by Paula Graves
She waved her hand toward the bread box and retreated to the kitchen table. “Has Mr. Walters had a chance to hear the tape?” she asked.
“He didn’t recognize the voice.”
“Why’d the kidnapper call me? I just met Andrew Walters a couple of days ago. Abby isn’t even in my class at school.” She allowed herself a quick peek at McBride.
He put bread out on the counter and quickly started making a sandwich. “Good question. Any ideas?”
The hard tone of his voice made her wince inwardly. “No.”
He set the sandwich on a napkin in front of her and took the chair opposite.
“Not eating?” she asked.
“Not hungry.” He cocked his head, pinning her to her chair with the force of his gaze. She stared back at him, her breath trapped in her chest.
His features were too rough-hewn to be considered handsome. But he had amazing eyes, intense, clear and commanding. Their color shifted with his moods, almost brown when he was lost in thought, nearly green when he was working up a rage.
She wondered what color they turned in the heat of passion.
Trying to shake off the effect he’d begun to have on her, Lily leaned toward him across the table. “You obviously have questions for me. Let’s have ’em.”
“You had another vision?” His voice had a rumbling quality that made the skin on the back of her neck quiver. “Of Abby?”
She struggled to concentrate. “Yes. I think she was in a mobile home. The windows had metal frames and sills. And the room was tiny, with that boxy, prefab look some trailers have.”
His gaze was dark and intense, impossible to read. “Anything that would help us identify it?”
“No. I only saw one room, and it was…ordinary.” Though she tried to drop her gaze, she found herself unable to look away from him. He had a commanding quality about him, an air of strength and capability that elicited a primal response deep inside her.
It had been a long time since a man had made her feel this much like a woman. Why did it have to be McBride?
When he didn’t respond right away, she felt herself begin to squirm, like a suspect under interrogation. She was pretty sure that was the point of his continuing silence.
“There was one thing—” She clamped her mouth shut before she revealed the odd appearance of the second girl. McBride obviously didn’t believe she was having visions of Abby. Lily wasn’t going to make things worse by mentioning a second child.
“One thing?” he prodded when she didn’t continue.
“She talked to me this time.”
He pulled back, his eyebrows twitching upward.
“I know it sounds crazy, but she heard me. She talked back. That’s never happened before.” Maybe because Lily had spent most of her life running from the visions, she’d never really explored the limits of her ability. She still couldn’t think of it as a gift, not like her sisters’.
“You get migraines when you have visions?”
“Except when I don’t fight them.”
He picked up a pencil and grabbed a fresh sheet of paper. He jotted something on the page in his tight, illegible scrawl. “That’s right. You mentioned something like that before you zoned out.”
“Before I had a vision.”
“Uh, yeah.” He twirled the pencil between his fingers. “You said you fight them because they scare you.”
She swallowed hard. “Yes.”
“How long have you been having visions?”
“Of Abby?”
He shook his head. “In general.”
“Since I was little.” The visions had been part of her life for as long as she could remember.
“And you’ve always had headaches?”
“Not always.” Before her father died, she’d never had the headaches. But before then, she’d never had to fear her visions, either. “When I was younger, I didn’t have headaches. But I didn’t know to fight the visions.”
For the first time he looked genuinely surprised. “They didn’t scare you then? Why not?”
A flash of blood on jagged steel flashed through her mind. She closed her eyes, pushing it down into the dark place inside her. “I hadn’t seen the bad things yet.”
“Like what?” His voice lowered to a murmur. “Monsters?”
Was he making fun of her? He looked serious, so she answered. “I see people hurt. Killed. People in pain.”
People like her father, bleeding to death on a bed of bloodstained sawdust…
“How do you know you don’t have headaches when you don’t fight the visions?”
“I had one the other day and didn’t fight it. I didn’t have any pain at all.”
He cocked his head. “How can you know that’s why?”
She sighed. “I suppose I can’t. Does it matter? I’m going to keep trying to have them even if they hurt.”
“Why would you put yourself through that?”
“Because Abby’s still alive. I can still help her.”
McBride looked at Lily for a tense moment. “Why are you having visions of Abby Walters? Why you in particular?”
“I don’t know.” The suspicion in his voice made her stomach cramp.
“When did they start?”
“Friday, at the school.” The memory of those first brief glimpses of Abby remained vivid. Frightened blue eyes. Tearstained cheeks. Tangled red hair. A terrified cry.
“Did you have the vision before or after you talked to me?” McBride touched the back of her hand, trailing his fingers over her skin, painting her with fire.
She swallowed with difficulty, resisting the urge to beg him to touch her again. “Before.”
A muscle in his jaw twitched. “How soon before?”
“Just before, I guess.”
He met her gaze for a long, electric moment, his eyes now a deep forest-green. “What did you see that first time?”
She related the brief snatches of that vision, then told him about later seeing Abby in the car. “I think they were moving her to wherever they are now.”
He tapped his fingers on the table mere inches from her hand. She watched them move, wishing they would touch her again. Her fingers itched to close the distance between them, but she resisted, forcing herself to look up at him, away from that tempting hand. But the smoldering emerald of his eyes did little to cool the heat starting to build inside her.
