step. From here, as she ate she could see the river and the dark, forested bulk of the ridge beyond. One strip looked as if the trees had been clear-cut, which made sense, given that logging was still a big industry in northwestern Washington, except she couldn’t imagine how anyone had done it on such a steep hillside.
Bailey pondered that for a few minutes before reverting to the decisions she had to make.
Logically, what she ought to do was go stay with Karen and Kirk. She could get to know her parents. She could make them happy.
She could not see Seth Chandler, which would mean she didn’t have to deal with her worrisome feelings about him. Or, if he came by at all, she’d be insulated from him, in a way, there in the bosom of her family.
A shudder rolled through her as if the ground was moving. She looked down to see that goose bumps stood out on her bare arms. It was that pink bedroom she saw in her mind’s eye. Going back to being the little girl who had loved it...no. She couldn’t do it. Couldn’t.
If they’d let her sleep in Eve’s room... But what excuse could she give? Wouldn’t that seem weird?
It was weird. Not even for herself could she put into words why she felt such horror at the idea of so much as setting foot into her childhood bedroom. Nothing bad had happened there. It didn’t make sense!
I’m not her. I can’t be her.
Not her first freak-out of the day. There’d been that moment when she’d thought she remembered her father’s laugh. His voice lending appropriate gloom to Eeyore, too. Of course, neither was really a memory.
She knew that.
Having finished her salad, she set the bowl aside. The sound of an approaching car made her stiffen momentarily, until it passed without ever slowing at the head of the driveway.
So. She needed a plan. She couldn’t hang around here forever. She hadn’t intended to stay more than a few days. Thank goodness she wasn’t having to spend money on a hotel, given that she was still paying the rent on her apartment. Tuition for fall semester would be due soon. As usual, that would wipe her out. What she should be doing right now was working and adding to her stash.
Waitress jobs weren’t hard to get, but she sort of suspected the manager of the Denny’s here in town wouldn’t be thrilled when the press descended on the restaurant to follow the new waitress around while shouting questions like, Did he sexually molest you?
Chilled, she wrapped her arms around herself. It took her a minute to push her demons back down where they belonged and slam the lid on them.
Plan. Number one: let an FBI agent interview her. Another new life experience. Number two: spend some time with Kirk.
For whatever reason, that made knots form in her stomach. It was as if...she didn’t know. He didn’t scare her, she knew that. It was more as if she’d clung to the memory of him longer. Had she believed with all her heart that her daddy would rescue her? When he didn’t, the disillusionment would have been severe.
You were a daddy’s girl.
And yet, something in her shied from the idea of spending time with him alone. What she would do was call Karen and invite herself to dinner tomorrow night. She could even suggest they ask if Eve could be there, too. Like her or not, she was part of the family.
Unsettling thought. My family.
Number three: tomorrow she’d drive to Mount Vernon or Burlington—she’d seen an ad for an outlet mall there—and do some shopping. How hard could it be to disguise herself enough that she wasn’t immediately recognizable? Makeup, maybe a baseball cap, dark glasses. That would be a start.
* * *
IT WASN’T AS if he didn’t have other investigations, but Seth justified beginning the hunt for Bailey’s abductor immediately by telling himself he should take advantage of her presence in Stimson. Asking follow-up questions would be considerably easier.
A sergeant in Walla Walla was glad to look up information on the murder Bailey remembered, but the police report contained no mention of anyone registered at the motel who’d done a bunk. In fact, investigators probably hadn’t done more than talk to people in the rooms to each side. Turned out, there’d been no mystery about who the killer was; a drunken fight had escalated, and the guy had been arrested on the spot. Unfortunately, the motel had been condemned twelve years before and demolished shortly thereafter. The very cooperative sergeant, who had seen the press conference about Hope Lawson being brought home, promised to try to find out if the former owner of the motel was still around and had kept records, but was frank that chances were slim to none.
What would confirmation that Hamby had checked in under that name tell him, anyway? That had been a lot of years ago.
He’d fought the desire to call Bailey all day, only the memory of how firmly she’d sent him on his way stopping him. But, damn it—he wanted to know what she was doing. Who she was doing it with. He hated the idea she might be stuck alone at the cabin, afraid now to venture out.
He was frowning at his computer when the answer to one of his queries popped up and adrenaline had Seth sitting up straight. Les Hamby had been ticketed once in the state of Oregon for driving with an expired license—and he’d been arrested once for trespassing in an elementary school in La Grande. He’d paid the fine for the ticket, and the arrest never came to trial. But that arrest had happened thirteen years ago—ten years and two months after he’d ditched Hope Lawson because her body was developing into a woman’s.
The math was simple and had Seth swearing aloud. Hamby had kept Hope for five years. If that was usual for him, he could have had two other little girls in those intervening years. And, although he’d failed to grab his target the day he intruded on school grounds, he’d sure as hell found another girl not long thereafter. Odds were he’d cut his losses and left La Grande—the arrest would have been a red cape waved in front of a bull if a child who attended that school had been abducted shortly thereafter. But Seth would check, anyway. Unfortunately, police incompetence wasn’t unknown.
It took him the rest of the day to determine that no girl had been abducted in La Grande in that window of time, but a five-year-old female child had vanished from her bed in the middle of the night in Nampa, Idaho. Easy drive from La Grande, but different state, investigators unaware of the near miss in another town just over the border. Hell, they might have dismissed it if they had heard about it—Seth could just imagine Hamby claiming he’d sneaked in to use the john, didn’t mean to scare anyone, and cops shaking their heads and telling him to get out of town.
The five-year-old girl’s name was Gail Engstrom—and it so happened she was an exceptionally pretty blue-eyed blonde. Staring at her picture, Seth felt sick.
He put in a call to the Nampa PD and ended up talking to a detective who remembered the case well. He’d been a patrol officer then, and that kind of crime wasn’t common in their town.
“The detective who investigated her disappearance is near retirement now. He’s stayed in touch with them, talks about ’em sometimes. The Engstroms ended up divorced. He sold the car dealership he owned and moved away. Mrs. Engstrom is still here, in the same house.”
“Waiting,” Seth said.
There was a little silence. Then, “Not hard to understand. I have a girl in kindergarten this year.” He cleared his throat. “You want to tell me why you’re asking?”
Seth did. While they were talking, the guy evidently looked online for Hope Lawson and found not only the news story but also one of Seth’s postings that had resulted in her return.
“Damn,” he breathed. “She looks one hell of a lot like Gail.”
“I don’t think there’s any doubt the same guy snatched both.”
“I always figured Gail was dead.”
Seth hesitated, but decided he had to say this. “She might be. He took a hell of a risk, leaving Hope alive. What if she’d talked right away? He wasn’t sophisticated enough to constantly change identities—maybe couldn’t afford to buy forged ID or to pay for a new driver’s license, buy a different car, get insurance again. Hope says he was pulled over once and everything was in order. He may have quit bothering with insurance and whatnot later, though. He was picked up for an expired license in Oregon.” Seth gave the particulars. “He’d succeeded in terrorizing Hope into forgetting her real name, but what if he let a kid go who remembered?”
“Yeah. Shit. Although Gail was a year younger when he grabbed her. Might have been even easier to wipe her mind clean.” Energized, the guy committed himself to doing his damnedest to trace Hamby’s every move in Idaho. They agreed to stay in touch.
Seth set down his phone and stretched. Looking around, he realized most people had closed up shop for the day. No wonder he was hungry.
He could call Bailey, see what she was doing for dinner.
You must have a life.
He grunted unhappily and shut down his computer.
* * *
EVE KICKED OFF her shoes and curled her feet under her, pretending a nonchalance she didn’t feel in the presence of the real daughter.
Mom had clearly been pleased with herself when she insisted she didn’t need any help with dinner. “No, no,” she’d said, beaming. “My two girls need time to get to know each other.”
Apparently she didn’t have a clue.
Eve could tell Hope wasn’t any more enthusiastic; she’d looked as if she wanted to grab Mom to keep her from heading for the kitchen. And Dad—well, who knew where he was? Mom had probably given him his orders.
Hope sat gingerly on Mom’s favorite chair, a glider, and gave a tentative push to start it moving.
She studied Eve. “So.”
“So.”
“Karen says you’re a social worker. That you deal with foster kids.”
“I do. Go with what you know, I always say.”
Hope’s blue eyes, so like Dad’s, narrowed. “How long did you live in foster care?”
“Four years.”
“What happened to you? Um, if you don’t mind telling me.”
Eve shrugged. “My mother was into crack. She died. Or that’s what they tell me, anyway.”
“You don’t remember her?”
“Not very well.” And what memories she had, she wasn’t sharing with Hope.
Who nodded meaninglessly and looked away. Silence stretched to the snapping point, although it might feel that way only to Eve, who had hostility all but choking her.
“Why won’t you stay here at the house?” she asked.
Hope looked at her again. “It’s too soon. It would feel like staying with strangers.”
“You don’t believe they’re your parents?”
Her forehead crinkled. “No, I do. I mean, it’s sort of hard to deny, isn’t it?” She waved a hand at herself.
Eve didn’t understand herself why the fact that the sainted daughter looked exactly like Mom enraged her so. No, that was a lie; of course she knew. It was because she’d longed so desperately to belong. And she would, she’d convinced herself, if only she was pretty and blonde instead of so dark and exotic enough people always looked surprised when she checked “Caucasian” on a survey. Of course, eventually she’d figured out the Lawsons never would have wanted her if she’d looked too much like their lost daughter.
The real daughter.
“It is,” she agreed, simmering. “So why do you act like you don’t really want them to be your parents?”
Her sort-of sister—now, there was a joke—went absolutely still. “It all seems unreal to me.”
“You’re hurting their feelings, you know.”
She almost hid her flinch. “I know.”
“Do you know how hard it is to watch this? Them so hopeful—” her laugh grated “—you shutting them down.”
Yesterday's Gone (Two Daughters Book 1) Page 10