She licked her lips and tried to focus. “Is it against the rules for you to tell me how Abby’s mother died?”
He didn’t answer.
“I don’t need details, I just…” She sighed, trying to explain the sensations she’d felt when talking to the kidnapper. “The man who called was desperate. I know he made a ransom demand, and maybe that’s what they wanted all along. But I don’t think they originally planned on a ransom call.”
McBride cut his eyes toward her.
“He sounded scared. This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Mrs. Walters wasn’t supposed to die.”
He caught her wrist. “Why do you say that?” His voice was tinged with suspicion, his eyes turning mossy brown.
“She fought, right?” Lily couldn’t say how she knew that, but she did. “They didn’t think she’d fight them. Maybe they don’t have children of their own and don’t know what a mother will do when her child’s in danger.”
He let go of her, but the heat of his touch lingered. She rubbed her wrist, trying to wipe away the tingling sensation his grip had imprinted in the tender flesh, as if every nerve ending had suddenly come alive. “That’s how it happened, isn’t it?” she asked.
He leaned toward her across the small table, close enough for her to breathe in his warm, spicy scent. “Why are you really interested in this case?”
She lifted her chin. “I keep seeing that scared little girl in my mind. I have to try to help her.”
“You can’t,” he said bluntly.
“Why not?” she asked.
“Because she’s already dead.”
Sh
arp-edged and stone-cold, his words slammed into Lily like a physical blow. She shook her head. “That’s not true. The kidnappers just called—”
“What makes you think it wasn’t a crank call?”
“I recognized the voice.”
“So you say.”
Lily shut her eyes, wishing she could shut out his words as easily. “I know it was him.”
“I’ve been a cop for sixteen years. I’ve investigated five nonparental child abductions over that time.” Weariness crept into his matter-of-fact tone. “Kidnappers don’t take five days to make a ransom call. They know it gives the cops too much time to get involved.”
Lily opened her eyes but saw nothing but blackness. A soft, pain-wracked voice filled the darkness.
She’s gone!
The darkness dissipated, the familiar decor of her kitchen coming back into focus, the echo of those two heartbroken words fading into the hum of the refrigerator behind her. Lily found McBride staring at her, his forehead creased with a frown.
He rose, his chair scraping against the tile floor. “I’ve put a patrol car outside to keep an eye on this place tonight. Tomorrow, with your permission, we’ll tap your phone in case the man calls again.” He didn’t wait for her answer, making it halfway to the living room by the time Lily got her legs to work.
She followed him to the door, still shaking from the brief vision. Where had that woman’s voice come from, pitched low with misery? Coming as it had in the wake of McBride’s bitter words, was it connected to his own demons?
He had demons, without a doubt. Beneath his stony calm, Lily had sensed a misery so deep, so dark she could hardly bear to look at it.
She grabbed his arm as he opened the front door. “What if I don’t want a tap on my phone?”
“Don’t you want us to find out who’s calling?” He stood close enough for her to see beard stubble shadowing his jaw. She could almost feel it, prickly against her skin, as if he’d rubbed his face against hers. His pupils were black pools rimmed by moss. Pure female response snaked through her belly, settling low and hot at her center.
“I’d also like to tap your cell phone,” he added softly.
Right. Tapping the phone. “It’s not listed anywhere by my cellular company. But you can tap my home phone.”
He didn’t look happy, but he didn’t press the issue. He stepped away from her and onto her front stoop, robbing her of his warmth. Her strength seeped away, leaving her enervated and bone-weary.
He turned back to her, danger glittering in his murky eyes. “You’re playing a reckless game, Ms. Browning. Take care.”
She watched him stride down the walk, his jacket flapping in the cool night breeze, every heavy thud of her heart echoing his solemn warning. The intent of his words may have been different than her own interpretation, but the truth remained: the people who had Abby knew who Lily was and where she lived.
She wasn’t safe in her own home.
Chapter Six
Andrew Walters was on his cell phone when Lily arrived at his hotel suite Thursday afternoon for their rescheduled meeting. He took her raincoat and waved her in, slanting her a rueful look as he spoke into the receiver. “We’ll have to blow that one off. The county party chairman will understand.” He gestured at the sofa, moving into one of the rooms off the main living area to complete his call.
Lily bypassed the sofa and walked to the picture window spanning one wall of the living area. During the day, the McMillan Place penthouse suite would boast a panoramic view of the lush woodlands west of town, but rain and falling darkness turned the window into a mirror reflecting Lily’s own bedraggled image back at her. She patted her rain-curled hair and straightened her skirt, wishing she looked more presentable.
It was important that Andrew Walters believe what she had to tell him.
He returned to the room, flashing an apologetic smile. “That was my campaign manager, Joe. We have to figure out how to manage the campaign while all of this is going on.”
Lily tried to hide her surprise. She’d have thought the election would be the last thing on Andrew’s mind.
“You think that’s cold of me.” He sounded resigned.
“No,” she replied.
“People have invested a lot of time and money in my campaign. For their sakes, I have to go through the motions.” He beckoned for her to join him in the sitting area. “It’s good to have something constructive to focus on, to keep my mind away from the worst possibilities.”
She sat where he indicated. “Understandable.”
He sank into an armchair and slanted a considering look at her. “The FBI told me about the call from the kidnapper. Why do you think he called you?”
If Andrew Walters harbored the same suspicions as Lieutenant McBride, he hid it well. He looked desperate and anxious, but he didn’t seem distrustful.
Lily wished she had a better answer for both of them. “I guess they saw my picture in the paper. From the funeral. My name was in the caption, and I don’t imagine there are that many Lily Brownings listed in the Borland phone book.” It was the only explanation that made sense.
“I wonder how the press got your name in the first place.”
She cocked her head. “I assumed you gave it to them.”
“No.” His eyes narrowed. “Probably Blackledge. He knew people would see us together and make assumptions. ‘Andrew Walters didn’t even let his first wife’s body get cold before he found someone else.’”
She grimaced. “People won’t think that.”
He gave her a look that made her feel very naive.
She shook her head, appalled. “If my being there—”
“This is politics. Dirt gets flung. I’m becoming a little better at ducking these days.” His face tightened with anxiety. “McBride says you’ve had visions of my daughter. What did you see?”
She told him what she’d seen in her visions, holding back only the appearance of the second little girl. Andrew Walters listened, his hands clenched in his lap, his sharp-eyed gaze moving over her face as if gauging her veracity. “What was she wearing?” he asked when she finished.
For a second, Lily’s mind went blank. She remembered so much about Abby—the way she smelled, the tear tracks down her dirty, freckled face, the way one red curl hung just off center over her forehead. But what she was wearing?
Lily closed her eyes, recreating the most vivid scene, the one where Abby had been huddled in the back of the moving car. She heard the hum of the motor, smelled the musty odor of the blanket under which the child had crouched, cold and afraid. She saw the messy red curls, the chattering teeth.
The light blue overalls with a yellow rabbit on the front.
“Overalls.” Her voice shook. “Pale blue with a yellow bunny on the bib. And she had a long-sleeved white turtleneck underneath.”
When Lily looked up, Andrew’s face had gone pale. His voice shook when he spoke. “My God, you did see her.”
She released a shaky breath. She’d been afraid she was wrong, that her visions really were delusions, as McBride apparently thought. “That’s what she was wearing?”
The man nodded, color slowly seeping back into his face. “A neighbor who saw her Friday morning remembered the outfit. She’d bought it for Abby on her last birthday.”
“So you believe me?”
Andrew reached across the space between them and took her hand. His expression solemn, he nodded. “I believe you.”
Relief swamped her. “Mr. Walters, I’ll do whatever I can to help you.”
He managed a smile. “Thank you. And please, call me Andrew.”
She nodded. “Andrew—”
The shrill ring of the telephone interrupted her, the sound jarring her spine.
“The dedicated line.” Andrew’s voice sounded strangled.
“Answer it,” she urged, breathless. Her nerves were so taut that she didn’t recognize the signs until gray mist invaded the edge of her vision.
As the f
og thickened, she glimpsed a man hunched over a phone in a dim room. She barely made out dark green walls and a computer nearby. The man’s blond hair was thin and patchy, and his skin was milky pale. The glow of the computer screen made twin blue squares on the lenses of his wire-rimmed glasses.
It was the caller, she realized when he spoke.
“Mr. Walters, listen quick.” Lily was certain she’d never heard the voice before. It definitely wasn’t the harsh-voiced man who’d hit Abby, the one who’d called her home on Wednesday.
“Who is this?” Andrew demanded.
“We have your daughter.”
“Is Abby there?” Andrew’s voice was like a fly buzzing in her ear, oddly unreal, even though he was in the same room with her. “Let me speak to her!”
“You have until tomorrow afternoon to get five hundred grand together. When you do that, you’ll talk to your kid. Got it? And if you call the cops, you’ll never see your kid again.” The caller shifted, his desk chair creaking.
Beyond him, Lily saw a bed with rumpled green sheets. A newspaper lay near the pillows. Abby Walters’s freckled face stared up from its front page. But there was no sign of Abby. And the room didn’t remotely resemble the one where she’d seen the little girl in her visions.
“I’ll call back tomorrow to tell you where to drop the money.” The caller’s hand shook as he clutched the phone.
He’s not one of the kidnappers, Lily thought. They know not to call Andrew Walters directly.
She struggled against the swallowing mists, trying to slam shut the door of her mind. She’d seen all she needed to see. She had to tell Mr. Walters what she knew.
She emerged with a jolt when he banged the telephone receiver into its cradle and bent over the table, sucking in several deep, steadying breaths.
Lily stumbled to the couch and sat, pressing her hand to her head. Fighting to end the vision before it was finished had a price; colorful lights crowded her vision, and the first twinge of pain shot up from the base of her skull. She fumbled in her purse for her pills and swallowed one dry, laying her head back against the sofa cushions.
Andrew turned to face her. “He wouldn’t let me talk to her.” Anxiety creased his handsome face.
